#then it cut to a downward angle of his head

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (14)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 14 - Hide and Seek

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 15

PREV : Chapter 13

A pair of black shoes stopped just inches from your line of sight. Your chest tightened as you slowly lifted your gaze. First, you saw the polished shoes, then the neatly pressed pants, and finally the long, all-black outfit that draped elegantly yet ominously over the figure. Your eyes reached the mask: a geometric pattern of sharp angles that concealed any trace of humanity beneath it. You couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell if he was looking directly at you, but the slight tilt of his head downwards spoke volumes. He was entirely focused on you.

From a side perspective, you were kneeling on the floor, one hand braced against the ground as if trying to anchor yourself while the other clutched your bleeding injury. Your shoulders were tense, your head tilted upward as you met the imposing figure’s gaze. He loomed above you, his posture perfectly controlled, exuding an authority that was both calculated and suffocating. The contrast between his unyielding stance and your vulnerable position added to the tension, the unspoken connection between captor and captive palpable in the air.

The corridor was silent, the tension in the air so thick it felt like it might suffocate you. The guards stood rigid as they waited for the next command from the black-masked man whom they called the Captain. None of them spared a glance at the dead guard whose body lay crumpled against the wall. No one dared risk invoking the Captain’s wrath.

Your wide, doe-like eyes were glued to the Captain’s expressionless, geometric mask. You felt small like a defenseless kitten staring down a jaguar. He radiated danger, a predator in every sense of the word. Fear clawed at your chest. You were a part of the rebellion, and now the leader of the guards had personally come down to corner you and your allies.

Gi-hun’s grand plan to overthrow the game management crumbled in that very moment.

The sound of a scuffle shattered the silence, pulling you from your thoughts. Behind you, there was movement, followed by Gi-hun’s voice. “Leave her alone! She’s not in on this!”

His shout cut through the heavy atmosphere like a knife, drawing everyone’s attention. But the Captain didn’t react. He remained perfectly still, his focus locked solely on you.

Your breath hitched, and you quickly lowered your gaze, unable to hold the intensity of his stare any longer. You cast your eyes to the floor, trying to collect yourself, but the unease didn’t fade. His unwavering attention was unnerving, and a small part of you couldn’t help but feel puzzled.

Why had he shot the guard who injured you? What did he mean by disobeyed?

A sharp wave of pain pulled you from your thoughts. You winced, clutching your injured arm. The wound throbbed relentlessly, and when you pressed lightly against it, you could feel the bullet lodged beneath your skin. The sensation made your stomach churn.

Though you’d looked away, the Captain hadn’t. His head remained tilted slightly in your direction, his attention fixed on you like a hawk watching prey. Then, he spoke in a commanding tone. “Check her.”

Two square guards stepped forward at his command, lowering their weapons as they approached. You stared at them in a mix of confusion and apprehension. One of them spoke in a flat tone. “Get up.”

“No!” Gi-hun shouted, trying to rise from his knees. But before he could, two guards pinned him down, holding him firmly in place. “Leave her alone!”

The Captain finally shifted his attention, lifting his gaze to Gi-hun and Jung-bae. A tense silence followed, every movement in the corridor stilled. It was as if the Captain held everyone’s fate in his hands, his authority absolute and unchallenged.

“Player 456,” the Captain’s deep, distorted voice filled the corridor, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Did you have fun playing the hero?”

The same square guard as before repeated to you. “Get up.”

You stayed kneeling, your heart pounding, as the Captain began to move. His steps were measured and calm as he circled you and headed toward Gi-hun and Jung-bae meters behind you. Concern for your friends twisted in your chest. Your mind raced as you tried to anticipate what the black-masked man might do. You turned your head to follow his movements, watching him intently as he approached them.

Stopping directly in front of Gi-hun and Jung-bae, the Captain raised his left arm. The stark white pistol in his hand caught the light as he aimed it squarely at Gi-hun’s face. The sudden gesture made you gasp, alarm flooding through you as fear for your friend overtook you.

“Look closely,” the Captain said, his tone ominous. “At the consequences of your little hero game.”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, his teeth gritted as he stared directly into the barrel of the pistol. You could see the tension in his body, the way he held himself still to project bravery. He didn’t want to give the Captain the satisfaction of seeing his fear. Despite this, his defiance didn’t lessen your terror. You couldn’t stand by and let him die.

“No!” you shouted, your voice breaking through the silence. Desperation filled every word. You pushed yourself to your feet, your knees shaking as you took a step forward. Before you could get closer, a square guard moved quickly, blocking your path. Undeterred, you tilted your head, craning your neck to keep the Captain in view.

“Please, don’t shoot him!” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “This whole plan was my idea, so it’s my fault. I’ll do anything!”

The corridor fell into a heavy silence. The guards stood still. Gi-hun and Jung-bae stared at you in shock and disbelief. Even the Captain paused, though his grip on the pistol remained unwavering.

“What are you saying…?!” Gi-hun’s voice rose, anger and panic blending together.

The Captain’s mask turned toward you slowly, his attention now fully on you. Though his aim at Gi-hun didn’t falter, the weight of his gaze pressed down on you, making it harder to breathe. His silence spoke volumes, and it was enough to send Gi-hun into a spiral of worry, his expression shifting to one of alarm and helpless frustration.

“Hey!” Gi-hun shouted as he straightened his posture, still kneeling but clearly trying to draw the Captain’s attention back to himself. “It was my idea! She’s lying!”

“Y-yeah!” Jung-bae added, his voice shaky, his eyes wide with panic. “She was lying!”

But the Captain remained unmoved. He didn’t even glance at them. His masked face stayed locked on you. Slowly, he lowered the pistol from Gi-hun’s face. Without haste, he turned his entire body toward you, a deliberate motion that made it clear you now had his full, undivided attention.

Your heart raced, pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Fear and vulnerability coursed through you. His presence felt all-encompassing. It's as if the walls of the hallway had closed in, leaving you exposed and utterly at his mercy. You could feel the weight of every eye in the corridor, yet it was his attention that made the air thick and hard to breathe. You had wanted to divert his focus to protect Gi-hun, but now that you had it, it felt like standing in the path of an oncoming storm.

“Among the trashes in this world…” the Captain’s distorted voice broke the silence as he began to step toward you, “…blooms a single flower.”

You froze, his words twisting in your mind, their meaning unclear but unsettling. Gi-hun’s voice broke through the tension again as he tried to rise from his knees, his movements frantic.

“No!” he yelled, his tone laced with desperation. He lunged as if to intervene, but two square guards grabbed him immediately, dragging him back down. This time, his struggle was wild and unrelenting. The guards shoved him to the ground, pinning him on his side. One of them pressed his head to the floor with brutal force, but still, he screamed in resistance, his eyes wide with fear for you.

Jung-bae, pale and trembling, stayed where he was, his hands still raised in surrender. Two guards loomed behind him, their MP5s aimed squarely at his head, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. The tension in the air was unbearable.

Gi-hun’s shouts echoed through the purple hallways. The Captain, unfazed, continued his steady approach until he stopped directly in front of you. You couldn’t look away, your eyes locked onto his masked face. He stood tall, radiating authority, while you remained standing before him, powerless and exposed.

He was the embodiment of power and control. He alone dictated the rules of this twisted game. You, on the other hand, was stripped of any leverage, offering yourself up to protect those you cared for. The unspoken tension between you hung thick in the air, every second stretching endlessly as his masked gaze bore into you.

The Captain extended his left hand, gloved in sleek black, his palm facing upward. He held it steady, hovering in the air between you two. Your gaze flicked from his hand to his mask, trying to decipher the meaning behind the gesture.

Finally, his distorted voice broke the silence. “Come with me… and I will let your friends live.”

Your eyes widened, locking onto him in shock. The weight of his words sank into you like lead.

“Don’t!” Gi-hun shouted as he fought against the guards holding him down. “He’ll hurt you! You can’t trust him! Whatever he’s offering, it’s a lie! He’ll…”

His voice cracked, his frantic movements becoming more erratic. “He’ll break you apart!”

His words stabbed at your resolve, each one a reminder of the unknown danger you might be stepping into. You could feel the genuine care and anguish in his voice. Gi-hun was more than disappointed at his plan’s failure; he was terrified of losing those he considered friends. He’d rather take the consequences himself than watch them fall on you.

Your mouth felt heavy, unable to form a response to his pleading. Instead, your focus returned to the Captain. His gloved hand remained steady, a silent invitation that demanded a response. He didn’t rush you. He didn’t need to. He ruled this place. He could wait as long as it took for you to decide.

Your heart pounded as fear coursed through you. What would happen if you took his hand? What would he do to you? Would he hurt you? Strip you of your dignity? Hand you over to his guards to face whatever cruelty they had in mind? The questions swirled relentlessly in your head, each one more horrifying than the last.

Then, the sharp sting of your bullet wound brought you back to the moment. You winced as the pain flared, a reminder of the very real danger you were already in. Your left upper arm throbbed, the blood sticky beneath your fingers where you clutched the wound.

You were scared. Terrified. But you cared about your friends even more. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and the others mattered to you. They had become your family in this cruel, twisted game. If you didn’t act, their lives might be forfeited. That thought was unbearable.

“I will have your wound treated right away,” the Captain said, his voice calm but commanding. The unexpected offer made your breath catch, and your eyes snapped back to his mask.

You stared at him for a long moment, blocking out the noise of Gi-hun’s struggles behind the masked leader. His screams faded into the background as you wrestled with the decision in front of you. Your arms began to tremble, a sign of the terror coursing through your body.

It was at that moment that despair took hold of you, its weight pressing heavily on your chest. If Young-il were here, he would have been livid with you for even entertaining this decision. But he wasn’t here.

Grief surged through you then and there. Tears brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision until a single drop escaped, tracing a path down your cheek. A sob broke free from your throat. The thought of Young-il – his absence, his sacrifice – slammed into you like a physical blow. He was gone. The memory of his promise to meet you outside this nightmare, should you both survive, now felt like a cruel joke. He had risked everything to protect you, and now you two would never see that promise fulfilled.

The bullet wound on your upper arm throbbed with a dull ache, but it paled in comparison to the searing pain of your loss. You’d lost him. And it was only now, standing here in this twisted moment, that you realized you had fallen in love with him. The man who had risked his life time and time again for you, who had treated you with care and respect even in this unforgiving place, was gone.

Soft sniffles and quiet sobs echoed down the corridor. Gi-hun, who had been shouting moments ago, fell silent. He looked at you, his eyes wide with understanding. He knew. He knew that it was his plan, his gamble, that had led to Young-il’s death and the deaths of others. Now, with the Captain’s shadow looming over all of you, the weight of that guilt was palpable.

The Captain, on the other hand, remained still and patient. His hand hovered between you, waiting for your decision. This enigmatic figure, who had mercilessly shot his own guard moments earlier, stood there quietly as you sobbed, giving you space to grieve. His presence was unnerving yet he offered no words, no commands. He simply waited as if time itself bent to his will.

You withdrew your hand from your face and wiped away the tears staining your cheeks. With a shaky breath, you finally managed to steady yourself. Lifting your gaze, you looked back at the Captain. His hand was still extended, his posture unchanging, as though he had all the time in the world.

Your eyes shifted to Gi-hun and Jung-bae behind him. Both of them were watching you, their faces pale and filled with dread. The terror in their expressions only deepened your resolve. You knew that if you went with the Captain, the three of you wouldn’t be shot dead. This was the only way for the three of you to survive after instigating an uprising.

Slowly, you raised your trembling hand and placed it in the Captain’s gloved palm. The leather was cool against your skin. As soon as your hand settled in his, his fingers curled around yours like the closing of a steel trap. There was no escape now.

You raised your gaze, meeting the enigmatic Captain’s towering presence. His mask remained inscrutable, hiding whatever thoughts might be running through his mind. Without a word, he turned and began walking toward the hallway behind you, his grip on your hand firm but not forceful. You followed quietly, your steps heavy with uncertainty and fear.

Behind you, the square guards followed you two in formation, their boots echoing sharply against the corridor floor. The sound of Gi-hun’s scream suddenly broke through, raw and anguished. He was still pinned to the floor by two guards, but his struggle had only intensified.

The sound made you falter for a moment, but the Captain didn’t pause. He kept walking, pulling you along with him. You frowned, realizing that Gi-hun’s anger was more than just a protest against the Captain’s actions. Perhaps he had seen you in a different light. Maybe he cared for you more than you’d realized. He had told you once that you reminded him of his late friend. Protecting you must have felt like a way to redeem himself, to make up for his failure to save his friends in the past.

What you didn’t know was that Gi-hun clung to you for a deeper reason. You didn’t just remind him of his lost friend. You reminded him of himself. By protecting you, he felt he could protect the part of himself he had lost, the part that still believed in hope and redemption. In saving you, he believed he could save himself from the guilt that had haunted him for so long.

The Captain led you down a labyrinth of hallways. At one point, you tugged your hand free from his gloved grasp. He didn’t stop you, nor did he turn his head or say a word. You were grateful for that small mercy. The thought of his touch manipulating your already fragile resolve made your stomach churn.

Behind you, the square pink guards marched in two perfect lines. Their synchronized footsteps echoed through the corridors. The uniformity of their movements spoke volumes about the Captain’s control. It was clear that his authority reached deep, dictating not just their actions but the very rhythm of their existence. This was power on a level you had never seen before, and it left a dreadful weight in your chest.

As you rounded another corner, a new figure emerged from the hallway ahead. Several square pink guards followed closely behind him, but this man was different. His mask bore the same square symbol as the others, but the rest of his appearance set him apart. His uniform, while identical in design, was entirely black, accented with bold pink stripes and a matching pink belt. He carried himself with a stern, commanding presence that was almost as unsettling as the Captain’s.

The square black guard halted as soon as he saw your group, and the pink guards behind him followed suit, stopping in perfect formation.

“Captain,” the square black guard said respectfully. “One manager and twenty soldiers have been dispatched to the dormitory to subdue the rest of them. It appears there are no backup plans for the uprising.”

The Captain stopped walking just a few feet away from them. The square pink guards and you came to an immediate halt as well. You glanced sideways at the Captain, your suspicions reaffirmed. He was undoubtedly the highest authority here, and this new figure was likely his second-in-command.

