#also fucked with the layer settings on the smoke and at the time I thought it looked cool (until I didn't)

[dr-wormman]

Got a little weird with this one since I've had mosaics on the mind

[ja3yun]

I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | CH.2: Saturn and Uranus

virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (m.rec), slight throat fucking, whiney heeseung, strip club and dances, mentions of alcohol and anxiety, anything else lmk! wc: 18.8k ch.2 synopsis: with you and heeseung fleeing the scene of your accidental crime, you weave through the trials of finding safety and making some cash, leading you straight to saturn strip club. a/n: hi! thank you so so much for the love and support on the first chapter <3 i'm sorry if it seems slow but it picks up the pace in the following chapters so please stick with it! i love this series sm and i am so appreciative of each and every one of you! as always, reblogs, likes, comments, and feedback are all welcome

chapter 1 | masterlist | chapter 3

Your precious car begins to slow down despite your foot firmly pressed on the pedal, causing you to glance at the dashboard quizzically. The needle on the fuel gauge hovers perilously close to empty, a sight that sends a jolt of anxiety through you. 

There’s no way it has already run out of petrol, you only filled it up two days ago; then again, you have been driving for the better part of six hours down winding roads. You start to wonder if perhaps you were overly optimistic about that refuelling. There also might be a small, tiny chance that you only filled it up halfway because you ran out of money for an entire tank.

As these thoughts race through your mind, the car gives a tired shudder. The engine's steady hum falters, replaced by a series of splutters. The tail of your vehicle emits a loud, desperate noise, gasping for something to quench its thirst. You turn just in time to see a thin, ominous layer of black smoke drifting from the exhaust pipe.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, your knuckles turn white as you scan the deserted road ahead for any sign of a petrol station. The vast, empty stretch of asphalt seems to mock your predicament. Panic sets in as you realise the gravity of the situation. The distant horizon offers no solace, just an unending ribbon of road under the setting sun.

“Fuck!” you exclaim, slamming your palm harshly on the steering wheel as the car comes to a halt.

Heeseung twists his head to look at your disgruntled expression before noticing the puff of smoke in his peripheral vision, his eyes widening in fear. The only time he had seen a car fog up like this was when Jongseong decided to do skids in the Tesco car park at 3am after too many Red Bulls and exam stress. The next day, his friend had to replace every tyre and pay a fine after being caught on CCTV.

This consequence might be drastically worse.

“We could phone AA. They can pick us up or fill the tank,” he suggests, as if he can magically conjure a phone booth in front of you.

Huffing, you suppress the silent rage coursing through you due to the recent life events. You sit back, gripping the wheel tightly. “Heeseung,” you begin, keeping your voice slow and steady, “you do realise there is a dead body in the hotel room that has probably been found by now, and they will be looking for us!”

You don’t mean to get agitated with the timid boy, but the gravity of the situation is pushing you to the edge. You don’t even want to think about the scene back at the hotel or who the poor person that found your attacker would be. If it was Kat at reception, she definitely would have already called the police, given a character description, and probably found a way to help them locate your National Insurance number. She always did hate your guts, and it would be a joyous occasion for her to watch your demise unfold with her playing a key part in it.

You grab a bobble from the glove compartment and pull your hair back into a ponytail, closing your eyes briefly as you try to devise a plan. The tension in the car is palpable, a mix of fear and frustration hanging in the air. "I'll walk and see if there's a petrol station nearby," you say, flicking two framing pieces of hair out and holding your hands out to Heeseung. "Can I get some of the money you brought?"

Heeseung looks at you with arched brows. "You don’t have any?" he asks incredulously. It’s not like he expected you to be a billionaire, but with thousands of horny men and a girl as gorgeous as you, he figured you had more than enough cash.

If only he knew you were eating out-of-date beans two weeks ago and that your water was shut off because you couldn’t pay the bill. The reality of your life is far removed from the glamorous facade you sometimes project.

"I only carry £20 with me in case a client tries to rob me. I can't ever be too careful," you explain, understanding the irony in your attempt at safety when you were two seconds away from meeting the man in white at the pearly gates not too long ago.

Heeseung doesn’t fully grasp your logic, but he also isn’t a sex worker, so he trusts your judgement. "Okay, let me grab my..." he begins to say, nodding in agreement and patting his chest in search of his jacket pocket. His eyes bulge, and his heart sinks like a stone in water.

Frantically, he searches his body, as if this would magically make his brown jacket appear. Sweat from his terror seeps from his pores as he chants a few tiny 'fucks', looking around your car with panicked eyes. His breaths become shallow, and you can see the fear creeping into his features.

"What’s wrong?" you ask calmly, not matching his urgent state. Your voice is steady, a stark contrast to the chaos bubbling beneath the surface.

He turns to you slowly, swallowing thickly. He doesn’t know how to tell you the unfortunate information he has just realised, so he stays silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder in the tension-filled car.

“What is it? Just tell me.”

"I...I left my jacket in the hotel room."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Heeseung!" you shout, throwing your hands up in the air to punctuate your disappointment in his forgetfulness. You can’t believe how stupid he is considering you told him to grab his things. When you said that, you meant everything.

Heeseung shoulders the blame but gets defensive at your attitude towards his blunder. "I’m sorry! It’s not every day I kill a man and have to flee with a prostitute, okay? I wasn’t thinking," he exclaims, his voice cracking with stress. He can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, making his hands tremble slightly.

"Oh, you think I go around whacking my clients on the regular?" you argue back, eyes burning with a dangerous fury. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with your rising panic, makes your temper flare. 

"Well-" he starts but cuts himself off because he doesn’t know how to argue with you. His eyes drop, and he lets out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair in frustration.“My ID is in the pocket, Y/N. They’ll find me for sure…”

Looking at him, you suddenly wince in sympathy. If the cameras and Kat didn’t rat him out to the authorities, his ID certainly would. The sheer panic on his face is a reminder of how dire your situation truly is. 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "We need a plan," you say, your voice steadier now. “We need to walk, it's nearly 9pm and we can’t be out here like sitting ducks.”

“We’ll be walking all night, Y/N. I can’t do this, I can’t…I have an exam on Monday,” he whines, chest heaving up and down as he puts himself in a state of panic by thinking about the final assignments of his academic career - much to your dismay. His eyes dart around frantically as if looking for an escape route that isn’t there.

Out of all the things for him to worry about, his exam should not be taking priority. “Heeseung, that is the least of your concern. We killed a man, me and you - we can’t go back. What part of that do you not fucking understand? Do you seriously think I would be sitting in a dead car with you in the middle of fuck knows where if I could just go back to my flat and move on with my life?”

Your anger is flaring through your nostrils, each breath you take feeling like it’s stoking a fire inside you. The reality of the consequences to your predicament crashes over you in waves.

Heeseung’s face pales, and you can see him physically shrink back, his shoulders hunching as he tries to make himself smaller. He looks at you with wide, scared eyes, clearly cowed by your outburst. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, almost inaudibly, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear and guilt.

You take a moment to look at him and your heart breaks. He never asked for this, the same as you didn’t, so you shouldn’t be yelling at him as if this is all his fault, or that his feelings and worries are any less valid than your own, even if they are misplaced. He came to you looking to lose his virginity, not gain trauma and a criminal record - and that’s exactly what he got all because he saved you.

Closing your eyes, you rub your temples, trying to gather your thoughts. The night is closing in around you, the impending darkness feeling suffocating. The horizon is a blur of shadows, with the last traces of daylight fading into an oppressive twilight. You can’t afford to waste time arguing. You need to move, and you need to move now.

Pondering for a while, you realise your current state of dress isn’t helping the situation. Sitting in nothing but a robe with no bra and only lace panties underneath isn’t practical for a night trek, let alone safe. The robe, which barely provides any warmth or coverage, feels utterly inadequate against the encroaching chill. You glance at Heeseung, who’s still looking down, avoiding your gaze, biting the skin from his lip in anxiety.

“Heeseung,” you say more gently, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. “Can I borrow your shirt?”

He looks up, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment before he registers your request. “Yeah, sure, anything,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation and a need to atone for his earlier mistake. He hurriedly rids himself of his plaid shirt, almost fumbling in his haste, and hands it over to you. His movements are frantic, a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil.

Even the way he says "anything" makes the guilt suppress the anger towards him. The boy is so sweet and gentle, you never knew someone like him could ever exist, not in this grotty city anyway. 

You take your robe off, revealing your erect nipples to him once again, this time in a much less sexually charged atmosphere. The night air feels like icy fingers brushing against your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. With the sun disappearing to let the moon say hello, you rush to get the shirt on, shielding yourself from the settling cold. The plaid shirt, still warm from Heeseung's body heat, provides a semblance of comfort and much needed warmth amidst the chaos.

As you’re getting dressed in Heeseung’s shirt, he tries his best not to look at you and give you even a shred of privacy. He might have seen them earlier but that does not mean you consent to him catching a swatch right now. His gaze remains fixed on the ceiling of the car, his hands clenching and unclenching as he battles with his own thoughts.

But god, he can imagine them now, how perfect and delicious they looked, like something out of his wildest fantasies, the feeling of them cupped in his hands and how squishy they felt. Despite his efforts to maintain some decorum, the images linger in his mind, a thought he desperately tries to push aside. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and shuffling in his seat to adjust the twitch in his balls, he tries to focus on anything else, the guilt gnawing at him.

Once dressed, you notice how Heeseung’s shirt, though oversized, fits snugly enough to offer some semblance of modesty. The fabric, soft and slightly worn, smells faintly of him - a mix of soap and something uniquely his. 

“Heeseung, we need to keep moving,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. He nods, swallowing hard but still avoiding your gaze. You can see him fidgeting in his seat, his hand tugging at the zipper of his jeans, seeking relief from the friction.

Stifling a laugh, grateful for the distraction, you snap your fingers playfully. “I know you have a bad case of blue balls, but we need to focus.”

Heeseung’s face turns a vivid shade of red as his eyes widen in shock, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. He can’t believe you noticed him fiddling with his trousers to alleviate the discomfort. Yet, just like you, he welcomes the distraction, though he would have preferred it to come from something less embarrassing.

“We need to ditch this car and find a motel or something,” you suggest determinedly, scanning the deserted road for any signs of life or guidance but there’s nothing but darkness.

You swing open the driver’s door and step onto the slightly damp grass, cringing internally at the cold, wet sensation between your bare toes as you circle around to the boot to rummage through your belongings. You always keep a bag of spare work clothes and some makeup in there for emergencies. In hindsight, you really should have packed proper clothes and not a tiny set of lingerie, but for now, Heeseung’s shirt paired with your six-inch heels will have to do.

As you slam the boot shut, you take a moment to look at your car, preparing yourself to say goodbye. This trusty vehicle has taken you across the country, creating memories filled with both joy and sorrow, all of which have shaped who you are today. This is just another memory to add to the collection, no matter how unpleasant.

You glance at your gleaming custom registration plate, panic rising within you. It’s a beacon, a glaring signal that could lead anyone straight to you. If they’re searching for you, it won’t take them long to find you with a plate like that. Stroking the hood of the car, you pout. “I’m so sorry for this, baby,” you whisper lovingly to the motor before bringing your stiletto down with a harsh crash against the metal. The pain shoots up your leg, but it’s the crack in your heart that hurts the most. You never imagined you’d have to hurt your precious car, let alone abandon it.

Heeseung hears the commotion and scrambles out, his eyes wide with alarm. He sees you attacking the back of the car, unaware of your intentions. Your face is flushed with exertion as you put all your might into battering the plate off its screws. Strands of hair fall out of your ponytail, which you angrily huff away. Despite himself, Heeseung finds this display of dominance strangely attractive. The way you assert control over the metal makes him wonder how you would have treated him if things had gone to plan.

The sight of your heels jamming into the rear only fuels his thoughts further. His mind races with images of you dominating a man, your heel tearing into his flesh like extinguishing a cigarette. The picture causes an ache in Heeseung’s groyne, making him shuffle uncomfortably. This feeling is something he’ll have to explore; perhaps once he gets past his virginity, he can figure out his kinks.

If he ever does lose it, that is.

“W-what are you doing?” he asks shyly, scared to break your concentration.

Huffing, you look up at him, seeing the bewilderment in his eyes. You can’t blame him, you must look deranged like a bull charging at a red flag. “I’m breaking these off so it buys us some time, just in case a cop car comes by,” you explain, wiping sweat from your brow. If you were cold before, you certainly aren’t now.

He watches you soothe your aching leg, his concern genuine and heartfelt. “You need to be careful, Y/N. You could hurt your ankle,” he states, his voice filled with worry.

You’re about to snap at him, but his soft expression and worried eyes make you relent. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself before replying. “Can you get the one at the front, please?” Your voice is steady, though the aggression of your kick shows you’re not in the mood for further discussion. Heeseung nods and heads to the front of the car, obediently following your instructions.

Heeseung, slightly shaky but determined, crouches down to work on the front plate. You watch him, grateful for his cooperation despite the circumstances. The dim light from the casting moon creates long shadows, and the quiet night amplifies every sound: the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the metallic clinks as Heeseung fumbles with the screws. The whole scene feels surreal, as if you're in a suspenseful film.

Returning to the back of the car, you take a deep breath and assess the damage. The number plate is now hanging by one screw, bent and battered but still attached. You give it another firm kick, wincing as the stiletto heel digs into the metal. With a final tug, the plate comes off, and you toss it into the nearby bushes, hoping it will be concealed well enough to buy you some time.

“Heeseung, how’s it going up there?” you call out, trying to mask the urgency in your voice.

“Almost done,” he replies, his voice strained. A few moments later, he triumphantly holds up the front plate, looking to you for approval. You nod, giving him a small, encouraging smile. He seems so happy, like he just won a month of free rental at BlockBuster. 

This is the first time you’ve seen him smile and it melts your heart, his toothy grin and smile lines accentuating the sun that seems to radiate from his face. He probably smiled like that all the time before all of this, you think to yourself with a pang of remorse.

Following your lead, he tosses it into the high bushes, listening to the rustling leaves as the metal cascades down the intertwined branches. He wipes the fallen paint and dust from his hands on his dark jeans and moves to the back of the car to reach you, his happiness dims a little as he sees you hobble slightly.

Before you can place the coveted bag on your shoulder, Heeseung clasps his big hand around the strap and steals it from you, wrapping it around his neck and shoulder so it can swing idly under his arm. You don’t get to protest at his snatching because he’s already walking forward, stirring up his energy for the long walk ahead.

_____

You haven’t seen a single inch of light or hope in the past two hours of walking along the countryside. The skies, once adorned with a pale twilight, have now succumbed to the inky darkness of night. The narrow dirt path stretches endlessly before you, flanked by skeletal trees and picked-apart bushes. The cold, relentless and unforgiving, seeps into your bones, making each step more laborious than the last. The only sound accompanying your journey is the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.

Your soles are burning, a searing pain that intensifies with each agonising step. The God-forsaken heels feel like instruments of torture, biting into your feet and reducing your stride to a painful shuffle. Every uneven stone and hidden root sends jolts of agony through your body, making you wince involuntarily. The cold, having long breached the feeble barriers of Heeseung’s shirt, wraps around you like a cruel, invisible shroud.

Hunger gnaws at your insides, a relentless beast that roars louder with each passing minute. Your stomach grumbles an angry, persistent sound that echoes through the stillness. You're convinced Heeseung can hear it.

And he does. 

Heeseung, walking beside you, casts worried glances in your direction. The concern in his eyes is unmistakable, a silent testament to his awareness of your suffering. He can see the pain etched across your face, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line of determination despite the evident exhaustion.

His gaze drops to your feet, noticing how you wince with every step. Your once resolute stride is now reduced to a limping hobble, the back of your shoes digging mercilessly into your sore, blistered skin. Your feet, barely able to withstand the pressure, threaten to give out beneath you. The muscles in your legs tremble with fatigue, each step a monumental effort that pushes you closer to your breaking point.

Heeseung's concern manifests in his actions; he slows his pace to match your faltering steps, offering a steadying hand when you stumble over an unseen obstacle. His presence is a small comfort, a reminder that you are not alone in this desolate landscape. His words, though few, are gentle and encouraging, urging you to hold on just a little longer.

Hating the sight of you in pain, Heeseung places a timid hand on your shoulder, causing you to pause in your steps. “Maybe you should take those off?” he suggests, eyes pointed down to your bruised feet.

“And walk along the British countryside that has needles and shit lying around?” you ask rhetorically, a bite in your voice due to the irritation you’re being overstimulated by, “Unless you want to swap, these heels are staying on.”

Despite only knowing you a few hours, he has grasped that you are a stubborn and independent woman who seldom takes help from those around her. You can hold your own against the world, not a single crutch to lean on; when Heeseung had offered you a piggyback a few miles back, you snapped at him, telling him that as much as you appreciate the gesture, you are not a child in need of comfort.

He never offered again.

That’s why even as he suggests a solution to your problem, he does it with a shaky voice. He has always been scared of women in general, so having to navigate around an angry and short-tempered one who is also hungry is something he is having a problem with.

“Look, I’m fine, Heeseung. Really, just st-”

Your sentence is interrupted by the distant sound of an engine. Both your and Heeseung’s eyes expand at the beautiful noise, each of you having similar thoughts that this could be your get out of jail free card. The sound grows louder, cutting through the oppressive silence of the night like a beacon of hope. Your heart leaps, adrenaline surging through your veins as the possibility of escape becomes tantalisingly real.

Quickly thinking, you unbutton the shirt that covers your most valuable assets in a situation like this and scoop your tits up slightly, to give you a more voluptuous look. You whip the bobble out from your hair and ruffle it to a bouncy state. The cold air hits your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing instead on the potential saviour approaching.

Heeseung watches you, his eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and anxiety. His mouth opens as if to protest, but no words come out. He’s torn between his instinct to protect and his hope that your plan might actually work. But you’re putting yourself in more danger by trying to lure the driver in with your body, and he can’t face whacking another person to ensure your safety.

“Y/N, what are you doing? People don’t do this anymore, not since the 70s,” he argues softly, trying to stand in your way as the headlights illuminate the dark road you walk on.

Pushing him to the side, you shake your head, plastering on a smile and sticking your thumb out. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Heeseung. We need a lift and I’m making sure we get it,” you retort.

Granted, you have never hitchhiked in your life and the only reason you have an inch of knowledge on how to do this is through movies, some of which end up as well as Heeseung is imagining, but there are two of you and if today has taught you anything, you make a great team when it comes to defending yourself.

The vehicle comes into view, an old pickup truck, its paint chipped and weathered. It slows as it approaches, and for a brief moment, you hold your breath, praying that the driver will stop. With one final push attempt, you jump slightly, flailing your arms around as your bare breasts bounce freely under the shirt. If it doesn’t catch the driver's attention, it quickly catches Heeseung’s, who diverts his eyes up to the starry sky.

Luckily, your tits seem to work and the car pulls up beside you both, the engine purring softly and the exhaust pipe offering you a tiny blanket of warmth. The window rolls down to reveal a man, roughly your age or possibly younger, licking his lips and eyeing you up and down.

“Need a lift?” he asks casually, not bothering to even look at your face.

And Heeseung said it wouldn’t work.

“Yes, please!” you giggle, shifting into one of your many work personas, hiding the irritation and pain that you are in. 

Stepping forward, Heeseung attempts to place a hand on your back to urge you to reconsider, perhaps ask the boy for directions and keep trudging forward on your own, but before he can, you are already clambering into the passenger seat, sinking into the comfort and taking the weight of your distressed feet.

