#things start looking up for a minute and then fall right back down

[rawjutsu]

jjk men with an easily overstimulated reader <3

gojo satoru 

oh, he lives for it. you whimper once, and his pupils dilate like he just hit the jackpot. you twitch, squirm, try to close your legs—and he just laughs.

“aww, what’s wrong, babe? thought you said you could handle me.”

he pretends to slow down, to "be nice," but five seconds later his fingers are back, curved just right, tongue lapping at your clit like he’s starving, your thighs clamped around his head—and he's thriving.

and when you're overstimulated to the point of tears? he coos at you like it's the sweetest thing in the world.

“c’mon, one more. you can give me one more, right? be a good girl for me.”

literally feeds on the way your voice breaks mid-moan. will overstim you on purpose just to watch your hips jerk and your body betray you.

fushiguro toji 

toji. you poor thing. the overstimulation with him is so nasty in the best way because he is ruthless. doesn’t matter if you’re shaking, babbling, trying to crawl away—he’ll just pull you right back by the waist with one arm like:

“what’s the matter, baby? you were beggin’ for it five minutes ago.”

he gets this low growl in his throat when you clench around him from overstimulation, like you’re just too much. he's obsessed with your limit and loves finding ways to push past it. that smug smirk only grows when your eyes roll back and your legs are trembling too hard to keep you upright.

“you’re twitchin’ like a fuckin’ mess. that mean you’re close again? thought you were done cryin’.”

his favorite thing is when you go limp in his arms after like the fifth orgasm and he has to hold you up just to keep going. 

nanami kento 

oh, nanami is such a soft dom at first, like—he tries to take it slow. he’s respectful. he asks you what feels good, kisses your neck, lets you ride the high of your first orgasm and praises you so gently...

but then he sees how sensitive you are and it awakens something feral in him. that neat composure starts to crack.

“you’re shaking already, sweetheart? just from my fingers?”

the glasses are off. his tie is undone. he’s got your legs over his shoulders and he’s watching you fall apart, murmuring praise through gritted teeth.

“you can take another. you’re doing so well. so sensitive for me.”

if you’re crying or begging, his tone turns into that firm voice:

“no, don’t shy away now. i want to see all of you.”

bonus: he’ll eat you out through the overstimulation while holding your thighs apart with a death grip.

geto suguru

suguru is the sweet sadist. he’ll talk you through it like he’s teaching a class. you say you’re sensitive? oh baby, you just unlocked his favorite game.

“already? you’re overstimulated already? hm… maybe i need to train that sweet body of yours.”

he's calm, in the most terrifying way. he holds you down gently but firmly, with that honey-smooth voice whispering how pretty you look trembling under him. he's always testing you.

“does this feel too good? or is it just enough to break you?”

overstimulation via toys + his fingers = his favorite combo. he loves seeing your body betray you, even when you’re sobbing and shaking, and his lips are at your ear murmuring,

“there it is. that’s it. just let go, baby. cum again for me.”

will overstim you until you pass out with a smile on his face.

ryomen sukuna 

overstimulating you isn’t even about your pleasure to him at first. it’s about dominance. it's about owning every twitch, every hiccupped gasp, every soaked inch of your overstimmed, ruined body.

he loves when you beg for a break because that’s when he knows he’s winning.

“begging? you think i care if you’re tired, little thing? you’ll take what i give you.”

imagine four hands keeping you pinned. two gripping your wrists above your head. the other two… one on your throat, one between your legs, rubbing your clit even while his cock is still buried inside you, relentless.

you’re squirming, crying, mind blank from cumming too many times and he just laughs.

“look at you. can’t even speak. just a drooling mess and i’ve barely started.”

he feeds on overstimulation. you arch away from him? he pulls you closer. your legs try to close? he forces them open.

“your body’s so honest, pet. you say ‘stop’ but your cunt’s begging for more.”

he’s the type to dare you to pass out— and when you do? he’ll wake you back up with another orgasm.

[jacksamiras]

oh, hey 💜 —

abbot struggling to orgasm bc meds, right? it’s a rare thing, but not a never thing. samira, naturally, isn’t deterred in the slightest when they start hooking up casually —

(so casually, they insist - y’know, like liars)

— and jack might have trouble coming, but he’s going to make goddamn sure samira never has trouble again. ever. she will come whenever and however she needs.

(and, y’know, there’s a whole subplot here about them discovering and choosing nonsexual intimacy together before they’re even properly dating)

anyway.

when he does come for the first time with samira, it’s the biggest release of tension he’s had in years. it builds and builds and he can’t articulate it as it’s happening, but samira can tell he’s close. rasps out a ‘oh my god, you’re gonna come in me, aren’t you? fuck, jack, c’mon. c’mon. you got this.’

she scratches blunt nails down his back, between his shoulders where he can feel it to the small of his back where the nerves are so fucked that he can’t. gasps her name and stills inside her for the most intense orgasm of his life.

one that is also accompanied by an orgasm headache, spreading from the base of his skull up around to his temples and down the length of his neck.

he’s shaking and nauseous, manages to mumble something about the headache and makes to move off of her. but samira’s arms just tighten around him; her fingers press into the ache at the back of his head and down over his shoulders, shushing him when he tries to quip about how ‘… his head just can’t ever let him have anything nice, huh?’

but she’s telling him it was nice. it was what she wanted, what they’ve both wanted for so long. just — this, the intimacy and the shared afterglow and the having someone. feeling so close that it’s like their souls are touching.

he’s twitching and going soft inside her, trying to catch his breath and roll the ache out of his neck where the muscles are still tight from his release. he kisses her collarbone and her jaw, the curl stuck to her temple with sweat. presses his forehead against the cool silk of her pillowcase next to her hair.

‘don’t pull out,’ she whispers, thighs lazily falling open again underneath his hips. ‘not yet.’

he can still hear his own heartbeat. exhales harshly at a particularly pleasant digging of her thumb into the base of his skull. but he doesn’t move. lets himself relax against her.

‘i have propranolol in — ‘

‘the bathroom cabinet, I know. and i’ll grab a zofran from your drawer, right next to the biofreeze and the contact solution. and the receipt from our first date.’

that gets him to smile, a hidden thing against her pillow. ‘it was a good date.’

‘mm. the tiramisu was terrible.’

‘yeah. but the company wasn’t.’

samira’s fingers tug so, so gently at his hair until he’s moving, sitting up and kissing her as the throbbing in his head steadily dulls. eventually, he pulls out and rolls onto his back. watches her as she moves through his bathroom, reaches out to touch her as she digs through his bedside table, breathes a soft ‘thank you’ when she crawls back into bed next to him on her knees, one hand holding a glass of water and the other a pair of pills. he takes the meds from her and then lays back, dragging the backs of his fingers up her thighs as she straddles his lap.

‘rest, yeah?’ she murmurs, leaning down until their chests are pressed together. ‘just for a few minutes. I’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘right here?’ he whispers, thumb catching at the corner of her mouth on the way to the edge of her brow.

her dark, brown eyes are so fucking bright when she’s this close.

jack wants her to always be this close.

‘right here,’ she promises, tapping a finger against the line of his jaw. ‘i’m not going anywhere, jack.’

he manages to sleep for twenty minutes. dreams of samira’s left hand tangled with his right as they walk through the backyard. feels a smaller hand tucked into his left. looks down to see a boy walking with them — curly hair that glints red in the sun; bright, brown eyes blinking up to meet his; a smile that lights up his whole face, tugs a little more to one side than the other.

….

anyway. is this anything

[bbyg4rl]

when jj uses a paintbrush on you . . .

cw: jj x artsy!reader, SMUT, inspired by p!link (18+), very inappropriate use of a paintbrush lol

You’re working. Paint smudged on your legs, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your back to him and a brush between your teeth. Concentrating. Creating.

JJ’s been watching you from the bed for the last ten minutes, towel low on his hips, hair still damp from the shower. He could be patient. Let you finish. But you’re sitting all pretty in just that old tee of his and panties, legs bare and thighs peeking out, and the jar of brushes by your side looks like too much of an opportunity to waste.

So he comes up behind you, leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “You always look fuckin’ hot all concentrated,” he murmurs, plucking the smallest detail brush from the jar.

You barely glance at him. “JJ, I’m busy.”

“You were busy.” He pushes your shirt up, fingers sliding up your inner thigh. “Now you’re not.”

Before you can argue, you’re flat on your back on the floor, breath caught in your throat as JJ settles between your legs. His towel is gone now, thrown off somewhere careless. He’s got that slow, smug smirk on his lips like he already knows he’s won. “Let’s try something,” he says, twirling the brush. “You gonna let me paint, right?”

You nod. He hooks his free hand under the waistband of your panties and drags them down, slow, teasing, uses two fingers to part your folds, baring you completely to him. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Look at that. You’re pretty like this, baby.”

You squirm, heat flooding your face, and he just grins. Spreads you a little wider with his fingers. He brings the soft tip of the paintbrush to your clit. Barely a touch but you jolt, “Oh—JJ!”

“Oh, baby,” JJ says, eyebrows raised like he’s delighted. “That sensitive?” He circles it. Teasing, light, maddening strokes, like he’s testing you, like you’re something to be examined and admired.

He keeps you open with his fingers, thumb pressing down just enough to expose your whole soaked, swollen center while the bristles flick lightly over your clit. It’s unbearable. “Jay—”

“Shh,” he coos, brushing lower. “Gotta be patient. Let me paint you good, babe.” He slides the brush further down, drags it slowly between your folds, watching your hips twitch. Watches your stomach tighten and your hands curl into the drop cloth beneath you.

“You gonna come like this?” he taunts. “From a fuckin’ paintbrush?” The bristles catch on your clit again, quicker now, just a little firmer, and you whimper, hips grinding helplessly into nothing.

“Jesus, you’re dripping,” he groans. “You want me to dip the handle in and see how far it goes?”

You moan in response, thighs tensing a little. He leans in. Breath hot against your thigh. Still circling, still teasing. “Yeah, I bet you do. You want me to fuck you with this tiny little thing, huh?”

And then, he stops, presses the brush flat against your clit, not moving it, just holding it there while you writhe. You gasp. “JJ—!”

“Oh baby,” he laughs. “Look so fuckin’ gorgeous beggin’ to get fucked with a paintbrush like this.” He rubs a thumb over your slick entrance, just to feel it, while the brush starts working your clit again, slow and steady now, and when you start to fall apart, when your thighs begin to shake and your back arches off the floor, he growls “C’mon, baby. Let go f’me, yeah?”

And you do. You fall apart with the brush still in his hand, with his fingers between your folds, and your own paint drying on your thighs. JJ sits back and grins like a man proud of his work, spinning the sticky brush between his fingers. “Hope that wasn’t your favorite one.”

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[superbassbuck]

give it up for the thunderbolts*!

Pairing: rockstar!Bucky Barnes x fl!reader

Mentions: 18+, second chance(ish), sex, choking, dom!bucky, lowkey posessive!bucky, drinking

Author's Note: different than the fluff that I normally write. is it mostly smut practice? yes. xoxo dividers by issysh3ll

Summary: What was supposed to be a fun Friday night at a concert with your friends resulted in reuniting with your past high school sweetheart, who now also happens to be the lead guitarist in a new uprising rock band, the thunderbolts*.

Word Count: 4.9k

It was late Friday night, and the only thing you wanted after surviving another brutal day at the office was to drag yourself home, take a blistering hot shower, slip into your comfiest clothes, put on a movie you’d half-watch, and bury yourself under a mountain of blankets.

But of course, your friends had other plans.

These past few weeks, they’ve been ushering you to go out more and not “waste away your years” by swallowing yourself with work. So, by the time you stepped out of the office with your hair falling out of its clip, your feet screaming from your heels, and a pantyhose probably torn somewhere around your toes—you were greeted by the sight of your friends’ car pulling up to the curb, horn blaring. 

The passenger window rolled down and your friend leaned out, waving you over. “Get in!” she shouted over the music blaring inside. “We’re going to a concert.”

You stood there, staring. “No.”

They pretended not to hear you. “The show starts in twenty minutes! Move it —”

Now it was your turn to pretend not to hear them. Shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, you kept walking down the sidewalk with an exhausted sigh. 

“I’m not going,” you muttered .”I’ve been working all day, I’m—” 

“—exhausted, hungry, sore. You always say that!” the other interrupts, slowly pressing on the gas to meet your pace.

The one in the passenger seat pokes her head out of the window, grinning widely. “Come on! You’re off tomorrow, aren’t you? Live a little tonight, regret it tomorrow —”

You paused, gesturing down at your office clothes with a dramatic gesture. “Look at me. Do I look concert-ready to you guys?” you ask sarcastically.

Their eyes took you up and down slowly. They took in the messy hair, white blouse, pencil skirt—and then they grinned even wider. 

“You look hot. Smudge on some black eyeliner, shake that hair out, you’ll look like a walking sex dream.”

“That’s disgusting—” 

“Oh, come on! Seriously?” your friend groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Loosen up a little. You’re not going to stay young forever.” 

They pulled this stunt nearly every week now, and you’d learned it was pointless to fight them. Besides, nine times out of ten when you caved, you ended up actually having the time of your life and did not regret it after. 

You crossed your arms and sighed. “Fine. But who’s even playing?”

They exchanged a look before grinning like devils.

“The Thunderbolts.” 

You showed up at the dimly lit venue exactly like your friends told you to. They’d handed you an old eyeliner pencil to smudge around your eyes in the car and a tube of red lipstick to finish the look. Not that it really mattered. It was dark enough inside that no one could really see your face anyway.  

Funny enough, your office getup probably stood out more than the smeared eyeliner and lipstick.

Your friends found you again in the crowd, pressing a red solo cup into your hand.

“You know the Thunderbolts, right?” one of them shouted over the music.

You shrug, taking a sip. “A few of their songs show up in my playlist every now and then.” 

Before they could say anything else, the house lights cut out. The crowd erupted, screaming and pushing closer to the stage. Red spotlights flickered on, sweeping across the room as the announcer’s voice echoed through the loud speakers.

“All right, everybody!” the announcer—their manager, Alexei—shouted in the mic, hyping up the crowd. “Give it up for the Thunderbolts!”

The roar that ripped through the crowd was deafening. Bodies began pressing closer together, the bass vibrating through the walls littered in stickers and graffiti, the sounds of boots thumping against the sticky floors. You just laughed under your breath, tipping back your solo cup for another sip as the stage lights flared to life. 

No matter how shit your day was, nights like this always made you feel alive again.

One by one, the band stepped out.

John Walker on drums. 

Ava Starr on bass. 

Bob Reynolds on keyboard.

Yelena Belova, lead singer and guitarist. 

Then, your heart drops in your chest. 

Last out was Bucky Barnes. Lead guitar.

He was your highschool sweetheart many moons ago. You would’ve recognized him anywhere… though he wasn’t quite the boy you remembered. His hair was longer, his shoulders were broad, and he had stubble shadowing his jaw. His eyes were still blue, but there was something about his gaze that felt darker. Darker than you remembered. 

The crowd lost it when he appeared, especially the girls. They were pressed up against the stage barrier, hands outstretched, screaming his name, tossing things on stage just to get his attention.

You felt something twist in your chest, that old, nostalgic, heartache. Years had passed since you’d last seen him, but watching strangers claw for a piece of him sent a petty spark of jealousy right in your bloodstream. Once upon a time, you were the only one who had the right to look at him like this. 

He was yours. 

And you were his.

Your friend elbowed you in the side, snapping you out of it. “That’s Bucky! He’s their lead guitarist. He’s insane. Just wait ‘til you hear him play!”

You forced a tight smile, eyes flicking back to him. “Is he?” you muttered, gaze skimming the sea of girls vying for his attention.

“What was that?” your friend shouted over the screaming, leaning closer.

But Bucky wasn’t paying the crowd any mind. While the others waved and hyped people up, he stood near the amp, head down, fiddling with the guitar’s tuning pegs. Every subtle move of his arms made his muscles flex beneath the black tee, silver rings shining under the stage lights.

You need to get out of here. The last time you and Bucky talked was after the breakup—a very, very messy breakup. And right now, you can’t even handle seeing him, much less seeing girls fawn over what was once yours. 

“Hey,” you shout to your friend, handing your solo cup back. “I’m actually really tired. I think I’m gonna head out—” 

She nudges the solo cup back to you, looking at you, appalled. “But we’re already here! The show is only an hour and a half long. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.” 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea—” 

Your words got cut off by a loud, dirty guitar riff tearing through the speakers. The crowd went feral. Your head snapped up back on stage instinctively. Bucky was playing, fingers working the strings, playing the rhythm of a song you recognized. 

You were too busy staring to notice your friend leaning over until she started unbuttoning the top of your white blouse.

