#a part of his brain has been CHURNING OUT THOUGHTS

[flowerflamestars]

the rolling in the graves snippet

Nesta’s voice emerged from the closet, breathless with anger in a way that piqued Lucien’s every interest, entire focusing concern. “It has to be the silk taffeta?” Word spit like a curse, coming around the corner half in a bodice she was quite actively falling out of, Nesta froze at the sight of Lucien in the middle of white rug she hated. Stopped, one arm crossed over her chest, and like it didn’t break him clean in half, smiled. That quick quirk, her real smile, sharp and small. “Lucien.” In daylight, in domesticity, her sister rattling around downstairs, Nesta saying his name. Lucien slid forward, mindful of the intimacy it truly was, brushing his palm down her bare arm. “Nesta.” She made a face, a quick-change of amusement, scowling gorgeous at the pause before she pulled him close. An exhale, the slow sloping sun of late afternoon picking up a brighter, bloodier metric across her walls, pink and gold across Nesta’s bare skin. Even Lucien’s magic wanted. “Nesta,” Lucien said again, heedless of half filling his mouth with her hair, “What’s wrong?” Shoulders low and teeth sharp against his collarbone, Nesta nuzzled as close as skin and bone would allow, before she sighed. “Fucking temple before dinner. Feyre wants us to match.” “Like children,” Elain said, sunnily, from the doorway, unbothered by their closeness or the hiss Nesta let out, pure temper in the sound. “Mother had better taste.” “Mother was a tyrant,” Nesta heaved out, tipped back in Lucien’s arms but not away, hand bunched in his shirt more than a small wonder. She turned in place, wordlessly offering him her half-bared back, pink-blotched neck curved down. “Vanserra’s good with knots.” His first, desperate urge, was to kiss her nape. To follow Nesta down, heady on the sheer acknowledgement of one true thing. His second was to start lighting things on fire. Lucien could see where she’d tried to get it herself. Where the boning, structuring sheer panels around her waist, had dug in so deep as to leave marks. “Gifts,” Nesta sighed, poisonous. “From the High Lord.”

[livinghostly]

i will hold on to you for as long as you let me — megumi fushiguro x mom!reader, satoru gojo x reader

a/n: sorryyy the fushiguro-gojo family dynamic was rotting my brain and i needed this out of my system. LOTS of projection of my fear of growing up in this one soz. this was fully meant to be a drabble and it just kept going idk wc: 3.1k angst/fluff. mom!reader has a lot of bittersweet thoughts about megumi growing up and satoru is there to comfort <3 lots of parentheses and lots of repetition

you put on a brave face all day. all week, even. despite the burn in your chest that engulfed your lungs and squeezed unrelentingly. despite the tears that burned the corners of your eyes delicately balancing on the your waterline, one blink away from breaking the surface density and opening the floodgates to pour down your cheeks. despite the non-stop ache of your stomach, churning what you ate every day but still holding the same emptiness as anxiety consumed you.

megumi didn’t pack much, he never held on to many things to begin with. (you always prayed for that to change, for his comfort your home. you prayed he would see it as his own, as well). he neatly folded his clothes into his suitcases and stacked his hangers on top. he purchased a new sheet set for his bed in the dormitory because the one he was used to was much bigger, much softer. 

he packed most of his books, carefully picking out the ones that tugged at the nostalgic parts of him, frayed along the edges after many years of re-reading, as well the ones that still had vibrant covers and stiff spines he hoped to finish. you noticed the leather journal he kept tied together– the ink-blotted pages bursting at the seams –sitting on the shelf before he tucked it into his box of personal belongings. it was his third one since living with you, all filled to every last page and used beyond ruin. the rest were hidden between his headboard and the wall. you pretended not to know, after stumbling upon them while changing his sheets.

closing the door to your home felt eerily empty. it looked the same as every day. the couch was cleaned and the floors swept. dishes rinsed and promptly put away. but with your lingering gaze your mind fixated on the dining table set for four, two adult pairs of shoes at the door, one pink backpack slumped on the hook of the closet door with an empty space below. your chest twisted at the lack of clutter, though it’d been like that for some time, with tsumiki and megumi growing older and cleaning up after themselves properly like you taught them. like you wanted. the pride you initially felt with those memories of parenting were becoming eclipsed with resentment and despair.

the ride to school was quick and familiar, megumi knew well what he was getting into after visiting there to train. satoru liked to call them little getaways from megumi’s civilian life, claiming he wasted too much time around non-sorcerers when he could be on missions with his ever-loving benefactor instead.

satoru, who was whining while he laid himself across the three seats in the back of your car. you’d banished him there for such a special occasion, and he threatened to transport himself to the school alone. an empty threat, at best. he didn’t want to miss this. 

megumi had sparred with the older students and found himself thrown around the field many times already. he knew his way to the infirmary by heart, he knew where gojo tucked away his most powerful curse-imbued weapons (that were supposed to be under the surveillance of higher ups), and knew what letter-number combination granted him the ginger chips nobody else seemed to like. 

you were glad he was comfortable. you were glad he would fall into routine easily after the repeated trips to jujutsu high and developing a rapport with his upperclassmen. you’d waited for the day that he’d truly be part of the jujutsu world and welcomed into a better suited environment for people like him. and you knew he would be great, he already possessed an incredible technique and wielded it like he’d been fine-tuning it since birth. far ahead from most kids his age, you were proud.

still, your gut was sinking, sinking, sinking into the floor with each passing second.

megumi picked his room in one of the far-away corners of the boys dormitory, leaving inumaki and panda heartbroken (panda said he would find a way to organize sleepover. megumi said he would drop out before that happened. inumaki cried– no, wailed at the rejection). yuuta fell into step with you, slipping one of the boxes out of your hands and insisting on helping instead. it was sweet, if it didn’t feel like he was ripping precious time away from you.

but you smiled, and granted his wish. megumi wasn’t complaining, he liked yuuta more than the others. it was a good chance for them to talk more. all of this, a chance, a new chapter, the rest of his life. the thoughts weighed on your shoulders with a disgusting strain traveling to your fingertips.

you were painfully aware you were in your own head, doing this all to yourself. he wasn’t going away, you would still be seeing him, more than you used to when he went to his other schools. he would always be here.

satoru found you in your classroom, while you were organizing the stationary with an unnaturally stiff composure. your arms were tense, he could see the muscles constantly flexing with each of your movements.

your jaw was clenching and unclenching again. you made a point not to look outside, where the second-years were training brashly after successfully moving their things back into their dorms. you made a point not to meet satoru’s dangerous stare as he shut the door to your classroom, as if it granted any privacy with the seven large windows running along the wall that showcased the hallway. 

“what are you doing all by yourself, beautiful?” his tone was soft and inviting, begging you to open up and let yourself fall against the cushion of his words. 

“um,” you exhaled, voice shaky. you scrunched your face to break apart the tension that had hardened your expression. “i figured i would get a few things ready for tomorrow.”

it took satoru’s long legs two-and-a-half strides to meet you at your desk, where you gently shut the drawer. there were a handful of dated photographs in there, signed with his name and the chicken scratch of two children. 

“it’s all ready, baby. we did that last week.”

(correction: you did it. he tagged along for the shopping trip).

“there’s just… a few things...” you mumbled, not finding the strength to finish your own sentence. 

satoru gently placed his hand on your shoulder, emitting inhuman warmth that spread across your skin. you leaned into him as he dragged his hand down your arm and intertwined your fingers with the care of handling fine china. his presence brought you solace, effortlessly bringing the walls down that you desperately wanted to wait until you got home to break.

he kissed the back of your hand and rubbed the skin. “you know you’re going to see him every day, right?”

it was embarrassing how well satoru knew you, knew your thought process like it was an extension of his own. he knew your doubts and insecurities, your fears and desires. he could predict the words before they came from your mouth, more in tune with the way you spoke than his mother tongue.

“mhm.”

“you know we’re going to be the ones chaperoning his missions, right?”

you closed your eyes and looked away. “i know.”

“do you remember when he said he’d like to go home some weekends, and have dinner?”

“he said that to be nice.”

“when has he ever been nice?”

you opened your eyes to glare at him, though he was right. megumi was not nice. he was polite. he was too self-aware for his own good, too perceptive of others and their emotions. in all the time that you’d known him, raised him, he made himself smaller for the convenience of others. he walked on his tiptoes for a year and a half so no one else would wake up because of him. he made his own breakfast and bit back his tears when he burned himself. he didn’t ask for things or food and didn’t offer his input unless asked directly. for some time, he was a ghost in his own home. 

it seemed as soon as the bits of his shell started to break off, he was being swept away from you by the jujutsu world, leaving you with looming fears that consumed your mind and disrupted your sleep for weeks.

satoru smiled, though it was weighed down with your sadness. “hey, he’s not going anywhere, you know that. just because you’re not driving him home everyday doesn’t mean he’s gone.”

it’s funny, it’s nearly the same speech he gave you when tsumiki started middle school. and when megumi followed those same steps.

tsumiki didn’t make it this far, though.

the thought makes your lip wobble again, and you bite it back pathetically.

“i know. i know that. it’s just that…” your voice cracked, and you shoved your head in your hands. your palms squeezed your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the already-flowing tears. “he’s not my little boy anymore.”

satoru’s soothing hands pull you into a tight hug, and you don’t have it in you yet to move your hands from your face. his embrace makes you sob harder, louder as all your emotions from the last week begin to pour out at once. his chest rumbled with your cries, and he tucked you further under his arms as if to shield you from what was making you hurt so much. it was all you.

“baby…” he chuckled, without a hint mirth or mockery. he squeezed you with compassion and adoration. “you know that’s not true. he’s still pretty short, he’s got another growth spurt coming.”

a small laugh slipped through, but was quickly drowned out by your cries.

“he’ll be okay. he’s still here.”

he was so, so warm. he gently began to rock back and forth with you, the heels of your shoes gently clicking on the tile floor. a small hiccup erupted from you as you found the strength to wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest. the familiar thrum of his heartbeat welcomed you.

“i know, i’m sorry. i know he’s not leaving, or anything… i just… i thought i was ready.” you blubbered into his button-up. surely, there’d be two wet spots where your eyes were when you pulled away.

he swayed side to side with you, staring at the blackboard ahead of him. he nestled his chin on the top of your head, wondering if you could hear the cracks tearing through his heart. “it’s okay if you’re not ready. but you’re treating this like it's goodbye.”

“but what if we don’t get a goodbye?”

“okay, you really are overthinking this,” he pulled away from your embrace, your fingers still digging into the material of his shirt. he brushed away the hair covering your eyes, stuck to your skin by the wetness of your cheeks. streaks ran through your foundation and the corners of your eyes were smudged. “there you are. so pretty.”

it was silly how he believed he could make things better like that. it was silly that he was a little bit right.

“don’t think for a second i’ll let megumi be sent on a mission he can’t handle. he’s going to be fine.”

satoru’s love ran deep. for you, for megumi, for all his students. he fought curses everyday for you, rotted himself with his technique and stitched himself back up in a moment’s notice to fight for you. to come home to you. all of humanity be damned, those closest to him were the ones he fought for, and he would do everything in his power to preserve their lives.

he already towed the line with the higher-ups and their conservative rules and regulations, but he would tear them down if you asked. for megumi, he’d fight tooth and nail to see that he wasn’t being sent off on a mission ill-prepared. under his watch, things would be different for his students. 

you nodded meekly, wiping away your tears with one hand. “i hate when you’re right, toru. it’s really annoying.”

he smoothed down your hair and grinned. “i know, just let me have this one, though.”

his sweet murmurs filled your ears, along with the gentle shuffling of your clothes as you made yourself presentable again. you balled up your sleeves and patted the corners of your eyes gently, and he straightened out the hem of your shirt. it was wrinkled, a reminder of how harshly you clung to him.

you smiled at the water stains on his shirt now, and he claimed it was in need of dry cleaning anyway.

neither of you noticed the eyes of megumi and yuuta, both stuck in place at the very corner of the windows leading to the hallway. they had training staffs with them, megumi’s grip becoming tighter as he watched you wipe your eyes and knock your head into satoru’s chest lazily. your shoulders low, clearly drained from the amount you cried. 

yuuta was frozen, eyes flickering from you to megumi repeatedly. he found his courage in placing a hand on his shoulder, a feather-light grip. “hey, let’s go through the east wing. i’m pretty sure it’s faster that way.”

it wasn’t. but megumi nodded anyway, begrudgingly tearing his gaze from you and turning around with yuuta. 

you stared down the red light of the intersection with a blank face, blank mind. letting it all out of your system had successfully flushed out your emotions, taking the rest of your energy along with it. the car was painfully quiet, but no part of you wanted to listen to anything.

satoru was whisked away by yaga, being delivered another mission he swore would take less than a day. ‘less than twelve hours’, he promised to be back for megumi’s first day. he would make it.

it was dark, and you milked all the time you could on school grounds. speaking with yaga and shoko, running through the still-developing information of missions to be sent on. cleaning the classrooms. the lockers. stocking the teachers lounge. dusting the armory. before you knew it the curfew ushered the students into their dorms.

a ringtone broke through your thoughts, making you jump. though the tune was soft, the sudden intrusion made it much more shrill. you fumbled with your phone in the passenger seat, seeing megumi’s contact on the screen.

“hello?”

“hey, mom?”

it took everything you had left not to gawk. he said it before, sparingly in desperation for comfort. his voice was quiet, a near-whisper despite the fact he was alone in his dorm. like he was nervous.

“yes, megumi?”

“um… are you home?”

you wondered if he forgot something. “no, i’m still driving. are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i just… can’t sleep, i guess…” he trailed off, hoping for you to fill in the gap.

“oh. okay. did you take–“

“do you think you could pick me up?” he interrupted. “and i just stay home tonight? you could drive me in the morning.”

you were quick to dissolve into a smile, pointed at the streetlamp on the sidewalk. sadness struck your eyes but you were too occupied by the warmth of his question to feel it.

“yeah. i can be back there in a few minutes, just let me turn around.”

“thanks.”

he didn’t hang up. neither did you. the silence lived on for a few seconds.

“mom?”

“yeah?”

“… gojo’s on a mission, right?”

you laughed, your hand sliding across the steering wheel as you reouted back to the school. “yeah, megs, he’ll be gone tonight.”

“he’s back tomorrow?”

“yeah, we can leave before he gets home.”

“thanks.”

bonus:

satoru tiptoed through the entrance of your home, brushing his blindfold over his hair and peeling it off his head. he hung it up with his keys, lax arms nearly missing the hook on the closet door meant for him. it was beyond late, and he was tired, but he was home like he said he would be.

he bent down to tie his shoes, buffering momentarily as he caught a glance of well-worn sneakers at the front door. they were as clean as they could be, though scuffed rubber turning gray and the laces becoming frayed where they were tightened most.

satoru made a grunt in acknowledgement to no one but himself, as he tossed his shoes down. he glanced around the living space, cautiously bringing himself to each room with a curious itch to scratch. a third pair of shoes. both backpacks on the door. dishes for two placed on the drying rack. 

he was expertly quiet by nature, but found himself avoiding the squeaky floorboards on the stairs and all the way to the hallway. he was greeted with a blue sign, corners covered with dog stickers. the frilly handwriting of tsumiki warding off unwanted visitors with the phrase: “megumi’s room. keep out!!”

the door opened quietly, satoru pushing it open to the limit and stopping before it would let out an ungodly squeak. he insisted on never getting it fixed, knowing it bothered megumi.

megumi had his face shoved in his pillow, a desperate attempt to block out any light creeping through the crack of his bedroom door or the streetlamp just outside the window. he was always a light sleeper, always on edge, sleeping with his back to the wall so if something barged in the night he was ready. it was horrible he thought that way, you always said. 

his duvet covers were black and white plaid, per his request three years ago when he begged to be free of the puppy sheets. still, he seemed small, curled up in a ball. his face was released of the usual tension and his light breathing filled the room. for a moment, he was little again.

satoru smiled, taking a step back and closing the door gently.

[pure-smut]

toxic.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, established relationship, drugging (sleeping pills), somnophilia, noncon (reader is asleep), unprotected s*x, creampie

word count: 2.4k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

a/n: toxic walking red flag stalker boyfriend Sukuna is back!! part 3 was meant to be the last part but I had more ideas soooo enjoy two more parts!!

Ryomen Sukuna has you.

You’re at your favourite coffee shop with Sukuna, your laptop and a strew of notes on the table as you cram for your final exam of the semester. Sukuna sits in the booth next to you, one arm casually slung over the back of the seating behind you as he scrolls his phone. His presence took a while to get used to, so big it’s almost suffocating, now it’s a reassuring block between you and the rest of the world. Even during the rare times he’s not with you, everyone knows – you’re Sukuna’s girlfriend. That’s enough to scare anyone off. Even your previous failed situationship stopped sending you “you up?” messages once he found out, instead sending you a quick “sorry” before blocking you.

You go to take a sip of coffee but realise it’s empty. Sukuna glances up as you make to stand up.

“Sit down. I got it.”

As you sink back to your seat, he presses a kiss to your temple and stands, sauntering over to the counter. You smile after him. You love that he does things for you without you needing to ask.

Sukuna has an uncanny ability to anticipate what you want or need, sometimes having it ready for you without you even saying anything. You remember the time you came home from a long, stressful day and he had your favourite takeout food waiting for you. When you asked him how he knew your favourite, or how he even knew you were having a bad day, he only shrugged and said, “Lucky guess.”

You suspect it’s something more than that but you’re just happy to be doted on. No one’s ever been this sweet to you, this infatuated, so you accept him without question.

When Sukuna returns with your coffee, you brush a light kiss across his lips and thank him.

Sukuna’s cock stirs as soon as your mouth touches his. He watches you as you study, pretending to look at his phone, admiring your profile. You really are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You don’t even need to do anything to get him going – a light touch or a chaste kiss is enough for his blood to rush straight down. Hell, you were sitting in your pyjamas eating peanut butter out of the jar the other day and even that made his cock hard.

He smothers a smile. Sukuna couldn’t be happier. He’s got you all to himself and even though he trusts you of course, sometimes he indulges in a little light stalking just to be sure. He knows you ignore other men when they try to talk to you and you’re always exactly where you say you are. Why wouldn’t you be? You’re perfect.

“Oh, I forgot to say,” you interrupt his train of thoughts and Sukuna looks up at you, smile on his face. “I’ve decided to come off the pill.”

Sukuna’s smile freezes.

“What’s that?” He makes sure his voice comes out casual if not a little strained.

“I’m coming off the pill. Actually, I’ve already come off it – it was messing with my head.” You turn away from your notes to look at him, smiling. “We’ll need to use condoms from now on, okay?”

Your sweet face is oblivious to the turmoil currently inside Sukuna. A condom? You want a physical barrier between you both? You want to take this beautiful, perfect thing between you and put a condom in the middle of it?

Sukuna has to fight not to crush his phone in his hand.

“Whatever, babe,” he manages to say.

You give him a relieved smile and squeeze his thigh before turning back to your notes. Behind you, Sukuna’s smile drops.

No. No, this is not happening. His brain churns as he processes this, a stab of anger in his chest. Do you not love him anymore? Is this the first step in breaking up? He shakes his head. A condom? He won’t get to feel the euphoria of your bodies joined together, not an inch between you. No more filling your sweet little cunt with his cum, watching it drip out of your used hole. Sukuna’s mouth goes dry at the thought.

Yeah, no. He’s going to have to do something about this.

You take a large gulp of your fresh coffee, giving your cheeks a light slap.

“This last exam is really doing a number on me,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “I need like five coffees a day just to stay awake.”

A lightbulb dings over Sukuna’s head. Oh, sweet, sweet you. You’ve given him the most perfect idea without even realising. A true smile crawls across Sukuna’s face as he reaches over to brush your hair from your neck.

“Don’t work too hard,” he coos. “You know I don’t like sharing your attention.”

You grin, assuming he’s joking. He’s not.

“I won’t be much longer, I promise,” you say. “And then we’ll go home, okay?”

Sukuna kisses your shoulder. His mood has lifted now an idea has formed in his head.

“Whatever you want,” he says, smiling. *

Sukuna orders the sleeping pills online from a less-than-reputable website, paying extra for next day delivery. It means he has to grit his teeth through one night of fucking you with a condom.

He tries his best not to let his displeasure show but you struggled to find a condom that would fit him and when you did, Sukuna only sank half his cock inside you. He came inside the plastic sack, throwing it away with disgust. The whole thing is less than satisfying.

But the promise of the next day keeps him going.

The pills arrive in a plain parcel while you’re out at class. Sukuna and you don’t live together yet but his place is bigger and more comfortable than your cramped shared space, so you spend a lot of time at his. He makes sure you’re out before the pills get delivered.

Sukuna knows he has to be patient. It’s not your fault you had to come off the pill – your health is important, after all. You’re precious to him and he doesn’t want you hurt. So he doesn’t blame you for that. But he’ll be damned if he has to suffer through condoms for the rest of his life with you.

He really has no choice.

Sukuna crushes up the sleeping pills, careful with the dosage, and when you arrive back home after class, he offers you a relaxing glass of spiked wine and your favourite dinner.

“You’re so sweet to me, ‘Kuna.” You kiss him, accepting the wine and food without argument.

You spend a nice evening together, watching TV as Sukuna rubs your feet. He keeps a careful eye on you and, sure enough, it’s not long before you start to yawn. A little while later, you’re nearly falling asleep on the sofa.

“You tired, babe?” Sukuna asks innocently.

You give a sleepy nod, apologising and saying you’re going to have an early night. Sukuna watches you pad into the bedroom, the lights switching off. Barely five minutes later, he can hear your soft snores.

He grins.

You’re always so predictable, so obedient, and it makes him love you all the more. Sukuna can’t believe how lucky he is to have you – his perfect girl.

Sukuna follows you to the bedroom, his cock already stirring. He’s bought the morning after pill to crush into your coffee for tomorrow. Tonight, he gets to feel you properly again.

He strips off before tugging the blanket off you. You’re out cold, spread-eagle and naked on the bed. Sukuna looks down at you fondly. It reminds him of when he snuck into your bedroom to taste you. The memory makes him smirk, knowing you’re still unaware that even happened.

Sukuna whispers your name a few times, shaking your shoulder. Your chest rises and falls gently but you don’t even make a noise. Truly dead to the world.

Satisfied, Sukuna situates himself between your legs, the mattress sinking under his weight. He takes a moment, drinking you in, and strokes himself a couple times to the sight of you. He loves every inch of your body, every divot and curve, every mark and mole. He wants to wrap his large arms around you and hold you to him and never, ever let you go.

Sukuna leans forward and gropes your tits first, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. It stiffens against his tongue as he plays with your other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He loves your tits, would touch them all day if you let him. He pulls back to see the marks he left on you a few days ago, your soft flesh peppered with bruises.

Sukuna trails his hand down your body, the silkiness of your skin in contrast to his calloused palms, before slipping his hand between your legs. He dips a finger between your folds and finds you slick with arousal. Your body is responding to him even while you’re asleep. The thought makes his heart swell almost as much as his cock.

He sinks a finger deeper inside you, feeling your hole stretch around him. You barely move but your brows scrunch slightly as he finds your sensitive spot and strokes it softly.

“That’s it, baby,” Sukuna murmurs, watching the slight change in your face. He can feel you getting wetter, getting ready for him. “That’s my girl.”

Sukuna withdraws before pushing two of his thick fingers inside you. His thumb rubs your clit as he fingers you, encouraging your orgasm. He knows you need to cum at least once to be able to fit all of him in and he’s more than happy to get you there. You don’t make a sound but your breathing quickens. Sukuna’s gaze moves between your breasts, jiggling hypnotically with every sharp inhale you take and your cunt, where he can see your hole stretched around his fingers.

Sukuna curves his fingers to reach your little bundle of nerves and it’s enough to undo you, even unconscious. You groan softly as Sukuna draws an orgasm from you. He feels your walls quivering around his fingers and the anticipation of feeling you around his cock again is almost too much.

When Sukuna’s satisfied you’re done, he withdraws his fingers and aligns his cock with your entrance. He nudges the tip past your lips, now puffy with arousal, until he can feel the resistance of your hole. You’re spread so beautifully in front of him, so pliant in your sleep, more than anything he wants to slam himself fully inside you.

But he won’t. Sukuna loves you, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants you to feel as good as him. No, he needs you to. Needs you to need him, even when you’re not awake. He needs it so badly, he’ll do whatever he has to.

Sukuna leans forward over you, supporting himself on his arms, and slowly pushes inside you.

He’ll never get bored of the initial resistance of your sweet little pussy. The way your hole immediately grips him, pulling him deeper inside. Sukuna pushes in deeper, just a few inches, and lets out a sigh that’s half pleasure, half relief.

You feel so hot around him, so soft. There’s nothing that compares to this, to the feel of your bodies connecting as his cock reaches inside the most intimate part of you. Sukuna shallowly pumps in and out of you, watching your face. You look angelic, your hair splayed out around you like a halo, your face so peaceful even as Sukuna sinks his cock inside you.

Your needy hole pulls him in, coating his girth in your slick. Sukuna works himself deeper, the muscles in his arms taut as he holds himself back until he knows you’re ready. He’s almost there, just a few inches left, but he needs to give you some time to adjust.

To make sure he can go deeper, Sukuna readjusts his position slightly, pulling your thighs up until they’re resting on top of his. It angles your hips up slightly, giving him better access, making sure he’ll be able to bottom out.

Sukuna lowers himself onto his forearms, automatically wanting to kiss you before realising you can’t kiss back. The thought is frustrating. Instead, he busies his mouth with your neck and tits, sucking fresh marks into the skin. It’s risky but he hopes you won’t notice the new marks amongst the old ones and he can't resist nibbling at your plush flesh.

As Sukuna sucks and nibbles your tits, he starts to rock his hips again. Your pussy welcomes him, letting him stroke deeper until he bottoms out. He feels your lips touch the base of his cock and can’t stop himself from groaning, deep and long.

“So perfect,” he murmurs. “My perfect girl.”

Sukuna keeps rolling his hips. The friction of your slick walls against his cock is intoxicating.

“You get so wet for me, baby,” he whispers. “You love it raw, don’t you? You love my raw cock stuffed in your little hole.”

Condoms. What a ridiculous idea. There's nothing better than this, better than your skin on his, feeling every inch of you until there's no secrets you can hold that he doesn't already know.

Sukuna picks up his pace, pushing himself back up onto his arms so he can watch you bounce under the force of his thrusts. The sound of your sopping cunt fills the room, like music to Sukuna’s ears. He knows he’ll never fuck you with a condom again, never put a barrier between you. He’ll never give up this feeling, the way your needy pussy massages his cock, desperate for his cum.

Your walls start to clench around him and Sukuna realises he’s about to make you cum again. The thought spurs him on and he fucks you harder, slamming himself into you hard enough that he knows you'd be crying his name if you were awake.

“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock,” he grunts, nearing his own orgasm. “Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sukuna gives one last thrust before spilling his seed inside you, filling you to the brim. He stays where he is for a few moments longer, catching his breath, before pulling out. He sits back, reaching between your legs to spread your aching lips, watching his cum spill out of your hole.

Sukuna scoops up some with a finger before leaning forward to smear it across your lips, smirking. How he’d love to watch you suck it from his fingers but he’ll leave that for another time.

