#LIT - Low Intensity Training)

[cowboybeepboop]

Addicted

"But you're different. You've got me on my damn knees here, and I don't even care."

“On your knees? Now that's something I’d like to see.”

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut, romantic

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: A one night stand with Hangman leaves him desperate and begging for more.

Warnings: Public sex, making Jake beg, p in v sex, riding him, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex.

a/n: Not really much to say other than I hope you enjoy <3 Also send any requests my way, could be for anything :)

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the airstrip as the jets roared by, their engines a deafening symphony that seemed to shake the very earth beneath your feet. You had always loved this time of day, the way the light painted everything in hues of gold and red, making even the most mundane tasks feel like a scene from a Hollywood blockbuster. But today, the sight of the planes brought with it a feeling of anxiety rather than excitement. Training with Maverick was intense, and as one of the few women in the program, you knew you had to be twice as good to be considered half as good.

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place where pilots went to unwind after a long day of pushing the limits of gravity. You scanned the room, spotting the familiar faces of your colleagues, all of them men. The only other woman present was Nat, known as Phoenix, a fellow Top Gun graduate who had become your closest ally in this male-dominated world. She sat at the bar, her eyes lighting up as she saw you, offering a nod that seemed to say, "You can handle this."

Bob, with his boyish grin and easy-going demeanor, was the first to stand up and greet you. He pulled out a chair, offering it with a gallant flourish. "You're looking as sharp as ever, Y/N," he said, his voice carrying a hint of admiration that made your cheeks warm. You sat down, grateful for the respite from the catcalls and lewd comments that had been thrown your way since you walked in.

As you chatted with Bob and Phoenix, you couldn't help but notice the blond man across the room, his eyes locked on you like a homing missile. You had heard rumors about him—Hangman, they called him—a cocky pilot with a reputation for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. His stare was unnerving, a silent challenge that seemed to say, "I'm going to make you mine." You ignored him, focusing on the conversation and the cold beer in your hand, but the heat of his gaze was impossible to ignore.

As you’re sitting with the two, talking, the man starts walking over towards you, coming to a stop next to Phoenix with a smirk on his handsome face. You look up at him curiously while Nat gives him a stern glare. “What do you want, Bagman?” she questions him with an accusatory tone.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, standing beside her, leaning his hip against the bar. "Can't a guy say hello without getting into trouble?" He joked, his eyes flickering over to you.

He looked you up and down slowly, a cocky grin on his lips. "I don't think we've met before." He muses, extending his hand out. "I'm Hangman, but you can call me Jake."

“I’m Y/N.” you ignore his extended hand, leaning closer to Bob to add distance between you and Hangman.

He raised an eyebrow as you ignored his hand, a smirk playing at his lips. "Playing hard to get, huh?" He teased, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's cute."

He glanced over at Bob for a moment, taking his hand back and stuffing it in his pocket. "You two a thing?" He asked casually, his eyes flickering over to you again.

Bob opens his mouth to deny being with you. “Actually, yes we are.” you grin, taking Bob’s hand in your own. Right now you were relying on him to take the hint and play along with you.

Hangman's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you and Bob holding hands. He couldn't deny that he was a little surprised, he assumed you were friends. He tried to brush it off, but a hint of jealousy stirred inside him.

Unfortunately your plan to get Hangman to back off by pretending to date Bob, was going less than swimmingly. It seems he doesn’t care whether you're already spoken for or not. The evening drags on with him still sending heated glances full of desire your way.

Eventually, you decide to call it a night, as you say your goodbyes and start to head out of the bar, Hangman's attention is immediately caught by your departure. He watches you exit, his eyes following you as you make your way to your jeep.

He debates for a moment, contemplating whether or not to follow you. His desire wins out, and he makes up his mind to follow you. He says his own goodbyes to the group and discreetly follows you outside, keeping a couple of paces behind you.

“Are you going to say something? Or are you just planning to keep following me like some creep?” you lean against the hood of your car, arms crossing under your chest, eyes narrowing at him.

Hangman freezes as you turn around and call him out. He hadn't expected you to notice him so quickly.

He smirks and steps closer, closing the distance between you both. "Just admiring the view," he drawls, his eyes roaming over your form shamelessly.

“Oh is that so?” you hum, gazing up at him with an unreadable expression.

"Absolutely." He nods and leans against the jeep beside you, standing so close that your bodies nearly touch.

He looks down at you, his eyes darkening slightly. "You and Bob, huh?" He comments casually, a hint of a taunt in his tone.

“Are you jealous?” you reply with a teasing smile.

He lets out a scoff, pretending not to be affected. "Me? Jealous? Please." He rolls his eyes, but there's a flicker of something in his gaze that gives him away.

He turns to face you fully, his arm resting on the jeep behind you, trapping you in. "I just don’t get why you're settling for Bob." He says, lowering his voice. "What's so special about him, hm?"

“I’m not *settling* for Bob,” you hop up on the car, sitting on the hood with your legs crossed. “He’s a gentleman, very sweet, and damn cute.”

Hangman's eyes flicker over your body for a moment, watching as you hop onto the hood and cross your legs.

He grumbles under his breath, slightly annoyed that you didn’t seem to get his point.

"Yeah, Yeah, he’s sweet and cute, whatever. I can be sweet and cute too, you know. Sometimes." He counters, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

“So you are jealous.” you giggle, leaning back on your palms, uncrossing your legs. “And what makes you so special?”

He glares at you, his jealousy bubbling to the surface. "I'm Hangman, sweetheart. I’m the best, hottest, and most talented pilot there is." He says confidently, his ego on full display.

He steps even closer to you, his body slotting between your legs now. He gazes down at you, his hand resting near your hip. "I could show you a good time, unlike Bob."

You flick your tongue out, licking your bottom lip. “A good time hm?” you wrap your legs around his hips pulling him against you.

A small gasp leaves Hangman's lips as you pull him closer, his body automatically responding to your touch. He places his hands on your hips, his grip firm but not rough. He looks at you through hooded eyes, his gaze dark and full of desire.

"You have no idea." He practically growls, his body pressed against yours.

“Sounds inviting,” you murmur, with a small smirk. “But I don’t make a habit of sleeping with coworkers… especially when I have a boyfriend.” your tone is teasing.

Hangman's eyes narrow as you remind him of your supposed relationship with Bob. He leans closer, his nose nearly touching yours.

"Please," he retorts, his breath lightly tickling your skin. "We both know you're not actually dating him. I saw the way he looked at Phoenix earlier. He's got it bad for her, not you."

“While that may be true,” you let go of his waist, pushing his chest with your hand. “My point still stands. I don’t sleep with my coworkers.”

Hangman stumbles back a step, a mix of disappointment and frustration on his face. "Oh come on," he runs a hand through his hair, "We're both adults here. Don't tell me you don't feel the chemistry between us."

He steps closer to you again, his hand reaching out to gently grip your chin, tilting your head up towards him. "One night, no strings attached. It can be our little secret."

“A one night stand..” you bite down on your bottom lip, “Are you sure you’ll be able to walk away after one night?”

He chuckles, his hand moving from your chin to cup your cheek. "Sweetheart, one night with me and you'll be the one struggling to walk." He says with a cocky smirk, his tone confident and full of male arrogance.

He leans in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. "I guarantee you'll be begging for more."

“I guarantee you’ll be the one doing the begging.” your hand goes to the back of his head, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Hangman's smug expression quickly vanishes as you pull him in, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss filled with fire and desire.

He lets out a low growl, his hands grabbing your hips and pressing you even tighter against him. He devours the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessive fervor. As he finally breaks the kiss, his breathing heavy, he looks at you with feral eyes. "Don't underestimate me, sweetheart. I never beg."

“Get in the car,” you brush your hand down his chest, fingers ghosting over his erection. “Let’s go somewhere a little more comfortable.” Hangman's breath hitches as your fingers brush against his bulge, the touch sending a shiver through his body. He nods eagerly, a mix of impatience and anticipation on his face.

"Alright, alright. You lead the way." He steps back, letting you get off the hood and move around to the driver's side. He opens the passenger door and gets in, his eyes on you watching your every move.

The drive to the apartment is filled with tension, Hangman's hands occasionally drifting to your thigh or hip, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

As you enter the apartment and make your way towards the bedroom, Hangman's hands remain on your waist, his grip firm and possessive. He's practically glued to your back, the scent of his cologne filling your nose.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" He mutters into your ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. You turn around in his grasp, pressing a heated kiss to his lips, your own hands sliding down his body.

He groans into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you as close as possible. He returns the kiss with equal fervor, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessive intensity.

His hands roam over your body, sliding down your curves and gripping your hips. His touch is almost bruising, his need for you evident in every move he makes. He walks you backwards towards the bed, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving small kisses and bites in their wake.

The back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, and Hangman guides you to sit down, his hands never leaving your body. He stands between your legs, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes.

Hangman's hands, strong and insistent, began to pull away the fabric that separated your bodies, his movements quick and sure. Your shirt was the first to go, lifted over your head and tossed aside with the ease of a man used to getting what he wanted.

His eyes roamed over your bare torso, drinking in the sight of your firm breasts, the peaks of your nipples pebbled with desire. He reached for the clasp of your bra, his fingers deftly unhooking it before sliding the straps down your arms, leaving it to fall away and expose you fully to his heated gaze.

With a smirk, he went for the button of your jeans, his eyes never leaving yours. As the zipper lowered, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged, pulling them down your hips and over your thighs. You helped him, lifting your legs one by one, allowing him to remove your shoes and socks as well, leaving you in only your underwear.

His own clothes followed suit, the sound of fabric rustling and buttons popping filling the room as he stripped away his shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abs. His jeans were next, the leather belt unbuckling with a snap before the denim hit the floor, leaving him in his boxers.

He stepped closer, his hands sliding up your bare legs to the band of your underwear. With a single, fluid motion, he hooked his fingers in the fabric and dragged it down, leaving you completely bare before him.

You felt a rush of cool air against your skin as he stepped back to appreciate the view, his eyes dark with lust as they traveled over your body. You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him as he removed his own boxers, his erection springing free and bobbing slightly with his every movement.

Your heart raced in your chest, the anticipation of what was to come making your stomach flip-flop. His hand reached for yours, pulling you to stand and bringing your bodies flush together. His erection pressed against your stomach, hot and demanding.

You felt his breath on your neck as he kissed along your collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Your hand found its way to the back of his neck, holding him closer as he continued to kiss and nibble his way down your body.

The feel of his bare chest against yours was electric, sending waves of heat through you. His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You felt his thumbs brush over your hardened nipples, and a moan escaped your lips as he rolled them gently, teasing and pinching just enough to make you arch into his touch.

He was methodical in his exploration, as if he were memorizing every inch of your body. With a sudden surge of confidence, you pushed him against the mattress, surprising him with your strength.

He chuckled, his eyes flashing with excitement as you slid on top of him, straddling his hips. You lined his hardness up with your wet heat, feeling the tip of him nudge against your entrance. The sensation made you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

Opening them again, you stared down at him, a challenge in your gaze. Without a word, you began to ride him, your hips moving in a rhythm that was both agonizingly slow and incredibly sensual.

He watched you, his eyes hooded with desire as he felt your wetness envelop him. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he held on for dear life, letting you set the pace.

His breath was ragged in your ear, his voice a low murmur of encouragement as you rocked against him. You felt him swell inside you, his length filling you completely, and you knew he was close to the edge.

You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, your breasts smashing against his skin. The friction was maddening, and you couldn’t help but increase your pace, chasing your own release.

His hands slid up your back, gripping your shoulders as he pulled you down for a deep, claiming kiss. His tongue danced with yours as his hips began to meet your movements, the two of you moving in perfect sync.

The bed creaked beneath you, the only sound in the room aside from the ragged breaths and soft moans that filled the space. The tension grew, a coil tightening in your stomach, signaling the approaching climax.

You felt his muscles tense underneath you, his grip on your hips tightening, and you knew he was close. You leaned back, letting him take over, his hands guiding your hips as he drove into you with a ferocity that had you seeing stars.

Each thrust was a declaration of dominance, a claim of what was his. You threw your head back, crying out his name as the orgasm washed over you, your body convulsing with pleasure.

The world around you faded away, leaving only the feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of your mingled breaths, and the exquisite sensation of his cock buried deep inside you. As the waves of pleasure subsided, you collapsed against him, your chest heaving with exertion.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as your bodies remained connected, both of you lost in the aftermath of the passionate encounter. For a moment, there was only silence, only the sound of your hearts beating in sync.

Then, with a soft chuckle, Hangman leaned his forehead against yours. "You're something else, Y/N." He whispered, his voice filled with a mix of awe and satisfaction.

You couldn’t help but smile, your breath still coming in short gasps. "I aim to please," you murmured, before pressing a gentle kiss to his neck.

He rolled you over onto your back, his body still inside of yours, and began to move again, slower this time, more deliberate. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last as long as possible. He kissed along your collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he thrust into you, his eyes never leaving yours.

The kisses grew more intense, his teeth sinking into your skin, leaving small marks. You didn’t protest, instead, you arched into the pain, your nails digging into his back as he claimed you once again.

This time, the passion was more intense, more raw, as if the first time was just the beginning of something much more powerful.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, casting shadows across the wall as your bodies moved together. The bed rocked beneath you, the headboard thumping rhythmically against the wall, a silent testament to the passion that had overtaken you both.

As the second climax approached, you felt yourself tighten around him, your body begging for release. He groaned, his movements growing erratic, his need for you consuming him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he reached his peak, filling you with his warmth.

Finally, with one last, powerful thrust, he stilled, his body collapsing next to yours. You both lay there, panting and trembling, the sweat from your bodies mingling on the cool sheets. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

__________

The next few weeks are filled with tension between you and Jake. Where you are seemingly unaffected by the night you shared, Jake can't shake the memory of the night he shared with you.

He replays every moment in his head, relishing every touch, every kiss, every sound you made. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat whenever he sees you, the way his eyes keep finding you in a room, and the way his body responds to your mere presence.

You’re back at the bar, hanging out with the other pilots while playing pool. Jake can't tear his eyes away from you as you lean over the pool table, lining up your shot. He watches intently as your body moves, the way your hips sway, and the way the pool cue rests in your grasp.

He takes a sip of his drink, attempting to appear nonchalant, but his eyes never leave you, drinking in your every movement.

You notice his lingering gaze and shoot him a questioning look, feeling Bob’s hand snake around your waist as he pulls you into a hug. You lean into his embrace as he whispers a soft goodnight before he leaves.

Jake's jaw clenches at the sight of Bob's arm around you, a flash of anger and jealousy passing through his eyes. It takes all his self-control not to stride over and pull you away from the hug.

He watches as Bob leans in, whispers something in your ear, and then leaves. Jake's hands ball into fist, his knuckles turning white as he forces himself to stay seated. You walk over to Hangman, arms crossed.

“Jake, we need to talk.” your tone is firm. You’ve been noticing his lingering stares, the way he seeks out your touch and attention. It’s been a frustrating couple weeks.

Hangman looks up at you as you approach, his expression guarded. He knows exactly what you're talking about. The tension between the two of you since that night has been unbearable, and he knows he can't keep up the act much longer.

He tries to feign nonchalance as he responds, a cocky smirk on his face. "What's there to talk about? We had our fun, right?"

“Come on, outside.” you practically demand, glaring at him before leaving the bar. Hangman's cocky smile falters a little under your demanding tone, but he quickly recovers, grabbing his jacket and following after you.

Once outside, he turns to face you, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Alright, we're out here. What do you want to talk about?" His voice is casual, but there's a hint of wariness in his eyes. He knows this conversation is not going to go the way he wants it to.

“What’s your deal?” the two of you are off in a dark corner, hidden behind the bar. “You’re the one who said *just* one night, yet you can't seem to stay away.”

Hangman's jaw clenches, his carefree demeanor slipping for a moment. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

"I don't know, alright?" He snaps, his voice carrying a hint of defensiveness. "I didn't think it would be so damn hard to just walk away from you."

He starts pacing back and forth in the small corner, his body tense, like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You scoff, “You’re not the commitment type, so what exactly is this all about?” your gaze is hardened as you lean against the wall.

Hangman stops pacing, his back to you as he takes a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts.

"It's not about commitment, alright?" He says, turning back around to face you, his eyes meeting yours. "It's about you. I can't get you out of my goddamn head." His voice is hoarse, and there's a hint of vulnerability in his eyes that you've never seen before.

You look at him, eyebrows furrowed, expression full of confusion. Hangman steps closer to you, eyes searching your face.

"Don't look at me like that," he mutters, his voice gruff. "I...I don't know what I'm doing. I don't do this. I don't get attached, I don't get possessive. But I can't stop thinking about you, I can't stop wanting *you*..."

He reaches for you, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers, his touch gentle. "Please..." His voice is barely above a whisper, a plea. "Please don't make me stop." your gaze softens as he moves closer, desperate for you.

Hangman's plea hangs in the air, his voice revealing more vulnerability than he's ever shown before. He's practically shaking from the effort of resisting his growing desire for you.

He leans in, mere inches from your face, his breath hot on your skin. His eyes lock with yours, a mix of need and desperation swirling in their depths.

"I *need* you, Y/N," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I've never *needed* anyone like this before. You're driving me damn crazy."

“And here I thought you weren't the begging type.” You hum, hands going to his muscular waist. Hangman's breath hitches at your touch, his body responding immediately to your proximity. His hands find your hips, pulling you closer to him.

"I'm not. Usually." He answers, his voice a low rumble. "But you're different. You've got me on my damn knees here, and I don't even care." His body presses against yours, his grip on your hips tightening as if he’s afraid you'll pull away.

“On your knees? Now that's something I’d like to see.” you tease, enjoying the feel of his body against yours.

Hangman's eyes widen for a moment as he registers your words, then his smirk returns, a challenge in his gaze.

“Is that right?” He drops to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs. He runs his fingers up and down your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“I’d do just about anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above your hip. You gasp, legs spreading for him.

“Yeah?” you guide his hand under your skirt, back pressing against the wall. Hangman's eyes darken as his hand moves underneath your skirt, his touch sending shivers up your spine. His breathing is ragged, his gaze hungry as he looks up at you.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Anything, sweetheart. Just tell me what you want." His hand moves higher, his fingers tracing the hem of your underwear. His tongue slips out, running along his lower lip as he watches your reaction.

“Jake,” you whine his name, “I need you,” your fingers move to his hair, pulling him close. Hangman lets out a low moan as you pull on his hair, your words making his chest tighten with desire.

"Yeah, that's it. Say my name," he practically growls, his nose brushing against your inner thigh as he presses closer to you.

"I'm goin' crazy here, darling. Tell me what you want." His hands grip your thighs, his mouth trailing soft kisses along your skin, moving higher and higher until he reaches the edge of your underwear.

“I want you..” you gasp. Hangman's lips move against you, his breath hot against your clothed skin. He pulls you closer, his grip tight on your ass, as if he can't get close enough to you.

"Do you taste as sweet as you look, sweetheart?" He murmurs, his teeth nibbling at the fabric separated you, you gasp in response desperate for more. "I'm dyin' to find out." The bulge in his jeans is now apparent, his desire for you straining against the fabric.

Hangman looks up at you through his lashes, his eyes filled with a combination of need and heat. He pulls gently on the fabric of your underwear, his voice rough as he speaks.

"Can I take these off, sweetheart?" His hand moves up your thigh, his touch gentle. "I need to taste you, every inch of you."

Jake's gaze is intense, his eyes locked on yours as he slides your underwear down, revealing your glistening core. You nod the cool night air that kisses your exposed skin, causing goosebumps to rise along your legs.

He kisses your thighs, working his way closer to your center, his breath hot and his mouth watering. As he licks you, you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming out in pleasure.

His tongue moves in a slow, deliberate circle around your clit, teasing and taunting you until you can't help but whimper. He smirks, knowing he has you on the edge, and continues his sweet torture, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place.

You lean back against the wall, supporting yourself as his mouth works magic on your body. Your legs tremble, and your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as you feel the orgasm building deep within you.

His tongue slides into you, stroking you deep and slow, and you can't hold back anymore. You moan out his name, your body convulsing as the climax crashes over you like a tidal wave.

Hangman doesn't stop, even as your legs give out and you slide down the wall. He holds you up with one hand, his mouth still working tirelessly. You're lost in the sensation, your mind a whirlwind of pleasure as he devours you.

Finally, you manage to push him away, gasping for air. "Jake, enough," you murmur, your voice shaky. He chuckles, standing up and pulling you into a standing position.

"I'm not done with you yet," he says, his voice low and full of promise. He kisses you deeply, his tongue tasting the sweetness of your orgasm on his lips. You melt into the kiss, your body craving more of him.

Hangman's hands move to the button of his jeans, fumbling slightly with the zipper. His desperation is palpable, his breathing heavy as he works to free his erection. He pulls out his cock, thick and hard, the moonlight casting shadows over it.

You moan into his mouth as he lifts you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist. He presses you against the wall, your hands holding onto his shoulders for balance. His tip teases your entrance, coated in your juices from earlier.

With a gentle nudge, he slides into you, filling you up. Your walls clench around him, trying to keep him inside. He groans into your mouth, his hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm that has your toes curling in your boots.

You're both lost in the moment, the cool night air surrounding you as he fucks you in the alleyway. His movements are deliberate, each thrust a declaration of his need for you.

Your hands move from his shoulders to his face, your fingers tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the stubble that's grown in since the morning. You break the kiss, panting for air as you stare into his eyes.