The Captain’s voice broke the silence, low and solemn. “What’s the update on the rest of the players who rebelled?”

You blinked, your attention sharpening as the words registered. He was talking about Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, and the others you had managed to supply with ammo.

“We had shot most of them down,” the masked officer reported in a detached tone as if he wasn't discussing the loss of human lives. “One or two managed to retreat to the dormitory and hide among the players.”

Your gaze dropped, despair washing over you like a tidal wave. More players were dead. You didn’t know if Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok had survived, but the weight of the losses was suffocating. The uprising had failed spectacularly, leaving most of you dead.

Then another thought gripped you. All those who participated in the plan were X players. With most of them gone, combined with the losses during lights out, the Os would dominate the next vote. It was inevitable. The remaining players would be forced to continue into the next game, whether they wanted to or not.

Your thoughts shifted to your friends back in the dormitory: Jun-hee, Dae-ho, Yong-sik, and his mother. They must be terrified, anxiously waiting for news, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. What would they feel when they learned about Young-il’s death? The thought twisted your heart, and tears began to well in your eyes again.

Just as the first tear threatened to fall, the masked officer’s voice cut through the air. “Would you like us to single out those rebels and shoot them in front of the others as a lesson, Captain?”

Your eyes widened in horror. The idea was monstrous. To drag out the survivors of your team and execute them publicly for the remaining players to see? It was cruel beyond comprehension. It was an act designed to break what little spirit the players had left.

Ignoring the pain from your injury, you turned your terrified gaze to the Captain, who stood quietly, his posture as steady and unreadable as ever. His head remained slightly tilted toward the officer. The tension in the air was palpable as every guard waited in silence for his command.

Finally, in his deep, distorted voice, he said, “No. Let them. They will have their lessons by the players, the next vote, and the next games.”

You looked away, his words sinking in like a stone in water. You understood what he meant immediately. Those who had participated in the uprising would face judgment, not from the guards but from their fellow players. The X players, now devastated in numbers, would likely blame the rebels for their downfall. The bitterness would lead to harsh reprimands and isolation.

The O players would mock and deride the rebels. Their cruelty would aim especially at Gi-hun. With so few X players left, the Os might seize control of the dormitory entirely, leaving the remaining X players in an even more precarious position.

The weight of it all settled heavily in your chest. The rebellion hadn’t just failed; it had shattered any remaining hope for unity.

Suddenly, the Captain spoke, his deep, distorted voice cutting through the tense air. “Have one worker come to Room 147. Bring a medical kit.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, the Captain began walking again, moving past the masked officer and the pink guards. The masked officer immediately fell into step beside him, though still slightly behind, a position that subtly acknowledged the Captain’s authority. Clueless, you followed behind the Captain. The rest of the pink guards fell into formation without being told.

In a matter of seconds, the Captain stopped outside an unmarked door, causing everyone else to halt as well. He turned to you and spoke directly. “Wait inside. A guard will tend to your wound.”

You stared at him, your gaze lingering for a moment before you lowered your head. Pushing the door open, you peered inside. The room was stark and simple, painted in the same monotonous purple as the hallways. It contained nothing more than a plain table and two chairs.

Before you could step in, the Captain spoke again, this time addressing the guards. “One manager will stand guard outside the door. Soldiers, arm up and prepare for the next vote.”

He paused, shifting his attention to the second-in-command. “Managers and you, head to the control room. I have a word with you.”

The underlying reprimand was clear.

With that, the Captain turned on his heel and strode away. You glanced at the masked officer, noticing the rigidity in his posture as he stared at the Captain’s retreating figure. The square guards fell in line behind the Captain, moving like disciplined soldiers toward what you assumed was the control room. For a brief moment, the masked officer stood frozen in silence before he, too, followed after them without a word.

One square guard remained by your side and said flatly, “Please wait inside for a worker to tend to your wound.”

You stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you. The room’s silence was almost oppressive, and you sat down on one of the two chairs, cradling your injured arm.

Now that you had nothing else to divert your attention to, the pain of your wound became all the more prominent. A sharper wave of pain shot through your arm. You winced. You adjusted your hold on the wound, trying to ease the pressure without worsening the pain.

It was barely two minutes before the door opened, revealing a circle guard carrying the familiar red medical kit. The guard stepped inside, setting the kit on the table before turning their masked face toward you.

“Sit still,” they instructed, their voice flat and emotionless. “Hold your arm steady.”

You nodded silently, holding your injured arm in place as the guard began laying out the contents of the kit. Antiseptic, gauze, tweezers, and a scalpel gleamed under the fluorescent light. The sight of the sharp instruments made your stomach churn, but you kept your face composed.

After you took off your jacket and lifted up the sleeve to expose the raw injury, the guard began to work on it methodically.

“This will sting,” they said before applying antiseptic. The sharp burn drew a hiss from your lips, and you gritted your teeth to keep from crying out.

As they continued, your thoughts wandered. What would your life look like now? The realization of having surrendered yourself to the Captain weighed heavily on you. Would this be your new reality? A nightmare on Earth where every action was dictated by a man who wielded absolute power? The thought chilled you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if escape was even possible.

You glanced around the room, your eyes flitting to the door, the walls, and finally the tools spread across the table. The scalpel caught your attention. It was small, but it could be a weapon. The idea lingered. Could you really fight back? Could you find a way out of this labyrinthine hell? The questions gnawed at you.

“Hold still,” the guard reminded. You snapped back to the present, focusing on the pain as they worked to extract the bullet. The tweezers dug into the wound, sending sharp, searing jolts up your arm. You clenched your jaw, your nails digging into the armrest of the chair.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard finally pulled the bullet free. The small piece of metal clinked against the tray. Next, they applied ointment to the wound. Then, they wrapped your arm in clean white bandages, securing them snugly.

“You’re done,” the guard said simply, beginning to pack up the kit.

You stared at the scalpel, your eyes darting back to the circle guard as they moved around the room. The thought lingered in your mind. You wanted to use it. You had a plan, a desperate one, but were you willing enough to act on it? To kill someone, who had done nothing wrong to you, in cold blood? The very idea made your stomach churn.

Yes, you had killed loan sharks and triangle guards before, but you did it to protect yourself. But to kill this circle guard who had tended to your wound and had been nothing but respectful to you? You were hesitant. But your will to survive burned stronger, too. You didn’t want to be violated by any guard, the Captain, or be trafficked. Surrendering didn’t mean you consented to anything, and the fear of what might come next only deepened your desperation.

But as you hesitated, the circle guard packed the scalpel into the medical kit and snapped the lid shut. It was done before you could muster the courage to act. The opportunity had slipped through your fingers. But you felt both relief and frustration. Relief that you hadn’t resorted to violence, but frustration at the loss of a potential lifeline.

The circle guard picked up the kit and left the room without a word, leaving you alone once more. You stayed seated, your arm throbbing with a dull ache under the bandages. But the pain was secondary. Your thoughts were consumed by what awaited you under the mysterious Captain’s rule. What would he do to you? Would he make you a pawn in his twisted games, or worse? You shuddered.

Your musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening again. The square guard who had been stationed outside stepped inside. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Get up. I will bring you to another room for your next command.”

You stared at him, trying to decipher his tone. Was he implying that you were to become one of them? The phrasing of his words made you wonder if you were about to be inducted into their ranks, a thought that filled you with unease. What you didn’t know was that he was simply taking you to another holding room to wait for the Captain’s summons.

Slowly, you began to rise, your movements stiff as the pain in your arm flared up again. Before you could fully straighten, something slammed into the square guard’s back with a force that made him stumble forward. You flinched, stepping back instinctively as a single triangle guard burst into the room. The door shut with a loud thud, trapping the three of you inside.

The triangle guard attacked the square guard without hesitation, striking him with the butt of their MP5 gun again and again. The sounds of the struggle filled the small room, the square guard grunting in pain as he tried to fight back. But the triangle guard’s assault was relentless, leaving the square guard no chance to recover. Within moments, the square guard collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

You pressed yourself against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest. Your wide eyes locked onto the triangle guard as they turned their attention to you.

Who are they? Were they connected to the triangle guards who you had killed before? Those two who intended to violate you? The thought chilled you to the core. You couldn’t help but wonder if they had come to finish what the others had started. Your back pressed harder against the wall as if trying to disappear into it. You braced yourself, preparing to defend or attack if needed.

To your surprise, the triangle guard stepped backward, lowering their stance as if to show they meant no harm. “I mean you no harm. I’m here to save you.”

You frowned, your body still pressed against the wall as doubt flickered across your face.

“How can I trust you?” you asked, your voice laced with wariness. The memory of the two triangle guards who had threatened to violate you was still fresh, their words and intentions leaving scars deeper than your injury. What if this guard was just like them, luring you into a false sense of safety only to hurt you later?

They didn’t move closer. Instead, they stood their ground, hands at their sides in a gesture of peace. “Someone asked me to save you. It’s no secret to the guards that you’re here because of Captain's mercy and player 456’s plan.”

Your eyebrows furrowed further. “Who’s that someone?”

For a moment, the guard was silent, their gaze unreadable behind the mask. Then, finally, they said, “I can’t tell you who. But I can show you. You have to follow me first. They were injured during the uprising.”

Their words hung in the air, and realization dawned on you. That ‘someone’ had to be one of the players who had joined Gi-hun’s rebellion. Still, doubt and wariness still clung to you.

The guard reached into the pocket of their pink jacket and pulled out a revolver. Placing it on the table, they stepped back again.

“We don’t have much time,” they said, their tone insistent but calm. “If you don’t trust me, take this. Keep it pointed at me if you want. But we need to go. A manager or the Captain himself will come to fetch you soon enough.”

Your gaze darted between the guard and the revolver, uncertainty gnawing at you. Something about the way they spoke, their demeanor, seemed genuine. Why would they arm you if they meant to harm you? The sincerity in their actions nudged at your resolve, chipping away at your doubt.

Slowly, skeptically, you pushed yourself away from the wall. You stepped toward the table and picked up the revolver. Checking the cylinder, you saw it was fully loaded. With a small click, you snapped it shut and slipped it into your jacket pocket, keeping your hand wrapped tightly around the grip.

You looked at the guard, your expression tense. “Lead the way.”

The triangle guard stepped closer to the unconscious square guard and knelt down. They reached for the square guard’s mask and removed it, revealing a man beneath it. His face was obscured by a black headsock that left only his eyes visible.

Standing, the triangle guard moved to the door and cracked it open just enough to peek outside. After a moment of tense silence, they gestured for you to follow. Your grip tightened on the revolver hidden in your jacket pocket as you quietly followed their lead.

The two of you navigated the maze of hallways. You kept your eyes fixed on the triangle guard, observing every detail. Their figure seemed delicate, not the physique you’d expect from someone capable of taking down a square guard. It struck you then that they had used the butt of their MP5 to subdue the square guard, not their bare hands.

You noticed the guard kept glancing upward every time you two entered a new purple corridor. Following their line of sight, your eyes landed on a CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. That’s when it hit you. This guard was carefully navigating through hallways that were free of CCTVs, deliberately avoiding surveillance.

The hallways twisted and turned, each intersection making it harder to keep track of where you were. Finally, the triangle guard halted in front of an unmarked door. They scanned the surroundings, ensuring that the area was clear. They opened the door and gestured for you to enter.

You hesitated, peering inside before stepping through the threshold. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a familiar face.

Gyeong-seok was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall. His jacket was on the floor beside him. He was only donning his shirt and pants. His hand clutched at his lower abdomen, and his face was contorted in pain. But when your eyes met, his expression changed entirely. A look of astonishment, almost disbelief, lit up his features.

He called your name with a breathy voice that was shaky but filled with relief. “You’re okay.”

Without thinking, you bounded into the room, closing the distance between you and Gyeong-seok in an instant. Dropping to your knees beside him, you reached out, your hands hovering uncertainly as you took in his condition. There was an opened medical kit next to him on the floor. The mysterious triangle guard promptly shut the door behind them.

“Gyeong-seok,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “Oh, God. What happened to you?”

He gave you a weak smile, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. “It’s… a long story. But I’m glad you’re okay…”

The triangle guard quietly walked toward you and Gyeong-seok and kneeled on the other side of him. In a low voice, they said, “Let me see.”

You watched silently as Gyeong-seok withdrew his hand from his lower abdomen. There it was. A gunshot wound that had been hastily tended to, the makeshift bandages still faintly stained with blood.

“I’m okay,” Gyeong-seok said with a labored breath, his softening gaze fixed on the triangle guard. “Thank you…”

The guard didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, it seemed like they weren’t sure how to react to the gratitude. Instead, they remained silent, their body language unreadable.

“But why?” you asked, your curiosity breaking through your cautious demeanor. Your wide eyes locked onto the guard. “Why did you save us? Who are you?”

The triangle guard shifted their attention to you, their mask hiding any hint of emotion. They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they rose to their feet and turned toward the wall, their back facing both you and Gyeong-seok.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” they said solemnly. Then, turning back to face you, they took a few steps closer and extended their hand, holding out a square mask. “Keep this.”

You blinked, confusion etched across your face, but you took the mask from their hand without protest. The triangle guard stepped back toward the door.

“Stay here and keep quiet,” they instructed, their voice calm. “I will come back in a moment.”

They cracked the door open just enough to peek outside. After ensuring it was safe, they slipped out, leaving the door ajar for a brief moment before it clicked shut behind them.

Now alone with Gyeong-seok, you turned to him, your concern evident. “What happened? Were there any others who survived?”

Gyeong-seok let out a slow, pained exhale. “The guards… there were too many of them. Everyone else… they were shot dead.”

His eyes dropped to the floor as if the weight of the truth was too much to hold. “I don’t know about Hyun-ju, though. She might… she might still be out there.”

Gyeong-seok let out another strained breath, his hand pressing lightly against his bandaged abdomen. “The guards moved in on us and we were cornered. We surrendered and I was shot.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to the floor as if trying to piece together the fragmented memories. “When I woke up, I was here. That guard… they were tending to my wound. I don’t know why or how, but they saved me.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The revelation only deepened the mystery surrounding the triangle guard. Why would they risk themselves to help? What was their motive? You glanced back at the square mask in your hands, its smooth, faceless surface offering no answers.