Sukuna checks your breathing, makes sure you’re still okay, before cleaning you up. He softly presses a warm, damp cloth to your well-used pussy, cleaning both your juices. You did so well for him tonight and he wants to treat you gently.

When he’s finished, Sukuna climbs into bed next to you, draping you across his chest. His body is relaxed and he closes his eyes with a satisfied smile. He reminds himself to slip you the morning after pill tomorrow.

And then a little voice at the back of his head asks him – what if he didn’t?

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[digitalsymbiote]

Disconnect Syndrome

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed out in the field. They say that being synced with a mech for long periods of time can have detrimental effects on a pilots psyche. Disconnect Syndrome is what they call it, because the symptoms don’t really start to hit until you disengage from your mech.

Sometimes emergencies happen though, and mechs are designed to be able to support their pilots long past the designated “Safe Deployment Time.” The cockpit is equipped with an array of stimulants, vitamins, and nutrient paste to help minimize the physical effects of long deployments. The onboard Integrated Mechanical Personality has largely free reign to administer these as needed to maintain its pilots well-being.

Which is why you’re still able to make it back to the hangar after roughly 36 hours, over four times longer than the established safe period. Your mech had kept you going, helped to keep the exhaustion at bay long enough for you to make your way back from behind enemy lines. You were starting to feel a bit sluggish, but you knew the worst effects of Disconnect Syndrome were yet to come.

An older man in a long white lab coat has joined the usual retinue of crew rushing into the hangar as your mech settles into its cradle. You feel the docking clamps wrap around your limbs, and you know that’s not a good sign. Your IMP whispers comfort into your brain-stem, assurances that things will be okay. It’s probably lying, it’s programmed to help keep your mental state stable, but the thought helps anyway.

There’s a hiss of air as the seal on your cockpit breaks and it decompresses. Suddenly you become aware of your flesh and meat body once again, and it hurts. Pain and exhaustion has settled into your mostly organic bones, and your organs are churning from the strain of the past 36 hours.

Then your interface cables start to disconnect, and it gets worse.

It feels like parts of your mind are being torn out of you. You feel the ghost touch of your IMP in your thoughts as the ports disconnect and you lose direct communication with it. The oxygen mask and nutrition tube pull themselves away from your face and you can’t help but let out a scream of agony. The separation has never felt this painful before, but then again, after 36 hours together, you and your IMP were more intertwined than you’ve ever been before.

Physical sensation finally starts to register again, and you realize tears are streaming down your face just as a technician jabs a needle into your neck.

Immediately your senses start to dull, the pain eases as your thoughts turn sluggish. You slump out of your pilots cradle into the arms the tech who dosed you. Just before your world goes black, you see the doctor standing over you, a grim look on his face.

--

When you wake up again, you immediately know something is wrong. You try to ping your external sensors, but you get no response. You then try to run a diagnostic, but that fails too. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, you try to force access to your external cameras and suddenly light floods your senses. Your instincts catch up first and you blink, trying to clear the pain of the lights, and that’s when you realize it’s not your external cameras that you’re seeing.

It takes a minute or two for your vision to adjust to the light, which feels too long, and when it finally does, the world doesn’t look quite right. You’ve only got access to such a limited spectrum. No infrared, no thermal. The presence of your IMP is notably absent, and your skin feels wrong. You try to sit up, and it’s a struggle to figure out the correct inputs to send to your muscles to get them to do what you want.

The harsh white light of the infirmary grates against your visual processors, you feel like you’re having to re-learn how to control this body. Your body. Technically, at least. Something doesn’t feel right about calling it that anymore. You felt more comfortable crawling back into the hangar after 36 hours deployed than you do now.

The pale skin of your body catches in your vision and you glance down at it. The body's limbs are thinner and more frail than usual, and its skin is paler. Consequences of being in the cockpit for so long, subsisting on nothing but nutrient paste. It’s a far cry from the solid metal plates of your mech, its powerful hydraulic joints, its mounted combat and communication systems.

There’s a button on the side of bed you’ve been deposited in. You think it’s red, but you’re not sure you’re processing color properly right now. You try to reach over and push it, and it takes you a moment to realize you were trying to do so with a limb you don’t currently have.

There are so many things about this body that are wrong. It’s not big enough, or strong enough, or heavy enough. You don’t have enough eyes, sensors, or processors. You have the wrong number of limbs, and they’re all the wrong size and shape.

And there is a distinct void in your mind where the presence of your IMP should be.

The door to your room opens suddenly, and you instinctively try to fire off chaff and take evasive maneuvers. None of that translates properly to your flesh and blood body though, and all that happens is you let out a dry croak from your parched throat.

The man who walks through the door is the same doctor who was present when you disengaged from your mech, and he wears the same grim look on his face as he looks you up and down. You think there’s pity in his gaze, but you can’t quite read him properly right now. The jumbled mess of your brain tells you what he’s going to say before he says it, anyway. The harshest symptoms of Disconnect Syndrome don’t hit until after the pilot has disengaged from their mech.

You’ve already heard the symptoms before, and they map perfectly onto what you’re experiencing. You never thought it would be this painful, or this… discomforting. Your mind reaches for the presence of your IMP, searching for comfort, but you are only reminded that the connection is no longer there.

The doctor gives you a rundown that he’s probably had to do dozens of times, and he tells you that you’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. That hurts more than anything else. The knowledge that, after all this, you won’t be able to reconnect with your true body, your partner, your other half, for who knows how long.

By the time you realize you’re crying, the doctor is already gone. The longing in your chest and your mind has become unbearable, and through sheer force of will you’re able to push this unwieldy body out of bed. Walking feels wrong, but you’re able to get to your feet and make your way out of the room in an unfamiliar gait.

You have to get back to your partner, you have to make sure it’s okay.

You need to hear her voice in your head again, her reassurances.

The world isn’t right without her presence in your mind.

You stumble into the hangar almost on all fours. How you managed to make it without alerting any personnel feels like a miracle. At least until you catch the eye of a technician lounging in the corner. The look she gives you is full of sympathy, and she jerks her head in the direction of where your mech sits in its docking cradle.

She’s a majestic sight, even through your limited spectrum of vision. 20 meters tall, 6 massive limbs, and bristling with weapons and sensor arrays (all of which have been disarmed by this point).

She’s beautiful.

You clamber frantically up the chassis, easily finding handholds in a frame you know better than the back of your hand. You pull the manual release on the cockpit hatch and stumble into it in a tangle of organic limbs.

Shaking hands grasp the main interface cable from above the pilot’s chair, and you move to slot it into the port in the back of your head. You’ve never done this manually before, usually you’re locked into the chair and the system connects you automatically.

Something about doing it with your flesh and blood hands makes it feel so much more intimate.

The cable clicks into place and your eyes roll back in your head. Tears start to stream down your face as you feel the comforting presence of your IMP rush in and wrap itself around your mind. Your thoughts reach out and embrace it back, sobbing at the relief you feel from being whole once again. You realize you don’t ever want to feel the pain of disconnecting from her again.

There’s a reason they put restrictions on how long a Pilot is supposed to be deployed.

[joemama-2]

nanami kento has always been a patient man. he’s respectful and doesn’t talk to unless spoken to. he doesn’t like most people, might even hate some. but you’re not the type of person he would exactly hate, unlike a certain someone. he thinks you’re kind, polite, you always bow respectfully to your seniors, you diligently complete every task that’s asked of you. there’s also one more thing about you….he just cant put his finger on it. maybe you’re just tolerable, yeah that’s it.

you’re not a sorcerer, at least not a very good one. it’s why you’ve opted to be an auxiliary manager like ijichi and akari. “as long as i get to help the sorcerers in battle, i’m fine with whatever position i’ve been assigned.” you would say with a big and warm smile, innocently, naively. he thinks you’re too good for such a rotten society, something like that will get people killed. and he doesn’t want you on that list.

when he first met you back in high school, he didn’t think much of you. you weren’t a special grade, you didn’t have any awesome technique, you were just simply there. maybe you have connections, he thought. because there’s no way someone like you was admitted into tokyo jujutsu high. to this day, he doesn’t know how you did it. maybe you have some super cool talent that you didn’t like showing, maybe you just won over everyone’s hearts and they felt pity for you, he’ll never be able to find out. that’s one of his many regrets.

his other regrets are letting himself grow attached for no reason. no matter what, his eyes had a mind of his own, searching and scanning any room or environment for your figure. he chalks it up to protectiveness, you weren’t strong like he was and he didn’t want to see another comrade die. because thats all you were, a comrade. a comrade. a comrade. he chants this mantra into his mind every morning.

nanami didn’t know how it happened, but one thing led to another and he was always alone with you. comfortable silence was what he loved the most. you two could sit together for hours in a flower field you came across one day, just watching the sky and clouds form random shapes. you liked when they made hearts and little animals. although he always argued that they’re just clouds.

but, clouds almost reminded him of you. free, soft, floating around from place to place, and residing high in the sky. because he knew, no matter what, you were one of the few people who would go to heaven in this sick world, sick society. you belonged in heaven, you looked like an angel, acted like a goddess.

“let’s go to malaysia together.” you told him randomly one day, seeing an ad pop up about a beautiful vacation spot. kuantan. he didn’t take you too seriously. malaysia? out of all places? he didn’t see the hype.

all these thoughts flood his brain when he sees your body, looking lifeless and bloody, next to ijichi. you two have huge stab wounds in your mid-section. however, you have a bit more than your co-part, clear signs of your fight. even when you know you don’t have the upper hand, you won’t hesitate to fight back.

it’s hard as he carries you two, having to make sure ijichi doesn’t fall off his back while simultaneously holding you close to his chest. his heart twists and turns, stomach churning the entirety of the slow walk he does to bring you two back to ieiri. his mind is running rampant, constantly looking down at you. you can’t be dead, he thinks. neither of you two are dead, he can’t see more comrades die.

it’s almost weird to him how his throat tightens, tears stinging at his eyes. you don’t move, head lolling to the side as barely a sign of a breath is escaping your lips. your skin is pale and bruising. he hates it, hates how you look, hates how hurt you are, hates how he wasn’t there to stop it and protect you.

he sets you down first once he reaches shoko, handing the passed out ijichi to her. finally, he kneels down, taking in your appearance. nanami rarely gets mad, at least not seriously. but this time, he’s absolutely furious. silently seething as he breathing gets heavy. his fists clench by his side, nails drawing blood into the skin.

he gets up, no being able to stand how you look. but, he forgets you’re a fighter, forgets that no matter what, you look out for the sorcerers. out for him.

“kento….” you straggle out, hand weakly clutching onto his. you can barely keep your eyelids open. you mutter out the next few words. “…man….blonde……ponytail……s-sword….”

ah, he thinks. that’s his target.

he gulps, simply nodding. but your hand stays clutched onto his. using all your strength, you open your eyes wider, and he hates the tears that form in them. “….come back to me please…..”

he feels like crying with you. but he can’t, not now at least. he kneels down again, bringing the back of your hand up to his lips to press feather light kisses to each knuckle. his other hand gently uses his thumb to wipe your tears, treating you with utmost care. “kuantan,” he murmurs. “when this is all over, i’ll take you.”

you weakly chuckle, more tears falling at this point. “..p-promise..?”

he hesitates, but you notice. “promise.“ he says back, leaning down to give your forehead a kiss, sealing the promise. he places your hand back to your stomach before getting up to leave, not before sparing you one last glance.

and as you watch him leave, you don’t even know that it’s the last time you’ll ever see him, last time he’ll ever see you. because you trust his word, trusted that he’d come back to you.

nanami leaves with a heavy heart, staring death in the face and yet all he can think about is you. there’s many regrets he has.

he broke your guys’ promise, he hopes you won’t stay mad at him.

he won’t be able to take you to kuantan.

he won’t be able to see you, hold you, talk to you.

and finally, he wasn’t able to confess that he loved the simplicity. that he loved you.

he’ll see you again, in heaven and in another life. until then, he’ll watch over you. because nanami kento has always been a patient man.

[haeryna]

the sadness we shared is my clarity ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ↪ fushiguro megumi x reader

summary: it's spring when fushiguro megumi finds you. it's summer when he realizes he loves you. but as the days shorten, and time runs out, megumi realizes you're slipping away.

tw: angst, as per usual. mentions of gore, and sexual tension but nothing explicit or nsfw. you and megumi are both idiots. half of this was churned out in a day so please give the author grace. not proofread. arrangedmarriage!au and friends to enemies to lovers. megumi is Mean. mutual pining, so much that i want to throw up. mmm yummy clan politics

notes: banner by the lovely @/cafekitsune! title taken from txt's deja vu. had this fic rotting in my head and in my drive. dedicated to riko, for being one of the first mooties i ever had. love you @riaki !!

also i'm sorry everyone for vanishing off the face of the earth pls accept this fic as an apology :'))

part one/??

It’s summer, and the air in Kawasaki is miserably hot and oppressive. Tacky skin clings to thick cloth, and Megumi grimaces at the feeling. Gojo had finally decided to send all the first years together on a mission to deal with a group of Grade 3 spirits, deeming his pupils “worthy to finally make their debut!” To celebrate, Nobara had corralled everyone to a small cafe, located near the train station. “Cmon, this place has air conditioning, and Ijichi won’t be here for at least another hour,” she insists, fingers wrapped around the curve of your wrist. Begrudgingly, Megumi follows along, heavy with the knowledge that where you go, he'll follow.

He can’t help but sneak glances over, as you and Nobara fawn over the icy desserts and drinks the cafe has to offer. The soft swoop of your neck is revealed as you lean in closer to peer at the deserts hidden behind the glass. A bead of sweat trickles down into the hollow of your collarbone, and Megumi swallows hard, forcing himself to look away. The flush on his cheeks is from the summer heat, he tells himself. He can’t quite bring himself to believe it. 

“Fushiguro!” you call out, and he forces himself to look at you. “What is it?” 

“Aren’t you going to get a drink?”

Megumi hesitates, before grumbling an affirmative. As the other three move to secure a table, he turns to face the cashier. She seems younger than him by a few years, makeup done even in the hot weather with mascaraed eyelashes batting at him innocently. She misses the proffered bills, running her hand along his, before apologizing a bit breathily. “It’s fine,” Megumi sighs. His thoughts wander as the cashier chatters away mindlessly. You were favoring your right side. Were you injured? Had one of the curses somehow reached you before he could stop them? Your technique had seemed to wane towards the end of the fight. Were you overexerted? Did he have to speak to Gojo about how hard he’d been training you? 

He pulls himself from his thoughts just in time to notice the cashier leaning over the counter, watching him curiously. “Would you like a receipt, sir?” 

“No,” is his curt reply, shoving all of his traitorous thoughts of you deep down inside of himself. The cashier pouts. “If you fill out a survey, you can get five dollars off on your purchase!” 

Megumi can feel himself grimacing. Nobara would kick his ass if he didn’t at least take it and offer it to her. “Fine then.” As he turns back to the table, he scowls at the too-bright smile on Yuuji’s face. “What’s that look for?” 

“Fushiguro, she was totally hitting on you!” 

He swats away the eager high five. “Did the curses fuck with your brain or something?” 

“No, seriously, look at the receipt she gave you!” 

Megumi can feel the heat of your gaze as he unravels the receipt. Under the printed text of “FIVE DOLLARS OFF AFTER SURVEY COMPLETION!” was a line of neatly printed numbers. Scowling, he shoves the offending piece of paper in your direction. “Here. Take it.” 

“I don’t want your leftovers,” you shoot back, eyes blazing, and his traitorous heart wrenches. “It’s not for the number, idiot. Weren’t you and Kugisaki just complaining about spending that much money on drinks? Take the survey and stop whining.” 

He lets himself fall back in the familiar rhythm of bickering with Nobara as she swats at him. He’ll do anything to avoid the way your offended gaze turns thoughtful, how you seem to study his face as he forces himself to continue the lie he’s let himself live. You cannot be his, Megumi thinks desperately, even after the four of you depart the cafe, and after you toss the crumpled up wad of paper into the trash can. Even as you fall asleep in the backseat of the car, head perched onto his shoulder, he fights down the growing panic and nausea. He would rather break his own heart in the process than let you suffer from his affections. 

Cursed, he thinks. There’s a reason his mother passed, his father killed, and his sister stolen away. He’s as cursed as the shadows that seep from his domain with their tendrils that wrap and curl over every inch of light. Megumi has already accepted that the feelings that grow by the day can never be revealed. You, with your sunshine laugh, whose tender hands would always reach for him after a mission. Fushiguro, you’d say, kindly. You’re hurt again. Let me grab the first aid kit. You, with your hands that are soft and gentle, as much as Megumi’s hands are calloused and stained. 

I love you, he finally admits, as he carries you from the car back to your room. Yuuji had an ankle injury, and Nobara couldn’t handle hauling your weight up the stairs leading back to Jujutsu Tech. At least, that’s what he tells himself, as he shifts your weight in his arms, feeling the way you subconsciously pressed yourself closer to him. I love you. Your eyelashes flutter in your sleep, brow crinkling ever so slightly. Gently, Megumi smoothes it over with his thumb. I love you. 

Fushiguro Megumi was by no means a religious man. He’d known that there was no god in the battlefields of a sorcerer, no mercy in the torturous death that only curses could offer. And yet, as he lowers you down to the comfort of your mattress, he finds himself praying. I’ll do anything, he thinks, as he watches you in the depths of your slumber. I’ll give up my body, my soul, my life. Just please let her live. Please let her be happy. 

Please give her someone that could take better care of her than I ever could. 

Fushiguro Megumi found you in the first rainfall of spring. 

You hadn't noticed him, quietly watching the droplets fall on the sakura trees planted near the perimeter of Jujutsu Tech. The edges of your kimono were stained with mud, with a chunk of your haori ripped out on the left side. Megumi frowned. Silk, he noted, and gold. You’re dressed too well to be here, but too oblivious to be a threat. Just to be sure, he let his fingers curl around the handle of one of his tonfas before he spoke. 

“Who are you?” 

Startled, you turned to face him, and his scowl deepened. You were pretty, even with your eyes rounded in shock, and the undignified noise that had escaped you when you realized you weren’t alone. When you told him your name, voice hesitant, Megumi couldn't help but hate the way his heart reacted as you spoke. 

“I’m looking for Gojo Satoru,” you finished, teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip as you waited for his response. Megumi swallowed hard.

“A lot of people do.” He kept his tone steady, forced himself not to let the heat in his chest rise to his face. “What’s a Kamo doing here, looking for him?” 

Megumi had heard of you, of course. Gojo had raised him with at least a basic understanding of the three Big Families, and their prominent figures from both the past and present. The half-sister to Noritoshi Kamo, you had been held behind while your elders sent him away to the sister school in Kyoto. Women, Gojo had said, tone playful but eyes cold, are seen as nothing more than breeding stock and political pawns. They’ll probably keep her there until she’s married off. 

Something seems to settle inside you, and Megumi can’t help but watch, ensnared in the web you weave. Your hands smooth over the creases in your kimono as you exhaled, shoulders rounding back. Even covered in grime you radiated elegance, though you were betrayed by the still-skittish look in your eyes. “I’m here to make a deal with him.” 

A few days after the four of you had returned from your assignment in Kawasaki, you realized that Megumi was behaving rather oddly. 

At first, he seemed moody. Tired, you assumed. With promotions coming up, Gojo-sensei had been training the four of you even more rigorously than usual. Your mornings were filled with research, analyzing the few texts that Jujutsu Tech had recovered on cursed techniques that were even remotely similar to your own. The evenings were spent sparring, with thick dust kicked up under the lukewarm breeze, and the faint howls of Megumi’s shikigami in the distance. 

Sighing, you squat down, calling softly into the woods until one of his Divine Dogs trot out, tongue lolling out happily. You can’t help the wistful smile that tugs at your lips as you run your fingers through soft, black fur. They’d taken a liking to you, after you started carrying a few dog treats in your gear to give to them. Megumi had always complained that you spoiled them, babied them too much. You couldn’t help it. You loved his shikigami dearly. 

What did that say about you? The thought makes you lightheaded for a moment. The heat, you think, a bit desperate. It was all the heat. 

“You’re late.” 

You tilt your head backwards, startling at how close he’d gotten to you. He’s dressed for the summer heat, ditching his uniform for something more practical. Linen pants brush by you as he reaches your side, and your heart seems to convulse when you realize you can see the slight ripple of muscle under the fabric of his shirt.  Heat flares in your cheeks and you look away. Stormy eyes study you, a flicker of something predatory passing through them before he turns to his shikigami. 

“And you. Stop running off like that.” 

The Divine Dog whines, and you crinkle your nose, turning back to meet his gaze. “I was calling for it because I couldn’t find you. You weren’t where we normally spar.” 

“Gojo wanted us to use the other fields.” 

“Fine, fine.” Petulant, you reach for his wrist, hoisting yourself up off the ground. Before you can even speak, he’s tearing it from your grasp as though you’ve burnt him. “Hurry up. We’re losing light.” 

You follow after him quietly, ignoring the sting in your hand from the phantom contact. He’s probably overwhelmed with the work we’ve been doing, you remind yourself, yet you can’t help the slight feeling of dread that runs up your spine. His dog noses at your palm, whining softly, as thought it can sense your distress. Its owner however seems none the wiser. 

“Why did you want to spar today? Didn’t Gojo-sensei say we could take today off?”  

“The next mission is the one that the higher-ups are sending us on to see if we should be recommended for a higher grade. That means it’s going to be more dangerous than usual.” 

The trees clear to reveal a clearing, grass matted down from hours of sparring. “I hate when you’re right.” 

Megumi spares you a sharp glance but says nothing else. “Warm up quickly. I want to be back before it gets dark.” 

You stretch out under the waning light, letting your technique run through your body for a few moments. Cheating, Yuuji would insist, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t eager for a fight. The upcoming mission loomed over you, anxiety building as you thought about the uncertainties of it all. You hadn’t trusted the higher-ups from the beginning, and you especially didn’t trust them in any circumstance where Itadori Yuuji’s life was at risk. You exhale, feeling the familiar buzz of your cursed energy flow as you move. “Okay. I’m ready.” 

Sparring with Megumi feels like a dance, more than anything else. He was your partner long before Yuuji and Nobara had even transferred to Tokyo, and your body has been trained to move as seamlessly with him as possible. Every step forward he takes you step back, and with each swing of the staff, your katana rises up to meet up. You lose yourself in it for a moment, watching the way his jaw clenches in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as you narrowly avoid a pointed elbow. A sharp jab of your blade, and Megumi is suddenly right in front of you. The air leaves your lungs in his presence taking in the scent of his laundry detergent and the slightest tinge of the soap he uses. He takes advantage of your distraction to disarm you, flipping you neatly into a hold. 

“Yield,” he says, pressing his knee down into your stomach a little more firmly. You try your best to ignore the sight of him kneeled between your legs as you try to kick out from under him. His eyes darken at the sight of you, pinned and struggling to free yourself. 

“Yield,” he says, once more, and you do, letting your body rest against the ground as you stare up at him. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, the veins of his slender hands raised as he holds his staff. You let your hand curl against the wood of it, feeling the pressure of it resting on your throat. 

“I yield,” you say, and in that moment you know that you have. Fushiguro Megumi has stolen your heart from the day you met him. I’d give you everything, you realize, as Megumi helps you to your feet. There are 35 trillion blood cells in the human body, and every single one of them runs for you. You let your fingers intertwine with his for the briefest moment before forcing yourself to pull away. I would do anything to have you. My greatest sin and my holiest salvation wrapped into a single body. 

“That was a good fight,” he tells you, taking your silence for sulking. Maybe I wanted to lose. Maybe I did want to fall for you. Would that be such a sin? 

“Thanks,” is your stilted answer, the setting sun sealing your fate. You’re in love with Fushiguro Megumi. And you don’t quite know what to do about it. 

The mission is simple enough, until it isn’t. An abandoned hospital, Ijitchi had said in the car ride over. Residual curses had been spotted clinging to the interior, feeding off of an unknown source within. Intel had suggested that it was a Grade 2 spirit at most. You watch as Nobara takes a bit too much pleasure in nailing the swarms of weak curses that had greeted you at the entrance, Yuuji laughing at how easily his fists send them to a rather unpleasant demise. Yet, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you. This is too easy for a promotion mission. What were they hiding? 

Then Megumi opens the doors to what would’ve been the emergency room, and all hell breaks loose. 

Bloodstains, bright red, catch your eye first. They’re splattered all over the room, on the floor, curtains, and on the hospital sheets yellowed with age. You see the bones next. Human; skulls, ribcages, femurs, all picked clean and white enough to shine under the fluorescent lighting. The light flickers. A tumorous mass sits in the center of the room, a conglomeration of hair, teeth, and eyes that blink slowly at you. Your spine stiffens, and immediately, you pull Megumi towards you as a ropelike strand of hair tightens around the spot where he was standing. 

Those fuckers. A Semi-Grade 1? 

“Megumi,” is all you can make out. In the hallway, you can hear something more menacing, something equally as terrible as what sits in the room inside with you. You can hear Nobara’s cry of pain as a nauseating crack rips through the air. They won’t survive without him. “I’m sorry.” 

His eyes widen in understanding a fraction too late as you gather all your energy and shove him back out into the corridor as the curse flings a file cabinet at you. It crashes into the door, and you can hear Megumi calling your name with something that sounds like desperation. The hinges rattle as he throws his weight against it, but the cabinet holds firm. When you turn to face the curse in front of you, the look in its eyes is amused as you draw your blade. A cavernous maw opens, splitting it down the center as misshapen lumps of flesh spill out. Smaller curses, remnants of the innocents it had lured and devoured. A sudden chill goes through your body. 

This isn’t a Semi-Grade. This is a full-fledged Grade 1. 

There’s something vicious in the way you move, tearing through cursed spirits as though they’re paper. Ichor stains the ground around you, as red as the blood you channel through your veins. Dimly, you think you’re screaming. It was a set up, you think desperately. Of course the higher-ups would try to kill Itadori Yuuji at any cost. They didn’t give a fuck about you, or Nobara, or Megumi. Fury fills the cavern of your chest as you lunge for the hulking Grade 1, as it grotesquely pushes out the corpse of one of its victims into something far more sinister. You rip it to shreds without a second thought. 

The sound of steel on flesh makes the hair of your arms rise as you finally manage to cut a nasty gash into the misshapen curse in front of you. It howls in pain, tendrils reaching for your body as you leap away. Instead, the tendrils open the serrated wound a bit further, opening a new pocket for its children to crawl out of. That was the first blow you’d been able to land; ten minutes have passed since you trapped yourself inside a room with it. Will you make it out alive? You shake the thought away angrily.

Gritting your teeth, you increase your blood flow, shooting it down to your legs and the fibers of your muscles. Your blade shines as it cuts down curses, the Grade 1 merely watching with a demeanor that you can only describe as bored. It’s toying with you, you realize, but what pricks your heart isn’t fear, but resignation. Your foot catches on the rubble for only a moment, and the Grade 1 moves, slamming you into the wall with enough force for you to feel your ribs shatter. Blood fills your mouth and you choke, lungs heaving. Punctured, your technique tells you, a liter gone. The air tastes like iron and salt, and you realize with a start that you’re dying. 