Following your lead, even if it’s apprehensively, Heeseung climbs into the back, setting your bag on one of the seats as though it were a passenger itself. Although alarm bells are ringing in his mind, he appreciates the instant envelopment of contentment as his legs relax, the tingles from hours of walking and anxiety slowly leaving his limbs.

The warmth of the truck's interior is a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and you let out a sigh of relief as the heater's warm air washes over you. The driver puts the truck in gear and pulls back onto the road, the engine's hum vibrating around you as you slip into a relaxed state. 

The driver glances at Heeseung in the rearview mirror, a curious look in his eyes. “Where are you two headed?” he asks.

“Is there a motel nearby?” Heeseung inquires, buckling his seatbelt with a mix of hope and caution.

Nodding, the man smiles. “There is one about 30 minutes away, just beside the memorial hall.”

The confirmation of a place to rest being within reaching distance makes Heeseung’s heart patter with relief. As you settle into your seat, you can’t help but notice the driver’s striking appearance. He is incredibly handsome, with jet-black hair that catches the faint glow of the dashboard lights, thick, dark eyebrows that frame his intense eyes, and a few beauty freckles scattered across his face that add to his rugged charm. His strong but gentle manner is magnetic, and you find yourself drawn to his presence.

You didn’t know people so gorgeous existed in this country, having thought Heeseung might have been the only exception. Yet, here you are, in a four-wheeler with probably two of the fittest men you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Heeseung, his sharp features softened by the warm glow of the truck’s interior lights. Despite the exhaustion etched on his face, there’s a calmness in his expression that wasn’t there before, a quiet acceptance of the situation.

The driver’s gaze flickers to you occasionally, a hint of curiosity mixed with lust. “You don’t look like you belong here, baby girl,” he says, his voice low and smooth, carrying an undercurrent of intrigue.

Twirling your hair with your pointer finger, you bat your eyelashes and smile sheepishly, becoming the woman most men want you to be, and for him, you just might submit to the role. “Is it that obvious?” you say, giggling softly and biting your lip seductively. “I could say the same to you…” Trailing off, you subtly ask for his name, your voice dripping with playful curiosity.

“Sunghoon,” he replies, his name rolling off his tongue with a confident ease. He extends a hand, which you happily take, intending to shake it, but instead, he lifts the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. The unexpected gesture sends a shiver through you, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

The warmth of his touch lingers long after he releases your hand. Sunghoon’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, a silent exchange of mutual attraction that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and slightly off-balance.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Heeseung,” you offer your names casually, still swimming in his allure. You had set off with the intention that he would fall for you and give you the lift, but now that you’re here, you feel like a bunny trapped by the bear.

Heeseung shifts slightly in the back seat, his eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. The moment is not lost on him, but he says nothing, simply watching with a guarded expression. He isn’t jealous of your interaction with Sunghoon per se; it’s more that he is envious of how easily the driver has put you under a spell. The boy’s charm even captivates him a little bit, watching as Sunghoon’s eyes return to the road with not an ounce of trepidation or fear of you. 

That is who he wants to be, everything that Sunghoon is. He probably has girlfriends and lovers coming out of his ears, all probably just as equally as beautiful as you. It makes Heeseung recoil a little in the seat because the only reason he has been able to talk to you so freely is because of your trauma-bonding experience and the fact he has been stuck with you in the same car for hours.

You and Sunghoon continue to converse for the whole journey, flirting so blatantly that Heeseung starts taking mental notes on how to talk to women just to pass the time; he wishes he had brought his notebook with him. Sunghoon’s easy laughter and smooth compliments weave a web of enchantment, and you find yourself responding with a level of flirtation that surprises even you.

In the distance, you start to see lights shining and you instinctively lean forward, your body craving the need of a grungy motel and some much-needed rest, even if it is only for a few hours. The neon sign flickers invitingly, casting a welcoming glow over the worn facade of the building. 

Sunghoon notices your movement and smiles. “We’re almost there,” he says, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

The truck slows as it approaches the motel, and Sunghoon skillfully navigates into the parking lot. He parks and turns to you with a warm, lingering gaze. “Here we are. I hope this place meets your needs.” His tone is sultry, his eyes hooded as they drop to your cleavage.

You lean over, placing a hand on his chest, your fingers crawling their way along his left pec as you move in closer. Your lips are now so close to his that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. “Thank you, Sunghoon. You’re the best,” you murmur, your voice low and seductive. You close the distance and press your lips to his and he eagerly responds, his large hand cupping your face and pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.

Sunghoon's tongue swiftly makes its way to play with yours, licking into your mouth with measured ease. The kiss is hot and intense, and if you weren’t on the run for murder and a certain virgin wasn’t in the backseat, you might have taken things further right there in the truck.

But that wasn’t your plan. You had something else in mind.

Heeseung watches with his jaw slack and mouth open. He knows how good your lips feel and how skilful you are with your tongue, having experienced it firsthand. His eyes widen with a mix of awe and something else - perhaps envy or longing - as he observes the passionate exchange between you and Sunghoon.

After what feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat, you pull back, your lips tingling from the kiss. “We should get inside, get some rest,” you whisper, your voice breathy. Sunghoon nods, his eyes still locked on yours. “Thanks for everything, Hoonie,” you say, the nickname rolling off your tongue and making Sunghoon close his eyes in want.

“If I didn’t have to keep driving, I would be coming with you, fucking you so good,” he admits, his voice low and husky. The rawness of his words shocks Heeseung, but you seem unfazed by the idea; rather, you look a little disappointed.

Despite your feelings, you smile and place one more kiss on his lips before waving him goodbye in some sort of hurry. You step out of the car and slam the door behind you with ease. The sound and vibration jolt Heeseung out of his horny trance before he quickly thanks Sunghoon, picking up your bag and following suit, albeit a lot more clumsily than you.

You send him off one final time as his truck pulls out of the motel parking lot. You grin widely and hide the shooting pain that has found its way back to the sole of your feet. God, you cannot wait to get into a room and take the heels of death off. 

Turning to Heeseung, you see him looking at the poster underneath the illuminated ‘open’ sign. His face is contorted in a mix of horror and dread, his tongue coming out of his mouth to wet his parched lips as he begins to overheat with worry. “What is it?” you ask, puzzled.

“The motel,” he starts, pointing to the board before him, “It’s £40 a night and we only have £20.”

Smirking, you look up at him innocently before rustling something in your hand, bringing it up to his face as a badge of honour. “No, we don’t.”

Heeseung’s eyes leave the board to meet yours but are quickly pulled astray by the notes that sit snugly between two of your fingers. He has to blink a few times before he truly accepts what he is seeing - at least £80 in tens and twenties invades his vision. “When did you…” he trails off, examining the money closely.

“Sunghoon owed me for the kiss,” you shrug, placing the money in your breast pocket while making your way to the entrance of the motel.

Stuttering, Heeseung carefully grabs your arm and pulls you back before you can enter the building. “Y/N, you stole from him, that’s not okay. He helped us out and you robbed him.” His voice is stern but lacks the confidence to back it up, so it comes across as a little pathetic. Although his conviction is feeble, his morals have always taken precedence over anything else, even in moments like this, he cannot sit by and watch you do this so casually.

“Heeseung,” you shove his hand off your arm, “It’s not like I wanted to steal it, okay? But we are desperate and need it way more than he does. We can’t be law-abiding citizens when we literally murdered a man,” you whisper, eyes pleading with him to see your side of the tracks.

And he does somewhat; he agrees that you guys are in a tough situation and resources won’t come easily to you, but he also thinks there have to be better ways to go about this. Relenting, Heeseung nods. “Okay, this one is fine because we need it, but we have to remember that just because that happened in the hotel room doesn’t mean we need to start acting like we’re criminals. We should still keep our values, Y/N.”

You see the worry etched on his face, his eyes pleading for you to agree. “I know, Heeseung. I promise I’ll try to find better ways,” you say, your voice softer, trying to convey your understanding. 

Heeseung exhales deeply, tension easing slightly from his shoulders. “Alright, let’s just get inside and get a room. We can figure things out tomorrow.”

Stepping into the motel foyer instantly blasts you with warmth and the smell of mould, the interior is shabby and the once-white walls are stained yellow with what you can only presume is cigarette smoke. The carpet is damp and you can hear it squelch underneath your heel, the light above the reception desk flickers. Despite all this, it feels like you’re at the Ritz right now due to the exhaustion flowing through your body.

The reception desk is manned by an older man reading the paper, his hair white thinning atop his scalp, his beard in desperate need of a wash, and the remnants of his midnight snack splattered on his light blue shirt. 

He doesn’t notice you at first, his nose too far pressed into yesterday’s edition of the Daily Mail to pay attention. Gingerly, you knock on the desk in an attempt to draw his focus to you and Heeseung, but to no avail. Too tired to start a fight about respect, you decide to speak politely.

“Um, can we have a room, please?” you ask, pushing down the disgust you feel towards the man.

Grunting, he reaches for a key with a brown, leather tag on it before throwing it to Heeseung, who scrambles to catch it. The key jumps from one hand to another as though it was hot as lava, eliciting a panicked state within him.

The man points down a dark hallway. “Condoms are in the vending machine at the end. Use one or I’ll charge you for the sheets,” his hoarse voice instructs, clearly assuming you are both there for something other than sleep. To be fair, it is almost 1am, you’re dressed provocatively, and Heeseung is carrying a tiny travel bag. Although you hate the assumption because it is literally none of his business, you bite your tongue and go with it.

Snapping his fingers, he holds his hand out, eyes glued to an article about how the internet is the first step to alien abduction. Heeseung looks at the man with cruel intent, wishing he were stronger and more confident to cuss the receptionist out for treating you with zero regard.

You throw the two £20 notes at him with the same lack of enthusiasm he gave you and walk towards the room that you know is ridiculously overpriced for what you’ll be given.

And unfortunately for you, it is.

As you open the door and switch on the light, your eyes come across a room so bad that you wouldn’t even let your worst enemy spend a night there. Stains cover the walls, a mixture of blood and piss, though you aren’t quite sure which is which. The ceiling light is half hanging down and flickering rapidly, making it hard for your eyes to focus. The bed sheets are an ugly geometric pattern, clearly chosen to hide whatever atrocities have been conceived within these four walls.

A sour, musty smell permeates the air, a blend of mildew and neglect. The carpet looks damp, suggesting that it’s soaked up more than just water over the years. You gingerly make your way to the bed, pulling back the covers to reveal dingy, threadbare sheets that have seen far better days.

Heeseung stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking around the room with wide eyes. “This place is... something else,” he mutters, the understatement of the century.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to keep your voice light despite the overwhelming urge to retch. “But at least we have a roof over our heads for the night.”

Heeseung nods, though his expression remains dubious. He drops the bag near the foot of the bed and wanders around the room, looking for any cameras of rats hiding in plain sight. “We’ll make do,” he says, more to reassure himself than you. He has been in far too many dodgy hotels in the last 24 hours.

You sit on the end of the bed, groaning as you take off your heels, your toes happily wiggling with freedom as they thump in agonising pain. Now that you have a moment to relax, your feet are developijg their own heartbeat, banging against your nerves as they scream in pain. 

Heeseung notices the blisters, some just forming and some already burst. There are dark purple bruises on the base of your foot which has now turned bright crimson. He knew the heels were damaging your feet but he never expected it to look like a massacre - it looks like your feet have been put in a shredder during a workplace accident and he’s ready to call on your behalf for some compensation.

“Are you okay?” he asks, knowing the answer already.

“I’m okay, I just need to let them breathe for a minute,” you reply, massaging your feet before they begin to swell any further.

Finding the bathroom, he rummages around for something while you ease your pain. You accidentally run your thumbs too harshly over one of the forming blisters and yelp out, tears pricking your eyes. 

Heeseung comes out from the bathroom, sees a tear slip past your cheek, and instantly shifts into caring mode. He kneels before you, taking the foot that you are grasping and gently lifting it up, pressing a cold compress to your wounds. While he was in the bathroom, he found a face cloth and dampened it, hoping the cooling sensation will somehow ease the pain you’re feeling.

He washes your feet with so much care that it makes your heart do a front flip, the feeling of someone looking after you is almost so foreign that your body doesn’t know how to take it. You could have guessed Heeseung was the caring type, what with how he offered to carry you until you found a place to rest or how he took your bag from your grasp so you had one less thing to worry about. He was so gentle that you mourn all the women who missed out on him because he was too shy.

After a few minutes of silence, Heeseung speaks up. “It’s impressive,” he states simply, keeping his eyes and hands on the task of easing your pain.

Tilting your head, you look at him quizically, “What is?”

“Being able to walk in heels. Particularly ones like those.” His head points to the devil shoes beside him, shuddering at even the thought of you having to put them back on at some point.

“I think you would look good in them, or maybe a pair of Mary Janes is more your style?” you laugh, albeit followed by a suppressed wince as he tries to press out a knot in the arch of your sole.

Heeseung cocks an eyebrow and scoffs. “You might as well give me a pair of stilts, I’d do a better job with them.”

The casual conversation is desperately needed, the tension in your bones slowly fading as you relax. There hasn’t been time to breathe or process anything that has happened, or even share a normal conversation with Heeseung, your minds too busy focusing on getting away with murder, so you welcome the moment to breathe.

Your feet are beginning to feel better, his magical touch is bringing the nerves in your feet back to a normal state. “You’re good at this,” you say fondly, admiring his work.

“One of my friends is a football player, he asks me to do this all the time for him,” he says, sharing a piece of his life with you.

“Was that the one on the phone when you called me?” 

“No, that was Jongseong. He would rather play guitar than play football,” he smiles, thinking of his friend. But that gleeful smile quickly fades into a sorrowful one as he remembers there is a high possibility that he will never see his best friend again.

The boy he has grown up with, the one he used to play basketball with at the park just by the rundown council estate, the scheme he used to call home. He won’t ever get to taste his cooking again or wear matching pyjamas on sleepover nights that they host because ‘it looks so much fun when girls do it’, and he certainly won’t get to hug him again when he needs someone to lean on; the boy is his saving grace and he can’t even speak to him about all of this. 

Heeseung’s breath shakes as he thinks about the implications of his actions. What if Jongseong sees him differently after all of this? Will he believe that it was all in self-defence? Surely after knowing one another for nearly 20 years would warrant some understanding or rationalising.

Quickly, Heeseung clears his throat and shakes his head, blinking back his tears as he stands up and avoids your eyes. You’re confused for a moment but then you observe the upset features and understand. You don’t have friends or family so talking about them would have little to no effect on you or your mind, but Heeseung must have had a bustling friend group and a supportive family, talking about Jongseong must have triggered something inside him, an awakening to the situation that you both find yourselves in.

Reaching out, you try to take his hand but he moves away before you can offer him any solace, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m…going to shower,” he informs you, already making his way to the mould and limescale-filled bathroom.

Unfortunately, the silence he has left in his wake now allows you to dwell in your own dark thoughts. Rather than what Heeseung is feeling regarding friends and family, you’re having to process the fact that while he will have people searching for him, clearing his name because he is ‘too sweet’ and ‘gentle’ to do such a thing, no one will bat an eyelid at you or your character.

You’re a sex worker with no real goals or aspirations, just trying your hardest to get by. No family because they’re either dead or won’t speak to you, the only friends you have are those in the brothel but they quietly distanced themselves once you left, envious of the independent life you chose while they work for half their earnings and have no such thing as flexibility to pick and choose.

When the news eventually breaks out, what will they say? ‘Prostitute Turned a Good Boy Bad in Sexual Murder Fantasy’? You’ll be pinned for all the blame but not for the right reason. Heeseung protected you by murdering that man, he has run away for you so you don’t get caught and charged. He could have gotten away with this, pleaded self-defence just like he said yet you’re the one that forced him to run with you for your selfish reasons.

This is all your fault.

As the weight of your situation crashes down on you, a tear escapes your glossy eyes. You catch it quickly, composing yourself before Heeseung returns. You are determined not to show your weak side too much in front of him; you have to be strong for both of you. God knows his kind and wholesome nature isn’t up for carrying the burdens that this journey will entail.

Hearing the water turn off, you quickly wipe your eyes and sit up straighter, putting on a brave face. It’s difficult to be tough in these situations but for your sanity and hit, you will have to.

Emerging from the shower, Heeseung is draped in a low-hanging towel, his toned tummy now fully visible to you for the first time. His skin is a delicious shade of honey and whiskey and the water droplets running from his chest to his pubic area make it look sweet and inviting. His muscles aren’t overly prominent but just enough to flex and reveal some veins, and his stature somehow looks longer, taller than when he is clothed.

You can’t help but admire the sight before you, feeling an involuntary tug of desire. The damp hair clings to his forehead, and the fresh scent of soap mingles with the steam still lingering from the shower. He looks almost ethereal in the dim light, a contrast to the grimy room surrounding you both.

Your mind drifts to a tantalising fantasy - crawling towards him, begging him to let you take his virginity right here on the filthy, stained bed. The thought sends a shiver down your spine but you know there is a time and a place for such thoughts, and now isn’t ideal. 

He pats some of the water from his left ear before shaking his hair like a dog coming in from the rain. Pushing his hair back, he catches you staring at him and immediately blushes, a tint of rose travelling from his neck to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I should have put my clothes back on,” he says bashfully, quickly retreating to the bathroom to grab his boxers. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and respond to his statement. “No, no. We only have one set of clothes each, so it’s best we don’t sleep in them for now,” you say, offering a pragmatic approach to the sleepwear arrangement. 

Taking off his shirt from your body, you stand up and hand it to him. “Thank you for letting me borrow this. I might need it again tomorrow though.” You walk over to him, handing the material back.

His eyes hover on your chest for a second before quickly looking away, careful not to meet your gaze or make eye contact with your erect nipples. Inside, his internal monologue is screaming at even the prospect of seeing your boobs again, but just like in the car, he wants to remain respectful.

You cock your head in surprise at his reaction, not understanding why he won’t even spare you a glance. Looking down at your bare chest, you inhale in understanding and let out a small, huffed laugh. “Heeseung, you were holding my tits not even 14 hours ago, you can look at them.”

“I know, but I still need to be respectful,” he replies, his eyes still not daring to look at any part of your body. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s simply the fact that he wants you to feel comfortable. And how comfortable can a woman be with a man’s prying eyes all over her?

Heeseung might be the most considerate man you have ever met, so hearing him say even the word respect in your presence fills your heart with warmth.

“Do you want me to put it back on?” you ask, waving the shirt in his face. You also have to respect him, and if he’s uncomfortable with you being topless, you need to honour his wishes.

Those Bambi eyes come out once again as he shakes his head. “No, if you’re comfortable, then so am I.”

You smile at his genuine concern. The room’s dim light casts soft shadows on his face, accentuating his gentle features. “You really are something else, Heeseung. You’re so sweet,” you say softly, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence.

Heeseung’s blush deepens, and he shifts slightly, clearly not used to receiving compliments. “I just want you to feel safe,” he mumbles, his eyes still focused on anything but you.

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely. Reaching up to his cheek, you gently pull him to look at you. “I haven’t felt this safe in a long time.”

It’s true. Sure, you might have the police on your trail by now and there is no working lock on the motel room door, but with Heeseung, you feel protected, even if just emotionally. And as Heeseung leans into your touch, you know he feels the same.

If there was anyone to be in this nightmare with, you’re glad it’s him.