“Did they say anything to you?” you asked.

Gyeong-seok shook his head weakly. “Not much. Just told me to stay quiet and rest. Then there was a command through their radio. It was about you.”

Your eyebrows shot up, the sudden detail catching your full attention.

Gyeong-seok’s expression was serious despite his obvious fatigue. “Someone was giving orders through their radio. They said that player 423 should not be shot… at all costs.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Player 423. That was your number.

“They seemed really adamant about it. It made me wonder what they’d do to you instead. Through the radio, I overheard them saying you’d been taken to a room. That’s when I asked…” he paused, gesturing weakly toward the door, “…the guard to save you.”

His words hung in the air. You tried to process everything. Why would someone order that you not be harmed? And who and why gave such an order? Questions flooded your mind, each one more troubling than the last.

“So, they agreed?” you asked in disbelief, still wondering why the triangle guard saved you out of the blue.

Gyeong-seok grimaced slightly at the ache in his wound. “They didn’t say much, just nodded and left. When I woke up again, I was here. Then you showed up.”

You sat back slightly, clutching the square mask in your hands as your thoughts raced. The pieces didn’t fit together, but one thing was clear: someone out there had decided your fate, and it wasn’t entirely in your hands anymore.

“Do you have any idea who gave the order?” you pressed in a low voice as something crossed your mind.

Gyeong-seok shook his head weakly. “No clue. But whoever it was, they had authority. The guards followed the command without question.”

You pieced it together almost instantly. It had to be the Captain. He was the one who shot the guard who had accidentally harmed you. It made sense that he would be the one giving orders to keep you alive. But why? What reason could he possibly have for sparing you?

Before you could dwell on it further, the door creaked open. You and Gyeong-seok tensed, your bodies instinctively stiffening. Relief washed over you both when the triangle guard stepped into the room. To your surprise, they were carrying two sets of hot pink uniforms.

They shut the door behind them with a soft click and stepped forward.

“Put these on,” they instructed, their voice calm but firm.

***

Firm footsteps echoed through the endless maze of purple hallways. The Captain strode forward with purpose, his long, calculated strides never faltering despite the labyrinthine corridors. Behind him, four square guards flanked him in perfect formation, their movements synchronized as if pulled by invisible strings.

The Captain’s mask remained forward-facing, his body language exuding an unshakable authority over everything. Each turn of the hallways seemed to have been memorized, as he moved without hesitation, as though the twists and turns of the corridors were etched into his mind.

Finally, he reached a door. Without a moment’s pause, he pushed it open and stepped inside. His masked gaze scanned the room. The simple space contained a table and two chairs, but it was empty. His eyes moved, landing immediately on an unconscious pink guard slumped against the wall, his mask removed and gone.

The Captain’s entire focus fixed on the guard. The tension in the room thickened as the four square guards behind him surveyed the space, their heads turning slightly but never breaking their rigid stance. The Captain’s silence was deafening, his stillness radiating an almost tangible anger.

“Wake him up,” he commanded, his voice low and sharp, carrying an edge that made everyone’s posture stiffen further.

One of the square guards stepped forward and knelt beside the unconscious guard. They patted his cheeks firmly, the repeated motion bringing him back to consciousness. The pink guard’s eyes fluttered open, confusion etched into his features. As awareness returned, he instinctively brought his hands to his face, his fingers brushing against his exposed skin. Horror dawned on him as he realized his mask was missing.

His wide eyes darted upward, locking onto the imposing figure of the Captain. The room seemed to freeze as the Captain stood perfectly still, exuding a cold, silent fury. The unmasked guard began to stammer, his words spilling out in a jumbled mess of fear and panic. His trembling voice filled the air as he tried to explain himself, knowing full well the consequences that awaited him.

The Captain silenced the stammering guard with a single, cold question.

“What happened?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the room like a blade.

The unmasked guard pushed himself back against the wall, trembling as he tried to muster a response. “I… I was… attacked. By a-a-another guard. I got… knocked out…”

The Captain raised his left hand, his white pistol steady and unflinching. He aimed it directly at the space between the guard’s eyebrows. Without a word, he pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the room. The guard slumped over, lifeless, as the sound faded into silence.

The square guards standing beside and behind the Captain didn’t flinch. They remained perfectly still. The Captain lowered his pistol to his side, glancing around the room calculatively. His eyes moved and searched for any clues that might reveal what had transpired. Every detail was scrutinized, every corner of the room taken in.

After a long moment of silence, he turned on his heel, heading for the door. As he exited, his voice rang out with authority. “Begin a wide search for player 423.”

The square guards dispersed immediately, exiting the room in formation. The air filled with the sound of their boots echoing down the hallways.

Soon after, an announcement blared through the facility. “Attention. A wide search is now underway for player 423. All guards are to report any findings immediately. Repeat: begin search for player 423.”

The message repeated as guards across the compound mobilized. Pink uniforms flooded the hallways, their movements swift and synchronized. Each guard methodically checked rooms, peered into corridors, and examined every nook and cranny. The tension in the air grew heavier with every passing second.

In an hour, under the Captain’s absolute order, every guard – circle, triangle, and square – assembled in the control room. The circles stood at the far back near the walls, their presence more subdued but still important. The squares took their places in front of the circles, scattered around the room and stationed near the monitors that lined the walls. The triangles, armed with their MP5s, stood in perfect formation on the central floor. Beneath them, a massive screen displayed the remaining players in the game.

In front of all the triangle guards stood the Captain. His presence itself was commanding. Although his posture seemed rigid and calm, unspoken anger still radiated from him like invisible smokes. Every guard in the room could sense it. Despite his stillness, his fury was almost tangible.

The masked officer, the Captain’s second-in-command, approached him and stopped a respectful distance away. The officer delivered his report. “Captain, a wide search for player 423 has been conducted throughout the facility. Unfortunately, there has been no trace of them. The CCTVs have also failed to capture any sightings.”

The control room fell into a heavy silence. The Captain said nothing, his masked face angled downward as if he was lost in thought. Every guard seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his reaction. The sound of the monitors quietly buzzing was the only thing breaking the oppressive stillness.

Then, after a minute of agonizing silence, the Captain finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, he began to walk in a wide circle around the room, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor. He didn’t look at the triangle guards lined up at the center that he was circling around. Instead, his focus was on the square guards standing by the monitors. His masked face turned toward each one as he passed. It was impossible to tell where his thoughts lay. The weight of his presence pressed down on everyone in the room.

You swallowed hard in anxiety. Behind the square mask you wore, your eyes followed his every movement with laser focus. You were stationed beside a monitor in the second row starting from the center.

Your disguise was meticulously planned by the mysterious yet kind triangle guard who had helped you. Before the assembly, they had instructed you to take a position at any unmanned monitor. These monitors, now vacant, were left without operators due to the deaths of their original handlers during the uprising.

As the Captain’s slow, deliberate pacing brought him closer to you, the tension became unbearable. His movements were calm, but his presence was suffocating. Finally, his gaze seemed to finally land on you. His pace didn’t change, but his mask turned toward you, the pointed stare unmistakable even through the emotionless square of his mask.

Your breath hitched as realization struck. He knew. He knew you were there, disguising as one of them. But he didn’t know which one of the square guards in the room it was. But how does he know?

The Captain continued his walk around the room. His masked face turned toward each square guard he passed. When he completed his circuit, he returned to where he had initially stood and stopped. He cast his gaze downward, his posture rigid and commanding.

The silence in the control room was stifling. Every guard stood frozen, waiting for the Captain’s next move. No one dared to speak or even shift in place as the oppressive atmosphere pressed down on everyone present.

Finally, his second-in-command broke the silence. “Captain, would you like to conduct a second search?”

The Captain remained still, his silence stretching on for what felt like an eternity. His head remained angled downward, as though he was contemplating the suggestion. The room held its collective breath, the tension almost unbearable.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Captain lifted his head, his mask facing forward. “No.”

A wave of relief rushed through you, so sudden and overwhelming that you almost swayed where you stood. Behind your square mask, you felt a flicker of hope. He’d given up, you thought. He’d abandoned the search for you. You couldn’t let your relief show, but inwardly, you were delighted.

But the Captain wasn’t finished. His next words shattered your fleeting sense of safety.

“She wishes to play sumbakkogjil (hide and seek). Very well,” he said, his tone carrying a certainty that sent a chill down your spine.

Your relief gave way to a gnawing unease, the weight of his statement settling over you like a storm cloud. He wasn’t giving up. No. He was willing to play with you.

NEXT : Chapter 15

PREV : Chapter 13

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! So what do you think about the Captain and his overall character writing? Do you feel his dark and ruthless presence? Did I do a good job writing it? What do you think about "you" lying and offering yourself up to the Captain in exchange for Gi-hun and Jung-bae's life? Because of that, the Captain finally gave you his full attention. He then asked you to come with him. What do you think he would do to you once you accepted? And Gi-hun was so distraught about you being taken away. What do you think of it? Next, what about the conversation between the masked officer and the Captain? They talked about the update on what had happened to Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok and others. Then, what do you think about you considering to kill the circle guard but you were hesitant? Does that show what kind of person you are? Suddenly, a mysterious triangle guard appeared and attacked the square guard who was guarding you. Who was it and why did they save you and Gyeong-seok? Do you like this path of aftermath I took? What do you think about the the Captain being quietly pissed off and told everyone to do a wide search for you? Now, how does he know about you disguising as a square guard? Lastly, what do you think about the ending where you unknowingly started a hide and seek and it's just a special game between you and him?

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[dayshorizon]

I had a short dream about Zera and this is what he looked like

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (consent somno)

Sleeping with Simon means you might wake up from the tingling yet comfortable feeling coming from your breast, still disoriented from the slumber, letting out a sleepy whimper as the pleasure keeps coursing through your spine like tiny lightnings.

“Morning.” Simon doesn’t even detach his lips from your nipples as he greets you, lapping lazily and rolling the little peaks with his hot tongue.

“Simon…” Your fingers card through his locks to encourage him, he’s always extra horny in the early morning, but the eagerness in his movements is more evident now than the other days, practically burying his face in your breasts. “What got you so worked up today?” you ask him between the moans caused by his antics, his intentional sucking on one of your sensitive buds makes you unable to hold back a whiny cry of bliss.

“Wake up and see you sleeping in my arms, safe and sound…” Simon huffs out a laugh when he gives your nipples a nip, eliciting a yelp on you “You wearing my shirt, leaning against my chest, just the right angle for me to peek in the collar and see those cute nipples of yours…”

“It’s not my fault, you told me to wear one of your shirts last night.” Your pouty facade can’t be kept on for long, not when he finishes taking good care of your now fully hardened nipples, peppering kisses on his way downwards, as if memorizing your body and claiming his territory again with those pink love bites.

“And you’re the one who chose the thinnest and loosest shirt, ain’t you?” Taking your clothed clit between his lips, he smirks as he dart out his tongue, pressing down forcefully at your core and toying it skillfully, so you’ll throw your head back on the pillow and grind your needy pussy against his lips, begging for more with those sugar-coated pleas. “Fuck, all greedy and soaked just from me worshipping your tits, sweetheart? Who’s the eager one now, eh?”

“Just…Just pull down the panties already, god…” Not enough, your mind screams for more, yearns for his lips directly touching your wet folds.

“Bossy.” He chastises you, like you’re an impatient girl craving for candies, but he won’t deny you—or deny himself, from tasting what he’s been wanting since he woke up this morning.

Pulling down your panties and let it pull around your ankles, not even sparing time to take it off properly, he dives back between your thighs, wet tongue gliding through your core, drinking down those nectar as you reach out and push his face down further, the crook of his nose nudging your clit so good that you roll your hips to meet his consistent onslaught.

“Bloody hell, princess…smells so fucking good.” He groans, a low and half-growling one which only worsen your insatiable desires. Even when he lifts his head slightly to speak, his hands immediately move in, sliding two thick and long fingers into your dripping cunt, pumping and pressing the correct spots to make you scream out his name.

“Trying to wake the neighbors up with those cute moans, huh? ‘m not sure if they’ll feel grateful.” Thumbs spreading your pussy lips, he latches onto the now-exposed clit, bringing you another level of joy by sucking that twitching little thing.

“Simon! Si- oh, gonna…” You try to warn him before you get pushed over the edge abruptly, liquid gushing out and smearing his face, only for him to moan contently and make sure not to miss any drop.

“What a sight…” Straightening up and looking at the pool of mess staining the bedsheets, before his gaze travel to you face, eyes still blurry and cheeks tinted with rosy red, panting and quivering after squirting so hard for him, Simon smacks your pussy teasingly, earning another delectable whimper from you. “Squirting all over the sheets, will have to change it later.”

“Can’t go another round, baby…” You look down at him the moment his lips touch your puffy folds once again, big eyes meeting his dark ones with satisfaction and tiredness, but your protest is cut off by a soft smack on right on your trembling clit, and further words are replaced with moans when he ducks down to resume devouring his favorite meal, pressing a reassuring kiss to your pussy and croon. “Won’t stop until you squirt again for me, you can do it, love, and you will do it.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 196 }

control me.

sylus x (non mc)fem.reader

warnings: 18+ thirst post / drabble; minors don’t interact.

by choosing to interact with this 18+ content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings.

{ but i'm loving watching you think you're controlling me instead… }

it takes a herculean effort for sylus to maintain his nonchalant expression while watching you move back and forth from his cock. despite how his hands were itching with need to grab at your hips and simply slam your wet heat down on his shaft, sylus manages to maintain an air of feign arrogance, appearing almost bored.

he could feel his veins pulse against his temple, forcing his head to remain settled on the plush pillows settled on top of his bed, admiring the way you slowly slide your cunt up and down the length of his erection without fully sheathing him inside of you. sylus could feel his mouth going dry at the sensation, his gaze losing all trace of its ruby red color as an endless void seemed to take its place.

your hands were placed on the broad expanse of his chest, never once moving away from him as you provided his cock with an almost hedonistic sensation. he could feel the top side of his cock collecting at your honeyed arousal, causing it to twitch each time you continued your deliberate massages against him.

the squelching sounds heard coming from your pussy lips was enough for sylus to lose his control right then and there, but he manages to hold back, letting out a grunt in response. he watches the way your silken walls make a shiny sheen appear across his erection, causing the friction to become even more maddening for him.