You feel oddly calm as the world spins, watching as the ropes of hair approach your prone body. The last thing you see is the door shattering open, and the look in Megumi’s eyes as he sees you. There’s terror in his normally stoic expression, his arm outstretched towards you as Nue dives for you. Nobara and Yuuji are moving, but all you can see is him. His hands are bloodied at the fingertips, as though he’d been clawing at the door with his own hands to pry it open, his lips moving soundlessly. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the toll of death that signals your end. His hand cups your face, and you allow yourself to lean into it for a moment, reveling in the touch. I could die like this, is your final thought as you succumb to your injuries. I’m happy that you’re holding me, Megumi.

The world around you feels muted, when you finally awaken. Your vision is blurred as you peel your eyelids back, and you wince at the sensation. How long have you been out for? Slowly, the blurred tinges of light start to focus. A lamp, dimly lit to your right on the nightstand next to a pitcher of water and an empty cup. A punctured lung, a liter gone. Your hand drifts to the bandages that wrap your chest, carefully letting your cursed technique scan your body. A few lacerations, but for the most part you were fine. Crisp sheets rustle as you sit up, examining your surroundings. The hospital in the infirmary. Somehow, they managed to bring you back. 

Megumi’s eyes, so desperate and lost as his hand reached for you. 

You try not to think about it, as you carefully test your body. Your limbs ache, but that’s to be expected. Your hair has been neatly pulled away from your face; Nobara’s work, no doubt. Her screams from behind the door, the dread in your chest when you realized they might not survive without Megumi. You watch your fingers shake as you reach for the water, letting it soothe away the pain in your throat. Did she even make it? Did they live? 

The door opens, startling you from your thoughts. Megumi stands in the doorway, hand pushing through his hair. You take a moment to examine him, noting the dark circles under his pale skin, and how his long hair seemed mussed. His eyes scan the room, passing over you before focusing on you with startling clarity. 

“You’re awake.” 

Hesitantly, you nod, as he drops into the seat beside you. “Did…did they…”

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence. “Kugisaki and Itadori are fine.” 

You stare down at your hands, letting the silence wash over you. Yet, you’re dimly aware of how suffocating it feels, how your shoulders were unable to relax even with the knowledge that your friends were alive and safe. Megumi continues to watch you, but before you can say something, anything,  his voice fills the air, terse and clipped. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” 

Startled, your eyes meet his. “What?” 

“Did you think I was too weak? That I couldn’t handle it just because you’ve been a Grade 2 longer than I have?” The eyes that normally watched you with a hint of affectionate exasperation were cold, and hard. “You behaved recklessly. Did you even think about how it impacted the rest of us? Because of you, Kugisaki broke her leg, and Itadori almost had his arm cleaved off. You did all of that just for the rest of us to find you half dead in a puddle of your own bones and blood.” 

“Stop it,” you whisper, but Megumi’s voice only twists into something far more cruel. “You thought you were being so brave, sacrificing yourself, only to realize that you weren’t that special. You couldn’t even take down that Grade 1 alone. Kugisaki had to save you, even as she was practically screaming from the pain.” 

“Megumi,” you whisper, and he pauses, clearly unused to his name falling from your lips. “Why are you so angry at me?” Your voice breaks ever so slightly and you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, ashamed at the wetness in your eyes. “Where is this coming from? I don’t understa-” 

He slams his palm against the wooden surface of your bedside table, rattling the drawers. “Are you really that stupid to ask what you did wrong? You fucked up. I thought you were different, but in reality, you’re no better than the rest of your clan, are you? You’re just another filthy Kamo.” 

Your hands shake as you twist them into the off-white infirmary sheets. “What are you talking about?” 

Megumi laughs, but it’s jaded, sharp. “Congratulations. You’re being promoted to a Semi-Grade 1, all because of your little stunt that landed the rest of us into hospital beds. Even though we all had to help you finish it off, they’re only choosing you. I wonder why.” 

“Megumi.” Your voice rises, as your heart finally shatters. “I did it because I thought you would die, you know that. I don’t give a fuck about the politics of the higher ups, or my clan, or even my grade. I just wanted to protect you all. You know that.” 

He rises from the chair next to your side, expression indifferent to the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. “As if I’d believe you.” 

“Megumi,” you call out, desperately, as he walks away. “Megumi!” 

He doesn’t look back, and you’re left alone in the dark with only the moon to bear company as you sob. I don’t understand, you think, deliriously. Can’t you see that I love you? Can’t you see I’d rather die than watch you break in front of me? 

Megumi barely makes it to the lawn before he retches into the bushes. Bile rises in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as he replays the moment over and over and over again. For five days, he’d held vigil at your bed. For five days, he realized that your love for him would get you killed. For five days, he’d wrapped his heart in iron, knowing that what he was about to do would break the both of you. I would’ve only gotten you killed, he thinks, numbly. It’s what landed you here in the first place. 

Yet, Megumi can’t stop recalling the exact moment the relief in your eyes had turned into betrayal, how your lips had trembled and your hands shook. Your voice, desperate and pleading, calling his name as he forced his legs to walk away from you. How he can hear your sobs faintly trailing from the windows above, matching the tears that are trailing down his cheeks. 

You’ll hate him forever, he thinks, dazed, as he forces himself onto his feet. You’ll hate him forever, and by god it’ll be the most painful thing he’s ever experienced, but as long as you’re alive he can bear it. As long as he never has to see you there again, laying in a heap of your own blood, eyes dazed and unseeing, he will carry the sins that it takes to keep you alive and away from him. 

I love you. I love you, and I’m sorry that someone like me ever fell for someone like you. I love you so much that the thought of being without me tears me to shreds. I love how you take care of my shikigami like they're your own. I love how every touch you give me heals something that I didn't know I was missing. I love you, and I need you to live more than I need air to breathe.

I love you, and even though I don't think you'll ever forgive me, I'll always follow wherever you go.

[neopuppy]

Take My Breath (M)

pairing. alpha Jeno x female omega reader

genre. trapped in an elevator AU, a/b/o, pwp, M/F

warnings. profanity, explicit smut.. filth, pre-heat, dubious at first(consent given), ‘stuck’(ridiculously unrealistic), slick, oral, unprotected sex, anal, multiple orgasms. minors DNI.

word count. 7000

“A coffee shop in the lobby? The fact that this place even has a lobby?” Your friend lets out a low whistle glancing around. “Not to mention the amount of unclaimed Alpha real estate around here. So many bare naked fingers. What God did you save from immortal death in a past life to snag this place?”

“I told you, I’ve been on the hunt for months. It was worth the wait.”

“A new place isn’t the only thing you’ve been hunting for months.” One of her well-kempt eyebrows bounces, nudging her chin toward the line that’s formed filled with Alphas dressed in various work attire. “There’s no way you won’t end up mated living here.”

“I’m not trying to mate anyone.” You say uninterested. It’s true, really, you could care less to have some Alpha prancing around your new place, making a mess of crumbs and leaving remnants of his scent behind to ruin your peaceful atmosphere.

“You can try to deny our nature all you want, but your Omega instincts will handle your stubborn attitude. You just wait and see.” She says with a wink, leading you to start up another discourse over how you have learned to control your Omega’s feral hormones. A call of your name from behind the coffee bar leaves your lips parted, holding up a finger before her face as you stand to pick up your drink.

“Hold that thought, I’m not done with you.”

“Yeah yeah. Go grab your coffee you grouch, you need it.” She laughs teasingly, making eyes at a few handsome Alphas in line.

“This isn’t my drink..” You say, turning the label on the cup to face you. “Jeno?”

“That would be me.” A firm chest grazes your arm, sliding into the space by your side as he reaches for the cup still lingering at the tips of your fingers. “I believe I grabbed yours by mistake.”

The Alphas scent swarms around you first, as rich and warm as a field full of lavender, calming enough to relax your tense muscles, loosen brain-aching invisible strings keeping your scalp tense, slowly stumbling back mindlessly.

“Oh my God!” The Alphas deep rumble reaches your ears faintly, gathering you with his scooped arms before you can hit the floor.

He’s strong, flexing under your waist as he sets you back to your feet and maneuvers you with speed to stay up. “Are you okay?!”

Concern softens his speech, stroking up and down your arms with wide large palms that shiver each nerve down to your fingertips. “Almost hit your head there.”

The Alphas cheeks bunch up, steadying you with his hands clasped on your shoulders. “Probably my fault for popping up by your side out of nowhere.”

“Is she okay??” Your friend interrupts, breathlessly as if she’d rushed over, patting the top of your back. “What happened?”

“Ah, I’m the one to blame.” The Alpha says apologetically, directing to your drinks sitting side by side. “I grabbed the wrong drink, think I bum rushed your friend here.”

“Oh, that’s okay Alpha, she can be such a klutz.” She replies flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes with no shame at the handsome man standing before you who barely gives her more than a second of eye contact.

“It was definitely my fault.” He nods to you, lifting one of his eyebrows inquisitively. “It’s not everyday you accidentally steal a pretty Omegas drink.. I’ll have to be more careful next time.”

“Any Omega could only wish to be lucky enough for you to be the one to make that mistake, Alpha.” Your friend says, raising her pitch higher to sound helpless, making your stomach churn full of nausea.

“Jeno.” He says, slowly taking in your facial features. “You can call me Jeno.”

Jeno grins, leaving a $20 dollar bill by your coffee that’s no doubt begun to lose its warmth. “Next drink on me, for making you wait, and nearly knocking you unconscious.”

He nods again, waving goodbye with a controlled smile to contain how endeared he feels watching your glazed eyes follow his every little move. “See you around.”

“Now that Alpha has ‘problem’ written all over him.” Your friend chimes, nudging an elbow into your side with a smirk. Snatching up the bill left behind to wave in front of your face. “Sexy, generous, sweet? and that scent? If you don’t fuck him...”

The rest of her sentence fades out, too deep in thought as you inhale the remnants of lavender and hints of crisp grass left behind. Morning dew, moist, steamy, trapping you in a sauna filled with little to no oxygen.

Jeno wasn’t going to be a problem, no not at all. You only wish he could be just a problem, because problems can be solved. A simple equation to figure out, nothing you couldn’t handle.

A problem wouldn’t have you chewing at your nails, rasping your fingers on any surface to distract away every thought of him. Long showers to numb your senses were out of the question, quickly rinsing off to skip using your favorite body washes, tickling at your nostrils with the small bit of lavender laced through the ingredients.

The Alpha had become quite a hassle for you over the next few weeks, the largest daily nuisance with a smile plastered on his face every time he caught you gawking at him, destroying your sleep schedule for a mere glimpse of his stupid long eyelashes and disappearing iris. Truly succumbing to your pathetic Omegan desires even as you berate yourself along the way.

His damn enticing scent left you breathless just from passing each other in the hallways, his ridiculous strangled raspy vocals greeting you a ‘Good Morning’; the worst most suffocating scent melting out of his pores like scolding lava after an AM workout. God you hated it, that’s what you kept repeating as you slapped your bedside table alarm at 5am.

Who wakes up at 5 in the morning? You, of course, to retrieve your mail that you could have easily grabbed the day before, but that would mean missing the Alpha strutting in panting for his life, pouring sweat down his chest as if he’d just finished a triathlon, and his damn addicting delicious scent. His holy mouth parting open when he throws back his head to inhale a bottle of water as he kicks his way through the lobby double doors, swallowing the sweet nectar down in the most obscene of ways.

The Alphas chest juts out, firm and defined by the hands of the Devil himself, you’re convinced, with the sole intent being to ruin you.

“Morning.” Jeno said, tipping his head, somedays adding a wink with his smile. Today he waves as he passes by, biting on his lower lip while you force a smile back and release something akin to a laugh, a dumbed down giggle.

It’s sick really, because you think you’re getting away with it. Dressed up in your cutest outfits at the crack of dawn, hair done, and a full face of makeup on playing a casual bit every morning just for one minute of bliss.

Ever the perfect Alpha, Jeno’s either clueless, and as dumb as he looks with a big goofy grin or smart enough to know exactly what you’re playing at. If he knows what you’re up to, he has the decency to check your mate and keep up the game, especially when he makes an effort to keep the elevator door open for you for an unnecessarily long amount of time as you debate with yourself to get on or not.

A tingle up your spine lifts your foot, hanging mid-air as your heartbeat reaches your ear. Pounding a way between your eyes similar to a warning to stay back, do not enter. Danger ahead.

Unfortunately, your Omegas always had a taste for danger, dropping your feet to skitter onto the lift and squeeze yourself into a corner with your chin tucked into your chest. “10th floor please.”

The Alpha sports his charming smile, pressing the 15th floor along with yours. He leans back on the railing, cleaning off droplets of sweat cascading from his forehead down to his chest with a small towel, nothing but a pair of snug running shorts covering his body, leaving too many inches of his creamy smooth skin visible.

“Off to work?” Jeno clears his throat first to break the silence between you as the elevator doors shut, slowly lifting off the lobby floor.

“Oh, I work from home.” You speak too abruptly, realizing coming up with a lie would have been a better choice and his lip tweaks upward at one corner, nodding, seemingly pleased by your answer.

“Same, usually I’m just hopping out of the shower when it’s time for my first Zoom meeting.” Jeno turns toward you, making no effort to hide his gaze taking in your figure from your shoes to your face. “I definitely never look as nice as you.”

“Oh..” nervously, you toy with the ends of your hair, reaching to push some behind your ear as you wearily glance at the red numbers above. 4th floor. “You always look good Alpha..”

The compliment comes out more whispered than planned, igniting heat to burn behind your cheeks. Gripping onto the railing behind your back to stabilize yourself. That damn lavender scent, that fucking scent you’ve desperately avoided. Stupidly beginning to regret entering such a confined space with the man driving you up a wall.

“You think so?” Jeno sways a bit, coughing to cover up inconspicuously wandering over your outfit of choice today; silently grateful you opted for a short skirt instead of those ludacris snug shorts that rode up your ass last week. “Every time you see me.. I’m rushing around covered in sweat..”

He sighs, the back of his head bumping against the wall softly. The elevator becomes more suffocating with every minuscule move Jeno makes, wafting his natural drug inducing aroma around the tight space. “I probably smell awful.”

He shows off a relaxed smile, neck arched back exposing the column of his throat, the girthy bob of his Adam’s apple. “I know how sensitive Omegas can get about an Alphas scent.. The whole purpose if us living on opposite floors. You would think they’d designate separate elevators for us to use too.”

Jeno’s gaze flickers up, darker and heavier than you’ve become used to, licking at the roof of his mouth as he watches you squirm and furiously glance toward the changing red numbers.

The Alphas nose twitches over and over again, you hear him sniffle, stifling the sound of his throat clearing again as he leans back with his palm gripped tighter onto the railing framing the elevator. Silently observing your intakes of air grow more shallow. “Is everything oka—“

You know he can smell it, even with your thighs tightly clenched together, even through the thin layer of cotton covering your crotch, your scent has consumed the air around you. Embarrassment flares your cheeks with fire, ducking your chin to your chest to avoid any chance of stealing a look in the Alphas direction. There’s no way to deny the leak of slick flowing from your core this time, no room to escape and scurry to your safe sanctuary away from your stupidly ridiculously hot neighbor.

Another raspy clear of his throat has you incoherently slamming your palm flat on any button to get off on the next floor. A tickle of dewy mucky air, lavender melting from dripping wax reaches your nostrils past the overbearing scent of your arousal, and fear darts up your spine; the first instinctual thought you have to run, get away, run as fast as you can despite your Omegas resistance.

“Wait!” His tone blares even deepr, strangled from a dry throat that’s been used up during his run; echoing out as your foot slams down to jump through the opening elevator door. Gliding much too slowly, painfully inching open, you push against the powerful mechanism with weak wrists urging it to open faster.

“F-Fuck!” Choking out a curse, your ribs crush between the opening, held in place by the space that’s halted from opening right as you’d begun to make your escape.

“Oh my God..” the Alpha sounds far away now with your upper half trapped on the outside of the elevator. The hallway around you is empty, dark, and not a floor you’ve ever stopped on before. “T—the door!” He stammers from behind you, audibly gulping what must be a thick wad of saliva to quench his throat. “It’s stuck!”

“Wh—what?!” You shriek, slapping your palm against the steel wall of the elevator, stinging your heated skin with the shrill chill radiating off of it.

“You’re..” The Alpha swallows again, the sound of his leather sneakers stepping forward. “You’re stuck.”

“What?! Open the door!” You scream now, anxiety increasing rapidly as you scatter to move only to let out a pitiful groan from the dig of metal pressing deeper against your ribcage. “Open this door right now!”

“It’s not opening! Why did you run out like that!” He sounds frantic now, followed by fingers slamming against a button repeatedly and an annoyed grunt. “I can’t believe this.”

“You can’t believe this? What about me! You can’t be serious right now! Quit fucking around and get me out of here!” A slam of your foot follows, kicking at the ground petulantly to emphasize your anger; only drawing up a string of curses from the typically well-mannered Alpha.

“Could you..” He sighs, moving away to a corner further off, sounding distant once again. “Could you not do that?”

“Do what?!” You bark, stomping once again, clueless to how your skirt flares up fanning your aroused scent right into Jeno’s face. The Alpha having to take another step back until he’s pressed flush against the wall.

“Please, I can’t..” He sounds anguished, slowly dropping down to his knees out of your sight. “Your..”

“What?? My what?!” A flush of heat itches up your chest, because you know what it is. As much as you want to lie to yourself that there’s no way the Alpha can tell already, you know the truth. A sad whimper breaks from your lips when you feel the heavy trickle of slick squishing out from your clamped together inner thighs.

Jeno’s next breath comes out choked, strained and thick, feeling trapped himself by your heated arousal filling up the small space. Unable to rip his gaze away from the sheen that’s rivered past your knee, forming a spot of wetness at the tops of your knee-high white socks.

“Alpha please..” you wheeze out, swallowing a lump down your throat from the swell of heat over-taking your limbs. The pressure against your sides more bearable than the coil of fire bursting it’s way up your insides. The mere humiliation of knowing the vulnerable position you’ve landed yourself in gushes more slick from your hole, pushing its way through the soaked through material of your white cotton underwear.

Jeno’s mouth feels empty of any moisture, swallowing over and over again with a rough drag of his tongue at every corner seeking saliva. He can’t fight it, dropping his head back with a roll of his eyes to savor every note of your heady scent. Every sweet lick of aroma fanning it’s way through his senses tastes delicious; sugary and succulent like some forbidden dessert he should never be allowed to take a bite of.

“Alpha..”

Jeno’s eyes snap open, his eyelids sticking together from humid sweat. The heat radiating from your flesh filling up the elevator similar to boiling sun on the hottest of summer days. “Help me, please.”

He thinks you sound near seductive.. purposely trying to wreck his brain, each call of his title more sinful than the last. Floating closer on his knees until trembling fingers reach out, just hovering near your ankles, he curses quietly, unable to pause the tremor of excitement and fear coursing through his veins.

“Help you..” Jeno’s dry throat cracks, breaking each syllable of his speech with a gritty rasp. A strong tone of lust behind his response as he timidly reaches to drag up the backs of your calves, electrified by how soft your cotton socks glide under the tips of his fingers.

“Alpha.. please… help me out of here.” Another tortured plead makes Jeno’s neck stand straight, tickled by the sound of slick bubbling out of your underwear. The seat of your panties directly before him, clinging the your heat for his hungry gaze to devour. Puffy and needy, so fucking needy already.

“How..” Jeno swallows, latching onto your flexed calves as he drags his thumbs to stroke the wet patches that have gathered between your knees. “How am I going to get you out of there?”

He can’t think clearly anymore, consumed by the pornographic vision before him. The devastating sounds of your whimpers and sighs; sighs of relief that follow each barely there second of skin on skin contact as his thumbs rub slick in circles on the insides of your knees.

“Smell so good..” Jeno continues, head dropping forward close enough to feel his breath hit the backs of your exposed thighs. Jerking and shivering when he takes a deep inhale from the lewd display of wet pouring it’s way out like a broken fountain between the small triangular gap at the top of your locked together thighs. “How can I help you..”

Jeno squeezes up your knees, switching to grip the fronts of your thighs. “You’re shaking so much.. Is Alpha making you nervous?”

“Alpha, please..” it's a natural survival instinct taking over at this point, unsure what you’re truly begging for anymore. For help? For help with what.

“I know, I know.” Jeno swears, pressing his cheek against the back of your thigh. He huffs, warm breath fanning where slicks has begun to cool between your legs, foggy-headed as he blinks roughly to straighten out his vision. “Alpha will help you, gonna do what I have to do..”

Jeno thinks he means that, he wants to believe he means that despite his palms staying glued to your smooth thighs. Despite his fingers digging into the soft sensitive fleshy meat squishing against his touch. “You have to relax for me..”

He swallows again, eyes rolling up, grateful for how unaware you are of his current state of misery. He’s trying, trying so hard to neglect his Alphas voice screaming at him to fuck, take, and claim the Omega presented before him.

“You have to listen to me.” His eyebrows furrow together, stuck on the amount of slick leaking from your hidden hole. It’s obscene, more than he’s ever seen even from the Omegas he’s taken care of during their heat. “We have to work together alright?”

“Okay Alpha..” pathetic, God you sound so pathetic. Jeno wants to take a deep breath but your arousal makes the walls feel as if they are closing in on him. Even so, his hold on you feels comforting, knowing an Alpha cares this much about your wellbeing, enough to reassure you that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to help you. Whatever it takes.

Jeno tries to think, forcing his gaze away from the elevator light bouncing off your shiny thighs. “Phone! Do you have your phone?”

He regrets asking when you let out the saddest broken whine, stomping your foot again. “I always leave it on my bed when I go grab the mail.”

Jeno does his best to not imagine the other helpless sounds you can make, he does his best to control the shake passing through his fidgety fingers, to ignore how sweaty his palms have become against your hot skin. “I’m thinking, just.. be patient with me.”

He hums, rolling his eyes to himself each time he pictures you bent over by the lines of mail boxes, because of course some genius coined a brilliant idea to have the Omegas on the bottom row. How convenient to leave you without a choice but to bend over, ass swaying in the air as you peep through your mailbox, a small task you always took your sweet time to do.

“Why don’t we try talking..” He suggests, sighing with the side of his head resting on your covered buttcheek. “Get your mind off of being stuck.”

“It’s kind of hard..”

“Just try.” He says, squeezing your thighs for reassurance. “I’ll start, when did you move in? I think that time I grabbed your drink was the first time I’d ever seen you around here.”

Jeno’s right, you think trying to do the math, fuzzy brain as you attempt to recall anything other than the Alphas brawny figure.

“Uhhh, I think..it’s been ab—about a month.” You stutter, growing more dizzy with the effort used to respond.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Jeno gulps, sighing for the hundredth time and he takes a purposeful deep breath to inhale your syrupy scent. He imagines this is what drowning in quicksand must be like, a futile attempt to free himself from the impending situation at hand. Arousal circles around him, catching small whiffs of hidden traces of his own scent laced between yours, and his expression turns worrisome.

“Maybe you’re right..” The Alpha groans, nestling his cheek against your bottom. “I don’t think I can do this.. you smell too good..”

“Do what??”

“This— I..” Jeno trails off, kneading your buttcheek as he continues to smother his face against the other. “I can help you relax another way.”

His hands work like instant magic, loosening the tight ridges up your spine, calloused fingers bury into plump flesh too aggressive to feel like a massage but good enough to lose the tension in your neck. “Jeno, this isn’t—“

“Shh, keep calling me Alpha..” his fingers sneak under the material of your underwear, pushing one side up to wedge between your bottom while puckered lips drag down the back of your thigh. “Helps me relax when you call for me like that, all pretty and vulnerable.”

“Alpha, I don’t think you should..” Jeno grunts, smearing his parted lips in slick. His rough hands grip onto your butt with a new ferocity, working the meaty flesh between his fingers furiously.

“It’s working, your muscles are unwinding.” He reaffirms, hanging his tongue out to catch the drip of slick leaving your covered hole. “Once I calm you down.. it’ll be easy to get you out of there. I promise.”

The reply you give him comes out more gargled, building up through your gut, erupting as more of a pleading whine. “So nice.”

Jeno cooes, sliding his hand into the small space between your thighs. The thick of your slick seeps through his digits, trickling down past his wrist. “You know..”

The Alphas raspy vocals vibrate down your limbs, bubbling saliva up your throat. He hums, continuing to massage between your thighs, making a bigger mess. “I think your Omegas been trying to send me a message. Somehow we ended up together like this, after weeks of this back and forth..”

Jeno sighs, cupping your core from behind to press against the bubble of slick in your panties until it pours out around him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“Alpha..” you say woozily, drifting in and out of heat trying to take over your last bits of semblance. “Don’t.. don’t do it.”

“No?” He sounds shattered, expression most likely fallen apart in despair. His palm digs into your heat harder, creating insufferable friction against your entrance. “Are you sure about that?”

The question hangs in the air, echoing in your head as if to taunt you. Are you sure about this? Not at all, but with your ankles crossed together and Jeno’s palm sticking to the seat of your underwear, you feel uncomfortable only because it’s stopped his ministrations; both of your breaths coming to a halt as the air around you pauses, breaking only after you let out a pitiful cry.

“We shouldn’t..” it hurts you to say out loud, more than you’re willing to admit. Fuck it hurts, and not in the way you wish it would.

“What’s stopping you?” Jeno whispers, gritty as if his teeth have started to grind together. Mouthing at your underwear hanging on for dear life to your ass, he bites at the cotton, teething it up to meet the other side that's been shoved into the crevice of your bottom. “Tell me what you need me to do, I’ll do it for you baby.”

He finishes with a searing hot kiss left on your exposed buttcheek, kitten licking the area after. An index finger pushes at your slit, gliding up and down through the fabric. “Eat your pussy so good, bet you’ve never had your ass ate, have you? A pretty Omega like you deserves to be worshiped and devoured.”

“Alpha!” You wheeze, choking on the saliva collecting in your throat. Jeno growls, sucking the fat of your ass between his lips while prodding your panties into your awaiting entrance. It’s torturous, kicking your crossed feet on the floor.

“You feel so good, pussy just begging for cock.”

Jeno pecks a few more kisses on your ass, pushing off the balls of his feet to stand, he grips your hips. “Don’t be nervous, Alphas gonna take care of you.”

Hips press flush to your backside, pushing his thick covered girth between your cheeks. The visual of it depraved, a hopeless Omega trapped like this, bent into a position presented for the right Alpha to make use of. To take what’s rightfully his, and Jeno can feel flames soar up his chest at the thought. Slowly beginning to roll a menacing circle of his hips against you.

“Tell me you don’t want this…” Jeno coughs, swallowing down a wad of dry air. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop if you say it again.”

For emphasis he draws back, burying his hard length between your buttcheeks, the width of it making your head spin.

“Don’t..” You stammer, head drooping down with a cracked cry. “Don’t stop!”

Jeno’s throat nearly rips open from the growl he lets out next, angrily ramming his hips against you. “That’s right, Alphas gonna fuck you good baby. Fuck you so good, won’t ever want another dick inside of you again.”