“Why don’t we go to bed?” you suggest, pinching his cheek ever so slightly before removing your hand from his face. His cheek wishes to follow you, to keep the heat and easement of its touch, the cold air from the draught now washing over him uncomfortably but that could be due to the fact that he is still only in a towel.

“You don’t want to shower? It might help your feet,” the boy suggests.

“No, I just…I need to rest right now.” The thought of going in for a shower and spending any more time on your feet makes your skin crawl. You’ll shower in the morning but right now, you need to lie down and drift out of this nightmare, even if only for a couple of hours.

Heeseung nods, trying to muster a smile despite the obvious discomfort from the chill and the situation. He stands, turning away slightly to hide his lingering embarrassment as he slips into his boxers, leaving his upper body bare. He twists to turn the overhead light off and makes his way to the uncomfortable bed.

You, meanwhile, pull the blanket up and over your shoulders, creating a small cocoon of warmth and a barrier between your tits and his eyes, just in case he overheats at the sight of them in his face. As you settle in, you can’t help but glance at Heeseung, his body now framed by the dim light of the moonlight and his ass is just peachy enough to make you want to grab it. He slips under the blanket beside you before your mind can wander away once again, careful to maintain a respectful distance.

The bed is small, forcing you both closer than you might have intended but the shared warmth is a welcome relief from the chill. You can hear the steady rhythm of Heeseung’s breathing, a sound that somehow manages to soothe your frayed nerves. He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours and you offer him a reassuring smile.

Heeseung can’t help but admire your beauty, your eyes that speak of the strong woman you are, how you have handled yourself so well throughout all of this, and yet he can still see the vulnerability in your pupils. He believes that there isn’t a woman as beautiful as you in this entire world and he wishes under different circumstances things could be different for both of you.

With a trembling hand, he reaches to push the strayed hairs from your face, a caring gesture that your heart isn’t acquainted with. His fingertips ghost your forehead so lightly that a butterfly could do more damage. You smile and find your body melting, even if only slightly, caving into the comfort.

He smiles back at you, a little more confident in his touch once he sees you visibly at ease. He won’t let you know how much his heart is racing or how the water from his back is out of nervous sweating and not the lukewarm shower he just took. He is nervous to even be in this bed with you, yet he knows you don’t need to hear about that right now, you just need someone to lean on and Heeseung will make damn sure to be that person for you.

“Heeseung?” 

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry,” you begin, voice breaking a tiny bit as you apologise to him. “This is all my fault and I dragged you into this mess. You should be sitting that exam on Monday and you sure as fuck shouldn’t be with me in this shithole of a motel, god knows how far away from home.”

Your words make Heeseung’s heart break, the cracks allowing his empathy to seep through into his touch. His hand cups your face, his thumb gently stroking the apples of your cheeks, each caress a silent kiss of reassurance.

“Y/N, you couldn’t have known all of this was going to happen,” he says softly, his voice laced with sympathy. He knows you’ll shoulder the blame, even though you never asked for the brute of a man to almost murder you.

Your hand covers his, and you clasp it, bringing it to rest between you both. “I think I did, in some way. He didn’t take it very well when I told him to shove his money and never come back.” The memory of the man’s red-clad face and angry words winces in your chest as you speak.

“What did he do? Did he…hurt you?” Heeseung swallows the last part of the sentence, already aware of the horrors that can happen in your line of work. His heart sinks into his stomach as you sit in silence, contemplating what to tell him. Part of him wishes he hadn’t asked, fearing the confirmation that the man’s earlier attack wasn’t his first attempt to harm you. Heeseung might have approached this life with pure intentions, but he knows other men certainly do not.

You look down at your interlocked hands and squeeze his fingers tightly. “He was a nice guy at first, paid well and always respected my boundaries. Then one day, he asked me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with, almost forcing me to,” you choke back the tear-filled lump in your throat and close your eyes, the memory overwhelming you. You haven’t spoken out loud about what happened, making it difficult to process emotionally.

Seeing you struggle internally, Heeseung brings your hand to his mouth and kisses it softly, taking a leaf from Sunghoon’s book in an attempt to console you. The meaning behind his gesture compared to the drivers is vastly different and you can even feel it in how tenderly his lips press on your knuckles. 

There is a rumble in your chest as you look at Heeseung who is staring back at you with a shy grin, hoping that his attempt to comfort you has worked. Somehow, it has, and the tears that threatened to spill now make their way back to the ducts as you blink them away. It’s amazing how quickly a simple comforting touch can change the direction of your emotions. As quickly as you want to break down and succumb to the negative emotions, Heeseung has turned the plane around into overwhelming thankfulness. 

Breathing in, you compose yourself again and return his smile. “Thank you. I’m really okay,” liar, “I’m just…sorry I got you into this mess and took you away from your friends and family.”

"Hey, stop apologising. This is no one’s fault but that scum of a dickhead,” Heeseung replies almost instantly, not giving you a chance to take the blame any longer.

You unclasp your hand from his and tuck his long hair behind his ear. His face instantly reddens at the intimate action, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. How he swallows dryly and closes his eyes to calm himself down makes you giggle. “You really haven’t been around girls, have you?” you ask with one eyebrow raised, genuinely curious. You believe him, but you also don’t understand how someone so attractive and kind-hearted has gone 22 years without catching the interest of even one girl.

“No, I haven’t,” he admits, his voice matter-of-fact. But as he sees your eyes urging him to elaborate, he continues, “You’re all just so amazing and beautiful that even thinking about you all puts me in a cold sweat. Every time I talk to a girl, I stutter.”

“Well, with how sweet you are and how big your cock is, you’re doing my kind a disservice here,” you chuckle and he soon follows, although his titter is one filled with nerves due to you mentioning his cock, never mind complimenting it. 

Even this subtle moment of laughter eases the sadness that engulfs the small, suffocating room. Your body relaxes instantly as you share the tender moment, the worries subsiding if only for a few seconds. You truly believe that with Heeseung here with you, there might be a white light at the end of the tunnel.

“We will get through this, yeah?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, betraying the nerves beneath your bravado.

Heeseung, lying beside you, feels an overwhelming rush of emotion at your words. The term ‘we’ makes his knees buckle and his body melt, even in his reclined position. The idea that you are now a ‘we’ fills him with a strange pride; it feels right. In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, this newly formed bond with you is the one thing that makes sense.

Taking your hand gently, he brings it up from under the covers, the warmth of your touch grounding him. He holds out his pinky, a simple yet powerful gesture of solidarity, and intertwines it with yours. “Together,” he murmurs, his voice steady and filled with conviction for the first time since you met.

You squeeze his pinky, conveying a depth of emotion that words cannot. The weight of the world still presses down on you both but in this moment you feel a sense of unity and strength that gives you hope.

Heeseung's gaze softens as he looks at you, his eyes reflecting the unspoken promises and shared resolve between you. “We’ll face whatever comes,” he continues, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll find a way through this.”

A lump forms in your throat, deeply moved by his sincerity. “Thank you, Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything.”

You lean forward and press a tender kiss to his lips, shocking him still before he responds. His lips are soft and warm against yours, and you can feel the initial surprise melt into a gentle acceptance. He moves his lips timidly against your gentle motions, embracing your bottom lip between his. When you pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, and you can feel his breath, a soft, comforting rhythm against your skin.

Heeseung's eyes flutter open, filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “Y/N,” he breathes, his voice low. “I... I don’t....”

“I won’t charge you for that one, don’t worry,” you joke, eyes shrinking in size as you smile at him with adoration. 

“You can add it to my bill,” he jabs back, the ease between you both settling softly in his heart. He’s in this with you for however long you can both keep running; he’ll never run out of breath with you by his side.

You both settle back down, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you. As you lie there, facing one another, the connection between you creates a sanctuary, a haven amid the storm..

“Goodnight, Heeseung,” you murmur, your eyes closing as sleep begins to pull you under.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies softly, pressing another nervous gentle kiss to your forehead, hoping you don’t mind it. “Sweet dreams.”

_____

It has been three days since you and Heeseung embarked on this desperate journey. The days blur together into a surreal montage of fleeting rides in strangers’ cars, restless nights spent in makeshift shelters, and scavenging through lost and found bins for essentials. The denim booty shorts were a tight fit, the crop top strained against your curves, and the trainers were a comically mismatched pair that made walking more of a challenge than usual. But they were clothes and that counted for something; you’re just thankful to keep your heels firmly off your feet.

On the plus side, the witch hunt hasn’t caught up with you yet. There have been no news articles or TV broadcasts with your faces plastered on them, which means the authorities are probably still focusing their search on your home city. Maybe they think you’re hiding out somewhere familiar, not realising you’ve already slipped away. There’s also a slight comfort in knowing you’re not their top priority, what with a lunatic serial killer on the loose taking up most of their attention. The murder of a local cheater seems low on their list, giving you a small, but temporary, reprieve.

But you can’t afford to get too comfortable. It’s only a matter of time before they widen their search and your faces become recognisable as wanted criminals. Every day, you wake up with a jolt, wondering if today will be the day they catch up to you. Fear is a constant companion.

You’ve settled into a rough routine. By day, you move from place to place, never staying too long in one spot. By night, you find whatever shelter you can and try to get some rest. Sleep doesn’t come easy, not with the constant worry of being found, but having Heeseung beside you helps. You take turns keeping watch and your trust in each other grows stronger with each passing day.

There’s an unspoken bond between you now, forged by the hardships you’ve faced together. You’ve seen each other at your lowest, your most vulnerable, and yet there’s a strength in that vulnerability. You’ve learned to rely on each other in ways you never thought possible, and it’s this reliance that keeps you going, even when everything else seems bleak.

Heeseung has also gotten over the virgin nerves and talks to you casually, the stuttering and awkward glances to you now significantly less.However, his newfound ease doesn’t extend to other girls. One driver you hitched a ride from was a beautiful brunette with tanned skin and tattoos along her neck. At first, you thought he might have been nervous due to her rugged appearance, but that was quickly debunked when you caught him fumbling over his sentences, even when she asked for something as simple as his name. He was clearly taken aback by her beauty. You can't help but slightly miss how he used to be like that around you, though you have more pressing concerns at the moment.

As you both approach a convenience store, you turn to Heeseung. "Do we have enough money to buy ciggies?"

Heeseung sighs, shaking his head. "No, we don’t. We used the last £2 we had on the bottles of water and that pack of Opal Fruits," he replies, the defeat in his voice palpable. The thought of no more delicious fruit-flavoured cubed treats to munch on for a burst of energy or to get the taste of dehydration from his mouth makes him want to whine out like a displeased child.

The convenience store is a small, rundown building with flickering lights. As you step inside, the smell of stale bread and cleaning detergent hits you. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glare on the faded linoleum floor. You glance around, hoping to find something cheap enough to stave off your hunger, but your pockets are painfully empty.

Heeseung starts browsing the shelves, his eyes lingering on the snacks and drinks you can't afford. You both know stealing isn’t an option - not between Heeseung’s morals and the possibility that getting caught could mean the end of your freedom. Still, the gnawing hunger and the need for a smoke make it hard to ignore the tempting sight of cigarettes behind the counter.

You notice Heeseung's gaze fixed on a pack of Hobnob biscuits, his expression is a mix of longing and resignation. “Maybe we can find some loose change outside,” he suggests half-heartedly, already knowing it’s a long shot. None of you have found even 20p in all the time you’ve been walking.

The shopkeeper, a grumpy-looking old man with glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, eyes you both suspiciously, your raggy clothes and dishevelled appearance enough to put any shop owner on high alert. You try to ignore the weight of his stare, feeling more like fugitives with each passing second.

"Let's just go," you mutter, pulling Heeseung towards the door. "We'll figure something out."

Outside, the scorching sun beats down relentlessly, turning the air into a furnace that makes your skin tingle and your clothes cling uncomfortably. There’s not much around besides the convenience store, a few gas pumps, and an old, forgotten bus stop that provides a meagre shelter from the blistering heat. Exhausted and desperate, you flop down onto the narrow seat of the bus stop, letting out a sigh of relief tinged with despair.

Resting your head against the plastic shelter, you shield your eyes from the glaring sun with your hand. In a swift move, Heeseung positions himself in front of you, casting a cool shadow that eases the strain on your eyes. The reprieve is brief but welcome in this sweltering heat.

While taking a moment to catch your breath, something catches your eye - a flyer hanging askew on the bus stop wall. It flutters in the hot breeze, its edges worn and corners curling from exposure to the elements. You reach out and grab it, fingers brushing against the weathered paper. Despite its faded appearance, the bold, colourful graphics are still discernible, and your heart skips a beat as you read the headline:

“Saturn Club: Where the Stars Align for a Stellar Time.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the flyer. It's an advertisement for a local strip club, promising quick cash for performers. The advert is as though it was made for you, what with all the countless times you’ve had to do strip teases for clients.

"Heeseung, look at this," you say, handing him the flyer with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "There is a strip club not far from here!” you exclaim. Never in your life did you think you would be so happy to see a strip club in rundown Britain, yet, it might as well be a casino in Vegas for you both right now. 

Taking the poster from your hand, Heeseung inspects it carefully and his brows furrow in contemplation between concern and pragmatic consideration. “Y/N, this…are you sure? The men at these places can get pretty handsy.”

“I’m a sex worker, Heeseung, all I know is handsy,” you laugh, still elated by the idea of earning enough money to survive even just a little longer. “It’s only one night and the least I ever made was £300.”

Heeseung sighs, torn between his protective instincts and the harsh reality of your current situation. The thought of you subjected to the leering eyes and groping hands of strangers doesn't sit well with him, but he knows you both need the money urgently, and he can’t exactly argue that £300, or even £50, wouldn’t do you both the world of good.

"We need the money," you add softly, seeing the turmoil in his eyes. "And right now, this might be our best shot. Let me do this."

Heeseung nods reluctantly, handing the flyer back to you. "Okay, if this is what we have to do," his voice is tinged with resignation. Deep down, he wishes there were another way, a safer way for you to earn the cash you need.

“You need to sell me though,” you say, already trying to fix your hair in the reflection of the shelter window panes.

Tilting his head, he looks at you quizzically. “What the hell do you mean ‘sell’ you.”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before explaining. "I mean, I have to look appealing, desirable. These places thrive on attraction, Heeseung. Men only want what they think is in high demand," you say earnestly, meeting his concerned gaze. "So I need you to present me to the owner, assuming it's a man. Tell him that I'm highly wanted all over South London. That should seal the deal."

Wanted was not an intentional word choice but technically then, Heeseung wasn’t lying. You technically are wanted.

“You mean you want me to pimp you out?” he gasps, clutching onto your bag with might as he fathoms the idea. He doesn’t want to ‘sell’ you, he wants you to go in there, sit on a few laps and then dip.

But when he looks into your pleading eyes, he knows there is no point in arguing with you. You’re going to that club whether he likes it or not, he might as well support you, protect you. Although he doesn’t know if he’ll be any use, you do a damn good job at that all on your own.

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Alright," he says, his voice more resolute. "Let's do this. But I'll be right there with you, okay? I'm not leaving your side for a second."

“Good, you can watch me in action,” you smile, winking as you begin the walk to the sleazy club.

_____

After a twenty-minute walk and Heeseung running his fingers through your hair to make it look presentable, you both stand outside Saturn strip club. The sign above the entrance flickers with an image of a planet and rings, casting an ethereal blue and orange glow that adds to the futuristic atmosphere. Despite it being only late afternoon, the music is already blaring, and the car park is packed with vehicles, a testament to the club's popularity; which means more money for you and Heeseung.

Grabbing your hand, Heeseung pulls you back before you head to the bouncer, causing you to whip around. His iris’ gleam with apprehension as he eyes you one last time. “If anyone touches you or does something you don’t like, give me a signal and I’ll be the first one there,” he says calmly, though his voice box shakes slightly. It’s one thing to imagine you in an uncomfortable predicament, but somehow knowing he is benefiting from this too makes him feel queasy.

You squeeze his hand reassuringly, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “I promise, you’ll be the first I run to,” you say, offering him a wide grin to ease his nerves. You want him to know that you’re ready for whatever lies behind those black double doors.

Heeseung nods, taking a deep breath as he lets you go. The bouncer gives you a brief nod and opens the door, letting you both step inside the entrance area of the club. The interior is even more dazzling than you anticipated, with laser lights cutting through artificial smoke, creating an atmosphere that feels otherworldly. You wouldn’t think it was broad daylight outside, so much so you have to adjust your eyes.

An eager host comes up to greet you, her eyes already trained on Heeseung only. She is gorgeous, more beautiful than you could ever imagine being which makes you wonder how on earth she ended up in a place like this. 

You take her in, unable to resist admiring her curves in the skimpy outfit she clearly chose to maximise tips. She is adorned in white leather, her bra providing minimal coverage and accentuating her cleavage. Pastel pink buckles run along the seams of the cups, matching the pretty pink buckled collar around her neck. The bottom half of her outfit is equally provocative: a white leather thong, complemented by pink straps on either side of her hips. Her thighs are wrapped in matching buckled straps that draw your gaze directly to the intricate cherry blossom tattoo on her thigh. The overall effect is mesmerising, her outfit both alluring and carefully crafted to captivate attention.

And attention she has gained, particularly from your tall companion, whose mouth hangs open as he twists his neck, a telltale sign of his overstimulation. The girl places her hands on his chest, rubbing his pecs slightly, her touch both confident and teasing. Heeseung's eyes widen, his breath hitching as he tries to process the sudden intimacy. The girl smirks, clearly enjoying the effect she has on him, her fingers tracing gentle patterns over his shirt.

"What's your name, handsome?" she purrs, her voice low and sultry.

Heeseung stammers, trying to find his voice. "H-Heeseung," he finally manages to say, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. He thinks you’re beautiful - no, he knows you’re beautiful. But this girl is like something off the VHS tapes he keeps under his bed. Her full lips and honey-toned skin are enough to send him into overdrive, never mind how good her touch feels.

“Pretty name, I’m Mars,” she whispers, looking up at him with innocent yet deadly eyes.

“Like the p-planet?” he stutters. He had thought he got over this - speaking with you so freely, seeing your body more times than he could have ever imagined. It was easy with you. But now this girl, Mars, had booked him a ticket right back into Loserville.

Giggling, she pushes her chest into his, bringing her lips to his ear. “Yeah, like the planet. Do you want to explore it, baby?” Her teeth nibble slightly at his lobe and he swears he starts to hear colours as his cock leaps for joy.

The sultry invitation has Heeseung frozen in place, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations. He's completely out of his depth, his body betraying him as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and he struggles to form coherent words.

You watch as Mars absolutely devours Heeseung’s ability to do anything, and jealousy spikes inside you. Are you envious of the way she makes him feel? Absolutely, and you’re doing a poor job of hiding it. Your face twists in disgust as you glare at the girl, feeling a pang of possessiveness.

“Mars? Hi,” you say, tapping her shoulder with exaggerated politeness. “We’re actually here to see your manager. I need a job.” Your tone is sharp and direct, devoid of any negative emotions toward the hardworking girl. It’s not her fault she’s pining over Heeseung - who wouldn’t? But it doesn’t make it sting any less just because you understand she has a job to do and that your partner in crime is insanely attractive and innocent.

Mars blinks, momentarily taken aback by your interruption. She recovers quickly, though, flashing you a fake professional smile. “Of course, babe. Follow me,” she says, stepping away from Heeseung and giving you a small nod of acknowledgment.