“d-do you like this…?” you ask him with a pant, and he could practically feel your cunt swelling up with need for him. he lets out a hiss, forcing his head back into the pillow once more when he manages to tell you. “i love it. just feeling you like this makes me want you even more.”

a low, guttural groan was heard coming from him as he watches you removing yourself from his erection, your arousal seeming to drip down onto his pulsating cock, making you lick your lips in response. his heart was felt rapidly pounding against his chest, watching you with bated breath when you crawl down towards his cock and gave it a tentative lick.

red hot pleasure was felt coursing through his veins the moment you began licking and sucking at his shaft, with his hands going to your hair, allowing him to fuck your mouth as he bobbed your head up and down his cock.

“that’s it… fuck, that’s it.” you hum against his dick, curling your tongue up and down every inch of him as you traced at the veins felt pulsating inside of you. you continue your ministrations on him, hearing your boyfriend let out a string of curses as you felt the familiar twitch inside of your mouth.

not allowing him to climax so soon, you immediately pull away from him, a string of your saliva connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock as you proceeded to to lick your lips in response, further teasing him as you heard sylus let out an aggravated roar of your name.

“how dare you deny me-“ however, you manage to cut him off when you got back to straddling him, taking a hold of his cock as you expertly angled it against your slick heat before coming down on him a mere seconds later.

the moment he feels your silken walls envelope his cock in one swift thrust, sylus was forced to bite back his words as a groan escapes from him. “y-you cheeky little brat, hng!”

you smile sweetly down at him, proceeding to bounce up and down his cock. his expression darkens significantly, feeling angry at how you denied him of his prior release as he thrust upward, meeting your downward motion with a forceful stroke, making you toss your head back and nearly lose balance on top of him.

“oh my god, sylus!”

now, you were no longer in control as sylus forcefully pounds himself right up into your aching core, making your legs give out as you were forced to stop bouncing on top of him while trying to hold on to your balance against his chest. sylus gives you a cocky smirk, practically drilling into you as he keeps your hips still with his hands alone.

sylus keeps up with his breakneck pace, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head before stilling his hips completely inside of you. your walls clench around him the same time he shoots his seed directly inside of you, letting out a hiss at how your body was clearly trying to milk him for all he was worth from how much tighter your cunt felt surrounding him.

sweat covers his body when he lets out a grunt, feeling you land on top of him as you placed the entirety of your weight against him. a drunk expression paints your features, and he couldn’t help but find you achingly beautiful in such a fucked so good state.

your breathing was all he heard, earning a rich chuckle from him as he gently delves his fingers into your hair, now made damp from sweat. “was i too much?”

a weak giggle manages to escape from your parted lips, “mmm… no… you’re perfect. that was perfect. it still feels so good, even now.”

“heh, shall i continue pleasuring you?”

you gasp when sylus switches positions with you, forcing your back against the bed before spreading your legs, “let’s say you and i go a few more rounds… and by a few, i mean at least five more times.”

unable to fight back your mutual need for each other, you spread your legs even wider and allow sylus to retake his control on you, knowing that you would be exhausted by the time he was done with you-

but with the sheer amount of times sylus has taken you to heaven, you were certain that you didn’t mind one bit ♡

a.n. - i’m so thirsty for this man; send help 🫠

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ FUCK THE LANDLORD ?!

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — pwp, protected & unprotected sex, feminization, breeding kink, discussions of pregnancy, anal, minor degradation, creampie, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamic . ✦ . wc — 874 . ✦ . notes — anon said toji has a breeding kink and couldn't be any more right !! this man makes me feel things...

The groan that slips past Toji Fushiguro’s bloodied lip is nothing short of pure frustration. Then, as he throws his head back to emphasize this, he narrows his gaze. One of the fingers that was tangled in your dishevelled hair is brought to your lower lip. Prodding at it, at first, before he drags it downward for a reason unknown to you.

Your mind is elsewhere, focused only on the rhythm of his hips against yours as he drags his cock in and out of your winking hole. Your ‘boycunt’, as he calls it. It’s loud, lewd, and has your cock standing at full mast, throbbing as it threatens to splatter another load of cum onto your exposed stomach.

“Please,” You whimper, and you haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re pleading for. Maybe it’s for his permission to cum, paint your stomach with your bodily fluid like a debauched slut as he’d made you do so many times before. Or, perhaps, it’s a plea for him to go harder on you — your way of saying ‘I can take it!’ through short gasps that are cut off by your moaning and mewling in utter bliss.

He clicks his tongue in what you presume to be disapproval but it’s hard to say. His finger, or, rather, his entire hand has been moved away from your mouth, now tracing the outline of your stomach. It’s strange, which you convey by way of knitting your brows together, feeling him caress the fat of your stomach like that as the head of his cock presses against your prostate at that angle that makes you see stars.

“Maybe Megumi needs a younger brother or sister to get him out of that shell of his,” He muses in between grunts that border on animalistic as your cock begins to spurt another load of cum onto your stomach; the stimulation of your prostate proving to be too much for you. “At the rate we’re going yer’ going to give him a younger sibling.”

You shake your head — grimacing as the pile of used condoms comes into view. Your face heating up all over again (not that it had ever stopped, really). Toji, utterly unbothered by your attempt at denial continues, “How would you explain it? ‘I let him fuck me once a month instead of paying his rent in the form of cash and got knocked up somehow’?” He asks, his voice is all rough and manly, but there’s that unmistakable boyish amusement to it that his lazy smirk only highlights.

You want to tell him how ridiculous he sounds right now. Not only is that a shit explanation but it’s entirely impossible. It’s at the tip of your tongue, really, but so is your squeals as he continues his assault on your ass.

“Should I marry you?” He laughs, pressing the rough pads of his fingers (now with both hands) into the fat of your stomach as the rhythm of his hips becomes more erratic. He’s so close; the veins lining his thick cock throbbing against your walls as they clench around him. You could hear the sound of his balls smacking against you echoing throughout the room.

“Tell me, boy, do you want me to cum inside you like this? No condom protecting you from the possibility of a life-long commitment?” He pants, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite discern, as loose strands of hair begin to cling to his sweaty forehead. And when you’re like this (you swear, your eyes have rolled to the back of your head), body jolting upwards on the mattress with each thrust of his hips like you’re nothing more than his fleshlight, the prospect doesn’t seem all that bad.

It admittedly takes some effort to string a sentence together. Your throat feels raw — a testament to all the noise you’ve made through the past few rounds. But you do, eventually, string one together. “I... I want it,” You respond, your voice wispy as your chest heaves, “I want to give Megumi a younger sibling.”

Toji smiles at that. It isn’t a warm smile; If the wolf smiled in Little Red Riding Hood, this would be it. All teeth and restrained aggression. But Toji doesn’t restrain himself per se, he continues to chase his high albeit with more resolve. His attention solely focused on breeding you — impregnating you, if he could.

Say what you will about Toji Fushiguro — and you can say a lot — he’s a man of his word. He doesn’t stop rutting his hips until his cock is painting your gummy walls white with his cum. Even then, as he rides out his high, he doesn’t detangle himself from you. He’ll see this through until the end.

You, on the other hand, are writhing underneath him. Eyes fluttering, threatening to close, but you dare not close them. Not when he’s still inside you like this, plugging your ass with his cock, trapping his cum inside you.

“You’re disgusting,” You grumble, exasperated, as you bring a hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw. He doesn’t kiss you — it doesn’t feel right to do that right now — but he does smile knowingly. “Then make me pay rent some other way.”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[valentine-cafe]

Can I please order the mango pancakes?

I just want Reader teaching Hǎitāo how to ride him. Lots of teasing but also reassurance and praise please!

˖⁺. “ ride it ” : 

﹙ bttm grim reaper x top male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 9948e haitao x male reader  !! 🍒 : ﹙ grim reaper ˖ mortician ˖ necromancer character ﹚

you teach your typically confident boyfriend how to ride you

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ penetrative sex ˖ fingering ˖ riding ˖ teasing ˖ nipple play | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: order up! glad to be getting stuff for haitao now <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

“Telling me a cocky bastard like you hasn’t ridden dick before?”

The swat to your black tshirt makes you chuckle. Maroon eyes that typically shone with ego to compliment his general air of confidence now shimmer with a foreign tepidness. Certainly not an unwelcomed one. It stirred humour in your soul to see how pathetically your boyfriend looked at you. All helpless in your lap with the dim light of the idle television that has him backlit.

“Are you going to keep running your mouth like a ghoul or - ah,” Hǎitāo’s words lilt into a whine. Your fingers cut his rudeness right off with a reminder of their presence. Quick and tempered thrusts against that one spot. The swirl of your digits and the slow massage into the bundle of nerves sends his back into a pretty arch.

You bite on your smile and tilt your head with that shit-eating grin he usually adorns. The muscles along your fingers flex as they effortlessly piston up into his clenching hole. They withdraw with a small pop! and you instead circle your lube-lathered fingers around his rim.

While you will not be able to see it in its full glory, the idea of how he’ll stretch and clench so beautifully around your awaiting cock sends a thrum through the veins. As much as you would love to finger-fuck him all night long and behold those dollish tears in the corners of his eye. . . your dick weeps its own tears to split him open.

Such a needy thing you are in your own right.

“You should watch your mouth pretty boy. ‘les you want it to occupy my dick instead?” His moans of protest flow through the room while your fingers punctuate with rough pumps at an angle you know will have him cross-eyed soon enough. You lean into the grey leather of the sofa to get a better view. “Awww but you don’t want that right? Y’wanna ride my dick like a good boy.”

Your other thumb reaches to circle his cherry-tip. The callouses of your print roughly drag along his slit and you can only chuckle at the spurt that coats it in no time. As though his poor dick is crying for you to give him yours. To bounce him on your lap like a ragdoll.

Who are you to deny?

His black trousers graze down his pale skin in the matter of seconds. Hǎitāo’s yelp turns into another whine at the swift spank to his ass. The way you grab at the fat of it and grip tight. Grind him down to your awaiting bulge.

“You want this baby?”

“Y-Yes for fuu-ah-cks sakes -”

The click of your tongue joins the clink of your belt. It takes only a few shuffles of fabric and the noiseless static of the tv until you are there. Cock standing proud and ready to split your boyfriend open as you always do.

As if on cue, Hǎitāo’s hips steer downwards. Like a man starved. Eager for its weekly-dose of stretching and cumming. Alas your hands lock on him like restraints. He is baffled by the cruelty of them - as though they are guards keeping him from his beloved! How dare.

“You’re being a prick.” The dryness of his voice is quite the contrast to the slickness of lube and precum. You take no offense to his gritted teeth and only swat his thigh. Despite his clearly frustrated tone, you answer back in a gentleness that soothes the flames of his desire.

“Easy baby. . . I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The small of his back becomes a resting place for your fingers. They stroke slowly while your free hand grips at the softness of his hip. The last thing you wish is to bring him pain halfway through. Have to stop when you’re both on the brink of mindless release so that he can gulp down his scoliosis meds.

While his need is great and his walls are begging to have you pound them silly, he relents. Allows you to ease him down and tenderly spread his ass open for your tip. As though you were prepping him first-time-yoga session rather than about-to-rearrange-his-guts.

Nevertheless, his head falls onto your shoulder with hushed moans. The feel of you filling him up has always been something he is addicted to. The darkness of the room consumes him just as the pleasure does - and he can all but sigh blissfully as you languidly ease him down.

The pulse of his walls do little to aid your restraint. What is restraint when faced with his insatiable ass? You know no definition. Not when your balls finally hilt to his soft cheeks. Not when he’s panting into your neck with kisses to soothe his own pleasure. It’s as if he wants you to shove him over the arm of the sofa and fuck him wild rather than teach him how to ride. Surely he knows what he does to you, right?

“Fuuckk baby, how am I s’possed to teach you when you’re this tight?” You give a few shallow thrusts to emphasize. If he squeezes around you one more time you are not sure how long you’ll last. So you brace yourself on his soft thighs with fingers buried in to hold yourself togther.

“Who’s th-the impatient - hah- one now?”

Brat.

The deep groan that rumbles in your throat will be the only way to sate the growing urge in your cock. To fuck him quiet.

Instead you tut. “Be nice.” Palms flatten over his pale flesh and your back meets the sofa as you lean back further. Your hips steady a small grind up. Once, twice, just to loosen him up a bit. Before you ease yourself into the grey leather and give a small nod of your head.

“Now. . . gonna move your hips down like - this -” the rhythm that your hands set on his hips is one his skillfully follow. For a moment you want to call him a liar with the way he rolls his hips down into yours so well. The slow, tantalizing rocks that leave you breathless. Like he’s trying to make you sing prayers to his name. “Yeah - that’s it. . . ‘atta boy.”

You aid with the first few pumps against his ass. Only because you enjoy the soft plap plap plap that fills the living room. It will engrave itself into the walls. So that whenever sit in this very seat, you’ll remember this pretty little thing in your lap.

It won’t take long for your hands to move on to other matters once he has a hang of it. The rock of his hips links with his soft hiccups and gasps. Your palms itch to make him moan and so distract themselves with the hem of his white shirt. Fingers bully their way into the fabric and roll them up over his chest. So that you can behold his nipples that perk so sweetly.

Your mouth joins the mix. You are all tongue, pinches and licks once you are on his chest. The sparks of pleasure well in his tummy and motivate him to buck down a bit faster. The sofa greets the quicker movement with a whining of its own.

“Eager thing,” you gulp a groan. Your tongue is far too busy swirling around his right nipple to negate his pace while your fingers tweak at his left. “Yeah. . . just like that pretty boy. Doing s’well for me. Fuck.”

At last Hǎitāo moans. It sounds like heaven to your ears. Your hips race to worship. The claps of his skin create a symphony to your joined moans and groans. Every heavy smack of your balls against his has him clenching around your cock. It thrums through the veins and sends your grunts along his slick nipples.

“M-Mngh - ah- god that’s good.” His slurs to your ear are only hightened with moans as his body follows yours as though it’s a competition. Hips clap down on your own and his skin slides against yours in the most sensual way. Most sinful of ways.