“What the hell are you doing!” you gasped, trying to swat her hands away.

“Relax!” she laughed. “You seriously need to get laid. Show a little skin. Who knows? Maybe you’ll catch someone’s eye… maybe even a band member’s.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Before you could respond, John started banging in with the drums, Ava’s bass began to strum, and Yelena grabbed the microphone, her guitar resting on her hip being held by the strap. 

And the crowd went fucking crazy. 

Yelena started to sing, and Bucky kept his head down for most of the beginning of the song, bobbing his head to the rhythm. Many girls were still shouting his name—to which he didn’t pay attention to. 

But once the song got near the end, towards the bridge, he finally lifted his head. Despite his enthusiastic playing, his eyes looked dull and almost bored, scanning the crowd without much interest.

Until they landed on you.

The second his gaze locked with yours, you froze. Your hand instinctively clutches the red solo cup tighter. Everything in your gut was screaming at you to turn around, push through the crowd, run back home. But once his eyes met yours, you couldn’t move.

In the end, you were the one to look away first. You tipped your drink up, trying to act casual. What other choice did you have? You were here already, you paid your share for the ticket, and your only ride was too busy head-banging to care.

It’s okay. Maybe he didn’t even recognize you. 

To him, you were probably just another girl in the crowd, another easy face for a rockstar like him to pick out and bang backstage.

So, for now, you forced yourself to relax. You are already here now. You might as well try to enjoy it.

Once you finally loosened up, you spent the rest of the show dancing and losing yourself in the music, doing your best to ignore Bucky. What you didn’t realize was that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you the whole night. Girls kept screaming his name, hands reaching out for him, but his focus stayed locked on you.

When Yelena shouted out the final thank you and the last chord rang out, the crowd slowly started to thin. A few fans lingered around for autographs and selfies, but you were exhausted and ready to go. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” you groaned, wobbling slightly on your heels as you and your friends shuffled toward the exit amongst the crowd. “I’m dead. I just want my bed—”

But just before you could step outside, one of the security guys stepped in your path, blocking you. 

You frowned up at him. “Is there a problem, sir?”

He shakes his head, and you noticed that he was letting everyone else walk past you and exit with no problem. You cross your arms, tapping your foot impatiently. 

“Well? Did I do something wrong?”

“One of the members is requesting your presence backstage,” he says gruffly. He tilted his chin back toward the stage, right where Bucky was standing just a moment ago.

One of your friend’s jaws dropped. She elbowed you with excitement. “Dude. You’re totally getting laid—”

You shot her a death glare. “I am not getting laid,” you turned back to the guard. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m leaving.”

You try to push past him, but he sidesteps just in time to block your path again. He crosses his arms, shaking his head again. “One of the members stated you were doing something that hindered the band’s safety and wellbeing.” 

You scoffed in disbelief. “That’s bullshit!” you snapped, your voice loud enough to draw a few looks. “I didn’t throw anything, I didn’t jump the barricade. I was just dancing like everyone else!”

“It’s true!” your friend chimed in, nodding in your defense.

The guard didn’t bother to argue. He just gave a half-shrug and reached out, his big hand wrapping around your arm as he started to steer you away.

“Hey!” you yelped, trying to pull free. “Hands off, creep!”

“Sorry, ma’am. I’m just doing my job,” he grunted, unbothered by your struggling.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed under your breath. You twisted around to shout at your friends over your shoulder while you were being pulled away. “Wait for me in the car! This shouldn’t take long!”

“Okay… text us!” 

As the guard guided you toward the side of the stage, you spotted John, Yelena, Ava, and even Alexei still out front chatting with lingering fans and packing up equipment. 

There was only one member missing, meaning that Bucky was already backstage. 

Waiting for you. 

He led you down a narrow and dark hallway before stopping in front of a battered door covered with stickers and chip paints. He knocked once and waited for a moment before cracking it open and nodded for you to go inside. 

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “This is ridiculous.” 

He didn’t react. He gave you a little nudge between your shoulder blades, urging you to go through. With a frustrated sigh, you brushed past him and stepped inside. Prick. 

As you enter, your breath gets stuck in your throat when you see Bucky. He sat sprawled on the edge of one of the couches, his guitar resting beside him, and a half empty water bottle dangling from his fingers. Up close, he looked rougher than he did under the stage lights. His dark hair was hanging loose around his face, some sweat was glistening on his neck and collarbones, and that damn black tee was clinging to his broad and beefy shoulders. 

You knew all along that he was the one that sent after you, but still, seeing him right in front of you again after all these years did something to you. 

Bucky looks up at you, his blue eyes softening once he meets yours. He pushes himself off the couch and makes his way towards you in slow steps. 

“It’s been a long time, doll.”

Doll. 

That old nickname that still sends flutters in your chest, the nickname that he always saved just for you. 

He takes a step closer, and you instinctively take another step back. The door shuts behind you. “Did you come here just to see me, baby?” He asks, almost hopeful. 

You suck in a breath. You hate how even after all these years, he still has an effect on you. Deep down, a part of you wonders how many times he called other girls he brought back stage ‘baby’ or ‘doll.’ 

You cross your arms tight over your chest to try to have some control. “I didn’t know you were part of the band.” 

He lets out a quiet scoff, taking steps closer to you and closing the distance. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he mutters, stopping right in front of you. “You always did have a habit of pretending you didn’t know me when it suited you.” 

You narrow your brows, looking up at him. “Don’t turn this on me, Bucky. You know my parents didn’t approve our relation—” 

Bucky cuts you off with a sharp and humorless laugh. “Your parents,” he spits out, like the mere thought of it disgusts him. “Yeah, doll. I remember. You always did what they wanted, didn’t you?” 

You sneer at him. Entertaining him is the last thing you want to do, but it’s not like he waits for you to respond anyway.

He reaches out, catching the ends of your hair between his fingers. The sudden contact sends a shiver down your spine. Despite the petty tone in his words, his touch was gentle and delicate. 

He was always gentle and delicate when it came to you. 

“You’ve always been such a good girl,” he mutters, voice low and raspy as he plays with your hair. His gaze—almost pained, takes you in slowly, moving from the ends of your hair to your face. “My good girl.” 

You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you melt into his words—then to the warmth of his palm when he cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. But you catch his hand before you can lose yourself completely, pulling it away from your face, your fingers trembling just slightly around his wrist. 

“Bucky,” you say. “We can’t. It’s been too long. And I’m not going to be just another one of your fans you drag backstage for a quick fuck—”

Bucky’s jaw tightens as the words leave your mouth, and before you can finish, he shakes his head, cutting you off with his voice filled with frustration. 

“Stop. Don’t say that like you were just some girl to me.”

His hand catches yours where it’s still holding his wrist, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The blue eyes that you once loved—still do—are boring into yours so intensely that it makes your heart beat faster. 

“Time doesn’t mean shit, doll. Especially not with you,” he explains, holding your hand tighter. “You think you were just another girl? You really think I’d look at anyone else, when I’ve already had you?”

He leans in closer, close enough to where his breath ghosts over your lips. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Not since you, even though it was years ago. And if you don’t believe me, ask Yelena, or Walker. Hell, you can even ask that damn security guard who drags the real groupies out when they try to sneak in my dressing room.” 

Bucky raises one hand up, brushing your cheek again. You hate how easy it is for your body to just give up and melt into his touch. 

“You’ve been it for me, baby. Only you,” he presses his forehead against yours, speaking quieter. “You’re the love of my life, and I always knew you would come back to me.” 

“I didn’t come here to see you,” your voice was shaky despite your words. 

“Yeah?” he chuckles, like even he knew that was bullshit. 

His calloused and warm hand slowly trails down from your cheek down to your jawline, down to your neck, and to your collarbone. His touch was feather-light, yet it burned hot against your skin. He toys with the fabric of your top, his thumb brushing the edge of your bra where it peeks through just barely. 

“So, you just happened to stumble into some dingy club on a Friday night,” he says, his voice deep with the rasp of longing. “Wearing this… dancing like that in the crowd…” his eyes flick down your chest, then back to your eyes, his blue eyes filled with a hunger you remember too well. “And you expect me to believe you weren’t here for me?”

Before you could say anything, his hands dropped lower. With one hand still fiddling with your blouse, the other holds onto your waist, giving you a gentle tug that pushes your body completely against his. 

And just like that, a jolt of electricity ran through you after soaking in the familiar yet distant feeling of being pressed into his hard and big body. 

“Say you don’t want this,” he dares you as he tilts his head, his lips brushing yours, just barely leaving enough space to not kiss you. “Say it, and I’ll let you walk out that door right now.”

But you both know you won’t say it. He knew he was being selfish. But having you here, with your hand fisting his shirt, your body pinned against his after all these years of no contact—how could he resist? He needed you. He yearned for you, and there’s no chance in hell he’s letting you slip away again.

“Bucky—” 

“Are you seeing anyone?” he cuts in, his hand sliding down to grip your waist harder.

You swallow, shaking your head. “No. I’m not.”

A dark, satisfied chuckle escaped his lips, a mixture of a laugh and growl. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he huffs, his forehead pressing to yours again. “You were waiting for me, weren’t you? My good girl…”

He sees your resolve crumbling right before him, and he’s absolutely relishing in it. You knew that Bucky wasn’t the greatest influence back in your highschool days. Everyone around you warned you to stay away from a bad boy like him—your parents, your friends, and your classmates. He was reckless and dangerous. He was the boy who kissed you under the bleachers and dragged you into his fast scrap of a car and made you feel like the only girl in the world.

But you didn’t care. You never did. You always loved that about him, and many years later, you still do. 

And you knew there was something else that Bucky always loved about you too. 

You smirk, tilting your head so your lips graze the corner of his mouth without giving him the satisfaction of a real kiss. “Good girl?” you repeat, your voice soft yet teasing. “Who says I’m still your good girl, Bucky?” 

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist. “Watch it,” he warns, but his voice is shaky and hungry. 

You laugh, your voice low and raspy as your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, tugging it just enough to run your fingers down his collarbone and feeling his beefy chest. You had to remind him who you were back then—who you still are. 

“Why? Scared you can’t handle me anymore?” you taunt, lips brushing his jaw and feeling him shudder. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands already roaming over your body. One hand grips the back of your neck, the other sliding down to grab your ass like it belongs to him. “Keep talkin’, see what happens, baby.” 

You grin, leaning back to look him dead in the eye. Your hands push under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. “What if I want to see what happens, baby boy?” 

“Oh, doll,” he breathes hard, inching back closer to you. “God. I’ve been waiting so damn long to hear you call me that again.” 

And before you could say anything else, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours. It’s intense, desperate, wet, and warm—all at once. His hands are roaming hungrily all over your body now. His rough and warm hands glide up and down your back, rubbing you desperately and pulling you closer against him so you can’t escape. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans as he licks his lips, tasting you. “You still taste just like I remembered. So sweet and delicious, and so fucking mine.” 

He dips his head down, his hot mouth trailing to your neck where he drags his tongue over your skin. He covers your throat with wet kisses, biting and sucking hard enough to make you gasp.

Your head tips back, a helpless sound escapes your lips as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging when he hits a spot that makes your knees weak. “Bucky…god. Baby—”

Bucky grunted against your mouth, his hands sliding back down to your ass and giving it another firm and possessive squeeze. “Fuck,” he growls, voice ragged. “You don’t know how much I missed hearing you moan my name like that.”

Before you could react, he moved his arms underneath you, hoisting you up against him in one swift motion. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist for support as he carries you to the couch with a sense of urgency. At the same time, his lips never left yours. 

He plops you down on the couch with a soft thud, and he doesn’t give you a chance to even sit up as his hands continue to roam all over your body hungrily. He’s grabbing your waist, tugging your hair, his hands sliding down your thighs—feeling you, making you his. 

He unbuttons the rest of your blouse, pulling your skirt up and growling when he sees your panties protected by the sheer pantyhose. 

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Wasting your life away in the office, when you could be here, by my side…” his hands tug at the waistband of your pantyhose. He doesn’t even bother pulling it down. Instead, he rips it right off—baring your soaking wet panties to him. “By my side and all mine.” 

“Bucky,” you pant, instinctively squeezing your legs together just to soothe that burning ache. “I can’t—I can’t be yours anymore. Our lives are too different—” 

You're cut off with the feeling of his hands roughly pushing your panties to the side, fingers sliding against your increasingly wet slit. You let out a gasp, already feeling your untouched walls flutter at the mere contact. Bucky lets out a hungry growl as he slowly pushes two fingers past your entrance, fucking you with his hand at a slow, deep, and steady pace. 

“You say that,” he grunts, the tightness in his pants becoming unbearable as he finger-fucks you. “But your body is accepting me so willingly. Like it misses me.”

You arched your back off the couch, fingers digging into his strong back. “Fuck… god, baby…” 

Spurred on by your moans, he increases his speed, hitting your sensitive folds so sweetly with just his fingers alone. “Fuck, you’re soaking my fingers, sweetheart…” Bucky pulls his fingers out with a wet squelch. He brings his fingers to his tongue, licking them slowly. “I missed tasting you so much, my love.” 

He pulls back just enough to begin unbuckling his studded belt, unzipping his dark jeans and pulling them down. He releases his throbbing cock out, enveloping his aching shaft with his large hand. He pumps himself a few times as he stares down at you with hungry eyes, his tip leaking with need. 

You shiver, watching him with wide eyes and your lip parted in surprise. You couldn’t believe this. It’s been years since he’s been inside of you, yet your body is screaming, begging to be filled by him. 

He leans down, guiding his aching tip towards your wet entrance. He rubs himself against you, soaking in your juices. “You used to always like it hard and fast,” he muttered. “Do you still want it that way, baby? Tell me.” 

You nod weakly, his hands sliding up from your waist, to your breast, and around your neck. He applies the slightest pressure against your neck—making you gasp. 

“Good girl,” he groans as he thrusts forward, pushing past your entrance in one steady slide—like you were made to take him. He shudders above you, his body collapsing on yours with one head still steady around your neck, applying enough pressure to make you pant now. 

“Fuck!” he moans out, slowly moving his hips faster and faster and faster. He begins rutting against you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, inviting him in deeper with each desperate thrust. “Takin’ me s’good baby, it’s like you never left me, huh?” 

You don’t say anything, you just throw your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as you mutter curses and moans underneath your breath. His hands dig just a little deeper against your neck, making you moan and claw his back harder. 

“That’s a good girl, fuck—my good girl…” he hissed, his lips peppering wet and sloppy kisses all over your face as he ruts into you wildly. “You’re already making such a mess, baby… look at you… dripping all over me and the couch.” 

“Fuck… James!” you whimpered, your hands encircling around his wrist that’s holding your throat. 

“Yesss,” Bucky hisses, his cock sliding in and out of you deliciously with wild abandon. The sounds of skin slapping against each other fills the room, the couch crying and creaking for help. “Say my name again, baby. I’m all yours.” 

“James!” you moaned louder, holding him tighter against your body as you clench down on him when he hits your sweet spot with his tip. “Don’t stop, James! Oh, god… yes…” 

Bucky moans, and slants his brows, looking at you with need and lust. “Fuck… thank you, baby. Thank you…” he praises you desperately and pathetically, like he’s been longing to hear you call him by his first name again. 

With one hand still on your neck possessively, his other hand began wandering all over your body–groping your breasts, holding your waist, gripping your thighs, squeezing your legs… it was all too much for him. The feel of you, the scent of you, the sound of you, the warmth of you… 

It was enough to make him spill right then and there, deep inside you. 

“I’m gonna cum, babydoll—” he grunts, his hips moving faster. The throbbing and pounding from his cock against your tight walls fills you with overwhelming pleasure. 

“Cum for me, James. God… I’m gonna cum too—!” 

You clench down on him, your legs shaking uncontrollably as Bucky sends you over the edge. You were impossibly tight against him. He hissed, hardly being able to thrust any deeper with how sweetly you were gripping his cock.

Bucky throws his head back, his hands tightening on your throat slightly as he manages to  hilt himself completely with one punishing thrust, spilling his hot and sticky seed deep inside your weeping pussy. “Fuck!” he moans, giving your hips a tight squeeze as he emptied himself inside you. “All mine…. all mine…” he says like a prayer as he slowly grinds his hips against yours. 

You two laid like that for a moment, his large body enveloping yours in a sweaty and heated mess. He held you possessively, smoothing your hair down and pressing soft kisses to your jaw and neck—a contrast to how rough he was just moments before.

“Stay with me, baby,” Bucky murmurs against your skin, his knuckles brushing tenderly along your cheek as he looks down at you like you’re his entire world. “Don’t walk away from me again.”