You follow Mars through the club, feeling Heeseung's presence close behind you, his hand constantly on your back for assurance, for him more so than you. The music grows louder as you weave through the throng of patrons, the air thick with the scent of perfume and sweat. Neon lights cast an otherworldly glow on the scene, dancers moving with hypnotic grace under the cosmic-themed decorations.

Reaching a door marked "Manager," Mars knocks lightly before pushing it open. “Boss, I’ve got someone here who’s interested in a job,” she announces, stepping aside to let you and Heeseung enter. 

Before Mars shuts the door behind her, she lets her hand trail down Heeseung’s arm, creating a fleeting contact that sends a shiver over his body. “Come find me when you’re done here, hmm? I’ll take you to the stars,” she whispers with a sultry smile, her words hanging in the air like a promise.

Heeseung audibly gulps, caught off guard by Mars’s bold flirtation. His cheeks flush pink as he nods in response, his movements almost automatic under her gaze. Mars gives him a knowing smile before finally closing the door, leaving you and Heeseung alone with the club manager.

The manager, a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard and piercing eyes, studies you both intently. He gestures for you to take a seat opposite his desk, the room lit dimly by a solitary desk lamp that casts deep shadows across his face.

“So, you’re looking for a job as a dancer?” he asks, his voice gruff yet measured.

“Yes, just for tonight,” you reply, in hopes that it sweetens the deal. “Heeseung will tell you, I’ve done this gig before, tell him.” You pinch Heeseung’s elbow to get him out of his Mars-like trance and he stands to attention, nodding eagerly.

The manager sits forward, waiting to hear Heeseung’s pitch, stroking his beard as he assesses the nervous boy in front of him. Nudging him forward, you look at Heeseung with desperation. It’s humiliating, having to rely on a man to get you work but that’s the business in this day in age. Perhaps one day, women will be able to take the reigns of sex work and enjoy the industry freely without judgment or men involved.

Heeseung shifts nervously, feeling the weight of his words as he describes you to the manager. "Y/N, she is uh…" He pauses, searching for the right thing to say that will convey admiration without making you uncomfortable. "She’s gorgeous, more beautiful than any of the women you have here already," he continues earnestly, his cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "Her body is to die for, seriously. She’s got curves in all the right places, and there’s this cute little freckle on her ass, like a beauty mark. And her smile…she can pull you in so easily with it."

The honesty in his voice shocks you a little and melts your heart all the same. He’s talking about your body but not once did he make you feel like a piece of meat, his words oddly sending a fleet of butterflies to your stomach. His cheeks tinted rosé only add to the sincerity of his words, showing that he's not accustomed to vocalising such thoughts openly. It's clear he's navigating unfamiliar territory, trying his best to convey his admiration without crossing any boundaries.

“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit. Turn around for me, Princess,” the manager's gruff directive breaks the tender moment, pulling you sharply back into the stark reality of the strip club's business. His blunt manner contrasts sharply with Heeseung's earlier sincerity, reminding you of the transactional nature of this environment. Swallowing your discomfort, you comply with his request, turning slowly as instructed.

"I have my own lingerie and I can dance to any music," you assert, trying to negotiate terms that will give you some control over the situation. Your eyes plead with him, hoping to strike a balance between earning your keep and maintaining a semblance of autonomy. “I’ll give you 10% of my tips, directly to you, not including the commission from private dances.”

Now that makes the man's ears perk up. Clasping his hands and rubbing them together, the sound mimicking that of two sandpapers, he nods. “Start now. 10% fees and your boyfriend stays away from you.”

"Deal!" you exclaim, relief flooding through you at the prospect of securing work for the night. The excitement in your voice is genuine, tempered by the grim reality of your circumstances. You know there are far better things to be enthusiastic about than exposing yourself for money, but the promise of earning enough for basic needs like a hot meal and a decent bed feels like a small victory in this moment of desperation.

You grasp Heeseung's hand firmly as you exit the manager's office, eager to escape the uncomfortable atmosphere and find some privacy to prepare for your unexpected performance. The hallway is dimly lit, the walls adorned with faded posters advertising past events at the club, their colours muted under the flickering red lights.

"Heeseung, come on," you urge, your voice a hushed whisper tinged with urgency. You guide him down the narrow corridor, following the manager's directions to the dressing room where you can change into the lingerie you brought along. “Can you pass me my bag?” you ask, already shedding the clothes that have clung to you for far too long.

You don’t miss the thongs or the bra, but god did you hate the clothes you were stuck with.

Heeseung nods, silently searching in the bag. His brow furrows slightly as he retrieves your heels, recalling the pain you endured on your first night on the run. Next, he carefully pulls out the baby blue lingerie, decorated with delicate lace details and dainty white bows. Fortunately, you had packed a garter belt and matching fishnet stockings, adding a touch of allure to the ensemble. This was the outfit meant for your most generous client, designed to be slowly peeled away piece by piece to maximise his enjoyment.

Turning to Heeseung, you take the outfit and begin to dress yourself. He feels a pang of discomfort on your behalf, averting his eyes as you start to remove your denim shorts and underwear. He catches himself thinking about how much he’s seen of you and vice versa, how much you’ve shared on this chaotic journey together. Perhaps you are closer than he initially realised, having been through so much in such a short period. Yet, he respects your privacy and understands there are parts of you that should remain yours alone.

As you adjust the lingerie, ensuring everything fits just right, you steal a glance at Heeseung. His cheeks are flushed, and he shifts awkwardly, clearly grappling with conflicting emotions. “Heeseung, how do I look?”

His heart skips a beat at your question, grateful for the permission to openly admire you. You look even more beautiful than the day he first met you, the soft blue hue of the lingerie complementing your skin perfectly. The garters and fishnet stockings add an allure that both excites and unsettles him, stirring desires he’s tried to suppress amidst the chaos of your circumstances.

“Well?” you prompt, twirling gracefully, a playful smile dancing on your lips. His breath catches as he watches you spin, a sight that simultaneously ignites a fierce longing and a protective instinct.

“You look… stunning,” he manages, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. “Ready.”

He tacks on the last word to offer you more than a mere compliment; it’s a declaration of ability, a reassurance that you’re prepared for whatever lies ahead. Despite the ache in his chest and the turmoil in his mind, Heeseung’s smile remains steadfast.

You meet his gaze, gratitude reflected in your features. His encouragement steadies you, reminding you that despite the circumstances, you are more than capable of taking control of your destiny tonight. You are Y/N L/N, and you can do this.

“Thank you, Heeseung,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His touch grounds you, a tangible anchor in the stormy sea of uncertainties that surrounds you both. “I’ll try and make as much money as I can.”

“And if anyone makes you uncomfortable—”

“Call to you, I know,” you finish his sentence with a sheepish smile, not accustomed to being under someone’s protective watch but grateful for it nonetheless. You lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a sense of ease knowing he’s there for you.

With a final nod and a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you turn towards the door leading back into the club. The music pulses louder now, beckoning you into the atmosphere of flashing lights and swirling bodies. Adjusting your mindset and your bra strap, you step forward, ready to face the night.

_____

Four hours later, Heeseung remains firmly planted in the same velvet-covered seat, his nerves fraying with each passing minute. The club is now teeming with activity, a veritable circus of swirling bodies, flashing lights, and pounding music. Businessmen in expensive suits mingle with scantily-clad dancers, the scent of perfume and cologne blending into a heady cocktail that fills the air.

Heeseung's leg bounces incessantly, a physical manifestation of his anxiety. He's on edge, eyes darting around the room, trying to avoid making eye contact with the dancers who occasionally drift his way. Each time, he mumbles a polite yet firm, "Not here for that," and though some of the girls give him puzzled or slightly annoyed looks, they leave him alone, recognising a dry well when they see one.

His mind keeps drifting back to you, wondering how you're holding up. The thought of you out there, flaunting your body for money, makes his stomach churn, but he knows there's no other choice. You need this, and he has to be strong for you. He can’t help but glance at the clock every few minutes, each tick of the second hand stretching his patience thinner.

Despite his tension, each time you return from a private dance, your presence alone is enough to soothe his tempered nerves momentarily. Your face is a beacon in the dim, neon-lit haze, glowing with a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. You shoot him a gleeful smile and a thumbs up, your eyes sparkling with excitement and relief, signalling that you're making a decent amount of money.

Heeseung feels a mixture of pride and concern. Pride because you're handling this so well, dancing with grace and charm, turning a dire situation into an opportunity. Concern because he knows the toll this must be taking on you, physically and emotionally. Each time you disappear into the back rooms, he holds his breath, praying silently for your safety.

His focus is jarred back to the present as a particularly loud group of businessmen settles into the seats next to him. Their raucous laughter and crude jokes only amplify his discomfort. He shifts in his seat, trying to block out their conversation, but their words seep through, unfortunately. This is just one of the times he wishes that he had a backbone and could tell them to stop being derogatory but he’s already on a boat without a paddle in this place and if he gets kicked out then he can’t be here for you, so he sits quietly and focuses on your upcoming performance.

You’ve done so well over the past couple of hours that the manager has given you the go-ahead for a special 'one night only' stage performance. This is where the punters can throw as much or as little money as they want, as long as the club gets half of your earnings. In Heeseung’s mind, it’s not worth the effort, but you know even with the cut, you could easily make at least £200 from this one dance alone.

Heeseung’s anxiety spikes as the announcement is made, attention from everyone in Saturn is now glued to the stage. However, just as he is about to get comfy, he’s barely settled back into his velvet seat when suddenly, there’s a weight on his lap - unfamiliar but not unpleasant. His heart skips a beat and he tenses.

Looking down, he finds Mars, the sultry hostess from earlier, perched comfortably on his thighs. Her perfume envelops him, a heady mix of vanilla and spice that adds to his already heightened senses. She smiles seductively, her eyes glinting with mischief as she twirls a lock of her hair around her finger.

“You looked a little lonely,” she observes, her eyes trailing up and down his body. She brings a shot glass to his face. “Here, have a drink on me, you seem a bit dehydrated.”

“I-I don’t drink, sorry,” Heeseung stammers awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and focusing on the stage as he waits for you to appear. He isn’t exactly uncomfortable in her presence, but he doesn’t know what to do. Talking to women is still an issue for him, so what is he to do now that Aphrodite’s daughter is on his lap and showing him interest?

Mars giggles and shoots the shot of tequila back herself, shrugging as she places the glass on the table in front of them. “You’re a good boy, huh?”

Heeseung shifts nervously, his hands resting awkwardly on the sides of the chair in a desperate attempt not to touch her. "I just...don't really drink," he explains, his voice barely audible over the swell of the music.

Mars leans in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "That's okay," she whispers, her tone playful yet reassuring. "I like good boys."

Heeseung's cheeks flush even deeper, his mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. He's trying to focus on the stage, waiting for your performance to start, but Mars's proximity and the beautiful tone of her voice are incredibly distracting. He wishes he had the confidence to brush her off more assertively, but he's too polite and too nervous to do anything but sit there, stiff as a board.

The first few notes of ‘I Touch Myself’ by Divinyls send a shiver down his spine, and his attention is immediately captured. The stage lights dim, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Then, you step into the spotlight. The transformation is immediate; you move with confidence and grace that mesmerises everyone in the room, including Heeseung.

The baby blue lingerie hugs your curves perfectly, the lace and bows adding an innocent allure to your otherwise sultry appearance. The garter and fishnets complete the look, drawing appreciative murmurs and wolf whistles from the crowd.

Mars shifts slightly, pressing closer to Heeseung in an attempt to lure his attention away from you, but he’s too engrossed in your performance to pay her much attention. You meet his gaze briefly, and the connection is electric. Your smile, despite the suggestive dance, is warm and genuine, a silent reassurance that you’re okay, in fact, you’re enjoying yourself.

You didn’t get the chance to perform like this much at your old job, in front of a crowd and void of clammy hands roaming all over your body. It was a nice change to just perform and feel comfortable. The clients here are actually quite respectful, each of the men you’ve taken for a private dance has only asked for what’s on the menu and nothing more. They’ve respected your boundaries, which is more than you can say for the men you usually encounter in your line of work.

This dance wasn’t even necessary in terms of making money; you have made more than enough for you and Heeseung to get by for at least a week. But as you look at Heeseung, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you despite the eager house girl doing everything in her power to grab his attention, you feel even happier you decided to do this.

There is no denying in your mind that you’ve grown fond of Heeseung, maybe you like him even a little bit, so to have him captivated like this is boosting your ego and putting an extra beat in your step. He isn’t your boyfriend or lover but he makes you feel content like one should.

That probably explains the jealousy creeping up in you. Despite his avoidance of the girl touching his chest and arms, you can’t help but feel like that should be you, that you should be the one to have him squirming and swallowing thickly as you whisper sensual words in his ear.

Why do you feel like this all of a sudden? Maybe due to the fact that it’s the first time you’ve seen him with a girl since you’ve known him and it’s bringing a protective instinct out in you, maybe it’s because you see him as more than the partner in crime you keep painting him to be.

Whatever the reason, you can’t stand by and watch it happen any longer.

Despite the manager's warning for Heeseung to stay away, you can't help but devise a plan to draw him away from Mars while also delivering an unforgettable performance for the eager men ready to spend their money. Determined to keep Heeseung's attentiveness and secure a hefty tip from the men beside hin, you approach the pole with calculated confidence.

Gripping the cool, polished metal, you begin your routine with a graceful twist, your body moving fluidly. As you spin, your leg wraps around the pole, securing you in a seamless motion. Your movements are deliberate and skilled, every turn and twirl executed with precision. The pole becomes an extension of your body, allowing you to showcase your strength and agility.

Using the momentum, you propel yourself into a daring inversion, your legs splitting elegantly as you hold yourself upside down. The crowd's cheers and whistles grow louder, their excitement palpable. The money flows your way with ease, but your focus is on a bigger prize.

You glance over at Heeseung, seeing him mesmerised, his eyes locked on you. The sight spurs you on, and you walk to the edge of the stage, elongating your legs and exaggerating each movement, your gaze never leaving his. You bend down slowly, getting on your hands and knees, crawling across the stage with the slow, sleek grace of a lioness stalking her prey. Tonight, your prey is Lee Heeseung.

And fuck, does he know it.

Heeseung sits up straight, his eyes glued to yours as you draw him in, smiling at him half innocently, half predatorily. His reaction causes Mars to stumble off his lap, forcing her to catch herself on the arm of the chair. He doesn’t mean to cause the disruption and should rightfully apologise, but all he sees is you. It's as if you're casting a spell on him, and as you beckon him forward with the curl of your finger, he stands up like a mindless zombie, following your request without hesitation.

Your seductive crawl leaves the audience in awe and the anticipation in the room heightens, you can feel the collective breaths being held. As Heeseung approaches the stage, the connection between you two becomes electric, a tangible force that captivates everyone watching.

You reach out, taking his hand and guiding him up onto the stage. The crowd's whistles and catcalls reach a fever pitch, but all that matters is the look in Heeseung's eyes, a mixture of awe, desire, and something deeper. This is your moment, and you savour every second of it, knowing that you've not only captivated the audience but also claimed Heeseung's undivided attention.

Pushing him gently so his back is against the stripper pole, you smile at him softly. “Just enjoy it, yeah?” you murmur, your voice a seductive purr that sends goosebumps all over his skin. He nods quickly, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down his forehead as he attempts to relax, however, the strain of his cock tingling in his boxers is proving it rather difficult.

You begin to sway in front of him, your hands splayed across his chest, moving them slowly downward past his stomach and hips. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him through your long lashes. The crowd is mesmerised, their attention entirely on you, wondering what you plan to do next and wishing it was going to happen to them.

With a fluid motion, you rise and turn your back to Heeseung, pressing yourself against him as you grind slowly. The sensation of your body moving against his is almost too much for him to handle, and he clenches his fists to maintain some semblance of control. If he pops a boner in front of at least 30 grown men and the dancers, he might just die on the spot. You glance over your shoulder, catching his gaze and giving him a playful wink. 

Heeseung’s eyes widen as you slink your hands down your body and to your thigh, slipping off one of your garters, the lacy fabric sliding down your leg with ease. You twirl it in your fingers, dangling it in front of the shocked boy’s face before wrapping it around his wrists. He watches, transfixed, as you skillfully tie his hands behind the pole, effectively rendering him unable to touch you. The act is both tantalising and torturous for him, his desire evident in the way his body tenses and legs shuffle to find any sort of distraction from his throbbing cock.

Addressing the audience, you wag your finger playfully, utilising your drama skills from the youth centre to emphasise that the bound man can't lay a finger on you, much to the delight of the eager crowd.

You continue your dance with hypnotic grace, the fabric keeping Heeseung firmly restrained. Your hands explore your curves, accentuating every movement, while the lyrics echo the theme of self-indulgence, allowing you to lose yourself in the performance.

Turning away from the audience, you unclasp your bra, your back now fully exposed. The crowd's eegerness grows as you slowly let the straps slide off your shoulders. With a flick of your wrist, you toss the bra aside, eliciting cheers and whistles from the captivated onlookers.

Your eyes are fixed on Heeseung as you approach the finale of the routine, striding towards him with confident allure. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” you purr, the affectionate nickname slipping out so naturally that it momentarily stuns him. Yet, the look in his eyes tells you he’s far from displeased. 

With a few grinds and touches to Heeseung, the routine comes to an end and you face your adoring fans, the money showering onto the stage in notes of £10s and £20s. You smile and blow kisses to some of the men, bouncing slightly to make your tits clap, earning you a few more whistles and cheers. 

Striding back to Heeseung, you untie the garter from his wrists and pull him to the back, both of your chests heaving in exhilaration. 

“Oh my god, Heeseung! I couldn’t even see the floor for money,” you exclaim, clapping in excitement. With the private dances and your most recent performance, you’ve easily earned over £500, enough for a warm meal and then some.

Heeseung looks at you, smiling shyly, hoping you don’t notice the bulge forming in his trousers. He’s never encountered anyone like you before and can hardly believe he had the privilege of you grinding on him for a good two minutes. The dryness in his mouth is a testament to how long he stood there, mouth agape, watching you perform. If this was his first and last strip show, he’s glad it was yours.

“You did amazing, Y/N,” he says sincerely, causing you to turn your head to face him. His eyes are filled with adoration, but you can see the lust ghosting over them. “I almost busted in my pants out there,” he adds, attempting to joke, but you know he isn’t lying.

Smiling, you step forward, gently pushing him to sit on one of the white tables behind him. The shock is evident on his face. “How about…you bust somewhere else?”

“W-what?” His eyes widen as your fingers begin to fiddle with the button of his trousers.

“Well, you did so well, and I do owe you, considering we got interrupted last time.” Heeseung shakes his head, mouth moving but no words coming out. You laugh softly, finally unbuttoning his jeans. “I’m not taking your virginity in a sleazy strip club,” you assure him in a teasing tone, “But how about I give you some relief?”

His breath hitches as your hand slips beneath the fabric, his body reacting instantly to your touch. Heeseung’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back as he surrenders to the sensation. Your fingers wrap around his shaft loosely, to the point you might as well not even be touching it, only driving him further to need.

You kneel in front of him and Heeseung’s breath quickens, your fingers deftly working to free him from his trousers, and his erection springs forth, eager and ready, his tip already on the edge of exploding. You glance up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and the anticipation in the air is suffocating. He can’t believe this is happening and he is just praying to whatever higher power will listen that you won’t get stopped by a maniac trying to kill you.