Oh you wish you could see it. See the way your cock is making its home within his tight walls. How his bounces squirt the slick of lube and precum out. The lewd sight that would soon have you nutting before him. Alas you would rather fuck a few rounds of cum out of him before you even dream of releasing yourself.

“Yeaah, feel good? Feels good riding me huh pretty boy? Taking it like you’re the best?”

He kisses at your grin. Your tongue shoots into his mouth so that you swap spit and clutch at one another with a growing desperation. You know this frequency of moans and whines. The sudden sloppiness of his bounces as he kisses you so needily.

If not that - then the way his head throws back after he shimmied his way down all the way to your hilt. The rough, mindless swirls of his hips that glue your eyes to the scene below. You’ll have to choose - watch his poor dick squirt in the next for seconds or the way his face will twist with pleasure.

“C-Cumming - ‘m cummin-!” He cries. Seems you settle for both.

The spurt of his cum delights your vision and you have to force your gaze up to his face. Just in time to witness the roll of his maroon eyes. Oh they cross so beautifully. You simply have to snatch up his waist and fuck into him rapidly. Have that small whine turn into an ‘ah-ah-ah!’

“B-Baby please - hngh,” his hands clap down onto your shoulders. Fist at your shirt as his head tips forward and he moans at the endless rocking. The rough bounces and smacks of skin that shoot him closer to a second orgasm within the matter of minutes.

You can only grin. Reach up and cup his face as though you are so sorry for what you are doing to him. He knows better by the shine in your eyes. The lowness to your voice.

“Told you I was gonna teach you to ride, right?” You grunt through a cruel, breathless laugh. Hips not letting up for even a second.

“Well class’ still in session. Sorry gorgeous boy. Bounce that pretty ass.”

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[favefandomimagines]

Aftermath (r.c)

Summary: the direct aftermath of JJ Maybank’s murder

AN: this takes place during loml, my fic about JJ’s death

loml

The boat rocked gently as it cut through the dark, endless stretch of ocean, the distant horizon a blur where the water met the sky. No one spoke.

The only sounds were the lapping of waves against the hull and the occasional creak of the boat as it swayed. The Pogues sat scattered, their usual camaraderie replaced by an oppressive silence that wrapped around them.

Y/N Maybank sat curled in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her tear-streaked face was angled downward, hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair. Every now and then, her body would tremble, as though another wave of grief threatened to drown her.

Rafe Cameron sat just a few feet away, watching her from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t moved since they’d set sail, glued to her side like a shadow.

He knew better than to touch her or try to say something comforting—words felt meaningless now—but he stayed close, his presence steady, a silent promise that she wasn’t alone.

He hated JJ. Or, he had hated him. The kid was everything Rafe found annoying: loud, brash, and always itching for a fight. But as much as he’d wanted to punch JJ more times than he could count, it was impossible to ignore the gaping hole left behind by his absence.

Rafe glanced back at Y/N. She hadn’t made a sound since they left Morocco but her grief was palpable, radiating off her in waves that Rafe could feel in his chest.

She wasn’t just mourning a brother. She was mourning her other half, her twin, the person who had been with her through every moment of her life.

John B sat at the helm, his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on the horizon. Kie and Pope were huddled near the bow, their expressions distant, lost in their own thoughts.

Normally, the Pogues were a loud, chaotic group, but now they were eerily quiet, each of them retreating into their own private pain.

Rafe’s gaze returned to Y/N. Her fingers twitched slightly, brushing against her knee as if she were trying to ground herself. He shifted closer, not enough to invade her space but enough to remind her he was there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. Rafe didn’t take it personally. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to fix this. JJ was gone. Nothing would change that. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone, not when she looked so broken.

He leaned back against the wall of the boat, his knees bent and his arms resting loosely on them. The ocean stretched endlessly around them, the water so dark it looked black, a mirror for the hollow ache in his chest.

“Rafe,” Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft and shaky.

He turned his head sharply, surprised she’d spoken. Her eyes were red and swollen, her lips trembling as she struggled to form words.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

She shook her head, letting out a choked sob before burying her face in her hands. Rafe’s chest tightened, and without thinking, he moved closer, his hand hovering near her shoulder before finally resting on it lightly.

She didn’t pull away, so he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into him.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

||

The dock loomed closer, a hazy outline against the muted blues and grays of the early evening light.

The weight of exhaustion bore down on everyone as the boat slowed to a crawl, the hum of the engine fading into an eerie quiet.

As they approached the ferry dock, the group noticed the figures waiting on the shore—familiar faces etched with worry and frustration. Kiara’s parents stood side by side, their arms crossed, their expressions a mix of anger and relief. Heyward was there too, pacing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Sheriff Shoupe stood off to the side, hands on his hips, watching the approaching boat with his usual air of quiet authority. And then there was Luke Maybank, leaning against his rusted truck, his eyes scanning the group as if he were counting heads.

Luke felt a sense of responsibility for this group of kids having left for a foreign country. He told JJ and Y/N who their parents really were and they got wrapped up in something that was, unknown to him, fatal.

The boat docked with a soft thud, and the Pogues climbed out one by one, their movements slow and deliberate, as though every step drained what little energy they had left.

Rafe stayed close to Y/N, his hand holding hers as they stepped onto the dock. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, her face pale and hollow. But she wasn’t letting go of Rafe’s hand. It was probably the shock, but she was gripping onto him like a lifeline.

As soon as they set foot on land, the flood of questions began.

“Do you know how worried we’ve been?” Mrs. Carrera’s voice was sharp, her worry manifesting as anger. “Running off to God knows where again?”

“You could’ve been killed!” added Mr. Carrera, his voice booming.

Heyward joined in, his frustration boiling over. “What were you kids thinking? This ain’t a game!”

The Pogues stood silently, letting the scolding wash over them like a wave. No one had the energy to fight back. Y/N’s head hung low, wishing she could physically shield herself from the weight of their words.

“Do you have any idea what—” Mrs. Carrera started again, but her voice faltered as she finally took in their faces.

The shift was palpable. The adults’ anger dissipated as they noticed the heavy silence, the grief radiating from the group like a physical force. It was Heyward who first noticed the absence. His brow furrowed, his eyes scanning the group more carefully.

“Where’s JJ?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Luke, who had been leaning against his truck, straightened. His gaze zeroed in on Y/N. “Y/N, where’s your brother?” He asked.

The question landed like a blow. Rafe felt Y/N stiffen beside him, her shoulders jerking slightly as though the words had physically hit her. She took a shaky breath, her hand trembling as she raised it to wipe at her face. For a moment, it seemed like she might not answer.

“He’s…” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, trying to force the words out. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Luke’s voice was sharper now, his eyes narrowing. “Where is he, Y/N?”

“Groff killed him, Dad,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “He’s not coming back.”

The dock went silent. Even the sound of the waves seemed to fade into the background. Luke stared at his daughter, his face twisted into something unreadable—shock, disbelief, maybe even guilt.

“Gone?” he repeated, his voice barely audible.

Y/N didn’t respond. Her body trembled, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to hold back another wave of tears. Before Luke could say anything else, Heyward stepped forward.

“C’mere, girl,” he said softly, pulling Y/N into a tight embrace. She collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest as he rubbed her back soothingly.

Heyward had always been more of a father to her and JJ than Luke ever was, and in that moment, his presence felt like a lifeline.

Rafe stood nearby, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched the scene unfold. He wanted to comfort her, to take her pain away, but he knew this wasn’t his moment. He stayed rooted to the spot, his jaw tight as he struggled to keep his own emotions in check.

Shoupe cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “Where’s Groff now?” he asked, his tone businesslike but tinged with a quiet anger.

He should’ve never let them go after Groff. He should’ve handled it himself or the boy that he worked so hard to look out for wouldn’t be gone.

Rafe stepped forward, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “He mentioned something about Lisbon. I’d start there.”

Shoupe nodded, scribbling something on his notepad. “We’ll handle it,” he said firmly. “You kids need to go home. Be with your families. Let us take it from here.”

No one had the energy to argue.

||

Sarah took Y/N’s hand gently, guiding her toward the deputy’s car that would take them home. The atmosphere outside the dock was heavy, the kind of weight that pressed down on everyone, leaving them emotionally drained.

Y/N lingered by the car, her hands shaking as she tried to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. John B stood with her, saying something before the two hugged.

Rafe stood a few feet away, his shoulders tense as he wrestled with the pull to go to her and the knowledge that he couldn’t force his presence.

Sarah’s hand landed lightly on his arm. “Rafe,” she said softly, drawing his attention. Her tone was gentle but firm, and she didn’t need to say much more for him to know what was coming. “She needs space.”

“I know,” he muttered, running a hand over his buzzed hair in frustration. “But look at her, Sarah. She’s barely holding it together.”

“I am looking at her,” Sarah replied, glancing toward Y/N, who was now leaning against the car, staring blankly at the ground. “And I know you think you can fix this for her. But you can’t.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “I’m not trying to fix anything. I just… I don’t want her to be alone tonight.”

“She’s not alone,” Sarah insisted. “She has us. She has me. She has Pope, Kie, John B—”

“They’re not what she needs right now,” Rafe cut her off, his voice thick with emotion. “I know her, Sarah. She’s hurting in a way they can’t touch. I can.”

Sarah crossed her arms, studying her brother. There was something different about him now, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in the way his usual bravado was stripped away.

She sighed, her voice softening. “I get it. You care about her. But I know her too, Rafe, she’s my best friend. And caring means giving someone the space to fall apart.”

Rafe looked at Y/N again. Her shoulders were trembling now, barely perceptible, but enough to make his chest ache. The urge to rush to her, to pull her into his arms, was almost overwhelming. But Sarah’s words stuck in his mind.

“Let her fall apart,” Sarah said quietly. “Let her cry, scream, break if she has to. She’ll come to you when she’s ready. But right now, you have to let her take the first step.”

Rafe closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. “And if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Sarah promised. “But only when she knows she can. Don’t take that from her.”

The sound of the car door opening brought their conversation to a halt. Y/N was climbing into the backseat of the deputy’s car, her movements slow and robotic. Sarah touched Rafe’s arm again. “Go home, Rafe.”

He nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed against the idea. “Yeah. Fine.”

||

The door to Tannyhill creaked open with a soft, hollow sound as Rafe stepped inside, the familiar surroundings of his home almost feeling foreign. His shoes made no noise on the marble floor as he moved through the foyer, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the past few days.

The light from the entryway cast long shadows down the hallway. He dropped his keys onto the console table, the metal clanking loudly in the quiet house. Sofia was sitting in the living room, an unfamiliar figure in the corner of a room that had once felt like a sanctuary.

Sofia’s face was set in a delicate mask of emotion—part anxiety, part guilt. But Rafe wasn’t in the mood for her presence. Not today.

He paused, his brow furrowing. He had been hoping for some peace, for the chance to decompress, to let the exhaustion settle into his bones, but the sight of her—waiting in his house, uninvited—was a reminder that not everything was as it should be.

"I thought I told you to leave." he said, his voice flat, emotionless. Sofia stood slowly, her lips parting as if she were about to say something.

She hesitated, clearly unsure of how to approach him, but there was a quiet urgency in her eyes. “I just… I needed to talk to you, Rafe.”

Rafe exhaled sharply through his nose, the frustration already building. He didn’t have the energy for this.

His mind was still spinning from everything that had happened—JJ’s death, Y/N’s cries echoing in his head,—and the last thing he needed was to deal with Sofia and her betrayal.

“I’m not interested,” he said as he turned to walk past her, heading toward the back door. He needed air. Space. He needed to escape for a moment from the suffocating reality of everything pressing down on him.

But Sofia stepped in front of him, blocking his path. She looked hurt, though Rafe couldn’t bring himself to care. He was done with her games, done with the mess she had caused.

“Please, just let me explain,” Sofia urged, her voice cracking slightly as she took a step closer. “I know I messed up, but I—”

“No.” Rafe snapped, his voice loud and sharp, cutting her off mid-sentence. His anger flared up suddenly, burning hot like a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface all day. “I’m done with the explanations, Sofia. I’m done with the lies. You sold me out.”

Sofia flinched, her eyes wide with regret, but Rafe wasn’t finished.

“You knew what Groff was doing. You knew he was using me, using both of us. You helped him, betrayed me, and then you act like everything’s okay? He killed JJ.” His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding.

"I just had to pry someone I really care about off of her brother’s dead body, and you think I’m in the mood for your sob story? For your ‘explanation’?"

Rafe’s words hung in the air between them, heavy with emotion and anger. His hands clenched into fists by his sides, the nails biting into his palm. He wanted to keep his voice steady, but the more he spoke, the harder it became to control the rage that threatened to bubble up.

Sofia’s face crumpled at his words. She looked vulnerable, torn between regret and the need to defend herself. But Rafe wasn’t interested in hearing it. Not anymore.

"You broke my trust, Sofia. There’s no going back from that," Rafe continued, his voice cold now. "I’m done with you. Leave the ring and get out."

For a long moment, Sofia just stood there, her eyes searching his face as though she were waiting for some sign, some indication that he hadn’t meant what he said. But Rafe stood still, unmoving, his gaze hard and unyielding.

She took a small step back, and without another word, she turned, took the ring off of her finger, placing it on the console table and walked toward the front door, her footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

Rafe stood in the middle of the room, his breath slow and deliberate as he tried to calm the storm within him. It wasn’t just the betrayal that stung—it was everything. The lies, the manipulation, and how it all led to this. How it all led to nothing.

Rafe didn’t feel relief. He didn’t feel satisfaction. He felt numb. Empty. He had been so sure of what he wanted from Sofia, of what they had shared, but now, in the wake of everything that had happened with JJ and Y/N, he realized that all of it had been a distraction. A poor substitute for something real.

Sofia had been his way of hiding from the inevitable. The consequences of his own choices. The fact that JJ was gone. The fact that Y/N was now left to pick up the pieces of her broken world, and Rafe—he couldn’t fix that. He didn’t know how. He had nothing left to give.

Rafe stepped outside onto the back patio, the cool air washing over him like a balm to his soul. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the quiet evening settled around him. The house behind him was still and silent, and for the first time, it felt like it might collapse on him.

Reaching into his pocket, Rafe pulled out his phone, his fingers lingering over the screen as he swiped through the photo album.