“James…” you breathe out, a small frown pulling at your lips. “I can’t just drop everything. I have a job, a life—”

“Quit that damn office job,” he cuts you off, his thumb brushing your lower lip to keep you quiet. “Drop the good girl routine, come with me. Come on tour with us, live a little, baby. Be free with me.” He pulls back slightly so you can see the raw, desperate plea in his eyes. “Spend the rest of your life with the only man who’s ever really loved you. You know you want to.”

“I don’t know—” 

“You know you want to, doll,” he mutters against your skin, his breath warm, his voice all gravel and longing. “We used to be so fun, baby. I could give you that life again. Say yes. Just say yes, and you’re mine again.”

And despite every argument you could possibly make, you knew deep down you couldn’t help it. Your face softens, your body relaxes into his touch. With a soft and helpless sigh, you lean into his hand. 

Because after tonight, you knew you couldn’t live another moment without your long lost highschool sweetheart, Bucky Barnes.

[g00d--m0urning]

Final Destination: Your House (CH. 7)

(CW: none for this chapter, i think)

Everyone finally gets to apologize. Turns out you're not on the same page.

ok, so I kind of hate this chapter, but… Oh well. I also posted this on shitty hotel wifi, so if there's mistakes or anything, please tell me.

(one-shot reqs are still open. I currently have 23 on the list, so I'll obvi tell you if yours is already on the list.)

You’re awake, have been for hours, but your eyes have remained closed. If you keep them closed then you don’t have to face the reality of what’s going to happen today. Everything could go wrong, then again, everything could go right.

Birds chirp directly outside of your window, seemingly getting more insistent with each passing moment. One of them pecks at the window until you finally have enough, throwing the covers off. You glare at the bird, who you swear smirks at you before flying off.

You prolong your morning routine as long as you can, taking your sweet time with every little thing. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long while, tracing over the small mark on your forehead; the stitches dissolved a few days ago and all that’s left is a tiny scar.

You splash your face, letting the water drip down your face, exhaling deeply. You can’t avoid this, as much as you want to, you promised Skylar. When you walk back into your bedroom, you notice a note on the bedside table, the familiar symbol of Celia's office stationery embossed on the corner:

 ‘Please meet us in the Breaker Box, dearest. -your lovers’

The vague message does little to soothe your ever fraying nerves, placing the glasses on a few minutes later. The Breaker Box sounds quiet from the outside; no laughter, none of Johnny’s crooning, nothing.

It takes you by surprise when you walk in, discovering that almost everybody is in the bar. You’ve never seen so many of them in one place, even during movie nights people rotate in and out. 

The murmurings you couldn’t hear from outside fall hush when the door shuts behind you, announcing your presence to the room, “Hello,” you choke out, resisting the urge to shrink under all the eyes on you.

“Thank you for coming,” Celia smiles, stepping through the throngs of people, offering a hand for you to take.

You hesitantly set your hand in hers, allowing her to guide you to your booth, “What’s going on?” you ask, looking around the room, watching as they shrivel when you meet their eyes.

“We’re doing what we should’ve done in the first place: talking to you- and apologizing,” Skylar comes forward to explain, “And after, you can say whatever you want, no matter how much you think it might hurt us, we want you to say it, okay?”

“Alright,” you confirm, fine with the terms, “You guys do know that apologies aren’t going to fix everything, right?” 

“We do, yes,” Skylar nods fervently, coming closer to you, “We all know that apologizing is the first step of a long process and we’re all okay with that.”

You nod back, going to thank her, but she cuts you off, “and please don’t thank us. It’s the bare minimum, probably even less,” she states, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Now, I think we’re going to start.”

The dateables line up near the stage, taking turns in front of the microphone; some had prepared speeches, others spoke on the fly, speaking whatever came to mind. There’s lots of tears, like a lot. Not just from you, though; everybody did.

It means a lot, hearing them all apologize so deeply from the heart. After everybody has had their turn, they all take seats somewhere, ready for you. You take your place on the stage, looking over the crowd, “Hi,” you speak into the mic, wincing when it crackles in return.

“I… I appreciate everyone’s apologies, deeply,” you trail off, shutting your eyes and taking a deep breath to compose yourself, “But I was to speak my mind, so I will.”

“Over the past week, I have been hurt immensely and I’m not talking about my accidents. The way you all treated me was…Horrible. The off and on hurt worse than it would’ve had you all just outright told me you hated me,” you tell them, picking at dry skin on your palms.

 “And it was over a movie. All of you ignored me so easily, not once thinking to talk to me about it,” your voice breaks, but you keep going, “I know why you did it, but I can’t understand it.”

Your face crumples, setting a hand over your eyes, gasping for air between broken sobs, “How was it so easy for all of you to do that to me?” you ask, unsure if you truly want the answer. 

------------

If you listen closely, you can hear the sounds of their hearts shattering. When this all started, they figured you’d see it the way they did. Apparently not. Nobody knows what to do. They hate watching you break down, but it seems like comfort from them is the last thing you want. 

“We’re sorry,” Skylar apologizes again, standing up from her chair.

“I don’t want more fucking apolgies, Skylar! I want an explanation, a reason, anything!” you shout, backing away from her, “You said it yourself, you know apologies aren’t fixing this.”

“I know, I know! Please,” she begs, stopping her approach when you back away, “we did it for you! We just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And where’d that get you?” you spit, trying to keep yourself in check. Anger wars with a deep sense of betrayal, battling for dominance in your own mind, “...Did you do it for me or for yourselves?”

That question sucks all the air from the room, a suffocating tension falling over the room. They did it for you, of course they did. They did. Sure, they were scared and didn’t talk to you to see what you thought, and did it so they wouldn’t carry the guilt of hurting you… 

------------

“That’s all I need you to admit,” you whisper, staring at Skylar expectantly, then turning to everyone else, “I don’t care if you did, but you can’t claim this was for me because this is not what I wanted. All I wanted was you guys.”

“You’re right,” it’s Dorian that admits it, his face as stoic as ever, “We were scared and it made us selfish. All we thought about was ourselves.”

You can’t find the words, only able to nod in response. It’s all you wanted to hear; it doesn’t change anything. Dorian begins approaching, keeping his steps slow and light, like coming up to a skittish animal.

He pulls you into his arms, tucking you against his wide frame. You protest weakly, smacking against his chest until you’re too tired to continue fighting, “Fuck you.”

He doesn’t apologize, nor does his grip on you falter. He holds you the way he always does, like he’s scared he might lose you if he lets go. For once, he’s worried that might be the case. 

“Don’t leave again, please. I can't do this.”

[polarspaz]

DualityReboot AU

After dramatically passing out, Anakin is carried back to the ship by Obi-Wan and the clone troopers. There, they try and figure out what's causing him to breath so erratically as well as what's causing his eyes to bleed.

While the medics fuss about, Obi-Wan can't help but sit there in stunned shock, replaying the day's events in his mind over and over again. He knew Anakin had been behaving rather odd lately, acting almost like an entirely different person in some occasions, but he had simply assumed it was the result of the increasing stress of the war.

The battles had taken a rather brutal turn as of late and even Obi-Wan was starting to feel strained, so Anakin acting off kilter was understandable, but falling to the Darkside? Obi-Wan couldn't believe it. Even though he felt that oppressive darkness strangle him, even though he saw volcanic gold eyes looking back instead of blue, he still felt Anakin.

Most of all, all Obi-Wan could feel was his pain.

Especially right now. It wasn't even the physical pain that was troubling Obi-Wan, it was mental one. Anakin had tried to block their bond earlier, but the barrier he had put up was now crumbling, allowing Obi-Wan to peek through and see what was causing Anakin so much mental anguish.

What he did not expect was to suddenly pass out as his mental consciousness was ripped out him and shoved straight into Anakin's vision/dream.

It takes Obi-Wan a minute to adjust, he's stunned by how clear and vivid this vision is playing out around him. He's on some sort of Starship deck, one that he's never seen before, and standing right next to him is a tall masked figure dressed in black. The only sound that can be heard from them is the haunting echo of a strained respirator

It's Anakin. Obi-Wan has no idea how he knows this, he just does. He tries to say something but no matter how hard he yells, he can't make a sound. Anakin doesn't seem to be able to see him either and anytime he tries to touch something, he just phases right though it, like a ghost.

So he does the only thing he can do, watch and try and figure out what is going on. What plays out it is a typical day for Darth Vader, force choking position hungry admiral, interrogating rebel spies, and lastly, receiving a call from Sideous, the Lord of the Empire.

Obi-Wan cannot see the shadowed Sith Lord, but he can still feel the darkness pressing down on him like a physical weight. Even as Anakin answers his master faithfully, he sounds so hollow, barely able to hide the anger and resentment he clearly feels towards his teacher.

Then as Vader goes to meditate, both Obi-Wan and Anakin wake up at the same time.

Both of them are gasping for breath as they are violently brought back into reality. Obi-Wan cannot take his eyes off Anakin, who's gold eyes are rimmed with angry tears. "You saw it all, didn't you?" Anakin hisses out. "I couldn't see you, but I could feel you. You were there."

Obi-Wan nods and takes big breath before he gently grabs Anakin's arms and gives him a pleading look. "Anakin please, please tell me what going on."

Tired and knowing the gig is up, Anakin spills his guts. He tells Obi-Wan about his dreams, about the monster called Darth Vader that lurks just underneath his skin, that he was destined to become the boogeyman they all feared.

"I think...that you should kill me." Anakin feels utterly defeated when he says this to Obi-Wan at the end of his explanation. He can't see a way out of this, he's doomed. What he does not expect to feel is the hot surge of anger that explodes out of Obi-Wan when he says this aloud.

"Don't you EVER ask me to do that! I will do anything for you Anakin Skywalker, but not that! Never that!" Obi-Wan vehemently declares, much to Anakin's shock and wonderment.

After a small talk the two agree to keep this between them and not tell anyone, not even the Council. Anakin also gives Obi-Wan permission to view his dreams with him from now on, in hopes the other may uncover a clue on how to stop all of this.

For the first time in months, Anakin feels a faint spark of hope.

[kingkruell]

THE MORNING AFTER — friends with benefits was supposed to be simple. then sukuna started staying after, touching soft, and wanting more. he’s not in love. probably. maybe. shit.

the first time, it’s nothing.

you look good under him, sure. better than most. but sukuna’s had pretty things before, what matters more is how easy you are about it. no clinging. no questions. no asking what this is, or where it’s going.

it starts with just a message that says “your place or mine?” and then followed by the sound of your moans echoing in his chest.

so, yeah. he keeps seeing you. but only because it’s convenient. only because you look so fucking pretty when your mascara smudges and your breath hitches. only because you don’t ask for anything. that’s the whole point.

he doesn’t even remember who started it. maybe it was you. maybe it was him. doesn’t matter. all he knows is that you’re in his bed again, skin warm, hair damp with sweat, legs tangled with his like you belong there.

and now—you’re still catching your breath, chest rising and falling slow, a little smirk tugging at your lips like you know you did something to him. maybe you did. he’s not sure yet.

“you always stare this much after?” you murmur, eyes still closed.

sukuna scoffs, “you’re imagining things.”

you crack one eye open to look at him, and god, you’re smug. smug and tired and glowing from the inside out. it pisses him off. but not enough to pull away, it seems.

he tells himself it’s just sex. you’re hot. you’re fun. you don’t ask for anything. that’s rare. he likes that. that’s why he keeps calling you over. that’s all it is.

still, his hand lingers on your waist longer than it should. not even groping, it’s just resting there, thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin. he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until you shift, blinking up at him.

“…you good?”

“yeah,” he says too quickly.

you hum like you don’t believe him, but you don’t press. just flop back down and close your eyes again, body relaxing right up against his like you trust him or some shit. like he’s not a walking red flag with blood on his past and a temper sharp enough to cut bone.

he watches you breathe. watches the way your lashes flutter when you start to fall asleep. and it hits him, out of nowhere, like a sucker punch to the gut: he likes you.

no—he fucking likes you.

he could live with finding you attractive. that’s normal. that’s easy. but this? this heat in his chest, this dumb itch to ask you about your day, this weird anger at the thought of anyone else touching you?

no. he doesn’t like that. he doesn’t like that at all.

his hand still hasn’t moved from your waist. you haven’t said anything. you’re just breathing slow and even and peaceful beside him, like you don’t realize you’re becoming a problem.

sukuna swallows. he shifts a little, then stops himself from pulling away. it’d feel like flinching. he doesn’t flinch.

“you staying?” he mutters.

your voice is muffled in the pillow. “you kicking me out?”

“…didn’t say that.”

a sleepy laugh escapes your lips, one that he’s grown too familiar with.

“guess i’ll stay, then.”

you’re out cold a few minutes later. he doesn’t sleep. just stares at the ceiling and curses himself in silence.

this was supposed to be nothing. but you’re still here. and for some reason, that doesn’t feel like a mistake.

[neoslice]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆.

a.) featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento & geto suguru

b.) warnings. none, just daddy jjk men (literally fathers).

note. oh em gee, it's honestly been such a long time since i've written on tumblr (kinda nervous). been in a slump lately, i self-published my first book a couple of weeks ago (yay), wanna check it out? my ig's always available @/jomathilda (self-promo sesh). anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this one >__<

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

in all honesty, gojo satoru has never dreamt of forming a little family of his own, given the fact that he's the strongest sorcerer. pshh, who's got time for families and serious relationships?

and then you came. every resolve of him came crashing down. gojo would say that it's 'love at first sight', but you never really did fall in love with him until two years later — when he decided to swoon you with his very ugly singing skills, but that was the reason why you fell anyways (and you fell hard) — which led to marriage.

that wasn't all it to his relationship. one thing led to another; it started out as a small talk with you about babies, and then things led for the better. and then, bam. you guys were blessed with a little baby boy named kikoru, initially gojo had told you all about being the best girl dad ever, but when the gender of your baby was revealed, gojo was the most elevated one in the room. honestly, he didn't even care, he just wanted a baby.

and best believe that he's the best boy dad ever.

gojo had decided that his son will love dinosaurs, hence the dinosaur themed nursery, food platter, fork, toys, onesies. and hell, the baby isn't even born yet.

when kikoru was born, gojo cried a lot. three days, maybe. specifically, 72 hours, 30 minutes, and 48 seconds. you counted. he couldn't stop staring at your little one — gojo even set up a small baby cam by the crib (which is in the same room as his, he said in case he needed a boost during his missions).

during day offs, which were pretty much rare to none. gojo spends his days at home, as much as he could.

"look at those strong little legs of yours," gojo coos out softly to kikoru, who kicked his little legs in reply, beaming out a toothless smile and soft giggles, "think you can do a few steps for daddy? just a couple before daddy goes out for his mission."

as if he understood, kikoru planted his little feet on top of the rugged floor, and slowly gojo steadied his body; while keeping his hands by kikoru's sides in case he took a fall. as happy as he is, gojo (tried to) stay calm, gushing out internally as he scoots back to make room, "yes, yes, just like that, one two step, baby."

with wobbly legs, kikoru took two small steps before stumbling into gojo's arms. and gojo bursted out laughing happily, his contagious laughter sending kikoru into fits of giggles, "you walked, you walked to daddy!" he yells out happily, throwing kikoru in the air before catching his small body back.

kikoru squeals out happily, kicking his legs.

"babe, he just walked, he just walked two steps!"

and best believe me that he told ever single one of his students about the two steps kikoru did. very proud boy dad.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

retiring from the jujutsu world was one of the best choice he has ever made besides marrying you. it's always a dream of his to form a little family far away from danger, and so he did.

"good morning, daddy," you raise your little daughter up as she yawns softly.

your nine month old daughter, akari giggled her heart out at the sight of nanami; her little arms all stretched out towards him. both nanami and you have been trying to get her to take a few steps with baby walkers, at least to stimulate her legs at first.

but akari had shown signs of her beginning steps a couple of times in the past week — so, you've always tried to help her walk when there's a chance to. now, perhaps is the right time.

you gently lowered her to the ground, steadying her on her feet, "okay, baby go on. daddy's just there," you whisper to her ear, letting her take the first step forward; although her body wobbled to the side, you were ready to catch her. flinching slightly with every step she took.

nanami slowly lowered himself to her height, slowly and quietly to avoid surprising his baby girl. with his arms outstretched to her, he sat on the floor, crossing his legs, "just a little more, sweetheart," he encouraged her.

the encouragement made akari grin happily, her arms continuously aiming for him as she took another wobbly step. a proud smile appeared on nanami's face as she stumbled towards him in a rush during the last couple of steps, eventually falling into his lap, thankfully.

he caught her little body, carrying her up to his chest. like a proud father, he smothered her in sloppy kisses all over her little face, muttering out soft praises, "good job, baby. daddy's very proud of you," he whispers, brushing her thin layer of hair back.

all you could do was smile. akari's always been such a daddy's girl anyways (not that you're complaining, they were unseparable).