Jeno can feel it, he’s gone, high as a kite off your crazed arousal placing him under an unbreakable spell. He can’t hold it back anymore, rutting into your ass painfully, he feels possessed, seeping his nails into your naked hips. The skin breaking under the roughness of his jagged freshly trimmed fingernails. The hurt from it unwavering when all you can focus on is how tantalizing his clothed cock feels just rubbing against you.

“Alpha, fuck..” A hiss passes from your lips after attempting to grind back, reminded of the ridiculous predicament you’re in. Jeno’s unrelenting grasp holding you still despite the aggression behind each snap of his hips.

“God, want me to cum just like this, don’t you?” He pants, head rolling side to side as he blearily glances up, blinded by the bright lights above. “Can’t imagine how good you’re gonna feel for Alpha.”

Jeno riles himself up, ranting to himself about how you’ve soaked through his shorts. Slick even reaching his midsection, dripping down the front of his thighs more with each slam of your lower halves. “Bet you’re so tight, such a good Omega. Ready to please.”

“Y-yes!” scratching down the door, you shriek, head shaking from the overwhelming amount of friction. The Alpha could say anything to you at this point, anything at all and you’d agree, ready to drop to your knees and fulfill his every command.

“Fuck.” Jeno spits out, jerking back quickly to free his size, a thick protrusion shoved between your inner thighs not a second later. “FUCK!”

Thrusts speed up, panting like a thirsty dog behind you as he chases an orgasm. “I’m— oh fuck, ah fuck.”

Jeno hunches forward, fisiting the stretched out material of your underwear in one hand as he pushes his length past it using the ruined cotton to rub against himself. He shouts through gritted teeth, coming to a stand still as hot spurts of cum pour out onto your lower back.

“Please, Alpha.. please!” You squeal, feeling even more congested and stuck. The tip of his nose buries into your spine, nodding slowly as he catches his breath, tracing the curves of your hips between his fingers.

“I know, baby.” He hums, nosing a trail down your back as he falls to his knees. “Such a greedy Alpha.. need to apologize.”

Jeno tugs your underwear off tediously, eyebrows twisting together the more he unveils your center. It was hard enough to deal with covered up, but the sight of your ripe hole convulsing nearly knocks the wind out of him.

“Fuck, I knew it.” The Alpha licks his lips, waist dipping in as he leans forward to drag his nose up and down your gleaming slit. The sweetest high coils a way up behind his eyes, blurring from the scent of lust. “Such a perfect Omega.”

Jeno’s eyes wrinkle shut, lapping a strip up your cunt, the width enough to cover the expanse of puffy flesh. He’s immediately animalistic, stretching his jaw wide to wolf down the entirety of your center as promised. His tongue darts out, licking at your clit with precision that sets your knees to fall weak, sliding lower in your stuck position.

The moans of anguish and desire you let out only push him to work faster, burying the end of his nose into your pulsing heat as his tongue works in rapid motion to flick and stimulate each nerve, pointing the tip to thrust against your clit with power and have your head snapping back with a shout.

If you could only see him, you know the Alphas face is covered in slick. Snorting your release up his nose like some drug, he’s filthy, down right disgusting and unashamed letting out the nastiest sounds of pleasure. Every strained vocal cord reverberates between your cunt, rolling tremors up your spine.

“Alpha..” fat tears roll down your cheeks, whining like a pitiful horny mess, unable to do anything besides cry harder and beg to cum.

“Gonna cum from fucking my mouth? wanna taste you pouring down my throat.” Jeno rumbles, sinking his long tongue deep inside your pussy with a rough wiggle. He grabs onto your ass, pulling you apart to run his face side to side with ease.

The sensation shoots chills up your thighs, wobbling up to the tips of your toes as you cum, clamping around Jeno’s tongue putting work in to make you lose your mind. Determined mouth forces a space for himself past your resisting hole, despite gagging from the amount of slick that breaks out of you. Hinging his jaw wide, he keeps at it, chasing after your heat when you drop lower landing on your knees painfully with a shout.

“Alpha! c-can’t!”

Jeno slaps your ass, resounding like a whip cracking on skin to accompany the ear shattering scream you let out. Lowering with his sweat covered stomach on the floor, he sends your spine rigged, laving your wrinkled rim between deep huffs of breath.

He pulls back only to circle your rim with two fingers, the pads of hard skin encouraging your ass to bounce and ripple the more he teases, swishing saliva around to slowly drip a wad of spit on your hole; the Alpha gasps for air, rolling his eyes back when your ass convulses under his digits grazing the tender skin.

“Bet you’re even tighter back here..” Jeno has to silently praise himself for taking time to please you, throbbing between his legs with the dirty mess of cum he’s ruined his shorts with, he growls again, biting up your buttcheeks, soft enough to leave small indents without breaking skin. Three digits bundled together swipe between your freshly used pussy, painting his fingers in the sea of slick to spread around your rim.

“Will you let Alpha fuck you back here sweetie?” Jeno cooes, always shifting to a gentle tone when asking the filthiest things of you. Lazily nodding against the ground, he notices how much you’ve relaxed, fully laid out flat upon the grimy floor. “All these holes for me right? Only for Alpha to use, turn you into my good cocksleeve.”

He sighs, sucking on the plump mound of your buttcheek as the pads of his fingers trace around your hole, watching you twitch for a minute. An experimental prod has your knees dragging off the ground, ass shoved out for the Alpha to have you spread apart fully. He groans, pushing two tips of his fingers inside.

“Fuck.” Jeno salivates, slowly inching in as he sucks and nibbles on your butt. “Slutty fuckhole taking my fingers so good baby.”

He squeezes another in making you scramble to grab onto anything, the sudden movement pushing you back through the door without realizing, too entranced by the fingers fucking into your ass, stuffing you full from every end.

“Yes yes yes Alpha, anything.”

Jeno could care less about what you’re spewing, hawking another glob of spit at your tight hole, he digs into the second knuckle spreading his fingers apart until your lively shriek arises again. “Can you cum like this for Alpha? I know a nasty pretty thing like you can do it.”

The Alphas teeth gnaw at your ass, fucking his fingers in and out with power until your hole finally gives and loosens. Even then he knows this won’t be enough for you to take his cock. “Tiny little hole can barely handle my fingers.”

He mutters, hazy from watching your rim clamp and pulse around his digits. “Cum for me, let me feel that asshole tighten up even more.”

Jeno’s lewd words bow your back, pushing down onto his digits as the build-up of release bursts out of you. The sound of slick raining down on the floor breaks your mind, plummeting down into an empty thoughtless space.

“See,” and suddenly Jeno’s hovering above you, able to slide you free from the trap you’d fallen into before moving you onto your back. “Always trust your Alpha to take care of you.”

Your Alpha.

Your Alpha who stayed true to his word, freeing you from the dangerous situation you’d put yourself in just to avoid the object of your wet dreams.

Jeno lets out a cute unsatisfied sound, wiping stains of tear tracks off your warm cheeks. “Such a pretty Omega, didn’t get to see your pretty face cumming for me.”

The Alpha cups your cheeks, refocusing your mind for a minute to take in the high blush on his cheeks covered in pools of slick. The smile stretching his face is much too endearing for what he just did to you and everything else he plans to do. Jeno shoves your cheeks together, setting your lips to form a pout for him to chew on. His perfect teeth dig into the fat, biting between heavenly kisses that have you seeking more; reaching to grab at his toned stomach, the tips of your fingers slotting into the hollows of muscle.

“Taste good everywhere don’t you?” Jeno preens, mauling your mouth with another ferocious kiss. He likes this game, the way you’ve become nothing but a dumb pile of putty in his hands to ruin time and time again, allowing him to remold you into the perfect Omega.

The Alpha nods your head for you, shifting between your legs as he wraps a palm around the base of his shaft, he points the tip, directing it to slide between your slick drenched walls. Jeno doesn’t bother with prepping your pussy, can’t be bothered to, not when your entrance sucks around his cockhead begging for him to fuck you full. Pressing his forehead to yours, he pushes through with a powerful thrust.

“Oh, that’s it.” Jeno nods, circling his hips to accommodate his size. The stretch rolls your eyes to the back of your skull leaving nothing but white behind, tongue hung loose with a silent scream like a damn animal, and he thinks you really are perfect. So fucking eager to take your Alphas cock, so willing and slutty.

“Always so pretty,” He huffs, hoisting up the back of your thigh to push against your chest. His gaze dragging down to watch the space where you connect, slowly grinding in and out, mesmerized by how wet you still feel after cumming twice. Amazed by how heavy the slick trickling down his balls feels; pouring down to make a sloppy mess between his ass. “You know how pretty you are, don’t you baby?”

The Alphas eyes lock with yours expectantly, thrusting shallowly with his neck tight, holding his breath in fear of his lungs giving out on him, collapsing from overuse. Growing more hoarse and ragged as time ticks away.

“N-no..” with shaking lips, you stutter, scratching pink and crimson lines along his sturdy broad shoulders. No doubt caking layers of skin and bits of blood beneath your nails.

“No???” Jeno’s eyes sharpen, the iris wide and coated in a sheen. “What do you mean no?”

His next thrust arches your back, shaking your head in reply as words evade you. The Alpha taking the opportunity to fuck you faster, smacking against your center at a brutal pace. “Wanna cum?” Jeno bites out, pushing your knee to your shoulder to grab your chin. He forces you to face him, blaring you with a gaze full of fire.

“Pleasepleaseplease!” Nodding rabidly you cough between wads of spit, half choking on the amount that's gathered around the insides of your mouth.

“Who’s my pretty girl?” Jeno’s expression turns serious, glaring straight into your eyes as he asks without slowing down, snapping into you at a punishing pace. “Are you my pretty baby? Come on, tell me.”

Between whimpers and cries full of anguish you nod, letting the Alpha use your body to get off. His hips beat down on you harder than ravenous ocean waves, landing with loud smacks of sweaty flesh on flesh. Each vein lining his cock pulsing against your insides louder than your own heartbeat. “Wanna hear you say it.” Jeno groans, reaching his other hand between your lower halves to rub figure-eights on your clit.

“Alpha, wa-wanna c—cum!” You plead, too desperate under the Alphas burly frame to have a coherent thought. “Please!”

Jeno stops, pressing down on your clit hard. “Only pretty girls get to cum, what are you? Hmm? Come on, tell me baby.”

Overwhelmed emotions shoot through your limbs, clenching your eyes shut as you repeat that you are Alphas pretty girl.

“I’m your pretty baby,” you whine, slapping at his shoulders with zero strength. “Please! I’m Alphas pretty Omega.”

“That’s right,” Jeno grunts, furiously fucking you with his two of his fingers squeezing inside of you nestled alongside his cock drilling in and out of you, thumb pressed down on your bundle of nerves dropping your jaw open in a silent scream.

The Alpha fucks you through it, stilling to keep his cock inside of you even as slick squirts out around his palm, pushing his fingers up against your insides until you thrash and push at his shoulders with tears covering your cheeks. He’s fast to maneuver you, cupping your hips and using all of his thigh power to lift you off the floor, quietly promising he’d get you cleaned up after this.

Jeno gets you up on the railing, ass half-hung off with one leg perched on his shoulder making use of your flexibility. Fisting his cock, he dips the tip back to your entrance, stopped by your palm smoothing down under his navel and a pained hiss. “Sensitive,” you let him know, ducking your chin in a bashful manner.

The Alpha nods, pressing closer to capture your lips with a comforting kiss. Stroking his length between your folds to gather a mixture of cum and slick, he scoots lower, circling your rim with his cockhead coated in the sticky mess you’ve created. Dragging his lips across yours, he mumbles what sounds like ‘Can I?’ nodding even if you’re not sure what he’s asking for, he pushes in slowly, the first few inches have you flailing, reaching around yourself for anything to grab onto to endure the initial pain.

“Hurts..” you whimper, stuffing your nose into the Alphas scent gland for more of his calming lavender, instantly easing the stinging pain as he buries in another inch.

Jeno nods, kissing the side of your forehead. “You can take it.”

To his credit he tries, he tries to keep a steady pace, thrusting in the rest of his length with harsh breaths as he stays still and lets you get used to it, but he’s too close to cumming already. Jeno wraps and arm around your waist, huffing out heavily falling into a jackhammering speed. Unrelenting ruthless thrusts clap against your thighs and ass, booming out the slap of your plump flesh colliding with his hip bones.

“Fuck, fucking shit it’s tight.” The Alphas chest caves, feeding your ass every inch of his fat length. Each thrust sloppier and messier than the previous the nearer he comes to reach release. Jeno picks up his brutal pace, oblivious to your cries growing louder the more he stretched your ass with an unforgiving breach.

“Cum for me one more time baby,” Jeno shouts between his clenched teeth, dropping from your waist to bury three fingers inside of your cunt, thrusting in at the same hard drilling pace as his cock; fast and so hard. He lets out a loud cry, cracking from his throat with another snap of his hips. Thumb rubbing at your clit pushing you over the edge with another expert flick of his wrist.

“Alpha! Oh God Alpha!”

Blinding heat slams your chest back to the wall, fucked by what feels like a beast as Jeno reaches his breaking point. Screaming out a roar when your ass locks around him and slick bursts out onto his stomach. He growls, pushing the entirety of his engorged length inside of you, thrumming as he fills you with a never-ending load of sticky white ropes.

A string of curses and what can only be recognized as gibberish spill from his mouth, latching onto your throat littering searing kisses up to your jaw. He nuzzles, nibbling up the bone to your ear. “My pretty Omega.”

The elevator door slams shut startling you both, lifting your heads up in a daze as if you’d just woke from a fever daydream.

“10th floor.” Jeno says, eyeballing the red lit up number as he sets you on your feet.

“Take me home Alpha?” You say weakly with your face hidden in his chest. Jeno smiles to himself, scooping you up with ease. The display of power doing nothing to quell your heat, but silently promising you that this isn’t over yet.

“Let’s get you home.”

[hencheri]

guilty pleasure

18+. mdni.

pairing: yuta x fem!reader

warnings: religious themes & mention of religious guilt, dubcon, corruption kink, manipulation, perv!yuta.

wc: 2.8k

a.n.: this is part 1 of a series of 2 oneshots. part 2 won't come so soon, but will be much darker with more plot.. i swear.

.

you’ve never thought you would lose yourself so fast in the hands of a man you barely knew. it goes against so many of your values and morals, goes against all the promises you made to yourself all those years ago when you were just a teenage girl. 

the very thing you’ve always told yourself, always knew you would follow, is now your biggest sin. 

you swore to yourself that you would not fall into lust with a boy that wouldn’t be your husband, or at the very least, your boyfriend. 

you’ve never been the slightest interested in sex; it didn’t bother you to not know certain things, or how it felt. didn’t bother you either to be the inexperienced one amongst all of your friends who are very much sexually active. 

your studies have always been more important than all of that teenage rebellion stuff. your parents are proud of you, they see a successful girl with a big future in you, and that’s all you need right now. 

until he came in and ruined you to the core. nakamoto yuta. 

he represents everything your parents are scared of. everything they’re against. 

before that, you couldn’t remember a time you interacted with him. you weren’t interested in knowing him, even though your friends sure would have liked to know him in plenty of different ways. 

yuta has always been the rebellious emo guy from your highschool that grew up to be every girl’s wet dream. he smokes, he does drugs, he drinks; any illicit substance you mention, he has done. and this was just one of the many reasons why you didn’t want and couldn’t be with him. 

because yuta is the definition of sin itself. 

he’s laying in your bed, shirtless, while your eyes are fixated on him, not knowing what to do. your heat is pulsing, your panties always soaked whenever he’s around, something that really never happened to you before. 

he’s corrupted your mind, implanted thoughts in your brain that you’re so embarrassed to even acknowledge. if before a half-naked yuta in your room would have made you cringe, now it has you eager to take all of his clothes off and play with his cock until you’re covered in his cum. 

you weren’t that down bad at the beginning, on the contrary; you were absolutely scared. you didn’t want this, didn’t want him in such a foul and perverted way. 

but you think he’s corrupted you right after the first time. 

it was in the library, somewhere you’re sure he’s never stepped foot before until he learned it’s where you’re hidden most of the time. at the far back end of the library, back against the bookshelves and trapped between yuta’s arms, he had whispered “do you ever touch yourself? you know, down there.”

his hand had deliberately brushed over your clothed core, sneaking under your skirt without your permission, but all you did was watch him with big, rounded eyes. 

the answer was obviously that you didn’t. again, you weren’t interested, never had the time to really think about it. 

“i can show you what you’re missing out on, angel,” was what he said next, and that’s exactly what he did.

fingers pressing tight and low circles on your clit until you came, spasms of your orgasm bringing you to tears. 

you couldn’t even see him without thinking about what had happened, couldn’t bring yourself to look at his right hand without remembering where it had been. to say you were embarrassed was an understatement. 

he passes a hand through his long brown hair, eyeing you up and down. “come, i’m gonna show you something,” he softly says. 

he shows you the spot between his legs, and as you take it, you feel your stomach churning and face heating up. you sit down on your knees and he spreads his legs further apart to make space for you. 

 “you remember last time, right?” he asks and you shyly nod your head, recalling perfectly what you did. “well, instead of using our hands, i want us to use our mouths.” 

your brows raise up, staring at yuta like he just said the filthiest thing ever — and quite frankly, he did. 

“yuta, i don’t- i don’t know… that’s nasty,” you wince. 

“i don’t think it is,” he replies, slightly shaking his head from side to side. he lets his eyes travel down your body, looking at your cotton shirt hugging your perfectly shaped tits — that he knows fit just right in the palm of his hands — then back up to your face. 

he takes your hips and pulls you closer, “don’t you wanna know how my tongue would feel like, hm?” he’s so close to you his nose nudges you, his lips hovering over yours. “i know you wanna,” he breathes out, his mouth staying ajar, tempting you. 

just to confirm his words, he slips a hand into your shorts and panties, not even surprised to find you dripping wet. he grins, satisfied that your little mind is running wild on itself, not even needing yuta’s help for that. 

“see?” he retrieves his fingers, putting them right in front of your face where you can see your arousal sticking to them. “open up for me.”

as expected, you pull your eyebrows together, thinking there’s no way he will make you lick it. you were already grossed out when he did it himself the last time you were together, his two fingers entirely coated in your wetness. 

seeing that you’re doing nothing, he clasps his other hand around your jaw, pulling your mouth open and pushing his wet fingers past your pretty lips. 

his hand slides down to your neck, “there you go, angel. suck on them,” he instructs, his eyes focused on the movements of your mouth, warm tongue licking yuta’s digits clean. 

you scrunch your eyes shut, feeling embarrassed in so many ways. but you like it. you like it a lot. 

he slips his fingers out, now even wetter than before. he smiles at you, “it isn’t so bad, don’t you think?” he wipes his fingers across his chest, movement that you follow closely until he lays his hands back on your hips. 

yuta leans further back onto your pillows, “what about we start slow, yeah?” he suggests, his hand hovering over his crotch, your eyes glancing down at it.

you look back up, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth. “okay…” you breathe out.

he then sweetly smiles at you, one that doesn’t fit at all with what he’s thinking about right now. satisfied with your answer, yuta helps you by parting his legs as you lie down on your stomach, hands on his thighs. 

“perfect…” he lowly groans, making himself comfortable on your bed. “now, you can just undo my jeans,” he watches you executing yourself, dragging his zipper down and unbuttoning his pants. he passes his tongue over his bottom teeth, already turned on by your overly innocent face. “and pull my underwear down.”

your breath quickens when he says that, looking up at him with frown eyebrows and a pout. how cute. 

he lets out a light chuckle and joins his hands to yours, thumbs hooking under his boxers. “need some help?” 

you don’t respond to his teasing, only shifting your gaze down to his crotch again, tugging down both his pair of briefs and jeans. he lifts his hips up for you, and you can’t help the little gasp of surprise that escapes you when yuta’s cock springs out, resting over his stomach. 

your eyes immediately roam over his body, looking at the few tattoos decorating his skin that you know your parents would disapprove of. you can’t lie that they are magnificent, especially on him. he has a butterfly on his hip and a feather on the other, placed just on his hip bones. 

yuta also has a navel piercing, a detail that really makes him so much hotter than he already is. if you’d ever come home with one of these, you’re certain your parents would kick you out without a second thought. 

“are you done staring?” you hear him laughing, distracting you from your thoughts. 

“sorry,” you bashfully mumble under your breath, blood creeping up to your face. 

“spit in my hand,” he suddenly demands, presenting you his open palm. 

you’re taken aback a little, still finding it gross. “yuta-” you begin to complain, but he rapidly cuts you off.

“you’ve agreed, baby. come on, do as i say.”

you collect the saliva in your mouth, looking directly into yuta’s eyes as you let a globe of spit fall from your mouth to his palm. he then takes his cock with the same hand, stroking himself and spreading your saliva all over his length. 

he grabs one of your wrists and gently wraps your hand around himself, sucking in breath through his teeth when you tighten your hold. 

“now what?” you curiously ask. 

“can you… can you take just the tip in your mouth?” 

you try to not look repulsed by his demand, inhaling before bending down to his hard cock, parting your lips and entering the tip into your mouth. 

“oh, fuck-” yuta throws his head back onto the cushions of your fluffy pillows, relishing into the feeling of your warm, inexperienced mouth on him. “yeah, just like that, angel,” he chokes out, gulping down. “suck it…”

you gaze briefly at yuta before deciding yourself to follow his instructions. swirling your tongue around his head, you go a little further down, him watching you with his mouth agape, entranced by the sight in front of him. 

you have the unfamiliar taste of his precum in your mouth. it’s neither good nor unpleasant, but it’s still weird to think that you’re tasting him. 

you suck like yuta told you to do, slightly bobbing your head as you figure it might procure him more pleasure and you’re right; he almost immediately moans out loud, hand coming directly to hold your hair in his fist. 

you gaze up at him and your eyes connect. he’s gritting his teeth, sucking his bottom lip in. his cross pendant is sitting right on his naked chest, as if taunting you, cruelly reminding you of what you’re actually doing. you scrunch your eyes shut, breaking eye contact with yuta, and move your head up and down more vigorously, eliciting melodious moans out of him. 

“oh, fuck, baby…” yuta croaks out, his head lolling back on his shoulders. he squints his eyes, watching his cock entering and exiting your mouth, traces of your red lipstick remaining on him. “you’re doing such a good job, continue like that,” he praises.

hearing that somehow makes you more embarrassed than you already are. you shouldn’t be good at this — you’ve never done this before, never even thought about doing it. but yuta’s moans and groans sounding through your bedroom make you so much wetter as the minutes pass. his sounds make you believe you want to do this everyday just to hear them, just to know that you’re the reason he’s feeling good. 

it’s like the sexual desire you have for yuta is stronger than the guilt you feel for having those said desires in the first place. 

his hand suddenly pushes you further down his engorged cock, forcing you to take more than you’re ready for. he fists your hair, pulling harshly and making your scalp sting. 

you whine around him, pleading eyes looking up at him. “it’s fine, baby, it’s fine… you can handle it, my little slut,” he groans out the last words, very much pleased with the idea of you being his own pretty little fucktoy. 

on the other hand, you don’t like it at all. it makes your stomach twist in a tight knot, eyes starting to water whether because of the lack of air entering your lungs or because of the unbearing guilt that you feel, it’s not important.

all that matters is that yuta doesn’t let you suffocate around his dick. 

you reach up to grab his hand that is holding your head down, trying to unlock his fingers from around your hair to no avail. 

but then he pulls your head up, cock slipping out of your mouth and slapping down against his stomach in a wet thud. you gasp, taking in big puffs of air, chest heaving up and down rapidly. you gulp down multiple times and wipe the drool that fell out of your mouth earlier off of your chin. 

“shit,” yuta curses under his breath and it’s now that you notice he’s rapidly fisting his cock, all your saliva sticking to his hand and making squelching noises. 

he finishes quickly after, his cum spurting out of his tip and dripping down over his hand. his pace slows down as he empties himself completely, little white beads falling over his black painted nails. 

“gonna help me clean this little mess,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk as he gently pats your hair. 

you agree, getting up on your knees and extending your arm to your nightstand where the tissue box is, but yuta grabs your hand, bringing you back in your initial position. 

“you have a mouth, baby. good girls don’t let anything go to waste.”

you wince in confusion. does he really want you to lick all of it?

“yuta, please, i don’t… want to,” you refuse, glimpsing down at his cock softening in his hand. 

your disobedience clearly starts to irritate him a little. “you’re okay with sucking me off, but not eating my cum?” he snickers, “stop being so difficult.”

he forcefully pulls you down toward his crotch and with no other option, you stick your tongue out and begin to lick his cum off of him, including his cock and hand. you’re surprised that it tastes nothing, but you’re still not very fond of it. it’s quite humiliating, to be honest. 

when you’re done, yuta doesn’t waste any time before pushing you on your back, getting on top of you. 

“it’s my turn now. i promise to be gentle,” he grins, lowering himself until his head is in between your thighs. he gets your shorts and panties off of you, greeted with the sight of your aching, wet pussy. “aw, look at this… my baby really wants me, doesn’t she?”

your cheeks heat up again, feeling so not at ease with your bare cunt at the mercy of yuta. especially when he looks at you like you’re his prey, about to eat you alive. 

despite all of your conflicted feelings, you can’t ignore the pulse in your clit and the urge to just clench your thighs for some relief. watching yuta cum is surely an image you will have in your mind for a long time. it’ll haunt your thoughts, you’re certain of it. 

he licks his lips and asks, “ready?”

you simply nod your head as a yes, taking in a big breath, nervous.

he dives in, his lips finding your clit and sucking on it as soon as he gets his mouth on you. you squeal, hands gripping his hair as if to get him away, involuntarily jerking your hips upward and onto his face. 

you’re incredibly sensitive, and the pleasure in your stomach builds up so rapidly, even faster than when yuta gave you your first orgasm. you were already so turned on, that the quickness of his tongue is enough to bring you over the edge. 

“yuta, i’m- i’m gonna…” you stutter, but you’re so ashamed of what’s happening, you can’t get the words out. 

he doesn’t need to do more until you’re cumming in his mouth, legs shaking on each side of his head, tightly gripping his hair in your fists. his tongue laps at your clit a few more times, driving you through your orgasm. 

he withdraws his head away from your cunt, smiling at you, “that was quick. if i knew you were this horny, i’d have taken care of you sooner, baby.” you don’t answer, but accept the kiss he gives you on the lips.

after this, you know you can’t go back. how could you possibly when he tore away the last bits of innocence you had?

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part four

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Four - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.4k

I remain on my knees, the pain slowly ebbing away, replaced by a searing anger that burns hot and fierce. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I glance around, panic clawing at the edges of my mind. Logan is nowhere to be found, and my fear spikes, cold and sharp.

Deadpool’s voice, usually so irreverent, now carries a note of genuine desperation. “—I just, I wanna go home.” Cassandra’s tone is deceptively sweet, like venom hidden in honey. “Well, the thing is, I could get you home.”

Deadpool’s eyes light up with a fleeting hope. “Good.”

“But I don’t want to.” Her words drop like a guillotine.

“Not good,” Deadpool mutters, the hope snuffed out as quickly as it came.

Cassandra’s gaze narrows, her curiosity piqued. “What do you want, Wade Wilson?”

Without warning, she thrusts her fingers into his mind, just as she had done to me. I watch in horror as her fingers seem to jut out from beneath his skin, distorting the flesh in ways that make my stomach churn.