"I need you," you whisper, your voice filled with passion. Hangman's eyes flare with desire, his hips moving faster, his strokes deeper.

The bricks of the alleyway press into your back, but you don't care. All that matters is the feeling of him inside you, the way your bodies move together in a dance as old as time.

You can feel the tension building in his body, his muscles tensing as he fights for control. But you want more, need more. You rock your hips against him, urging him to go harder.

He obliges, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his hands gripping your ass tightly. You throw your head back, your moans echoing through the deserted alley as you reach for your own release.

Your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks, your body spasming around his cock. Hangman groans, his own climax following quickly behind, filling you with his warmth.

He holds you there, his body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of the moment etched into every line of his face.

Slowly, he lowers you to the ground, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. You lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath.

He tucks himself back into his pants, his gaze never leaving yours. "I can't get enough of you," he says, his voice gruff.

You laugh, the sound a little shaky from the intensity of the encounter. "Is that so?"

Hangman's eyes never leave your face, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. His hands grip your hips, his touch both possessive and gentle at the same time. He leans in, his lips hovering just above yours.

"Damn right it is," he murmurs, his voice low. "I'm addicted to you, sweetheart. Can't get enough." he kisses your shoulder, pulling your waist as he presses you to him.

[dunebrat]

PAST LOVERS ୨♡୧

Feyd Rautha x reader

Summary : you return to his planet years later to lay your mother to rest, only to find Feyd, once a boy now a man. You struggle to reconcile the memories of the boy you once loved and he is determined to take you back as his.

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As you step off the shuttle onto the dusty surface of Arrakis, memories flood back of your time here, memories filled with warmth and pain, all centered around him, Feyd Rautha. The boy you once knew, the one who captured your heart among the harsh sands of this his planet. Years have passed since you last saw him, since you made the painful decision to leave, to escape. Back then, he was just a boy but he was your first everything, love, kiss he even took your virginity but your family left Arrakis in search of a better life, a life free from the constant danger. As a child, you witnessed firsthand the brutality of life under the rule of the Harkonnens, the constant struggle for survival in their environment.

But it was more than just the oppressive regime that drove your family away. It was the violence. Despite their best efforts to carve out a life for themselves, they knew that staying meant risking everything they held dear. So when the opportunity arose to leave, to seek refuge on a distant planet far from the reach of the Harkonnens, they seized it without hesitation. It was a chance for a new beginning, a chance to leave behind the pain and suffering of their past and start afresh. And though it meant leaving behind everything you knew, everything you loved, you knew deep down that it was the right decision. For the safety and well-being of your family, you were willing to leave behind the only home you'd ever known, to venture into the unknown in search of a better future. But now here you are 7 years later back at your birth place to lay your mother to rest on her planet. She had fell sick a year ago sadly. Grief weighed heavy on your heart, with the bittersweet memories of your childhood on the desert planet.

But as you watch him now, standing tall and commanding, the years have transformed him into a man. His features are chiseled, he’s way taller now, and his aura is so dark. It's both intimidating and mesmerizing. You can't help but notice the change in him, how the years of training under his uncle has hardened him, turned him into someone you barely recognize. Gone is the carefree boy who you thought once loved you. In his place stands a man who is cold and distant. It was as if with each passing day, his uncle's influence seeped deeper into his soul, twisting him into someone unrecognizable.

Yet despite the bitterness that lingers in you, there's still a spark, a connection that refuses to die. As your eyes meet his across the crowded room, you were determined to ignore him, to shut out the memories of your past together and focus on the task at hand. Every time you felt his eyes on you, you forced yourself to look away, to steel yourself against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. But you couldn't afford to dwell on the past, not when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

And as the days passed, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching you. Then, one evening, as you found yourself alone in the dimly lit corridors of the palace, his voice cut through the silence like a knife, sending a shiver down your spine. "I've been looking for you," he said, his tone low and husky.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. There was a hunger in his eyes, a fierce intensity that sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the sound of his voice after so long apart.

"Feyd," you breathed, your heart pounding in anticipation. He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark and intense as he studied your face. "I've missed you" His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel the familiar pull of attraction. He leaned in close to whisper into your ear "I want you."

Seeing him so close you can see he had grown into his features. His body now more muscular and defined than before. He ran his hands down your back as you leaned in to kiss him passionately on the lips.

"No," you said firmly, stepping back to put some distance between you. "This... this isn't right." His expression darkened, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with anger.

"I mean," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion, "that I can't just forget everything that's happened between us. I can't pretend like nothing has changed." you say, your voice trembling. He stops in front of you, his eyes burning into yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the power and strength that he exudes.

It's almost overwhelming. His eyes darken

"After all the mercy I’ve shown you and your family" he growled

"What do you mean" you squinted confused

"When you left me, I could’ve had you’re whole family killed and you returned to me. But I knew somehow or something would bring you back" He reaches out, his hand wrapping around your throat in an instant. You gasp, the air being cut off from your lungs. He leans in close to you, his breath hot on your face as he whispers into your ear, "You're mine."

You can feel his grip tighten around your throat, cutting off the air to your lungs. You try to gasp for breath but it's no use as he holds you in place with a firm hand on your neck. You can feel your body starting to tremble as the lack of oxygen starts to take its toll. Your vision begins to blur and you start to see spots in front of your eyes, but still he holds on tight.

He lets go and you fall on the ground gasping for air

"He grabs your arm and pulls you up to a standing position, his eyes dark with desire." I'm going to have my way with you again and again until you learn that I own you now" You can feel his hot breath on your neck as he leans in close, and you know what's coming next. He bites down on your neck, his teeth sinking into the flesh. You cry out in pain and pleasure as he sucks hard at the wound, leaving a mark that will be there for days to come.

"I couldn't help but notice," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "how much you've grown, how... how beautiful you've become." his eyes trailing over your body with an intensity

His words caught you off guard, he sounded more calm. "I've missed you," he said softly, his voice laced with longing. "I've missed us. And I'm not willing to let you slip away again."He reaches down and grabs your hips, lifting you up off the ground. You can feel his cock pressing against your entrance as he positions himself to enter you from behind. He thrusts into you, his cock filling you up in one swift motion. You cry out as he starts to fuck you hard and fast, pounding away at your pussy with a fervor that's almost animalistic.

You can feel his cock hitting your cervix with each thrust, and you know that he's going to make you cum hard. He reaches around and grabs your tits, squeezing them hard as he continues to fuck you.

"I want you to have my child". You look up at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of his cum. He grins down at you," You, little one. Are mine forever and ever."

He’d been thinking about breeding you the second he saw

Defeated you whispered "Im yours, Take me however you want to take me."Just please don't hurt my baby if we make one together" He grins down at you again.

"ll be gentle with you, little one." "I promise."

Taglist ⭐️

@aaaaaamond

@meetmeatyourworst

@mamawiggers1980

@wo-ming-bai

@szapizzapanda

@avidreader73

@moonsoulk

@lokiofasgard12

@scarl3tt-000

@kristel1990

@neobangverse

@18lkpeters

@abswifey

@shynovelist

[yanderestarangel]

♡ ₊ ˚ 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧 ♡ ₊ ˚

TW: v!sex, superstimulation, fingering, soft!dom bi han, ftm reader, afab anatomy, male x male, feminization ( I think ), smut, porn plot only, praise, pet names, morning sex, sex without a condom, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cum play.

The sex last night was intense for you, Bi Han fucked you in every corner of the house, he spoiled you after cumming and filling you to the stomach with his thick cum - some goodies, fluffy and warm socks that kept you warm, squeezing the soft flesh on the side of your thighs, a place that the grand master loved to mark and bite because it was a sensitive place and perfectly fit his thick shaft - you were his good boy, and he just wanted to see you happy, like the submissive and handsome boy of his.

He woke up earlier than you, seeing you totally naked in bed, he really wanted to wake you up, tell you that you needed to go to lin kuei training, but see you like a little angel in bed, with your ass raised in the air, with red marks from his hands from their last night encounter, with your soft pussy with sensitive, reddened folds, with your breasts with hard nipples against the sheets...

You were a beautiful mess in his eyes. He started to get dressed, being careful not to make any noise so as not to wake you up - but it didn't help, you started to wake up, smiling at him as he spoke a light morning message that slipped from your swollen and reddened lips.

Bi Han saw you waking up, and his eyes lit up with surprise.

"-Good morning my baby boy..." Sub zero said softly, coming closer to you. "-I thought I heard you stirring around... Did you miss me?" He teased, grabbing your hand and pulling you onto the bed beside him.

"-Well... I decided to give you some rest today... You looked exhausted yesterday." He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. "-Now, how about we order breakfast in bed? Something sweet and warm sounds perfect, doesn't it?"

You moaned needily, placing your legs under the grandmaster's muscular torso as you babbled about how much you just wanted to be with him. He gripped your waist tighter and rolled to the side, placing a soft kiss on your cheek, smiling at your requests, he knew how needy you were in the morning, and how horny you easily got, he started to caress the part lower back, going down until you reach your ass, squeezing your cheeks and teasing with cold fingertips the warm stockings that covered your thighs, releasing the tight fabric with a relatively loud snap.

"-However, we can always find a way to work up an appetite first." the grandmaster added suggestively, his voice low and husky. He reached down between your legs, gently stroking your wet folds before tracing circles around your clit.

Bi Han leaned in closer, his breath warm against her neck as he whispered in your ear. "-You smell delicious baby... And I haven't eaten my treat yet... We can have our breakfast later... I just need to make you cum again, pretty boys like you need rewards right?" His voice reverberating through your body trembling with anticipation, your core was already hot from the small touches the older man was making on your sensitive bud.

He leaned forward, nibbling at your neck before trailing hot kisses down to your collarbone. His hand slipped under the sheet, cupping your breasts gently, massaging them as his thumb brushed your nipples.

He slid his hand between your legs and began rubbing your thighs roughly, leaving red marks on your skin. His fingers found their way inside you, probing deeper than before, exploring every inch of your wet pussy. Bi Han sucked your tongue greedily, savoring your taste.

"-Tell me if you want more pressure or less, just say it, use your pretty voice, you're so wet for me... So ready... Do you want me to fill you up now?" — You only managed to moan and pull him in response, unable to think much other than Bi Han's cock filling you, you whispered dirty and sweet words, begging for everything for him to make you his one time or another.

Bi Han chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement, he continued to tease you mercilessly, using his own words against you. "-Patience, silly boy..." He pulled away from your neck, trailing a trail of saliva down to your nipples, which stood erect and hard in anticipation. Standing up, he stripped off the last remaining clothes he had on, revealing his massive cock throbbing with desire, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

He slowly withdrew his fingers from your pussy, teasing you mercilessly. "-Good boy..." he says, licking the juices off his digits. He climbed on top of you, positioning himself between your spread legs. Grasping your hips firmly, he aligned his member with your entrance, rubbing it against your sensitive folds. "-Now, spread your legs wide and arch your back." The Grandmaster commanded, his voice deepening with each lascivious movement. You obeyed him eagerly, spreading your legs wider than you thought possible while arching your back, presenting yourself fully to him.

"-That's better baby." He praised, running his hand over your stomach before grabbing hold of your ass cheeks. With one mighty thrust, he rammed his thick member into your tight pussy, filling you completely. "-Tell me how good it feels having my cock in your tight little hole, my petite boy doll..."

Bi Han moaned in delight, his hips rocking back and forth, thrusting even deeper into you. His hands reached up to squeeze your breasts tightly, massaging them as he fucked you harder. He picked up the pace even more, thrusting faster and harder than before, his abs contracting with each powerful thrust. Your moans mixed with his grunts as they filled the room—a symphony of desire and lust.

"-You're so fucking tight... So goddamn tight..." He growled again, his voice strained with horny. Without warning, Bi Han stopped suddenly, leaving you hanging on the edge of orgasm, desperate for release.

"-F-Fuck- Not yet boy." He whispered. "-I want to feel every inch of you tightening around my cock." He paused momentarily, allowing you to adjust to his withdrawal before slowly easing himself back inside you, finding a new angle that made both of you groan.

"-Do you feel that, sweetheart? How good it feels to have my cock filling your tight pussy... Damn, such a cute and needy pussy, just for me." He picked up the pace once again, pounding into you relentlessly, his hips slamming against yours in sync with each powerful thrust. You wrapped your arms around him, holding on for dear life to him as he fucked you senseless — Bi Han moaned deeply, his face contorted in pure bliss as he felt you clamping down on his dick.

"-My little boy doll... Aah- My fucking toy." His hand left your breast to grab one of your legs, lifting it and resting it on his shoulder. Using this new angle, he began to hit your sweet spot harder than before, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body, your uterus was deliciously sore and sure enough, you weren't going to walk for a few days. He increased the speed again, slamming into you hard enough to make the headboard rattle against the wall — sweat dripped down his forehead onto yours, mingling together in an erotic dance.

"-Cum for me... Cum for your grandmaster... Y-Yes... Cum like the beautiful, obedient slut you are." You couldn't hold back for long, your core was burning, your moans echoed through the room louder and louder every moment, you salivated and soiled the sheets as you watched Bi Han fuck your cunt without any mercy, which made you scream in the name his as your eyes rolled back, milking your mate's throbbing cock, he positioned himself so that every drop of your warm, sticky cum would coat his cock and balls.

"-Fucking Hell! Yes, my good boy-" He gave one final powerful push, burying himself to the hilt, and held himself there, relishing the feeling of you contracting around him tightly. With a primal roar — Bi Han rose up off you, shooting stream after stream of hot, thick cum onto your stomach and chest. It landed on your breasts, running down your sides and pooling between your thighs.

"-You're amazing my little one." He panted, unable to control his satisfaction. "-So fucking perfect... I love watching you lose yourself in pleasure like that."

He collapsed beside you, breathing heavily, his eyes still filled with desire but also something else—love. You were both spent, sweaty and messy, but oh, so satisfied.

©𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗟 2023

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

28 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 5

...

Soap stares at his name where it's inked across your skin. You should be his enemy. He's sitting across from you, your interrogator in this dimly lit weapons closet. You refuse to look at him. But his gaze bores into you anyway, intense on your eyes, your lips, the cuts and bruises on your face. He wants you. But he can only have you once you've given him the information Captain Price needs.

"Tell me where Alejandro is," he says. "That's all you need to do."

A muscle in your jaw twitches when he mentions Graves' name, but you bite your tongue. You won't let him shake your resolve like he did in Las Almas. You should've killed him on sight.

"What Graves is doing to Alejandro--you know it's wrong." Soap’s gaze is steady. You're so close. He wants you so badly it hurts. "He's not a good man.”

"You have no idea what kind of man he is," you say.

"I know exactly the kind of man he is," he growls. "I saw what he did to the people in Las Almas. He called them dirty cops and had them executed when they said they didn't know anything. Innocent people. In front of their families. Their children." Soap's hands curl into fists on the table between you. "He's not the kind of man who deserves your loyalty."

Your cuffs clink as your arms flex against the chair. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. I wouldn't." Soap's knuckles pop, his voice low and dark. All his life he's waited for you. Now Graves--fucking Graves, who betrayed Soap and his team and tried to murder them all--is somehow the one keeping you from him. "I don't understand what you see in that bastard."

You say nothing, eyes trained on the far wall.

Soap's shoulders tighten. "You're just a tool to him."

"I’m a soldier. I choose to follow orders. So do you.”

"You're following his orders. You think that makes you a soldier, being a weapon? No. Makes you a damn dog."

You say nothing.

Soap grips the table until it creaks. "You think he cares about you.”

"It doesn't matter if he does or not."

"It does so bloody matter. You’re no’ some pawn he can just throw away." God damn you. He wants to grab you with both hands and shake you. To hell with this interrogation--he's got half a mind to lock you down somewhere padded until you get it through your skull that you're not worthless. He scowls at you. "You're better than this. You have to be."

Cold irritation seeps through your mask. "Am I?" Soulmate or not, he doesn’t know you.

At the look on your face, Soap's scowl deepens. He's going to kill that bastard, and he's going to do it slowly. "What about Graves is more important to you than the innocent lives he took? Does that mean nothing to you?”

"Orders are orders."

Soap's voice drops to a dangerous pitch. "Look me in the eye and say that.”

You don’t. You tell yourself it’s because he has no power over you. He can’t tell you what to do.

Soap crosses his arms. "'S what I thought. You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. Graves is nothing but Shepherd's lapdog. Gettin’ paid to commit goddamn war crimes.”

"Shut your mouth," you snap. "You have no idea what happened--"

You stumble on the next syllable and go silent, realizing suddenly that you're looking him in the eye.

Johnny's a man of impulse, and it takes all the self-control he has to keep himself in place the moment you lock eyes. The pull he feels to you right now is overwhelming. You're in reach. He leans forward. Those brilliant blue eyes of his see all the way down into your soul. They’re just the same as you remember--eerily vivid, pupils blown, with his jaw set hard.

"What happened to what, darlin'?"

You shift, skin prickling. You want to cross your arms over yourself and clap your hand over the soulmark on your neck. "You don't know what happened in Al Mazrah."

"You were ambushed."

You nod, remembering that night of the mission. You've seen your squadmates die before. It's a hazard of the job, part of being a mercenary. But that night--seeing so many Shadows gunned down before they could so much as draw their weapons--it still haunts you.

"Shepard didn't know. It wasn't like we-- it was supposed to be a simple transport mission."

"It was a black bag op."

"That's what Shadows do. We take missions people don't like. Someone has to step in where you military dogs won't."

"Where was Shepherd when it went tits up, hm?" Soap's lip curls. "No air support on an illegal op. He left you to be killed. And now he needs someone to blame. It's not gonna be him taking that bullet. It's gonna be you."

"Captain Graves can handle it."

Soap lets out a rough sigh. Your insistence on Graves is rubbing him raw. You could have died on that op two months ago. And then what? He'd have never met you, only found your name later in stone on some memorial somewhere. The thought makes his chest go cold and his blood run hot. It could still happen. If he can't tear you away from this bloody mercenary work, you'll never be his. Christ. He can't let that happen. He won't. You're not going back to the Shadow Company. He'll tear Graves into pieces before he lets that happen.

He fixates on your soulmark again. Why can't he focus on getting the information Price needs? All he can think about right now is the scab on your lip, the way your pupils dilate when you look at him. Your body wants his even as you're spitting venom. The fire in you matches his own, and he wants more.

"Graves isn't here," Soap tells you. "And I'm not takin’ chances. You’re not going back to Shepherd, and you’re sure as hell not going back to Graves. You're mine."

You pull on your cuffs, hating the way the possessive note in his voice makes your stomach flip. "You don't get to decide that."

"Neither do you.”

"Isn't a matter of choice. It's a matter of what you’re gonnae do about it."

You swallow and watch his gaze track down your throat. He's close. When did he lean in? Why aren't you pulling back?

No, you tell yourself, you’re not scared. You’re in control. You lean a millimeter closer. "You can't keep me here."

His eyes brighten, gaze so intense it warms your skin. "Careful, darlin'. You don't want to throw down that gauntlet."

"And you expect me to tell you whatever you want to know? Fuck my career, fuck my squadmates?"

"If you weren't so damn dense, I'd--" He mutters another string of curses in that thick Scottish accent, standing from his chair and pacing the tight room. "You don't understand what I'm offerin’. You don't need them. You have me an' mine."

He circles around to your side of the interrogation table and kneels next to you, his expression an open plea for you to listen. You stare down at him with your heart suddenly in your throat. You can't backpedal. You can't look away.

He searches your face. Even roughed up, even pissing him off, you're beautiful. Damn it, he's going to do something stupid if he doesn't control himself.

He keeps his voice low and even. "You were expendable to them. You're expendable to Graves. You're no' expendable to me." He reaches up to you, and you go still. His hand is hot on your skin. His grip is surely strong enough to break bone. But only his thumb drags along your lip. His eyes follow the motion. "Your loyalty should be for people who care about you. I'm on your side, ya wee shite. Just tell me how to get to Alejandro and I'll get you out of here. I'll make sure you're safe. That's all I need to know."

You stare down at him. Your heart beats in your ears, and his pulse hammers with yours. You can feel it through his thumb against the sensitive skin on your lower lip.

Johnny wants you so badly you almost give in. He thinks he's telling the truth--that he'll protect you. But he doesn't know any better. You're not who he wants you to be. You're not soft. You're not good. Why does he act like he can see something redeemable in you?

Being his soulmate doesn't guarantee you a goddamn thing. Promises don't afford you any more protection than you've already given yourself. You know that very well. People aren't reliable. Soulmarks don’t fix everything. They’re just ink.

Whatever he sees when he looks up at you makes something cold and sharp settle in his chest. His throat constricts. He's pushing, he knows he is, and it's the wrong move with you. He's never been this desperate for anyone.

"Darlin'. Don't do that. Don't shut me out." His voice wavers just like his resolve. He'd protect you to his last. You refuse to see that, and he can't make you.

You look away, pulling away from his hand. "I don't trust you."

Johnny's stomach drops, and he digs his fingers into the metal chair to stop himself from digging them into you.

You want him. He can see it in the set of your shoulders, how tight you hold yourself when he's close to you. You want him despite yourself, and you still refuse. It doesn't matter how rational a decision it should be to accept his help. There's something else happening in your head that's keeping your walls up, and he's starting to realize it's not just Graves. It can't be.

He watches you for a long moment. He doesn't want you to hurt, but he's not stupid enough to believe you'll soften up and come around with time. You're a soldier.

Finally, Soap stands. If you don’t tell him what he needs to know, you’ll remain a hostage, and won’t be able to have you. He won’t accept that.