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

once in a blue moon, geto wished that things could have gone differently. and when the said blue moon came lingering over his mind, he just had to form a little family of his own — it was fleeting, but his love for you was real, and it stayed real until now.

no, he never expected it. and yes, he is also surprised with the turn of events. you were an anchor to him, and he's very thankful with the appearance of you and your little baby girl, asuka.

geto tries his best to be a present father for asuka — which went shit the first few months she was born, geto was barely present. spiraling into negative thoughts on how his baby girl was going to grow up in such a bad environment, especially the things that haven't dawned upon him. he was terribly worried. and so he decided to detach himself from both you and asuka.

he slips inside her nursery every night, taking a look at how his own flesh and blood grew. every day for eight months, she grew without him present most of the time and guilt gnawed inside out. he didn't have the face to show up in front of you, not after the couple of months he decided to disappear off into nothingness.

so, when asuka was awake late at night during one of his drop ins. he was a bit surprised, her doe eyes staring right into his despite the darkness of the room. her lips formed into a big smile at the sight of him, balled fists flailing around.

"you've grown so much," he whispers, taking her into his arms.

geto convinced himself that he shouldn't, he'd only get attached and that would be the worst thing to happen. but, seeing his daughter, he crumbled, looking down into her eyes as she flailed her small little arms around him, gurgling incoherently.

he sat on the floor of the nursery, holding onto the sights of her body. his lips pursed into a thin line as he watches her suckle on her little fists, "no, baby. that's dirty," geto reprimanded her, gently pulling away her hand from her mouth, but asuka whined and he lets out a small chuckle, "alright. just a couple more seconds."

he lets her down gently on the floor and walked to a nearby toy box, rummaging through it to find something for asuka to chew on. it was a yellow colored toy ring that he decided to choose for her, and the moment he turned around, asuka was both on her feet, arms stretched out to him, her little feet wobbling — but her strong resolve to get to him beats her continuous wobbling.

asuka's little gurgles continued as she stumbled to him a couple of times before tumbling onto her face. the toy now long forgotten by him, geto rushed to her, cradling her close to him, "you just walked, you just walked, baby," he repeatedly said to her, his fingertips brushing over her little nose.

asuka's bottom lip juts out as the pain from the fall finally kicks in and a loud sob emits from her throat. geto panics, bouncing her in his arms, "no, no. i'm sorry, baby, i didn't mean to let you fall... daddy's so sorry, pretty girl," he shushed her.

your motherly instincts kicked in the moment her sob reached your ear, even in your sleep, you stumbled up running to the nursery, ready to pound on whatever the hell kept your daughter awake.

"you let go of my daug — suguru?!"

geto looks up, his brows drooping low in worry, "it's me. i didn't mean to — she walked and fell, how do i make her stop crying?" he babbles out almost too quickly for you to comprehend.

"she what?" you mumble out, snatching her from his arms; and asuka calmed down almost immediately.

a lot of explaining happened that night (and apologies). oh, and a lot of baby cam footage replays too... since you missed everything, and were really upset about it.

© neoslice 2025. do not copy, modify, or post anywhere else!

[organic-bloodbath]

could you make a part two of “Carry her” where Jun-ho finally makes it to the games while Gi-hun, Player 100, Minsu, Myung-gi, Y/n, Jun-hee, the baby player 336, player 353, player 203 and player 039 are at the final game? And No-Eul comes to help save Jun-hee from sacrificing herself and shooting myung-gi in the leg to stop him from trying to push Y/n? (and ofc this is where Gi-hun is holding the baby while trying think of a way to save Y/n and Jun-hee)

SORRY THIS IS SUCH A LONG REQUEST😭

Carry her – Part 2

Jun-hee x Reader

Summary: As above (almost).

Part 1

A/N: Probably not as good as the first one but oh well it's something :') Deadass writing several different versions of the last game with different outcomes lmao.

♡♡♡

"So, who do you think will be the one to drop dead next?" the long haired VIP asked the others, letting out a laugh before taking a sip from his drink.

"I think it'll be you," a female voice answered behind them. The VIPs turned around, confused why there was a pink guard aiming a gun towards the long haired VIP. The confusion quickly turned into panic.

"Woah! Put that thing down," the man gasped, voice trembling. "I –"

Then, he indeed was the one to drop dead next, falling back on the couch but now with a hole in his head.

The woman got up, ready to flee and save herself, but the guard was faster, shooting a bullet through her brain as well.

When all the VIPs were dead, blood splattered on the couches and the floor, No-eul took the mask off her head and threw it on the floor.

"Got the full experience now," No-eul mumbled and stepped over the woman's corpse.

No-eul looked at the final game play behind the glass, the players currently standing on the second pillar – six of them remaining. The first round had eliminated four players instead of the required one.

No-eul looked at especially the young girl, player 222, who had been pregnant and given birth during one of the games. An older man, player 456, was holding her baby, protecting her, since the girl could barely walk.

Player 222 was one of the few people who No-eul cared about among the players, even though she didn't personally know her and most likely would never either.

☆☆☆

Myung-gi had a tight grip on your neck, squeezing it hard but not enough to choke you – yet, at least. He held you in his arm's length, close to the edge of the pillar. Just two or three steps behind and your foot would face only air.

"Myung-gi, please," Jun-hee begged, trying to stay calm but afraid he'd let go of you and make you drop. She felt her voice trembling as she spoke the words to him. "Please let go of her."

"Yeah? You want to save your little girlfriend here? Walk away and raise our kid together, huh?" Myung-gi rambled, keeping a tight hold on your throat but looking into Jun-hee's eyes. "Yeah, our kid, Jun-hee. That kid is mine. It's my kid too."

"Myung-gi –"

"I've seen how you look at each other," Myung-gi chuckled. "I get it, she's pretty and all. While I'm a piece of shit who's not capable of being a dad. That's what you wanted to hear, Jun-hee? That's what you think, right?"

"Myung-gi, that's not what i think. Can we talk later and figure things out, okay?" Jun-hee insisted, trying to keep him as calm as possible but he was just getting angrier as the seconds passed. He didn't even know why he was so furious. Was it just jealousy? Not wanting to see Jun-hee with someone else?

"We –" Myung-gi started but couldn't get past the first word because suddenly Myung-gi let go of you, a loud scream escaping his mouth. He fell on his knees, holding on his leg which started to bleed. Myung-gi pressed his hand on his leg, painting his palm red.

Everyone noticed the blood and how he had gotten injured, as baffled as others how it had happened out of nowhere. Was that a gunshot? Who the hell had shot him out of nowhere? There was still 4 minutes left of the second round.

But when Myung-gi had let go of you, he gave you a slight push, making you lose your balance and take couple of steps backwards. Your foot didn't meet the ground on the third step. However, you managed to hold your hands on the edge, the rest of your body hanging in the air. You wouldn't be able to stay there very long, there wasn't anything you could properly grab.

"Y/N!" Jun-hee shouted in panic and ran towards you. "Take my hand, i'll help you up."

"No, i'll just pull you down too," you refused and shook your head, tears rising into your eyes. You were going to die but you weren't going to take Jun-hee with you and make her child an orphan.

Oh my god you were really going to fall and fucking die. You had come this far, you could not die right in the end.

Then, your fingers slipped and you lost the hold on the pillar. Jun-hee had a tight grip on your arm but she wouldn't be able to pull you up on her own, she was too small and fragile for that.

"Someone help me!" Jun-hee shouted over her shoulder as she grabbed your arm, squeezing your flesh as hard as she could. She didn't care about whatever you said; she needed to save you. She needed you. She couldn't handle even the thought of losing you.

She had to save you, just like you had saved her.

"Please, please don't let go," Jun-hee pleaded, her body starting to slowly slide down further towards the edge, inch by inch, because of your weight. The rough surface was scratching her pants, but she tried to push herself back as hard as she could, using all the strength she had in her body.

Your hand was becoming sweaty, you couldn't hold on to Jun-hee much longer. You wanted to let go so you wouldn't take Jun-hee with you. She was crying – no, you were both crying.

The moment Myung-gi pushed you over the edge, Gi-hun knew he needed to help you, immediately. But he was holding the baby, trying to figure out what to do. Of course he needed to help you and Jun-hee, she couldn't get you up by herself, but what was he going to do with the baby? If he put her down and left her alone, one of the players could grab and kill her. But he needed to take that risk, otherwise you would be dead.

Gi-hun made it to you and Jun-hee just in time, grabbing your arm and pulling you up with Jun-hee. Just a few more seconds and you would have been dead, bones crushed all the way down there on the floor with the players 353, 203, 039 and, sadly, Min-su.

When you were up on your own two feet again, Jun-hee immediately crashed against you and wrapped her arms tightly around your waist, almost suffocating you. Her body was trembling, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Thank god you're safe," Jun-hee mumbled against your chest, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself down. Shake off the thought of you being dead.

"Are you alright?" Gi-hun asked, his hand on your shoulder and worry bright in his eyes. You managed to just nod, heart racing from that moment. That was the closest you had come to death during these games.

Another gunshot made all of you flinch, separating Jun-hee from you. Now the player 100 had collapsed on the ground, a bullet hole on the middle of his forehead.

Stage 2 – pass.

"Who the hell is firing the gun?" Myung-gi shouted, frantically looking all around the large room for a hidden sniper but wasn't able to spot one. "There wasn't supposed to be guns!"

It was for the players to decide who were to die and who to live, not the guards this time, unless the time would run out and there had still been plenty of time left.

There was no answer, only Myung-gi's loud words hanging in the air. The bridge started to slowly connect the second pillar to the third, letting you to move to the last stage.

Third pillar. You, Jun-hee, Gi-hun and Myung-gi facing each other – nobody else left anymore. Gi-hun was holding the baby, while Jun-hee had grabbed your hand, her fingers squeezing your hand hard; afraid you'd leave her side.

Right after you had pressed the button, turning it from red to green, Myung-gi grabbed the metal pipe to himself, about to push one of you over the edge. He was going to live, no matter what. Jun-hee stepped in front of you, trying to protect you from him – he wouldn't push Jun-hee off, right?

Although, Myung-gi had officially gone insane, so there was no knowing what he was about to do. However, due to the wound on his leg, leaving a blood trail on the ground, he wasn't able to move as quickly as in the beginning. He wasn't as big of a threat anymore to you.

Before the third round had lasted even a minute, another gunshot echoed in the room. This time, Myung-gi collapsed on the ground, another bullet shot into him – now to the head, the shot much more fatal.

Congratulations – you have now passed the game.

All of you just stood there in complete shock what had just happened. That wasn't in the rules. You were supposed to decide the victims when there was still time left. Kill each other.

Although, what mattered the most right now was that you, Jun-hee, the baby and Gi-hun would walk free and alive out of here.

"Is it really over?" Jun-hee asked quietly, feeling like it was all too good to be true.

"I guess so," you mumbled. That was it? There had to be another twist coming up. Where were you supposed to go now?

Jun-hee hesitated for a moment but then walked closer to Myung-gi, kneeling down next to him. She just looked at him, examining his face. Eyes open, staring into nothing. Lips slightly apart from each.

"Goodbye, asshole," Jun-hee whispered and cared enough just to close his eyes.

Then, she returned to you and felt a weight dropping from her shoulders now that Myung-gi was gone. That she'd never have to see him again.

☆☆☆

Jun-hee turned her back to her past, facing now her future – you.

"Jun-ho?" Gi-hun gasped as the four of you reached the boat by the beach. Not a moment too soon.

"Are you the only survivors?" he asked, looking at each of you one by one – his gaze especially glued at the baby Gi-hun was holding. Jun-ho had way too many questions but no time to go through them right now.

"Just us," Gi-hun confirmed.

Jun-ho helped all of you to get up into the boat, especially Jun-hee since she still had trouble with her leg.

"Alright, we should be –" Jun-ho stopped mid-sentence, glancing over Gi-hun's shoulder. His face fell, making everyone turn around to see what he had seen.

A woman dressed up in a pink suit, a rifle in her arms, was standing a few metres behind you. Everyone went into slight panic for a moment. She was clearly one of the guards, though not wearing a black mask anymore.

"Room for one more?" she asked.

It took a few seconds for Jun-ho to answer but he then nodded his head and motioned her to come to them. "Yeah, come on. We don't have much time left."

"What?" Gi-hun asked, needing a good explanation why the hell Jun-ho was willing to take a guard with them without another question. "Why are we taking her with us?"

"I'll explain everything to you later, but she's coming with us," Jun-ho ordered. She had helped Jun-ho earlier, proving that she was on their side, so it would be unfair of him to just leave her to die.

The boat took off, finally leaving the island behind you and heading further towards the sea. Just a few minutes later, you heard a loud explosion coming from the island – the entire place was now completely destroyed.

The place where you had been trapped and fighting for your life for a week, was now turning into ash. The place where you had been only a moment ago was now gone forever.

The idea and thought of it all felt so surreal.

While you sat in the boat, everyone stayed silent for a long time, trying to process everything what had happened alone.

You eyed the guard suspiciously and decided to speak up, to break the thick silence. "Why are you here?"

"I did you a favor, might as well give me a ride back home," she replied, daring to give you a smile.

"Wait, you shot all those other players?" Jun-hee asked, now straightening her back and joining the conversation. "Why?"

"Had to get the game over a little faster." She nodded towards the island which was now in flames.

"But why help us?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows. "You could have just left us there and escape on your own."

She went silent for a moment, and you were dying to know what was going on in her head. This was the first moment when you could speak freely to one of the guards without a danger of getting shot in the head.

"Because i don't think the four of you deserve to die," she replied, and you could tell that it was the only answer you would get from her.

So, some of the guards still had a heart that cared about a human life. Or at least one of them.

"What's your name?" Jun-hee asked.

"No-eul," she replied, realizing how much time had passed since the last time she or someone else had said her name out loud. Here she had been known only as 011. She then glanced at the baby Jun-hee was holding, a warm smile spreading on her face. "She's beautiful. Does she have a name yet?"

"No, i haven't really had the time to think about it yet."

After that, all of you sat in silence for a moment, the games speedrunning inside your heads. How the past week had changed all of you. Not only financially but even more mentally. How many people you had watched die right in front of you – some of them strangers that had become your friends. You felt like you had gone through a long war but it was only one week.

"Y/N," Jun-hee whispered, her baby fully asleep in her arms. "What do you plan to do now?"

"Well, i don't know, really."

"I'd like to have you in my life, if that's okay with you," Jun-hee suggested, careful and nervous with her words how you would react. You had lived together in this small bubble, away from the life you knew. You and Jun-hee lived completely separate lives – would there be room for Jun-hee in the future? "I'm not asking you to become a stepmom for her but maybe, if you'd like, her godmother?"

"Really?" you gasped, excited of the thought. "You mean that?"

"Yeah, i'd like that very much," Jun-hee smiled.

"Well, i'd like that too. Very much," you agreed.

God, how much you wanted to kiss her right now. Was this the right moment? Would she even want to? You still remembered the kiss she had given you after the jump rope, the memory alone summoning butterflies into your stomach.

Jun-hee leaned against your shoulder as the waves moved the boat side to side, making you feel tired as well.

Gi-hun was chatting with Jun-ho about something, while No-eul was leaning her head against the wall, deep in her thoughts. Having looked at Jun-hee with her child, No-eul couldn't help but feel a sting in her heart, missing her own daughter as well. She'd find her some day – she'd have to.

"Y/N," Jun-hee mumbled quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad i met you," Jun-hee admitted, now looking into your eyes.

"I'm glad i met you too," you replied and smiled.

"Can i kiss you?" she asked, making your heart skip a beat. You didn't even have to answer with words, she got the permission from the mere look on your face. Smile on both of your faces, Jun-hee softly pressed her lips on yours.

For the rest of the trip on the boat, Jun-hee rested her head on your shoulder and fell asleep. Having a dream about you which she hoped would come true some day.

☆☆☆

[legendofzoodles]

If the Chain were kidnapped

Time sternly dads the punks into not being bad people. Has the experience and wisdom to pull an Uncle Iroh and get them to sort their lives out. Except Time doesn't actually have to say anything, just the mere presence of a strong father figure is enough to get the kidnappers to change their ways. That look in his eyes. He's not mad, he's just disappointed.

Warriors plays along. Weaves a sob story told so well it does lower their guard. In a couple hours he's safely secured their entire crime history, family backgrounds, and blackmail material for the authorities of this era to lock them away for life. Goal achieved, he suddenly completely switches up character, calmly thanking them for their time before breaking out his restraints and single handedly messing them all up.

Twilight: the silent type. Stares them down until they start sweating. His vibe radiates: “I supplexed gorons when I was a teenager. I'm not trapped in here with you, you're trapped here with me.” Before the kidnappers can start arguing about who has to stay in the room with him, Twilight just gets up, his restraints falling like wet paper, and walks out the door while they cower in the corner fearing for their lives.