Slowly, you lean forward, your lips parting as you take him into your mouth. Heeseung lets out a choked gasp, his hands instinctively reaching for the edge of the table to steady himself. The warmth and wetness of your mouth envelop him, and he can hardly believe the pleasure that courses through his body. Somehow, this feels so much better than it did the first time, perhaps because he didn’t spend hours worrying over it and instead, the spontaneity of it all is only adding to his arousal - the less time he has to think, the easier it is to let himself go.

Your tongue swirls around the tip, teasing him with delicate flicks and licks. Heeseung’s eyes roll back, and his grip on the table tightens. Every movement of your mouth sends waves of ecstasy through him, and he’s powerless to do anything but feel.

And what a sensational feeling it is.

You hollow your cheeks, creating a delicious suction as you take him deeper, your tongue pressing and swirling against the underside of his shaft. Heeseung’s breathing becomes ragged, each exhale a desperate moan. You can sense his restraint, the tension in his muscles as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. It’s cute how wriggly he is, how even just your mouth is enough to get him fumbling beneath you.

“Oh, shit,” he hisses out, biting his bottom lip just harsh enough to break skin. “This is what heaven feels like, I know it.” He speaks his inner dialogue, the words slipping out by accident as he loses all sense of control to your skilled mouth.

Your hands gently massage his thighs, adding to the sensory overload. You glance up, watching his expressions shift between pleasure and awe, his face red in embarrassment as he whimpers a succession of tiny pleads, willing you to go faster.

The sight of him unravelling heightens your own arousal, spurring you to intensify your efforts. As you bob your head, your right hand wraps around the base, stroking in tandem with your mouth. Heeseung’s body begins to tremble, his legs shaking as he edges closer to release. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” You quicken your pace, the sounds of your movements filling the room.

Grabbing his hand, you guide it to hold your head, puppeting his fingers to grasp at your head. The silent instruction computes itself to Heeseung’s dazed self and he wraps your hair around his hand, gripping onto you for dear life as you quicken your pace.

You squeeze the bottom of his shaft and thigh in sync, causing the boy to jerk his hips up and his cock to hit the back of your throat. “Fuck!” he yelps out, his length throbbing in your mouth at the action so much that you can feel it on your tongue. You hum around him which only adds to his pleasure.

“Y/N, please, I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming,” he whines as his voice hits a higher octave. His hips shallowly jitter, forcing his cock deep into your mouth, taking away half the work as you let him control the situation. For the first time in his life, he is free of embarrassment and nerves, the only feeling he has now is pure need and desire, and it’s all thanks to your mouth.

With a final, deep thrust, Heeseung lets out a guttural moan, his release hitting hard and fast as his balls tighten and the vein that lays underside of his cock protrudes. You feel the warm spurt of his climax run down your throat and fill your mouth, which you swallow eagerly, your tongue continuing to caress him as he rides out his orgasm. The overflow of his cum drips down your chin and onto your bare breasts. The whole scene would turn anyone on and you hope you can get a copy of the CCTV when you’re done.

When he finally begins to relax, you pull back slowly, giving him one last long, teasing lick up his shaft, swirling it around his bell to collect the rest of his glaze before releasing him completely. You look up with a satisfied smile, your lips glistening with the remnants of his seed. Personally, you think it’s the nicest lip gloss you could ever wear, and Heeseung agrees.

Heeseung’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of wonderment and gratitude. He can’t ever repay you for helping him out like this, for giving him his first ever orgasm that was at the hands of someone else.

“Feel better?” you ask playfully, already knowing the answer.

Heeseung nods, a dazed smile spreading across his face, his eyes glazing over with satisfaction. “Much better,” he murmurs, his voice filled with thanks and amazement. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know but you helped me out and I couldn’t have you going out there with a raging hard on, not with Mars about. She’d bounce on it all night and we’d never get out of here,” you jokingly explain.

Heeseung tucks his cock back in his trousers and zips it up, eyes staring at you the whole time. “You think she would have?” His question doesn’t come from bewilderment but rather curiosity, causing you to roll your eyes and walk away.

“Come on, let's get our money.”

_____

Counting the £565 you made from the club, you smile wide, the ends of your mouth splitting your cheeks. The night has been exhilarating, and the weight of the money in your hand feels like a victory. You and Heeseung are making your way back to the convenience store to buy supplies, the thrill of the night still buzzing in your veins.

Heeseung walks beside you, his steps a bit unsteady, still reeling from the intensity of the experience of being in a strip club for half of his day and then getting the best head he thinks he will ever get in his life. He steals glances at you, his expression a mix of admiration and bashfulness. “I still can’t believe how incredible you were,” he says, his voice tinged with awe.

You chuckle, the sound light and happy. “Thanks, Heeseung. I couldn’t have done it without you. You were amazing too. Y’know, you looked really good tied up.” The playful compliment brings a blush to his cheeks, and you can’t help but find his shyness endearing.

As you approach the convenience store, the lights casting a soft glow on the pavement, you feel a sense of contentment when suddenly, someone stops you in your tracks, hand in front of you pointing accusatorily. The gesture makes you feel uneasy, and you grasp Heeseung’s hand with your left and hold onto the money tightly with your right.

“Hey, do I know you two from somewhere?” the man asks in a rugged voice and thick Liverpudlian accent. His eyes are sharp, scrutinising, and it sends a chill down your spine.

Heeseung sees your nervousness and steps forward protectively. “I don’t think so, mate. Sorry,” he says, his voice firm but polite. He gently pulls you out of the man’s way, his grip reassuring on your hand. The words Heeseung spoke are enough to have the man leave you alone, but the encounter leaves you both on edge.

Quickly, you pocket the money in your daisy dukes’ front pocket, keeping your eye on the man as he fades into the night. You have grown accustomed to shady men at night, what with being on the run for nearly four days, but never has one spoken to you so blatantly, especially to ask you a question like that. Unless he was at Saturn earlier, you don’t know how he could know you.

Unfortunately, Heeseung does. Detaching his hand from yours, he looks through the store window to stare at the TV, arms hanging loosely by his side as though he could no longer feel them. In fact, he couldn’t feel any part of his body.

Sensing his tension, you look up at him. “What’s wrong? The guy is gone now,” you reassure, but that isn’t what he is worried about. You follow his gaze to the low-resolution TV perched in the top corner of the store and suddenly, you’re feeling sick and weak, the ground falling beneath you as you read the headline scrolling at the bottom of the screen, pictures plastered as clear as day to complement the words.

BREAKING NEWS: Search begins throughout the UK for suspects Y/N L/N and Lee Heeseung in a brutal passionate murder of local man, aged 56. Authorities say the two fled the scene a few days ago and urge caution to the public. If anyone knows anything please contact Scotland Yard.

Falling back a little, you shake your head in disbelief.

“They’re looking for us…

taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan

[mymoonagedaydream]

Summary: You thought that dying of exposure was the worst thing that could happen to you out in the desert. You were wrong.

Pairing: Mechanic!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Language, some very PG 13 smut

Author’s Note: Yes this oneshot was partially inspired by Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood and yes, I'm British so I had to Google what a slugger was. Everyday's a school day folks. It was also partially inspired by that one photo from a movie I've never seen that I used in the banner okthanksbye.

There was nothing coming. Not a single other vehicle had passed since you broke down over two hours ago. The roof of your car was getting pretty unbearably hot now, even through the layers of clothes you were using as a makeshift picnic blanket you could feel it starting to burn your legs. You considered trying to sit inside for a while again, but you had to give up last time because it became like a fucking sauna, and at least up here you were clearly visible to anyone passing.

---

This isn’t how you thought you were going to die. Granted, you’d never actually spent a great deal of time considering it before, but there wasn’t much else to occupy your mind while you slowly baked underneath the midday sun. You looked up and down the road once more, still only able to see a few feet clearly before the rising hot air started to blur and obscure the view. The brown, cracked landscape stretched on and on before bending over the horizon and disappearing out of sight.

You checked your phone once more but, unsurprisingly, service had not magically descended upon you. Glancing over your shoulder at the bonnet, propped open and somehow still smoking, you wondered whether it was a bad idea to be this close to an engine that could probably explode at any second. At least a quick death would be less painful than slowly being cooked alive.

Leaning your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, a new sound caught your attention. Something whirring in the distance. Your head snapped towards it, eyes straining at the horizon, heart jumping when it came into view. A pickup truck.

A sudden burst of energy hit and you scrambled onto your feet, balancing precariously and frantically waving your arms above your head. As it moved closer you started to smile to yourself, overjoyed thinking that you’d soon be somewhere with shade and cold water, somewhere with air conditioning.

Your face dropped, however, when you realised that it wasn’t slowing down. You waved your arms faster. Nothing. You started to jump up and down, shouting as loud as you could.

“Hey! Stop, I need help!”

Your voice cracked as it drew closer. Your arms dropped and you watched, helplessly, as it sped past, too fast for you to even make out the face of the driver. Jumping down to the ground and running into the middle of the road, you screamed after it.

“Fuck you, motherfucker! ”

Bursting with anger, you pathetically kicked a rock, barely managing to muster the energy to move it more than a few feet. That was it, your one chance at rescue, gone. You squatted down, needing to rest but knowing the asphalt would be hot enough to fry an egg. You could feel the sunburn starting to prickle on your arms.

There was nothing else for it now, you’d have to walk. Either you’d come across civilization eventually or you’d just die, both were better options than being found out here as a sun-bleached skeleton in three weeks' time. You grabbed your backpack and all of your remaining water from the car, setting off in the direction you’d been heading before the breakdown. You knew there was nothing for miles in the direction you’d come from, so this was your best bet.

You’d been walking for over an hour when the vague shape of a building appeared on the horizon. You were half-convinced it was a mirage but, once you picked up your pace, the blurred outline started becoming clearer. The rusty old roadside sign eventually came into view and you saw that it was a baseball themed diner called The Slugger’s Dugout . You looked around, there wasn’t a blade of grass in sight. Strange place to play baseball.

You practically ran the final stretch towards it, the taste of dry baked earth caking your throat and tongue as you kicked up clouds of dust. You stopped dead, however, when you reached the edge of the parking lot and noticed that there was just one car sitting outside. The fucking pickup truck. This would be interesting.

You burst through the door and threw yourself at the counter, making the elderly server jump out of her skin and almost drop a pot of steaming coffee.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“I broke down,” your throat was so dry that your words were coming out horse and sticky, “do you have a phone? And water?”

She kicked into gear a lot faster than you’d expected after hearing that. She filled a tall glass with tap water and placed it in front of you, patiently waiting for you to gulp it down before reaching three quarters out of the tip jar and pointing out the payphone on the far wall.

“There’s a card over there for a towing company, they should be able to help you out.”

You thanked her profusely, returning the glass and sliding the change into your palm.

You only then realised that, in all the excitement around finally quenching your thirst, you’d briefly forgotten that the person you now hated most in the world was somewhere inside this building. Was it the elderly server who’d abandoned you on the side of the road? Well, the door said they opened at 8am and she was the only employee here, so either she’d been very late for her shift or there was someone else skulking around.

You gave her a suspicious side-eye while you wandered towards the phone but you instantly felt bad about it. The coins clinked as you dropped them into the slot, the dial tone sounding through the receiver. You pressed in the number from the faded business card taped up on the wall. A lady with a thick accent answered the call and, as you were explaining your situation to her, you spotted someone walk out of the bathroom and take a seat in one of the booths.

He looked like a fucking pickup truck driver. Flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, old blue jeans, dirty brown hair slicked back. You could feel anger rising in your stomach as you watched him begin to eat. You were so distracted giving him daggers that you almost missed the lady on the other end of the phone telling you that they wouldn’t be with you until 7pm.

That was the final straw.

You slammed down the receiver, making the poor server jump once again, and marched over to his table, bracing yourself against the seat opposite him.

“Thanks for the help back there, asshole.”

He looked up from his plate and eyed you calmly, staying silent. That just riled you up even more.

“Seriously? I could’ve fucking died out there, you couldn’t have stopped for just a few minutes? What, were you in a rush to get to the bacon pancakes before they sold out? Were you late for the ignorant cunt convention?”

“No.” There was a clatter as he dropped his fork on the table.

“There was another incredibly good reason then, was there?”

“Yeah, actually, cause the last time I picked up a hitchhiker she started smoking crack in the passenger seat then robbed me.”

“I'm not a fucking hitchhiker. My car broke down, did you not see the tower of smoke?”

“No.”

He was lying, the piece of shit was definitely lying.

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you got yourself into a situation you weren’t prepared for, sweetheart. Play with fire, get burned.”

You sucked your teeth in frustration and began to storm out, but got distracted by something just beside the door. It was a little area designed for kids to take pictures in, with a backdrop of a baseball field and a wooden bat propped up against the wall. The sign above it read:

Take a swing and make a memory at The Slugger’s Dugout!

Well, if they insisted.

You casually picked up the bat and pushed the door open, waltzing over to the lovely shiny pickup truck glinting under the sun.

Batter up.

With one swift movement, you connected the end of the weapon with one of the tail lights, shattering the glass and watching it splinter onto the floor. It was gloriously fucking satisfying. You heard the sound of the door swinging open behind you almost immediately.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You twisted around, pointed the baseball bat at him with a smile and winked. “Play with fire, get burned asshole.”

He started yelling wildly but you tuned out, dragging the bat across the floor as you walked away, preparing yourself for the hour-long trek back to the car.

At least you’d be in a better mood for this one.

---

You could only have been walking for ten minutes when you heard a sputtering engine approaching from behind. You didn’t turn to look, you knew exactly who it would be. Your hand tightened around the weapon you were still holding.

The truck pulled up beside you and the passenger window slid down, but you didn’t break stride, walking straight past it without so much as a sideways glance. Out the corner of your eye you saw it begin to slowly roll forwards, eventually matching your pace and cruising beside you

“Hey, Babe Ruth.” You ignored him. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I should’a helped. Can I give you a ride?”

Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. You stopped abruptly and turned towards the window, prompting him to slam on the brakes.

“You really shouldn't be driving with a tail light out, y’know. It’s dangerous.”

“You shouldn't be messing with strange men out in the desert.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” a hint of a smirk crept over his mouth, “but there's bigger assholes than me out here.”

“Doubt it.”

You considered for a second. On the one hand, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of accepting his help but, on the other, it’d be pretty fucking stupid to decline when there was still a slim chance you could die out here. The sun was searing hot now, sweat rolling down your forehead and aches starting in all your joints.

With the bat still gripped firmly in your hand, you reluctantly swung the door open and climbed in. The blasting air-con was annoyingly refreshing. A candy wrapper crunched under your foot as you got comfortable, the faint smell of stale cigarettes mixed with cheap aftershave seeping out of the seat beside you. He offered you a bottle of water, which you eagerly accepted, finishing off half of it without taking a breath.

As the truck rolled away, he turned towards you.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.” You nodded. “So where you headed?”

“Let's not small talk.”

“Suit yourself.”

He reached over to the centre console and switched on the radio, turning the volume up offensively loud when he heard whatever generic, god-awful country song was playing. You lost it when he started tapping along on the steering wheel.

“This is worse.”

“You just keep gettin’ burned today, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes. You had to sit through three whole banjo-plucking, pickup-trucking, cousin-fucking slow jams before you saw your poor little car approaching in the distance. It had stopped smoking, at least, but you had no idea if that was a good sign.

Your driver pulled off the road and parked up directly in front of the wreckage, giving it a dubious frown.

“How long did they say for a tow truck?”

“Six hours.”

He burst out laughing and opened his door, climbing out of the car. You sat for a few seconds and watched him approaching the open bonnet, very confused, before following suit and exiting the truck.

“Can I help you?”

“No,” he flashed you a smile, “but I can help you.”

After properly securing the hood, he leaned over the front of the car and started tinkering with god knows what, tutting occasionally. You loitered behind him and watched suspiciously. It looked like he knew what he was doing but you didn’t trust him at all.

"You wanna back off a little? I can feel you breathing down my neck."

“What are you doing?”

“Look, I can stand here and try to explain it or I can try to fix it, your choice.”

"Fine," you slinked backwards, "but if this is some kind of eye for an eye, car for a car revenge plan you've hatched, I will fucking come for you."

"That a promise?"

His unexpectedly flirty tone caught you off guard for a second. You tried to think of a witty retort, but all attempts just seemed to die on your tongue. That had never happened before.

It only occurred to you then that, in your new position standing a few feet behind him, you'd gained a pretty impressive view. You tilted your head slightly. Those blue jeans were really working overtime.

"Everything alright back there?"

You snapped out of your daze. "Yeah, what, why?"

"You haven't insulted me in over a minute, thought you might've fainted or somethin'." He stood up and turned towards you with a smile, wiping his hands down the front of his shirt. "You wanna make yourself useful and try to start her up?"

With a brief scowl in his direction, you climbed into the driver's seat and tried the ignition. A slightly smug smile settled on your face when it sputtered for a few seconds and died.

"Try again."

"Might be time to admit defeat my guy." You turned the key once more, it worked. "Holy shit."

"Not bad, huh?"

You were actually incredibly impressed, but there was no way in hell he was going to find that out.

"That depends, will it last?"

He strolled over and leaned over the open driver's side door, shrugging. "Would help if I knew how far you were going."

"About two hundred more miles."

He laughed. "Not a chance."

"Brilliant."

You didn't care. As long as he'd done enough to get you off this godforsaken stretch of road, that was enough. You jumped out and retrieved your backpack and weapon from his truck, pleased that you’d taken a gamble and accepted his help, but even more pleased that you could now drive away and never have to see him again.

Why did god have to give such great asses to such awful people? What a waste.

"Here," he stopped you before you got back into your car and pulled out his wallet, grabbing a slip of paper and holding it towards you, "stop at this workshop. They'll help you out."

"I don’t have any money."

"Well, maybe just tell 'em that after they’ve fixed it up."

"Alright."

You plucked it from his fingers, climbed in behind the steering wheel and slammed the door, so ready for this shit chapter to be behind you. Asshole only moved out of the way after you revved at him a few times, holding his arms out in annoyance and shouting.

"You're welcome!"

You ignored him and drove off. He'd helped you out but, after the shit he'd pulled earlier, you figured this just made you even. No need for thanks.

---

You pulled into The Slugger's Dugout on your way past, intending to apologise, return the bat and pick up the broken glass you'd left scattered in the parking lot. When you got out of the car, however, you couldn't seem to find a single piece of it. He must’ve beat you to it. That explains why it took him ten fucking minutes to come pick you up.

A car horn blared from the road and you looked up to see the hick truck whiz past, probably too fast to clock the middle finger you stuck up at it.

You pulled the stolen baseball bat out of your car and timidly wandered inside, unsurprised at the hostile look that the poor old dear behind the counter greeted you with.

"Just… returning this."

You placed it back where you found it and gave her an awkward smile. Before you could escape, however, she leaned over the counter looking like she was ready to unleash a verbal thrashing.

"Now you look here, miss. I understand that you were upset, I would be too, but he is a good man and he didn't deserve that."

You winced slightly, trying not to come across too argumentative. "A good man who left me on the side of the road to die?"

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

You nodded, too intimidated by her strict demeanour to argue back anymore. Why was she so much scarier than the broad-chested tower of a man you just spent the last hour laying into?

"Do you know him?"

"Not very well, but he used to come in here every single Sunday with his father. Every week I watched him help that old man out of the car and to a table, watched them talk and laugh together for hours. I don't think I've ever seen someone of his age look so happy," her expression changed, "but I haven't seen the two of them for months now. That was the first time he's ever been here alone, I didn’t like to ask what happened."