"Fine," he says, pushing his way out the door. "We’ll do this the hard way."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / [part 5] / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

[ninibeingdelulu]

It’s raining ✧

Plot: Training under the pouring rain for an upcoming mission, Lt Ghost find you.

It was pouring down but you couldn't have cared less, not when this upcoming mission could be the biggest of your career. You'd trained relentlessly, determined to be in peak condition.

Even now, wearing only a thin white t-shirt and shorts, you pushed through the brutal regimen - squats, push-ups, sit-ups - the rain plastering your clothes to your body.

So focused on your routine that you didn't realize the way that soaked shirt was practically see-through, clinging shamelessly to the curves of your breasts with every movement.

Rivulets of water traced along your skin as you panted heavily. That's when a low, gruff voice cut through the rhythmic pounding of the rain.

"That's enough for today, soldier."

You spun around, eyes widening as you found Lieutenant Ghost observing you with that inscrutable stare through his skull patterned balaclava.

"Sir, I can keep going-" you argued, unable to read his expression besides those intense eyes drinking you in from behind the mask.

"Not in this downpour," he growled.

"Unless you're aiming to get sick before deployment." His tone made it clear this wasn't up for debate.

With a huff, you opened your mouth to protest again but any words dissipated as Ghost suddenly closed the distance between you both.

His gloved hand clamped firmly around your arm, hauling you under the cramped cover of a nearby supply tent. You stumbled against his solid frame, heartbeat picking up from the unexpected contact.

Now enclosed in the tiny dimly lit tent, you were acutely aware of Ghost's overwhelming presence as the two of you stood mere inches apart, rain drumming on the thin canopy overhead.

Your gaze lifted defiantly to meet that masked visage but you felt your breath catch in your throat. Just his close proximity and that piercing stare was enough to set your nerves buzzing with inexplicable tension.

Ghost's focus drifted lower, darkly intent, and you followed the path of his hungry roaming eyes as they raked shamelessly over the contours of your chest where the waterlogged white fabric left nothing to the imagination.

You could have sworn you felt the ghost of his touch searing over your breasts despite the distance between you.

Then, with a single lurching step forward that had you instinctively backpedaling until you hit the tent's rear wall, Ghost leaned in so close you could feel the heat of his body through the soaked layers separating you.

"That's an order," he rumbled in a dangerously low tone close to your ear, voice rough like gravel.

"Don't let me catch you training in conditions like that again, soldier. Not unless you want circumstances to become... unpleasant for you."

You could only give a mute, flustered nod of understanding, rendered speechless under the building intensity smoldering in the confines of that tiny tent.

Ghost held your wide-eyed stare a beat longer before stepping back abruptly.

"Get dried off."

He instructed gruffly, reaching past you to snag a discarded jacket draped over a crate.

He tossed the bundle at you without ceremony before turning on his heel and ducking back out into the downpour without a backwards glance.

Leaving you flushed and flustered, chest heaving with undeniable arousal and stark realization of how fraught with tension this op had just become.

[wannabehockeygf]

Tough Love - Quinn Hughes

“I took a train to Boston and I wanted to cry,

He’s gone, I’m twenty-four, and it’s a Saturday night,

I ran and took his jacket with a rip in the side,

I hate when we fight. Sucks when we fight.”

***

part 1 // quinn hughes x gracie abrams fic trilogy

part 2 part 3

***

Summary: A business trip and a longer than expected playoff stint turn out to not mix well.

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: slight allusion to smut, alcohol

Notes:

- finally getting to write angst

- based tightly on the song, I love the song so much.

***

Business trips were a rarity for you, something that happened just often enough to remind you of how much you disliked them. Tonight, you found yourself weaving through the crowded streets of Montreal, the evening air crisp and biting as you made your way back to your hotel. You’d had one too many glasses of wine at the company dinner, and now the world around you seemed to tilt slightly with every step.

The middle of June was usually pretty warm, but once the sun dipped below the horizon, it got colder. You shivered, pulling your coat tighter around you, feeling the chill seep through the fabric. The streets were unfamiliar, the language foreign, and the soft hum of conversations in French made you feel more isolated than ever. You couldn’t understand a word of it, and the half-drunk haze you were in didn’t help. The idea of calling your boyfriend for some comfort flitted through your mind, but you quickly dismissed it. It was already ten, and you knew he had a big game tomorrow—the first Stanley cup final game of his career. He’d be in Boston by now, probably already asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him.

But just as you were trying to reassure yourself that you’d be fine, your phone buzzed in your pocket. His name lit up the screen, and without thinking, you answered the FaceTime call.

The screen flickered to life, and you found yourself staring at him—Quinn. His face was usually a comforting sight, but tonight, something was different. You didn’t immediately notice the tension in his expression, the way his brows were drawn together in concern, or how his lips were pressed into a tight line. Instead, with a drunken giggle, you greeted him with a cheerful, “Bonjour!”

Your voice echoed in the cold air, and you could almost feel the disapproving glares of the locals as you cheerfully butchered their language. But all of that faded as you looked back at the screen, finally registering the way he looked at you. The furrow in his brow deepened, and his eyes scanned your face, taking in the telltale signs of your tipsy state. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.

Oh.

The realization hit you all at once. You weren’t sure if it was the cold, the wine, or just the fact that you were far from home, but suddenly, you felt incredibly vulnerable. You decide to probe him at first, just a little.

“Hey, Quinny, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You try to keep your tone light, your smile easy, but there’s a nervous edge to your words. His eyes are too intense, too knowing, and you feel like he can see right through you—like he knows exactly how many glasses of wine you’ve had, how lost you feel, how you’re trying so hard to pretend everything’s fine.

Quinn shifts slightly, and the screen wobbles as he props his phone against something. He’s sitting on the edge of a bed, shoulders bare, the dim hotel room light casting shadows across his face. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you can’t help but think how he’s always been so beautiful to you, even when he’s unguarded like this. Especially when he’s unguarded like this.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, his voice a low, quiet rumble that vibrates through you even from miles away. There’s a hint of something there—something heavy and raw—that makes your stomach twist. “I just... needed to see you.”

You blink, the words hanging in the air between you. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes you’re not used to seeing, a nakedness that makes your heart ache. You open your mouth to say something, to ask him what’s wrong, but the words get stuck in your throat.

Quinn’s eyes flicker away for a second, as if he’s embarrassed, and he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in a way that makes you realize how tense he is. “It’s stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I just... I don’t know, I’m nervous about tomorrow. More than I should be.”

It’s such a simple admission, but it hits you like a punch to the gut. You know Quinn, know how fiercely he guards his emotions, how he hides his fears behind that confident smirk and those sharp, playful eyes. For him to admit he’s scared... it’s huge.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice catching in your throat as you take a step closer to the hotel’s entrance, away from the cold that seems to seep into your bones. “It’s not stupid. It’s a big game, I get it. But you’re going to be amazing, Quinny. You always are.”

He shakes his head again, and you can see the frustration tightening his jaw, the way his hand clenches into a fist. “It’s not just that,” he says, voice thick. “It’s... everything. The pressure, the expectations. It feels like everyone’s counting on me, and I just—fuck, I don’t know if I can do it.”

Your heart aches for him, and you wish you could reach through the screen and pull him into your arms, hold him close and tell him it’s all going to be okay. But you’re here, and he’s there, and there’s three hundred miles between you. So, you do the only thing you can—you try to make him laugh. “I’ve seen you play, Hughes. You’re practically a wizard on the ice. Remember that time you deked out three guys and scored from behind the net? If you can do that, you can handle a little playoff game.”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, they darken, a shadow passing over them that makes your chest tighten. “It’s not just a ‘little playoff game,’” he mutters. “It’s the fucking cup final. If I screw this up...”

“Hey,” you cut him off, your voice firm, “you’re not going to screw up. You’re one of the best players out there, Quinn. You’ve worked your ass off for this. You deserve to be here.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring at you through the screen, and you can see the battle waging behind his eyes—the fear, the doubt, the desperate need for reassurance. “I just... I wish you were here,” he says finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

The words knock the breath out of you, and for a moment, you can’t speak. You want to tell him you’ll get on a plane, that you’ll be there in the box with the other girlfriends, cheering him on like you always do. But you can’t. You have your own commitments, your own life to live. And besides, your company would kill you if you just up and left in the middle of this trip.

“I... I can’t, Quinny,” you say softly, hating the way the words taste in your mouth, bitter and wrong. “I’m in Montreal. I can’t just leave.”

His face falls, and you can see the hurt in his eyes, the way his shoulders slump forward as if he’s been punched. “Right,” he says, his voice flat. “Of course. I get it.”

“Quinn, it’s not that I don’t want to be there,” you say quickly, trying to make him understand. “I do, more than anything. But I can’t just drop everything and go. You know that, and even if I could, I can’t afford to fly to Boston.”

There’s a pause, and you see the way his jaw tightens, the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “What if I paid for it?” he blurts out, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll buy the ticket, the hotel—everything. Just come, please.”

Your heart lurches at the desperation in his voice, but you shake your head, even though you know he can’t see it. “Quinn, no. I can’t let you do that. I’m not going to let you spend your money on me like that. It’s... it’s not right.”

“Not right?” he echoes, his voice rising with disbelief. “What’s not right about it? I have the money, it’s not a big deal. I just need you here with me, okay? I need you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence between you is heavy, oppressive, filled with all the things you want to say but can’t. Your fingers tremble slightly as you grip your phone, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you.

“I know you have your own stuff going on,” Quinn finally continues, his voice low and rough, like he's trying to keep it from cracking. “I’m not trying to guilt you into anything. I just—” He breaks off, running a hand over his face, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are dark, shadowed with a pain you don’t often see there. “I just really fucking need you right now.”

The words cut through you like a knife, sharp and searing, leaving a trail of guilt and regret in their wake. You’ve never heard him sound like this before—so raw, so vulnerable. It’s terrifying and heartbreaking all at once, and you wish more than anything that you could just reach through the screen and hold him, tell him that everything’s going to be okay. But you can’t. You’re here, and he’s there, and the distance between you feels like an insurmountable chasm.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “I wish I could be there. You have no idea how much I wish that. But I—”

“But you can’t,” he cuts in, his voice sharper now, edged with frustration. “I get it. You’ve got your own shit to deal with. I’m just... I’m just being selfish, right?”

You wince at the bitterness in his tone, the way it twists his words into something ugly and jagged. “That’s not what I meant,” you say, struggling to keep your voice steady, even as your heart pounds in your chest. “I want to be there for you, I do. But I can’t just leave in the middle of this trip. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he mutters, looking away, his gaze drifting to the side as if he can’t bear to look at you anymore. “I’m just supposed to suck it up and deal with it, right? Like I always do.”

The words hit you like a slap, and you can feel the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “That’s not fair, Quinn,” you say, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I’ve always been there for you when I could. But this... this is different. I can’t just drop everything and come running every time you need me. That’s not how this works.”

He flinches at your words, and you can see the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s trying to hold back whatever it is he really wants to say. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says, his voice cold, distant. “I guess I’m just asking too much, huh?”

“Quinn, that’s not—”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupts, his tone clipped and final. “Forget I said anything. I’ll be fine. I always am, right?”

The bitterness in his voice is like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch, your chest tightening with a pain that’s almost physical. You’ve never fought like this before—never had a conversation that felt so raw, so full of things left unsaid. You want to reach out, to bridge the gap between you, but you don’t know how. You’re standing on opposite sides of a canyon, and every word you say seems to push you both further apart.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I can’t be there. I wish I could. But I can’t.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you with those intense, stormy eyes, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, thick and suffocating, and you feel like you’re drowning in it, like you can’t breathe.

“Yeah,” he says at last, his voice flat and emotionless. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back to Vancouver, then.”

And just like that, he hangs up, the screen going dark in an instant. You’re left standing there on the cold streets of Montreal, your heart pounding in your chest, tears streaming down your face. The chill bites into your skin, and you feel more alone than ever.

You stare at the blank screen, your mind reeling, trying to process everything that just happened. The conversation plays over and over in your head, each word echoing like a gunshot, each look and gesture seared into your memory. You feel a thousand different emotions at once—anger, sadness, guilt, regret—all tangled together in a messy, painful knot.

How did it come to this? How did you go from comforting each other to tearing each other apart? You don’t know, and that’s the worst part. All you know is that you’re here, and he’s there, and the distance between you has never felt so vast, so unbridgeable.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears keep coming, hot and relentless, and you feel like you’re going to break apart right there on the street. You want to scream, to shout, to do something—anything—to make this pain go away. But you can’t. All you can do is stand there, shivering in the cold, your heart aching with a pain that’s too big, too raw, to put into words.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to fix this. All you know is that you miss him. God, you miss him so much it hurts. And you don’t know how you’re supposed to go on without him.

***

It started raining by the time you got onto the train, dingy carry-on suitcase in hand. The ticket was a little pricey, especially to go all the way to Boston, and you’re pretty sure the attendant upcharged you since you couldn’t speak French, but it still ended up way less than a flight.

You tried calling Quinn again, to let him know you were coming and that you completely ditched your business trip for him, but he ignored you. You assume he went back to sleep and he’ll see your texts in the morning, at which you’ll already be in Boston.

Your eyelids feel heavy as you just about drift to sleep, but are rudely awakened by a smooth, feminine voice. “Je n'aime pas votre veste. Pourquoi t'infliges-tu cela?”

Eyes snapping open, you look up to see a young-ish woman with short, dark hair and multiple piercings. You cock your head slightly, and part your lips to speak, to tell her you didn’t understand a word she just said. “I’m sorry, I don’t—“

“Ugh, Touristes,” she interrupts, sitting down in the seat in front of you with no clear intention. She flicks a piece of hair out of her face before speaking again, in an accent at that. “Canucks? Why? They make the playoffs like, once every ten years.” She adds on, gesturing to your jacket which is sporting a rip in the side.

You blink at the woman, still disoriented from the sudden wake-up call. Her words cut through the fog of sleep and confusion like a knife, and you find yourself staring at her, trying to piece together what she just said. Canucks. Of course. You glance down at your jacket, the familiar blue and white logo now feeling like a heavy weight on your chest.

“Um,” you start, your voice coming out hoarse, still thick with sleep. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

She waves a hand dismissively, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Canucks fans. You lot are always apologizing. It’s a shame you had to pick such a tragic team. Cursed, really.” Her accent is thick, the Quebeçois lilt giving her words an almost melodic quality, even as they cut through you.

You should be annoyed—maybe even a little offended—but instead, you just feel tired. So, so tired. The weight of the night’s events, the argument with Quinn, the cold streets of Montreal, and now this stranger's sharp commentary... it’s all too much. You lean back in your seat, running a hand over your face, trying to shake off the lingering remnants of sleep.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice flat, devoid of any real emotion. “I guess I’m just a sucker for punishment.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and curious. “Punishment? That’s an interesting way to put it, especially since they made the final. You with someone on the team?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You glance at her, taking in her sharp features, the piercings glinting under the harsh train lights, the dark hair framing her face in a way that makes her look both intimidating and oddly approachable.

“Yeah,” you say finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I am.”

Her gaze softens, just a fraction, and she leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, that explains the jacket. And the bags under your eyes. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

You let out a humorless laugh, the sound bitter and hollow even to your own ears. “You could say that.”

The woman tilts her head slightly, studying you with a look that feels too knowing, too perceptive. “Let me guess. He called you, all nervous and shit, asking you to come to his game, and you said no because you’ve got your own life to live. And now you’re on a train to Boston in the middle of the night because you feel guilty as hell.”

You stare at her, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. How could she know that? How could a complete stranger read you so easily, see right through all the layers of anger and hurt and guilt you’ve been carrying with you?

“How did you—”

She shrugs, cutting you off. “Happened to me once. Well, more than once, actually. You’re not the first girl to hop on a train because her boyfriend’s in his feelings, and you won’t be the last.”

The train rumbles along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter almost drowning out the voice in your head—the one that’s been relentlessly replaying your conversation with Quinn. You can still see the hurt in his eyes, the way his voice trembled with something so raw it made your chest ache. It’s like a heavy weight pressing down on you, suffocating, and you can’t shake it no matter how hard you try.

I should have stayed on the phone longer, you think, the regret gnawing at you. I should have told him I was coming. Why didn’t I just drop everything right then?

But the truth is, you know why. You’re scared too—scared of what this trip means, scared of what it’s doing to you both. Scared that maybe, just maybe, the distance between you isn’t just physical.

“Men,” the woman mutters again, drawing your attention back to her. Her gaze is still locked on you, and there’s something in her eyes that’s almost... sympathetic. “They’re a pain in the ass, but you already know that.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. You can feel the tears starting to gather again, blurring your vision, but you blink them back furiously. No crying, not here. Not in front of a stranger.

The woman seems to sense your struggle because she leans forward, her voice dropping to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone. “Look, I get it. You love him, right?”

You swallow hard and nod again, unable to find your voice.

She sighs, shaking her head. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You love him, so you do things like this—ditch your work, jump on a train in the middle of the night, all because you can’t stand the thought of him being upset.”

You wince, feeling the truth of her words hit home. She’s right, you think bitterly. I’m an idiot.

“But here’s the thing,” she continues, her voice taking on a hard edge. “If he really cares about you, he shouldn’t be asking you to make sacrifices like this. He shouldn’t make you feel guilty for having your own life.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand, stopping you. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying you shouldn’t be there for him. But it’s a two-way street. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand that sometimes you can’t just drop everything for him. And if he doesn’t... well, can he even make you come, sweetheart?”

You stare at the woman, her words hanging in the air between you, heavy and sharp. Her bluntness catches you off guard, leaving you fumbling for a response. But before you can say anything, she raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"Well, can he?" she presses, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

Your mind flashes back to the last time you and Quinn were together. You’d just gotten back to his apartment after one of his games, his hair still damp from the shower, and his eyes dark with that post-game intensity you’ve come to know so well. You remember how his hands felt on your skin, rough and desperate, how his breath hitched when you whispered his name, the way he pulled you closer like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

Your cheeks heat up at the memory, and you find yourself squirming in your seat, your gaze dropping to the floor as the images play out in your mind. The way his lips felt against your neck, the low growl that rumbled through his chest when you wrapped your legs around him, the way he whispered filthy, desperate things in your ear as he moved against you...

But then the doubt creeps in. The argument you just had, the way he hung up on you, the miles between you right now. Can he really make you come, in every sense of the word? Or are you just convincing yourself that he’s worth all this pain?

The woman’s smirk grows as she watches the flush creep up your neck, and she lets out a low chuckle. “Thought so,” she says, her voice softer now, almost sympathetic. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart: It’s not just about that. Yeah, the sex is important, but what really matters is if he makes you feel wanted, if he’s there for you even when you’re not in the same room.”

You let out a long breath, the weight of her words settling on your shoulders. She’s right. The chemistry you have with Quinn is undeniable, but is that enough? Is it enough to carry you through the hard times, the nights like tonight when you’re three hundred miles apart, and the only thing connecting you is a shaky FaceTime call?

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

The woman leans back in her seat, crossing her legs and giving you a long, appraising look. “You remind me of myself a few years ago,” she says after a moment, her tone a little softer. “I was in a relationship like that—crazy about the guy, but always questioning if it was enough. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. He left, just like the ones before him. But you know what? I survived. Hell, I thrived.”

You raise an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into your expression. “So, what are you saying? That I should just give up on him?”

She shakes her head, her earrings jingling with the motion. “No, no. I’m not telling you to dump the guy. I’m just saying, don’t lose yourself in him. Make sure he’s giving as much as he’s taking. And for God’s sake, make sure he’s actually good for you. Sometimes, we fall for the wrong ones, and it takes a while to figure that out.”

You frown, turning her words over in your mind. It’s not what you want to hear, but deep down, you know there’s truth in it. You’ve always been there for Quinn, but has he really been there for you in the same way? And if not, what does that say about your relationship?

“I don’t know if I can just... stop caring,” you say, your voice wavering. “He means so much to me.”

The woman’s expression softens, and she reaches across the aisle to gently touch your hand. “You don’t have to stop caring, sweetheart. Just make sure you’re caring about yourself, too. Love isn’t about losing who you are; it’s about finding someone who makes you better, who pushes you to be the best version of yourself.”

You nod, trying to absorb her words, but your mind keeps circling back to Quinn—to the way he looked on that FaceTime call, all raw and vulnerable, the way he admitted how much he needed you. He’s not perfect, but he’s yours. And maybe, just maybe, that’s worth fighting for.

The woman leans back, sensing your inner turmoil, and her smirk returns, but it’s gentler this time. “But hey, if he can make you come like that... maybe he’s worth a little more thought, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, a soft, breathy sound that feels like a release of some of the tension that’s been building inside you. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

She grins, satisfied with your reaction, and settles back into her seat. “Look, relationships are messy, and they’re hard, and sometimes they don’t make a damn bit of sense. But if he’s worth it, you’ll figure it out. Just don’t lose sight of yourself along the way.”

The train rumbles beneath you, the rhythmic clacking of the tracks providing a steady, comforting background noise as you mull over her words. The exhaustion you felt earlier is still there, but it’s less suffocating now, the weight of your doubts a little lighter.

You glance over at the woman, her eyes now closed, arms folded across her chest as she settles in for what’s left of the journey. There’s a quiet strength in her that you admire, a resilience born of experience and heartbreak, and you wonder if someday you’ll be able to look back with the same clarity, the same sense of peace.