Sky kills them with kindness. Starts with small shallow compliments which as they respond positively to and end up telling him more about themselves, letting his affirmations hit deeper and deeper until they're convinced to change their ways. To mark this new chapter in their lives he leads them to the nearest goddess statue to repent to his girlfriend.

Legend comes out of the gate tearing his captors a new one. But somehow, the insults cut a little too close to home. Next thing you know, they’re defending themselves, then explaining, then venting. Legend keeps calling them pathetic, but in a way that weirdly encourages them to keep going. So oddly, it becomes a group trauma dump session.

Hyrule: [positioned outside the room] Shouldn't we go in there and get him? It sounds like a fight's about to break out.

Sky: [equipping a clipboard and quill] No no, let him cook. He's making great progress.

With Wild the chain's rescue mission becomes trying to get him back on the team. Cuz you see, Wild's with the kidnappers now. Wasn’t even tied up to begin with. Just vibing in the corner eating all their food. His lack of any sense of danger or fear made them think he was a new recruit. He went along with it, and started assigning them nicknames and chore duties. Grandmaster reverse stockholm syndrome—they start following his lead.

Four plays mind games. Starts casual: “What’s your name?” “What motivates you?” “What’s your greatest regret?” By the first hour he’s ignited a civil war with members either fighting tooth and nail against their fellow men or suffering spirals of deep existential dread. There's a reason Four doesn't share much of what goes on in his head because this is the end result, and no one is having fun anymore. Except Four and his shadow.

Hyrule plays actual games. At first Hyrule just got bored and so interrupted their evil plan spiel offering to bet on how long it would take him to escape. However, that led to other bets being made, dumb challenges like how many rupees one can stack before they collapse, winner keeps their pile of the pool. He gets so into these games he completely forgets he was supposed to be escaping. And his captors forget he has backup coming.

Twilight: [knocking down the door] Hyrule! Don't worry it's okay! We're here to...wait, are you gambling right now?

Hyrule: [rolling dice] Wait five more minutes. It's my turn and I'm definitely gonna win!

Warriors: We didn't come here to stop one crime just to walk in on you commiting one!

Hyrule: One? [pulls out a near empty wallet]

Twilight: [turning to Warriors] He's bankrupted us.

Warriors: [face palming] I told Time not to let Hyrule carry the group travel funds.