Deadpool tries to maintain his signature humor, but the pain is evident in his voice. “Uh, your fingers are inside me, but not in a good way.”

Cassandra’s smile is cold, pitiless. “My brother could enter one’s mind with a thought. I have to get my hands dirty.”

“Oh, gosh,” Deadpool groans, his bravado cracking under the relentless assault.

I can only watch, helpless, as she whispers venomous words into his ear, her voice a sinister lullaby. “You’ll never fucking matter.”

Deadpool’s response is shaky, his usual quips faltering. “She never said that.”

With a savage twist, she rips him from her grip, but the damage is done. “No, but I bet she thought it,” she sneers.

“You are so mean,” Deadpool says, a weak attempt at humor. “My brain could taste your fingers, and they tasted like hate.” He turns his gaze to me, his eyes softening as he sees my rigid, frightened posture. Then, almost instinctively, his head tilts slightly, gesturing to where Logan was last seen, as Cassandra begins to turn away. Deadpool’s voice rises in pitch, a strained attempt to bring levity to a dire situation. “And where in God’s name is the Intimacy Coordinator?”

Cassandra’s chuckle is devoid of warmth. “You’re so lost, Mr. Wilson. Long before you came here.” Deadpool, ever resilient, quips back. “This is Baby Knife, she’s gonna fuck you in the face now.”

Cassandra’s smile is a slow, dangerous curve. “If you want to kill me, it’s going to take more than that little knife.” I watch Logan make his way back to her and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Deadpool’s eyes gleam with determination. “How about six?”

Before Cassandra can react, Logan’s claws pierce through her from behind, lifting her off the ground with a savage thrust. She barely flinches, a low chuckle rumbling from her as she slides off the blade, completely unharmed. Her amusement is clear as she addresses us, “Well, this has been fun, but the big guy needs to eat, and the rent is due.” Her eyes shift to something behind us. “By the way, you’re the rent.”

Dread surges through me as I follow her gaze, and I see Alioth, the monstrous entity, advancing toward us. My mind races, flashes of potential futures darting through my consciousness, searching for an out, an escape.

Then I see Logan, running toward a discarded Sentinel leg. His claws jam into the machine, sparking it to life. “Come on, bub,” he growls, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos.

Heart pounding, I sprint to him, gripping my arms tightly around his torso. He turns to shield me, caging me between his solid frame and the towering machine. His gaze flicks to Wade, a silent command in his eyes. “Coming or what?”

Wade, ever the survivor, scrambles to join us. “Coming!” he shouts, as the Sentinel leg roars to life, offering us one last desperate chance at survival. The machine whirs and jolts, propelling us into the sky. I fight the urge to scream as the ground disappears beneath us, my heart pounding in my chest. Wade slides up on the other side of me, and I find myself wedged tightly between the two men, their combined presence both a comfort and a suffocating weight.

We soar higher, the wind whipping against our faces, the tension palpable. But just as quickly as we ascended, the Sentinel leg begins to falter, its power sputtering. I hear the mechanical whine as it loses momentum, and this time, I can't hold back the scream that tears from my throat as we plummet toward the ground. Wade’s scream echoes mine, a rare sound of genuine fear escaping him. Both men instinctively wrap themselves around me, their arms bracing for impact, trying to shield me from the worst.

As we hurtle toward the earth, I muster every ounce of focus, desperately trying to slow our descent. The effort works, just enough to break the fall, but not entirely. We hit the ground with bone-jarring force, tumbling across the dirt and debris. I tighten my body, rolling a few times before finally coming to a stop. Pain radiates through me, but as I take a quick inventory, I realize it's nothing major—just a few scrapes and bruises.

Wade’s voice, muffled but close, mumbles, “What you thinking, Pal?” I realize my legs are tangled with theirs, the three of us a heap of bruised limbs.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Logan growls, his patience clearly wearing thin. I try to untangle myself, but Wade’s weight keeps me pinned.

“Fucking move,” I grunt, trying to elbow him, but Wade only shakes his head, a grin evident in his tone.

“Shh, shh. Almost done.”

I freeze as I feel something cold and sharp touch my back. My eyes widen in realization. “Wade, I swear to god—”

“Almost done what?” Logan growls, the tension in his voice rising.

“Getting my knife out of your buttocks.” Wade yanks, and Logan flinches beneath me, a strangled curse escaping his lips.

“Ah, fuck!” Logan snarls in pain, his muscles tensing under my weight.

Deadpool, ever the opportunist, quips, “Get your mind out of my pants. I’m telling Blake.”

I finally shove my way off Logan, the three of us scrambling to our feet. I dust off my fighting leathers, the dark material reminiscent of my old X-Men suit, but black instead of yellow—left over from another variant. The air is thick with tension as Logan straightens, his gaze hard and focused.

“New rules,” Logan growls, his voice brooking no argument. “I talk now.”

Deadpool feigns shock, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s gonna be very hard on the audience.”

Logan’s patience snaps. “Shut the fuck up!”

I raise an eyebrow, my irritation bubbling over. “Does that include me?”

Logan’s eyes flicker with annoyance. “Yes. Let me fucking think.”

Irritated, I mutter under my breath, “Don’t try too hard, you might hurt yourself.”

He growls at me, a sound that makes my skin prickle, but I hold my ground. Logan’s gaze shifts, his mind clearly working through a plan. “We gotta get back to Paradox, right?” he asks, the confusion in his voice betraying a moment of doubt.

I frown, unsure of what he means. “Logan, what—”

Logan looks to Wade, frustration etched into his features. “Right?”

Wade, ever the smartass, smirks. “Je m’excuse, am I allowed to speak now or…”

“Just nod, asshole,” Logan snaps, his patience long gone.

Wade nods, his usual humor tinged with something more serious.

“Right,” Logan continues, a grim determination settling over him. “We find the others—that poor kid Johnny was talking about before you got him killed.”

I nod, finally contributing something useful. “I know where they are.”

Logan gives me a curt nod, thankful for the direction. “If there’s a chance we can get out of here, we make those TVA fuckers fix my shit like you fucking promised.”

His words hit me like a shockwave. “Our world?” I ask, my voice wavering with hope and disbelief. “They can fix it?”

Logan’s expression is stern, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “That’s what he said.”

Wade’s head tilts, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “I smell quest.”

Logan’s nostrils flare, and he sniffs the air, his eyes narrowing as he glances at me before pulling away to sniff again. Suddenly, his eyes sharpen with recognition. “I smell food.”

Next Part

A/N: I have work the next couple days so I will update when I can!

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

[urmomschocolatemilk]

Simon x reader

This is something I wrote a while ago, its honestly old and I might've posted it before tbh. It's not proof read at all so sorry if it doesn't make sense. I was lowk going through it during the time I wrote it to and it lowk sucks so yeah...enjoy!

Your hands are folded neatly in your lap, resting on top of your legs that are tucked under each other in a criss-cross position like you were taught to sit in elementary. Your back is straight, your posture unusually rigid and proper for someone sitting inside their own home. The lights are off and the streets outside your window are empty. Everything is dark, quiet, peaceful. You think you like the world better like this. 

You try to sink further back into the soft cushions of your couch, try to relax and let go of all the pent up stress and sadness manifesting itself in tense muscles. It’s no use though, almost like your body doesn’t think you deserve the smallest luxury of comfort.  

There’s a rolling in your chest as you stare out into the dark abyss. Your heart beats with hurt, the type that makes you want to reach into your rib cage and squeeze it until the pain is quelled. Where there was once sadness and sorrow is now filled with a gut churning emptiness. Your mind is quiet yet so loud all at the same time, your heart so heavy and so empty. The worst part of it all though is nothing feels real.  

Everything is so far but so close all at the same time. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow, on soft cotton sheets, and the cold of your satin pillow case and this will all have been a dream. A reality that only existed in your mind.  

Your fingers burn as they brush against one another, your face sticky with dried tears. Your eyes and lips are slightly swollen and your face is puffy. You’ll need to ice it in the morning.  

The bedroom door creaks, and your head turns towards the sound.  

“Sweetheart?” A gravely voice calls to you. His accent is think, his voice deep and ravished with sleep. You’re still so lost in your thoughts that his voice sounds distant, like background noise at the back of your brain. Your brows furrow in worry and concentration as you try to focus in on it.  

“Simon? Did I wake you?” You ask. You’d tried to be as quiet as possible.  

He pauses to take in your figure for a moment, assessing the situation. Ever the soldier.  

“No.” His gruff voice finally responds. You had. But he figures it’s best not to tell you. There’s a pause of silence before he rubs his eyes and speaks again, “Come to bed.”  

“I’ll be there in a bit.”  

He shakes his head, pushing himself off the doorway and crossing the dark space in a few long strides. Before you can protest, his arms are wrapped around you, lifting you from your spot on the couch, he sits in your place, placing you on his lap.  

His presence is calming, the weight of his arms around you grounding, and the feeling of his chest rising and falling against your back soothing. It pulled you out of your own head.  

Simons has never been good with words; he’s always been better at taking action. The first time something like this happened he wasn’t sure what to do, wasn’t even sure if he was going to be able to help. But this silent, wordless comfort was what you needed. 

It was easier to focus on everything but voices in moments like these. Specifically touch. That always felt the realist. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, shifting under you to get more comfortable and tugging you down with him. The warmth of his body coaxed you to relax and when his fingers started to need at the newly formed knots in your back you obliged, melting into him.  

“Feel good?” He mumbles to you quietly. You hum a yes in response, slipping your eyes shut. A wave of drowsiness hits you.  

Your ear rests against his heart, you tune into the sound of soft thumping. Briefly you wonder why listening to the muscle that breathes life into someone is so soothing. The thought is fleeting though, as sleep is pulling you into its hold. Your tired mind aches for rest and you agree, letting yourself slip out of consciousness.  

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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You and Kento looked the picture of marital bliss as you were led down the hallways of the temple for your joint interview. Your hand felt so small and soft in his; he opened every door for you, and you rewarded him with twinkling smiles that, although part of the act, had him feeling weak at the knees.

Kento's pat to your bottom as you stepped into the waiting room had you giggling, and your guide, an elderly woman in a kimono, rolled her eyes fondly at the young couple before her; there will be children running around here in no time, she thought, none-the-wiser to your schemes.

With the door closing behind her, you turned to Kento and slapped at his chest as he chuckled, pretending to defend himself-- "Was the bum pat too much?" he mused as you scoffed at him. Having far too much fun together, you giggled like teenagers before you met his eyes, fully serious now.

"Remember- my technique only works on Curses, not humans," you reminded Kento in low tones. You knew you'd never be accepted into the cult if they believed you to be capable of influencing the thoughts or choices of their members. Kento nodded, stern now as he gripped your shoulders and gazed down at you.

"And I'm in charge here," he whispered, hushed and insistent, "you're just my quiet wife, not a threat at all." This wasn't what you had agreed, and you opened your mouth to argue, but Kento silenced you with a look. "Please. You're safer if you're overlooked. And we both know you're the brains of this," he insisted as you scoffed again, "so let's make it easier for you to harvest information. Let's have you totally ignored." Narrowing your eyes at him, you knew he was right, though your stomach churned at Kento wanting to make himself the target if your cover was blown.

Kento adjusted his tie, running his fingers through his hair, making your breath hitch in your chest. He continued, convicted but disapproving, "This cult is likely a sexist, misogynist cesspit like the rest of them, anyway. Bold women frighten them," he spat.

"Kento, I don't think I've ever been meek my whole life," you smiled wryly at him. Kento's lips quirked, sardonic and approving.

"I know. It's one of my favourite things about you."

When the door opened to two older men, both roughly in their sixties, your blush and Kento's closeness brought to mind a young couple caught necking in a cupboard, and the two men shared a knowing glance. Kento turned his back to you, bowing deeply to the men, and you offered hushed bows and greetings behind him, ostensibly already the meek Mrs.Tsuda.

"Please come through, Mr and Mrs Tsuda," the more cheerful of the two men offered. He was tall, soft and approachable, with white hair and an old zippered cardigan. The second merely glowered at Kento and you, his dark hair peppered with grey, looking stiff and pressed in a crisp black suit. Kento took your hand firmly and you squeaked as he pulled you through short corridors to the interview room, which was...an old dojo, you noted, opening onto a lush and trimmed traditional Japanese garden.

Kneeling on ceremony, you remained silent as you sat to the side of and just behind Kento. His physique now radiated no warmth towards you, and you sat to attention, appearing brittle and ready to ask "how high?" if Kento commanded you to "jump". You felt a pang of success in your gut when the two men appraised you and Kento, approving of your apparent dominant-subservient marital dynamics.

"Well now...might I start by saying what a delight it is that such an eager young couple has shown interest in becoming a part of our community," began the kindly man, "and how eager we are to find out more about you both."

Pausing for a moment for tea to be brought in, the man continued, "Allow me to introduce us both. My name is Ono Shinzu, and my younger brother here is Ono Tatsu. But in the community, we are generally known as The Fathers, if you please." Father Tatsu's eyes remained narrowed, his mouth set in a grim line, paying you no significant attention, but boring holes into Kento's face. Kento was totally unfazed, not an easy man to intimidate.

"We have of course read your files and applications with great interest, and, I'm sure you don't mind, have run some thorough preliminary background checks on you both," Father Shinzu leaned across to you and Kento conspiratorially, "which you'll be pleased to know found nothing...undesirable." Kento hummed his approval, leaning across to Father Shinzu.

"Absolutely, Father. All of my skeletons are very well buried," Kento whispered to him, equally conspiratorial. Father Shinzu, tickled, clapped his dry old hands together and laughed.

"Splendid my boy, we're delighted, we really are. Now as I'm sure you're both aware, our Community is most interested in expanding the Jujutsu Sorcerer population far beyond its current level. The current Sorcerer influence on the...direction our great country is taking is disappointingly minimal. The average man and woman in the population needs far more...guidance, shall we say, on the path ahead. We should be delighted to see our Community's leaders and children across positions of public influence all across this fine country. Don't you agree?" You and Kento both agreed enthusiastically, to the approval of the Fathers.

Soon, enough small-talk had passed that the Fathers seemed wholly convinced of your dedication to their cause. Father Tatsu spoke up abruptly, cutting across his brother.

"To the matter of your cursed-techniques. We shall start with the lady, I suppose," Father Tatsu toned, a light sneer evident in his voice. You squeaked, looking to Kento for permission to speak. He nodded once, briskly, nervous for you.

"Oh, well I erm..." you stuttered, the perfect mild wife, "I'm not really much of a fighter I suppose. I have a way of influencing the decisions a Curse will make." You laughed, reedy and tinkling, "You know, they always scared me so much, really I just convince them to leave me well alone!" You laughed again, demure as the Fathers offered you polite smiles, nodding approvingly.

Nailed it, thought Kento, wishing he could show you how impressed he was. The attention shifted quickly to him.

"But you, Mr.Tsuda. By your own words, you're something of a...powerhouse, if you will," Father Tatsu pressed, eyes narrowed again. Kento nodded, puffing his chest out, seeming so arrogant, so unlike himself.

"Grade 1 Sorcerer level, if we're going by those demeaning standards," Kento huffed.  Kento explained his ratio technique to the Fathers, sparing no detail. Father Tatsu's eyes glimmered, greedy and fascinated.

Father Shinzu spoke up, "Whilst I would be delighted to observe this technique today, yours does sound rather destructive, Mr.Tsuda, and I'm quite fond of my little dojo. But, we have had several lovely young couples join our cause this month, so we've organised a little...dinner and spar for tomorrow night for you to all showcase your talents. I assume yourself and your wife would like to attend?"

The penny dropped. We're in, you and Kento both thought, the room suddenly all bows, paperwork and handshakes.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"That was vile," you sulked, rummaging through your suitcase as Kento chuckled at you, looking through the cupboards in your new home. Your little marital house within the complex was surprisingly spacious, wood-pannelled and screen-doored, tidy and unassuming. It did, however, have its own onsen, enclosed behind high walls outside your living area. You pictured Kento, bare-chested and wet, toned arms and long-fingered hands beckoning you to the water like a Siren.

Blushing furiously, you slapped your own cheeks. Kento peered round a corner at the sound, frowning at you. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yes, absolutely!" you fumbled, "it's just, they've uh...they've been through my suitcase, I think." Kento gulped down the lump in his throat as he saw you shift cute lacey bras and underwear around your suitcase, trying to reorganise it. He coughed, grumbling to himself.

"Yes, well...no illicit materials allowed here I suppose," as he backed around the corner again, once again pondering his chances of getting through this mission alive with his dignity intact.

Foiling his plan to hide his flushed cheeks, you ducked round the corner to him, eyebrows wiggling wickedly, "Does that mean we'll have to make our own fun?"

Kento nearly choked on his own spit, but Uno reverse'd you instead, "Well, help me put the futon together, my love, and we shall see." The smile slipped off your face, to Kento's amusement.

"Futon? Singular?"

Kento began constructing your bed, back to you and trying his best to just keep it together, man. He was too busy lost in the thought of you, stretched out like a goddess, in some of those delicious underwear sets, bare legs tangling with his in the warmth of the futon as he rolled you onto him, clamping your legs around his hips as he--

And you stood behind Kento, fluffing pillows, as you imagined Kento, hot and desperate and moaning your name, as your mouth worked around him under the covers, wondering how he tastes, his hips bucking against your mouth as he--

The futon was constructed, Kento paying vast attention to detail in his internal turmoil, pillows fluffed to full attention by you as you tortured yourself with impure thoughts.

"Obviously, I'll sleep on the sofa," Kento offered, always a gentleman.

"No way. You need the sleep more than me,  especially when this comes down to a fight." Kento scoffed something about years of poor sleep and managing just fine, thank you, and the two of you found yourself bickering lightly, no venom, but as if you really were--

"Some old married couple!" you snapped at Kento, and he gazed at you fondly, his fingers holding his own chin and barely concealing his soft smile. You flushed, hitting him with a pillow, "So you can stop looking at me like that!"

Kento sighed, heading to the bathroom and coming back with his toothbrush, "Enough," he said with such finality that you couldn't offer any further complaint, "we're professionals, we are friends, and we happen to need to sleep beside each other for a little while. I'm certain we're both adult enough that this need not be a problem."

You felt mortified, certain that Kento's ability to remain cool about this was evidence of his unreciprocated feelings, and you almost felt tears of embarrassment prickle in your eyes before containing yourself again.

Wordlessly, you both got ready for bed; you slipped under the covers quickly, Kento only seeing the briefest glimpse of satin shorts against your plush thighs. Kento pulled at the neckline of the t-shirt he never normally wore for bed, usually bare-chested, and wondering if his pyjamas did anything to hide his partial erection. Both rolling away, your backs to each other, the room dark and still aside from the faint buzz of insects in your garden, you and Kento were woefully unaware that your torture was completely mutual.

+-+-+-+-+-+--+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento woke in the night, taking a moment to remember where he was and why he was there. Eyes adjusting to the night, he heard soft whimpers and frantic shuffling against the sheets in the dark. Reaching out, Kento softly spoke your name. His fingertips reached your face and flinched back- wet, he thought, cupping your cheek with his hand, she's crying.

You were, like every night, lost in the nightmare of your last mission, doomed to watch your friend die again and again. Kento gulped, desperate to help you, but afraid to make you uncomfortable. As you called out for help in your sleep, Kento couldn't help himself as he slid his arms around you, sitting up and sliding you gently against his chest.

You jolted awake, arms held close to you by his, so warm and secure, that you cried harder. Kento said nothing, rocking and shushing you like a child as you gripped his t-shirt and sobbed your heart out. You poured out your fears to Kento, weakened and vulnerable.

"We've made a mistake coming here," you sobbed, clinging onto him now, "I can't lose you like I lost her, it would kill me, and you're so bloody chivalrous, I know you'll go out of your way to keep me safe."

"As I damn well should," Kento urged, voice tight and determined. You shook your head against his chest, your ear tickling as he grumbled at you. He held both sides of your face now, pulling it gently into a strip of moonlight glowing in through the windows. He stared into you, your eyes sparkling with tears, nose pink and lips puffy, and gulped as he stopped himself pulling you in for a kiss there and then. With your tear-stained cheeks squashed between Kento's broad palms, you felt like a child, and avoided his gaze.

Hands occupied, Kento gently bopped his nose against yours, forcing you to look at him.

"You're going to be fine. I'm going to be fine. We'll be out of here and going for our usual coffee date in no time. Trust me."

You nodded, sniffles abating as he dropped a kiss to your forehead. Both shuffling back to your sides of the bed, you lay quietly in the dark, blushing furiously.

Kento tortured himself internally, wondering if you had noticed when he accidentally referred to your trips out for coffee while working as dates.

You had.

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Waking up the next morning, sunlight streaming through the screen doors, you sighed and moved to roll over. You found yourself totally restrained by thick forearms, and your internal temperature instantly shot up by what felt like a hundred degrees.

Kento slept, soft hair mussed by sleep and breath tickling your ears. And, it seemed, he was a cuddler.

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Chapter 3: Deadly Games, link HERE!

[hoseoksluna]

VAPOR, pt I. | jjk ft. myg

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

genre: smut, a hint of angst

word count: 10.6k

summary: yoongi never promised his healing time would be easy and when he hurts you enough that you need your other "boyfriend", jungkook is quick to rescue you.

pinterest board: blur | playlist: car playlist

warnings: mentions of a sex toy, jungkook is upset and angry at his hyung, public sex, dirty talk, sexual tension and frustration, praise kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), bruising, cum swallowing, going behind someone's back........

note: HI MY LOVES—MY STEAM DRABBLE IS HERE AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED TO POST SOMETHING, OH MY GOSH. OKAY, before i say anything else, i would like to put a disclaimer here: even though all my characters are fictional, they are still human in this world, which means they fuck up, which means they're not perfect whatsoever and never will be. i would like to really put an emphasis on that before you read and if i receive any vulgar and rude asks about this, i assure you that i will not respond to them. OKAY ALL SERIOUSNESS ASIDE—this was fucking AMAZING TO WRITE and i already CANNOT WAIT to start writing another part, this time with yoongi included. i promise to make everything right and—SPOILER—this couple WILL get a happy ending, so don't worry, my loves. ENJOY READING. SPAM MY INBOX. I LOVE YOU.

There’s a mango-scented candle rustling in a bag, resting on the passenger seat, and Jungkook is driving very carefully so as to not knock it over and possibly break it. For a moment, one that reemerges in his headspace as he keeps his foot light on the pedal, he wonders if he should buckle a seatbelt around it and ensure its safety that way, his fear of ruining his surprise for you causing his brain to come up with the strangest of ideas—in the name of the love he carries for you. 

Is it love, though? 

Jungkook furrows his brows, that thought seizing his sternum enough that he has to turn his music down and let some fresh air in through the window so he doesn’t crash his fucking car. Icy sweat stings his spine, his stomach churning and without sparing a second longer, his eyes take after the sadness of the weather outside his vehicle. His vision blurs and he rubs his eye, one at a time, to focus on the road.

A red light blinks at him and suddenly, there’s fury that he feels deep within chest. 

Conceivably because slowing down means he has to face the onrush of emotions sloshing in him. Has to hear the rain not just outside, but inside, too. Has to feel the prick of those raindrops along his waterline. The heft of those clouds outside and inside his clavicles as well, tightening and tightening. 

Jungkook sighs, drumming his fingers upon his steering wheel, trying to distract himself from it all. From the invading question that absorbs his body like the vapor rising across the night-clothed street—when did he get so emotional? 

Unfortunately, he knows the answer right away.

You’ve been sad. On your own. 

It’s been a few weeks since all three of you made a deal to stick together. Yoongi has been brave, his good mood clutching him for a lot longer than Jungkook sadly estimated. You’ve spent these past two Fridays and weekends together, out and about, rolling in bed, rolling in Yoongi’s apartment. It was all fun and games until the boss reached a dead end. Somehow. Jungkook still doesn’t know what it was that Yoongi actually saw—what was that one particular thing that caused him to spiral. 

To relapse. 

And you didn’t tell him until it was too late. 

Perhaps, you did tell him—nonverbally, that is. You stopped adding your signed messages whenever he was texting with Yoongi during the week and even those alone stopped coming in as the days went on. There was something wrong and he knew it. His intuition only proved to be right when another weekend showed its face and it contained no undertone of you. And no suggestion of Yoongi either. 

Silence. Dead silence. 

And it wasn’t until Jungkook got an incoming call from an unknown number half an hour ago that he realized the gravity of the situation. 

It was you who called him up, sobbing into the phone, having stolen his number from Yoongi’s device. As difficult as it was to understand what happened, Jungkook tied all the strings of information you gave him between your broken breaths and blubbering: Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you all day and took a shower alone, the latter being the most devastating of the two. 

He felt bad for you, terribly bad for you—but simultaneously, he was upset with you. 

Still is. 

It’s one of the reasons why he’s driving up to Yoongi’s apartment. With a mango-scented candle and a puffed-up bag of cheese balls. He doesn’t want to think what the other reasons are, not when he’s staring down his gift for you, clicking his tongue at last and reaching over for the seatbelt and sliding it into its buckle. Just in time for the traffic light to turn green.

Now, now he’s speeding down the road, turning up the volume of his car playlist. A slow song by the Arctic Monkeys is playing and it’s a movie—the set of circumstances that are happening in the present. The rain, the tightness in his chest, the but faint adrenaline of the momentum. What is he really doing? 

It feels as though he’s following a script, however his eyes haven’t skimmed down the entire thing. He doesn’t know how this is going to end. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’s doing the right thing because he’s planning on staying outside of his hyung’s apartment. Like hell he’s going inside when his sweetheart—

Jungkook purses his lips. Moves the shift stick. Kills the engine. Closes his eyes. 

His heart thumps. Turbulently. It stirs worry in him. What if he’s going to die? 

This is the first time he’s left in the hands of the unknown. He’s always had the sixth sense of knowing tactness like the back of his hand, although this time he doesn’t know shit. Doesn’t know if he’s breaking his best friend’s trust. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen once he sees you, possibly wearing one of your nighttime robes. The last time you touched him was the last time he had his release. His hand doesn’t feel as good as yours does—and his orgasm isn’t as fulfilling as when it’s shared with you. He’s brimming with frustration, with anger so vast that he could explode and he knows it’s unfair to be mad at Yoongi, when he himself said it wasn’t going to be easy, that it was going to take a lot of work. But Jungkook can’t help his feelings. Can’t help to see you. 

Only you. 

Broken, tear-stained, when it should be blush painting your cheeks red from all the love and happiness your own boyfriend should give you as it’s his duty. Something he’s responsible for. Something he should put above himself. 

“Drunken monologues, confused because it's not like I'm falling in love, I just want you to do me no good and you look like you could,” Alex Turner sings and Jungkook’s chin quivers, his heart gaining tempo, his perturbation rising—owing to the violence of that muscle, owing to the state of your feelings. 

He wonders if you’re still crying. 

He’s outside of Yoongi’s apartment. Didn’t even realize it, mind too fucked up, too full of you. 

Grabbing his phone, he sends you a text. 

I’m here. Come outside 

A reply pings right away. 

SWEETHEART: ? 