For now, all you can do is keep moving forward, one step at a time. You still have hours to go before you reach Boston, before you can see Quinn and try to bridge the gap that’s grown between you. But for the first time tonight, you feel a small spark of hope, a tiny flame of determination that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

And with that thought, you close your eyes, letting the gentle sway of the train lull you into a fitful sleep, Quinn’s face still lingering in your mind, his voice echoing in your ears.

You’ll figure this out. You have to.

[vampsywrites]

lawnol a mì te’lan.

synopsis: after assisting lo'ak in meeting up with payakan, neteyam discovers your involvement and confronts both of you. emotions escalate, leading to neteyam lashing out on you and a fight breaking out between him and Lo'ak. however, he would soon come to regret this as a cruel twist of fate takes you away.

word count: 4.8k | author's note: i recommend listening to the songcord when the funeral scene comes up

tags: DEATH, ANGST, FEM! OMATICAYA READER, grieving, blood, gunshot wounds, sibling arguments, lo'ak and neteyam's tense situation, fighting, mentions of punching, funeral, established relationships, flashbacks, war

Syulang - Na'vi; Flower

The smell of incense wafted through the pod, mingling with the pungent scent of medicinal paste and herbs. The room was dimly lit, filled with a hushed tension that seemed to permeate the air. Tucked in the far corner of the room, you were busy patching Lo'ak up, applying a cool creamy paste onto his battered body.

As you began to soothe a bruise on his arm, Neteyam stormed into the room, frustration evident on his face. His steps pounded against the woven floors, sending a trickle of fear up your spine.

"What were you thinking Lo'ak? Meeting up with that killer tulkun, again!" He hisses, roughly pushing at his younger brother's head. "Why do you have to make things so difficult?"

"Neteyam," you soothed, moving to stand before him, "Your brother is actually seriously injured. Can we please have this conversation another time?"

"My brother wouldn't be injured if he didn't go past the reefs again. My brother wouldn't be injured if you didn't help him sneak out," Neteyam seethed, towering over you as his golden eyes burned with a blend of anger and disappointment.

Under his intense gaze, you curled into yourself, ears pinning back. You knew what you did was wrong, but you had never seen Lo'ak connect so deeply with someone before.

"Payakan is Lo'ak's spirit brother," you hushed softly, arms and tail wrapping around yourself as you tried to explain yourself to Neteyam, "Outcast or not…They are spirit brothers, Neteyam."

Neteyam clicked his tongue and threw his head back in frustration. Your name then escaped his lips, laced with cold disdain, "I would have expected this from him, but I never imagined you would actively go out of your way to assist him. You were trained to be Tsahìk, and I trusted you to act responsibly."

He took a moment to breathe, his pause magnifying the weight of the situation. "I couldn't be more wrong."

The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you, as his words pierced your heart. Shame washed over you, causing your body to tremble as you grappled with your emotions.

"Neteyam, I…" you tried to speak up once more, but your mouth ran dry, throat shutting close.

"I…I'm sorry, sir," you force out, voice quivering.

Lo'ak's gaze intensifies, and a surge of protective rage surges through him. He swiftly moves to your defense, shoving Neteyam away, a low hiss rumbling from his chest. "Y/N did what she thought was right. We're all responsible for our own actions. Don't you dare lay this shit on her for something I did."

Neteyam's lips were pulled back into a snarl as he pushed Lo'ak back, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "Responsible for our own actions? That's rich coming from you considering how much you just love to start shit."

Lo'ak growled before he moved to grapple Neteyam, forcefully pinning the older boy against the pod's walls. The impact caused the wall to shake, knocking a few bottles of herbs from the shelves, which tumbled and clattered onto the woven floors.

"Lo'ak—!" you gasped out seeing the boy draw his hand back, knocking his fist into Neteyam's face.

Neteyam staggered backward, colliding with the wall, as the force of the blow resounded with a heavy thunk. Momentarily dazed, he blinked and glanced up at Lo'ak, his hand instinctively reaching to his throbbing jaw.

“You skxáwng,” he growls.

"Yep. That’s me," Lo'ak quipped, his grin transforming into a menacing sneer. "Your disappointment of a brother. The fucking outcast of the family here."

Neteyam scoffs, wrenching himself off the wall, stomping forward until he was in front of Lo'ak. "What was the one thing dad asked for? Not to cause any trouble, right?" Neteyam huffs. "I'm just looking out for you! We are brothers, Lo'ak. Sully's stick together"

Lo'ak bares his teeth then, a growl ripping from his throat.

"You are not my brother."

Before you could process it, Neteyam's knuckles, flesh and bone, connected hard with Lo'ak's nose. The sound of the impact echoed through the pod, a sharp crack that filled the air. Your eyes widened as you watched Lo'ak reel backward, his body colliding forcefully with a wooden pane. The sudden eruption of violence from the normally composed Neteyam shattered the silence that had settled in the pod.

Lo'ak's snarl shifted into a pained grimace as he clutched his nose, blood streaming between his fingers. The pod fell into an eerie stillness, the air heavy with tension.

You stepped forward, a mix of fear and concern driving you. "Stop! This won't solve anything," you implored, reaching out to Lo'ak with a gentle touch.

Neteyam watched as you fretted over his younger brother, a burning mix of guilt and resentment bubbling up in his gut.

Lo'ak stared up at Neteyam, his anger wavering, replaced by a mixture of hurt and disbelief. His eyes searched desperately for a hint of remorse, a glimmer of understanding. But the older boy just stood there, his jaw clenched.

Shaking his head in frustration, Neteyam turned towards the chamber's entrance. His gaze lingered on Lo'ak, expression hardened with resolve.

"No flying or diving for a month," he declared, his voice carrying a note of finality.

With that, he strode out of the room, leaving behind a tense silence.

Lo'ak clicked his tongue before turning to you, concern etched on his face. He sent a cautious look your way, his voice filled with compassion. "You alright? That was rough back there. His words, I mean."

You mustered a watery smile, trying to brush off the events that just transpired.

"You're the one injured here, I should be asking you that. Plus, I'm used to it," you replied, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of amusement. Lo'ak attempted to speak up once more, but you swiftly redirected the conversation, your hands already reaching for the healing paste.

"Come, let's fix you up."

The recent days had become a harrowing blur, with a sense of impending doom hanging heavily in the air. Throughout the village, warriors hastily armed themselves, and healers busied themselves with gathering herbs, all while a dark storm loomed ominously above.

It was undeniable—the sky demons had returned.

In the midst of the mounting turmoil, you found yourself travelling through the waters with your friends, following Lo'ak after he abruptly plunged into the depths of the ocean, navigating past the reefs with his ilu.

The salty air clung to your senses as you leaned forward, desperation lacing your voice.

"Lo'ak! Where are you going?!" you cried out, tightly grasping Neteyam's waist as you both pursued him on the back of an ilu.

Lo'ak remained eerily silent, his focus fixated on the abyssal strength of the wavves before him. With an alarming agility, Lo'ak dove down, the sleek figure of his ilu slicing through the water with ease. Gripped by fear and worry, you turned to your beloved, seeking solace and answers.

"Nete—" you began, but your words were swallowed by Neteyam's grim interruption.

"He's going after Payakan," Neteyam replied curtly, his teeth clenched. Gripping your thigh tight, he positioned himself with a firm hold on the ilu's saddle. "Hold on tightly."

With a commanding click, Neteyam directed the ilu to dive down, plunging deeper into the unknown depths.

Then, as you emerged from the depths, you found yourself in the middle of the battle. Crashes of boats and metal birds floating all about you.

As you surveyed the battlefieds, you froze, heart sinking at the sight of Lo'ak perched atop a familiar tulkun, desperately attempting to remove the tracking device cruelly embedded in Payakan's flesh.

Without a second thought, you propelled yourself forward, driven by a surge of adrenaline, disregarding Neteyam's frantic shouts as you rushed to aid Lo'ak in freeing his spirit brother.

The others, recognizing the gravity of the situation, quickly rallied to your aid. Hands reached out, working in unison, as you all grappled with the device, pulling, tugging, and knocking against it in a desperate attempt to break its grip.

"Pull!"

Each moment felt like an eternity but with a final surge of combined effort, the tracking device relinquished its hold, tearing free from the tulkun's skin. A collective breath escaped your lips, mingling with the creature's relieved exhalation.

However, any semblance of relief quickly dissipated when Jake's voice pierced through Neteyam's communication device.

"Boy? Are you there?" Jake's voice quivered with anxiety, instantly sending a shiver of panic down your spine. The sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach intensified as you strained to listen to every word exchanged.

Neteyam swallowed, his throat constricting, before he mustered the courage to respond, "Yeah. I'm here, sir. What's wrong?"

The tense silence hung heavy in the air as you all held your breath, anticipating Jake's next words.

"Is your mate there?" Jake's voice crackled with urgency, the weight of his inquiry sinking into your bones, evoking a gnawing sense of apprehension.

Neteyam hesitated, his eyes briefly meeting yours, before he replied, his voice tinged with unease, "Yes. Yes, she is here—"

Before he could finish, Jake interrupted, his tone laden with concern, "There's been a report that a female na'vi was spotted on the docks of the boat. Are your sisters there?"

The weight of those words hit you like a thunderbolt.

"Shit," you cursed under your breath, running a hand through your braids.

"No, sir. Both Tuk and Kiri are not here," Neteyam replied, his voice laden with dismay.

Jake's voice crackled through the communication device once again, the urgency palpable in his words. "Stay vigilant, Neteyam. We can't afford any risks."

Neteyam nodded, his expression grim and resolute. "Understood, sir. We'll stay on high alert."

As the connection ended, Neteyam immediately began to issue orders, his voice firm and commanding.

"Ao'nung, take Roxto and Tsireya away from here. The open waters are too dangerous. We'll regroup by the rock outcrops," Neteyam directed, his tone brooking no argument.

The metkaniyan nodded, a stony frown etched on his face as he hurriedly ushered his sister and friend away from the immediate vicinity, their ilus awaiting them nearby. Neteyam watched them depart, his gaze lingering for a moment, before he turned his attention back to you and Lo'ak.

"That means you two as well."

"No, Neteyam, no," you protested vehemently. The mere thought of leaving him alone in the face of the approaching war was unbearable to you. "I am not leaving you."

Your plea hung in the air, thick with emotion. It made Neteyam take a moment to pause before he reached for you. An arm curled around your waist as he pulled you close, pressing a searing kiss against your lips.

Then, with a heavy sigh, he drew back, his brows furrowed as anguish swam around his sharp eyes. His gaze shifted to Lo'ak, a silent understanding passing between them. Neteyam's voice was strained but resolute as he addressed his brother, "Go. Now."

The weight of his decision lingered in the air, and you pleaded desperately, your voice wavering, "Neteyam…"

But his mind was made up. Casting one final, heart-wrenching look back at you, he rushed away, vanishing into the crashing waves.

Frantically, you turned to Lo'ak, and it only took one look for you to know that he shared your thoughts.

"We're going after him," he declared, his voice echoing your own desire.

Without wasting another moment, you set off, running towards the crashing waves, adrenaline surging through your veins.

The open waters beckoned, their depths mocking with unseen perils, but you refused to be deterred. The clicks of your ilu's came close and you both made haste, clambering atop the creatures as you dived towards the boat.

By the time you had arrived, half of the vessel was already submerged in the water, and you and Lo'ak quickly scaled its metallic walls, scrambling across the deck.

As you scanned the surroundings, your gaze locked onto three familiar figures at the edge. Kiri is the first to meet your eye and she starts shouting for you to take cover.

The echoes of gunshots reverberated through the air, jolting you into immediate action. You and Lo'ak swiftly slid down towards the figures, engaging in a fierce struggle as you pushed aside soldiers in your path.

Lo'ak managed to snatch a gun along the way, arming himself for the impending confrontation.

"Y/N!" Tuk called out for you as you ran to their position.

Reacting swiftly, you scooped the young girl into your protective embrace, shielding her from the bloodshed unfolding around you. Meanwhile, Lo'ak urgently guided Kiri to safety behind a nearby wall, ensuring she was out of harm's way and sheltered from the relentless barrage of bullets.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Neteyam retrieved the gun from Lo'ak, his movements experienced. He positioned himself around the corner, using it as cover, and unleashed a volley of return fire at your assailants.

"Y/N! Move them out!" Neteyam's cry echoes through the chaos, his voice strained as a bullet narrowly misses his skull.

"Yes, sir!" Reacting swiftly, your instincts kick in without hesitation. Grasping Tuk's hand tightly, you forcefully propel her forward alongside Lo'ak and Kiri, sprinting towards safety.

A sudden prickling sensation on the back of your neck momentarily distracts you, but the rush of adrenaline surging through your veins pushes it aside.

Neteyam, ever vigilant, stays close behind, providing cover fire to protect you all as you navigate through the perilous terrain. With every beat of your heart echoing in your chest, you reach the edge and, without pausing to think, leap over the railing, plunging into the water below.

As the shock of hitting the water subsides, you gasp for air, determined to stay afloat. Despite the biting cold and the sharp tremors running through your body, you maintain a firm grip on Tuk's hand, ensuring she resurfaces beside you.

That was when you realized something was wrong.

The hollers and war-cries of your friends echo in the distance but all you could focus on was the searing hot pain burning up on your neck. The wild waves toss and rock your aching body, carrying you further away from the safety of the group.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" Tuk questioned, immediately taking notice of how pale your face had gotten. The girl paddled closer to you, a shrill scream ripping out of her throat once she saw the murky red waters around you.

The others reacted with alarm, rushing over to you. Choking and gasping for air, you felt your head sink beneath the waves, saltwater filling your lungs.

Fortunately, before you could drown, a pair of strong arms encircled your middle, pulling you up from the depths. As you were turned around, you found yourself face to face with Neteyam, his expression panicked while his mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words as he took in your pale face.

"Syulang—" he began, his voice choked with urgency.

"Bro! What are you waiting for? Get her on!" Lo'ak's voice interrupted, snapping Neteyam out of his trance. His gaze shifted to Lo'ak and Kiri as they guided an ilu towards you. He hastily moved to lift you atop the saddles, before clambering up to sit behind you. After making tsahelyu, he instructed the creature to move, making sure to swim above the waters due to your injury.

Heaving, you felt blood seep from your mouth as you curled onto Neteyam's chest. His normally steady heartbeat was frantic, a panicked endless thrum that seemed to almost blend into one. His lips were pressed tight against your temple as his fervent prayers seeped against your burning skin.

"Stray strong. I need you to stay strong," Neteyam's voiced hushed.

In the distance, he spotted a rocky outcrop where his parents stood, urgently waving them over. Lo'ak followed closely behind, his voice trembling as he called out to them. "Dad! Mom! It's Y/N!"

Working together, both Lo'ak and Neteyam carefully lifted your body onto the rocky stump, surrounded by Neteyam's family. Your breaths now came in short, labored heaves, your chest rising and falling rapidly as it struggled to draw in enough oxygen.

Jake stepped forward, his hands pressing against your shoulders as he gently rolled you over to examine your wound. A sinking dread settled in his chest as he saw the gaping exit wound at the base of your nape.

Neteyam stood by his father's side, his hands trembling with panic. "Sir? What's wrong?"

"Pressure. Put pressure," Jake's voice came out monotonous which sent a strike of fear through Neteyam. Immediately, the boy did as told, his large hands pressing onto your frail neck. Your eyes darted frantically across the faces gathered around you, wild and unfocused, until they finally settled shakily on Neteyam.

"Sir, I—" you gasped, more blood slipping from your lips as you inadvertently bit down on your tongue in pain. Neteyam quickly hushed you, his frown deepening at the militaristic term you had used. "Sir, I'm sor—"

Then, the pain began to dull and a sense of impending finality washed over you. Heaving, you allowed yourself to lower your façade of strength and embrace your vulnerability in what could be your last moments. With a trembling hand, you reached up and pressed it against Neteyam's cheek, tears welling in your eyes as you took in the sharp features of his face.

"I'm scared," you winced, feeling small and lost, like a frightened child. "Ma'Neteyam… I am so scared."

Grief and anguish filled Neteyam's expression as he reached for your hand, pressing his lips gently upon it.

"I know, syulang. I know. I'm sorry," he murmured, a pool of guilt building up in his stomach as he recalled his last conversation with you and Lo'ak. "You'll be alright, okay? You have a strong heart."

As he looked into your wide, fearful eyes, Neteyam felt a surge of emotions wash over him, carrying him back to the vivid memories of your childhood.

The scenes played out in his mind like a reel of nostalgia, as if he were standing once again among the towering, thick trees of Omaticaya. He could almost hear the laughter that had filled the air as you both explored the wonders of the forest together, the exhilaration of climbing the sturdy branches, and the shared secrets whispered under the shelter of rocky caves.

"Neteyam… I'm scared," you whimpered, your heart throbbing in your chest as you felt the coarse texture of the sturdy tree trunk pressing against your back.

Both of you were out playing in the forests and had lost track of time. It was way past eclipse now.

The dense forest was sprawled out before you, engulfing everything before you in an ominous shroud. The fading light of the setting sun cast elongated, eerie shadows that danced amidst the towering trees.

A young Neteyam stood in front of you, his hands gently cupping your tear-streaked cheeks, tenderly wiping away the droplets. Then, the warrior boy radiated a warm smile at you. "I'll keep you safe, syulang."

The air resonated with unsettling growls and haunting howls. Amidst the gloom, pairs of luminous eyes glimmered from hidden crevices behind the trees, concealed beasts lying in wait. Though fear still lingered within you, you summoned the courage to step into his awaiting embrace, seeking solace and security in his arms.

"Do you promise?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I promise."

"I'll keep you safe, syulang," Neteyam hushed, his voice filled with desperation, as he leaned in to press a kiss against your cracked and bloodied lips. The taste of iron flooded his mouth, but the concern for your well-being eclipsed any discomfort he felt.

Drawing closer, his forehead gently touched yours, causing his tears to mingle with yours as they cascaded onto your cheek. "I promise."

Neteyam's trembling fingers delicately brushed against your neck, seeking the faint and weakening pulse that throbbed beneath your clammy skin. Your breathing, labored and high-pitched, struggled to utter his name, "Neteyam—"

"Nete...I," Then, in an agonizing moment, your eyes dulled, your body going limp as you gasped out your last breath. Neteyam froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he withdrew from you, his movements graceless. "Syulang?"

"Neteyam… I," Lo'ak croaked out, his voice laden with guilt as he moved closer, attempting to offer comfort to his brother. "I'm sorr—"

His well-intentioned gesture was abruptly met with a forceful push, as Neteyam's frantic state escalated. Disregarding the presence of the others, he gathered your lifeless body into his trembling arms, holding you close as he began to hyperventilate. "No, no, no, no—"

Lo'ak stood motionless, his gaze fixed upon the devastating scene unfolding before him. Blood stained the younger brother's hands, a haunting reminder of his involvement, the guilt and remorse etched deep within him. Kiri pressed herself against his side, offering what little solace she could.

Tears streamed down Neteyam's face in an unrelenting wave as he shook vehemently, his grip on your lifeless form tight. Every breath he managed to take came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with profound anguish as his quivering lips whispered a fervent prayer to Eywa.

"Great Mother, I beg of you, please don't take her away from me. It's not her time. Please, I can't bear to lose her," the words tore from his throat, strained and desperate, a raw and hoarse plea echoing through the air.

But the silence that followed was deafening, and the universe remained indifferent to his anguished pleas. Fate had dealt her cruel hand and there was no reversing what has happened. A despondent hush settled upon Neteyam as he cradled your cold body, his fingers trembling as he traced the contours of your face, desperately clinging to your fading warmth.

'All energy is only borrowed, and one day you have to give it back.'

These were the words that had been etched into Neteyam's consciousness since his earliest memories, told to him when he was a mere babe. Through the years, those words had taken root in his heart, their significance growing with each passing day. They held a bittersweet reminder of the transient nature of a Na'vi's existence, an understanding that all things, no matter how great or powerful, would eventually fade away.

And now, as he stood amidst the darkest hour of his life, pushing a leaf which cradled your lifeless body along the gentle waves, the weight of his mother's words pressed upon him with a poignant intensity. They whispered to him the solemn truth of loss, the inevitable fate that even the brightest and most vibrant blooms would eventually wither away.

Far off by the shores, the Metkayina clan were gathered together to honor your death. Soft songs were sun by artisans in the distance while warriors surrounded the waters, ready to assist your grieving mate in anyway.

The ebb and flow of the waves embraced your body, as Neteyam delicately allowed you to be immersed in the water. Neytiri and Jake moved to swim towards him, their concern evident in their eyes, but he shook his head, a silent request for solitude as he embarked on the final journey with you alone.

Silently nodding, they swam away and watched from a distance, their hearts heavy with grief for their son as Neteyam held you close, whispering words of love onto your cold lips.

Taking you into his arms once more, Neteyam took a deep breath, and with a graceful dive, immersed himself into the depths of the ocean.

In this underwater sanctuary, time seemed to stand still as he held his breath, allowing the weight of his emotions to wash over him. The silence enveloped him, broken only by the gentle lullaby of the underwater currents. His tears, blending seamlessly with the surrounding currents, were carried away into the vast expanse of the sea.

With a heavy heart, Neteyam loosened his grip, letting you go and releasing you into the gentle caress of the water. As your curled up form sank slowly towards the ocean bed, soft hues of blue and green cradled you in their hold, painting the scene with a poignant melancholy, as if the ocean itself mourned your passing.

A soft glow of bioluminescent algae adorned the waters, casting a mesmerizing luminescence upon the solemn setting. Each flickering glow, like a delicate farewell kiss.