It was the one he had hidden from Sofia—the one full of late-night selfies, candid photos of Y/N, snapshots from their secret beach dates, moments when the world had seemed just a little bit brighter.

He opened the album. Y/N’s face stared back at him from the screen, her smile a little shy but full of warmth. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Rafe’s chest tightened as he gazed at her, remembering how everything had been before this nightmare started. Before JJ’s death. Before the broken pieces of everything they had once shared.

But that was before. Now, the world felt like a place he didn’t recognize, and Y/N was a person he couldn’t even reach anymore.

It was then that he made a decision. As much as he hated the thought of it, he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t fix her pain.

But he could be there for her. When she was ready, when the dust settled and the grief didn’t feel so suffocating, he would be there.

He would wait.

With a deep breath, Rafe closed the album, his thumb lingering over the picture of Y/N for a long moment. She wasn’t ready yet, but when she was, he promised himself he’d be right where she needed him.

And that was all he could do.

[byhees]

when you accidentally hurt yourself.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 600 genre fluff established relationship non-idol au warnings not proof-read skinship kissing petnames mention of injuries, cuts — more

a/n. requested!

heeseung would be so incredibly sweet; the way he’d tend to your injuries with such gentle touches— “you alright, baby?” he’d ask, looking up to meet your gaze, his hands in the midst of bandaging the cut on your knee; would raise a hand to softly wipe away fallen tears, planting a pretty kiss on your lips to make you feel all better…

jay would, initially, begin nagging at you; although there’s a furrow painted on his features, the soft look in his eyes doesn't fail to show his care and concern— “baby... didn’t i tell you before that it’d be dangerous?” he’d lightly chide, tending to the wound on your leg with soft caution; wouldn’t tear his gaze from you, worry-filled eyes watching as you carry out daily tasks with a limp— would offer his help in a heartbeat…

jake would be so soft; doesn’t hesitate to rush to your side, an arm swiftly wrapping around your build to steady and support your bodyweight— his first priority would definitely be your comfort; wouldn’t wait a mere millisecond to carry you in his arms, resting you at a bench nearby; “oh gosh... did you sprain your ankle? do you think you're still able to walk?” he’d ask, though it seems natural to him that he piggyback you back home, no matter the answer; would press sweet kisses all over your face as consolation…

sunghoon would be so meticulous, despite the injury being a small cut on your finger; “is this okay, baby? or does it hurt a lot?” he’d check in with you almost minutely, pure concern clouding his eyes— and when you’d reply with a little giggle, he’d only shoot his gaze towards your direction, lips curling downwards in a small frown; “what's so funny?” he’d ask, lips puckering in a tiny pout; ‘charming’ would be a better word, you think— especially when he’s carefully angling a huge bandaid over your little paper-cut…

sunoo would be gentle beyond the capabilities of words; the way he’d softly gaze up at you, slipping a small “this will hurt a little”, before lightly dabbing the cut with a disinfecting wipe; would probably pick out the cutest bandaid for you. “be careful, okay? it hurts to see you in pain,” he’d add, lightly ruffling the top of your head with adoration brimming from his gaze…

jungwon would, unexpectedly, be really serious; if it were to be concerning any other thing, he’d probably be more lighthearted— your health and safety, however? that tops the list of importance; doesn’t waste another second to dash over, one knee to the ground as he examines the gaping wound on your leg; although his brows dig deeply into his skin, a disgruntled expression glued onto his face, he’d try his best to make his concern less obvious, not wanting you to worry. “c’mon baby, i’ll carry you on the way back— it’s no biggie,” he’d add, flashing a sweet smile towards your direction…

riki would be so worried; one second you two were jokingly fooling around, the next you were laying on the ground, a pained expression tugging on your features— would immediately drop everything and anything just to check up on you; would be so tender, yet cautious, not wanting to be the one inflicting pain on you— “is this okay for you? let me know if it gets uncomfortable”, he’d softly say, tending to the cut on your leg with pure gentleness; “gosh.. you’re so clumsy, baby”, he’d lightly chide, shaking his head in soft disbelief— best believe that he’d spoil you with affection and tons of kisses throughout your recovery…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady @gweoriz @czlluvriki @okwonyo @okwons networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[strangerstilinski]

hiii my dear <333

would love if you could combine [heal] and [kiss] with steve 🫶

love u n have the bestest day

[HEAL] sender ends up in the receiver's lap trying to tend to their wounds to the best of their abilities. [KISS] the sender lowers themselves into the receiver's lap in order to kiss them properly.

Steve is bleeding. Again.

And why is it that Steve always seems to be fucking bleeding? If it's not a fistfight, it's inter-dimensional monsters. And if it's not monsters, it's foreign governments who hold no qualms against beating and torturing minimum-wage mall employees in the hopes that it might yield answers.

This isn't like any of those times. You know that. And yet, watching the slow trail of blood ooze from the gash at Steve's hairline, crimson dripping slow down his temple and smearing into his brow — It makes your stomach turn. Makes your knees wobble just slightly. The floor suddenly feeling decidedly unsteady beneath your feet.

You'd asked him to find a casserole dish and he'd practically crawled his way inside one of the lower kitchen cabinets in his search. Wide shoulders crowded into the space, his narrow waist on display as he reached even farther and prompted his shirt to ride up. Your eyes had been glued to the dimples at the base of his spine, objectifying gaze too stuck on the way his jeans pulled on his backside and thighs, the way the elastic waistband of his briefs cut into the softness of his hips-

He'd yelled triumphantly as he re-emerged, and you'd been too distracted to warn him to watch his head when he turned a bit too early and bashed against the edge of the opening with a resounding thunk.

You couldn't care less about cooking dinner, now. You're entirely too consumed with worry at the sight of the blood pouring from Steve's head. And, alright, pouring might be a bit dramatic. But your boyfriend is bleeding, and it's slightly your fault.

You push him from the kitchen and he drops dutifully into a chair when you give his shoulder a pointed shove. Both of your hands find their way to his face, warmth bleeding into your palms as you try to angle his head into the light a bit.

He only winces a little when you push his hair up out of the way so you can see where his skin is split. Your fingers tighten around his jaw, biting into his cheek as you turn his head this way and that in an attempt to get a better look. A frown pulls at your lips as you note the swelling that's already building into a sizable lump, and no sooner have your lips quirked downward when Steve's hands find the backs of your thighs.

"Hey, pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be pouting, pouty." His hands tighten, dragging you forward until you're standing slotted between his legs.

Warm, honeyed brown eyes peer up at you, his hands rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs in a comforting motion. The way he looks after you, even now, when he's the one who's injured — It sends your heart thrumming wildly.

You snatch some paper towel from the tabletop and dab at his head lightly, frown sinking further when blood immediately wells back up and begins to follow that same path down his forehead and into his eyebrow.

"It seems like it's bleeding a lot," You tell him, blotting at the growing egg on his head again, "I don't think it should be bleeding this much. Should it be bleeding this much?"

"It's a head wound, they bleed a lot." He shrugs, like it's no big deal.

You repeat his words back, mockingly, putting a little more pressure on the towel to his head. And then, "How much is 'a lot'?"

To your frustration, Steve just shrugs again, "I dunno, should stop in the next few minutes, I guess. If it does, we're good. If not, I guess I'm probably a goner-"

The pressure you're applying to the towel increases enough to have Steve wincing again, but you refuse to feel bad.

"That isn't funny." Your eyes drift as Steve's lower lip juts out, soft and plush and not even remotely portraying genuine apology. "Now who's pouting?" You grumble quietly.

"The guy who just came within an inch of braining himself to find your casserole dish, actually." Steve returns your snark all-too easily, "You know what'd really help, though?"

Your eyes narrow just slightly at the sweet edge to his voice, at the way his palms press with a little more intent into the backs of your legs. He's still looking up at you, lips quirked up now into that flirty grin of his, chin jutting out like he's expecting you to just bend down to kiss him already.

"What?" You ask, infuriatingly breathless in the wake of his touch, the gentle rumble of his voice.

"C'mere."

He pulls at your thighs again and you realize he's trying to get you to sit down. You smile softly, stepping back from between his legs and settling into place in his lap. Your thighs frame his hips, towel still pressed firmly to his head all the while.

"Better?" You ask, nosing at the space between his brows before placing a fleeting peck to his forehead.

Steve hums, "No, no, not quite. Think you could spare another kiss?"

"Oh, I suppose," You sigh woefully, like it's a big ask, though you both know it isn't. Your lips find the bridge of his nose, "Like this?"

Steve hums again, "Not quite. Little lower, honey."

You lean back just a bit to look at him, the way his eyes have clouded over with something like adoration. It still makes your head spin, that he looks at you like that-

Your thumb strokes his cheek, lips finding the tip of his nose and just staying there for a moment — waiting.

"Lower." He orders softly, his nose nudging up against you as he tips his chin up toward you.

Your lips brush his cupids bow, faint stubble scratching softly when you press the faintest kiss to his mouth. "Here?" You whisper against his lips, breath mingling warmly with his own, "Does this help?"

He knocks the bloodied paper towel from your hands and ignores your protests as he drags you back down for another kiss, this one deeper.

You're breathless when you pull back again, your eyes glued to the shine of spit on Steve's lips before your gaze flicks up to the drying blood at his hairline, the cut clotted and no longer bleeding.

"Hey, you stopped bleeding." You tell him, relieved.

"Yeah, that's great-" He says blankly, already sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you back in, "Now, c'mere-"

[twola]

i know arthur is a giver but sometimes i think he’d like being cruel. i have this image of him leaned back in a chair taking a drag out of his cigarette with reader writhing on his lap with tears in her eyes practically begging for him to do anything to her while he watches with feign indifference

Hooo boy. Okay, this is my first shot at a true low honor Arthur.

Lookin' for Trouble

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

The afternoon light was more than enough for you to finally get to reading after getting Grimshaw’s list of chores done. Finally, you’d be able to crack open this book that Hosea lent you all those weeks ago.

All of a sudden, the light is obscured over the pages of your book, and when you look up, you place a hand over your eyes to see the mountain of a man before you, peering down at you with a cigarette hanging off his lips.

“Oh, Arthur, I didn’t realize you’d be back so quick.” You smile up to him, closing the book and moving to your knees to stand up.

An outstretched hand juts into your view, “Ain’t nothin’ interesting in that backwater town.”

You take it and allow him to pull you up, but you frown up at him and don’t let go, turning both of your hands so that his knuckles face the two of you. The skin is broken and oozing a small amount of blood.

“Oh dear, let me clean that up for you in your tent.”

You drop his hand and he follows, smoking that cigarette without a reply. On its head, it must be a funny sight, the grizzled outlaw following your small frame back to his tent so dutifully. 

He pulls the canvas down after the two of you enter the tent, tall enough being built off his wagon. The perks of being the enforcer of the group. You make yourself busy looking in the chest at the foot of his cot for some alcohol as you pull a handkerchief from the pocket of your skirt.

Arthur sits down on the edge of the cot, taking that old black hat from his head and dropping it atop the pillow that had seen better days.

“Here we go,” you dab your handkerchief with a bottle of god-knows-what and move back toward where Arthur sits.

He places the still-lit cigarette in the little glass tray at his bedside, the end of it continuing to smolder as he blows smoke toward the top of the tent, away from you.

You frown, twisting your head to change your view of his outstretched knuckles. “It’s an awkward angle, I-”

He cuts you off by making you yelp as his free hand shoots around your hip and pulls you down, your rear colliding with his firm thigh, his hand on your hip balancing you as you regain your composure.

“Oh… thanks…” you blush slightly, having been caught off guard. You return to dabbing at the broken skin of his knuckles, his large hand outstretched and dwarfing yours, as you perch upon his thigh, your back flush to his barrel chest.

“How did this happen?” You ask softly as you pick at the dirt in his inflamed, broken skin. 

“Y’know, a bit of this, bit of that.”

You sigh, “I really hope you ain't out pickin’ fights, Arthur.”

Arthur hums dismissively in response, jostling you slightly on his thigh. He props the cigarette between his teeth and his free hand moves forward and begins bunching your skirts up, the hem of your dress being pulled higher and higher.

“Arthur-” You go to scold, but his searching hand gravitates right over where he’s looking for, pressing against your cunt through your bloomers. You give another yelp as his finger digs at the cotton, prodding and stroking and petting.

“A-Arthur, I’m tryin’ to-”

As you go to grip his forearm with both hands, his injured hand darts downward, grasping both of your wrists and holding them away from your body, essentially binding you and leaving you unable to stop his ministrations.

A low, satisfied noise rumbles out through his chest as you pant, his fingers edging the leg of your bloomers open and touching your bare skin. Just barely touching, teasing, as you squirm in his lap, his hold on your wrists as strong as iron. 

You honest-to-god whine, tears welling behind your eyes as you squirm in his lap, trying to break free of his hold on your hands, trying to jut your hips into his hand more.

“A-Arthur- god, please-” you gasp aloud, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you beg. He removes his hand entirely and you nearly sob at the loss.

Cracking your eyes open, you see him pull the cigarette from his mouth and place it in that glass tray, mashing the butt into the ash as he puts it out. He bounces his thigh as his hand returns to your cunt, chuckling darkly as you continue to squirm.

“Ain’t you just the prettiest little thing when you’re all needy like this?”

A fresh set of tears burst from your eyes as his hand snakes into your bloomers again to rub at you.

“P-please-”

“Please what, what d’ya need darlin’?”

He cups your cunt fully and helps you roll your hips over his thigh bone, and it’s all you can do not to sob loudly at the frustration.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Arthur please, please god, please touch me.”

“I am touchin’ ya’.” He responds, pleased with himself as you struggle against his grip, iron-like in its strength.

“In-inside-” you pant, continuing to squirm against him.

“Hmm, like this?”

You are able to bite back the scream you nearly let out as Arthur slides his trigger finger into your dripping cunt. He curls it with a practiced precision, and you buck in his lap, throwing your head back against the curve of his shoulder. Your temple brushes against his days-old beard before he leans in against you.

“There’s my girl,” he nips at your earlobe with haughty pride, fully taking satisfaction with the way you writhe atop him, “Makin’ them noises like a whore.”

There’s no snapping back at him, no retort back at his dry, teasing humor. You are able to do nothing but give a breathy sigh, almost agreeing with his statement.