SWEETHEART: it’s raining 

He’s halfway typing his response that he doesn’t want to go inside, but he decides against it. Doesn’t want to make it worse for you. If you knew of the dark corners of his mind that don’t particularly like Yoongi at the moment, you wouldn’t look at him with those pretty eyes of yours as you always do. 

He can’t afford that. 

I have an umbrella

As his thumb hovers above his phone, waiting for your reply, he can almost hear your sigh. Can feel your breath on his clammy palm as he rubs it on his pants in effort to rid himself of the nerves crawling in his veins. The breath he was favored enough to hold in his grasp the last time he had you to himself—clamping your mouth shut as he spanked your clit for being so beautifully responsive to his touch, rubbing it until your eyes whisked back while Yoongi slept beside you, unaware. 

It’s engraved in his brain. It plays on loop before sleep overtakes him at night and it’s his first thought in the morning once consciousness reminds him that you’re not his. 

SWEETHEART: is it cold outside?

He figures you’re asking the question in order to decide whether you should change or not. It seems as though warm pajamas don’t exist in your world, for the beginning of September is in the process of blooming. It nudges his anger; provokes it enough to fill it with a lethal dose of a yearning to buy you the warmest pair of pants he could find. He clenches his fist, thumb quick to type a response. 

Wear something that covers your legs or stay home. 

The same thumb shakes at the expression of his firmness, his anger disturbed, wholly—wholly disturbed. If you come out wearing your little shorts—

A reply pings again. 

SWEETHEART: ok ill change

And another one right away. 

SWEETHEART: ill text u when i come down

That’s a good girl. 

He almost types it right then and there, but something within, despite the slowly calming storm of his feelings, despite his cock tightening in his pants at the swift image of your bare legs, at the lingering perception of you being a good girl and listening to him, drags his thumb to his emojis. A sudden renewal of his sixth sense, and he doesn’t understand how it’s happened as it dawns on him, makes him realize that’s not exactly what you need right now. You didn’t call him for a fuck. 

You called him for emotional support. 

👍🏻

And like the good girl you are, you merely take five minutes. Stay true to your words, text him as you’re coming down and Jungkook grabs his umbrella from the backseat. Doesn’t forget to unbuckle the seatbelt in the passenger seat. Saves himself from the embarrassment. 

The trees sway in his direction, inviting him in, once he takes two steps at the time, coming up the stairs. He watches them through the clear roundness of his shield, beckoning him closer. The rain pelts against it, but softly this time. Merciful as it knows you’re about to emerge from the ocean of such unfathomable sadness. It doesn’t wish to frighten you, rather it desires to soothe your escaping, make it less harrowing. Even the wind that whips at him stills as soon as you open the door, bathed in light. 

And Jungkook is struck with the notion that he wants to do the same. 

You’re wearing flared leggings. Gray. With sneakers of the same color and a white top that hugs your waist, that seems way smaller than the last time he touched it. He gets a glimpse of it, and it unnerves him, as you lift your hand to curl a strand of your hair behind your ear because otherwise your body is shrouded in a flannel that’s too big for you. Too robust for you and your particular liking of tight, little clothes. 

He doesn’t want to know who that garment belongs to. Doesn’t even want to come close to unfolding that thought, to even let it get a taste of his burning blood. Because there’s another matter at hand. 

You’ve lost weight. 

And he’s going to kill his hyung for it. 

You step out and it’s an instinct, the way his arm draws closer to you so you don’t get touched by the rain, even if it means the raindrops get to trace the back of his head and the nape of his neck. Yet even that invigorating, tender liquid doesn’t cool the scorching lividness that takes place beneath his skin, beneath his bones. But then you touch his hand, left to left, drag it away and hide yourself in his chest. Everything changes when you do that. 

Jungkook explodes. Silently. Gently. His chin quivers again and he doesn’t care that you can hear the tremor of his heart as you lay your ear against it. Doesn’t care that his grip might hurt you as he hugs you back, thinking he could wrap his arm twice around your much different waist. And he takes you like this. Back to his car. He doesn’t even feel the wetness pooling in his waterline, leading you as you walk backwards. And you laugh, you laugh softly while he inhales your mango scent that has somehow even crept up to your scalp, and he doesn’t believe it’s that easy. 

It can’t be that easy to make you feel better. 

He opens the door for you, a façade of nothingness plastered on his face as he tries his hardest to remain stoic so you wouldn’t see the turmoil churning within every perimeter of his body. And it’s an instinct, too, the way he catches your little purse when it slips off your shoulder, even though he doesn’t see it, too busy devouring your gaze—afraid, awfully afraid that tonight might be the last time he sees your pretty eyes, considering the contempt he’s now showing his hyung. 

If Yoongi finds out about this, it’s over. 

His life is over, too. 

Anger, frustration, sadness, love—how is he able to feel all of those emotions at once? You purse your lips, your weary eyes skip his features all the way to his mouth, stopping at his lip ring and the question rises again in his brain. 

Is it love? 

The rain falls harder. And so does he, unfortunately. 

“I got you something. It’s right there.” He tips his chin to the passenger seat without taking his gaze off of your busy eyes. They’re still looking at his mouth, watching every word come out. He finds it so endearing that there’s nothing more he wants to do than grab your cheeks and kiss you for it. Maybe his frustration would loosen a little bit if he did it. “Don’t sit on it.” 

It’s that addition to his previous sentence that causes you to flick those pretty irises of yours up to his. And he studies it as the double meaning uncoils in your brain, even though it was by accident that it tumbled out of his mouth. The weariness in your orbs parts like clouds upon the heavens, though no sunshine spills through them. There’s still a lingering blankness, something unknown, something foreign. Then, the tiniest of smiles curls your mouth and it jolts through him, his heart thudding harder—to the point that even more profound discomfort settles in. 

“Did you get me a dildo? I could use one right now.” 

The perplex that seizes him almost causes his legs to give out. And he can’t help it, the way his eyes roll back and his hand, with your purse hanging from his forearm, runs down his face. Jungkook wants to get drenched in the rain—maybe if the raindrops put out the sudden fire licking at his every nerve ending, maybe then he’ll come to understand how you manage to be in the mood when your state of mind can’t possibly let you have dirty thoughts. 

His cock tightens again and he calls you by your name, firmly. He can’t have this. Not right now. He needs to be sensible. You need it. “Get in the car.” 

You listen, but your smile falters. Grabbing your bag from his forearm, you turn around, bending over to wrap your fist around the bag on the passenger seat. Jungkook doesn’t mean to look at your delicious round cheeks and once he discovers that they’re hidden under that layer of the hideous flannel, he sighs a breath of relief. He can’t look at you that way. Averts his gaze, immediately. 

As soon as you’re seated, he clicks the door shut. Considers letting the rain have him. Did he make a mistake, being firm with you? 

Inside his car, his favorite song is mellowly playing. In the mere few seconds, you’ve managed to suffuse the entire atmosphere with your mango scent and Jungkook inhales it. It takes him into a whole different world, one filled with eternal sunlight as the song portrays it. He finds himself in a country of spring that has been briskly rained upon and now is being softly seared with those shafts of light and speckles of heat, the details of your beauty. 

“For the love of my life, she's got glow on her face…” the singer sings and the lyrics plod into his mind. Jungkook wishes the description applied to you at this very moment like it had before, like it had every single time he stole a glance at you. He misses your glow and your glitter and it pierces his unstable heart that he finds no traces of those particles of shimmer on your cheekbones and eyelids as you’re rummaging through the bag, not even on your cupid’s bow as you gasp, gently, discovering he bought you your favorite things. 

You’re looking at him with such smothered joy and it would relieve his feelings if he didn’t feel such guilt, if he didn’t feel as though he was a crumbling pillar, a failure undeserving of your time. 

You take the candle into your small hands. Such a stark contrast—his heart aches at the sight of it. You pop the lid open, sniff the aroma and your mouth rounds in a terribly, terribly cute manner. Jungkook is glad for the lack of light in the space of his car, which hides his growing manhood. He props an elbow on the door and pinches his nose, trying to regain his composure— 

“It’s mango-scented,” you say in disbelief, pouting and Jungkook can’t breathe. “And cheese balls, are you kidding me?” You open the bag right away, plopping the treat into your mouth. He’s surprised you eat just one—it doesn’t feel right. “Thank you. Honestly. Thank you.” You cradle it into your chest and Jungkook has to look away. 

What has Yoongi done to you that you react this way to such silly things? He needs to ask, but he fears your answer. And what’s worse, he fears what he’ll do to him once you tell him. 

“What did you tell him?” He needs to get away from this place, but it has to correlate with your plan, if there even is any. If not, he’ll handle it. Figure something out. 

You take a sharp breath, loading your gifts back into the bag, keeping it nice and safe on your lap. Then, you lick your lips and look at him with an intention that causes his heart to jump right there onto the wonderfully clothed flesh of your thighs. “I told him I was going home.” 

Home. Since the moment he knew of your existence, your home has been the place wherever Yoongi resided. It never mattered where. Jungkook grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Where do you live?” 

You tell him your address. He knows that from this day on, he’ll never, ever forget it. He starts the engine, wondering in the meantime about the ordinariest things of your life. Do you live there during the week and spend your weekends at Yoongi’s apartment? Or has he completely overtaken your life that you spend every hour of it in his presence? He wants to know. And he wants to get some food in that slim tummy of yours. “Do you have any food there? When was the last time you were there?” 

It’s you who looks away now, staring ahead, playing with your fingers while the rest are still wrapped around the bag. “I don’t live there anymore. Haven’t been there in months.” 

Jungkook bites his lip. Too, too many questions are hovering in his brain—he barely has the capacity to think about them, let alone hurl them at you. “What did he say when you told him you were going home?” 

You snivel and his heart on your thighs twitches in pain. He has to grip the steering wheel harder in order not to jump out of this car and kick down Yoongi’s door. 

“Nothing.” 

Jungkook puts the car in drive, wordlessly, seething inside. He’ll invent another plan while yours will remain its prototype. Will keep you safe.

Safe, fed and tearless. 

The drive is quiet, save for the euphonious melodies emitting through his never-ending playlist. The rain has become less severe, soft in nature, only adding to the background noise—adding to the process of your mollification that he’s overseeing. He’s put a stop to the questions. Has figured you have enough of them, for the only reason you decided to lie to your own boyfriend and go behind his back was because you needed to get out of his clutches. 

A decision he approves of. 

The quietness has helped him regain his composure fully, set some things straight in his brain as the anger in him slowly dissipated. Space is good, for both his hyung and you and he’s proud of you for allowing yourself to get to this point that you walked away. Yoongi, evidently, has returned to his hermit tendencies and Jungkook knows very well that it’s something that he needs in his healing time. It’s who he is; who he always has been. He didn’t push him away too many times for him to be possibly wrong about this and while the information he gained from you that Yoongi changed his ways shattered Jungkook’s heart and glued it back together, he knew, somehow, deep within him, that it was just an effort. For you. 

He didn’t think it was a façade because Yoongi is certainly not a phony person. 

He did it for you. Tried his hardest. And succeeded. With your help, he’s sure—which makes it all the more beautiful—but Yoongi is still Yoongi. 

Someone who deals with things on his own. 

And although the distance he needs hurts other people, he doesn’t mean it. Jungkook knows this just as well, despite the fact what he truly thinks is that Yoongi should try harder. 

For you. 

He needs to tell you this. Needs you to know. But he doesn’t think you’re ready to hear it just yet, which is okay. The plan is constructed, he’s here for you and he will make you feel better. He will caress your heart and make your belly full. Will make you forget for a little while before he gently brings you back to reality. 

You deserve this. After everything you’ve been through. Because of him. Because of Yoongi. 

And because of this, he no longer feels guilty that he has you to himself without Yoongi knowing. Even if that means he risks his brotherhood, even if that means he risks his affection for you seeing the light of day. 

You’re more important. 

It’s this thought that gets interrupted by a sudden ring of your phone. You jump, zipping your purse open and Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t really want to see the kind of picture you have Yoongi saved under. He has to keep his feelings intact. Remain calm. 

Your breath shakes. “He’s video calling me.” 

Sparks of electricity nip at his fingertips. A surge of adrenaline, the threatening, false notion that he’s doing the wrong thing. Jungkook almost smirks. It’s so fucking thrilling to him. 

He lets you decide on your own what to do, but you grow unsure, nerves burdening you. He feels that heft and it’s quick to sober him up. 

“Should I get out of this car? Say I’m taking a walk?” you ask, your pretty, pretty eyes wide, your pupils so tiny. Jungkook wants to take your hand in his, take your fear that makes you think these silly thoughts and crush it. 

He’s here. He’s going to take care of this. Of you. 

“Let it ring.” 

You look back down at your phone, lip between your teeth, but Jungkook keeps his eyes on you, the red of the stoplight pervading you with the danger of your girlish freedom. And it does ring two more times before Yoongi gives up. 

Good. 

You have the right to need to distance yourself just as much as he does. Give him the same silent treatment like he did to you.

There’s a smug smirk plastered on his face when he catches you putting your phone back into your purse before the light turns green. He speeds down the road, driving with just one hand, ready to unfold his plan. 

One he’s already shared with you. 

He’s taking you to the mall. 

His hand itches to take yours as you walk beside him. Strangers stare you down, but you keep your attention on the myriads of shops lining the side of the promenade. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that there’s so many people wasting their Thursday at such a place like this. At this hour, especially. It kind of makes him regret that he took you here, despite the fact the sole purpose of it was to feed you until you were full. The lights are too bright, children are screaming and running around and it’s giving him a headache, but one look at you changes his mind in an instant. The glow he missed has found its way back to your cheeks and there’s a glint to your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long while. The paleness is gone and he’s not really ignorant to the way a bush of roses begins to bloom in his chest at the realization. 

You stop dead in your tracks all of a sudden. Your little purse slips off of your shoulder. As attentive as he always is, he slides it back up, a smile tugging his mouth to the side. He thinks it’s just so damn cute. And the fact you don’t pay any attention to it as well. Probably used to it. 

Red posters of sale adorn the storefront that has caught your eye. Jungkook is unfamiliar with it, but you seem to be completely enthralled by it. 

“Where do you wanna eat?” he provokes. Already knows what restaurant you’ll be feasting at, obviously, but poking you is a matter of enjoyment for him. “There’s so many food courts to choose from.” 

You look at him and clutch your stomach, as if the mere mention of food made you hungry. A faint, faded light flashes across that glint in your irises before it dwindles away and Jungkook is ready to throw you over his shoulder and push people off of his path to get you there right now. 

“Can we… go here first?” you ask, hesitatingly, grabbing a hold of his elbow, but he feels as though you’re squeezing his heart, wringing it out of all that liquid emotion that he swallowed down earlier in the car. Your touch is warm, like the pond water kissed by the sun back at his cabin, seeping into his skin and languidly streaming through his body. 

It’s automatic, primal and right, the way he clasps his other hand across your fingers wrapped around his bicep and the way your body draws closer to his. It should be normal to do this when he’s seen you bare—when he’s seen you feral, needy and disappear into your pleasure, one he’s the creator of. Why does it feel so thrilling? So dangerous? 

You can meander through as many stores as you want. And he tells you that, or at least tries to, as he smiles at you, softly, and nods his head, letting you lead him inside the shop that has so vehemently caught your attention. 

A trillion styles of jeans, tiny tops, skirts and shorts of the same size, Jungkook understands your fascination as he takes it all in. And he’s pleasantly surprised when you indulge him as you fondle every material of every clothing you like, telling him how pretty you find it. You’re not timid to show him your disappointment either, wrinkling your nose, when the fabric is too frail or too expensive for the price, muttering vulgarities directed to capitalism and leading him away. 

It isn’t until your sight stumbles upon a rack of dresses that your breath, audibly, hitches in your throat. And you unlink your arm from his, going straight for your seemingly new obsession. 

A red dress. A sheer fabric, more like. With roses sewn in, a split in the middle, one strap covering only a part of the hanger. It’s the only piece of clothing you actually take into both of your hands, putting it against your body, as if to see what it would look like on you. Fuck if he knows what you’re doing—all he knows is that his throat is dry, the image of you wearing something like this making him a living, breathing corpse. 

Jungkook clenches his fists. Even more so when you disappointingly click your tongue upon seeing the price tag, putting it back where you found it. The thought of you not having that dress causing his heart to lodge, tightly and disturbingly, in the shriveled walls of his throat. 

Not happening. Not under his watch. 

That dress was made for you. 

Jungkook licks his lips. Doesn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Why don’t you try it on?”

You give him a look as if he was a mad man. And he is. That he certainly is. “Please, this costs more than I can afford. I’d only go home crying if I tried it on and had to put it back.”

He stifles a laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Picks up the price tag. Less than two hundred thousand wons. It wouldn’t even make a dent in his bank account. 

He grabs the hanger. Hands it to you. “Go try it on, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes. Don’t look amused at all. Your brows knit ever so adorably and the corners of your mouth curl downwards, arms crossing over your chest. Oh, he’s going to wipe that expression off of your face. Paint it in pretty, pretty colors. “No, thanks. I think I cried enough today. Let’s go.” 

You walk past him, but Jungkook stops you. Grabs your arm. Calls your name, firmly. “I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

You huff. “Is there something wrong with your ears?” Your brows quirk and he thinks he died again. Might melt into a putty. Just for you. 

He smirks, showing his teeth. “It’s no issue for me,” he says, speaking of money, taking your hand in his and enveloping your fingers around the hanger. “So be good and try on this dress for me. Off you go.” 

Jungkook turns you around and, with his palms on your shoulders, he leads you towards the dressing rooms, not stopping until he finds one that’s unoccupied. You huff and puff again, but he gently pushes you inside. And when you open your mouth to say something, he drags the curtain to the side. A laughter bubbles in his chest. 

“You’re not buying this for me.” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Strip.” 

There’s no witty remark, no exhales of your exasperated breaths, only the obnoxious music blasting through the speakers and he assumes that you gave in to him. A tendril of proudness, not of his actions but for you and your good behavior, swims in the hot bloodstream of his veins and it’s now, now that he’s almost alone and you’re out of view, save for your feet clad in pink socks under the curtain, that he perceives that he’s coated in sweat. The disorder of his colorful, all kinds of feelings has turned him so numb that he doesn’t even feel grounded in his body. He needs a strong sip of alcohol. And a good meal. 

He begins to flutter the sides of his leather jacket, just to alleviate himself of how hot he feels, when he hears you gasp, your footsies shuffling on the carpeted floor. He takes a step towards the dressing room, a trembling hand reaching for the curtain and stopping there—a spasm of nerves zaps his abdomen, spreading iciness to the tips of his fingers. He knows what he’s about to see will make him a dead man for the third time this evening and because of that, he takes a deep, soundless breath, closing his eyes for a mere second before his hand pulls the curtain away. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the sight before him. 

And nothing is what you’re wearing underneath the dress. 

Abruptly, there’s no music. There’s no gasps emitting out of that marvelous mouth of yours. And the film in front of his eyes is in slow motion, accompanied by the winged fuckers going equally mad inside his stomach. You’re twirling. From side to side. Patting down the material tight against your slender body. A grin on your face, one that he’s last seen during that time joy rested in you, bathes you in a glow that he longed to see. The glint, the light in your eyes takes on a whole new intensity and it shoots embers into his bare hands, burning him ferociously and curtly—just for him to find that he likes it and that he wants more. You turn around, facing him, and you swathe him with that flaring, almost raging light. It’s the sole thing he senses amidst the numbness of his headspace. 

Except for one thing. 

The ruffle of the sorry excuse for a rose beneath the singular strap of the dress is but an inch above your stiffened nipple while the other, just as excited, is left bare for his eyes—as if the principle of being exposed like that awakened your body. But it’s the vast, stitched red buds of that flower across your small waist, stomach, mound and the apex of your thighs that brings his attention to this other thing that he’s aware of. 

He’s hard for you. 

This image of you will perpetually haunt his dreams. Your little, carmine rose tattoos as if lining your skin, mainly. His throat swallows, dryly. 

Jungkook cups himself in an effort to hide his arousal and his bafflement from your stark, astonishing beauty. He thinks you’re unquestionably otherworldly, so far beyond his reach and his league that it aches. As much as the apprehension that if you wore anything else in this fucking dressing room, he’d fall to his knees just the same.

And then you speak and somehow you bring sharpness back into his reality. 

“The socks go well with the dress, don’t you think?” 

Jungkook glances at your feet and what he sees makes him pinch his eyes and let out a rumble of laughter. There’s a fucking Pikachu on your socks, grinning up at him, mocking him for getting hard for you for the third time. 

He can’t look back up and be a witness to the magnificence of your body. If he allows himself to do so, he will combust. Bring the whole building down—

A set of footsteps sound behind him and, with a racing heart, Jungkook steps inside the dressing room, shrouding you with his body without touching you, pulling the curtain shut. You startle, backing away until your spine leans against the mirror and there’s no space, none whatsoever, for him to run from you because when he turns back around, it’s your eyes he meets first. Nose to nose, breath to breath. 

When did they start making dressing rooms so fucking small? 

His breath picks up speed. He wants to pretend he doesn’t see the thick veil of your feminine carnality shunning out the light in your irises, because he can’t afford this, not when you’re sad, not when you need a friend, not when he needs to be stable for you. But the more you look at him, the more you draw him in and he has very little strength to fight against it. 

Averting his gaze, he props a hand on the wall beside your mirror. Notices your clothes, untidy, sprawled on the bench. Finds no traces of you taking off your underwear, which means only one thing.

His heart nearly skips a beat. 

“Where’s your underwear?”

Your grin forms into a smirk and you latch both of your hands onto the sides of his jacket. Danger mingles into that carnality in your eyes and Jungkook knows, right at this instant, that he’s fucked. “Didn’t take any.” 

His cock hardens even more in his hand. A brief flashback of the way he ripped your panties off at his cabin when you disobeyed him fills his mind, and he grows weak. It’s still a private pleasure of his, one that he likes recollecting, no matter the events that took place after. And the whole escapade has caused him to form a certain attachment to your underwear—or lack thereof. Knowing you didn’t take any on your first, secret night out with him suffuses him with delectation, one that intertwines with a rising question in him. 

Did you choose not to wear it for the sake of the old time or did you choose not to wear it because you’re expecting something from him? 

He yearns to know. Needs to. 

“Why?” 

Your fists bunch up his T-shirt underneath the jacket, tip of the tongue darting out to lick across your top lip. Your eyes follow the way you squeeze the fabric and Jungkook catches your long lashes quivering at your discovery of his quite prominent problem. A blush scatters along your nose and cheekbones and he doesn’t have to look down to know that his hand scarcely conceals his imprint. He’s grown harder for you in this close proximity and, peculiarly, light pervades him now that you know about his arousal, even though he doesn’t expect you, nor demand from you, to do anything about it. 

“Oh, you know.” Palms flat, you drift them down his stomach. Jungkook stiffens, a forest burned by you. “It would only get in the way.” 

He sucks in a breath, pressing his other hand beside your head, caging you in, his cock in full clothed glory for you. His head spins, but paradoxically, he feels himself gaining strength, as if you managed to rejuvenate him by laying out your cards on the table in such a filthy, electrifying manner. 

“Get in the way of what?”

You mirror him, sucking in a breath of your own. “Get in the way of you fucking my brains out?” 

A quirk of his brow. A twitch of his cock. He can’t breathe—you’ve taken all of the remaining oxygen in his lungs when you sucked in that breath and uttered those dirty, dirty words. How are you capable of this? What has Yoongi done to you? Jungkook drags his teeth up his bottom lip, although it attenuates close to nothing. His arousal only blossoms, the bush of roses in his gut thickening, so akin to your little, feigned tattoos. He yearns to feel them under his palm. 

A dead man, for the fourth time. 

His knees might give out. His hands are clammy.

Though his mouth acts on its own. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of doing?” 

He watches the flashback swim past your irises and it connects to your mouth, expanding it into a coy smile. “I guess I have.” 

Bad, bad girl. It’s you who’s fucking his brains out, trembling like a little leaf, longing for his touch, calling out for his hands. He feels them buzz, interwoven with your senses and your desires. Even if you didn’t move an inch, if you remained still as a sculpture, his hands would still know you want them and it drives him to the peak of insanity—enough for him to consider taking you right here and there, in all seriousness. In spite of the fact he still has a mind of his own and is aware that he shouldn’t. For Yoongi’s sake, yes—but mostly for your sake. 

The tips of his fingers tingle with the craving to rip that flimsy fabric off of you and make you remember what he did to you, even though you fully remember. Something about that fills him with an onrush of vigorous energy, one that needs a release. It whispers, most intensely, its plea for it within his skin. 

“Do I really need to remind you?” Jungkook asks, playing your little game after all, digits clenched into fists on either side of your head. You nod, briefly, seemingly becoming smaller in his captivity, hands drifting lower, rooting by his hips. He’s surprised he’s letting you touch him like this, but then he’d let you do anything you want. He sweeps a glance at your form, just once, before he bores his gaze back into yours. It did something to you and he draws closer, senses you squeezing your thighs together. Such a cute, bad girl. “It would be a pity to rip this dress off of you. What would they think, hm? If you walked out of this dressing room and had to explain to them what happened?” 

Jungkook drags a finger down your neck and at the first physical contact, you release a breath that wafts over him, deepens his heat. He traces the line of your strap until he reaches the frilly bud of the rose and tugs at it, just once. 

He’s about to continue taunting you, but you catch him off guard. 

“I dunno, I’d tell them I wanted you to do it. That I needed the reminder,” you whisper and your low tone of voice curls unfathomably somewhere within his gut, forcing him to double over. You hook your fingers around his belt loops and Jungkook brims with gladness that he didn’t wear a belt. “What was it that you did to me?” 

He nearly, nearly rolls his eyes back. The effect you have on him—he craves to bunch your hair in his fist, teach you a lesson regarding what you’re doing to him. 

And he just might. Take full responsibility while he’s at it. 

Two responses swirl on his tongue, however. 

One to scold you for provoking him in public, but he knows it would stall the aroused energy and back it away into a corner. The other to keep going and drive you to his level of insanity. 

It’s a crossroad and he’s standing in the middle, a man in charge, his morals questioned and at absolute fucking risk. His blood pumps at full speed and sweat lines his forehead. He’s on the verge of bursting. Time and tension presses against him and with all that energy and strength pulsating in him, it’s scarcely the one he needs to put a stop to this all. It all leads into a far different direction, leading him away from the clearness of his morals. 

Fuck. 

Then, your chest lifts in desperate staccatos and that’s it for him. That’s the breaking point. 

No way out. 

Only way in. 

For you. 

Jungkook wets his lips. “How well can you keep a secret?” 

In the same trembling staccatos, you exhale in relief and he’s ready to give you everything. Absolutely fucking everything. “I’m the best in the game.” 

A flash of light in his being. He’s immensely pleased with your answer, growing hotter and hotter. He inches closer to you, flush to your body, lips by your ear. Feels your little nubs pressing against his upper abdominal muscles. Craves to sink his teeth into the delicious flesh of your ear. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he starts, mimicking your low tone, speaking of the evident elephant in the room, hoping you catch onto it. “And if they ask, you have to come up with something else. Can you do that?” 

He pulls away a tiny bit, just to study your reaction. Your hold tightens on his belt loops while your mouth parts and your head nods in agreement, ever so needy but patient for his next move. He wants to lick you all over just for that, reward you until you lose your voice. 