Neteyam watched on as the golden tendrils engulfed you in its shimmering embrace. Then, finally, glowing like a chorus of tiny stars, the algae weaved their radiant tendrils around you, a final act of nature as Eywa took you in.

Ngaru irayo seiyi ayo,

Srrìri tìreyä,

Ma Eywa, ma Eywa.

Neteyam swam before the tree of ancestors, his heart heavy with a mix of anticipation and sorrow. His hands grasped onto his queue tightly, feeling the sacred bond beneath his battle-hardened palms. Just beside him, Tsireya floated along the deep waves with a heaviness in her gaze, her eyes downcast as she shakily signed to him, her hands trembling with emotion, 'Are you ready?'

Both of them had embarked on this solemn journey together, a quest to connect with the Metkaniyan spirit tree, seeking solace from your spirit and Eywa herself.

Neteyam had requested Tsireya's presence, knowing the sisterly bond that had blossomed between the two of you over the months. He understood that she, too, carried the weight of grief for your loss.

He nodded, a bit more frantic than he'd like. Tsireya smiled at his eagerness, her eyes shimmering with shared anticipation, her hands signing once more, 'Is there a specific memory you'd like to see?'

Neteyam paused, his mind drifting through the vast ocean of memories that he held of you, each one precious and poignant.

A minute passes, and finally, with a gentle nod, he signed his answer.

Neteyam found himself standing amidst the lush foliage of the Hometree, bathed in the soft glow of the sun. The vibrant colors of the forest danced around him, creating a tranquil backdrop for his restless heart. With each purposeful step, he moved stealthily through the forest. And then, his eyes locked onto a familiar sight—a burrowed cave where you often retreated to immerse yourself in craftwork.

His heart quickened with anticipation as he approached, his hand reaching for the necklace that hung around his neck, feeling the smooth beads under his fingertips. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he unclasped it and dropped it to the ground.

The remnants of this memory came rushing back, the echoes of your shared past resurfacing with vivid clarity. As he drew nearer, your teenage form seemed to flicker and shift, transforming before his eyes into your adult self. The passage of time etched upon your face, mirroring the weight and wisdom you accumulated over the years.

Time seemed to stand still as your gazes locked, a magnetic force pulling Neteyam closer to you. Emotions swelled within him, a blend of joy, sorrow, and a deep yearning to bridge the gap that separated you both.

"Hey," he smiled tearfully, his voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and vulnerability, "What are you doing, syulang?"

Your face lit up, a radiant smile gracing your lips as you gestured for him to come closer.

"I just finished weaving something. It's for you," you exclaimed, your excitement palpable. "Come, let me put it on."

Neteyam eagerly obeyed, lowering himself before you, allowing you to clasp the necklace around his neck.

"My mighty warrior, it suits you," you remarked, your voice filled with warmth as you beheld the necklace settled atop his chest.

Neteyam huffed out a bittersweet laugh as tears streamed down his cheeks. "It does."

Concern then etched across your face.

"Ma'Teyam," you murmured softly, your touch soothing as you gently ran your hands through his braids. Neteyam's tears continued to flow, an outpouring of emotions that spoke volumes of his love and longing. You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side.

"Why do you cry, Nete?"

"I'm just…" Neteyam took a moment to steady his breath, his voice a tender reflection of his inner turmoil. A mixture of joy and sorrow lingered in his words. "I'm happy to see you."

Your laughter, a melodic and breathless symphony, filled the forest with its warmth. It wrapped around Neteyam's heart, offering a fleeting respite from the weight of your loss.

"Oh," you replied, your voice tinged with affection, "I am happy to see you too, Nete."

Tsireya stood from afar, allowing Neteyam to meet you in spirit alone. She watched over him as his form drifted, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

Her heart then swelled with warmth as she witnessed his lips curve into a genuine grin, seeing his once stern expression melt away into a state of serene contentment.

Lawnol a mì te’lan.

[sweettofuki]

You were making out with Hoshina when he wants to take it further. 18+ Hoshina x f!reader mature content ahead! Slight jealousy

Hands were everywhere, a frenzy of movement as you couldn’t decide where to place them. All you knew was that you needed to get closer, deeper into your Vice-Captain’s mouth.

Everyone knew that you and Hoshina were dating, so it wasn’t unusual to see you wandering down the corridor to his room late at night.

Before you knew it, simple conversations about our day turned into cuddling, and cuddling led to you on top of him, making out passionately.

“This outfit is driving me insane. Did you really have to wear it? What if other guys caught you walking to my room in it?” Hoshina said, his voice frantic.

“Baby, don’t make it sound like I was dressed like a hooker. It’s just a tank top and sweatpants. Relax.” you replied, rolled your eyes playfully.

“Don’t tell me to relax when you basically are?? Do you know how sexy you look right now? Your pants are at your waist, your top is so low-cut that your boobs are spilling out, and oh yeah. You’re not wearing a bra?” he exclaimed.

“Why? Don’t you like them without a bra?” you pout at him, looking up with doe eyes.

“Well, yeah but—” Hoshina’s words were abruptly cut off by a groan.

A sudden jolt of pleasure coursed through him as he looked down, watching you grind your hips against his crotch. Seizing the moment, you pressed your lips back onto his.

“Mmm…” he moaned against your soft lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Ya lips taste like heaven...”

He gently brushes the hair away from your face and tucks the strands behind your ears

What started as pecks on his lips soon evolved into soft kisses, growing more passionate as each kiss lingered longer and longer.

The harder he kisses you, the tighter his grip on your hips, as if squeezing your waist could keep him grounded. Slowly, his hands trail from your hips to the hem of your pants, slipping them off you until you’re left in your black thongs.

His fingers slide under the delicate fabric. You felt a shiver tingled down your spine as you felt a brush of his fingers on your asshole. He played off groping your ass as if the perfectly placed finger was an accident. Curse his slender, long fingers! (not)

With a firmer grip, he pulls the thin fabric on either side of your waist, the friction of your skimpy excuse of an underwear against your folds made your nipples harden, which he felt through your tank top.

“Fuck baby, I take it all back. You should definitely wear this more often when you come to see me. I can fight,” Hoshina said.

You let out a small giggle as his face lit up with a smile. He’s so sick in love with you that your light laughter sounded like melodies to his ear. He pulled you back into a passionate kiss, the intensity of it making your heart race.

The heat of the passionate kiss clouded his mind, and before he knew it, he was rolling his hips into you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your sensitive clit through the thin material earned a loud moan out of you. He groaned deeply, finally releasing some of the pent-up pressure in him, pre-cum leaking out of his tip. Any longer, and he would have come in his pants.

“I’m sorry doll. I can’t take it any longer. I need to be inside ya,” he whined, he could barely keep it together.

He spreads your leg by the knees from below. He took off his military cargo pants with an obvious tent at his groin. His erection springs out, standing with precum oozing out. He taps his flushed tip at your entrance, before pushing it in slowly. Your eyes roll up as he stretches you out. When his cock was pushed to the hilt, his hips started to move.

[’’’]

In the next moment, both of your clothes found purchased next to each other on the floor.

You rolled your hips as you rode his length, eyes trained onto the sight of his girth desperately swallowed into your greedy tight cunt. It must have been three… five orgasms? You couldn’t keep track, but you were still going at it. Your eyelids drooped like curtains, hands pressing against his chest as you lifted yourself, back arching while you bounced on his cock. Teeth sank into his bottom lip as both you and Hoshina panted heavily, his groans sound sinful to listen to.

His hair was disheveled, eyes closed in concentration as he tried not to come inside you again. He desperately fought to hold himself back, but the way your warm pussy walls hugged his dick and his overly sensitive tip nudged your cervix relentlessly made it impossible. He couldn’t help but feel that knot twisting itself loose in his stomach.

“I’m…fuck….I’m sorry baby. I’m gonna move you, okay?” he groaned

Too fucked out to fully comprehend his words, you felt his strong grip on the flesh of your ass. His feet dug into the bed as he lifted his hips.

For a split second, you welcomed the well-needed rest, letting your upper body fall onto his chest, your palms laid flat on his pecs.

It didn’t last long. He began rutting into you wildly, his hips pounding against you and hitting all your sweet spots with vigorous precision. His biceps bulged as he held you up.

“A-AH, mmm…fuck,” you whined. “Slow down, Hoshina, please!”

“Hah…I know you can take it. Mmmph…Just hold onto me, yeah? Let me do all the work, you just relax. You’re doing so well for me baby,” he cooed.

His cock rammed into your swollen cervix vigorously, continuously, and consecutively…

You couldn’t think of any other words to describe how hard and fast he was pounding into you at that moment.

“Good girl. You’re hah holding up well— mmmph Wanna feel you come around me,” he grunted.

Your breath came out in shaky gasps. He could tell you were close just by the way your walls clenched tight around him. Your breath hitched with his every brutal thrust, and you creamed around the base of his shaft, mixing in with previous fluids. His heavy balls, coated in a mix of saliva, his and your cum, slapped loudly and vulgarly against your ass.

“Shit….! No matter how many times I watch—fuck— you cum on my cock, you look so fucking hot every time,” he smirked up at you in a teasing manner, barely holding it in himself as well.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest, resonating through you.

“I-I’m close too.” he muttered into your hair.

With a few more powerful thrusts, fucking through his own orgasm, staining your walls with his cum.

With his softening cock still inside you, he collapsed, his arms instinctively wrapping around you.

“Are you okay, baby? Was I too rough?” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“My abdomen hurts, Soshiro,” you groaned, burying your head into his shoulder.

Upon hearing that, he began to tenderly rub your lower abdomen as his eyes filled with worry.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You just felt so good that I lost control,” he said, rubbing his hand over your back in comfort. “I promise I will be gentler next time,”

“It’s okay, baby. You felt incredible too. I just won’t be getting up in a while.” you reassured him.

“Damn, I was that good huh?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You slapped his cheek lightly, causing him to laugh.

“Careful, sweetheart. Any harder and you’re gonna make me hard again,” he smirked at you through his tousled bangs.

[dominantslasherking]

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen With Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

Backstory: Your basically a mysterious male figure that happens to be around the bene gesserit, (whom not even they could control you) Feyd is obsessed with you, a deep longing inside his soul, his body.

In the dimly lit corridors of the Harkonnen fortress, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen prowled around like a predator his eyes snapping towards the guards whom he gave a lean smile to, showing off his blackened teeth that almost resembled blood stained on his teeth but a dusky nightly color.

Feyd's eyes beam down on one particular figure, "You." Feyd hissed out, his shirtless body walking towards you carefully, his pale skin contrasting nicely with the seemingly smoothness of it.

"You." he once again repeated his voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent shivers down anyone's spine. Your eyes carefully dawned onto him, your stoic face slowly speaking. "Yes?" With a steady voice.

Feyd's eyes seemed to dim even more on your figure taking in your all-black clothing, he looked around you to see if any of those annoying bene gesserit witches were around you, he saw none.

Once his eyes reverted back to you, he finally looked you in the eyes. With a wicked a monstrous smirk on his face he spoke "You intrigue me." His husky voice slowly lulled out in a confession. his eyes gleamed with a mix of fascination and possessiveness.

Not only sensing and seeing the intensity of his gaze you spoke, "And, is there something you desire?" You spoke, your eyes trained on his shirtless body, the skin that you wanted to caress and trail kisses upon, why else would you stay on this morbid looking planet for so long?

Feyd stirred back from your words, he found himself consumed by a relentless obsession that no amount of power or manipulation could quell, he craved to be yours, for you to whisper sweet nothingness into his ear, but he was disgusted with himself, how can something like him, so strong, think of these pathetic little thoughts and desires, that rocked his body like a steaming fire that wouldn't relent.

"I can't seem to get you out of my mind," he uttered preparing his blade as he attacked you. With a quick dodge, and move of your hand you wrapped your arms around Feyd's waist, your tall stature, leaning down slightly to place your lips onto his neck, tasting his skin.

A raspy and heavy breath escaped Feyd, his body tried to submit to your will, Feyds body wanted to, as he couldn't help but let out a groan, as you started to kiss on his neck.

"And why is that?" You asked slowly, responding to what he once said before he attacked you, your other hand slowly made it way to his neck, not to choke harshly but almost in a sensual way.

"Because you challenge me," he admitted, his voice raw with hatred spewing on his tongue. "Because you see through the façade I present to the world, you are caved into my mind, and you won't leave." He growled out, pushing you away, as he smashed his oh so soft lips against yours.

"I see you, Feyd," You said, voice gentle yet firm. "And perhaps... that's why you can't look away." Teasing tone, as Feyd nearly whined, mewled against your touch, he wanted you to break him, ravage him apart.

"Perhaps," he murmured in between another harsh kiss, his voice barely audible over the din of the bustling fortress.

[rainandandy]

modern au, college student!rain x reader🫣🫣🫣

Thank you so much for the request! Since it was left pretty open I just went on a big angst role! I hope you like it. Also my requests for Alien Romulus and Rain Carradine (and most of Cailee Spaeny's roles) are open Thanks for reading! ❤️

Warnings: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Kind of a break up

Word Count: 1396

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem! Reader

Modern College AU Friends with Benefits

The clock blinked 2:47 AM in the dimly lit room. You were tangled up in the sheets, your back pressed against the cool wall, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the questions you didn’t even want to ask. Rain was beside you, her body sprawled out on the bed, the moonlight filtering through the blinds casting sharp shadows across her features. Her short, dark hair was tousled, the strands catching the faint light and making her look almost ethereal. Those piercing blue eyes were closed, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just look at her, to take in the softness of her features when she wasn’t aware you were watching.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had told yourself from the beginning that this was just a casual thing, no strings attached, just two people finding comfort in each other’s company in a way that didn’t demand anything more than what you both were willing to give. But somewhere along the way, you had started wanting more, and that was the problem.

Rain stirred beside you, her arm instinctively reaching out across the bed, fingers brushing against your thigh. Even in sleep, she was possessive, her presence a constant reminder that while she didn’t want to define what you had, she still wanted to keep you close. You sighed softly, careful not to wake her as you slid out from under her touch and out of bed. The floor was cold against your feet as you padded across the room to the window, pulling the blinds further apart to let more of the night in.

“Can’t sleep?” Rain’s voice was rough, still thick with sleep as she propped herself up on one elbow, those blue eyes now open and trained on you. She didn’t miss much, even half-asleep. That was one of the things that drew you to her, even if it made things harder.

“Just thinking,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rain pushed herself up to sit, the sheets pooling around her waist as she studied you with a gaze that felt too intense for the middle of the night. “Thinking about what?” she asked, but there was a note in her voice that told you she already knew.

You shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Nothing important.”

She made a low sound, something between a hum and a sigh, as she got out of bed and walked over to stand beside you. Rain had this way of moving, like every step she took was intentional, like she knew exactly where she was going and didn’t care if anyone got in her way. When she was next to you, she didn’t touch you, but you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the proximity both comforting and suffocating at the same time.

“You’re lying,” she said, not accusing, just stating a fact. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

“I’m tired, Rain,” you said, leaning your forehead against the cool glass of the window. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

“Bullshit,” she replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You never get this quiet unless something’s on your mind.”

You finally looked at her, really looked at her, and felt that familiar pang in your chest, the one that had been growing more insistent with each passing day. She was beautiful in that untouchable way, the kind of beauty that was sharp and dangerous, something you could admire but knew would hurt you if you got too close. And yet, here you were, too close and getting closer all the time.

“Rain…” you started, but she cut you off.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice suddenly sharper, more alert. “Don’t say it.”

You hesitated, the words stuck in your throat. She was watching you so intently, those blue eyes practically boring into your soul, daring you to speak, to say what you both knew was coming.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said finally, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. It was like a dam had broken, and everything you’d been holding back came rushing out. “I can’t keep pretending that this is enough, that I’m okay with being just another option to you.”

Rain’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in her eyes, something almost imperceptible. “You knew what this was,” she said, her voice steady, almost cold. “I told you from the beginning that I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you said, hating how your voice sounded, weak and shaky. “But things change, people change, and I… I’ve changed.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just kept looking at you with that unreadable expression. Then she sighed and ran a hand through her short hair, messing it up even more. “What do you want from me?” she asked, sounding tired, almost defeated. “You want me to say I’ve changed too? That I want something more? Because I can’t do that. I’m not going to lie to you.”

“I don’t want you to lie,” you said, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness welling up inside you. “But I also can’t keep doing this, pretending that I don’t care when you’re with someone else, that it doesn’t hurt when you push me away the moment things get too close.”

Rain’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, staring out at the night beyond the window. “I’m not good at this,” she said quietly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a crack in her armor. “I don’t know how to be what you want.”

“I’m not asking you to be anything,” you replied, taking a step closer to her, your hand itching to reach out and touch her, to bridge the distance between you. “I’m just asking you to be honest with me. If this isn’t going anywhere, if it’s just going to stay like this, I need to know. Because I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with it.”

Rain turned back to you, her expression hardening again, that moment of vulnerability gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I can’t give you what you want,” she said, her voice firm, final. “I told you that from the start.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you took a step back, putting distance between you. “Yeah,” you said softly, your voice breaking just a little. “You did.”

There was nothing left to say after that. The silence stretched out between you, heavy and suffocating. You wanted to cry, to scream, to do something, anything, to break the tension, but all you could do was stand there, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Finally, Rain spoke, her voice low and almost resigned. “Maybe we should stop.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You had known this was coming, had seen it in the way she had been pulling away lately, but hearing it out loud still hurt more than you had expected.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing the word out through the tightness in your chest. “Maybe we should.”

Rain didn’t say anything else, just nodded and turned away, walking back to the bed. She sat down on the edge, her back to you, and you knew that this was it. The end of whatever this had been, the end of something that had meant so much more to you than it ever had to her.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you gathered your things. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to walk away from her, but you knew you had to. Staying would only make things worse, for both of you.

As you reached the door, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle. You wanted to say something, to find the right words to make her understand how much this hurt, how much you had cared, but you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Rain was who she was, and she wasn’t going to change, not for you, not for anyone.

So, you just opened the door and walked out, leaving Rain behind in the darkness, the sound of the door closing echoing in your ears as you stepped out into the night.

[imthebadguyyy]

Hold Me In Your Arms Tonight

pairing : steve rogers x reader

fandom : marvel

synopsis : steve comes home from a mission, and all he wants is to be wrapped up in your warmth and in your arms.

a/n : i just wanted to write something tender and sweet and smutty so here ya go

warnings : smut

the usual murmur of the quinjet had dulled, into a thick and heavy silence. as the machine soared through the night sky, the avengers found themselves in a rare moment of quietude after a particularly intense mission.

the air inside the jet hung heavy with a mix of exhaustion, and tension.

tony as usual, was the first to break the deafening silence. reclining, in his seat, his signature smirk missing commented, "well, that was fun, wasn't it? remind me to thank fury for these vacations."

natasha, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow, one hand pressing an ice pack to the indigo bruise blooming on her wrist.

"now's really not the time" she muttered, eyes gesturing towards steve, who looked the picture of defeat.

the mission had started promisingly and could have been regarded as an amateur operation. intel suggested a hydra base operating in a remote location, with plans for a powerful biological weapon that could endanger innocent lives.

steve and tony had decided that the entire team didn't have to come, so the two of them with natasha and thor had suited up and gone, leaving bruce, wanda, clint you and sam to wait in the compound. they had what they thought was a meticulous plan to infiltrate and neutralize the threat.

until they actually reached the base.

as the team breached the compound, it had become evident that hydra was one step ahead. the entire facility was a trap, a carefully orchestrated ambush. waves upon waves of highly trained soldiers overwhelmed the avengers, forcing them into a chaotic retreat, that had left most of them nursing minor injuries.

"we didn't know cap" nat said, looking at the simmering anger in steve's eyes.

steve didn't lift his eyes off the spot he was focusing at on the wall.

"they knew we were coming. how the hell did they know?" thor asked, slamming mjolnir down in the ground.

tony muttered something along the lines of "our intel was compromised" but steve didn't care.

as the silhouette of the avengers compound came into view and natasha heaved a quiet sigh of relief.

she knew that the only person who would be able to calm steve and get through to him was you, and that you'd be the only person he'd ever open up to a 100%

with a hum, the jet landed, and the four trooped out, to see an awaiting maria hill, a grim furrow in her brow.

"cap we need a debrief on the-" her words died on her tongue and she computed the glare thor sent her way.

she understood the message : leave him alone.

speaking of, steve had walked into the compound, stepping into the elevator, head dropping low, he finally let out a deep sigh, fingers pressing the 4th floor, wanting nothing more than to have you in his arms.

the ding of the elevator signalled his arrival to you before he did.

you were standing in the kitchen, listening to the merry bubble of the kettle as you boiled hot water for a warm cup of midnight tea.

tony had given you and steve the entire fourth floor as your residential area, and you couldn't thank him enough for the state of the art amenities and accommodation.

just as you put your two spoons of tea leaves in the ceramic blue teapot clint and his wife had gifted you for your birthday, you heard the elevator door open, and the heavy footfalls of your husband echoed in the hall.

smiling to your self, you poured the hot water from the kettle to the teapot, just as steve's muscular frame filled the door of the hallway, his long shadow preceding him as he walked into the kitchen.

steve could smell the scent of black tea before he saw you, the homely scent wrapping him a warm hug that he didn't know he needed.

there were softly lit candles glittering softly all around the penthouse, and fresh bouquets of flowers in every vase. the plush sofas looked freshly dusted and soft music was playing in the background

soft, muted lighting enveloped the space, casting a warm and intimate ambiance. the city lights beyond the windows twinkled like a myriad of stars, creating a breathtaking backdrop against the darkened sky.

but to steve, none of this mattered. the only view he cared about was the one of you, shuffling around the kitchen in fuzzy bunny slippers and your silk blue pyjamas.

he watched as you moved with a quiet confidence, navigating the familiar space with ease. the rhythmic clink of porcelain against the marble countertop echoing as the cups were placed gently on a tray as you selected delicate tea cups from the cupboard. he watched your fingers, adorned with subtle rings, tracing the edges of the cups with a practiced familiarity.

as steve observed you with a mixture of admiration and emotion, his gaze, fixed on you, spoke volumes as he recognized the beauty in the simplicity of this moment. the anxious lines on his face softened, revealing a depth of emotion stirred by the sight of someone he cherished engaged in such an ordinary yet intimate act.