Arthur grabs your hips and hoists you up to stand, quickly following and pushing you two stumbling steps to the table where a few of his guns are spread out. One sweep of his arm and the guns clatter into the grass before you're abruptly bent at the waist and spread out on the table.

“Arthur-”

One of his large hands splays across your lower back as he fiddles with the buttons of his pants. Essentially keeping you pinned down on the table, you have no option but to lay there and take whatever he is going to give you.

Arthur pulls your skirts up, tossing them over your hips before yanking your bloomers down and over the swell of your ass. His hand is between your legs quicker than you can sputter in indignation, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning as he strokes his thick fingers in and out of your wetness. Your eyes tightly shut as you breathe out your nose, and for a moment, you’re empty as he pulls away.

The hot, blunt head of his cock prods your entrance before he pushes himself inside you, in one strong thrust. Your fingers clamp on the edge of the table as you clench your teeth at the intrusion, fluttering on the edge of pain as his thick cock stretches you. It’s always like this, he’s not much of a gentle man. 

“Tha’s it, what a good girl you are, takin’ everything I give ya.” Arthur drawls as he begins to buck his hips forward into yours, unflinchingly setting a rough, fast pace.

You’re unable to last after all the stimulation before, and it’s not long into the slamming of him into you that you begin to get that feeling that your release was imminent.

“A-Arthur-” you gasp out as you reel toward completion, the table squealing beneath you as he rocks his hips into yours faster, harder - punishing - all six foot of him hunches over you as he fucks you into a wet, messy orgasm, you pressing your forehead into the table as you clench around him.

He grunts, jerking his hips backward as his hands clamp harshly around your hips, squeezing so hard you’re sure there will be bruises in the morning. You feel the hot splatter of his spend on your rear as he lets out a long breath through his nose, trying himself to be quiet within the confines of the tent.

You pant, still bent over the small table, your skirts flipped over your hips as your knees shake. You hear Arthur fiddle with his pants before returning to you, his hands grasping at your thighs greedily before pulling at your skirts to right them.

He swats, albeit gently, at your rear before your skin disappears under your skirts. 

“You gonna let me finish cleaning you up?” You ask, leaning over slightly to pick up your discarded bloomers from the ground, tucking them into your pocket.

Arthur sits back on his cot, his pants still unbuttoned and open unapologetically, as a sly smile creeps across his face.

“If yer really gonna clean me up, I think there’s a lot less clothing involved.”

[yesimwriting]

Known

A/n i see this as taking place a little after  this , but they're both separate drabbles that can be read on their own :)

Summary: Late night drinking turns into reminiscing between friends. Or, in which you realize that you've always felt safe around Logan.

Warnings/info: age-gap (both characters are of consenting age!!), casual drinking, unnoticed pining, technopath!reader

----

The colors and voices radiating from the TV screen are easier to feel than experience, the electric current buzzing against your skin.

You move to sit up a little straighter, hands pressing into plush cushioning as you adjust. There's a distance to the way you're feeling, as if some odd lightness has managed to wedge itself between you and the world around you.

You lean forward, reaching for the bottle abandoned on the coffee table in front of you. Your fingers press into the glass as you move back into place, the side of your thumb tapping against the neck of the second beer you've finished tonight. A third might be nice, but the darkness around you makes the door feel too far to even think about getting to the kitchen.

There is a bottle of whisky only an arm's length away...it'd be easy to--

"No." The word is flat in its finality.

A soft laugh gives you away immediately. You press a palm against your lips as if that'll take the sound back. Sometimes Logan reads you so well you have to wonder if he has secret psychic abilities he hasn't told anyone about. "I didn't say anything."

He turns his head, lips pressing together in what feels like an attempt to dismiss the amusement behind his eyes. "Didn't have to." Logan's attention shifts back to the glass in his hand. "You're not drinking it."

You shift, turning to better analyze him. There's a stiffness to him that doesn't suit the amount of alcohol in his system. Maybe he's overcompensating for something, like his level of commitment to the stance he's taking. "Okay," the response is warm, cheery.

Logan lets out a breath as he leans forward, angling himself so close his forehead nearly touches yours. He watches you with an openness that's more dizzying than the alcohol in your system. "I mean it."

His proximity is so disorientating you nearly forget that you're meant to respond and not just stare at him.

"Fine," a genuine concession. Nothing else comes to mind, and you can't bring yourself to look away from him. The overwhelming desire to look at him is far from rare, but you're usually better at suppressing it.

You set one of your hands against the space between the two of you. "I'm gonna go get another beer."

He sighs, as if something about the statement has deeply drained him. "You're not."

Your lips part in a mock gasp. "Are you cutting me off?"

The joke seems to ease him, the corner of his mouth pulling itself upwards. "You're drunk."

Please--who gets drunk off of two beers? You narrow your eyes, not sure if you're more offended by the assumption or his hypocrisy. "Am not."

He has the audacity to smile fully. "Then let's keep it that way." The side of his hand moves to rest against the back of your palm. He's--Logan's always so warm. "Don't need to make putting you to bed any harder, princess."

An uneasy warmth begins to crawl its way up your neck. "Y'know you've had twice as much to drink as me, and you're still going."

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide the fact that you're arguing for the sake of it more than out of a desire for more alcohol.

There's a beat of silence as Logan tilts his chin downwards, making the distance between the two of you feel even smaller than it really is. "And when you're my age, you'll get a third beer."

You let yourself openly frown. "You're no fun."

He sighs, attention shifting back to his glass. "Don't pout."

"I'm not," it's a little more directly dishonest than you'd usually be, but the mood seems easy enough for you to get away with it. "I'm just...talking."

Logan watches you for a moment, doubt etched into his expression. "Sure, kid."

You roll your eyes as you shift away, arm stretching forward to place the bottle back on the coffee table. When you lean back, body pressing into the couch, a strangely poignant wave of drowsiness hits you.

The show you had been forcing Logan to watch has been replaced by something bright and loud. The sitcom had been familiar in that slightly off way, the theme song and characters like something out of a recurring childhood dream.

Before your thoughts can snag on the blurriness of your past, you lift a hand. You let your mind give into the draw of the electric current, the two melding until all you have to do to change the channel is flick your wrist. You flick through a few of them before settling on a show you're much more familiar with.

"You're a regular universal remote."

Despite yourself, you smile. The more you've worked on using your powers, the better you've gotten at motor control. Before, sometimes so much as touching something plugged into the wall was enough to make you lose control. "Much cooler than being the person that blew up the toaster."

He laughs once at the memory, the sound low but warm. "Or electrocuting me."

You glare. "I never electrocuted you." It's the truth. Your first few days here had been hectic, the stability you were being offered seemed too good to be true; every instinct in your body begged you to get out before it was too late. But you hadn't hurt anyone.

"But you thought about it." You don't have decent response. When you met Logan, you were running on nothing but adrenaline. "It's okay, I didn't make the best impression."

When the two of you first met, Logan had been...gruff, and maybe defensive in a warranted way, but you can't remember ever not liking him. Maybe that's why you felt more comfortable around him than anyone else, Logan never spoke to you in a way that felt like a facade.

But he doesn't need to know that, so you just shrug. "We're good now, though."

The show cuts to commercial break, an ad for detergent filling the screen. You let yourself relax further into the couch, your head moving to rest against Logan's arm.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "We're good."

You're aware of your blinking, of the weight of your eyelids and the focus needed to pull them back into place. Logan's presence makes it easier to accept the sluggishness and the vulnerability that comes with it. This isn't the first time he's made you feel okay about something like this.

"Logan?" He hums once in acknowledgement. You let out a quiet breath, the words briefly tangling in the back of your throat. "I'm glad you were the one that found me when I was like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and then his hand squeezes yours. "Me, too."

His voice is so quiet it almost feels like an extension of the electricity floating through the air, another thing that's easier to feel than to know. Your eyes fall shut, and you're comfortable enough to let them stay that way.

----

Taglist: @whyausername99

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

okok so I had an idea

Cucking Sitri cause he's being a brat by pegging Amy from behind while Sitri is restrained face up on the bed below us, and all he can do is watch his rival being treated so well

-Ahh I love this!! Sitru is so easy to make jelly he’d be fuming watching you fuck Amy!

Amy + Sitri

-

Cw: restraints, cucking, pegging

Out of frustration Sitri had gotten into another scuffle with Amy, though even as Sitri had told you Amy started it, you did see Sitri throw the first punch. You couldn’t care less if they argued but you drew the line with physical violence since of course they could get hurt!

Sitri had tried to justify it, twisting words to sound like Amy had all but begged him to be punched. Amy basically told the opposite story and told you Sitri had instigated it, you’d chosen Sitri to be punished, given he’s the one who hit Amy.

That’s what lead to you tying Sitri up on his bed, the restraints keep him in place, legs spread and arms above his head, his clothes still on, given Amy had helped you tie him up. Sitri and Amy had basically avoided speaking the whole time, you were left to do the talking and guiding them.

“Alright, secure?” You ask Sitri, he lazily test the restraints and nods. “Good, Amy, undress.” As you said that they both gave you a puzzled look, Amy looking more upset than anything.

“In front of him? No thank you.” He hisses out, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not interested in this piece of shit ogling me!” He hissed out, Sitri huffed out a laugh in reaction.

“I don’t want to see his little cock, he’s pathetic enough as-“ You had to interfere before Amy tried to attack the restrained demon.

“Both of you shut up, Amy get undressed or I won’t touch you for a month.” You warned, Amy blinked at you, processing the info, he sighs and nods, biting his tongue he threw his clothes aside. “Good, get on your hands and knees over Sitri.”

Both of them pause and look to you, though after a second Amy relents and basically mounts Sitri to get into position, you caught Sitri glancing lower than he should have but brush it off since you’re certain teasing either might escalate into a fight. You go to the bedside drawer and grab the strap you had prepared.

Using a bit of live, you get ontop of Amy, gently pushing the strap into him as you lay your chest on his back. Amy mewled, not really giving you a chance to get comfortable before he started grinding against you in hopes of more friction.

Sitri hissed in annoyance. “You’re acting like a bitch in heat Amy. Quit squirming so much (M/c) hasn’t even moved yet.” He grumbled out using an agitated tone, Any growled back.

“You’re just pissed you’re…” He groaned as you finally start moving. “You’re not getting attention, and that they don’t want to fuck you.”

Amy gave an airy laugh, Sitri snarled and tried to yank the restraints, twisting under Amy, though the little out burst got cut short by Amy keening as you slam into him.

“Both of you grow up. If you keep fighting I’m walking away.” You warned, adjusting your thrust to hit deeper into Amy, right as you angle your thrust downwards, Amy whimpers, you show him mercy, reaching down you stroke him, gently rubbing the underside of his cock.

Sitri grimaced, looking to where you’re stroking Amy. “The hell? You can’t even control yourself, Amy? You’re making a mess!” Looking down you have to hold back a laugh. You must have gotten a good few thrust, the way Amy’s cock is leaking consistently, all onto Sitri’s stomach, making a messy white puddle.

Amy respond this time, ducking down with a growl he bites into Sitri’s shoulder, making Sitri cry out and hiss in discomfort. “Knock it off! You’re ruining my clothes!” Sitri snapped.

Humming, you give a few more good thrust, stroking Amy fast, until Amy growls into the bite he’s given Sitri, then you feel him tremble, a low whine escaping him. Sitri looked mortified, pissed and jealous.

Amy collapses into Sitri, finally releasing him, panting, he lays limp onto of Sitri. You gently pet his head, slowing your thrust to a halt, you slowly pull the strap out. “Good boy, Help me clean up now.” You say lightly slapping his side.

Amy lazily sighed and begrudgingly gets up to help you, Sitri gave you a hopeful look. “You’ll give me a chance next yes?” He said as if you didn’t do this to punish him.

“I gave you a show, this is for starting fights, and Amy,” You said, with a low hiss. “I’ll do the same to you if you start anything, both of you need to learn to get along.”

-

[aerynwrites]

Whittle Mistakes

Halsin x GN!Reader

A/N: Based off this Request. Hope you all enjoy this little fluffy piece!

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: small injury, magic healing, mostly pure fluff

The afternoon is a mild one today, the usual heat giving way to a pleasantly cool breeze as you listen intently to Halsin’s instructions. 

You managed to convince the druid to show you how to whittle, a feat that actually took very little convincing in truth. Once you found out about his hobby, you’d been wanting to ask him to teach you. Not only because you are genuinely interested, but because you knew it’d give you an excuse to spend time with him away from the others. 

He’s been increasingly patient with you, bringing all of the supplies you both would need in order to take on this task. He even had small blocks of wood already prepared, and was now walking you slowly through the steps of what to do. 

He’d already shown you how to draw a rough shape of what you want to create on the sides of the wood with a small piece of charcoal, and now he was showing you the actual techniques of whittling. 

He holds the wood in one hand, and his knife in the other, large hands holding the tool steady as he slowly carved small slivers of wood away. 

“The key is to not cut away too much wood at once,” he says, as you lean over to watch from your seat next to him. “You can always cut more away, but you cannot put it back. Better to go slow.” 

You nod as you continue to watch him. You’re both sitting in a small clearing in the woods, Halsin having one leg propped up to support the arm holding the knife while the other lays comfortably out in front of him as he works. You sit right beside him, cross legged as you support the block of wood on one of your legs. 

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “Slow and steady wins the race.” 

Halsin smiles. “Precisely. Now,” he gestures to your block, “go ahead and start, let me know if you have any questions and I will also try to keep an eye on you if you need assistance. But there’s no better teacher than instinct, so just do what you think is best.” 

You nod as he turns back to his work, but don’t kiss the way his eyes flick back over to you as you pick up your knife. From everything he’s told you so far, it can’t be too hard, once you get to the intricate parts of the project it will be, but right now you’re just trying to get a general shape. 

What could go wrong? 

You start slowly, pressing the knife’s sharp edge against the wood and pulling it towards you slowly as you dutifully work to shave off more and more of the wood. Halsin is of course whittling a duck; but you’ve opted to try and carve a bear, wanting to give it to Halsin at the end. 

Silence falls over the clearing as you both work, only occasionally making small talk or commenting on one another’s work. It’s comfortable like this, a nice reprieve from everything happening around you all. 