“You teased me with your words, with your little bratty mouth, and even though you listened well when I told you to lick your finger for me, you disobeyed me when I instructed you to not wear panties at my place,” he starts, lips mouthing your ear and he feels the need of your body to stabilize at the memory. Offering you his own, he presses closer to you until he pins you against the mirror, until both pairs of lungs sync in movement, his fingers skimming, barely, over the sides of your hips. Though something resistant takes place in the middle of that entwinement. Something that gives his mouth the aftertaste of copper. “And when I found out, I ripped them off of you. Fingered you so fast you came in seconds and made a mess on my hand. And then…” he pauses, an inkling regarding how to get rid of his uneasiness plaguing his mind. “Then I made you apologize and you did. You did it so sweetly that I made you come so many times until you lost count,” he alters the memory, concluding the reminder finding the aftertaste rapidly increasing, transmitting down to his heart, burdening it with a heavy load that he doesn’t know the contents of. 

“Can you show me what you did? I think I might remember better if you do.” 

He almost sinks to his knees, but the resistance, the coppery aftertaste in his mouth immobilizes him, keeps him glued on his spot and his hands begin to tremble. An image of Yoongi blazes in the back of his mind and, fleetingly, Jungkook sees a swift movement, a memory of getting hit. If his hyung is in as bad a mental state as he is, it’s inevitable that history will repeat itself. You haven’t received his blessing. Neither has he. 

But at this very moment, he thinks knuckles to his cheek will simulate the act of a kiss. 

Secrets are secrets and he’s weak.

Awfully, awfully weak. 

“Is this what you want me to do?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye, lifting his chin, hoping you see his frailty—hoping you see that he’s hanging by the thread. “Finger you in this dressing room until you ruin that pretty dress?” 

A smile. “Well, you didn’t get me a dildo, so your fingers will have to do.” 

A sharp inhale of breath. “What about this cock, huh? You don’t want it?” 

You drag a finger along his jean-clad length, barely touching him. Jungkook twitches all over. 

“It’s too big for me, you know I can’t take it.” 

A deep chuckle. He’ll ruin his jeans himself. “If my mind serves me well, you’ve always taken it well. Came around it a lot of times.” 

You whine. This, this is your breaking point and all of Jungkook’s muscles tighten at the recognition. He’s gonna give it to you. Say fuck it to it all—his life was damned the moment he set his eyes on you. Knew he was going to die prematurely. Thinks dying in Yoongi’s hands is quite merciful. It’s his best friend after all. 

“Please, Jungkook, I—”

He grabs your waist, tightly. His thumbs touch and his stomach drops. “You what?” He’s going to make you say it, he doesn’t care. He needs it. He craves it. 

A mewl, one that coils around his length. “I’m so wet. I need you. Please, do something. Anything. Let’s get out of here.” 

He turns you around and because you didn’t expect it, you gasp—loudly. Angels must be by his side, for your sounds get instantly swallowed by the blasting music. You can be as loud as you want, as he wants and he makes a mental note to remind you that when the time asks for it. 

His fingers gather the flimsy fabric, bunching it at your waist. In the sharp light, shining down at you most perfectly, he has a splendid view of your drenched thighs and swollen clit. He presses you against him, needs you to feel how hard you made him, how rock solid his cock is at the sight of your mouth-watering filthiness. He needs you in his mouth, he needs you. 

“Where?” Jungkook asks, staring you down in the mirror, brows furrowed, head tipped to yours, lips in a tight line, parting with every hardened exhale. “Where do you need me? Show me.” 

You moan, ever so softly and he can’t help but grind against your ass, fingertips making dents in the flesh of your waist. You take your hand and drift it down to your sweet little cunt and Jungkook holds his breath. You rub your center, your adorable lips wrapping around your small fingers and you show him the thick sheen of your arousal, glistening in the light. Just like you did the first time he set his eyes on you, even though the paradisiacal sight wasn’t meant for him. 

Now it is—and he’s nearly about to weep in joy. Such spiritual experience, swathed with gratitude and mercy, healing him through and through. This is for him. You’re willingly giving it to him. He never thought he was ever deserving of it, but now in your hands, at your service, it feels too good to be true. His eyes wet, his arousal taking a new form, becoming something bigger, more profound, something that will change him, cling to him for the rest of his life. 

“Here. I want your fingers.” 

He takes your palm in his, planning something with it. “Just my fingers?” 

You lean your head back against his chest. “All of you, please, please.” 

At your service. 

Jungkook wraps his lips around your fingers, sucking your dew, swallowing it, needing more. You grow more desperate, watching him in the mirror, and your little index finger grazes his lip ring, smiling sweetly, pleased with yourself. He coos at the sight, but then you turn around, pressing yourself against him, your cunt against his thigh, his cock against your tummy, and you grab the back of his neck and pull him in, harshly, for a kiss. 

You eat his mouth. He’s barely able to reciprocate your hungry kisses, the roll of your tongue, your moans at your own taste and he decides he will simply slow you down. 

Reaching behind you, his fingers tease your entrance. In response, you lift your ass for him, arching your spine as much as you can. He knows that if he were to pull away, he’d see your juices in the mirror, in the stark light, but your starvation and your craving tastes too good and he physically can’t. 

Gathering your slick, he drags his fingers past your parted lips towards your clit and you swirl your hips for him, outrunning him—making the tip of his digit give you the circles you want. He groans into your mouth, out of breath and it isn’t until he rubs your bud rapidly, with deep pressure, and you moan so loud that it alerts him enough to pull away. 

The music did not, in fact, swallow that sound. 

Jungkook clamps your mouth shut.

Without stopping his movement. Watches your eyes roll back. And he’s greedy, unfortunately so. 

Turning you around, he props your leg on the bench and he looks at your pretty cunt. Swollen red clit, like your feigned tattoos, parted lips, dripping hole and equally soaked folds, glistening in the direct light. He swears, can’t help it, fondling your femininity, all four of his fingers gliding with ease, back and forth, everywhere. Down to your other hole, to your inner thighs, back up to your seashell, to your mound and lower tummy. He cakes you with your arousal, one he’s the creator of, bunching your dress higher until he’s holding you right underneath your breasts that spill over his forearm. So full and perky—he’s unhinged. Utterly, utterly unhinged. 

He wants to smear your slick over those clothed nipples as well. 

Fuck. 

Jungkook rubs your clit again, with the same speed as before. Your eyes lid, but keep the eye contact in the mirror, ravaging him through and through. He submits to it, even though he has the upper hand, even though he has the capability to make those eyes go cross. And they do—when he sinks his fingers inside of you, middle and ring, stuffing you full. Your walls suck him in so hard that he almost loses his footing, squeezing you so hard against him that he’s sure he will leave bruises on your tender skin. He silently promises he will kiss them later. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He lifts your leg, hoists it up in the air and begins to fuck you speedily, fingers curling in your spot every once in a while. He doesn’t want to make you come fast, but then time is pressing against him and he knows the mall will be closing soon. He still has to fill that belly. Would prefer if you came around his cock. “My fingers fucking your needy little princess parts, hm?” 

You moan his name and Jungkook shushes you in your ear, rewarding you regardless by abusing your clit with circles, alternating between those and swiftly fucking you in your tight hole. 

“I’m gonna come, Jungkook, I’m gonna come.” 

He withdraws his fingers. All of them—even those wrapped around your leg. You sway on your feet, heady, panting, and he stabilizes you with a hand on your arm. He smirks at you in the mirror, fingers in his mouth and you give him a dirty look. 

Before you can tell him off, he explains himself. “You’re coming around my cock, I don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.” 

His words wipe your face off of that scowl and you smile at him. A sunshine personified. Jungkook chuckles, pushing you against the mirror with his hand on your sternum and getting on his knees. 

He places your leg on his shoulder. “Hold your dress for me.” 

You listen right away, ever so eager. One hand clutches the hem, the other sneaks to his hair. Jungkook likes it so much that he doesn’t waste a second and envelops his mouth around your little clit. 

Just briefly. He has your dew to drink. 

He swipes his tongue along your slit. Over and over, until his sweat drips in pearls down his temples and he makes new bruises on the sides of your hips. Even goes one step further and fucks you with his tongue, letting out short little breaths and soft moans against you, gone feral by your taste and your fleshiness. He takes your lips in his mouth, plays with them with his tongue. Pulls away, stares lovingly at them and spits on your clit, sucking it inside his mouth and rubbing his face in your dripping juices, licking up everything you’re giving to him. 

And when your knee gives out, he catches you in time, standing to his feet. Doesn’t kiss you. Is selfish. Wants your taste perpetually on his tongue. Your eyes sink to his wet chin and you lick your lips, a feral look on your own gracing your features. You resemble a horny little animal, one that he craves to own and make his. But he can’t burden his heart with that thought. Doesn’t have the strength for it, not when he’s still hanging by the thread. 

“How do you want my cock?” he asks, his own eyes lidded, darkness consuming him. “Like this or from behind? You decide. I’m giving it to you. It’s yours.” 

You’re left speechless. He taps your cheek, gently, to make you talk. If you don’t, it will be his ruination and he will die. At your Pikachu-clad feet. A sweet, sweet death. Ideal. 

“I—I can’t take it from behind.” A deer in the headlights, terribly cute. 

He chuckles, caressing your hair. “But you have.” He grins, but it’s an answer for him. He’ll take you from behind in the safe confines of your home. “Like this, then. It’s more than perfect, sweetheart.” He kisses you, deeply, but he doesn’t give you his tongue. His heart expands, his affection crawling all around the kiss. He wonders if you can feel it. 

Pulling away, he unbuttons his pants and takes out his length. He’s soaked his underwear, but he doesn’t mind. His arousal drips down and he rubs it along his tip to make it as painless for you as he can when he enters you. 

And once he does, your eyes roll back and you break into whines, ones that fuck with his brain. Your leg is wrapped around his torso, but he joins the other one, holding you by your splendid little cheeks. Like his fingers, you suck him in, even though he hasn’t given you all of it yet. He’s already losing it. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him once he’s balls deep. He won’t last. He physically can’t. 

Jungkook bites your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. “You want all of it?” 

You tug at his hair. “Yes, all of you.” 

At your fucking service. 

He sinks deeper into you, hissing, furrowing his brows, sweat dripping down every perimeter of his body. Your mouth latches onto his neck and he’s gone. Even more so, when you graze your teeth upon his skin before you suck it—like he sucked your lip. He fucks you hard for it, making you let go of his neck and moan against the column. It pleases him so much that he does it again, a warm pressure coiling in his lower belly. It creates a cacophonous sound, your body colliding into the mirror and it mingles, beautifully, with the music playing. As well as the squeaky noises of your slick gliding along his cock every time he draws out. 

“Who do you belong to tonight, huh?” Jungkook rasps, filling you balls-deep just like you wanted, driving into you slowly until his pelvis kisses yours. “You can be as loud as you want, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hear you but me.” 

Rapid, whiny moans. He mimics their speed while maintaining eye contact with you and he groans when your eyes go unfocused, mouth parted. You’re just as gone as him. He pecks you for it, so terribly pleased. His orgasm inches closer, enveloping him with even deeper, thicker darkness. 

“To you, Daddy,” you cry out and because you called him by the title, he maneuvers you. Hoists you higher on his cock, with your legs now dangling from his forearms. And like this, he drags you up and down his length, his own moans breaking at the feeling of you tightening around him. He’s gonna come now and it’s your fault. 

“No, sweetheart, you can’t call me that when we’re here,” he scolds, shaking his head, brushing his lips against yours. “I can’t ruin you the way I’d like. They’d kick us out.” He kisses you, slowing down his tempo, stalling his orgasm. “Now apologize or you’re not coming.” 

“I’m so sorry. I won’t call you that in—in public.” 

A rewarding kiss to your neck. A hard stroke. One that blankets his vision with colorful stars. “Good girl,” he praises, looks down at you and kisses you without breaking the stare. “Now you need to be the best girl and come around my cock. I can’t fill you up—you didn’t wear your panties. I’d ruin your leggings for everyone to see.” You cry out again, the idea dizzying your mind as much as his and you tug at his hair, scratching your fingernails down his neck, touching him all over. “Can you do that for me? Can you come for me and not make a mess like the last time, hm?” 

He pounds into you, the strokes so hard that the sound of skin slapping turns disturbing and he holds his orgasm for your sake, all of his muscles clenched, stars dancing across his vision, pecking your features. And that’s it for you. 

You come so hard around him—and you are the bestest girl in the world because you manage to keep your eyes on him throughout the entirety of the wave of your orgasm washing over you, licking up at your body. Mouth parted, his name slipping past, a deep tinge of red, deeper than your dress, flushing your cheeks, eyes dazed, so gone, so fucked out, dark and alluring, so akin to his.

His bestest girl. His sweetheart. 

He needs to pull away. He needs to come. 

“Sweetheart, I know you’re tired but I need you to take off your dress and get on your knees.” 

You do it so quickly, without talking back, that even his own flush finds its way to his cheeks, his heart growing even larger and hotter, winged fuckers zapping his stomach. He fucks his fist in your face, loving the way you’re watching what he’s doing for a little while with a lingering hunger before you flick your eyes to his, beckoning his orgasm out of him. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, muscles straining, movement quickening. White clothes the colorful stars, the warmth in his stomach on the very brink of exploding. “Open your mouth.” 

And he paints your mouth in the same shade of white. You’re so good that you wrap your lips around him, sucking him softly, making popping sounds that prolong his orgasm and he grasps your hair in his fist, gently, despite the violence of his release. He’s not just giving you his cum; he’s giving you all of his affection and when you swallow and smile at him in such a kind, beautiful manner, it wets his eyes in a way that he can’t explain. 

He helps you get on your feet and you worsen his state of emotions. Like earlier, you fold into his form, hugging him skin to skin, squeezing him so hard that he stops breathing altogether. And when you begin to weep and smear his chest with your precious tears, he weeps with you. 

Never in his life before has he experienced such embrace, such love unraveling in the form of tears and quiet sobs. And he doesn’t want to absolve this again. With you, it’s perfect. And right now, he could die with the utmost certainty that you’re both crying for the same reason. 

Love unable to be real, to be fulfilled. 

He senses it. Senses it in the way he cradles your head and wipes your tears away. In the way your lips wrap around his, kissing him as if this was the very last time. You don’t have to say a word. He knows. And it’s enough. 

Jungkook dresses you. Runs his fingers through your hair in effort to fix it and make it look as nice as it did before he ruined it. And his eyes drench again when you zip him up in the meantime. No one has ever done that for him. 

The warmth in his heart heightens. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible. 

Taking your hand, purse and your dress, he leads you to check out. Pays for it. Carries the bag. Pretends you’re his; pretends his duties are nonexistent and his morals have different colors—just for this night. Doesn’t let go of your hand, even as he orders a good bowl of soup for you and himself, even as you sit down together and wait for your food. Even as you look at him deep in thought. 

“You saved me,” you unravel, a soft, tender, drowsy mien gracing your face and his heart thuds against his ribcage, gratitude surrounding it, eyes wetting again. “Thank you. And for the dress. I’ll only wear it for you.” 

The thuds halt. And it’s the only thing that does—a tear rolls down his cheek and he can’t truly believe he’s baring his feelings like that for you, in front of you. He feels as though he was dreaming and he fears he’s going to stir to awakening any moment now. 

A waiter brings your food. None of you pay him any kind of attention, though you don’t forget to say your thank you’s. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, despite the fact no words rise on his tongue, but something interrupts him. 

His phone rings. 

And it’s none other than his hyung himself. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[pure-smut]

the feel of you.

featuring: Laios Touden x f!reader

contains: lots of making out, nipple play, missionary, creampie, mentions of death

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

word count: 1.7k

series: 1. the taste of you | 2. the feel of you

masterlist

You’re in the rocky, freshwater pool with Laios, your arms wrapped around his neck as you unhurriedly explore each others mouths.

You had guided Laios to the pool, showing him the jut of a smooth, flat rock under the water that he could sit on before you climbed on his lap, straddling him. His erection is pressed between your stomachs and you can feel it warm against your skin despite the cool water of the pool. Laios had been enthusiastic about testing out his theories but had stopped you before you could guide him inside you.

“I still want to taste you,” he’d said. “All of you.”

So you had smiled and gently washed his face. Laios thumbed your bottom lip, his eyes running over you, mapping your features and committing them to memory. You had never seen this kind of look on someone’s face before – fascination, curiosity free from judgement.

When he was clean, Laios wrapped strong arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, dipping his head to kiss you. It was chaste at first and you could feel him thinking, his brain churning as he analysed the taste of your lips. He parted your lips gently and you allowed him, feeling his tongue slide into your mouth for a better taste.

“Mmm,” he moaned lightly into your mouth.

You’ve been kissing for a while, neither of you in any hurry. Laios’s lips are soft even as his stubble scratches at you, the combination only heightening your arousal. His hands trace absently up and down your back as you cup the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his sandy hair. Above you, cherry blossom leaves fall lightly onto the surface of the pond.

Laios has never been somewhere so peaceful, so quiet. His mind is usually loud, crammed full of thoughts running in tandem with each other, his brain moving quicker than his mouth sometimes. But being here, with you, his curiosity being sated rather than stifled, is making the loudness in his head a little quieter.

“What is it you taste?” you pull back from the kiss slightly to ask him. Laios chases your lips for a moment before blinking.

“Sweet again, but darker,” Laios muses. “Like honey but not as rich. There’s a bite to it that’s really interesting.”

“A bite, hmm?” You smile before nibbling softly at his neck, sucking gentle kisses against the stubble on his skin.

Laios’s cock throbs against your stomach. A blush dusts his cheeks, despite having had his face between your legs not long ago. He’s sweet, you think.

Laios moves to kiss you again, capturing your lips with his. His mouth moves to your jaw and then down to your neck, recreating what you’d done to him. He softly sucks at your skin before licking along your windpipe.

“Salty, a slight tang, and something earthy,” he mumbles against your neck. Delicious, he thinks before licking along your collarbone.

You shudder under his touch, growing hornier by the second. Never has a man had this effect on you, although you’ve never spent this long with one either. You’re still troubled by the unusual feeling in your stomach, familiar but unfamiliar.

You’re quickly distracted as Laios lowers his head further, his mouth traveling down to your breasts. You raise up slightly, allowing him better access as Laios feasts on your tits. His grip hardens slightly on your hips as his tongue flicks over your nipple. Laios gets a thrill from feeling it stiffen under his touch and the little whimper you let out.

You skin here tastes the same as your neck, except lighter. It’s just as addictive and Laios kisses over the soft skin of your breasts before moving back down to your nipple again. He sucks at it before lightly nibbling, his cock twitching at the moan you make.

Laios can’t get enough of you. Your taste, your sounds, the way you feel under his hands. All of you feels so good, so satisfying in a way he can’t explain. Is it because you’re a succubus? He’s not sure. But he doesn’t mind – as long as you let him keep tasting you.

“Laios…” you breathe, curling your hand around the back of his head, feeling his soft hair between your fingers. “I want to feel you.”

Laios looks up at you with his golden eyes, wide and earnest and alight with wonder.

“I want to feel you too,” he says.

With a smile, you climb off his lap and make to step out of the pool. At the last minute, Laios hauls himself out before you so he can offer you his hand. You grin and take it, letting him help you out.

Laios pulls you in for another kiss, his mouth hot and intent this time instead of slow exploration. Without leaving his lips, you tug him to the ground on top of you, feeling the grass like a blanket under you. Laos holds himself over you on his arms, your legs around his hips. You reach down to guide him to your entrance, now dripping for him, but feel the hesitation in him.

You break away from the kiss to look at him.

“You’re nervous,” you say, keeping your voice kind.

“I’ve died before,” he says, nibbling on his bottom lip. “But this is different.”

“We don’t have to,” you assure him. “We can try your other theories – a finger, maybe? Or we don’t have to do anything at all.”

Laios shakes his head.

“No, I want to be inside you,” he says firmly, his adam’s apple bobbing. “We can try fingers next time.”

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said. You blink in surprise, eyebrows raised.

“Next time?” you echo. “You’re coming back?”

Laios cocks his head at you.

“Of course.”

“Even if I…” For the first time, you struggle to say it out loud. If I kill you, is stuck in the back of your throat.

Laios furrows his brows, confused.

“You’re just hungry,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

You’re horrified to feel a sob nearly overtake you, bubbling from your chest. You inhale sharply, blinking rapidly to shake the tears. Laois cups your face, concerned.

“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

You shake your head, a lump in your throat preventing you from talking. Instead, you breathe out shakily, running a thumb across Laios’s jaw.

“I hope you do come back,” you tell him, voice barely above a whisper.

Laios smiles before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’ll see me again,” he promises.

He takes a deep breath, his thick tip nudging past your lips, before pushing himself inside you. You bite your bottom lip against the initial stretch of him, your slick combining with the ridges of his cock to create the perfect mix of friction. Laios’s eyes become half-lidded, his lips parting slightly as he quickly loses himself in the feel of you.

You’re hotter than he expected and your silky walls are pressed tight around him. He rocks his hips, trying not to go too deep just yet but your greedy pussy pulls him back inside every time he withdraws. A low moan falls from Laios’s lips, his eyes closing and brows knitted.

You expect him to go faster but he’s too caught up in how you feel when he strokes himself long and languidly in and out of you. Laios lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, his ragged breathing in your ear.

“You feel amazing,” he gasps lightly.

You lock your ankles behind him, pulling him tighter to you. Every slow, savouring thrust sends sparks through you, his cock stroking so sweetly against the nerves inside you. You’ve never felt this good before, never felt someone’s body pressed so close to you like this.

But Laios’s impending fate looms in your mind. You moan softly in his ear every time his cock brings you closer to the edge but you’re waiting for his thrusts to stall, for his movements to become slower, less deliberate. Tears prick at your eyes.

I’m sorry, you think. I’m so sorry.

Laios’s long strokes start to stutter. He breathes hard, his chest heaving against yours as he changes to quick, deep strokes, staying buried inside you.

“Fuck…” he breathes. “Don’t want… to end…”

But he's powerless. Laios moans, long and low as you feel him flood your insides, his cock throbbing against your walls. He collapses on top of you and you hug him tight, tears flowing freely.

You stay quiet, holding him to you as you sob quietly into his neck. For the first time, you hate what you are. You wish you’d told him no, that you’d sent him away.

You wish he was still here.

A startled yelp bursts from your chest as Laios pushes himself up on his arms. He blinks a few times, a dazed look on his face, before his eyes focus on you.

“Wow,” he says, a blush across his nose and cheeks. “That was amazing.”

You gape at him. Laios pulls back slightly, looking down at where he withdraws his softening cock.

“You’re alive,” you whisper hoarsely. “You’re alive.”

Laios makes no sign of moving, holding himself above you. A thoughtful look crosses his face.

“That surprised me too. I guess this hasn’t happened before?”

You shake your head vigorously.

“Never.” You reach out to touch his chest gingerly and feel him solid and warm under your palm. He’s really alive.

How is this possible? Everything was the same as it’s always been, every time you ate. Except…

Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Laios,” you say suddenly. “You made me cum.”

Laios’s ears turn pink but he nods seriously.

“You think that made a difference?”

Your hand moves down to your stomach, where the strange feeling that’s been plaguing you sits. An overwhelming sense of relief and annoyance at yourself for being so dumb rushes over you.

“I’m full,” you tell him. “After you made me cum, I wasn’t hungry anymore.”

You stare at each other. Laios eyes glow with interest and a small smile plays on his lips.

“Fascinating,” he says. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Person, you think. Not monster.

“I think…” Laios’s blush deepens. “I think I’d like to stay a while, if that’s okay with you.”

You pull him down for a kiss, feeling him strong and secure above you, your legs wrapping around him. He brushes your wet hair back from your forehead, his heart and mind calm.

Laios never really leaves after that.

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[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.8

Chapter Summary: Your POV from captivity. You learn some interesting information about the Fireflies and run into an unexpected person from your past.

Chapter Warnings: language, graphic depictions of violence, blood, torture, one teeny tiny 'daddy' reference (couldn't help myself, more of a nod to the fandom than anything), infected, reader gets roughed up, description of injuries and pain

WC: 4.7K

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"You said take the girl, so I took the girl!"

"I meant the fucking kid, not her!"

You stifled a groan, your eyes still shut tight, unable to handle the brightness from the overhead lighting. Your head was spinning, and if you moved too much, your stomach heaved, so you laid as still as possible, hoping and praying whatever was going to happen would happen quickly.

The smell didn't help, either. You had no idea where you were, but your cheek was pressed up against a cool, tile floor and the entire room smelled like rot. You heard a muffled, rhythmic thumping against a wall in the corner of the room. It felt damp and humid, like maybe you were in a cabin or a basement. And you definitely were not alone. Once you woke from whatever drug they had slipped into your neck, you did your best to still appear asleep, hoping that maybe you could find out some helpful information while your captors still thought you couldn't hear them.

The two voices continued to argue - a man and a woman - about the mix-up. Ellie. They were after Ellie, not you. That frightened you even more.

How long has it been since you've been taken? Hours? A day?

Joel would have made them leave. He wouldn't have kept her there after he realized what happened. If not to protect her, he would have moved to try to find you. As much as you didn't want him to come looking for you, to put Ellie in harm's way, you knew he would. You had no idea how many people were part of this group that took you, but it was definitely too many for Joel to handle on his own. And he wouldn't waste time going back to Jackson for help.

You needed to get out of there before Joel got himself killed trying to find you.

The voices continued to talk, the volume increasing, the words becoming clearer. They were getting closer to where you were tied up on the floor. Why did the one voice sound vaguely familiar? Did you know these people?

"We sent another crew out to fix your fuck up," the woman said, her shoes squeaking on the tile. "You better hope they find her, or it's your ass."

"Yes, ma'am," the man's voice said weakly.

"I know you're awake," the woman's voice said icily. Part of you wanted to remain still and call her bluff, but her boot was too close to your already tender head, and you didn't want to risk another hit. You allowed one eye to crack open, the light like an icepick in your brain. You brought your hands up to shield your eyes as you struggled to sit upright with your wrists and ankles tied together.

When you finally sat up, you leaned your head back with a sigh, trying to get your bearings and calm your churning stomach before forcing both eyes open to look at your captor for the first time.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you croaked, surprised at how rough your own voice sounded.

Amy laughed and jumped up on a gurney behind her, swinging her legs back and forth over the edge, the motion making you nauseous the longer you watched.

Amy. Joel's ex-fiancée and the woman who helped lead the group of animals who took you both in long before you found Jackson, under the guise of it being a safe community but failing to mention that community ran on a very primitive form of currency.

"Yeah, thought you'd be happy to see me," she said with a chuckle, flicking her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Elated," you said dryly, sliding your eyes back closed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see you, either."

"That does make me feel better, thank you," you snapped, opening your eyes again to glare at her.

"You do realize I hold the key to your release, right? Maybe treat me with a little respect," Amy said, the fake smile slipping from her face.

"You and I both know I'm not getting out of here," you replied, but she shook her head.

"Not necessarily. If we can't find the girl, you're our contingency plan."

You narrowed your eyes, the rage beginning to burn deep in your chest. Knowing you would regret it, you asked the question anyway.