Wind is pretty good at playing the 'innocent grandma’s boi' shtick. Will get them to fawn over him, give him life advice, offer snacks, meanwhile he’s already stolen all their keys and is just waiting for nightfall. That said, if the chain don't arrive quick enough Wind's captors might indulge the boy and give him his first tattoo or piercing.

~~~

Thanks for reading! Some of these are more unserious than others.

Masterlist

Other headcanons: 

Parkour team

Honorary Gorons

How each member of the chain laughs

[yoonmetogether]

chapter 3.5 hell to pay

pairing: bodyguard!yoongi x ceo!fem reader - brother/mob boss!jeongguk, past jimin x reader genre: mafia, e2l, sloooooooooooooooow burn, age gap rating: 18+ only. minors dni!!! warnings/tags: this gets a lil wild y'all buckle up, angst, guns, drugs, smoking, drinking, fainting, spitting, jay starts to show his true colors, invasion of privacy, depictions of mugging/stabbing, smutty nightmare, blood, reader being a badass, reader and her attitude towards d, if i missed anything pls let me know!! wc: 8.6k 😃 notes: once again thank you aqua @glossdebut for the banner 🤌 and thanks a ton to aqua, @moochii-daisies and @syllviere for all the help and beta-reading.

chapter 3 * masterlist

23:21 Jay: Can we talk? I’m out in the living room

You stare at the message lighting up your screen on the center of your bed where you threw it after storming upstairs. Fresh out of the shower, you’ve just downed a glass of water to wash away the rest of your nausea, but now it’s slowly creeping back. Sighing, you sit on the edge of the mattress, wrapped in your fluffy bathrobe that’s so comfy you could fall asleep in it, and unlock your phone to the thread with your fiancé.

23:22 You: Sorry I’m in bed. Is tomorrow okay? 23:22 Jay: What’s the deal with the car outside?

Okay, so fuck your boundaries.

23:23 Jay: I was going to ask earlier, but I didn’t want to potentially ruin dinner

Face scrunching, you take incredible offense to that, and- yeah, that’s probably why he waited to say something.

23:24 You: I borrowed it from my brother  23:25 Jay: Borrowed? For what 23:25 Jay: Are you even allowed to drive it? That’s what the guard is for, right?

You slap a hand on your forehead. What is this, fifty fucking questions?

23:26 You: It’s for a work thing

The grey bubbles on his side of the thread appear and disappear, and your thumb pokes under the nail of your self-done manicure.

23:27 Jay: If this is going to work, we need to be honest with each other

You suppose he has a point. Whatever.

23:29 You: I’m racing one of my colleagues down by the pier next week 23:30 Jay: Who’s the colleague? 23:30 Jay: Is that safe? 23:31 You: Yeah, I’ve done it before and it’s an obscure location, so no one else will be around 23:31 You: He runs the club Halazia downtown 23:33 Jay: I don’t know if I like the sound of that you could get hurt

You're a grown fucking woman. You barely give a fuck that your brother's worried, much less this man you've known for a little over four months.

I know what I’m doing... Your finger hovers over the send button but then hits the backspace. That might be too combative.

23:34 You: I’ll be careful 23:34 You: It’s just this one time 23:35 Jay: Okay 23:36 Jay: I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a bad idea 23:36 Jay: Goodnight

“You’re the bad idea,” you mumble to the air, tossing your phone up to the pillows and collapsing on the mattress in an exhausted huff.

You let yourself lay there for a few minutes, focusing on your breathing and not the fact that your fiancé just pissed you off. You nearly fall asleep, but your bare legs get cold and you’d much rather snuggle up under your cozy duvet.

Just as you start climbing into bed in your comfy pjs, your phone buzzes with an incoming call.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

This better not be Jay- Oh, it’s your brother.

“What’s up, bro?” you greet, sitting up in bed with the sheets tucked over your lap.

“Nothing,” he responds. He sounds hollow. “How was it tonight?”

“Um, it was fine,” you lie, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I tried to come.”

Your heart drops. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “But I couldn’t, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“No, don’t-“

“I promised hyung I would look out for you and I can’t even do something as simple as show up at a fucking dinner.”

“Hey, it’s okay-“

“No, it’s not! If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have to be here, none of this would be happening and-”

“Bro,” you cut off his panic abruptly. One of you has to be calm, cool, and collected, even though you’re anything but.

“I knew what I was getting myself into. And I could’ve just… not come home. I doubt you and Jin would’ve hunted me down.”

“But you were so mad when the engagement happened. You didn’t talk to us for days.”

“Hell yeah, I was mad!” You still fucking are. “I don’t want to marry some random, prissy dude who comes from a stuck-up ass family. But I’m doing it because you didn’t ask for this shit either.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I’m always mad at you,” you quip. He huffs. “But for tonight? No. If anyone, I’m mad at Jay’s parents for switching up the venue when they know damn well you can’t-”

You pause. He doesn’t need you spelling it out for him.

“I’m sorry, sis,” he whispers, so, so vulnerable in a way you’ve never known him to be. Except one time, many years ago.

“Y’know, Jin would give you a big kiss on the head for apologizing on your own.”

“Ew, shut up.”

You laugh and he faintly joins you. As your laughter fades, you still sense that he’s uneasy. Your brother is strong, but sometimes the thoughts in his head overpower him and coax him back to the darkness of temptation. If he relapses again… 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, bro,” you assure him. “I mean, not this time.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, sounding more like himself. Okay, maybe he’s out of the woods. Your shoulders relax.

“So, you’re good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Mhmm. I’m tired as hell though.”

“Same. Get some sleep. Good luck with collections tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m super excited,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He chuckles. “You’ll do fine.”

While you can appreciate your brother’s confidence in you, you don’t feel it yourself. You’ll be raking dirty money under your belt, attracting danger at your feet. Out in the open syndicate, subject to criminals, potential adversaries and cops with only one guard to act as security.

“Hey, do you think I should have another guard for this? Just in case?”

“Well, Yeong’s gonna drive so that he can stay with the car when you go in and get the money, but more guards risk drawing attention. Hyung chose D for the job for a reason, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Yeah, you’ve heard that. You just have yet to see for yourself.

“Okay, well, I’m about to crash so I’ll talk to you later.”

“K. Night.”

“Night.” And the phone call ends. Phone on your chest, your heavy eyes close, eager to drift off, but your racing mind refuses to stop.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. What else is new.

On the other side of the house, Jay stares down at the radio setup he hides in his dresser that’s now just picking up the rustling of your sheets. He can’t believe you just spoke about him in that way, to your brother of all people. Taking his phone out of the pocket of his slacks, he dials up his father.

“I know it’s late, but I just overheard a conversation she had with her brother,” Jay says to the receiver, angrily pacing his room.

“Oh?”

His fist clenches as he relays what you said about him and his family.

“That girl’s got quite the mouth on her, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, but she hasn’t given me a lot of lip yet. At least, not to my face.”

“Well, that’s promising,” his father says sarcastically. “If she does, you make sure to let her know you won’t put up with that.”

“She already doesn’t like me.”

“She’ll learn to. You just have to charm her until she does. And once you’re married, you’ll be able to put her in her place. Because right now she can go and tattle to her brother, and I’ve been hearing that that boy is unhinged and coked out, so you have to be careful.”

“I understand.”

His father sighs. “You’re doing a good job so far, son. All of this will pay off soon. Me and your mother will make sure of it.”

“Thank you, father.”

“Goodnight. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Jay hangs up and goes to switch off the radio and hide it under his folded shirts, just in case you’re a snoop. He’s already toed the line by bugging your office and bedroom, but he’s sure you’re naive enough to not think that they’re there.

It’s necessary for him to be aware of any signs that you’re messing around behind his back. He already has his suspicions about your guard and the so-called colleague you set up to race. 

But most importantly, he needs to know of any plans you may concoct to get out of this arrangement.

He has his inheritance at stake after all.

You spend the early afternoon at work, helping Byeol get more acquainted with the casino and her role alongside you. Her enthusiasm and appreciation for the job eases you, and you’re eternally indebted to Namjoon for setting this up and training her. She catches on quickly, so you know Namjoon’s time at the casino is coming to an end. That does make you a little anxious, but Byeol is certainly up to the task.

You won’t ever indulge her in the real reason why you’re in this position, which is why you have to keep your hair down or wear turtlenecks to hide your tattoo.

But you catch her glancing at D every now and then, and you understand if she’s curious about why you have a guard following you around. Jay’s father doesn’t. But she keeps her curiosity to herself, which you’re grateful for.

Just as the afternoon starts to bleed out into the early evening, Namjoon meets with you privately in your office to go over the list of collections you’ll be making. The harbor districts consist of businesses that need protection since they’re situated in the hub of the syndicate’s trade. But there are a few that owe on loan payments - which is what your brother was in charge of before Jin left.

You’re hoping they’ll all just hand over the cash without giving you shit, because you really don’t need more drama in your life. But as D drives you home so you can change and attempt to eat your first meal of the day, yet your increasing anxiety is killing your appetite.

Dressed down to a cashmere pullover and jeans - an outfit you can breathe in - it’s dark and snowing by the time D returns with Yeong in the driver’s seat. He’s still wearing the sunglasses despite the dark sky, and the same long coat but underneath is a black hoodie paired with black cargo pants, and a beanie to match. You feel a prick of something hot under the surface of your skin. A beanie. Like the one he wore in- Is he fucking serious? And are you really triggered by a fucking hat?

Okay, get it together. That’s nothing to be infuriated by or worried about.

You really should’ve eaten more before you left. The amount of energy you put into holding your head up high as you make the rounds, walking into businesses like you have a right to be there, taking bags of money off their hands, all while pretending that you have your shit together and this is what you’re meant to be doing.

And they all look at you like you're not welcome. Or they don't expect you to be in your brother's place. Well, your father did spend the majority of your life denying rumors of your existence, so he’s really the one to blame.

The small black duffels that you pack with the money go to D who hands them off to Yeong that he transfers into the trunk of the Elantra. Every bag adding to the weight of the car, weight in your chest, a marker for your complicity in the goddamn mob.

Your last stop is at a noodle restaurant for an owner who took out a loan a couple months back to pay off egregious gambling debts so he wouldn’t lose his shop.

The restaurant is supposed to be closed by the time you arrive, but there are still a few customers occupying the tables in the dining area. On the left side is a grimy white counter where a middle-aged woman works the register. 

Robotically getting out of the car, you sigh and slam your door shut as D walks around the hood, waiting for you to step up the curb. You’re just so fucking tired, at your wits end. You just wanna go home, have a drink or two or five in a nice, warm bath, away from your responsibilities, your duties. Away from your shadow.

At least Jay's father isn't around to make a snide comment at everything you do.

Patience thinning, you drag yourself up to the door and the woman at the counter looks up at the bell ringing as you step through the door, a customer service smile appearing on her face as you approach the counter.

“I’m sorry, we’re about to close. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“You should already be closed,” you say, setting your clutch on the counter and her smile disappears.

“Pardon?”

“It’s the last Saturday of the month, meaning you should’ve already locked up so we don’t have to waste time getting this over with.”

She gapes at you, not moving or speaking, frozen in confusion and fear.

“Tell them to get out, or he will,” you say calmly, head tilting in D’s direction where he stands guard by the door. Because you’re not about to raise your voice. 

When she still doesn’t react, you simply look over at D and shrug your shoulders, sending him into action.

“Out. Now,” D grumbles at the customers as he strides towards them. When no one moves, he pulls back his coat and tucks it behind his holster. As the gun handle gleams into view, chairs scrape loudly on the floor as they all hastily gather their coats and rush for the door, the bell ringing loudly above on their way out.

The commotion lures out a man with a receding hairline from the door behind the counter, vein popping in his neck at the sight of his emptying restaurant.

“What is this? What the fuck are you doing? Those are my customers!”

“You know what today is, right?” You address him casually.

“What? Who the fuck are you?” He spits, the muscles of his face twitching, his pupils dilated, and there’s a line of sweat beading across his forehead. Tell tale signs that he’s on something. You would know.

“I’m here to collect your loan payments.”

“Oh, you?” He points at you and then barks out an ugly laugh. “What do I look like giving my money to some girl? That’s a fucking joke. Get out of here.”

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple to massage the developing headache. So he isn’t going to make this easy.

Although you’re compelled to - like the many times you’ve watched Jeongguk - turn and reveal the Crow emblem on the nape of your neck, you don’t want to rely on a symbol to prove the legacy of power coursing through your veins.

“I understand that you don't know me, but I know that you owe 3 million won at the end of every month, and I’m the one 

“It’s not ready yet.”

“Oh,” you shrug, removing your clutch from the counter. “Then I’ll wait.”

You take a seat at one of the clear empty tables, back facing them, and pull out your phone to pass the time. Your attention doesn’t break until the owner walks up and stands next to you.

“I told you. I don’t have it.”

You shrug. “Figure it out. I’m not leaving here empty handed.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do about it?” He sneers, leaning down with a hand on the table and back of your chair. His wife tugs on his shirt, staring unwaveringly at your guard, and you’re too busy refusing to cower under his staredown to hear what she says.

“Yeobo, wasn’t that man here the other day?”

Flipping your hair back to seem unbothered, you don’t move away from him even though he’s right in your face.

“Well, one way or another I’m going to get my money. Because until you’ve paid off all your debt, I own you.”

“You don’t own shit, bitch.”

You roll your eyes. If these men are going to cuss at you, they can at least be more creative with their insults.

“Sir, enough. It’s not my problem that you were stupid enough to bet your shop on a shitty hand of poker. Probably because you were too high to think right, like you are now.”

Eyes blackening and nostrils flaring, he rears back and spits in your face. As you flinch, muscles tensing under the disgusting disrespect, a flash of a dark coat and darker hair lunges forward, scarred hand grabbing the man by his throat and roughly pushing him back into the table ahead of yours. He crashes into the edge with a heavy thud and a breathless gasp, table clattering, his wife muffling a shriek in her palms as he collapses on the ground.

“Stupid motherfucker,” D growls dangerously as he stands over the owner who holds his hands up in surrender.

You’re locked in place - You don’t want what’s on your face to go anywhere else. A silk handkerchief appears and you take it without thought or question to dab away the foulness.

There’s no time to wonder just how many fucking handkerchiefs your guard has for you to ruin as the terrified woman begins to beg for her husband’s life.

“Boss,” D says in a low tone. “How do you want me to take care of this?”

Your brain whirs with all of the possible ways he could carry out the necessary punishments - ways in which your brothers would approve of.

But how do you, Jeon Angel, deal with insolence?

“Give me your gun,” You order, staring at the register with your hand held out in waiting.

A beat passes before he reaches in his jacket for his holster, stepping over and settling the cool metal of the gun handle in your palm with the barrel pointed towards him. As D returns to snatch the owner off the ground, you wrap your fingers around the danger and fixate on the safety, analyzing what you could be capable of.

In a matter of seconds, you could take someone’s life.

“What are you going to do?” The older woman blubbers, voice shaky and terrified.

“Get what I came here for.”

Before you can think twice, you switch off the safety, cock the barrel, point it at the register, and pull the trigger.

You wince at the loud bang and the shrill wail of the owner’s wife as she drops to her knees, covering her ears.

Silence befalls the shop again, save for her gasping sobs, and you lower the gun, hand slightly trembling, pulse thumping in your ears as you stride towards the counter. You were hoping that the shot would’ve caused the drawer to pop open, but the bullet only ricocheted off the corner of the metal box.

But not bad for your first time firing off a gun.

You slink around the counter and upon standing in front of the register, fiercely smash the butt of the gun on the keys, the force of the metal putting dents in the box and sending buttons flying. It doesn’t take long for the drawer to pop open with an aggressive ding, hitting you in the stomach and you back up, smiling at the sight of money. Placing the gun on the counter, you snatch up all the bills, speedily count them out and determine that this doesn’t constitute a full payment, then pile it up neatly, and exit to the front.

“That’s not the loan money,” the man dumbly points out as you grab the gun again, heading back towards the table.

D yanks the back of his neck and he yelps, stumbling as you fold up the cash and place the wad in the small duffle.

“Do you want me to destroy more than the register?” you snap rhetorically. “I could make my guard do a lot worse than choke you out.”

The owner just stares at you, sweat sliding down the side of his face. D hasn’t taken his hand off of his scruff. Shrugging, you shoulder the chain of your clutch and hold up the duffle in his direction.

“Since what’s in here is less than half of what you owe, I’m upping your interest rate to an extra twenty-five percent. Next time, I expect that and the missing payment, and if you don’t have it ready, I’ll use this gun on you.”

Casually lifting said weapon, you almost threaten his wife just for added intimidation, but decide against it since she’s been the only sensible one and it’s not her fault her husband is a dunce.

Sharply pivoting, you strut towards the door, and once your hand is on the bar, you hear a shove and a groan. You glance over your shoulder, pausing to watch D get right in the owner’s face and mutter something only the two of them can hear, lips curled and fist still caught up in his shirt.

You roll your eyes. Was your threat not enough? You remind yourself he’s just doing his job. Isn’t that what you wanted? But it feels like he’s taking your control. What little you have left of it.

The owner opens his mouth again and you’re nailed to the floor when D suddenly rucks up his sleeves past his veiny forearm, revealing a tattoo in the crook of his elbow. One that matches Namjoon’s.

A simmering heat crawls under your ribs. You definitely don’t remember that.

Tucking the gun under your armpit inside your coat, you make your exit, the freezing air a shocking relief. You’re done, you can go home. But your mind is far from being at rest.

Because when the fuck did D get that tattoo? When did he start working for your brothers? Why? How long has he known them? Questions you’ve been denying yourself to wonder because the only one who can give you answers is still treating you like a stranger.

Why did he leave you? That’s one that breaks you all over again. He took away your heart, your moments of feeling alive after being shrouded in the dark for so long.

He’s not going to take away your control too.

The bell dings, alerting you to D stepping out as well. On an impulse, you turn to face him, gun raised and brushing his sternum.

“Never undermine me,” you warn. “I don’t care if the guy’s a prick, I need to be taken seriously - Don’t go making threats of your own because you’re just here as backup. Do you fucking get that?”

His lips part to mutter the low, flat words, “Yes, Miss Jeon.”

“You better. I won’t remind you again.”

Gun still nuzzling his hoodie, your fingers slip up the edge of his coat, peeling it open to unveil the holster.

“I’ve dealt with assholes before, y’know?” You gaze up from where the barrel is centered on his abdomen.

“Speaking of which.” You open your clutch to withdraw the rolled wad of cash he left in your bag weeks ago, and hold it up in his face.

“You really think I needed this back? Take it.” As his arm lifts, the night around you is so quiet you could almost hear the snow falling. He takes the wad carefully enough that his fingers stay far from yours and although his eyes are shielded by the lenses, you can feel them never break your stare.

What will it take to break him?

“I should’ve known better - that you were only after money and a fuck. I wish I’d just left your ass out in the rain.”

You know behind the glasses, you’re looking into those dead, soulless eyes and judge yourself for ever falling for them. With his prolonged refusal to say a single goddamn word acknowledging what happened, you know he’ll never take the blame. So you’re wasting your breath.

Shaky, furious fingers trading his gun for a cigarette, hiding it in the holster, you root through the inside pocket of his coat for the pack and lighter to help yourself.

“I could make you regret everything,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as you take a drag and blow smoke below his chin. He doesn’t move an inch.

“But I guess as long as you’re on my brother’s good side, you’re off the hook. So don’t fuck that up.”

Another drag, more smoke in his direction. “But maybe that’s all you’re capable of.”

His lips stay in a straight line, no muscle on his face indicating that your words struck him in any way.

After a final drag, you drop the cigarette and leave it for him to put out.

The car is silent on the drive back. Yeong and D don’t interact, don’t exchange words, maybe because they said all they needed to say before this night began and there’s nothing they have to discuss. Numbness accompanies the isolation you feel taking over. You’ve never felt more alone.

Just as you lean your head on the cold, snow-dusted window, wondering if it’s always going to be this way, your phone buzzes in your pocket. If this is Jeongguk calling a second night in a row, he’ll be breaking a record. Instead, it’s an unknown number. Not an unsaved number, or one listed as “Scam likely” and you probably shouldn’t answer it, but you’re eager to escape this bubble devoid of comfort that you do anyway.

And fuck, is it a good thing you do because you’re greeted with a familiar voice you’ve missed, oh, so much.

“Birdie!” Your palm presses to your mouth to stifle a sob at the melodical sound of your brother’s voice.

“Jinnie,” you breathe out, so, so glad it’s him. But your throat constricts because all you want to do is tell him your pain so he can take it away. But how can he do that if he’s somewhere on the other side of the world?

“Hi! How are you? I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.”

“Angel? What’s wrong?” he asks with concern, able to pick up the slightest deviation in your tone.

“No, I’m-”

“Hey, talk to me.” His voice softens, how it did when you used to come to him in the middle of the night with bad dreams. (This feels like the worst fucking dream and you would give anything to wake up.)

You have to be strong. If your brother worries about you when he can’t do anything about it, he’ll go bat shit crazy.