You nodded again, figuring both of you could guess exactly what happened. If she was trying to make you feel like a guilty piece of shit then she was doing a cracking job.

Personal tragedy aside, however, he still acted like an ass.

After thanking her again for her help earlier, you headed out. There wasn't much more you needed to know about a guy you were probably never going to see again.  

---

The garage you’d been recommended was just over an hour away, there was weak service outside the diner so you managed to scope it out on maps. To your great relief, as you drove, the stretching desert started to gradually give way to actual civilization, a small, dilapidated town springing up around you. It seemed like the kind of place where people were born, lived and died without ever leaving. You dreaded how they’d react to a broke stranger turning up and begging for free help.

Eventually reaching your destination, you pulled up into the forecourt, cringing at the sound your engine made as it powered down. There was no way in hell that any self-respecting mechanic would come near this thing without a hefty down payment. Still, all you could do was try.

You left the rustbucket and wandered through the open shutter, looking around for any signs of life, preferably someone in coveralls who looked easily manipulated. There was only one person inside. You couldn’t believe it.

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

He spun round, a clang sounding when he dropped whatever complicated tool he was holding onto a nearby table. “Hey, firecracker. I thought you’d ignored some great advice there for a second.”

“And I thought I’d finally got rid of you,” you scanned your eyes around desperately for anyone else who looked vaguely useful, “but hey, at least one of us is happy.”

“It’s just me here, darlin’. The other guys are on lunch.”

“Fantastic.”

He met your unimpressed scowl with a wink as he strolled past. “The shitbox out front?”

“Mhmm.”

You weren’t too sure what was happening here. He already knew you couldn’t pay, and he knew how much work that fucking thing needed, so what was his plan? There was very little you could do to repay any kind of debt to him, and even less that you were actually willing to do. You wondered how easy it would be to just do a runner with the car once it was back in working order.

He opened up the bonnet again but barely even glanced over it before turning back towards you.

“It’s gonna be a few hours at least. There’s a bar just around the corner,” he pointed down the street, “if you wait there I’ll come find you when it’s done.”

“Look, when I said I had no money, I wasn’t exaggerating. Apart from a little gas money I think I’ve got about fifteen dollars to my name right now. A beer would cost me over a third of my net worth.”

You were half-expecting him to slam the hood down and tell you to get lost after that, but he didn’t. He just chuckled and shook his head.

“Start a tab, give ‘em my name. They know I’m good for it.”

“That’s a risky offer.”

“Nah,” he pulled a dirty rag from his back pocket and used it to wipe down his hands, “surely the crazy broad who called me a cunt and busted my tail light can’t also have a drinking problem, right?”

You shrugged.

---

The door to the bar was unexpectedly heavy, almost tugging your shoulder out of its socket when you tried to yank it open. You felt a little embarrassed when you noticed a couple heads turning in the direction of the pathetic stranger wrestling with the slab of wood. Once inside, you apprehensively looked around, forcing down a dry gulp. This place was seedy as hell, maybe Bucky really did want you dead.

His idea worked, though, and you managed to set up a tab without any qualms. He must send ladies in here with that line all the time.

You decided to settle yourself on a stool at the end of the bar, reasoning that it might be marginally safer to stick as close as you could to the only staff member in the building. The hours passed slowly. It was almost five thirty when Bucky eventually trudged through the door and planted himself on the stool beside you.

He pointed to your glass. “What’re you drinking?”

“Just soda water, got a long drive tonight.”

“No you don't,” he hailed the bartender, “two double scotches, no ice.”

“What?”

“That thing ain’t gonna be ready ‘till at least tomorrow, midday.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope. Your suspension is more rust than metal.”

“Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep, then?”

He shrugged, picking up one of the glasses that the bartender had deposited in front of you and taking a quick nip. You leaned forward and let your head collapse onto the bar as a wave of hopelessness passed over you.

“Bucky, I am so exhausted. I’ve slept in my car for over a week and I haven’t had a proper shower in twice that.” Your words started to crack as tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t think I can handle this.”

“Woah, hey, don’t cry. It’ll be alright.”

“How? In what fucking world is it going to be alright?”

“Look, you can stay at my place tonight.”

You lifted your head to shoot daggers at him, in disbelief at how he was trying to engineer this situation. “You can’t be serious.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Cause then we’d be even, right? Surely a smashed tail light, a fixed-up car and a place to stay balances out leaving you to die in the desert?” You raised an eyebrow in faint agreement. “Plus I can’t handle it when women cry, if this’ll make you stop then it’s worth it.”

You smiled at him, which was a new experience. Grabbing your glass of golden liquid from the bar, you drank it all down in one, immediately regretting your decision when it kicked you in the back of the throat like a pissed off mule. Bucky laughed at you before standing up gesturing for you to follow him out.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes before he hesitantly piped up.

“So, you gonna tell me why the hell you’re driving through the desert on your own, or am I still in the doghouse?”

“You’re still in the doghouse.” A prompting look in your direction somehow swayed you a little, you were getting too soft. “It’s really not exciting, I just got kicked out of my apartment. I used to have some family out here but we lost touch, now tracking them down is my only shot at avoiding living in my car full-time.”

“I wondered why there was so much crap piled in the back of that thing.”

“Mhmm, everything I own in the world is in that car. Had to sell most of my stuff for gas money, though.”

“That sucks.”

“Yep.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, for some reason now experiencing some pangs of curiosity about your host. “How about you?”

“Me? What d’you mean?”

“Well, the lady at that diner said she used to see you with your dad a lot, but that you hadn’t been in for a while.”

“You two were talking about me?”

“She was talking at me, trying to convince me that I was the asshole.”

“I always liked her.” He smirked slightly, but it faded as he carried on. “My dad died a few months back. It was pretty hard, he was a good guy, helped me out a lot. More than I deserved, anyway."

“Go on.”

“Well, I was kind of an idiot a few years back. I let some shitty friends talk me into some stupid ideas and wound up inside for a few months.”

“Shit.”

“It was, I pretty much lost everything. When I got out I was pretty depressed, so all I wanted to do was get high and sleep, but he didn’t let me. He got me the job at the garage and gave me enough money for a couple month’s rent, to be honest I’d probably be dead now without him.”

“He sounds great.” The two of you exchanged warm glances for a second, but you didn’t want to give him any untoward ideas about the evening, so you continued. “It’s nice when people don’t leave others to die.”

“You have to let that go at some point.”

“I really don’t.”

When the two of you reached his apartment, you jumped straight into the shower, triple checking that the ensuite door was firmly locked before doing so. The place wasn’t nearly as dirty or bachelor pad-esque as you’d expected. Yeah, it was half-empty and hardly decorated, but that was to be expected of any man living on his own. At least it didn’t smell like ass.

Bucky was already knocked out on the couch when you came out of the bathroom, his neck folded in half and his feet dangling over the edge. It was his own fault for only buying a two-seater.

You changed into the t-shirt and gym shorts he’d left out for you, just hoping to god they were clean, and jumped into bed. It was far from perfect but, compared to the backseat of your car, it could’ve been a five star hotel. You drifted off almost instantly.

---

You were woken by a few loud raps on the bedroom door. It took you a few seconds of panic to remember where the hell you were, your head falling back into the pillow once you did so.

“What?”

“Are you all covered and stuff?” The low voice came through the wood. “I really need to pee.”

You let out a groggy laugh. “Go ahead.”

Bucky burst into the room and sprinted over to the bathroom, holding onto his junk like a child about to pee their pants. You would’ve laughed even harder at that sight, but you found yourself a little distracted by the fact that he was also shirtless. You only got a brief glance but, fucking hell, he was build like a brick wall. Suddenly you were wide awake.

You could hear him pissing like a firehose through the bathroom door and sighing audibly when he was finished. He wandered back through after a minute and paused at the foot of the bed.

“How’d you sleep?”

You were trying your very best to stay composed under the circumstances. “Mhmm, good, thanks.”

“Were the clothes I left out okay?”

“Yeah, yep, all good.”

“You alright?”

“Fine. Why?”

“You’re acting weird. Did something happen?” He grabbed a fistful of the duvet and tried to yank it out of your grip. “Did you piss the bed?”

“No I didn’t piss the fucking bed, Jesus.”

“What’s up then?”

You sat up, looking from his face, down to his chest, then back up to his face with a confused expression. He quickly cottoned on to what you were getting at.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I made myself a coffee but spilled it down my shirt, and all my clothes are in here.”

He gestured over to the chest of drawers. You weren’t super convinced by that explanation, it sounded like he was making it up on the spot, but you nodded anyway.

“It’s fine.”

“It is?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good.”

His expression changed. Your heart started thudding, the look he was giving you making you start to break out in a sweat, your toes curling under the covers.

Reaching down, he grabbed hold of the duvet again but, this time, he tore it away and dropped it onto the floor with one swift movement. Moving slowly, cautiously, he climbed onto the bed on his knees, making his way forwards and carefully lowering himself down over you.

Well, you certainly hadn’t expected this. Just a few minutes later the two of you were tangled together so closely that you didn’t know where his body stopped and yours began. The skin on his face and hands felt rough as it grazed over yours, the sensation making you gasp each time you felt it, the deep chuckle that sounded right beside your ear in response making your stomach flutter wildly. As he panted, his warm breath spread over the side of your neck, sending an electric tingle all the way down your spine. This felt good, really fucking good. This might’ve been exactly what you needed.

What felt like hours later, he rolled over and landed with a thud on the mattress beside you, both of your chests rapidly rising and falling in unison. Lulling his head in your direction, he gave you a smile.

“Y’know,” he pushed his words out between deep breaths, “you could stay here for a while, if you wanted to. While you figure things out.”

“Was it that good?”

“Hell yeah it was.”

You laughed at his corny ass. “So, what you’re saying is that you’d be willing to give me a place to stay in exchange for sex? Sounds dangerously close to prostitution.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand so he could look you in the face. “You can stay with or without sex, I just like your company. No point sleeping in a crappy car when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”

You gave him a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

---

After breakfast, Bucky gave you a ride to the garage in the pickup truck, now complete with a duct tape covered tail light. He said he could finish off the final touches on your car while you waited in the office, apparently the bar wasn’t open this early and there was nothing else to do in town apart from a shitty cafe and a gun range.

The two of you ducked under the half-open shutter and he headed into the back, telling you to wait by your car for a few minutes while he tidied up. The place was pretty small, just one other car being worked on aside from yours. You wondered how Bucky’s dad got him the job here, whether he had an in with the owner or whether he was just that easy a guy to trust. Running your fingers over the tools lined up on the workbench, you thought that maybe you could be happy with a life here, maybe it was exactly what you’d been looking for.

You almost jumped out of your skin when an older, grey-bearded man in coveralls suddenly appeared beside you. He gestured toward the rustbucket.

“This yours?” You nodded politely. “Here.”

He was trying to hand you the keys, eyes glued to the clipboard he was holding.

“Oh, Bucky said it still needed some work.”

He looked confused. “This one? Nah, this was ready to go yesterday. He said you were out of town or something.”

“He said what?”

Grey beard replied but you didn’t hear it, too busy piecing together the events of last night and becoming increasingly more pissed off as you did so. Bucky had lied to you for a quick lay, of course he fucking had. You felt like such an idiot. You snatched the keys and asked the now very puzzled looking man to open the shutter for you, climbing in and firing up the engine as he did so.

Bucky appeared at your window. “What are you doing?”

“Ask your friend over there.”

You gestured over to the other employee, who just shrugged while yanking on the shutter chain, and a wave of realisation washed over Bucky’s face.

“Let me explain.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

He banged his hand on the side of the car in frustration, quickly moving round to stand between it and its route to freedom.

You honked the horn. “Move, asshole.”

“Not until you hear me out.”

“Why should I? I don’t fucking know you, I don’t owe you shit.”

“Right.” Moving at a lightning pace, Bucky somehow managed to sprint around the side of the car, yank open your door and pull the keys from the ignition before you could even register what was happening. “Get out.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

With a frustrated sigh, he hurled the keys as hard as he could out onto the forecourt. “What’s your plan now, huh?”

You grunted loudly, narrowed your eyes at him and stepped out, marching straight past him and heading outside. He caught your arm before you reached the keys.

“Just stop for a second.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tough shit. I’m going to talk and you’re going to fucking listen, alright?” His firm tone shocked you a little, it was enough to make you relent just for a second. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have lied. I just wanted to spend some more time with you.”

“Well you pulled that off, so congrats, but now that you’ve had what you were after I’d like to go.”

“It wasn’t like that, I wanted more than that.” He rubbed his forehead. “I want more than that.”

“I’ve heard it all before, Buck. You barely even know me, just let me leave and we can both move on.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Cause you’re the only fucking thing that hasn’t depressed or bored me since I lost my dad, alright? I know it sounds stupid, but watching you take out my tail light was the first time I’d actually felt alive in months,” he slid his grip on your arm down, taking your hand in his, “and, maybe I’m out of line here, but I think you feel the same.”

You thought back.

Jesus, he was right. That was the first time you’d actually been in a good mood since leaving your apartment. Surely it can’t be healthy to base any kind of relationship on the joy you get from destroying each other’s property and screaming at each other, though? Can it?

In all fairness, he was the only person you’d even met that actually kept you on your toes, and you quite liked that. Usually people just responded to your insults with offence or tears.

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess, but I’m just not sure that-”

Your train of thought derailed completely when his mouth crashed against yours, your words getting swallowed as all of the breath left your lungs at once. You were hesitant at first, but you soon relented, relaxing, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling against him, which he reciprocated.

He pulled away, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “So that’s how to shut you up.”

“Won’t work every time.”

“Worth a try, though.”

---

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Hey, so, I've been contemplating this idea for a while, and I'm aware other people thought of this. But Bucky in a USO Chorus Girl outfit.

I imagine he'd be in the middle of a card game with Steve and their other comrades. Bucky's winning, he's getting cocky, so he makes a bet.

"If I lose, I have to wear one of them pretty outfits the showgirls wear."

Lo and behold, he loses. He's pissed about it. But he goes through with the bet.

And Steve?

Steve can't take his eyes off of Bucky for the life of him. But Bucky's being so whiny and pouty about it, acting like a brat.

So, Steve takes it upon himself to "fix" Bucky's attitude.

I was wondering if you have any thoughts on this? Or have you answered an ask similar to this before?

Oh my God, I love this idea. I've heard lots of ideas bouncing around in the stucky fandom after She Hulk, but never one exactly like this thought!

The thought of it being a lost bet is *chef's kiss*

I'm not currently taking prompts, but... what the hell, I only have a few days before I go back to college, I might as well spend my last little bit of this break by thinking of Bucky in a skirt...

Immediately, when you sent this prompt in, I was imagining Bucky with his arms crossed and a stormy look on his face. His lips are set in a straight line, and his brows furrowed; he's not pissed about being made to dress up in the skimpy outfit meant for one of the dancing dames that Steve twinkled over to this side of the war front with, he's fucking pissed that he lost. He was winning! And he woulda fuckin' won if Monty hadn't--

"You gonna give us a twirl, lady spangles?" Jim howls at him, grinning like a madman.

The wolf whistles of the other Howlies quickly join his words, overpowering them. Monty even sticks his fingers into his mouth to whistle extra loud--being, as usual, extra obnoxious. Just because he can.

"No," Bucky huffs, "that's not gonna happen," shifting where he stands, crossing his arms tighter and only letting his lip curl up slightly. He can feel the gauzy tulle fluffing the skirt swishing against his skin. Vaguely itchy and ticklish. He didn't put on the stockings to complete the outfit, but he kind of wishes that he did now. The sensation would be less distracting with another layer, at least. Probably. He's never worn stockings. Maybe they’d be even more distracting. Yet... he'd also be warmer with tights. Warmer if he hadn't fuckin’ lost and weren't wearing this sleeveless, low plunging, flag-blue top, revealing his decolletage and more. He's so cold his nipples are poking through the thin fabric. And the high waist joining the top and skirt is tight, pressing into him every time he takes a (hopefully) slow, calming breath. He feels not only cold but exposed, too.

Small mercies, at least, his hands were too big for any of the white, shiny gloves to be wearable. He can't get them over his fists. The same goes for the shoes. None of the dames have the same size feet as Bucky does. Saves him some of his dignity. Just some. He won't fall flat on his face in any tiny, shiny heels tonight.

"Aw, c'mon, girlie," they laugh, a fuckin’ peanut gallery, all of ‘em.

"Fuck you," Bucky rolls his eyes hugely.

Bucky would like to go back to approximately twenty minutes ago when they were congregated around a flipped over apple box on the dirty, dusty floor of Steve's private Captain's tent with flickering lamp light and hazy cigarette smoke hanging over them, laid back as much as they could when on the front. Now, standing alone and just barely inside the shut tent entrance makes Bucky feel like he's the game. He might not be as competitive as Steve fucking is, but he doesn't like this outcome. Not at all. He grumbles to himself some more.

"Aw, don't say that." Someone teases.

“Yeah, don't beat yourself up, honey!” Another of the guys piles on.

“Mm-hm. You're so pretty. There's no need to be embarrassed."

"Shake it, baby!"

A few other sarcastic replies and catcalls meet his blunt unenjoyment of this lost bet. Bucky feels himself slowly turning red. His Ma taught him better than to ogle at ladies. Apparently, none of these animals got that message, though. That, or, they don't care about ogling about a man in a lady's things.

"How long do I have to stand here and be drooled over? You fuckers miss your gals that much?" Bucky uncrosses his arms, fisting the hem of the skirt, pulling it down. Does this really cover any of Steve's dancers? He had to roll his skivvies up so they didn't hang out from under the skirt. "Am I done?"

"Just a little longer, twinkles. You haven't paid your dues just yet."

“Yeah, and you won't ‘til you give us a twirl!”

Laughter bounces among them.

Bucky flips them off. But, he does stand there until they get bored of him. The only thing he hates more than losing is not holding to his word. He made a bet. It wasn't a smart bet--even if he's pretty sure Monty cheated just to pull his leg (probably conspiring with the others)--but whatever.

Bucky doesn't realize until the Howlies are shuffling out of the tent, slapping Bucky on the shoulder or ass as they leave, saluting him and drawling, “goodnight, ma’am,” “night, dolly,” and “you come here often, how come I’ve not seen you here before, baby,” among other things before disappearing into the darkness that's swallowed the camp whole... Steve hasn't said anything. But it hits him over the back of the head, the realization, once they're alone in his oversized tent. Steve is a little shit. He never has enough self-control to resist piling on, ragging Bucky harder than anyone else can get away with. Yet...

He hasn't done anything.

And come to think of it, as Bucky ties the canvas tent flaps shut, their men all gone, he can feel Steve's eyes on him. They're intense. Normally, Bucky gets a sense for if his gaze is hungry and burning or worried or whatever. He's not sure what this is. But he knows he's looking.

What can Bucky do but turn around?

Bucky catches his blue eyes ripping up, ashamed, from the bottom hem of his ruffled skirt.

And... they're eye to eye now, a scant few feet separating them. Silent, for the moment. Though, it never takes long for Steve to open his big mouth.

Steve licks his lips, “you--” he clears his throat, a false start, “you sure you don't wanna give it just one twirl?”

Bucky groans, rolling his eyes so hard that he just might pull something. “No,” he grinds his right heel into the gritty floor, “I wanna get outta this fuckin’ thing. I'm done.” And he is. So done. He lost, he made a bet, he got his, he doesn't need more.