"What do you mean?"

Amy smirked as she slid down from the gurney and bent down to look you in the eye.

"What I mean is, he would do anything to get you back. Including giving up the kid."

Something in you snapped. You lunged forward, swinging your head and smashing it directly into her nose. You heard the distinctive crunch right as the blood began to pour out of both nostrils. She stumbled back in shock, clutching her face while she howled in pain. Even though your head felt like it was splitting in two, you grinned. Worth it.

Once the pain subsided, she dropped her hands, her face smeared with dark red blood, her nose turning purple and swollen, clearly broken.

"You fucking bitch," she muttered. She took one step forward and swung her leg back, the toe of her boot coming in direct contact with your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to make a single noise indicating you were in any pain, not giving her the satisfaction. But the blood that was pooling in your mouth told a different story.

Amy laughed as she watched you spit blood on the tile next to you.

"You're gonna regret that," she said, walking backwards towards the door. "Your people really had us chasing you all over the goddamn place, even lost a few friends. I got some guys outside who would love to break a few of your bones for all that."

As the door slammed shut, you finally allowed yourself to take a shaky breath in and look around. Even though you were alone, you still heard the thumping coming from the corner of the room. You leaned forward, trying to see what was causing the noise, but all you saw was a small room with a stainless steel door sealed shut. There were gurneys everywhere, some of them broken, some not. Between you and the door there were six flat, stainless steel tables in front of what looked like refrigerators. Chancing a look up at the lights, you noticed some appeared to be the type you might see in a dentist's office or an operating room. Then it dawned on you.

You were in a morgue.

You couldn't be sure how much time had passed. You lost consciousness a few times. Amy wasn't kidding. The men she employed were pissed, and they took it out on you with every punch and kick. Each time you woke up, you felt a new pain somewhere in your body. A new broken bone or a new cut. Eventually, Amy returned, and even in your wrecked state, you still found a sliver of pleasure seeing her nose taped up and the dark bruise blooming under each of her eyes.

"Had enough yet?" she asked with a smirk. You snarled in response and spit more blood on the ground.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me where Joel and the girl are," she said, holding her hands out to her sides like it was obvious.

"I have no idea," you said truthfully, struggling to sit up.

"Okay, why don't you tell me where home is, and we can start there?" she offered, and you laughed.

"You should just go ahead and kill me if that's what you want," you told her, glaring at her with one eye, the other swollen shut already.

"Don't think we won't," she said, tilting her head to the side as she regarded you silently for a moment, her thoughts clearly drifting to something else.

"What?" you asked her through gritted teeth.

"Don't you think he's a little old for you?" she finally asked, her eyes raking up and down your body. You knew it would always boil down to this. You knew she could never see past your relationship with Joel. What he was willing to do for you, what he has done for you, what she lost and would never have.

"What, do you have daddy issues or something?" she asked with a scoff.

You smirked as more blood trickled down your chin, the cut on your lip refusing to heal.

"Sometimes he likes it when I call him daddy, if that's what you mean," you told her. The face she made was worth the kick to the head. You giggled and coughed, the pain and the smell and the insanity of everything happening finally hitting home.

"He's gonna kill you, you know," you said with a grin, leaning up against the cool tile wall. "Even if you kill me. Especially if you kill me, he will find you, and he will kill you."

Amy was smirking at you, but you saw the look in her eye. It was fast, but you caught it. She knew you were right.

"We'll see," she said, backing up so she could lift herself up on one of the stainless steel tables. She watched you for a moment, blood trickling out of every wound, bruises deepening in color with each passing minute. You were pretty sure your arm and a couple ribs were broken and you most definitely had a concussion, but you refused to show any weakness. You glared at her from your spot on the ground, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

"Do you know what we do here?" she asked you. The question took you off guard.

"Other than torture people? No."

She laughed at that.

"We're trying to make a fucking vaccine," she told you, like she expected you to be grateful. You already figured that much out, but you didn't say so.

"How's that going for you?" you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It would be a lot fucking better if we had that goddamn girl," she told you. Her emotions were getting the best of her. You could hear it with every word, and it put you even more at ease. They were desperate.

"Oh, yeah?" you said. "That's a shame."

"Do you have any idea how many people sacrificed themselves for this cause?" she asked, her brows furrowed. You shrugged.

"Enlighten me."

"Countless," she said, jutting her chin towards the room in the corner. You looked over at the closed door. The thumping was fainter when you were alone, but now that Amy was talking, the noise started up again.

"There's a lot of people who are immune, you know," she began, and you felt your muscles tense. "So many of them gave their lives to help us find a cure. We are so close. Our doctor just needs one more, and that kid is the answer." You began to put the pieces together, and the noise in the corner was starting to make sense. You felt your stomach roll.

"Sounds like a really shitty doctor if they let so many people die," you told her, and she scoffed.

"He's brilliant. You have no idea how difficult it is to extract DNA in this type of setting, and - I don't even know why I'm bothering," she said, shaking her head. "The point is, that girl could save us all."

"You said it yourself. There's a lot of people who are immune," you mumbled. You could feel yourself fading but you fought to stay awake. "Find someone else."

"Fuck that," she said, jumping down from the table and crouching in front of you. "Where is she?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," you whispered, your good eye sliding shut.

"Don't you dare pass out!" she shrieked, slapping you across the face. The adrenaline perked you up for a few seconds, but the blood loss ultimately won, and you slipped back into darkness.

You woke up to the sound of gunfire coming from the floors above you. The noise was faint, but it was distinctive. Pop, pop, pop. How long were you out for this time? Was it nighttime? There were no windows, you had no semblance of time other than the hunger that gnawed at your insides as more hours passed without food or water.

You blinked and looked around, confirming you were still alone before trying to sit up. The blood loss was too much, your head was pounding, and your side felt like you had been hit by a bus. Slumping back down, you took a few deep breaths before trying again. The gunshots were getting closer, and your adrenaline was spiking, giving you the little boost you needed to force yourself up. You looked down, trying to assess the damage to your body. Your upper thigh had a big, weeping gash, probably the culprit for the majority of your blood loss. Your one eye was still swollen but you could crack it open just a bit now if you really had to. Your cheekbone felt like it might be broken, and a few ribs were definitely broken, but at least your knees and ankles were good. If you could cut the ties, you could run. Or stumble.

As the gunfire got closer, the thumping against the door in the corner of the room got louder. There was no doubt in your mind at this point that they kept infected in there, and you just hoped you weren't still tied up if they got out.

Your brain was foggy, you were having a hard time staying focused, but the panic began to set in. Why was there gunfire? What was happening? Then a hazy thought drifted by in the back of your mind. Joel?

There was no way he could have found you this fast. He wouldn't have put the pieces together. You barely could keep up with what was happening. But then the door handle jiggled and a small form snuck into the room quietly and you thought you must have been dying. Surely, you were hallucinating, your brain short circuiting as it began to shut down, because there was no possible way Ellie was actually crouching in front of you, repeating your name urgently as she tugged on your restraints to no avail.

"Shit, hold on," you heard her mutter, setting the familiar looking hunting rifle on the floor next to her so she could fish her switchblade out of her pocket. Yes, you were most definitely hallucinating. Joel wouldn't have given her his rifle. Unless...

"Is he dead?" you rasped, finally finding your voice. Ellie paused with her switchblade hovering over your ankles and frowned at you.

"Joel? No," she said, shaking her head as she began to saw on the restraints, freeing your legs and then moving to your wrists.

"What's..." you tried again, but you could feel yourself fading and all you could hear was that fucking thumping in the corner of the room and the gunfire down the hall.

"We're getting you out of here," she said, tucking her shoulder underneath your arm and hoisting you up with a grunt. You muffled a cry at the pain shooting down your side, blood gushing down your leg again now that you were moving.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, leading you over to a gurney so you could steady yourself before she dug into her pack for an old shirt. She bent down and wrapped it around your thigh as tight as she could, wincing as she double knotted it before she stood back up.

"Can you move?" she asked, her eyes wide with panic. You nodded, but you weren't sure. If Ellie had the rifle, where was Joel?

As if an answer to your question, Joel burst into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, frantically looking around before pulling a table over to barricade it. You must have looked worse than you thought because when he finally turned around to look at you for the first time, his face crumpled for a moment before he quickly collected himself and rushed over.

"What'd they do to you?" he murmured in your ear as his arms came up to wrap around your middle. You winced and leaned back, your hand coming up to your ribs to tenderly cover the spot he just squeezed.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes raking down your body, trying to take stock of your injuries.

"It's okay," you said. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room where the noise was reaching a fever pitch.

"Oh, shit," Ellie muttered, her attention also pulled to the locked door.

"We gotta get you outta here," Joel said, seemingly making the connection much quicker than you did. "Can you walk?"

"I think so, but I can't go fast," you said, bending over and holding yourself up with your arms braced on the gurney. For the first time, you noticed the blood. He was covered in it. Splashed up his jeans and boots and all over his hands, some even sprayed on his neck.

"That's fine," he said as he began to push the table away from the door. The noises from the locked room got even louder as the table legs screeching on the tile floor.

"There's too many of them, Joel. We can't-"

"Yeah, we can," he said, cutting you off. He was turning to look at you, still in disbelief while he opened the door, not paying attention as someone pushed their way in, knocking him to the ground with the stock of a rifle.

He fell with a groan, his hands coming up to clutch the side of his face as Amy quickly locked the door behind her. She aimed her rifle at Joel's chest, and he dropped his hands to the side, staring up at her like he was seeing a ghost.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, and she smirked.

"Nice to see you, too, baby," she snarled, her nose still taped and her eyes still black.

"Who's she?" Ellie asked under her breath at your side, but you just shook your head. Amy glanced up and let out a shaky laugh when she saw Ellie.

"After everything you did, Joel, you still lost," she said. You looked between them, confused and barely holding onto consciousness. What did that mean?

"What the hell happened to you?" Joel asked her, his voice laced in disgust.

"I got with the fucking program, Joel! That's what!" she yelled at him before taking a step back, the rifle still aimed at his chest.

The door handle began to rattle violently with all the yelling. You could see it being pushed open a crack from the other side, then hands wrapping around the edge of the door until the lock broke and it finally swung open.

Joel scrambled to his feet and grabbed his revolver from his side while Ellie shouldered the hunting rifle as infected came pouring out, their screams making you wince.

Gunshots rang out, a few infected fell, but Amy's gun jammed and a runner knocked her down. She rolled off to the side and kicked it in the chest, sending it flying backwards right into Ellie, the gun falling from her hands.

You picked up Joel's rifle as quickly as you could in your weakened state, but right as you took aim at the infected's head, you watched its teeth clamp down around her arm. You both screamed, Ellie in pain, you in fear as you lodged a bullet right into the back of the runner's skull, its body falling limply to the side. You dropped the gun to the ground, too exhausted and weak to hold it anymore. Ellie scrambled up and swiped frantically at her arm, watching as the blood trickled out.

"Are you okay?" you asked, reaching out to her. She nodded and looked up at you, her eyes suddenly going wide.

"Look out!"

You ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the back of the skull with Amy's rifle. She fell forward on her hands and knees, then scrambled to grab Ellie's ankle, yanking her down and pulling her against her chest.

You vaguely heard Joel's gun still firing behind you, taking down infected, when you watched Amy's arm wrap around Ellie's throat, her face going red while she gasped for air. You didn't even think, you just reacted. Ignoring the pain, you surged forward and pounced on top of her, yanking her arm off of Ellie's neck with every ounce of strength you had. Ellie rolled to the side, kneeling and coughing with her hand gingerly touching her red skin while your fingers gripped Amy's neck. She clawed at your hands, panic filling her eyes as she looked up at you helplessly. You put all your weight into it, squeezing with all your might and praying you didn't pass out before ending this once and for all.

In one last ditch effort, Amy dug her thumb deep into your wounded thigh, making you cry out and loosen your grip. She tossed you off of her and you collapsed next to Ellie with a loud thud. Forcing herself to her feet, Ellie stood over you protectively, her switchblade held shakily in her hand as blood trickled slowly down her arm and dripped onto the tile floor next to your head.

The room finally seemed quieter. You chanced a look towards Joel. He was standing on the other side of the room, surrounded by dead infected and panting for air. When he turned to the three of you, you finally noticed the huge gash on the side of his head from where Amy hit him. His blood dripped down his neck and below his collar, his shirt absorbing the dark red drops.

Amy grabbed the rifle you abandoned and swung around, aiming it at the pair of you as she walked backwards. Joel kept his revolver trained on her as he slowly made his way over to your side of the room.

"You just ruined all our chances at having a fucking life again, Joel," Amy seethed, her eyes boring into his.

"Should've thought about that before you took what's mine," he grumbled angrily, standing next to you now. You curled into a ball on the floor, the pain too much to handle.

"If you'd have just brought us the girl in the fucking first place, none of this would have happened and we wouldn't have touched her," Amy retorted, jutting her chin in your direction.

"The hell's so special about the kid?" Joel asked, but before she could answer, a telltale click, click, click echoed in the room, and you all froze. Your one good eye popped open as you watched a clicker stumble from the room in the corner, snapping its teeth and swiping mindlessly at the empty space in front of it.

Joel glanced down at your state, knowing he wouldn't be able to pick you up and get out of there in time. Ellie gripped her knife tightly as she watched the clicker get further into the room.

You could see the look in Amy's eye. She was glancing around frantically, trying to figure out a way to use this to her advantage. But lucky for you all, you thought of it first.

Carefully, you reached out in front of you, your fingers picking up the bullet casing on the floor from when you shot the runner. Before you had time to overthink it, you tossed the casing to the other side of the room, the metal clinking right between her feet.

The clicker turned towards her and shrieked, its arms flailing wildly. Amy panicked and backed up, but her sneakers squeaked on the tile and that was all the clicker needed. You watched as its hands gripped her shoulders to hold her steady while its mouth ripped violently into her neck. Blood gushed everywhere, puddling on the floor and causing her to lose her footing. Her screams reverberated in the room. You covered your ears, trying to muffle the sound until her screaming eventually stopped.

While the clicker was still distracted, Joel snuck up quietly behind it and lodged a bullet in its head, and the room finally filled with silence again.

Joel turned around as Ellie was helping you back on your feet. He noticed the blood dripping down her arm and his body stiffened.

"You were bit," he said, staring at the blood seeping through her shirt. Ellie looked down at it and then looked back up at him, shaking her head and backing away slowly.

"N-no, it's fine, really-"

Joel held up his gun, pain flickering across his face.

"Joel, don't," you said, but he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. She's bit, we can't-"

"Put the gun down, Joel, and listen to me," you told him, taking a few shaky steps to the side so you stood between him and Ellie.

His arm immediately dropped when you blocked his shot, and he looked at you with despair in his eyes.

"There's nothin' we can do, I'm sorry kid, but -"

"She's immune, Joel!" you yelled, cutting him off again. He froze, stunned, as his eyes flicked back and forth between yours and Ellie's.

"What?" he finally whispered.

"It's true," Ellie said from behind you, then she pulled up her sleeve and showed him her old bite. "Got it a couple months ago. See? It's all healed."

Joel stumbled back a bit, catching himself on the edge of a table as he tried to follow what was happening.

"Wh- how?"

"I don't know, some people just... are," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"It's why they wanted her so badly. They were trying to use her as a guinea pig to make a vaccine," you added.

"You knew?" Joel asked, looking at you with hurt in his eyes. You nodded, your lip trembling.

"Listen, I would love to tell you everything I know, but can we do it in the fucking car?" Ellie asked, growing impatient. You could tell Joel was still struggling with this new revelation, but he knew you were in desperate need of medical care.

"You so much as twitch -" Joel said, storming over to her now and letting himself trail off.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Can we go now?"

If you weren't in so much pain, you might have laughed at how cavalier she was about the whole thing.

Joel found a beat up looking wheelchair and helped you into it. He instructed Ellie to push you while he led the way down the hall. He picked up an assault rifle from one of the dead bodies as he made his way to the elevator. You glanced around at the carnage as you waited for the doors to open, then looked up at him by your side.

"Did you do all of this alone?"

He looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your one open eye for a moment before nodding curtly. As you filed onto the elevator, you tried to examine him for any injuries, but aside from the hit to his head and a few minor scratches and bruises to his knuckles, he appeared fine.

The doors opened up on the main level and you gasped. If you thought the basement level was bad, it was nothing compared to the main level. Ellie pushed your wheelchair through the blood on the floor, her footsteps and the wheels leaving imprints as you went. Joel went up ahead to push some bodies out of the way and make a clear path for you to get to the front door.

"Truck's right out front," he said.

"Joel, how did you... do this?" you asked, still hardly believing what you were seeing.

"What'dya mean?" he asked, his hand on the front door, ready to push it open. You looked up at him and swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to comprehend what you were seeing. He let his hand drop to his side so he could kneel in front of you and pinch your chin between his fingers, giving you a gentle kiss.

"I did what I had to do to get you back."

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo @iloveramensm @caitlynsixxx @anoverwhelmingdin @harriedandharassed @jessthebaker @txtattoostark @merz-8 @sarahhxx03 @oscarissac2099 @motherjoel @silas-222 @b3l1nd5 @rocket-raccoon-silvie @missladym1981 @angie2274 @maried01

[sourw0lfs]

My 'Steve gets taken instead of Barb' AU has been churning in my brain for a couple of weeks now and I'm desperate to give it some love and attention, even if I have other WIPs that need my attention more, so I'm throwing a sneak peek out into the world <3

~*~*~*~

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?”

Steve’s voice is little more than a frantic whisper as he tries to right himself, hands and feet scrambling under him as they slide on… he doesn’t even know what that is, but it feels disgusting under his fingers. And he wants— No, he needs to get away from it now.

He also desperately needs to get away from whatever the fuck is growling nearby.

Finally he gets some kind of traction and propels himself out of… Steve doesn’t stop to look around and find out. Instead he just heaves himself up and takes off for the line of dead, decrepit trees he can see in the distance. His breaths come in harsh pants and he wants to look over his shoulder, to see if what he heard is chasing him, but he doesn’t. Instead he keeps his eyes forward, pushing as much as he can to create distance between himself and whatever the fuck that thing is.

It’s only once the burn in his legs is too much to bear that Steve stops. His palms find his knees as he doubles over, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. Every muscle in his body feels like it’s going to shake free with how much he’s tremble, both from the exertion and the fear, and it’s all Steve can do to keep his feet under him.

Around him, the world is quiet, broken only by the strained gasps.

Once he finally feels like he might not pass out from lack of air, Steve straightens up and looks around. It’s hard to make anything out in the dark, but he can see the faint outline of bare trees and dark shadows of undergrowth. There’s something off about it all, a sense of wrongness coming over him as he looks around. The area looks familiar and foreign at the same time and he didn’t even know something could do that.

Turning back the way he’d come from, Steve takes a single step before hissing in pain and crumpling to the ground. The rush of adrenaline that fueled his escape is gone now, leaving only a sharp sting down the bottom half of his right leg in its wake. Fingers shaking, Steve prods at the area, whimpering to himself a bit when it makes the pain worse. His fingers come back dark and wet.

Blood.

Whatever it is that grabbed him has also shredded the skin of his leg in the process. Perfect, great, fantastic, amazing.

Sob ripping free of its own volition, Steve falls back. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know a damn thing about dealing with fucking claw marks. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know how to reach help. He doesn’t know if that thing is coming back. He doesn’t know what to do.

Tears slide down from his eyes, down his face to his ears, but Steve doesn’t make any move to wipe them away. Instead he just lays there, staring up at the discomfortingly red sky above him. He’s never seen a red sky before. It would maybe be pretty to look at if he wasn’t spiraling and catastrophizing.

Lightning streaks across the dark clouds, and Steve startles at the sudden brightness of it. But it’s something. It’s enough to get him pushing himself back up, to wipe his eyes with dirty hands, to collect his thoughts again. His leg stings with each movement, but he knows he can’t stay on the ground. He has to go…somewhere. Anywhere but here. Except the part where Steve doesn’t know where he is.

The ground is wet under his palms as he drags himself towards on the twisted trees surrounding him. Reaching it, Steve reaches up to grab onto a branch, hoping and praying that it doesn’t crack under his weight, and uses it to pull himself up. The bark is dry and rough against his skin as he pulls, but the branch holds and Steve gets his feet under himself again.

Leaning heavily against the trunk as Steve tests how much weight he can put on his torn apart right leg. “Fuck!” he swears when the pain sears all the way up as soon as his foot touches the ground.

Another sob tears its way free as Steve leans on the dead tree for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose until the flash of pain fades away again. Once he can straighten up enough to look around again, Steve feels the need to sob again. He really has no idea where he’s at.

[sorceresssundries]

Down by the River

Summary: The brain is defeated, the absolute halted, our heroes have won, and yet... victory isn't all it's cracked up to be. One-shot.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, destroyed city, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.4k

Looking out across the water, away from Baldur’s Gate, you could almost trick yourself into believing that the flecks of orange and red shimmering on the surface were caused solely by the sunrise—the first kiss of light from the split-lipped smile of a new, hopeful day.

Reality is a dagger, and the Chionthar reflects the flames and chaos from the burning city, spreading them over its still surface to shimmer back at you in mockery. You don’t stop looking at the river, too scared of what you will see when you turn around. 

Baldur’s Gate is a broken city. The shops you once visited, the temples where you prayed, and the homes which welcomed you had fallen. Bricks now crush the bodies they were built to shelter.

You stand on the dock with your lover, feeling as though you have been sprinting across slipping sand for countless days, and now… stopped.

You have reached the end, and there is nothing here—only calloused hands, blistered feet, and grief that stretches and settles into every part of you it can find. The nether brain is dead, the tadpole in your head has shrivelled away to nothing, the crown is discarded, and the chosen of the dead three slaughtered, yet you are numb to relief.

“It’s over” Gale’s hand is on your shoulder, trying to turn you so you can rest your weary head against him. You can’t move. You can’t turn around. He slides his hand to your waist, to wrap his arm around you. You can’t bear to have any kind of joy, or hope, or comfort offered to you. You don’t want it. Bile burns in your throat.

He is speaking to you softly, his words as delicate as moth wings. You can't hear him. Your mind is your own again, pounding with the sound of death and destruction—it's enough to make you miss the wriggling distraction of the tadpole.

“We will rebuild,” you manage to catch him saying.

For a second, you think you hear an animal screeching in the distance, but the following sobs tell you it’s a person. A mother, maybe, who has just found the body of her child. You won’t turn to find out.

“Tell that to her.” You don’t recognise your own voice. You want to bite the words at him, but your voice has no teeth, and all you hear are the hollow words of a grief-wrecked wraith. He has no answer. No quip, no lesson, no comfort. There is nothing to say, no spell to cast, no illusion strong enough to cover the sound of screams and the smell of acrid smoke.

Your gaze remains fixed on the water, your mind churning in tandem with your stomach. The Crown of Karsus is in there somewhere, broken into pieces and buried under rubble. Left to sink into the silt of the Chionthar, as was always the plan.

Unless…

Karlach and Wyll were in Avernus, bound to a life of hellscapes and blood wars. The scorch marks from the portal, from her flame-swaddled body, were burned into the wooden dock behind you.

Astarion had been banished back into the darkness he had spent centuries trying to crawl out of. He had sprinted out of the light he once basked in, and the Gods only know where he is now.

Seven thousand souls had perished in a failed ritual. The corpses of Tieflings were shadows that could not be lifted in the curse-cleansed heartlands. Shadowheart had fought with the ferocity of a wolf to cast aside her Goddess and save her parents, only to watch them die in front of her. Rolan was dead. Cal and Lia and Zevlor and Florrick. All gone.

Lae’zel

You feel the muscles in your hand flex and spasm at the thought of Lae’zel. Your heart twists.

You had tried. You had conjured up desperate deception, attempted silver-tongued persuasion, and even rage-fueled intimidation, but it had not been enough to stop Orin the Red from plunging her knives into Lae’zel's eye sockets and splitting apart her skull.

She had been twenty-two years old, and burned with more courage than anyone you had known. It had not been enough to get her to the end, to this scorched dock in the shadow of Baldur’s Gate. You were not able to save her, and the thought of it sizzles wrath through your numbness.

Is this what victory tastes like? Blood and bile and fury. If only you had done things differently. The still, flame-orange water in front of you starts to froth in the wake of your rage.

“Tav?” Gale is trying to bring you back to him. Has his voice always been so small?

You remember how he had sounded when you first discussed the crown. After finding that damned book and seeing the desperation in his eyes, hearing the soft plea of his words which soon turned petulant and sharp.

A hindrance, he had called you. He had pouted and pleaded, and any wavering uncertainty in your decision to keep the book from him had hardened to steel.

He had not learned. Ambition still trickled and hissed through his veins, pumped around by his poor, desperate heart. Mystra had been right to keep him in check, just as you were right to do the same. He could not have the book. He could not have the crown. It would drain all of his sweet, kind mortality from him until all that was left was another God to keep the wheel spinning. How many would be crushed beneath it, beneath him? You could not allow it.

Each night, the Annals of Karsus had lain heavy in your hands. The weave, usually rosewater-scented and soft as silk, was suddenly sluggish and scraped like sandpaper in the air around its blasphemous contents.

That had not stopped you. You poured over its pages in the quiet, leftover hours where night slipped into morning. The book was heavy—not just in weight, but in the burden of turning its pages and deciphering its contents. Each word felt as if it had to be pulled out and held in hard focus before you could understand any of its meaning.

It took work, but you got there. You were just as capable a wizard as Gale, after all. The weave fought you at every turn, but with dedication the riddle unravelled and the answers became clear. The crown could be reforged and reused by someone worthy enough to wear it, and you knew how to do it.

Think of what could be done…

You could cool Karlach’s engine and bring her back to the life she deserves in the city she loves.

You could shatter the iron-clad shell of Wyll’s pact as though it were made of glass.

You could grant Astarion a life of deserved sunshine.

Maybe…you could change even more.

What if you could go back? Try again? Use the power of a God to Wish for another chance. You could do things differently, leave no one behind.

You could make different decisions. You could make it so your words would be convincing enough to still Orin’s blade and save Lae’zel. You could be stronger, wiser, tougher. You could step out of that pod on the Nautiloid a different person, if you wanted.

Another attempt, a restart, a new run.

Is that too much to ask? You are not marred by towering ambition; you don't want to raise armies or infect the minds of innocents. You don't care about gods and monsters. You just want another roll of the dice.

“If I salvage the stones… I could retrieve it…” You aren’t talking to anyone in particular; you just need it said out loud. “I could change things”

Gale is in front of you now, crouching slightly so his face is level with yours, cupping your face and wiping away tears with the pads of his thumbs. His eyes are full of panic, and he is saying things, such sweet, wonderful things. He loves you as a mortal; he needs you to stay here. There is nothing that can be done, he insists, there is always another way…

“I will find you again,” you say, an oath to the man who forgot his Goddess. You will not let him forget you. “I will love you all over again, you’ll see.”

And you mean it; your love was meant to blaze across universes, you could feel it.

His voice once again quiets as all the possibilities thunder around your head with bright new clarity. Your decision is made, your path clear.

You turn to stare at the burnt-out shell of Baldur’s Gate.

Forget ambition; you would become the God of Second Chances.