“It’s just a lot,” you sniff, swishing a tear off your cheek.

“I know. Are you at home?”

“On my way. Where are you calling from?” “A payphone, and I have some time, so tell me what’s been going on.”

Where do you even start?

“I’m racing bro’s Divo against Captain,” you blurt, probably not the first thing you should be telling him.

A few seconds pass before his chuckle crackles over the line, the sound taking an elephant’s foot off of your chest.

“How on earth did you manage that? He’d sooner sell his soul than lend you that car.”

“I thought it was about time he started being nice to me.”

Jin hums in agreement.

“Are you mad?”

“No,” he sighs, but you’re not convinced. “Not surprised either. Just promise me that you’ll be careful. And make sure you win.”

“Duh.”

“How are things with your fiancé?” You deflate on the leather.

If you tell him about the conversation you had with Jay’s mother, about the prospect of carrying on his legacy, he would be back home in the morning. And the cops would be on him before he even set foot on land. It would be your fault that your brother rots in prison.

“We’re still just… getting along.”

“And D?”

You glance to the rearview mirror where you can’t see his reflection.

“I hate being followed around all the time.”

“I get that, but it’s for-”

“‘For my safety,’ yeah, I know.”

“How are you doing? Be honest.”

“Is it normal? To feel like you can’t breathe sometimes?”

Jin pauses before answering. “Yes. But you’ll get used to it. Just remember to center yourself, take deep breaths, and do at least one nice thing you enjoy at the end of every day. Even if it’s something as simple as a face mask.”

You manage a smile. “Like girls night?”

“Like girls night.”

A lull floats between you, and you take the time to breathe in deeply, something you don’t think you’ve done at all these past few days.

“Are you finished with collections?” You sigh out a full exhale, elevated oxygen in your brain forcing you to relax a bit.

“Yeah, I just came from the noodle restaurant. The owner kinda gave me a hard time.”

“What happened?”

You regale him in the events of the owner’s stupidity, giving him every detail, excluding the one at the very end where you pressed the gun into your guard’s abdomen.

You’re not exactly sure what you expect your brother’s reaction to be, but it’s certainly not a scolding.

“I want to make it very clear to you that D needs to be the one to handle things like that. You’re not going to be shooting or hurting anyone. Do you understand?”

Your brothers have established their power and authority with violence. Why can’t you?

“So they’ll be scared of him and not me?”

“I don’t want anything to be on your conscience.”

Jin has always had the habit of coddling you and you’re so fucking over it.

“Weren’t you proud when I burned that dumbass at the meeting?”

“I’m talking about blood, Angel.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“What?” His intonation snaps sharply across the line. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for a confession you never wanted him to hear.

“I stabbed someone when I was in uni.” The truth rings out, stunning the silence of the car.

You give him the short version of two years ago - You, your friend, drunk, stumbling back to your shithole apartment in the middle of the night, elbows linked and laughing loud about her almost eating shit when she was trying to piss behind a dumpster. A man, tall and burly, face covered by a mask, cutting out of the alley, snatching onto your friend’s purse, other hand stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie holding what he threatened to be a gun.

Your fist unsheathing and removing the knife from your clutch, aiming for the thief’s shoulder but he moved and it ended up in his ribs. Your friend’s shriek echoing in the dense street as he let go and dropped to his knees with a groan, your heels clacking on the asphalt as you sprinted away from the scene, grasping tightly onto her hand.

After you made it home and she went to collect herself in the shower, you rinsed off the blood in the kitchen sink, watching the small amount of red slip off the blade and swirl down the drain. You only felt… relieved that it wasn’t yours or your friend’s. 

“I don’t know what happened to him and I don’t regret doing it. Isn’t that what bro got me the knife for anyway?”

Jin goes quiet for a moment. “Hm. I guess I never had to worry about you, did I?”

“No. And you still don’t.”

“Birdie,” he tapers off, like he’s questioning his words. “I just don’t want anything to haunt you.”

You clench your phone. Things already do. But you’re stuck with them.

“Well, if I give D the order to deal with someone, wouldn’t it still be on me?”

“It’s just different when you do it yourself.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I’m not gonna just stand there and take it when someone spits in my face. Would you?”

“No.” Exactly. Jin doesn’t have a reputation for being gentle or giving people a second chance. Except when it comes to you and Jeongguk.

“I’m gonna give them hell just like you told me to.”

“Mm, I did say that.”

“Yeah. I gotta show everyone I’m just as kickass as my brothers.”

He laughs. “I think you’re more kickass than the two of us put together.”

“Damn right.” He laughs again and you join him, but sequential beeps on the line notify you that time is running out.

“You gotta go?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” A tear encases your waterline at the crack in his voice. “I’ll call you again soon.”

“Okay,” you croak, heart tearing. “Love you, Jinnie.”

“Love you, too, birdie. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. Be safe.”

Jin takes a breath but he’s cut off by more beeps and the finality of the line clicking. Staring at your phone, now devoid of your brother’s call, your chest tightens so painfully that you can’t hold yourself together anymore.

You sob quietly into your hands for the rest of the drive home.

No one says a thing.

When you get home, you’re in no mood to eat - although if Jin was here, he’d make you try anyway. But he’s not.

Inside the big, hollow house you just sit on the floor in front of your bed without changing, staring at the closet doors, fingers dug into the carpet for some kind of grounding. Eyes closed to center yourself like Jin said, your mind wanders to where your hands last were when you needed to ground yourself.

D’s chest.

Wires in your brain firing off in alarm, you snap yourself out of it and leap off the floor, out of your clothes, and into the shower, water a degree below what you can bear. You rub your skin raw, especially the areas of your face where you can still feel flecks of that man’s saliva.

For a while, you just stand in the stall, letting the hot water relax your muscles and entice your exhaustion.

When you finally fall asleep, you dream of a storm. Of waves crashing into a stone wall. Of rain beating against windows overlooking a violent sea.

Lightning flashes across a dark room, over rustled sheets that rub your back to a steady, rocking rhythm. A large, calloused hand caresses up your thigh, hooded, blackened eyes piercing down through stringy bangs as you writhe and squirm on the sheets, lost to relentless waves of pleasure from firm hips that roll against yours, dragging a thick, heavy cock through your aching, desperate cunt. Cold, metal necklaces rest between your breasts as warm breath and soft lips travel over your cheek. You open your eyes to a demon kissing your jaw, a scar slashed down his right eye, cuts all over his chest, neck and shoulders that you grapple and scratch.

“Come for me, dollface,” the demon whispers, alluring your temptation. Thrust after thrust draws you closer and closer to the peak of bliss, head thrown back into the pillow, jaw dropping in breathtaking agony.

And then his hand grasps your throat and squeezes - tighter and tighter, oxygen escaping you bit by bit, but you don’t fight, even as you watch a smirk grow on the demon’s face.

“You can’t keep me out,” he utters menacingly, and just as your thick tongue tries to speak, copper drains from his nose, then pours out of his shining grin, sending a shockwave through your chest as it spills all over you.

You awake with a scream trapped in your throat, cold sweat broken across every inch of your body, a throb between your legs matching the hammering in your heart. Flinging yourself out of the sheets damp with sweat, you clutch the edge of the bed, chest and shoulders heaving as you fail to catch your breath.

What the fuck. What the fuck?!

Min Yoongi is dead to you. So D should be too. Why is he showing up in your nightmares? You would sell your soul for that to never happen again.

And you just might.

Glancing at the clock on your nightstand, it’s 3am. You have a long day ahead of you and exhaustion is already dragging you down. But you can’t go back to sleep in case those eyes show up that are slowly becoming a promise of your eternal hell.

How can you forget for just long enough to get a wink of sleep? The liquor cabinet downstairs calls your name.

After forcing yourself to eat a snack, you go back to your room and drink half a bottle of expensive vodka until you pass out.

A shiver trickles down your spine, the cool air of the clinic not helping the frigid tingling running through your blood as your heart pounds, head swimming, leg bouncing to try and release some tension.

Since it’s only an hour from closing, there aren’t many patients in the waiting room, but you’re still embarrassed that you ended up here, that you passed out in front of your assistant on her third day.

You woke up late with a roaring hangover. You managed to sleep, but at what cost? Because you had to rush around getting ready feeling as if you’d been hit by a truck, no time to eat, much less do your makeup. So you hid your sunken, bare eyes behind sunglasses, and took your makeup bag in case you have time to put it on later.

It was a miracle you made it to work on time, so you only had to endure Jay’s father commenting on your disheveled appearance until you could hide in your office.

Hungover, dehydrated, haunted by a nightmare - You can’t say the dizziness just hit you out of nowhere.

Namjoon had been on his lunch break when you were in your office, feeling like the undead, and Byeol came on the intercom with a question about the scheduling system. You stood up, already off-balance, vision distorted, and made it as far as one step out in the hall, where Byeol looked up with a bright but blurry smile just as your consciousness dimmed and you gripped onto the doorknob, knees buckling.

“Miss Jeon, are you okay?” Her voice rang in your ears as she came closer and you fell to your knees.

Then she shouted, “Go get D!” to Key standing by, and before you could protest, darkness took over and you collapsed.

The rest was hazy, but you remember bits of conversation with Namjoon as you argued against going to the hospital. Which is how you ended up at this clinic.

D’s sitting beside you, still as stone, except for his thumbs that tap on his phone, but he has a privacy screen so your side eye can’t catch what he’s writing or who he’s writing to.

“Don’t tell my brother about this.” His hands freeze.

“Were you texting him?” you ask, panic escalating. Being in a crowded doctor’s office like this is already enough of a hand around your throat. You don’t need your brother knowing why you’re here. But D shakes his head.

“Moon. He’s asking about you.”

Okay, that’s fine. Namjoon’s smart enough to know not to say anything. 

“Your brother would want to know,” D says after a moment. Oh, if you weren’t so burnt to the ground you would lose your shit.

“Mind your fucking business,” you snap under your breath. He doesn’t know anything about anything. D just rests his phone in his lap and goes back to sitting stock still.

A few agonizing moments later, a light male voice calls your pseudonym and you muster a deep breath.

“You’re not following me for this, right?” you mutter to your guard, uncrossing your legs in preparation to stand.

He gives you another shake of his head.

Your name is called again and you finally rise and step away to follow it - a male nurse wearing light blue scrubs and a mask to match. Before you can make eye contact with him, he twists around and shuffles out of the waiting area, leading you through a small hallway and into a corner next to the stretch of exam rooms where there’s a scale, a stadiometer, and machine to check blood pressure. The nurse gestures for you to sit, saying nothing else as he faces the door while he shuts it, head bowed towards the clipboard of your intake information.

Your name - your real one - leaves his lips with a downwards inflection and his voice tears the remaining oxygen from your chest, morbid familiarity creating an ice cold lump in your throat. Every muscle and cell in your body locks and freezes, only your eyes moving as the man you haven’t seen in almost a decade turns around, dark brown hair slicked back off his forehead.

“Jimin?” you manage to squeak, your lungs caving in, sedentary limbs slowly weighing you down when he just stands there, not saying anything, barely even blinking.

Something bleary rings in your ears when you flicker a glance his way just for his deep frown to unsettle you, eyes casting down to the shiny and pristine white floors instead.

“Let’s get a weight and height check,” he says without looking at you, and on trembling knees you stand, another kind of panic you’re not accustomed to shedding through the layers of your skin.

“What brings you in today?” he asks in a low tone foreign to you. You’ve always known Jimin to be soft spoken but never timid.

“I, uh, I fainted,” you answer, swallowing around the expanding lump in your throat. Your fingers feel colder than they did out in the snowy streets.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you hit your head?”

“No. When did you come back?” you blurt and his already hardened expression turns into stone as he wraps the blood pressure cuff around your bicep.

“A few months ago.”

Has he been back as long as you have?

“I thought you wanted to stay as far away from here as you could.”

“I did. But there was a job for me here.”

Pieces of this mysterious puzzle set up by Namjoon and your brothers suddenly fall into place.

“I was wondering why this place doesn’t make payments.” Jimin’s eyes widen so you can see his pupils shaking.

“How do you know about that?” “I’m in charge of collecting.”

He takes a step back, looking over you like his eyes are deceiving him, and then his expression adjusts back to neutral.

“I’m gonna order a blood sample and another nurse will come in to take care of that.”

He’s running away from you again. Fuck! Is it your fault this time?

“That’s it? We see each other again after almost nine years and you don’t have anything else to say?” You can think of a million things you want him to say, but a million more that you don’t. His fingers linger on the door handle and you wish he’d just left instead of saying, 

“Please don’t come back here. It was promised to me that no one from your family would step foot in this clinic.”

He leaves again, and you feel just as helpless as the last time.

The boys were arguing again, disturbing the peace of the parking lot as you hurried towards Jimin’s car, looking over your shoulders strapped with duffel bags carrying your uniforms. 

“I hate that we always have to use my car,” Jimin complained as he popped his trunk, revealing a box of spray paint cans, a bat, and a few pairs of frayed baseball gloves.

“Well, it’s shitty enough to blend in but not be suspicious,” Jeongguk explained casually, fixing his snapback after tossing his bag next to Jimin’s. “It’s about to go to the junkyard anyway.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped and you stifled a giggle while Tae shut the trunk.

“I swear to god, Jeon Jeongguk, I’m going to mess you the fuck up.”

“What are you gonna do, shorty? Bite my ankles?”

You had to hold onto Tae so you wouldn’t collapse in laughter as Jimin launched forward to tackle your brother.

“I’m older, Jimin. Show some respect.”

“Well, I’m the more mature one here.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Tae protested.

“I’m sorry, who’s never been arrested out of all of us?”

“Only because you either weren’t there or got lucky and ran away before the cops caught up. Real friends get arrested together.”

“No, real friends don’t do stupid shit that would get the cops going after them in the first place.”

“Baby J, you don’t have to come along.”

“Yes, I do! I have to be on the lookout because you clowns are too busy goofing off. And what’s worse-“ Jimin swings an accusatory index finger at Jeongguk. “You bring your little sister along without really looking after her!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault she always wants to follow me around everywhere.” Jeongguk dodged the punch you threw at his shoulder and ran away when you tried it again. You chased him around until Tae yelled for you kids to stop messing around.

In the car and on the ferry, the bickering didn’t stop between all four of you, but it was all in good fun that ended with stomachs hurting from laughing so much.

Once on land in Jeju, you all went to the bar again and Tae still didn’t find what he was looking for.

Your group’s favorite thing to do was walk along a small beach where it was rare to see other people. The sun was mellow and golden as it set on the horizon, the sand not too hot beneath your bare feet while you and Jimin sauntered a few paces behind Jeongguk and Tae, childishly giggling at their clasped hands swinging between them.

“Jeongguk and Vantae, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-” you both sang light-heartedly.

“Grow up, losers,” your brother grumbled, tossing his crushed beer can back at you and Jimin.

“Ooh, I’m tellin’ on you for littering! And underage drinking,” your boyfriend taunted, picking up the can and waving it in the air.

“Snitch,” Jeongguk snarled.

Tae threw a giggle over his shoulder. “You guys love to tease us like you weren’t making out under the bleachers after the game last week.”

“Tae!” you shrieked, wide eyes darting to your brother who stilled completely before slowly turning around.

“Oh, whoops,” Tae said remorsefully, slapping a hand over his mouth as Jeongguk freed his other one to stalk towards you and Jimin.

“You should run,” you urged your boyfriend, pushing at his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate and took off on his strong catcher’s legs.

“You’re dead meat, Jimin!”

“But he’s our ride back!” Tae called out as you raced after your brother. You laughed into the wind as you caught up to Jeongguk who was closing in on Jimin like a cheetah with an antelope. Jeongguk and Tae may have been able to drive, but Jimin was the only one with a license. And neither of them wanted to risk getting arrested again.

“You can’t kill me. I’m the only one brave enough to catch for you when it’s your turn to pitch, you Ryu Hyunjin wannabe,” Jimin reasoned with Jeongguk’s fist in his sweater, both of them out of breath.

“You hurt her, I bury you alive under those bleachers.”

“But what could I, as a certified ankle-biter, really do?”

“Okay, let me put it this way. If you make her cry, I make you die.”

“Well, like, what if she cries from watching a sad movie I put on or something. Would that constitute the death penalty?”

“It could.”

“No, it couldn’t,” you counter, walking up to wrench Jeongguk’s fist away. “Go over there, you pitbull. You’re not killing one of our friends.”

“One of your only friends,” Jimin muttered. Jeongguk whacked him on the shoulder for that.

“Tae, come get your pitbull!” you called over to where he was standing with his arms crossed, looking at you all with a fond smile.

Tae bent down and patted his knees, pursing his lips to whistle to Jeongguk. When he held his hand out as if beckoning him with a treat, your brother started chasing him. Tae took off with a tickled laugh and Jeongguk soon caught up to him and threw him over his shoulder. The oldest boy’s shriek echoed across the beach, causing you to collapse against Jimin in uncontrollable laughter.

“Put me down!” Tae shouted, pummeling his fists in your brother’s back. Jeongguk glared at both you and Jimin, still laughing as he set down his boyfriend.

“I might just go ahead and kill all of you,” he grumbled, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks as he walked past you in the direction of the shoreline, forcefully knocking shoulders with Jimin.

As your brother trudged off, you three shared a look, Jimin and Tae looking guilty for different reasons.

“I got this,” you assured them, turning to join your brother on the sand, gentle waves lapping at his feet.

“Hey,” you poked his shoulder, but he just shrugged you off with a short huff. You sat down next to him anyway, mirroring his position with your arms around your knees. “If I said I didn’t like that you and Tae are dating, would you care?”

“No,” he frowned, picking at a loose cuticle on his thumb.

“So why do I have to?”

Jaw moving in contemplation, he sighed. “I just don’t like that he went behind my back.”

“What, does he need your ‘blessing’ to date me? Even Jinnie’s not that archaic.” You shoved his bicep and he hardly budged. Lanky kangaroo.

“Have you told hyung?”

“No.”

“Are you planning to?”

“Yeah, when we get married.”

Jeongguk rolled his eyes as you giggled, but he went on to ask you questions that you figured you owed him the answers to. How long you’d been dating, if he was treating you right… Typical protective big brother inquiries.

At one point Jimin hesitantly approached to offer his apology and Jeongguk just shrugged it off, Tae sitting behind him rubbing his shoulder.

“If you mess with her in any way, I really will end you.”

Jimin gestured a mock salute and shouted at the sand Jeongguk threw at his chest. You, Tae, and your boyfriend all teamed up to toss your brother in the waves.

Later, Tae found you on the bow of the ferry, still wearing a guilty smile.

“I’m sorry I accidentally snitched on you earlier, little angel.”

You shrugged. “Eh, he was gonna have to find out one way or another. At least with you around, he wouldn’t actually kill Jimin.”

“Yeah, I can’t let anything happen to my cousin.”

And he never did.

.

.

.

Thank you so much for reading!!! Pls yap at me about this!!

<<<previous chapter * next chapter>>>

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[kellykadesperate]

40: “I missed you. There. I said it.”

Robert has Aaron pressed firmly into the bed. He’s kissing at his neck and trying his hardest not to leave marks and cause any unwanted paranoia from John. It’s hard when Aaron paws at Robert, hands squeezing the back of Robert’s neck and head tilted to the side just waiting for Robert to do something to him.

They’re in a hotel this time.

It was something Aaron said he wouldn’t do. Apparently the whole idea of booking hotels and sending one letter messages in their secret little code was all something Aaron couldn’t do.

That was a month ago.

Now, Aaron’s dragging Robert into hotel rooms by his shirt and frantically climbing on top of him like he needs this. Robert can’t think of anything other than that fact. Aaron needs him like this. Aaron tugs Robert’s hands where he wants them, he jams his tongue down Robert’s mouth whenever there’s a second of quiet, he leaves scratches down Robert’s back every single time.

“Rob.” Aaron sounds absolutely wrecked and they’ve not even started anything yet.

It’s been two weeks since this. Robert feared Aaron was trying to see how long he could go without crawling back. Then there was a text coming through, a little ‘H tomorrow?’ and Robert felt like he could breathe again.

“I’m taking my time today.” Robert says, even though his hands are shaking slightly from the way Aaron is looking at him.

It’s beyond just this, it has to be beyond the fact that John is clearly doing absolutely nothing for Aaron in the bedroom department, because Aaron looks at him sometimes like he’s still the most important thing in the world.

Aaron’s always been intense. Robert’s seen Aaron filled with hate, and sadness and indifference and then there’s this look. Aaron’s reaching his hands out and stroking them right over Robert’s chest.

“Come on.” Aaron’s whispering. He’s bright red, all down to his chest.

Robert does come on. Then later, Aaron’s moved slightly so he’s practically hugging Robert completely, starfished out over him. Robert stares at Aaron and feels like he’s going to start shaking again. He gets this. It doesn’t matter that it’s not always, because right now it’s everything.

“Thought you were phasing me out.” Robert whispers. “I was so scared.” He admits, because Aaron hasn’t moved for a few minutes now so he’s probably asleep.

Aaron suddenly looks up and Robert wants to disappear. He blinks at Aaron a few times, looks at the worry and devastation on his face. Aaron starts crying, tears swim in his blue eyes and then fall.

“I thought you were asleep.” Robert says, by way of explaining or something.

Aaron frowns at Robert. “I’m not –” He stops himself and then there’s a hand on Robert’s chest again. Aaron keeps doing that, just feeling Robert in a way he never used to. “As if I could.” He whispers, and he won’t look at Robert now. “I know what this is.” He says, and he sounds so serious.

“Sex.” Robert says for him. “Good sex he doesn’t give you.”