"hi baby" you smiled at him, smile dipping when you observed at the tenseness in his body language. his shoulders were taut, remnants of anxious lines softly fading from his forehead as he looked at you.

"hey" he said, voice cracking slightly, even more as you let out a soft "oh" reaching him in two steps to wrap your arms around him.

in the dimly lit room, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken emotions and words, but you both knew he didn't need words, he needed the unspoken reassurance that you were there with him, physically, in the moment.

he stood there, shoulders slumped, carrying the weight of the world on his weary frame. even captain america got overwhelmed sometimes. you approached him with a gentle understanding, eyes reflecting both empathy and love.

as you reached out to him, arms enveloping him in a comforting embrace, he crumbled.

the embrace wasn't just a physical connection; it was a lifeline, a silent reassurance that in this moment of vulnerability, he wasn't alone. your fingers traced soothing circles on his back, a rhythmic gesture that mirrored the ebb and flow of emotions he was clearly feeling.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, desperate to find solace in the softness of your presence. the scent of your hair, a mix of strawberry and vanilla, familiar and comforting, mingled with the quiet warmth of the room.

the thump of your heartbeat, pulsing through your body, steady and reassuring, echoed against his chest, a gentle reminder that they faced the challenges together, and that as you had stated in your vows, your hearts would beat together as one for the rest of your lives.

"we were so close, but everything fell apart. the intel was off, our intel was compromised, we were ambushed. the team got separated, and we couldn't prevent the disaster. it's like no matter what i do, it's never enough." he whispered, voice broken and eyes haggard, pulling back to look at you.

his eyes sought home in yours, desperate to find the love he needed so badly.

you listened attentively, absorbing the raw emotion in his voice. as he spoke, his hands clenched, betraying the frustration and helplessness he felt.

running your hands up and down his back, you whispered back, "you can't blame yourself for everything. you're only human. superhuman, sure, but still human"

steve ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"im supposed to be a hero, someone who saves the day. but what if I'm not cut out for this? what if I'm just making things worse?" he said, and you found tears rising to your eyes at the anguish your husband was in, blue eyes as stormy as the ocean, nothing but insecurity and fear reflecting in them.

you reached for his hands, holding them in a reassuring grip, fingers running over his knuckles in a pattern only you could interpret.

"darling, being a hero doesn't mean you always succeed. it means facing challenges, even when the odds are against you. it means being brave enough to admit when you may possibly make a mistake and it means allowing yourself to grow from the bad days. you can't control everything, but you can learn from it and keep going. you're not alone in this. you have all of us and we're always going to be there when you need us because you're always there when we need you. thats what makes you captain america, steve, your unrelenting ability to show empathy in the face of danger"

steve found solace in the warmth of your gaze. the weight on his shoulders didn't vanish, but the shared burden made it more bearable. "i love you so much" he said, leaning his forehead on yours.

bending down, he pressed his lips to yours, as you melted into the kiss, hands coming up to hold his jaw, as your thumbs ran along his cheekbone. he rested his palm on your waist, fingers splayed out and tracing a pattern, as his other hand reached up to caress your face.

you had to reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down by the neck to meet your lips. he pulled you impossibly closer to him, hands gripping you so tight as if you would vanish into thin air.

before you knew it his lips were heavy on yours, hot and needy, each kiss becoming more and more desperate as his hands roamed the expanse of your body.

his tongue pushed against yours urgently, but you broke apart, panting heavily, to kiss his cheek and whisper a soft "i love you"

steve swore his heart melted as you spoke, fingers caressing your cheek as he scooped you up from below, letting your legs wrap around his waist, hands gripping your thighs tightly as he guided the both of you to the bedroom.

the bedroom embraced an alluring intimacy, its subdued lighting casting a warm, hazy glow that danced across the plush surfaces. a large canopy bed, draped in rich, dark linens, stood as the focal point, its soft contours inviting and enticing. the plush cushions and silken sheets glowed softly in the dim lights,

the air was infused with a subtle fragrance of vanilla and lavender, creating a sensory tapestry that heightened the atmosphere.

the heavy curtains were drawn, swaying in the gentle breeze from an open window, allowing a filtered moonlight to cascade into the room, creating a soft interplay of light and darkness.

candles were strategically placed on various surfaces, flickering with a mesmerizing rhythm, casting enchanting patterns across the walls, rose petals scattered on the bed and the loveseat in bedroom.

steve carried you into the room, awestruck at how you had set up the room for his arrival.

"you did this baby? for me?" he asked, eyes softening. "all for you my love" you assured, smiling softly at him. "all of this and all of me is for you" you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

you felt him shudder softly against you, and the sudden pick up in his pace as he dropped you gently against the bed.

"i adore you" he murmured, pressing kisses all the way from your head to your forehead, trailing down your face, from the curve of your nose to your plump cheeks, pressing delicate kisses to the soft skin, before ultimately stopping at your lips.

he pressed his pink lips to yours, lips moulding into one as he let his body hover over yours. his tongue darted out to lick your lip, begging for entry and when he squeezed your hip and you let out a moan, he slid his tongue into your mouth, tongue clashing against yours, teeth stopping to sink into your lower lip, pulling it back to watch it snap back into place.

you kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he floods your ear when you near his throat. he groans when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder, your hot tongue sliding against his neck, with your chapstick tasting of shea butter and cherry, fingers dancing across the hem of his suit like a tease. his arms slide down to your top, the silky material scrunching up as he pulls it up, marvelling at the skin below.

"touch me" you whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. he sighs at the phrase, sea blue eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. "touch me, use me, use me to get rid of your stress" you whisper, rocking your hips slowly against his.

you could feel his hard on against you, and you gently rolled your hips against his.

you were sure it got hard, this facade of being perfect all the time. so maybe just this once he needed to let go. let go of the gentleman person and fuck you raw till he was calmed down and satiated.

your shirt rides up even higher as steve drags a rough palm over your ribs, his rough hands have you jittering. his head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re rotating your hips around him. "you're absolutely unbelievable" he groans as he gently licks around your sensitive belly button. he groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you say, "i dont know how lucky I got with you" he murmured.

"touch me. just touch me like you won’t ever stop" you whimper out, and steve studied the want in your glassy eyes and nodded softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. the intimacy of the moment is jarring against how desperately the both of you want each other. but it's sensual and sweet because its a long buildup his finally being at peace.

agonizingly slow, his fingers dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your pussy. the gentle notion makes your breath hitch, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit.

his middle finger circles draw leisurely over the sensitive nub with slow, rough circles and your thighs twitched.

his voice hitches in his throat as he observes your reaction. "oh, doll, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?" he groans as you guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your arousal against your wet entrance. "my gorgeous, gorgeous girl" he whispered, pressing a sugar sweet kiss to your jaw.

"I'll always love you no matter what" you moan, scratching at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. your eagerness spurs him on and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. "fucking tease" you whine and he smirks.

your steve is usually demure even in bed, ever the perfect gentleman, gentle with you as if you'd snap into two if he was too harsh with you.

but this steve was daring and experimenting with his rough side.

your next sentence died in your throat, a soft gasp leaving your lips when he pushed his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretchs.

he inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. you shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. he hums at your expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his sharp jawline.

he mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his sloppy kisses. you rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own moans against your skin.

"you’re so perfect" he groans, fucking his fingers in and out of you. the noises that leave your pussy and his throat are sinful, sounding like the harmonious mixture of splashing waves and delicate moans, his hand cupping your mound while he fingered you impatiently.

"fuck, Y/N. you’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, my angel? god, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to"

"steve, your fingers..." you watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. you nearly sob, waterline beginning to water as the pleasure intensifies, "you get me so wet" you whimper and you hear the groan he tries to suppress at the juxtaposition of your angelic voice and face and the filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth.

"that’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that?" he asks as you clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you.

his touch is generous, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. he fucks you faster, thumb rubbing at your clit hard.

while others would resort to their own personal pleasure to de stress, it's your pleasure that brings steve relaxation. the fact that he could draw earth shattering orgasms from you was what helped him feel good and he knew that it was only when you were completely satisfied that he would be too.

you cry out into his chest, bite marks littering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax.

your body shakes from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, steve's fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you. 

your pussy pulses needily between your thighs, toes curling as you focus your attention on steve undressing. his suit comes off, discarded somewhere in some corner, his under clothes come off, and then finally, he drags his gray boxers down his legs, and his cock stands proudly, slapping against his stomach as he releases it from it's prison.

you moan as you take in the sight of his thick cock, long and girthy and big enough to leave you breathless as it always did. steve after all was a supersoldier, and his cock was to match. he also had incredible stamina and you knew he'd leave you exhausted.

he nears you again, heavy against you and you reach down to stroke him, smiling up at him, realising your hand doesnt fit all of him into your palm. his cock twitches again when you moan, a throb settling at the base of his spine with an uintelligible moan.

"stevie, baby, i want nothing more-" you strain, reaching behind your own hips to take ahold of his cock and line the weeping tip up perfectly "than for you to fuck me. i want you to fuck your pain and your distress away" you say, and his eyes darken with lust, the baby blues fading to black, like a dark and thunderous sky.

his dick catches against your clit first, causing your body to jolt in shock before you sweep him through your dripping folds. he grabs ahold of your hips, seemingly spellbound as to where else to hold you. his eyes flicker all across your bare skin, unable to settle on the best spot.

his teeth reach down to grab your nipple in between them, one hand reaching up to fondle the other. his tongue darts around the perk nipple, sliding all around it, saliva dripping all around it. your hips rut wildly at the pleasure on your sensitive nipples, and the feeling of the rough pads of his fingers toying with the other.

a chorus of gasps sounds between the two of you as you slowly roll down onto his dick, harmonizing almost like a symphony. he stretches you deliciously, and he's big. very big. perfectly filling. It’s akin to losing all sense of direction, unsure of up from down, left from right. your hips stutter and still from the shock because through your haze you feel steve thrust upward and into you to bridge the gap and you whine as he brushed a sensitive spot within you.

a high pitched wine of "oh fuck!* leaves your lips, and a deep groan echoes in steve's chest.

you groan, finally feeling him sink all the way into your pussy, already shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. before you can comprehend, hes bottoming out in your slick pussy.

rising back over the curve in his cock, you lift yourself back up until only his tip is pressed up against your pussy. you pause before you sink back down. you see the almost animalistic need in steve's eyes as he gazes up at you through his lashes, eyes following the clenching of his jaw.

the wet sound of your pussy being filled over and over echoes, the air that had held a chill seemingly warming at your shared activity. you can barely hear his groans, your heartbeat thrumming so loud in your ears that you’re convinced he can probably feel it thudding in your walls.

your eyebrows arch in bliss as the ridge of his head catches up against something so incredible that you’re drowning in pleasure, a light that must surely be heaven flooding your eyesight.

but it's not heaven no, it's a sight far better : your husband, mouth agape and head thrown back fucking into you like your life depended on it.

what you didn't expect was the harsh smack to your ass, his big hand smacking the sensitive skin of your ass and you let out an "oh!" skin stinging and pussy dripping, before the longing for more fills you.

"you like that, my pretty girl?" he asks, pinching the fat of your hips.

you merely moan in response, mind melting at the pleasure. a second smack to the ass follows, and a large vein-y hand grips your throat and forces you to look at him.

"words doll, words" he chides, and you stutter out a shaky "yes" your movements are stuttering at the way a familiar simmering feeling begins deep inside your abdomen, but steve doesn’t want you to stop. his hands take a firm grip of your hips, forcing them down as he begins to thrust up and into you in that same desperate pace.

he continued to brush against that part of you that just obliterated any coherent thought, your mind melting into sludge as pleasure overtook every nerve in your body.

his hands traced over your ass, still hovering between the edge of good boy steve and bad boy steve, but all it took for him to slip was your whimper of "spank me harder daddy" and he was gone.

your sweet gentle steve was replaced by an animal, hands delivering harsh smack after smack to the sensitive skin of your ass, feeling it burn red hot as his large lands landed on your ass with a harsh unoact.

the filthy sound of his hand slapping the jiggly surface of your ass and the sloppy, wet sound of his dick pounding into your pussy echoed around the room, and you had never been more glad for the fact that your floor was completely soundproofed.

you’re not exactly sure what part of his body you’re holding onto, the muscles canvas all melting into one, so far away from comprehension, but you know you’re holding it in a bruising grip, one that leaves a perfect impression of each of your fingertips that would most definitely remain imprinted on his skin.

sweat beaded and dripped down his forehead, as he continued thrusting and pounding into you as if his life depended on it.

your mewls and whimpers perfectly complimented his grunts and groans as his hips snapped further into yours.

your back arched off of the bed as he let your leg rest on his shoulder, pushing the other one away from you so you were perfectly spread out, pushing one leg far away enough so that it was almost touching your ear

the smirk on his lips told you that it was gonna be a long night and that steve wasn't done with you just yet. he grabbed your face, fingers lacking their usual gentility, digging into your cheekbones, before pushing your face sideways into the silky pillow, making you close your eyes at the contrasting sensation of your hot cheeks against the cold pillow, the feelings setting your body on fire.

the sensation of you digging your nails into his back, had his hips falterring and stuttering slightly as he let out another lke growl into his ear, as he allowed himself a moment to bask in the burn of the sting before regaining his pace and thrusting back "you're so, so fucking good, just squeezing me so well hmm?" he growled, grunting as your pussy squeezed him harder and your eyes shut.

you only raked your nails down harder, although your moans were slightly muffled, and the desperate whines leaving your lips fuelled, him, as he continued snapping his hips into you, nails digging into your thigh, the pleasurable sting sending you spiraling. you could feel ths tight muscles rippling in his back, and you scratched down the bare expanse of his back, knowing it always drove him crazy.

the red hot pleasure in the pit of your stomach began to tighten, making you pant. he started guiding his cock deeper into you, which you didn't think was possible, and placed your hand in the outline of his cock in your tummy, and the filthy sound of your wetness and the sounds of your skin slapping together echoed across the hotel room.

the bed began to knock against the wall, the thumping sounding sweeter than the sweetest symphony you had ever heard.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head once again, mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. for a second, you thought you had floated into another dimension, a low hum filling your ears, and your body convulsing in pleasure.

you heard steve moan your name, before letting out a low grunt, feeling him release his chokehold on your throat and hips, watching as you squirted all over him.

your cum splattered him all over, and your vision almost went black from how hard you had just squirted on him.

he reached out to collect your cum on his fingers, licking it, moaning at your sweet taste. the sight had you blushing.

you thought you were done, but just as you began to come to terms with the force of your orgasm, you felt his thumb on your clit, making you jerk your hips away, shaking your head. "daddy please, no more, i can't, not anymore" you whined out, feeling your pussy throb.

"yes you can, one more my doll, just give me one more" he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again harshly, in a rough, dirty, demanding kiss.

you could feel his hips stuttering, his cock beginning to pulse inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy, signalling he was close to his own orgasm.

you moaned into his mouth, taking the opportunity to suck his tongue. "come on captain, cum for me, wont you? you work so hard and I'm so fucking proud of all your hard work" you whispered into his ears, licking at the shell of his ear

at your words, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his tongue poking out to lick patterns on the skin there, and you could hear his low, soft grunts as he chased his release, making the veins in his neck pop.

you could see his body glistening in the layer of sweat that had covered him, he continued to thrust into you for a second or two more, before a deep groan left his swollen lips, and an even deeper moan of your name echoed in your ear, as he spurted his cum into your warm pussy with a groan, your pussy clamping down on him like a vice, milking his cock

your body shuddered at the warm liquid dripping into you in hot spurts, covering your pussy in his cum, moaning in pleasure as the warmth of his release spread through you, enveloping you in a warm daze. panting softly, he stayed enveloped in your warm walls.

the both of you cuddled into the silk sheets, the aur conditioning doing little to cook your overhead bodies. steve pressed tender kisses to your face and body, whispers of "my beautiful girl, my angel, my doll, i adore you" leaving his lips like a mantra.

his hands, now no longer rough with want, traced soft patterns on your flushed skin.

"was that too rough for you?" he asked, concern etched in his eyes and worry lines appearing on his face.

"not at all" you said, quickly quelling his fears.

"you should do that again" you smirked, giggling when he blushed red. "thank you for that my love" he said, raising your knuckles to his lips to press a soft kiss to them.

"you don't have to thank me, steve. I'm always here for you no matter what" you murmured.

you were slowly sinking into a daze, but you registered him pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and heading to the bathroom

"I'll be back in just a second honey, I'm just getting some towels to clean us up" he explained, grinning at the pout adorning your bruised lips.

sure enough he came back, with cold towels to wipe you up with and a fresh set of pyjamas (his shirt and your shorts) to slip into, gently tugging you into the clothes and cleaning up the sticky mess on your thighs and cleaning you up.

he brushed the stray strands of your hair away from your face, pressing a soft kiss to your nose then your forehead, and then your lips.

he fed you a glass of cold water, and a piece of chocolate for a little bit of energy in the morning. cleaning himself up, he slipped into bed with you, his large arms wrapping you up, his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as you snored softly beside him.

in the warmth of your embrace, he felt an unspoken reassurance. as he held you close, the rhythmic beating of your heart echoed a comforting melody

in that tender moment, he realized that in your arms, he was not just physically close, but emotionally anchored. the world outside ceased to matter as he embraced the profound sense of safety and love that enveloped the both of you, creating a sanctuary where worries melted away, leaving only the simple joy of being together.

[dmitriene]

ᴜɴꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ʟᴇꜱꜱᴏɴ.

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚐𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛. 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆, 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚓𝚘𝚋, 𝚌𝚞𝚖 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚕, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝.

ᴇ��ᴊᴏʏ ʏᴏᴜ�� ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ)

(18+ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ)

The training room was dimly lit, its cold metal surfaces reflecting the scant light.

The atmosphere was tense, filled with anticipation as Ghost stood confidently in the center of the room, his balaclava hiding his identity.

The room was silent except for the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

You were sitting on a chair, your wrists and ankles tied securely in knots, the same knots that Ghost himself had taught you to tie.

He was adamant in his teachings, emphasizing the importance of being able to escape any restrictions, no matter how safe they may seem.

Ghost's voice broke the silence as he began his training, his words sharp and authoritative, carrying a sense of urgency — «Remember, in a real interrogation, every second counts, you need to be able to free yourself quickly and efficiently»

You nodded, focusing on him, trying to follow his instructions despite the anxiety from the bound ones, Ghost's teachings were always effective and you trusted his expertise.

But then suddenly the situation changed.

Ghost found himself in the same predicament he had tried to prepare you for, the knots binding his wrists were just as tight as the ones on his ankles and he couldn't help but be impressed by your ability to follow his lessons.

His legs were spread wide apart, the legs of the chair did not allow him to move, he looked at you through the fabric of his balaclava, head tilted slightly to the side, a silent question in his eyes, he was going to ask what you were going to do and why you were so pleased with yourself.

Your smile was undoubtedly smug as you approached him, your steps slow and deliberate, the room seeming to close in around Ghost as he felt a rush of anticipation.

It was a situation he hadn't expected, and it left him both intrigued and vulnerable.

Without warning, your hands slid down his tense inner thighs, causing him to growl quietly, his head falling back slightly, eyes narrowed as he tried to maintain his composure.

But the touch of your fingers was electrifying, and he couldn’t help but react.

You continued to tease him, tracing the contours of his muscular body through the thick fabric of his black t-shirt with your fingers, Ghost's breathing quickened and his chest heaved as he tried to control the desire growing inside him.

Your touch moved lower, now exploring his muscular thighs under the fabric of his cargo pants.

Ghost's breathing became heavier, his restraint slipped away, he never expected to be in this position, and the unpredictability of the situation was undoubtedly exciting.

A quiet, unexpected howl escaped Ghost's lips and his gaze remained glued to you, it was a side of him that was rarely seen — vulnerable and open.

The situation has changed and now you have the upper hand.

You leaned closer, touched his ear with your lips and whispered — «Is this what you had in mind, Ghost? Did you ever imagine you'd be the one at my mercy?»

Ghost's response was a low, guttural growl, his eyes looking at you with an intensity that left no room for doubt, you were playing with fire and he was more than ready to get burned.

With a sultry smile, you reached out and tugged his balaclava towards his nose, his eyes meeting yours through the fabric, the desire in them burning stronger than ever.

It was a challenge, a test of his endurance.

As you continued to tease him, his restrictions became less of a physical obstacle and more of an exhilarating constraint, the tension in the room changing from a training exercise to a sizzling dance of desire.

— «You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ghost?» you whispered, and your voice was full of temptation — «You like being teased, just as much as you like doing the teasing»

His response was a passionate kiss, a greedy exploration of each other's desires.