He’s so done that he reaches up behind his shoulder, grasping blindly for the zip at the nap of his neck, feeling for the cold metal. He brushes over it a few times but can't quite get a solid hold on it. Wiggling, Bucky tries his best to get it. He can't.

He huffs, dramatic but feeling very deserved, “Steeve.”

“Hmm?” Steve is looking right at him, but he sounds the same way he always does when he's distracted by something else. As if he's stuck in a drawing, and Bucky is pestering him by asking him to do the dishes or launder their sheets.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, “unzip me.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve licks his lips again.

Damn, he's gonna give himself chapped lips. Actually, can he even get chapped lips now? With the serum? Shaking his head, not staying stuck on the thought, Bucky steps forward, turning around when he's in front of Steve and waiting for him to--

Suddenly, Steve's big hands are on his waist, causing him to jump--spooked 'cause he was expecting to feel him at the nape of his neck, slowly taking the zipper of his dress down, leaving him even more exposed to the chill of the night air. His hands are fucking huge. Dinner-plate-sized paws, he swears it. Feeling them around his waist catches Bucky off-guard. They're warm, too. He burns like a furnace now. That's just as unfamiliar.

“Steve--” Bucky starts to complain, the edge of an exasperated whine in his voice.

“Buck,” Steve's thumbs are drawing back and forth over the thin, silky material of his waistband. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The heat from his big, huge fucking mitts and his thick, broad chest as he steps in closer bleed into Bucky. They're not even touching yet, but he's not cold anymore. The gauzy tulle squishes up against the back of his legs. Itchy.

“Get me out of this thing, I swear, Steve I'll--” Bucky is cut off, gasping, when Steve digs his fingers into his hips and tugs him back against him at the same time. His strength is literally breathtaking.

His lips, hot, are against the shell of his ear, the rasp of his stubble--already coming in even though he cleaned up this afternoon, shaving by the river out back from camp--against his hair, catching, make Bucky's blood turn thicker, “you really hate this that much, Buck?” His voice is low, barely a whisper. Bucky can still hear it. He can feel it. Breathed hot and humid against him.

“Yes,” the word is out of his mouth before he can think twice.

“Hmm, that's a shame,” Steve husks, “I think you should keep it. It suits you.”

That night from the bar flashes through Bucky, scoffing, he struggles fruitlessly against Steve's hold on his hip, “is this just payback for what I said, you can’t keep me lik--”

It turns out Steve can still hold him in place with just one hand. An arm around his waist, the thick, hard muscle pressing into his body. His other hand is busy covering his mouth.

Oh.

“Who’d’a thought all it'd take to put some fight in you is putting you in a little skirt, huh?” Steve chuckles, “coulda done that back home an’ maybe you woulda won more at Y.” He pats Bucky's face, his hand still over his mouth, unmoving like the fucker he is. Too strong for his own good.

Still, Bucky struggles more. Grumbling and debating if it’s worth it to bite his hand, he doubts licking it would make a difference. Struggling if not to get away and punch Steve in his shoulder for being a dick than just to feel him flex--his forearm, bicep, and his chest, so close. Pressed up against him.

Steve, ever an asshole, just laughs more. He doesn’t go anyway, smiling into his hair, “aw, c'mon, don’t be sore at me, the guys were tellin’ the truth, you don't look bad at all, Buck. It suits you.”

“Mmm-mnh!” Bucky complains against his hand, muffled.

“It really suits you…” Steve murmurs, repeating himself as his other hand releases his waist and smooths up his bare thigh, moving up under the skirt. His eyes, oppositely, drag down his body. His gaze boring right into him.

Bucky can't speak because of Steve's hand, but he still trips over his own tongue, choking and feeling heat rise high on his cheeks. It climbs to his ears. Steve is groping him. Squeezing his thighs. Ruffling the tulle. It swishes around his body, rubbing up on him just as much as Steve is.

“You gonna quit bitchin’ if I let you go?”

Bucky thinks about shaking his head, he still wants out of this damn thing, but the gesture turns into a nod without his permission and when Steve, true to his word, stops cupping his wide palm over his mouth, not a sound comes out of him until--

“Ohh,” the moan spills out of Bucky's buzzing lips, dripping in shock and heat all because one of Steve's big hands is on his waist again, touching the soft, silky fabric--petting him almost--and the other has flipped up his skirt and dived under his skivvies to get a whole, huge handful of his ass. Squeezing him filthily. Grabbing him like he wants to take a chunk out of him.

Also with the poofy skirt pushed up and out of the way, Bucky can feel the hot line of Steve's cock against him.

Jesus.

He likes it. He really likes it. He really likes him in this tiny, little getup. They've only just gotten alone, and he immediately had to jump him, and--

“Good boy,” Steve's voice is just a hot and just as close as his dick, pressed into his neck. Humid, dripping with arousal.

His voice is enough of a reward for Bucky, but Steve is generous. He adds to it. Letting his hand travel from his waist up his front, heavily dragging over his hip and stomach and chest until he gets to his nipple. They're still hard. Aching points on his chest. Needing to be touched.

“Nnngh,” another unintentional sound comes out of him when Steve thumbs his left nipple, sending a skittering spark down to his dick and pushing the shirt up.

Steve coos at him, the low hum rumbling through his chest and into Bucky, and Bucky… Bucky is washed away with another wave of heat, flushed heat to toe, and melting back onto Steve's chest. He doesn't budge. A fuckin’ brick wall. All muscle. God.

“That's it,” Steve encourages him, two thick fingers grazing his tight hole between his cheeks, making him shiver bonelessly, “see? That wasn't so hard. Just be good. Lemme look at you.”

Bucky’s so distracted that he doesn't even snip at Steve for doing much more than looking at him. He quivers, head to toe, without a single coherent thought in his head. "Steve," he pleads.

"Jus' lemme look," he reiterates, his voice a delicious purr and his hands dangerous paws, hitting him exactly where it counts.

[ivestas]

bro,,,your last ghost one,,,,head full, big thonks

what if hound!reader never went looking for simon because she thought he was dead?? or better yet, she DID look, so vigorously in fact that her superiors at the time maybe misinformed her of his death, even going as far as planting fake evidence??👁👁

also im thinking about old nicknames..,.,hitting him with the "si-guy" or "'mon-mon the man" or smth 💀

can’t say goodbye to yesterday

PART TWO TO ‘HEARTS ALIGNED’

Summary: You were deceived by the same people you fought for. You discuss it with Ghost. 

Tags: soldier!fem!reader (call sign “hound”) x ghost (2022 version), childhood friends, smoking, canon divergence of both the game and the oneshot, barely edited, death, lowkey konig x reader

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: anon, you're genuinely such a GENIUS!!!! those thonks fr are gold bc now my head is full of thonks too hehe---this post will hopefully extend those clever thonks and added more??? 

You were sitting against the wall while Ghost was laying in his cot. The night had grown old, but you refused to leave him—that won’t happen again, not now, not ever. 

You were on your third cigarette, the smoke having long since coated your mouth in a thick layer of cheap tobacco and newspaper. Ghost didn’t seem to mind, laying on his side, watching you with tired eyes—more so watching the cigarette. 

Extending it forward, your head tipped to the side. “You sure you don’t want one?” 

“No. I should be sleeping.” 

“You’re eyeing my cigarette though.”

“Just lost in thought.”

“About smoking a cigarette?” 

He huffed. “No. Just...” he sat up now, the cot straining under his movement. “You’ve changed. And you also haven’t—and you haven’t told me why you didn’t search for me.”

You frowned.

“Jus’ tell me that. Tell me why. I don’t give a bloody fuck if you were just too lazy too—”

“Smoke with me and I’ll tell you everything.” Your voice was strained. 

Emotions were high, tension was thick, maybe it was foolish to think that would just dissolve by planting yourself in his room. You weren’t kids. This wasn’t just a blow-up about something dumb, and you hated it. Because at least when you were kids, the arguments were insignificant, the worst that could happen is you calling him a ‘booger-brained idiot’. 

This was real. This brought true hurt.

You were thankful when Ghost finally nodded, getting up and sitting across you on the floor. Despite sitting criss-crossed, he was huge. He towered over you. König would often shimmy away, giving you a little space—he’d bend his body downward in a vain attempt to dwarf himself.

But Ghost sat tall. He stared right at you and lifted a hand. 

You gave him the cigarette. 

You watched as he lifted the balaclava a little, setting the end at the bridge of his nose. It was just a small sliver of his face, but fuck did it strike you right at your heart. 

His face was all firm lines—carved and rigid, with the lightest scar running along his lips. 

Simon—smaller, younger Simon—had a round face. Soft cheeks, a crooked smile, unscarred.

You looked away to the side at the hard concrete wall, back pressed against it. 

A waft of smoke hit you, then a finger lightly tapped on your hands. 

You turned. Ghost was lifting the cigarette to you. 

Taking it, you murmured a quick thanks before taking a puff out of it yourself. Ghost tugged down the balaclava once more. 

“Why didn’t you search for me?” 

“I did,” you responded simply. “It was when I was younger. Naive. More trusting. You know, I searched for you every moment I got—thought you still went by ‘Simon Riley’. Even went as far as to go to the superiors and ask all nicely—told them, ‘he’s the son of that piece of shit drunkard, the one who you constantly kissed up to.’” You laugh though it’s devoid of any humor.  

Ghost only watched, listened, eyes flicking between the cigarette and your straying gaze. 

“They—they told me you were dead. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. ‘Simon Riley was killed in action a few years back’ one of them had told me, all sad-like and frowning. ‘He was a good soldier.’” You scoffed. “No fanfare, no tricks, they just—they said you were dead. Showed me a document or two, I hardly fuckin’ remember, I just... I tried to forget. Not to care.”

Your hands were shaking. You didn’t know why. Your heart was silent, so was your mind, but your body—it was moving on its own. As though shedding a deeper feeling your own mind couldn’t process. 

“So can you imagine my surprise when, just a few months ago, a man named ‘Ghost’ happens to be registered as ‘Simon Riley’ in their files? I couldn’t believe it, thought there was another Simon Riley whose from the UK, but I was curious. So... yeah. I ended up in KorTac ‘cause I heard rumors 141 was gonna come along and do some mission together.” Again, you laughed. “Then I saw you—and fuck, did I tell you how much you’ve grown? You look so different—actually can I say something weird?” 

“Yeah.” His eyes met yours. 

An unfamiliar smile formed on your lips. “It... it makes me happy, seeing you with that Scot, all grown, and... it’s hard to put into words, but it makes me feel proud. And it also hurts like a bitch.”

He hummed. “Could say the same.” 

“Then say the same. I want to hear it, Simon.”

“It makes me feel proud, and it hurts like a bitch.” 

You snorted. “Ass.”

He reached for your cigarette. You handed it to him. “So... does that clear things?” 

“Yep,” he tugged his balaclava off this time, pushing the cigarette between his lips. He’s handsome. “Shoulda guessed you’re too much of a gullible dumbass to find me.” 

“You piece of—keep talking shit and I’ll kick your ass!” You reached for the cigarette. He moved away from your reach, a shit-eating grin now plastered on his face.

“You kickin’ my ass? I’d like to see you try, pipsqueak.” 

“Don’t test me mon-mon.” 

He glared. “Mon-mon?”  

“Sorry, wait, mon mon the man—my bad, nearly forgot the whole damn title.” 

“Keep callin’ me that and I’ll be the one kicking your ass.” 

“Not gonna listen to a guy named si-guy.” 

“Shut. Up.” 

You laughed. It was dumb and childish—not even that funny, frankly—but something about Simon frowning all seriously brought it out of you. 

A moment later, the frown disappeared, and Simon handed the cigarette back with a  little smile.  

Bonus headcanons (post oneshot):

When you two were kids, you often took the role of the mature one to reign in any dumb ideas that Simon schemed, though you’d participate in them moments later. 

The roles have reversed now: you are the dumbass and Ghost tries his best to keep it under control. 

The moment you’re near Ghost, a little layer of your cold exterior melts a little and you allow yourself to drop your guard a little and be loose-lipped—though, in public or with the guys, you tone it down a little and still address him as Ghost. 

In private though? The names are everything except for Ghost. 

Si-guy, mon-mon the man, syphilis, Simon says, se-si-so-fum (fe-fi-fo-fum), etc. 

Half the time the names just don’t even correlate with his and he quickly just got used to it. 

No one really notices the change between the two of you except for Soap, who takes note of the small glances the two of you exchange like it’s a secret language that could only be communicated between you guys.

He even noticed the small brush of your hand against Ghost’s shoulder after a particularly difficult mission and he returned it moments later. 

He has no idea if your friends, lovers, or just like?? Related maybe?? even if it would make ZERO sense for that to be the case.

In regards to König, Ghost would be protective. 

He wouldn’t be shy to voice his thoughts against the relationship because he’s seen how monstrous König could be on the battlefield and worries that he’s just hiding that ‘true persona’ of his for whatever reason. 

Also because he’s possessive; he’s convinced himself he’s just looking after you but he doesn’t like the idea of you straying away again but this time for some other guy. 

He also doesn’t know if he likes you romantically or not: he likes you, but he has no idea if the strength comes from a romantic pull or if it’s just platonic. He just wants you close. 

Also, both of you know each other’s tells; old habits die hard, and the tells you both had of discomfort from childhood still exist to this day.

Simon would go quiet and have a very specific stare that just kind of... glazes over. It’s dissociative.

You’d gently pry him out of that state with uncharacteristically soft words, making random observations or jokes. 

Whenever you're in a similar state, he'd just sit beside you and kind of lean in—he might just straight up grab your hand and squeeze if no one is nearby.

Overall, to any outsider, you guys would just appear to be comrades with the same layers of cold and bile, but in reality, you guys have history.

Despite the time that had passed, you'd still call each other the best of friends.

You're satisfied with that, but Ghost is unsure if he wants something more.

Until then, he'll just shoot König glares until he figures out what he really wants.

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

[stonebutchstories]

Spent Smoke

Submissive stone butch service top/ Dominant butch bottom

Mathilda is the OFOS tough guy of the group. Or, that’s what her butch friends assume, anyways. There are some long-needed revelations at the last bonfire party of the season that leads to an unexpected new experience for Matt and the grouchy butch who she just can’t seem to get along with.

cw: characters get into a verbal argument, discussion of gender dysphoria and homophobia/transphobia within the lgbt community, spitting, smoking, D/S, use of petnames (puppy, sir), degradation, humiliation, face slapping, oral sex, non-stone character is partially unclothed, stone character is clothed/only touched on their packer, outdoors.

“Straight people always talk like strapping is a selfless act, and I don’t wanna speak for everybody, but to me, that’s bullshit. I get way into it.”

Ryan is ranting about strapons again. This is pretty regular at this point, if he gets even one drink in him he can’t shut up about it.

“Here he goes.” Maya rolls their eyes.

“I’m like, I mean- I hope we can be real here - I’m like closing my eyes and-“ he presses finger to temple, miming a telepathic gesture, humming like a ufo.

The guys break into percussive little hisses, not quite laughter- the kind you only make at rude jokes. We all came out this weekend to Ryan’s for a bonfire, probably the last one of the season. It’s starting to get chilly and everyone is compensating with layers, except for Ryan, who is drinking the glow into his cheeks and thoroughly making a fool of himself. We’re all entertained, though. But my attention isn’t on him.

Annie shoves his shoulder.

“Man, cmon-“ she doesn’t enjoy the drunken carrying on. She doesn’t really enjoy much of anything, as far as I can tell. She’s the designated hater, an up-and-down contrarian.

“It’s like the fucking drift!” Ryan interjects. “You feel it! If you’re cool and gay enough. I mean, I know I do.”

Scattered nods to that. I can definitely relate.

“It’s not like- God, Ryan, you can’t be comparing sex to Pacific Rim and expecting us to believe you’ve had any.” Annie laughs.

“Fuck you!” Ryan grins. He reaches for his coozy, intent on overdoing it tonight. “What’s it like, then?”

Annie’s jaw snaps closed just a little too suddenly, and she hesitates just a second with the stuttering response. That’s all it really takes- we know what we know, and we know Annie doesn’t.

“You’ve never-?” Maya asks in hushed tones.

“I have!” She’s red. “I have many times.” She says it under her breath, the kinda way where it’s pitiful how obvious the lie is.

“What!!? Annie, I thought you were a dom. You’ve never strapped?” Ryan’s a little too gone for subtlety.

She rolls her eyes. “Domming and strapping aren’t synonyms, dumbass. Don’t you know the difference?”

I chime in for the first time all evening. “I don’t.” I do know, but I’m being purposefully obtuse- I wanna know more.

Annie’s jaw sets on edge a little, tension straining her face. She squints a little when she has to make eye contact with me, like it stings her to do it. “I mean like… I’m the dominant one, but I’m also the one...”

The air goes stale as her thought trails off. The boys are not jeering and laughing- we are intent listeners with eyes fixated on her. Everybody’s heard about Annie being a dom, but we’re eager to satisfy the curiousity about how exactly she does it.

She clears her throat, dispelling the dizzy atmosphere. “Whatever. I’m not giving you guys free tips. Keep being boring and cishet-adjacent and conflating shit.”

“Annie, we all took gender studies. We know.” Ryan tries breaking the tension with some banter. There’s no laughter, though.

“What about old school over here. They said they don’t.” Annie jabs a thumb at me. She doesn’t even deign to look my way or say my name.

Listen, I get it- I’ve always gone for the 50’s type dyke look. I tend toward the archetype, and I’m proud of that. The rest of the guys are up and down modern butches- pin jackets, basement stick and pokes, all sporting the infamous at-home clipper mullet. I do stick out from the rest of my guys- I tend to get handed the check. I know it upsets them, the way that even in a group of butch dykes there is a hierarchy of boyhood- and I know that they have assumptions about me because of that. But I’m happy to dispel them.

“I just wanted to know. But I’m submissive, actually.” I take a long pull of my cigarette, letting that one simmer.

Annie fractures, unable to contain her surprise.

I nod, exhaling in her direction. I shift my posture a little more upright. I’m the tallest in the group- and I know when I cross my arms I look imposing. Maybe it’s because I just told all my beloved and respected butch friends that I’m a sub, but I’m feeling a little nervous. It’s easiest to compensate by looking tough.

Annie’s shock transforms into a scowl. “I don’t believe you.”

“Annie!” Ryan scolds. “You literally JUST said we’re being open minded about this.”

“I don’t believe them, because I know, and we ALL know, they top. I know people they’ve topped. They’re not serious, they’re fucking with me. Because they think it’s funny.” Annie is indignant, copying my posture with acerbic sarcasm. “Because they don’t think I can be dominant, so they’re being fucking condescending and making a joke.”

I ash into my empty can. “You gotta stop assuming everybody’s out to get you, babe.” I lean back, spreading my knees apart. Peering over the bonfire, I can see how livid Annie is. She’s actually meeting my eyes now, and it makes my stomach drop. I think the nonchalant response was a misstep, because that look says I am dead meat.

“You know exactly why we assume people are out to get us, BABE. It’s how we stay alive. You know how it feels. That’s why I’m disappointed in this bullshit coming from you.”

Ryan looks at his shoes. Maya takes an extra big swig from her drink. I’ve incited Annie’s righteous homosexual fury.

“It’s immature to inflict that same shit onto your own community because you think butches have to be some greaser stereotype to be allowed in. I’m sorry you feel like the definition of butch is changing and it makes you mad, but I don’t apologize for pissing you off. Get over yourself.”

My face doesn’t shift. Too late to back down. “Annie, I think that’d be a profound criticism of me if I weren’t dead fucking serious.”