Aaron blinks quickly. Robert expects Aatron to react badly, leave even but Aaron just tilts his head down on Robert’s chest like he’s finding his way home. Aaron’s shoulders relax a little and then he’s moving one of his fingers up and down Robert’s ribcage.

“It’s me and you.” Aaron whispers. “You’re always going to be in my life. In here.” He lifts a hand towards the side of his head and then sighs.

“Sounds tragic.” Robert says, because it is a little. Robert knows that Aaron will always love him but it doesn’t mean it will always be something that’s good.

Aaron looks up at Robert, looks offended. “It’s not.” He says.

“This is.” Robert dares to say. “Meeting my husband for sex in the middle of the day.” Ex husband. Aaron’s married. Aaron’s married to someone who isn’t him. Robert thinks about asking Aaron to run away with him. It just comes into his mind and he thinks and thinks about it until he hears Aaron make this small sound.

“I just can’t go back to having all of you.” Aaron says quietly. “It would completely destroy me.”

Robert can’t say anything back. He lets the words wash over him and he realises that as much as he has made Aaron always know someone loves him, he’s ruined Aaron’s chance of ever being completely normal with someone else ever again.

“I miss you when you’re not around. When you’re with him.” Robert says, because he knows that if he doesn’t say it right now, he’s never going to.

Aaron’s shoulders slump and his chin starts wobbling. “Robert …”

It stings. The word just hits Robert square in the jaw and leaves this mark.

“When I was inside, when I was there all I wanted was to be with you.” Robert blinks quickly. “It kept me going, coming back for you.”

Aaron breathes in. “You don’t think I wanted that too?”

“Until him.” Robert doesn’t know what he’s doing. Well actually he does, he’s ruining a nice moment for absolutely no real reason at all.

“Robert, you have no idea.” Aaron says and maybe Robert doesn’t. Aaron did things first in their relationship, he dared to say they love each other months in, he dared to ask Robert to move in, dared to bring up the idea of them having a forever together. Then Aaron had to sit back and watch Robert destroy it all, over and over again.

“You don’t have to –” Robert gulps hard. “I get it.”

“You don’t.” Aaron says. “I couldn’t even – even hold Harry when he was born, be happy for Vic. Or – or be around Eve. I – I couldn’t do anything without you.”

Robert should stop talking. He doesn’t. “So when did that stop?”

Aaron looks so sad suddenly. “It hasn’t.” He whispers, and Robert can’t possibly believe that.

Robert huffs out this big breath and realises they may be having an argument that he’s definitely started. “So why tell me to go, do one, say I don’t belong in the village a million times when I first rocked back up?”

Aaron rolls his eyes, “Because it was easier.” He says. “When I came – came back from –” He doesn’t want to say honeymoon, he’s an absolute coward. “After the wedding, and I realised you weren’t there, you were inside again I –”

“Was glad.”

“I wanted you to be in my face, kissing me, telling me we’re meant to be but I knew I shouldn’t have wanted that. So I buried it.” Aaron says, and he leans over so that he’s holding a hand close to Robert’s face.

Robert looks down. “Two weeks of nothing.” He says. “You buried things for two weeks. Was John getting …”

Aaron’s eyes flicker at the sheer mention of his name. “No. No – he was just being a bit clingy.” He says, and then shuts his eyes like he regrets being mean.

“You didn’t need me.” Robert says, to hurt himself more than anything. “You don’t – don’t miss me the same way. It’s fine.”

“Of course I do.” Aaron sounds so offended like he has every right to be.

Robert huffs out this breath. “Aaron …”

“I missed you. There. I said it.” Aaron waves a hand out. “I always miss you.”

Robert stares right at Aaron. He waits for a few seconds, wonders if Aaron is going to take it all back. Maybe he should.

Aaron reaches a hand out, and Robert takes hold of it. Robert wants to tell Aaron he loves him. Instead he thinks about the fact that he’s spent more of his life missing Aaron than not.

[honeyvettel5]

jealousy, jealousy | pecco/bez, pecco/bez/marc (hinted). friends with benefits, developing relationships, discussion of feelings, autistic pecco bagnaia. [1.3k]

“what, are you jealous?”

marco is watching him with those big, round eyes, still slick with the glow of aftersex. pecco clicks his tongue against his palate and rolls his eyes, just to make his point. he isn’t jealous. not in a stupid, possessive lover’s way. it’s just— he can’t understand how marco has grown so fond of marc in no time; hugging him, praising him, showering him in champagne. like they’re nothing but harmless boys at play.

“i just… i know him, alright?”

pecco rolls onto his back, the air catching on the sticky streak cooling on his stomach. the month has been too long, too loud, and he needs his mind to stop chewing him alive from the inside for more than a minute. this isn’t the first time he’s asked marco to fuck him; and marco never seems to mind anyway. but the warmth of the orgasm already ebbs too quickly, and his thoughts ricochet back, over and over. he isn’t jealous. not quite. “franci,” marco murmurs, close enough that the word seems to press right into his ear. hands appear in pecco’s field of vision and marco cups his face between his palms. “you know i love you, right?” he says, looking him straight in the eye. then, with no warning at all, he leans in and drags his tongue up the bridge of pecco’s nose, shameless. pecco scrunches up his face with a disgusted sound.

“dio santo, marco,” he mutters, and marco’s laughter —breathy, high-pitched— rings in his skull like a struck bell. pecco wipes his face against his wrist, huffing when marco only leans closer again, his breath hot against his throat. what should he even think? marco says those words every chance he gets, gives them away like they don’t cost him anything. and pecco has never known what to say. how to say it back without confessing too much, without showing his own hand. this thing between them — it’s knotted and fragile, and he doesn’t want to spend time dissecting it with the fear of finding something he could regret. like suddenly realizing marco doesn’t really love him the way he says he does. that this is smaller, more casual, than pecco has allowed himself to believe. that, ultimately, marco just needs someone to pay attention to him. like marc does. he glances at the window. the night outside is thick and endless, black enough to swallow the stars whole.

 “listen,” pecco says. “would you tell me if — if you wanted to stop? if this isn’t… like when we started?” there’s a sudden paralyzing ripple of fear that skates down his spine. he doesn’t know how to love properly; that’s what his first girlfriend had said before dumping him. he’s not meant to be kept. that’s always been clear. he feels marco’s eyes peering at him from the side. “what are you talking about?” marco’s voice sharpens, a little accusing. he’s cleverer than he lets on — pecco has underestimated that for too long. 

“i mean,” pecco tries again. “are we good? are you not–”

bored with me? fucking marc behind my back? leaving me alone? the words gather bitterly on his tongue, until he feels like he’s choking on them and he can’t spit them out.

“wait. is this– is this really about marc?”

marco shifts impossibly closer; his thigh draped over pecco’s. the pressure is steady, reassuring. for a long, trembling beat, pecco just breathes into the dark.  “i don’t want to see you hurt, that’s all,” he mutters. “marc likes to play. all the time. and i don’t want you to fall for that.”

his throat clicks around the parched air of the countryside. it feels like something inside him is tearing —sudden and merciless— white-hot fear thrumming against his ribs like a wounded animal in a cage. maybe this is it — his final straw. months of tension and confusion and exhaustion finally catching up to him, collapsing him from the inside with the barest gust of wind.

marco smooths a palm down over his shoulder, then slides it up to cradle the back of his head, shifting him until his face is tucked securely into the crook of his neck; marco smells of salt and sweat and something faintly sweet. pecco hates how much it calms him, how much he wants to stay there.

“do you really believe,” marco whispers at last, “that me and marc are… seeing each other? the way we do?”

the sound of it —the quiet disbelief in marco’s voice— makes pecco’s skin crawl with shame, makes him feel small and mean for even thinking what he’s thinking. it sounds so ugly out loud. marco isn’t the kind of person to betray him like that — pecco knows this. and marc— marc has been nothing but kind to him, all season long. kind in ways that make his chest ache to think about now. he swallows hard, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

“i don’t know,” pecco admits. “you seem very close now. the way he looks at you, sometimes.”

even as he says it, the scenarios in his head begin to fray at the edges, ridiculous and childish the more he turns them over. there’s a soft, breathless, puff of sound over his curls. 

“you know he looks at you the same way, right?” marco muses.

he doesn’t move, just keeps combing his fingers gently through pecco’s curls, as if he hasn’t just upended something inside him. pecco’s thoughts scramble and then knot together, all at once. “you never noticed?” pecco shakes his head against the other’s collarbone, almost ashamed; he feels like marco has just tugged the sheet off something he didn’t even realize he’d been hiding.

“yeah, that’s kind of your problem, franci.” 

the realization knocks the air out of pecco. marc. looking at him. not just marco — him. an image suddenly flashes behind his eyelids, clearer than it’s ever been in the past few weeks: marco in marc’s motorhome, splayed under him, flushed and gleaming with victory, their mouths crushed together and panting. but this time— this time he is standing there — watching, looking. it frightens him, how fast the idea blooms; how much he wants it, really, even as shame curls around the edges of the thought. maybe this wasn’t jealousy after all. 

“well, what if,” pecco starts, the word sticking to his tongue. “what if you aren’t wrong? about… how he looks at me. at you.” he forces the words out, the air in his lungs burning as he lifts his head just enough to meet marco’s gaze. marco tilts his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. his thumb stills on pecco’s cheek. “oh,” he says, like he’s turning the idea over in his mind. “you mean…”

“you know what i mean.”

marco lets out a quiet, knowing hum, and his fingers slide into the hair at the nape of pecco’s neck, tugging lightly, coaxing him back into place. there’s a beat of silence, only the summer-night hum of cicadas singing outside.

“you want me to ask him?” marco murmurs then. his voice doesn’t even falter. pecco’s heart kicks hard once, a violent jolt in his chest, then keeps thudding on, louder and faster.. the feeling is maddening,  so strong it almost makes him laugh at himself. he thinks he’s going insane over it. he pictures marc’s perfect mouth ghosting along his jaw while marco’s clever hands steady him from behind. it’s both of them pressing in close, their weight and warmth bracketing him, undoing him from two sides at once. the two of them — together, with him caught between; it’s almost too much to even imagine it.

his fingers twitch against marco’s side without meaning to. “…if you think he’d say yes,” pecco swallows, “then… ask him.” marco just hums again —soft and approving. “alright,” he says simply, and leans down to press a quick, deliberate kiss to his lips.

[snoopychris]

chris can’t help but choke reader after an ego boost

warnings: smut, choking (obvi), a bad ending

you knew that chris always thought highly of himself. he was a person who was very confident in his sense of being. most days chris felt on top of the world and like he could do anything.

today was absolutely not one of those days.

it started good. he woke up feeling good and even did his hair a little differently. his shirt matched the hat he would have to model for fresh love later in the day, and even the laces on his shoes matched your outfit.

the first time something went wrong was when the coffee shop had forgotten the extra cream cheese on his bagel. the second was when he climbed into his car only to find matt had left it with a near empty tank of gas. the third was when he had gone to the store to buy a new storage card and ended up finding that target was all out of stock. nothing was going right for chris. not today.

he was down in the dumps by the time he finally made his way to your house to pick you up before his photo shoot. he was in the grumpiest of moods, only being slightly lifted when you got into the car. the sweet tone of your voice helped a little bit more, but not quite enough.

the fourth time that something went wrong throughout chris’ day was when he found out that he had the date for his shoot completely wrong. he was frustrated beyond belief, and he couldn’t wait for the moment that he was back at your apartment in the comfort of your bed. the second that chris steps outside of the building, his day was made completely.

a random passerby, some guy who probably wasn’t much older than chris, jogging by and suddenly stopping to talk to chris.

“looking good! keep workin on those muscles and you’ll be finer in no time man! especially in that shirt. and cool hat too!” he speaks, putting his headphones back in and continuing his jog. chris turns to face you with a big grin in his face, practically dragging you to the car. you yelp as you follow along, smiling at his change in attitude.

by the end of the night, you’re practically begging chris to slow down. he’s thrusting in and out of you at a speed you didn’t even know he could hit, the squelch of your pussy being loud enough to fill the entire apartment. you clench around him as you reach your fourth orgasm in the past 20 minutes, gripping onto his arm gently. “b-baby slow down please! please…” chris chuckles quietly as he slows down, just enough that it’s barely even noticeable. you groan as your head falls back against your pillow, looking up at him.

the look on his face tells you that he’s not ready to be done yet, your theory being proven by chris tsking quietly. there’s a glimmer in his eyes that you notice, lips parting slightly in anticipation. “can i choke you?” chris whispers, kissing your neck gently. it takes you by surprise for a moment but you nod regardless, expecting him to place his hand on your throat the way he usually does. the last thing you expected him to do was flip you around, wrapping his arm around your neck instead. his arm flexes gently as you groan, looking back at him to the best of your abilities. he chuckles quietly, tightening his grip again. “w’gonna go again okay? my arms look good in this shirt after all.”

[deceasedream69]

I got you

Sorry if I use this gif wayyy too much teehee

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of menstrual blood.

_______________________________________

The team was on edge, you've been missing for two days now, your husband was the best profiler and agent but right now his head wasn't in the best place, but still, the team was sharp and building the case rapidly to help.

Hotch sat down, running is hands through his face and hair, letting all the air from his lungs out, holding it for a few seconds and then breathing in again, he did this a couple of times to regulate his anxiety, Rossi just watched him from afar. He kept watching him just to make sure he was fine, and that he wouldn't scape to try and search for you alone.

- talk to me, baby girl

- ok, so... Hotch told me about this stalker hypothesis, and I've been digging but I couldn't find anything

- so what have you been working on?

- until... I got to her old Facebook account, which is filled with comments from a "Mark Smith", so I digged even deeper and his blocked from every social account from y/n, so he created an account under a different name, to be off her radar, but not mine

- we need an address, Garcia! - Hotch said desperate, ready to jump, run and do anything it took to get you safe

- there's no real address under his name...

Hotch pushed himself away from the table, desperate, running his hands all over his head

- ok, let's think this through - Derek tried to keep it calm and think

- he's a stalker, does he have relatives? - Spencer suggested

- he lived with his grandma and mom... Which look exactly like y/n, oh, that's creepy, like really creepy

- Garcia - Derek insisted before Hotch lost it and mistreated her out of stress

- but they died... His grandma died 9 years ago and his mom... Right when the stalking started again, a month ago

- ok, so that's the stressor - Rossi said

- he needed a replacement once and for all, he lost his main woman - Derek replied

- that's- that's good, cause that means he'll want to keep her alive

- and y/n's smart, she'll comply to make sure he won't get upset - Hotch said from afar

They all turned to look at him. You could see two things in his brown eyes: pain and hope

- I have something else, he didn't have any more family, technically, but he did have a stepsister for a little, while his mom was dating Robert Panko, the sister also looks exactly like his type, and she has a house with a big barn 25 minutes away from the last place y/n was seen

- send me-

- already sent, go get her!

The team got their guns ready and their vests on. they didn't let Hotch drive because of his condition but he was allowed to go and help.

- everything will be fine, you'll save her - Rossi patted Hotch's shoulder from the back seat

The team got their guns out, Derek signaled each member which route to take, covering every exit, and they quickly moved into the barn.

- FBI! HANDS UP

They aimed at a figure, after everyone got their flashlights they could see the person was on top of someone else, it was y/n... Stabbing her kidnapper before they could rescue her and arrest the guy.

- PUT THE KNIFE DOWN! - the lightning was poor

Hotch dropped his gun.

- it's y/n- it's y/n!! Put the guns down!

He quickly rushed to hold her

- Hotch-

He hugged her tightly

- Hotch-

- omg, I missed you so much

- I want to go home... - tears started to fall

- I know sweetheart, I want more than anything in the world for you to be safe and sound in our house, next to me, come on

- Hotch...

She kept her legs tight and her hands covering her front somehow

- I can't... Really

He furrowed his eyebrows

- are you okay, sweetheart?

- I...

- are you okay? - emily got close to her, grabbing her arm slightly

- I...

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, that's when they noticed the blood dripping from her legs

- omg, are you hurt?! I need an ambulance! - Hotch got even closer in case you felt too weak

- no! No! Hotch... I'm fine, really

- how are you fine? You're bleeding

You turned to look at Emily and she understood immediately, doing an 'oh' sign with her mouth

- Hotch, she needs something else

You're legs trembled and shook as the embarrassment washed over you, of course you felt relieved when you saw the lights and FBI vests, but now, this was really private and embarrassing, and Emily understood that, getting everyone out of the barn to leave you some privacy, while she got you new clothes and some pads and tampons

- sweetheart, what's going on?! I don't -

- it's not lethal... Blood, Hotch

He finally understood, taking his jacket off and putting it on you, it was so big it cover you completely till the back of your thighs.

He tried to carry you in his arms, but you instinctively got back.

- Hotch, you're gonna get stained

- my love, no blood from you could make me avoid helping you or carrying you, please, let me be of help now that I can, now and for the rest of your life - he kneeled in front of you

- you're sweet, let's go home, please - you whispered, already tired from everything

He got up, taking you in his arms with the movement, kissing you slowly and carefully, scared to make any sudden move that'll hurt you even further

- let's get home, my love

> don't forget to like xoxo <

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 14

prompt: i think a fun fic idea might be etho and gem having a thing that's undefined, but etho has put a lot of mental time/energy into it without communicating that well to gem. and then he notices how close gem and grian have become in.... wow, how long has it actually been? etho can't tell, but is there also an undefined thing happening there?

jealousy ensues and an incredibly stunted conversation leads to etho deciding he should visit gem

this sounds very specific so of course you can change anything as you like, if you decide to write it :D

cw: rpf

It takes Gem exactly forty-seven seconds to realize Etho’s landed his character at the edge of where she’s building. She’s standing still — hands clearly off her keyboard — and he wonders if she’s on her phone.

“Long time no see,” he says when she finally turns, and she goes still again, maybe pulling her mic closer and unmuting.

“It hasn’t been that long,” she answers with a slight laugh, and there’s a tugging in his stomach.

He’s missed the sound of her voice.

She places down a shulker, starting to sort her inventory, and he doesn’t know how he’s meant to hold her attention. He thought just being there would be enough.

“I didn’t know you were going away,” he tries, and she looks over at him before falling still again, maybe back to texting.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” she says after a minute, when Etho’s just starting to think he should go back to one of his own projects.

“Really?” he asks, curious in the same way he is when he touches a bruise just to see how painful it is. “You’ve been a lot of places this year.”

Gem hums in agreement and goes back to her shulker. “I stayed at home.”

“For a whole week?” He lets out a breathy laugh, because the idea of her not going anywhere for that long sounds ridiculous. “Why?”

That finally seems to get her whole attention and she looks up.

“Grian was visiting,” she admits and Etho freezes, his body turning cold.

“Grian?”

She hadn’t mentioned it. Though, neither had Grian, and Etho’s not sure why he didn’t put two and two together with them both away from the server at the same time.

“Grian,” Gem confirms. “He’d never been to Canada before.”

Etho falls silent for a moment, unsure what to say to that. He’s seen them playing R.E.P.O. together, how giggly they get, but he didn’t — it seemed harmless.

“I didn’t realize you were that close.”

He clears his throat, a little embarrassed at his honesty, at how it makes him sound jealous, but he knows the kind of person Grian is.

He works hard to be the center of attention, louder than others, a little repetitive to make sure he’s heard — everything Etho strives not to be.

He didn’t know Gem was into that and Etho’s not sure he can compete.

“Is that a problem?” she asks, a tone to her voice that heavily hints he’s said the wrong thing.

But he can’t stop thinking about Gem inviting Grian into her home, and he leans back in his chair, horrified by the thought of her inviting him into her bed too.

“Are you and him — ” he doesn’t finish the thought, just leaves it hanging, and he wonders what kind of expression she’s wearing, if she’s actually mad at him.

He’s not sure he cares, he just needs to know the truth.

He’s spent a significant amount of time with Gem since season nine. Significant for him at least. He’s let her into his life more than maybe anyone else. He told her about his setup and eventually shared pictures, solely because he thought she’d want to see.

He thought they were close. He thought she liked him.

“I could visit you,” he blurts, which might be one of the stupidest things he’s ever done. But there’s truth to it.

If that’s what it would take for Gem to understand, to take notice.

“What’s happening right now?” Gem asks, and she sounds confused, but her voice is softer.

“If you wanted that,” he says.

“If I wanted you to visit me?”

He hesitates, not sure if he’s ready to commit to it, but his chest feels tight at the thought of losing his chance with her.

“Yeah.”

She makes a soft sound, like an exhale, and Etho starts wondering if he’s messed up completely.

But after a beat, Gem says, “Grian’s wife stayed with me, too. They visited together.”

Etho swallows.

“Oh,” he says and Gem hums quietly.

“You can’t take it back now,” she tells him. “Your offer.”

Etho stares at her character, wishing he could see her actual face.

“Is it something you’d want?” he asks, and it feels like everything hinges on her answer.

He’s not expecting the laugh she lets out, the way it sounds a little crazed, and she hiccups as she cuts it off.

“That’s — ” she starts, before pausing as though looking for the right words. “Yeah, Etho, that’s something I’d want.”

The knot in Etho’s stomach loosens and something akin to hope flares behind his ribs.

“Or I could visit you,” she says. “Whichever — whatever’s easier.”

Etho finds himself taking his hands off the keyboard, rubbing his clammy palms on his thighs.

“I’ve never been to Newfoundland,” he admits.

“Okay,” she agrees and it’s strange, but he can hear the smile on her face as she says it. “I’ll DM you later?”

Her character shifts from side to side, back in motion, her attention entirely on him, the way he wants.

“Okay,” he replies, and finds himself smiling in return.