The room seemed to disappear as the two of you were lost in the electrifying connection that suddenly erupted between you.

At this point the training turned into something much more intimate and intense, the Phantom's shackles may have held him physically but there was no force in the world that could contain the fiery chemistry between you.

The kiss deepened, Ghost's muscles tensed, silently begging for more, you broke the kiss with a teasing smile.

— «I guess it's time for you to put your lessons to the test» you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire.

The air in the dimly lit training room grew increasingly tense as you continued to tease him.

Ghost, still tied to the chair, was now clearly touched by your seductive touches, the room seemed to shrink, the air filled with anticipation.

You couldn't help but notice the telltale signs of his arousal, the bulge in his pants becoming noticeable and a slight blush adorning his face at the edge of his balaclava where it hid his features.

His desire was exposed, although the rest of it remained hidden.

Your smile widened as you watched his reaction, enjoying the power you had over him, and you leaned closer, your fingers continuing their torturous exploration of his body as Ghost's breathing became heavier and his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.

— «Seems like you're enjoying this, Ghost» you purred, your voice dripping with desire — «I always knew there was more beneath that stoic exterior of yours»

Ghost's response was a low, guttural growl, a mixture of frustration and anguish as he found himself trapped, both physically and emotionally, in a situation that tested his limits.

Your fingers slid lower, brushing the fabric of his cargo pants, and you felt the warmth emanating from him, the lurch was arousing and you couldn’t resist pushing him further.

With a deft, teasing touch, your fingers began to unbuckle his belt, Ghost's eyes widened slightly behind his balaclava, his gaze settling on yours as you slowly freed him of the excess fabric, the tension in the room palpable as the belt slipped through the loops with a soft, seductive sound.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you continued your deliberate, seductive movements, his chest heaving, his body straining against the restraints, a silent plea for more.

The desire in his eyes grew even stronger, and the anticipation was almost unbearable.

Finally the belt came free and you tossed it aside, Ghost was now exposed, his desire undeniable, the fabric of his pants strained against his erect member and the room filled with an intoxicating mixture of tension and longing.

You leaned closer, your lips touched his ear again — «You wanted a test, Ghost, consider this the ultimate test of your restraint»

At the same time, you continued to tease him, your fingers dancing along his clothes, lighting a fire inside him that he could not extinguish, his inhibitions weakened and he was now completely at your mercy.

Ghost's limitations were no longer physical — they were invisible bonds that kept him captive to the irresistible allure of your touch and the undeniable chemistry that sparked between you.

The atmosphere in the dimly lit training room became even more tense as you continued to tease.

Ghost, securely tied to the chair, was now a writhing and frustrated mess, the room seemed to throb with anticipation and the air was filled with the heady aroma of desire.

Your fingers continued their maddening dance, stroking his clothed bulge with deliberate precision.

His arousal was palpable, the fabric of his pants straining against the growing hardness of his cock beneath them, he couldn't help but arch his hips, wanting more from your touch.

Ghost's breathing was ragged, each exhalation a mixture of disappointment and longing, the redness on his face at the edge of his balaclava intensified, and his eyes burned with a fiery desire that could not be hidden.

— «Such a strong and stoic soldier» you cooed, and your voice was full of temptation — «But even the strongest have their breaking points, don't they, Ghost?»

Ghost's response was a low guttural moan, his clenched jaw unable to hide the pleasure you were giving him, he really tried to maintain his composure but the relentless teasing was pushing him over the edge.

Your fingers continued to torment him, pushing him closer to the edge of his sweet release, but never letting him reach it.

It was a cruel game of pleasure and denial, and Ghost was caught in its seductive web.

But you're not done yet.

With a slow, deliberate movement, your hand slid under the waistband of his boxers, Ghost's body tensed as your fingers brushed against his bare skin, and a strangled moan escaped his lips.

You could feel his heartbeat quicken under your touch, his arousal pulsing through your fingertips and wetting them with his precum.

He was a whining, trembling mess, his attempts to snap back reduced to muffled groans that only increased the tension in the room.

— «Tell me to stop, Ghost» you whispered in a voice hoarse with desire — «Tell me you can't take it anymore»

His response was a strangled sound, a mixture of pleasure and disappointment, he was caught in a whirlpool of sensations, his body on the verge of ecstasy, but not receiving the release it craved.

You continued to stroke him, your movements deliberate and agonizing, his hips jerked involuntarily, desperately begging for more, his muscles tensed and he gripped the arms of the chair harder, trying to hold on.

— «I can't…» he squeezed out, his voice hoarse with desire — «Please… stop…»

But you weren't going to stop at all.

You reveled in the power you had over him and the exquisite torture you inflicted on him.

Ghost's pleas only made you more eager to push him further, to see how far he could go.

The room seemed to close in around you both as the tension reached its peak, Ghost a trembling, moaning mess, unable to escape the pleasure and torment you were subjecting him to.

And as you continued your merciless attack, his resistance crumbled further, his body and desires were completely under your control, the training hall became a battlefield of pleasure and denial, and Ghost found himself helplessly in your seductive embrace.

Ghost, still tied to the chair, was now writhing and moaning, his body yearning for release, the room throbbing with anticipation, the air filled with the intoxicating aroma of lust.

Your teasing continued, merciless and tormenting, you knew exactly how to push Ghost over the edge without allowing him to break free.

His sighs and moans filled the room, a symphony of desire echoing off the cold metal walls.

— «Such a good soldier» you purred, your voice laced with seduction — «But you're at my mercy now, Ghost, there's no escaping this»

Ghost's response was a desperate whimper, his hips bucking involuntarily as he sought more of your touch, he was on a fine line, balancing between ecstasy and frustration, and it was you who held the reins.

Your fingers continued to torture, stroking, teasing, denying, completely coating your fingers in sticky precum.

Ghost's moans became louder, almost calling for release, he could no longer hold back, his restraint was crumbling with each passing moment.

— «Please» he exhaled, his voice was a plea — «I can't take it anymore…»

But you were far from done, so with an evil smile you finally decided to give him what he craved.

You leaned down, your mouth moving down to his reddened and swollen tip with a hunger that matched his own.

Ghost's body trembled as your lips and tongue worked their magic, the sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure washed over him.

When you take him into your mouth, he can feel the wet warmth of your mouth as you suck him hungrily, your tongue swirling around him, his swollen tip, teasing and pleasuring him in equal measure, a sensation so intense it leaves him breathless as you masterfully you move along its length.

You can taste the precum pooling on the tip of his cock, the mix of saltiness and arousal that only heightens his pleasure, the way you suck eagerly and bob your head, the wet sounds filling the air pushing him to the edge of control.

Ghost's moans turned into incoherent cries of ecstasy as he gave in to the intensity of the moment, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair, his body arching and he shuddered in pleasure as he finally reached his peak, spilling his cum deep into your throat as you swallowed every drop without embarrassment.

It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss as Ghost's orgasm washed over him, leaving him drained and breathless.

He lay limp in the chair, his body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm, the space filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and the lingering echo of his moans.

You pulled away with a satisfied smile on your lips, watching the consequences of your teasing, his balaclava clad face turning red, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, his cock throbbing, glistening with the remnants of your saliva on it.

He was the embodiment of vulnerability, completely destroyed by your touch.

Ghost's body shook as he let out his last shaky breath, you could feel the tension leaving him as he slowly relaxed, his muscles no longer tense under the restraints, it was time to release him from the ropes.

You carefully began to untie the knots, your fingers deft and gentle, Phantom's pants and boxers were adjusted to make him look comfortable.

As you worked, you noticed the red, slightly bloody marks on his wrists, they were evidence of his resistance, the physical toll he had endured, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him even as you continued to complete your task.

Once the ropes were removed you leaned closer to Ghost, your hands carefully sliding under his arms as he slid slightly in his chair and you wanted to make sure he was being supported properly.

With a gentle but firm touch, you lifted him by the shoulders, pressing his head to your chest, his breathing still ragged, his body exhausted from the intense encounter, you held him close, your heartbeat soothing against his ear.

Ghost's eyes were closed, his features relaxed, and he allowed himself to fall into unconsciousness, he had reached his limits, both physical and emotional, and now fell into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

Your hand gently stroked his head, a gesture of comfort and reassurance, the room was silent except for the soft sound of your breathing and the steady beating of your heart.

As Ghost pressed himself against your chest, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of closeness and satisfaction.

It was a moment of quiet vulnerability, a precious space where the weight of the world was lifted for a moment and all that was left was the connection between you, sharing something truly extraordinary.

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[secret-smut-sideblog]

we all know how vicious gale can get when he's spurned in game, so I thought about how nasty he could get during a fight. and the nuclear amount of fallout after the dust settled. sooo I bring you this~

Hard Times

18+ fighting (verbal), hurt feelings, night terrors, insomnia, allusions to drowning, terminal illness (sort of), grief release, intense feelings of guilt/inadequacy, tender care, thigh riding, oral (m!), reconciliation

After a venomous spat with Gale, Aurum finds herself in the prison of her dreams again. But with several pairs of hands cradling her, she doesn't have to weather it alone. And, perhaps, find her own vindication in the aftermath...

Masterlist

-

"Gods, Aurum, just speak to me!" Gale urged, voice swollen with anger.

She wasn't sure how the fight started, but tensions had been pulled tight as a violin string. A day with too much strife and even less success. Ground soaked in wasted sweat and blood born of friendly fire.

Aurum didn't want to fight, keeping her face cool and controlled. But it seemed that Gale did, and her veil of calm burned him ever hotter. Desperate to break her mask.

"I don't want to fight with you." Her voice came out soft, encouraging a cease fire. Face held in its pantomime, overriding the pinch sitting in her chest.

"No, of course you dont." His voice a cold bite. "Why would you? I can't expect you to be as open as I am. Not with that wall of stone you've trained around your heart."

A jolt of pain hit her chest, and, as if hearing him, a shock of burn accompanied along. Gritting her teeth against the pain, smothering a flare no easy feat.

"That's not fair." She breathed. Fighting the rage tremoring near her words.

But he had seen that he shook her. Not done prodding, fingers digging into the fracture he made.

"Fair? Nothing about loving you is fair. Between losing you to time and your staunch desire to keep me on the outskirts of your inner world... Hardly fair, that."

That stung, but she had expected it. Her demise was a circling vulture over them always. The venom he injected into it was less needed, but his anger was warranted.

"Are you near done? You've wounded me, you got what you wanted." She seated her voice back into its hilt of calm.

But that lit him into a blaze. Back bristling.

"I've wounded you? Have I? Color me shocked, as I couldn't even begin to see it on you."

"No, I'd have to try much harder, wouldn't I? I'd have to give much more strenuous effort to get you to give me the courtesy of your anger."

He stepped forward, a burning shadow.

"But anger seems to be beneath you. Funny. The apple falls far from the tree but won't gouge the rot from its core."

A physical shot of shock struck through her, face hitching in a wince. Her eyes clenched closed, a sharp intake of breath hissing through teeth.

And, just like that, he stopped. She lifted her eyes to a horrified silence settling over his face.

"Too far." She whispered, a grief laced laugh at the edges.

"Aurum, I'm s-"

"We're leaving." Astarion's hand came to her back, propelling forward between shoulder blades.

Gale stepped forward, tears filling the corners of his eyes. Reaching out for her hand.

"Don't touch her." Astarion threatened, voice deadly sharp. Holding Gale's stare.

"You're lucky she loves you, I would so enjoy taking you apart."

His voice fell into a low laugh.

"Though, let's hope she won't for much longer. After the blood you've spilt."

"Come, darling." He encouraged again, voice laced in posh reassurance.

Aurum nodded, cold in the aftermath of shock. Grateful to have someone to take her from him. She paused at the door, bolstered in Astarion's presence. Turning to level her hurt at him.

"I chose you. After everything... I chose you. Remember that."

Gale's face split in a desperate take of breath. Propelled torward to her again, a pleading apology forming on his lips.

But she was already turning, nodding at Astarion. The door leading out of the Elfsong a punctuation falling closed behind them.

-

The world tilted sideways, cool river stones against her temple. Circling call of insects from somewhere high in the grass. Moving water tickling her knuckles.

As water danced around her fingers, salt water flowed down the arch of her nose. Silent tears dripping down onto smooth stone. Laying on her side, hidden in the reeds.

It had been a long time since she had held the full weight of her grief. And Gods was it exhausting to carry.

A blistering warm hand spread wide across her back.

Karlach didn't speak, settling on folded legs behind her. Lifting her head onto her lap, fingers carding gently through her hair.

Aurum squeezed her shin, blinking hot tears onto her leather thighs.

They didn't speak for a long time, just holding in her silence. Her thigh getting wet with tears.

"I'm so tired."

"I know." Karlach smiled gently above her.

"I'm so tired of him tied to me." Her voice hollow in its pain. "I just want to sleep. I want to sleep at night."

"I know, baby. I've heard your night terrors."

Aurum swallowed, turning her face into Karlach's solid thigh. "Please, can I just sleep?"

Karlach cupped under her cheek, leaning down to tilt her temple into hers. Folding over her in silent protection.

Murmuring against her hair.

"I'll hold you, okay? Sleep a little."

Aurum's fingers tightened on her shin, then loosened in exhaustion. Body giving to the fall gratefully.

"Thank you." A soft sigh. Her eyes lead weighted. Pulled deep into the earth.

Falling for only a moment, then quick pulled away by the tide.

Gurgling. Thrashing.

No. Not here again.

Thrashing. Fingernails clawing at her wrist.

Come on. Wake up.

Black hair in her fist. Water sloshing into her forearm. Adrenaline cold in her veins.

Wake up!

"Aurum! Wake up!"

Karlach caught her as she fell backward, the memory disintegrating around her. Distantly aware of a scream, realizing it to be her own.

"You're here! You're back!" Karlach called over her hitching screams, holding her tight to her warm chest.

Aurum panted, wide-eyed in panic. Gripping at her back.

"Shhh... breathe, soldier."

"How long was that?" Aurum finally gasped out.

"About three hours."

Karlach pointed at the horizon.

"Look, the sun is coming up."

Tears pooled disappointed in her eyes, blinking them away with a steadying huff of breath. Cold acceptance bolstering her.

"That's better than nothing." Wiping away with sure fingers. "We have too much to do today."

"Do you want me to, well, let's say encourage Gale to stay back today?"

"No. We need him. We'll need all the firepower we can get."

"You're sure your up to it?" Her voice tender in concern

What choice did she have?

Aurum nodded, rolling her shoulders. Psyching herself up.

"Oh, Gortash is going to feel so good under my boot." Karlach growled.

-

"I need to see him." Karlach shuddered, nearly avoiding her gaze. "I need to be sure."

They drew forward, Gortash's still body laid face down in a pool of blood.

Karlach flipped him onto his back with a kick of her boot.

"That's... it?"

She stared down at his slack face. Eyes clouding and rolled into sockets.

"He's just... dead? Am I getting that right?"

Her voice rose in anger as she began to tirade.

"He's dead, and he isn't sorry. And I'm still dying."

Turning to Aurum with desperate rage.

"You're dying and I'm dying, and we get to join this fucker in the City of Judgement soon! And you-"

Turning on Gale and Astarion.

"You'll just keep going won't you. Watching the stars, warming yourself by the campfire, dancing, drinking, feeling the blood in your veins. All of it!"

Fire ripped from her with the same grief burned fury as her words. Locking eyes with Aurum.

"That's our reward, for all we've suffered! To burn away into fucking ash!"

She fell to knees, pushing her temples into her fingers. Voice shaking with drained rage.

"It isn't fair. I don't want it like this."

Aurum kneeled to her and slid under her arms, holding their bright chests to each other. The seat of their dual demise pressed in embrace. Blood slow soaking up their knees.

"I don't want to die. I want to stay." She wailed, gripping into the armor on Aurum's back. "I want you to stay."

"We can stay for a little longer." Aurum hushed into her ear.

"But what then? What the fuck are we supposed to do?"

"Hold on. We're supposed to hold on to each other."

Karlach sobbed into her shoulder, burying her face into her hair. Wide hands pulling tight. Two figures standing tearful watch of two entwined, bracing in the face of the inevitable.

"She's in good hands." Wyll's clapped down on her shoulder. "Get some rest, my friend."

She knew there was very little of that on her horizon, but appreciated the gesture anyway. Giving him a grateful smile.

He gave her two pats in depart, heading down the hall.

Aurum padded quietly, then finally stood at the barrier. Their small shared world beyond. A portal separated by oak.

She could feel him inside. The quiet of the room ahead held in anticipation. A silent statement:

You will have to face him, eventually.

She put her hand on the knob and moved through the veil.

Gale stood on the balcony, facing away from her. Back tense.

Closing the door softly, she came to the bed. Sitting down, letting down her hair. Taking a few deep breaths before announcing her presence.

"Gale?" Her voice low, not bothering to hide her exhaustion.

He whirled around. Eyes landing on her stained and raw with tears.

Rushing forward, he fell at her lap. Kneeling at her altar, seeking to beg for forgiveness.

"I'm so so sorry." He gasped, head bowed at her knees. Hands grasping blind at her thighs. "I love you so much. So completely. How could I speak to you like that?"

"I'm so disgusted with myself!" He buried his eyes into his forearm. "I've never deserved your love, and now I don't even deserve to be in your presence."

He looked in wild desperation no higher than her clavicle. Making eye contact with her light smothered chest, crumbling further into himself. Face tight with grief.

"Please, leave me. Stop loving me."

She ran her hands through his hair, staring down at him. Only patient love pouring from her touch.

Despite his pleas, when she cupped his face, he leaned into her. Eyes closing tight, pressing his hand over hers.

"Gale, look at me." She whispered.

His teeth gritting, he slowly opened his dark circled eyes. Black and shining with prisms of tears.

"Did you eat today? When we got back?"

His lower lip trembled, face turning from hers in a sudden ragged sob.

"Here," She hushed, pulling under his shoulders. "Let's get you taken care of."

Aurum's lap damp, she gently washed his hair. Bath water steaming around his slumped shoulders.

Random boughts of quiet tears would hitch his chest. His hand kept reaching back to weakly pull her away from him. Her hands returning to their work in the same motion, undeterred.

"Lean back." She encouraged, tipping his head gently with her fingertips.

He slowly revealed his face to her, eyes tightly closed.

"Water." She warned softly. Pouring it through his hair in two steaming bucket fulls. Pulling the soaps through with a massage on his scalp with her free hand. Her front thoroughly wet now.

She slid the bucket away with her foot and cupped the back of his head in both hands. Leaning down to whisper the softest kisses on his swollen eyes. The skin tight and warm under her lips.

"Do you think you could eat?" She murmured.

He shook his head, gripping white knuckle on her forearm. Eyes still willed shut.

"Could you try? For me?"

"I... my stomach. It hurts."

"Nauseous?"

He nodded.

"Okay, I'll get you some tea."

His eyes finally opened.

"Why are you doing this?" Voice shaken in desperate guilt. Ripping through his chest.

She kissed his forehead. "Come on, let's get you dry."

She wrapped him in a bath robe, wringing out his hair in a towel. Sitting on the bed behind him.

The cup of tea sat still in his hands, near limp in his lap. Head still bowed, refusing to actively participate in her care.

"It's getting cold." She encouraged, bending her leg around his folded knee. Nudging gently with the heel of her foot on his shin.

He shook his head in a small tremor.

She sighed, reaching around to take the mug from his loose grip.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" Her voice soft with reproach.

Lifting the mug above her shoulder, she swung her thigh around his hip. Standing on knees, she took a pull of ginger tea into her mouth. Holding him by the crest of his chin.

Pulling with a gentle resolve on his jaw, she pressed her lips to his. Pushing the mouthful into him in an open kiss.

He gripped at her wrist, shock opening his mouth to her.

Taking her advantage, she took another swig. Leaning his head back, pouring from her into him. Thumb caressing his throat in an encourage to swallow.

He finally relented, his throat pulsing under her hand. Allowing her to sustain him. The whole cup drunk between them as tears streamed down his temples.

"Thought you were going to let me drown you for a second." She laughed, thumbing away his tears.

"Would you?" His request a little too sincere.

"No." She chirped easily. "And I would feed you from my mouth if you'd let me."

She kissed both of his cheeks, pushing her body forward. Encouraging him to lay back. He fell, hand hovering over her lower back for a moment before resting in its usual home.

She was still sweaty, damp, and honestly, hungry. But she would be damned if she didn't ensure his sleep before attending to herself.

Laying her full weight on his body, she hitched one leg over his hip. Turning her head into his chest. Softly trailing little caresses into the skin along the base of his hairline.

He shivered, leaning his head to the side. Angling open to her touch.

She smiled, other hand rising to run parallel. Just the slightest skating of her nails added.

His cock stirred beneath her, and she slow rocked her hips into him. Feeling it get more rigid at her encouraging.

His hands fell to her hips, starting to push her away.

"Are you still upset with me?" She whispered into his chest. Allowing him to pause her.

"What? No!" He breathed.

She leaned up on forearms, staring tender down into his tear exhausted eyes.

"Do you want me to go?"

"I..." His eyes darted uncertain, but his hands pulled her down into him.

She waited, patiently running figure eights on the hair along his chest.

"No." He finally stated, eyes boring sincerity into her. "Never."

His hands took up in her same slow wave on her hips, asking.

She smiled at him, leaning on her propped palm. Grinding in time, eyes starting to glaze over. Breath coming out a little more strained. Pleasure blooming from her pelvis.