You and Halsin have grown close over the past several weeks, and to say you were surprised when he expressed interest in you was an understatement. But you’d happily accepted, and as time went on, it feels like you both have known one another for years, falling into such a comfortable partnership that it never made you think twice. 

Even now, despite the silence, you’re content just being close to him and sharing something that he cares about. You’re happy to just be in his presence even if there’s no words passing between you. 

Soon, more defined shapes start to appear from your respective wood blocks, Halsin’s looking much more identifiable than yours. Taking a moment to look at your misshapen attempt at a bear, you realize its malformity is because of its head. You don’t seem to carve enough wood away to create a defined difference between the head and body. 

But as you try to do so, you find your knife slipping against the awkward angle. So, in an attempt to achieve your goal, you turn the wood in your lap, and move to run the knife away from your body, hoping the downward angle will help. 

You just start to push the knife when you see Halsin reach for you. 

“Be careful, my heart-“

His warning comes too late. Your knife slips from the woodblock, and with the pressure of you pushing down, you’re unable to react fast enough to stop the sharp blade from slicing into your leg where the wood rests. 

You cry out in surprise more than pain, but as the blood wells up from the shallow cut, the sharp sting makes itself known. 

Halsin is up and crouching in front of you before you can even blink, taking the knife and wood from you. The blade cut through the thin cotton of your pants, allowing you to see the wound clearly. It’s nothing serious and doesn’t seem too deep, but Halsin brows are creased with worry nonetheless. 

He reaches out for you, placing gentle hands on your thigh just around the wound, inspecting it quickly. 

“Halsin,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop his own. “I’m fine, it’s just a little cut. Nothing some bandages won’t fix.” 

Your words fall on deaf ears, because before you can stop him, bright golden light glows beneath his palms and you watch as the wound closes up in the blink of an eye, the pain ebbing away until it’s gone completely. 

Halsin looks up at you then, eyes soft and you can’t help but let out a quiet huff. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say quietly as Halsin shifts closer, one hand coming to rest behind you as a smile tugs at his lips. 

“I could not very well leave you injured, what kind of partner would I be then?” 

You roll your eyes, but reach up to cup his cheek affectionately. “You’re such a mother hen, sometimes.” 

A small chuckle escapes him before his lips capture your own in a chast kiss. One your return happily before he pulls away. 

“I should have warned you not to carve away from yourself,” he says softly, moving back so he’s sitting in front of you once more, reaching for your now lumpy piece of wood. 

“It’s alrigh,” you assure him, taking your project from his hands as you pick up your knife once more. “I should have known that wouldn’t end well,” you admit, staring down at your sad excuse for a bear. “I was trying to make this look more like a bear but…I think it’s a lost cause.” 

Smiling Halsin shakes his head. “Do not give up, my heart. You can achieve whatever you set your mind to, even something as simple as whittling.” 

You laugh, and start to continue your work. “We’ll see about that.” 

The smile on his lips doesn’t leave as he takes up his position beside you once more, and this time, you shift to lean into his side as you work, smiling when you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you,” you tell him. 

“And I love you more,” he replies. 

Then, the comfortable silence falls over you once more. The only sound being the gentle scraping of knives in wood as you both continue your work.

[bennysblabbering]

An Unexpected Reaction

contents: armpit kink, musk kink, thigh riding, praise, cumming in clothes (you're the one cumming), pet names used are babe/baby and cutie

words: 1.3k

g/n afab reader

↓ Ficlet below the cut ↓

Toji's just finished his workout in the other room, the heavy equipment hitting the ground with a hard 'thunk'. You're sitting on the couch as you watch his silhouette make its way down the hall and closer to you, his perfect broad torso on display; his outfit of choice is simply a pair of compression shorts with no shirt, and it makes you salivate at the sight.

The exhausted man sits down next to you with a huff, leaning back and stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his other hand uncapping a water bottle and bringing it to his lips.

"Good workout?"

He nods as he swallows before parting from the bottle. "'S fine. Annoys me that I can't do as much as I used to."

You shrug. "It's alright. You're still strong as fuck."

He chuckles, flexing his arms, placing his hands behind his head. "Damn right."

At this angle, you can get a perfect view of his sculpted armpit, a tuft of coarse black hair on display in the dip of the glistening muscles. The thick, savory scent of his sweat floods your senses and you can't help but let out a small hum.

"Like what you see?" He smirks, letting his arms back down and leaning back into the seat again. You playfully roll your eyes and lightly smack his chest. He must have noticed your pleasant reaction, but assumed it was from looking at his physique. Which, of course, you did love his body, but he wasn't aware of this particular kink of yours. You'd been too embarrassed to bring it up yet; you'd just started getting sexual with each other- your first time having sex was only a week ago. How would he react to you telling him about such an...odd interest? Would he make fun of you for it like previous partners had?

He takes another drink of water for a moment, huffing as he sets it down. "Gonna go shower. I fuckin' stink." Standing up, he starts to make his way across the room. Shit, when are you gonna get this opportunity again? Should you tell him? No, it's too early, he'll think you're weird!

"Hm?" He turns his face slightly with a quirked brow.

"What?"

"You just whined like a sad puppy. What, you wanna shower with me?"

You freeze and blink. Did you really make a noise like that? You must have been disappointed at the idea of him getting rid of the tantalizing musk and fucking *whimpered.* Get a grip. Fuck. What should you say?

"Um...well if you're offering, yes, but...maybe later. Can...can you come back for a sec?"

You can feel your face heat up, your cheeks turning redder with every step he takes back towards you. You ball your hands into fists and can feel your heartbeat quicken. Too late to back down now.

He sits back down where he was before, a hint of concern in his voice, but his expression remaining collected. "Somethin' wrong, babe?"

You shake your head, keeping your gaze downward. "No, no, it's just...I think..." You scoot your way closer to him meekly, keeping your eyes downtrodden but your arm makes its way to gently place on his bicep.

"Sorry if you think I'm weird for this, but...I actually...really enjoy the smell of sweat. I think you smell really good. Stay for a few more minutes?"

Chewing on your lip nervously, you look back up at him, expecting a confused or disgusted look. But that's not even close.

He's grinning like a motherfucker. "Oh yeah?"

You feel your pussy twitch. He likes the idea? Would he really let you?

You meekly nod, a smile slowly creeping onto your face. "Yeah. Um...armpits are my favorite though."

The grin is still plastered on his face as he raises his arm, the upper half parallel with his head and his forearm behind him. "Come get it then."

And there it is once again, perfectly on display; his muscular pit, sticky and warm with sweat, the thick hair puffing out, almost inviting you in. You swallow hard, feeling your core clench once again, eagerly anticipating being able to indulge in your more personal kink.

You briefly look into his eyes, searching for a hint of judgement. But there isn't. The only thing you can sense from him is sincerity and even a bit of arousal. You lean forward, all in one motion, so you can't back out from nervousness.

Nuzzling yourself into the crevice, the hair tickles the sensitive skin of your face as you take in the intense, rich smell. As everything hits you all at once, a moan is forced out of your throat. Even though you're absolutely mortified, you can't help yourself but keep going. His scent is enveloping you, slowly sending you into an aroused trance.

"Damn, cutie, you really like this huh?" He smiles down at you, feeling his own arousal rise from seeing you in such a state. "You like my stink?"

"Yeah...." You nod with closed eyes, a dazed smile on your face. If you'd known he'd be this accepting before, you'd have tried this way sooner. Placing yourself on his thigh, you grind down a little as you put both your hands on his body, one lovingly sitting on his waist as the other squeezes at his chest.

"Yeah? What about it do you like?" He can feel his own cock hardening, excited to discover a new interest of yours. He'll definitely be doing this with you more often.

At this point, you're fully lost in the scent of his musk, drooling a little and lazily dragging your needy cunt across his muscular thigh. "I...I like...that it's so...instinctual. It's full of pheromones...makes me want more. 'N it's...I dunno...something so...masculine about it."

"Oh? You like it 'cause I'm a man, huh?" He grins as he uses his other hand to place on the back of your head, pushing you even further, your face now completely enveloped in his pit, skin meeting skin. "Maybe I should work out here more often, really get that nice sweaty stink goin' for ya. Huh, would you like that?"

You simply whine and nod in response, unable to form words anymore. You almost feel high. And knowing that you trust each other so much to do something so intimate, especially something others might judge you for outside of this room, really makes your heart swell for him.

You can feel that familiar warm and tight feeling building in your core. Fuck, are you actually getting close from this? How does he always know the perfect things to say and do in every situation, even something he's never done before?

"Good little cutie. So good for me, like me so much you even want my scent, you want me bad don't you? C'mon baby, I can tell you're close. Give it to me. C'mon, be good for me. Cum all over me, show me how much you like my musk."

And finally that thread snaps. A gush of warm juices are released from you as you tremble and moan, gripping onto his body for dear life as you make a mess on his leg, whimpering into his armpit as you ride out your high.

Pulling back with shaking arms, your heavy and enamored eyes lock with his. His deep gaze softens as he smiles slightly, content with your satisfaction. You're still lost in the post-climax high; you giggle and place a kiss to his lips before laying your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, picking you up and making his way down the hall once again.

"Alright baby, time to shower."

[cheollipop]

am i 2 late for hard hours… bc domming woosan n sitting n having them both eat u out, running ur fingers thru their hair and guiding them along, their tongues tangling together as they moan n pant, palming each other’s cocks n getting off on ur taste like omg

NEVER TOO LATE FOR THIS OH MY GOD- IM RUINED, THE SOUND I MADE WHEN I READ THIS PLEASEEEE (I may have went a little overboard with the mxm oops)

also this reminded me of @kitten4sannie 's fic so make sure to check that out too if you want!! (give her sm love for me <3)

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!!

with the dinner wooyoung had made going cold on the dining table, the TV played idly in the background, the actors' voices masked by the heavy panting filling up the room.

your fingers ran through wooyoung’s hair until they reached the small ponytail just below his crown, clutching it roughly to push his face further into your cunt. san's lips trailed up your inner thigh, stopping when wooyoung's head got in the way, a soft whine vibrating over your skin.

"move," he muttered, trying to squeeze his face in between your legs.

your other hand quickly grabbed his jaw, angling his head upwards to meet your eyes. wooyoung's tongue breached your entrance, curling between your pulsing walls while his nose pressed into your clit. you stared into san's hooded eyes while breathy moans escaped you, your hips rolling over wooyoung's face once before you shifted your focus back to the older man.

"behave, sannie. can't you see youngie's busy?"

san pouted, leaning into the hand holding his face. "but I wanna taste you too," he whined, his eyes glimmering with want.

you weren't sure if san was aware of the effect he had on you, more so now that he was on his knees between your legs, looking up at you expectantly with a line of drool beginning to stream down his chin. you widened your legs, making room for san to slot himself next to wooyoung and kiss around your slit. using the hand in wooyoung's hair, you pulled the man off you, confused eyes meeting yours. you cursed at the sight of him—eyes glazed over and the bottom half of your face dripping with your arousal.

without any instruction, you brought both men closer to your core again—wooyoung by his hair and san by his chin—their tongues rolling out immediately to lap at your pussy. they quickly found a pace that worked for them, san's lips latching onto your clit, alternating between rapid flicks of his tongue over the swollen nub and harsh sucks followed by light nibbles. wooyoung didn't waste a second before burying his tongue inside you, sliding it over your walls until it brushed over your spongy gland.

"fuck! such a good boy, woo, making me feel so good," you praised, relaxing your grip on his ponytail.

san's lips trailed downwards, slipping off your clit to slide his tongue over wooyoung's. the younger man pulled off you, his lips ghosting over your clenching hole before pressing against san's, swishing a mixture of your arousal and their spit between their mouths. you watched as the two men made out between your legs, following the arms crossing over each other to slip through the other’s waistband. you could see an obvious dark stain on the crotch area of san's grey sweatpants, wooyoung's fingers wrapped around his dick behind the fabric, most likely smearing the obscene amount of precum leaking out of him down his shaft.

you could feel a wave of wetness gushing out of your neglected pussy, your lips parted as you watched the two men devour each other in front of you. your hands tangled in their hair again, tugging roughly until they separated.

"I think that's enough," your hand slipped down to their jaw and turned their heads towards you. "are you gonna be good boys and make me cum now?"

san nodded frantically, wooyoung's face already buried back between your legs. this time, they alternated roles—wooyoung's tongue prodding against your g-spot and making you see stars before slipping out to flick over your clit, san's mouth sucking harshly over your needy hole then slipping in to send waves of pleasure shooting up your spine. a series of praises slipped off your tongue, your eyes rolling back when wooyoung nuzzled the tip of his nose into your clit, the curve of it pressing into the bundle of nerves just enough to send you tumbling off the edge.

your thighs shook around their faces, your lips parted in a silent moan while your orgasm violently rushed through you. the two men didn't stop, their mouths working over your pussy to elongate your high, relishing the sweet arousal flooding their taste buds and dripping off their chin.

they pulled off you once your muscles spasmed with overstimulation and turned to face each other. wooyoung's tongue flattened over san's chin, licking upwards to reach his lips and slipping it inside. his fist tightened over san's leaking cockhead, pressing his thumb into the slit and drinking up the high-pitched sounds he emitted before going back to pumping his length.

"youngie- hnnngh! 'g-gonna cum-"

"give it to me, sannie," wooyoung whispered over his lips.

san's thighs widened unconsciously, his cock twitching once, twice, before spurting hot cum all over wooyoung's hand and the floor between them. his lips parted uselessly, throaty moans ripping through his chest while wooyoung milked him of every last drop. he squeezed his fingers around wooyoung, unable to process what was going on anymore as the younger man ovestimulated him, continuing to move his hand over his softening cock. wooyoung thrusted into his fist, chasing his orgasm with a burning need until ribbons of white painted san's clothed thighs.

you watched them come down from their highs, resting their foreheads on each other's shoulder while their chests heaved in the gap separating them. you slowly sat up so not to disturb the peacefulness, running your fingers through their hair before bending down to place a kiss on each of their heads.

a quick shower later, the forgotten dinner reheated and steaming on the dining table again, you shared snippets of your day over the homemade meal, the deep baritone of san's voice and the charming squeak of wooyoung's laugh echoing between the walls of your apartment as the day came to a blissful end.