Sliding her other knee up, she leaned up to sit between his thigh and hip. Friction from her underclothes sending hitching jolts with each rock forward. Propping his knee up to anchor her hands on his outer thigh. Her hips suddenly insistent.

He gasped out, rising up to pull on her ass in assistance. Staring at her rutting with awed lust. Positioning her into the hard ridge of his hip bone.

She whimpered into the back of her throat. It had been so long since she had pleasured herself this way. The simplicity of it struck a flint of something primal in her. Chasing her heat in fast thrusts against his hip. Her exhaustion left her unabashed in her seeking. Face tensed, small cries leaving her as she quickly climbed.

"Yes, yes," He hushed, seeing the feral lust she ground into him. "Yes, please- oh Gods that's so sexy-"

Her peak fast barreling, she gripped fingers into his thigh. His hard cock weeping next to the grazing of her thrusting.

Her moans muffled into needy squeaks in her throat, building and quickly connecting into a soft chorus. The desperate ache in her pelvis about to collapse.

"Please cum, just like that." He gasped out, rising onto a propped hand. "Yes, use me. Use me for your pleasure. Gods, don't stop-"

Her orgasm hit her in writhes, pushing hard down into his pelvis. Riding it out in flattening fast drives. His hip soaked with her cum.

She fell into his propped thigh, turning her head into the top of his knee. Gasping and basking in the afterglow for a moment.

But she still had a goal in mind.

He had leaned up to twine his arms around her front, but she slipped down first. Settling on her belly between his legs. Dragging a flat tongue up from the base of his cock.

He shuddered, twitching up towards her mouth. Giving a silent plea.

"Aurum, wait-" He huffed, winding a hand into her hair. Unconsciously pulling toward his center. Body uninterested in his guilt.

She gave one hard suck, seating him to the back of her throat. His body arched under her, hand leaving her hair to grip into sheets. Panting out a hitching whine.

If he thought she had stopped taking care of him, he was dead wrong.

She bobbed her head, slurping loudly as her tongue pulled flat and twisted. Hand taking up at his base, her dripping saliva easily coated under her fist. Pumping tight pulls, mouth suctioning and sloppy.

His head turned into the bed above her, pushing loud uncontrolled moans into a pillow. Thighs twitching in jolts, belly getting more and more tense. She laid her palm on his lower belly, feeling the muscles bucking under her.

She could tell he was going to cum hard, the lower half of his body moving independent of his control. Ribs curling up, one palm pushing on the headboard. Still muffling his loud cries into cotton.

She seated him all the way in her throat, holding her breath. Hand tightening even more, blurring in fast thrusts.

His head shot down, rising on elbows. Shock ripping through his blinding pleasure.

She looked up through lashes at him, and starting swallowing. Humming in the back of her throat.

"Ah! AH!!!"

His head craned back, body tremoring in a deep tense. Hips fucking up into her throat.

She opened her throat for him, holding still as he thrust deep into her. Cum shooting warm waves down her esophagus. Her cunt fluttering, gripping his ass in her hands. Encouraging the drive of his hips. Starting to get lightheaded but with no drive to stop.

His hand cupped hard over his mouth, stifling final loud whimpers and half formed pleading words.

He fell boneless into the mattress, eyes rolling loose in sockets. Hips still twitching with aftershock.

Rising back into a kneel, she wiped her mouth. Finally allowing her anger to take root.

"To answer your question." She patted genially on his hip. His body jolted at the touch.

"I did this one: because I love you." She held up a single finger.

"And two..." Lifting another. "Because giving you love you don't believe you deserve must hurt you as much as you've hurt me."

He went still below her.

"I'm going to find some idea of sleep in the common area."

She leaned down to kiss softly along his jaw.

"Have sweet dreams." She sighed, rising back. Leg swinging off the bed.

"No!" He huffed, hand grasping her thigh. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

His voice shook with fear. As if her walking out now meant forever.

She paused, finally settling to sit at the edge of the bed.

He sighed in great relief.

"Why were you so cruel earlier?" She wound her fingers into his.

"I... I think..." He leaned up the headboard, head low in thought.

"I thought that if you got angry with me, really angry... you would be more honest with me. That it would push you to speak your mind."

She nodded. She thought that was his goal.

"But I just... Gods, I don't know where that venom came from. I said some things that I wouldn't say to anyone."

"Yeah, calling me rotten like my father was pretty awful."

His eyes flinched, out of tears but still trying.

"Unforgivable. I can't explain enough how remorseful I am. I am going to regret that well after my death."

"I appreciate the apology. But honestly, given everything you know about me, it's going to take a while to forgive you."

He nodded, face drawn in deserved sorrow.

"But, for now, I would like to hold you. I really do want you to sleep well. One of us has to."

Another shot of guilt struck him. Pulling her by fingers up to his chest.

"Night terrors again?"

"Yep. The screaming one."

He didn't know the context of that nightmare but had held her in the aftermath of it.

"What... can you tell me...?"

She encouraged him to lay down, wrapping around his back. Nuzzling into his shoulder.

"When I've had that one," She kissed his shoulder. "Do I ever go for your hair?"

He paused in thought.

"Once. It was over quickly, but you..." He pantomimed a hand gripping into the back of his head.

Her own guilt ate her. Shuddering out a sigh.

"I'm sorry, baby."

He tried to turn to face her, but she held strong. Laying her temple into the curve of his neck.

"Just let me hold you."

"What I said... by all that is good in this world. I am-"

"Shhh, I know. You've groveled enough."

He huffed, unamused.

"I love you." She smiled.

"I love you. A thousand times over."

~

[captinamericashusband]

The Love Letter | Steve Rogers/Captain America x Male!Reader

A/N: Another Steve Rogers fanfic because he is a cutie. This one is way shorter than my first fic and not the best writing I've done admittedly. Anyways, enjoy!

P.S. Stream Short n' Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter 💋

The Love Letter

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Y/N, too afraid to verbally confess his feelings for Steve, gives him a love letter instead

Warnings: Sad

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

Natasha stared bewildered at Y/N, aggressively punching the boxing dummy in the team's training room. With each continuous whack, growing strength with each successive hit, the dent in the dummy's torso grew larger. Natasha observed that he only acted this vehemently if something was bothering him. The last time this occurred was after a botched mission that resulted in numerous accidental deaths and tonnes of paperwork. As Y/N began winding down from his strenuous training, Natasha approached him, already having a slight idea for the cause of his trouble.

“It’s Steve isn’t it?” she abruptly asked. 

Y/N glanced towards her with a questioning look. “I’m sorry?”

“You like him, but you’re too scared to tell him.”

Y/N stared at her, trying to maintain a look that conveyed he was completely unsure as to what she was on about. However, he soon cracked under the pressure of her intense piercing gaze and gave her a resigned look. Sighing, he said, “Was I that obvious?”

"Y/N, we all see the way you ogle him." Y/N's jaw slightly clenched at his obliviousness to his obvious crushing. "The whole team knows, and I wouldn't be surprised if Steve himself did too."

Y/N let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his hair. He always hated Natasha’s cunning observational skills. But he was aware this time his long-term crush was exposed at his fault. “I just don’t know how to tell him. I mean, what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Natasha lightly placed her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re not going to ruin anything by telling him. There’s nothing wrong with being honest. Plus, there could be the chance he likes you also.”

Y/N’s head shook slightly. “I’m not sure how to tell him without completely embarrassing myself in front of him.”

Natasha’s expression turned deep with thought. Then, the metaphorical light bulb lit up in her head. "Maybe you should write him a letter. That way nothing you’ll say will be misconstrued. It's the most objective way to say your feelings for him, Y/N."

Y/N glanced towards Natasha, unaware if she was serious or saying everything in jest. "Wouldn't it be easier if I sent him a text message?"

Natasha shook her head. "Letters are more romantic. Plus, Steve is old-fashioned. I'm sure he'd appreciate it more than some lacklustre text."

As Natasha left the training grounds, Y/N began thinking deeply about her suggestion. He never imagined telling Steve about his feelings, let alone confessing through a handwritten letter. The worse that could occur, he thought, was that Steve would reject him and the entire trajectory of any friendship they had would completely change beyond recognition. However, the idea of Steve being whisked away by anyone else was enough to fill him with dread. He couldn't have a repeat of his emotions during Steve's brief fling with Sharon Carter. Tear-dampened tissues filled his room the week he heard the news – he reached a new low during that time. After his shower in the gym's adjacent locker room, Y/N began devising what he would say and how exactly he would say it.

Walking back to his room, Y/N made a brief detour to one of Tony's several printers scattered around the compound to grab several sheets of paper. He was already anticipating the inevitable drafts that would end up in his garbage bin. As he sat on his desk, cracking his knuckles before putting pen to paper, he hoped whatever monstrosity he would conjure would convey his feelings in a way that Steve would fully reciprocate them.

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After three hours and several tossed crumpled balls of paper in his garbage, Y/N finally created what he thought was the best thing he had ever written. Skimming through it again, he started thinking otherwise and that it was actually really bad. The letter read:

Steve,

I've been thinking a lot lately, and I finally decided I needed to air it out. Natasha suggested writing you a letter, and honestly, I was hesitant at first. But the more I considered it, I realised it was the only suitable option for this situation. I know you're not the type for overly grand gestures, so I'll keep it simple.

Ever since we met, I've been admiring you. Not just for the reason that you're Captain America, but also for what I've seen in who you are as a person. Your kindness, bravery, strength, and dedication amongst many more of your qualities are things I've come to deeply respect. Over time, these feelings I felt for you have grown from something more than admiration – something I never expected.

I've tried to hide it, but I'm not sure I can anymore. I like you, Steve. I really like you a lot, as more than a friend. I know you've been through a lot, so I don't want any of this to complicate you any further. I just needed to tell you how I feel. I value the friendship we have, and I don't want this to negatively change that.

I understand if you don't feel the same way. If you'd prefer it, we could both pretend I never wrote you this. But if there is a chance you feel the same, maybe we could both see where this goes. No pressure, no expectations – just honesty.

Y/N

After rereading it for the fifth time, Y/N decided this was the best it would get. If Steve hated it, then so be it. Y/N put the letter in a sleek dark brown envelope from a stationary set he bought earlier from a high-end arts and crafts store. Since it was for Steve, he had splurged on whatever he could in hopes it would convey the seriousness of his feelings.

As Y/N walked towards Steve’s room, a feeling of severe anxiety washed over him, causing him to fidget with the letter between his fingers. The outcomes of the letter-sending were so polar that he wasn’t sure if his feelings were worth the chance. On one hand, Steve would feel the same and both would live happily ever after. On the other, Steve would downright reject him, their friendship would be destroyed, and the awkwardness would find a way to infiltrate its way into the team, getting in the way of their world-saving. 

Steve’s door came into view, and the urge to turn around and leave became stronger for Y/N. Before Y/N could back down, he heard footsteps descending the hallway’s corner. After quickly slipping the letter under the door frame, Y/N ran in the opposite direction. Whatever was to ensue after was up in the hands of whichever deity was out there.

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The team assembled for dinner shortly after Y/N’s letter made it to Steve’s room. As he sat in his designated spot beside Natasha, his hands started becoming clammy, and his head became nauseous with worrying thoughts. Steve has yet to arrive at the table. Coughing lightly, Y/N turned towards Natasha. 

“I did it, Nat.” Y/N quivered softly. 

“Did what, Y/N/N?” She said in between her chewing.

“I sent him the letter. Earlier this evening, I sent him the letter. God, I can’t believe I listened to you.”

Natasha turned her head, eyes wide in disbelief. Before she could respond, Steve walked into the dining room. The team greeted him, including Y/N whose voice wavered slightly upon seeing the man he so recently confessed his feelings for. Steve’s eyes wandered around the table until they stopped on Y/N. The two looked at each other, and Y/N’s stomach churned. He tried to read Steve’s expression, but it was indistinguishable. As his heart pounded, his hands trembled under the table. 

Natasha slightly nudged Y/N with her elbow. “Relax, Y/NN. Just see how he acts.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. As Steve approached the table, he pulled the chair directly in front of Y/N, sitting down with a small smile. “Hey, everyone,” Steve greeted, his voice soft and supple, smiling brightly at the team. 

Y/N managed to contort a crooked smile in return. “Hi, Steve.” His voice wavered once again and his cheeks blushed. He looked down towards his plate in hopes no one noticed.

As the team continued with their conversation – Bruce and Tony bantering about lab tech, Thor sharing a story about Asgard, and Clint making sarcastic remarks near the table’s end – Y/N kept glancing towards. Steve looked relaxed, but every so often, his eyes would also meet Y/N’s, and Y/N’s stomach would be sent into a spiral of front flips. 

At one point, Steve met Y/N’s gaze and held it for longer than usual. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. He knew at that point that Steve must have read the letter. There was no other reason for the glances they shared with each other, and the slight glint of something in Steve’s eyes. He could already sense the inevitable conversation Steve was about to confront him with in the not-so-distant future.

Dinner continued, and eventually, the team started to disperse. As for Y/N, his heart sank as he remembered it was his turn to wash the dishes today. Today of all days. Even more troubling, Steve had volunteered behind to help with cleaning. Y/N already knew where this was going to lead. With one last glance at Natasha who offered him a reassuring smile, it was just Y/N and Steve left together.

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The kitchen was dead silent as the two men cleared the table, the clinking of dishes and the sound of running water from the sink being the only interruption. Y/N could feel Steve’s presence beside him – comforting and warm, but tonight it felt different. Heavy. He couldn’t conjure the courage to look at him, instead focusing on aggressively rubbing a stubborn stain on one of the plates.

Finally, after what like an eternity, Steve finally broke the silence. “Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a certain softness that made Y/N’s heart beat faster. “About the letter…”

Y/N froze, squeezing the sponge in his hand hard. He knew this was bound to happen, but hearing Steve’s voice mention his letter still made him incredibly nervous. Slowly, he turned towards Steve, ready for whatever he was about to be hit with. “Yeah?” he managed to whisper, his voice barely managing to make it above a whisper.

Steve fully turned towards Y/N, setting down the dish he was currently drying and meeting his eyes. His expression was serious, and his blue eyes were holding a feeling Y/N couldn’t decipher – nervousness, maybe, or regret. “I read it,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that I’m honoured that you trust me enough to share your feelings with me. I really am.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. He felt the impending doom through Steve’s tone. Y/N nodded slowly, attempting to keep his emotions in check. “But…?”

Steve took a deep breath, he turned away briefly before meeting Y/N’s eyes again. “But I don’t feel the same way,” he said, voice firm but soft. “I care about you a lot, Y/N, as a friend. I value our friendship and I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t see you the same way as you see me.”

Y/N’s felt his heart shatter, the pieces were spiralling into a million jagged edges. The pain was worse than anything he experienced. It felt worse than any gunshot or stab wound he ever endured. “I understand,” he said. It was evident he was trying to hold back tears. “I just thought… maybe…”

Steve’s hand hovered above Y/N’s. He hesitated before retracting it, unsure if Y/N wanted to be touched or not. “I really am sorry, Y/N. I don’t want to make this awkward between us. I value our friendship too much for that.”

Y/N could only nod again. His chest swelled with a numbing feeling. He then realised what the glint was in Steve’s eyes. It was pity. “Yeah, no I totally understand,” he muttered. He stared at the soapy water. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid – I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Steve said gently. “It was not stupid at all. You have every right to express your feelings. I’m just sorry I couldn’t give you the answer you were looking for, Y/N.”

Y/N could feel the tears pooling near the ducts of his eyes. The weight of the rejection fully settled on his shoulders. “Yeah well…thank you for being honest. I appreciate it, I guess,” he whispered, turning back to the dishes to hide the tears now streaming down his cheeks. He scrubbed at the plates more force than necessary, trying to channel to pain he was feeling towards his hands. 

Steve hesitated. It was clear he wanted to say more, but he could tell Y/N wanted him to leave. “I really am sorry, Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t trust himself to speak again, afraid his voice would hint at the tears leaving his eyes. After a brief moment of silence, he could hear Steve’s footsteps retracting from the kitchen.

When he was sure Steve was gone, Y/N let out a shaky breath before letting his tears fall freely. He gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white in an attempt to hold himself together. But it was to no avail. He slid down to the floor, back against the kitchen sink. The pain was too raw to hold in. As he buried his head in his hands, he sobbed and prayed that no one would walk in and see his miserable self.

He was fully prepared for the possibility of rejection. But everything in him was hoping Steve would feel the same. That the future he envisioned for both of them together would become real somehow. The heartache he felt was unbearable, and each breath he took was a struggle as he attempted to calm himself down. Was he not good enough for Steve? Was he not attractive enough? Y/N started internally beating himself, trying to find the reason he wasn’t desirable for the only person he could ever want.    

Minutes passed, maybe hours; Y/N wasn’t sure. Eventually, the tears started slowing down and his breathing became more shallow. He wiped his tears with the back of his hand, taking a few shaky breaths before standing up. He knew he had to pick himself up and move on. But for now, Y/N could let himself wallow in his grief. 

As he walked back to his room, he couldn’t help but think if he could ever face Steve without breaking all over again. 

FIN

A/N: Sorry! Hope you enjoyed! Next one will be cute as fuck I didn't enjoy writing this one that much actually it didn't fill me with happy giddy feelings.

[blossombriefs]

Noodles | A Goku OneShot

Authors Note: I'd write something short and sweet while I'm on a creative high! Drop a like and a follow if you like what you're reading! I'm gonna be posting around 2/3 times a week! I'd also love to follow back other writers :3 Update: MY MASTERLIST IS NOW PINNED TO MY PAGE! Summary: You meet Goku for a blind date after being set up by a friend Content: Goku x reader, SFW, cute, gender neutral reader Word Count: 908 Words

You were ecstatic that your friend Android 18 had set you up on a date with one of her friends. It had honestly been a while since your last date and you loved everything you had heard about her friend Goku. You dressed yourself up in your cutest outfit as you left the house with a bounce in your step. The sun hung rather low in the sky which casted a warm glow over the city as you navigated your way through the crowded streets. You sometimes find it overwhelming with the amount of people around you but your head was preoccupied about your date, the man you were meeting and where this might then take you.

As you approached your meeting point, you spotted Goku standing with a hand firmly against his waist. You could see him looking around for you, dressed in his iconic orange gi which made him easily recognisable as you got closer. He stood tall, his stature was muscular and his head housed thick, black spikes. Once he had clocked your approach, he waved with a friendly smile which assisted a wave of nervous excitement to rush through you.

"Hi! Are you Goku?" you smile toward him sweetly, trying to hide the flutter in your stomach.

Goku's face lit up with a wide grin, "Yeah! Nice to meet you! You must be Y/N? 18 told me all about you!"

As the two of you exchanged pleasantries you took a moment to admire the man in front of you. His friendly, goofy, and easygoing nature was helping to put you right at ease. You guys had decided on dining at a local ramen shop, Goku held the door open for you as you both entered. The first thing to greet you both was the chime of a light bell followed by the savoury aroma of the fresh, simmering broth. You could've sworn Goku was ready to levitate towards the scent. Your stomach growled in anticipation of your meal.

Settling in at a corner booth, you took in the cosy and warming atmosphere. The restaurant wasn't busy but there were still a few patrons sitting around, none necessarily close to you which allowed for a bit more privacy. The walls were a warm brown, decorated with beautiful hand-painted art, and the ceilings were dotted with soft overhead lights that complemented the wooden tables and chairs. Goku eagerly gripped a menu, his eyes widening at the selection of ramen that the restaurant had to offer. The waiting staff approached the table and you could tell his curiosity was getting the better of him as he smiled, "We should try a little bit of everything!"

Your eyes sparkled looking across the table to your date as you nodded your head in agreement, "That sounds perfect to me!"

You engaged in some small talk, his bright personality really drew you in. He shared some stories of the recent adventures he'd shared with his friends and his intense training sessions. You nodded along enthusiastically as you told him about yourself too. It wasn't long until you were greeted by the first bowl, Goku's eyes gleaming in pure delight. You looked up at him from across the table, blushing embarrassingly as you attempted to pick up your chopsticks.

"I uh," you started, fumbling the sticks between your fingers. "I actually don't really know how these work. I'm so used to using a fork."

Responding with a smile and a gentle pat at the wooden bench beside him, he signaled with his head that he wanted to show you the ropes. "Let me help you out, c'mon!"

Just like Goku you were also up for a challenge. You perched yourself beside him as he gently took your hand in his, positioning the chopsticks in your hand as he moved your fingers to the right place. As you ate together you could feel yourself fumbling them but it would lead to shared giggles between the two of you. Gradually the waiters brought out the rest of your feast. Noodles upon noodles, sushi platters, dumplings and much more traditional Japanese cuisine. Each one you enjoyed together, even if Goku ate significantly more of the food than you could let yourself indulge in. Between each bite he couldn't help but look up at you with a smile, "This was such a good idea. I'm so glad we came here!"

You beamed to him in response, "I'm glad we did too Goku! It's been a lovely day so far."

The evening slowly unfolded under the shared laughter you had over the warm bowls of broth, vegetables and noodles. You could feel a genuine connection with him. You bonded over so much and the way he made you laugh was unlike anyone really had before.

When you both left the restaurant the streetlights illuminated the now darkened city and the streets were much more tame, most people had already headed home by this point in the night. Goku rubbed the back of his neck, smiling down to you, "This was really fun! I haven't had that much fun in such a long time!"

"Me too Goku! Thank you," you say with a shuffle of your feet and a blush. He sighed happily as he carefully took your hand in his, the same hand he helped your chopsticks into.

"So how can I contact you? You know... for the second date? If you're interested that is..."