She guffaws. “So, what, you’re topping all these people just for shits and giggles? And you’ve secretly hated it all along?”

I shrug. “Hate is a strong word, but yeah. Essentially, yeah.”

Annie seems surprised. “But you…” She trails off, but then course corrects. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been such a dick to me.”

Now, that throws me. “Excuse me??”

“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice. You treat the butches who don’t fit your ‘masculinity quota’ like dirt. You’ve been hanging out with us for years now and I’m the only person here you don’t make an attempt to be kind to, or even SPEAK to. You make it obvious you have a problem with the way I present.”

Now I’m bewildered. “I… have no problem with you.”

“Unbelievable!”

Ryan steps in again. “She’s not wrong, Matt. We all have kind of noticed it.”

“Oh, so you guys have KNOWN she was being this way and said nothing? Thanks a lot, guys. Fuck solidarity, I guess!”

“Seriously, Annie, I have no problem with you whatsoever-“

“You know, this is why I fucking HATE city queers. You act all collectivist and holier than thou and shit but completely abide by your friends treating each oth-“

“Annie, I’m genuinely lost. What is all this about?”

“The fucking staring! You stare me down everywhere you see me. When I wear nail polish and jewelry and skirts and shit, you look at my outfits with this just-“ she gestures. “Face of disgust and contempt. You act like you can’t stand to be near me. When I walk in the room you leave. And when you’re not running from me, you’re staring and judging and-“

“That’s not why I’ve been staring at you.”

She’s silent. Everybody is, actually.

I have been avoiding her, she’s right. Just not because I hate her. I take another pull, making any excuse to look away.

“Didn’t know you thought it was like that. That’s on me, I guess.”

Annie clears her throat. “What?”

I’m still staring squarely opposite her. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just didn’t know how to make a move. So I tried to give you space. To be a gentleman about it. Seems like it didn’t work.”

Everybody sits in an uneasy stunned silence. Annies mouth is open in shock. I haven’t been aware of it till now, but evidently this is a major revelation to a group of people who thought I was a masc dom top with a personal vendetta against any butch who didn’t perform perfect androgyny. I guess if that was my view of things, I’d be surprised too.

The awkwardness is broken (or maybe elevated) by Ryan keeling over to puke behind a tree.

“Fucking lightweight.” Maya mutters. She rushes to hold his hair back.

A few minutes pass as we tend to him, trying to get him back upright. I try not to look over at Annie. She’s standing and watching us from right where she was, still reeling.

Maya speaks on both of their accounts. “I’m gonna take him to bed, you two can talk it out.” They shuffle to collect shoes and bags. Ryan staggers to his feet, being assisted back on the trail from the backyard fire pit to his place. Between Maya and his partner inside in bed, I’m sure they’ve got it handled. I sit back down.

We avoid looking any particular way as the scuffling sounds of keyrings fade into the distance. They recede into the general chorus of the late season cicadas, right next to the hammering pulse in my ears.

I clear my throat. “You, um. You good?”

Annie blinks back to focus. “Sorry, yeah. I was just um. Re-evaluating the last four-ish years of my life with completely new eyes.”

I laugh uneasily. “Well, y’know. Now you know.”

She sits. “When did this start?” Her voice is small and unsure.

“Pretty much when I met you.” I decide to roll her a cigarette, I know she smokes and I need to keep my hands busy. I get out my canister and papers.

“Why?”

I shrug. “You’re my type. Passionate, intelligent. Little bit rude, especially to me. Not bad looking, either.”

Annie is a lot shorter than me, and abstains from the baggy cuts and concealing shapewear most transmascs in our group favor. She doesn’t flinch from her body and its femininity or its masculinity, and she’s read more books about both subjects than anybody else in the group combined. She wears bright colors and strange jewelry, and although she’s not what you’d call traditionally dykey, she has a distinct look and a boldness that is simply unmistakable. She’s a butch.

And that’s saying nothing about her face, which is something else entirely. Not masculine, feminine, pretty or ugly. Nothing else works- the only word for her is Annie. You’d have to meet her to know.

She chuckles. “Thought you hated the way I look.”

My nervous smile flattens. There’s a pit in my stomach, because I know I’m about to say something really dumb.

“I used to watch you at the bar, outside smoking. When you were talking to other people, smart people who could keep up with you- you’d smile without thinking about it. And if I was lucky and sitting on the right side, if that other person was funny enough, you’d show your broken tooth.”

She scoffs, embarrassed. She chipped a tooth skating last year and started calling herself a vampire. She’s a good sport about it, but I’ve kinda brought it up in out of nowhere.

“Gee. And I was about to give you credit for being nicer than you seemed.”

“Not like that! Sorry. I just mean that. You don’t let your insecurity get in the way of your joy. Like, ‘fuck anybody who tells me I’m not butch enough!’ That. You’re totally guided by your passions in spite of the world and judgement. I mean, you don’t always bind, that kind of stuff. I wish I could be like that! I dunno, maybe I WAS insecure around you at first, but I never hated you. Maybe I was jealous. Ive never laughed so hard that I forgot my chipped tooth. I’ve never been so happy I forgot to hate my body. And you have that all the time. You’re probably the coolest person I know. Why wouldn’t I f- or, Why wouldn’t I have feelings for you?”

After I embarrass myself with that pointless blathering, I lick the papers and slot them into the canister. I cant hand roll right now, I’m far too shaky.

“You should be. Secure, I mean. You look the part. Tough guy dyke with big biceps and a white tee. People look at you and see butch. You pass. I don’t. I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of why I resented YOU.”

I chuckle at her. “I don’t roll out of bed and pass. It’s a lot of work. Uncomfortable work, sometimes. And I’m never sure if the work is me being more true to myself or just overcompensating. I don’t know if I would have changed my diet, or my physique, or any of that shit if I wasnt If I wasn’t terrified of being perceived as a woman. I once threw away slippers because I was afraid someone at home might see them and think I was too feminine for wearing them.”

She laughs. “We’ve all been there, I think.”

I shrug. “That’s being butch, sometimes. It is how it is. Smart people, like you, get over it in time. But for me… the level of hysteric self policing I do for no good reason at all… If I were at all secure, wouldn’t I be allowing myself any margin for femininity?”

She considers. “I guess I just assumed those things didn’t appeal to you.”

I shrug. “Honestly, most of it doesn’t. Like, I’m not dealing with internalized misogyny when I say I would never EVER wear heels or makeup. But some of it does! There’s some stuff I always wanted to try but I’d just be terrified that people would use it as ‘proof’ to say I’m not ‘man’ enough. As if man even means anything. But, still, you know?”

Annie is quiet for a moment before she asks to clarify.

“Like what kind of stuff?”

I fidget. “Like… like submission, I guess.”

Silence again. My ears are hot.

“Have you never…?”

“Not since I was a ‘straight girl’. If you’d even count that. And by the time I came out I was too afraid of being seen as feminine by my partners to risk it. But I always wondered if it was bad just because it was men. Like, maybe I’d like it if it were someone…”

I trail off, incapable of finishing this thought. It’d be too real if I said it out loud.

“Someone-” Annie resets. “ who wasn’t a man?”

I clear my throat. I have to say it.

“Someone like you.”

Annie stares me down. It’s obvious by now, as if it hadn’t been for like three years. Annie isn’t exactly private about her desires, and all of us in our little queer group in town know the rumors of what kind of stuff she gets up to. (Some of my luckier friends have experienced it firsthand.) The truth is, I didn’t just want to be bossed around by some random lesbian in the typical way. If that were the case I would have had many opportunities already. I wanted her.

I am still stone, or, at least I think so. It’s been a reckoning with what I want for a few years now. Some parts of it feel incompatible. Some times I used to wonder if the way I like it is even something that exists. It’s been easier to just be a stone top, and I certainly don’t dislike it, but it’s not the entire truth. Then I met Annie. I had privately fantasized about dom bottoms, especially the pretty twinkish transmasc ones before. But putting a face to that daydream, thinking about giving her everything she wants, doing everything she tells me to… Of course, she hated me right away, and I’d never overstep, so I just admired from a distance. Which apparently only made her hate me more.

She stands from her little fold out chair and approaches me, closing the distance. She props a knee up on my lap, leaning into my space.

“You sure you want someone LIKE me…” she tips my chin up for us to meet eyes. “Or just me?”

Heat shimmers across my face and ears, and I know I’m bright red.

“Annie.” My hand rests at her jawline, trembling.

She takes the lumpy hand rolled cigarette from my hand.

“Light.” It’s not quite a question, not yet a command. But I obey.

She tips her head back as she takes a long drag, holding the breath for a moment too long, and then blows it in my face. My eyes water and eyelids flutter against the smoke. I bite my lip to contain a subtle whimper.

“I can’t believe you’ve been right under my nose.”

I sense a movement in her tone, a tautness and pull. Like she’s lacing up. She takes another pull, drawing me in by the chin to shotgun. Annie leans toward me, foreheads together and lips only barely apart. I try to lean into her mouth, but she stills me and tuts.

“No, no. Just take it.”

Christ alive. She holds me right where I am and lets me take her breath without kissing her lips. I try to slow my open-mouthed panting enough to inhale it. My eyes shut and I pray with everything I’ve got that she’ll let me kiss her tonight, if I behave. I want to behave.

Annie takes a seat in my lap, straining the little camper chair’s one person capacity. She takes turns switching off the cigarette between herself and shotgunning me. I know better than to speak unless spoken to, so the minutes pass by with only the sound of my breathing to fill them. As we hit the end, she leans back over herself to stub it out on the back of her hiking boot, and says something I completely miss. I was too focused on the curve of her neck into her collarbone, licked gently by flame and shadow.

“What?” I mumble.

She laughs. “I said you’re hard.”

I look aside, fists clenched at my sides. I guess at this angle, she can feel what she’s sitting on.

Annie runs her fingers through my hair. “If you want this, I mean like right now, tell me.”

I’m already ready. My body isn’t moving, but my mind is at its knees. I want it right now.

“Yes.” I nod, trembling fingers latching onto her belt loops.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I’m slightly panting as she traces fingertips up my neck. “Please.”

Annie thumbs over my bottom lip, all confidence. She knows just how bad I want it, and that it’s all up to her when or if I get it.

“Please?” Annie’s holding back, maybe to tease. It’s working.

I don’t know what she’s trying to prompt me to say, but I’d say it a hundred times if she’d let me kiss her. I feel stupid and desperate and out of my body completely. I could give a shit if all my teeth are chipped and everybody knows. Annie’s in my lap.

She can see it on me now, the response she wanted. The feeling of control lids her eyes. She looks me up and down, and gives me what I asked so nicely for.

Annie’s lips are soft and full, and she kisses sweeter than I’d imagined. I know I’m shaking, and I hope she’ll chalk it up to the cold. She doesn’t open her mouth into mine much, just lets me enjoy this moment I’ve been waiting for without thinking about anything that might come next. She trails little incendiary touches up my torso and lets her arms rest at my shoulders, wrapping me in thick wool and flannel. Forgetting my hesitation, I wrap my arms around her too.

We both taste like campfire coals and ash and the river on the fifth of July. Spent smoke. The aftermath of the release of our grand romantic kinetic energy. All this waiting, and that explosive moment. After it all, it’s just me and the butch of my dreams. Annie pulls away first.

“Tell me how. Tell me clearly. I don’t fuck people who don’t know their own boundaries.”

I pause. “Nothing under the boxers. Chest is okay I think. No biting. I’m not into most pain stuff, but like, hair pulling and face slapping is appealing I guess. I like it because it’s degrading, not really because it hurts. And I really like… uh-“

This is almost too embarrassing to admit to someone who knows my full name and address and all my friends. I really hope I stay away from her bad side after today.

“I really like, um. Being called puppy.”

She leans back and her eyes go big. This has surprised her immensely and pleasantly. “Oh, you’re so sweet!” She peppers kisses to my neck, very soft. I think she’s trying to make sure I’m not self conscious about it. “I never get to play with puppies. This is gonna be so fun.”

I stutter. “Do I need like, a safeword or something?”

“Not unless saying ‘stop’ is gonna be a difficult for you in the moment. I never ever do any ‘no means yes’ kind of play though, so if I get the sense you’re uncomfortable I’ll stop. Though I’d really appreciate it if it’s more verbal. I don’t know your body yet, and I can’t always tell.”

“I can tell you. I don’t think I’m- I don’t think I’ll go quiet.”

“No?” She combs back my curls teasingly. “You loud, puppy?”

I’m stunned beyond reaction. She chuckles.

“Wonder if I can make you bark.”

I feel like I need to take a lap from that one. That crazy rollercoaster sinking feeling drops from my throat straight to my cunt. I would like that very much.

“Aww, weren’t you just saying you don’t get shy? That’s alright. Maybe better to save that for later, we don’t wanna wake up Ryan and them.”

I nod, a little lightheaded. “So there’s gonna be a later?”

Annie muses. “Depends. You gonna be a good boy?”

“Yes.”

She draws me in for another long, soft kiss.

“Good. For today, you’re not touching me unless I tell you to. Feel free to beg anyways, though. I like the way you say ‘please’. Got it?”

“Yes.”

She seems content with that. My hands return to my sides. Annie starts to grind her hips into mine. My eyes slam shut and I try to restrain my helpless sounds. Through the wincing and whimpering I can hear Annie’s smile start to darken.

“Y’know I really DID think you were kidding, puppy.” She traces a finger down my collarbone. “Looks can be deceiving.”

She rolls her waist down into me, concentric circles getting smaller and faster each time she grinds.

“Open your mouth?” She asks it like a question, testing the waters. I obey on instinct, and she marvels. “Good puppy!”

Fuck. Fuck. A needy noise escapes my open mouth, and she gently wraps her thumb and first finger around the base of my jaw, keeping me open for her. She makes no move to spit or shove fingers inside, just stares as drool beads at the end of my tongue, ready to drip all over myself. She tilts my head in different directions for better views, reveling in my useless tears and moans.

“Ohhh, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me all this time.” She reaches down to the fly of her pants, using her unoccupied hand to touch herself. She gasps lightly, finding a comfortable rhythm.

I whine, open mouthed and jealous. I wanna touch it so bad. Thank god I’m allowed to beg.

“S-sir-“

She grasps my neck slightly.

“No, no, no puppy- you’re gonna call me my NAME.” She snakes a hand through my hair, tugging my head firmly to the side. She whispers into my neck- “People get names. But you aren’t a person right now, are you?”

I pinch my eyes shut and hold back a deep moan.

“Answer me.” She yanks my hair, hard.

“No.” I can’t say any more than that. I’m trying to keep it together.

“No, you’re not. What are you?”

I was hoping to hold out longer, not to get too worked up too fast. I have a little bit of dignity, don’t I?

She slides her hips up and down in a torturously slow pattern, and I can just barely hear how wet she is while her fingers pump in and out.

“Y-your puppy. I’m your puppy, Annie.”

She rewards me with a deep kiss, her tongue slipping all the way in and brushing across the roof of my mouth, making me yelp in surprise. When she wants to, she can kiss rough. I don’t usually get to let the person I’m kissing lead me like this. It’s a thrilling inversion, this thing I’ve been waiting and wishing for. I let her take control however she likes. She pulls away and laughs, all my collected spit stringing the two of us together. She did that on purpose.

“That’s right. Pathetic little puppy. You love to do what I say.”

I swallow. “Yes.”

“And you acted so tough, too! How embarrassing for you to end up like this.”

She unfastens my belt and pants and silently mouths ‘can I?’ to me, an aside in her dominance. I nod, hesitantly. I want her to use me however she likes, but I didn’t expect I’d need to hardpack today. It’s just my everyday soft packer, not really for anything besides alleviating dysphoria, much less penetration. But if she wants it, then by all means it’s hers to use.

“That must have been so hard for you, huh? Acting tough. Acting like you’re not just a worthless desperate toy.”

She strokes the back of her hand over my jeans, giving only the lightest sensation.

“Annie, please. I-“

She stuffs her fingers into my mouth, the ones she just had inside her. I’m not even mad she’s keeping me quiet, she just tastes so good.

“I’m so glad I get to see you like this. Aren’t you?”

I nod, but she does it for me anyways, dragging my head up and down with the fingers in my mouth. I feel so used, and I want more.

“Dumb little butch puppy. My favorite type of whore to use.”

Jesus Christ. My vision is starting to tilt and spin as I whimper. Annie is doing a number on me.

“Do you like that? You like when I degrade you?”

I nod shyly. She kisses my forehead.

“I’m gonna use your cock now, sweetheart, and you’re going to keep still and take it.”

Through the haze of my dizziness, I shake my head. Annie removes my fingers, pausing with concern.

“Y-you can’t.” I sputter.

“No?” She softens, worried she’s overdone it. I hold her spit-slick hand in reassurance.

“I’m not… uh, packing hard.”

“Ohh, I see.” The gears turn in her head. “You CAN’T get hard for me, can you? I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Sweet puppy.” She presses a kiss under my chin.

She breaks for a moment and peppers me with gentle kisses and insisting squeezes to my packer. It’s nice, and it makes my head get even fuzzier. Then she gets mean again.

“You know, I feel sorry for you-“ she reaches under my jeans to the fly of my packing shorts, fingers gently stretching the soft elastic. My back arches as she touches me, even indirectly. I groan. “You want it so bad, but you can’t get hard. Poor thing.”

She brushes over the silicone of my packer with an almost condescending air, patting it like the hood of a car. I swear to god I can feel every fingertip. I can’t get hard for her, no matter what she does or how completely and totally I want to submit to her. Annie knows this, of course. That’s what she’s mocking me for. She’s on the money, though, because this is definitely my sort of my thing.

“Please, Annie, can you use my fingers?”

She glares. “No.”

“I wanna please you, however I’m allowed to. I want-“

She grasps my chin firmly, tugging my jaw open and spitting into my open mouth. She laughs as I accept my humiliation.

“What would you do for it, puppy?”

“What?”

“What would you do for the chance to fuck me?”

I keep fists at my sides, squirming as she traces fingertips along my packer. She’s stroking up the shaft, and I feel a parallel ache under my boxers. Every movement she makes on my packer mirrors itself in my body, phantom sensation. My legs pinch together and I try to get my heaving breaths to slow. I cant focus enough for a specific answer, so I beg.

“I would do anything. Anything you tell me.”

Annie smirks. “Woooow, anything? How obedient. You must really like that, huh babe?”

God, hearing Annie call me babe is too much. I’ve been wanting this forever. It’s more enticing to be ‘babe’ than to be her puppy. Makes me think about what it’d be like to be with her full time.

“Mmmh, I can feel how desperate you are right now. It’s a shame you can’t get hard for me.”

I close my eyes again. It’s kind of a habit when I’m feeling too much too fast. Between our hips, I can feel the pressure of her movements, just barely enough to torment. She rights my shoulders insistently, commanding me not to look away. Annie whispers in a husky tone.

“Bet you’d like it if I was all bent over and submissive. Bet that’s what you’re used to. Tough guy like you, probably seen a hundred pretty bois and girls faking it for you, calling you daddy. Good for your ego, right?”

“Annie-“ I whimper. She’s grinding down hard against me, and I feel it all.

“You always get to be the big power dyke. But that’s not what you WANT, huh, puppy?”

“No.” I don’t feel myself speak, but I hear it. “No, it’s not.” I moan.

“Noooo, it isn’t, is it?” She pats my head condescendingly. “You wanna be someone’s toy. You wanna be an obedient little puppy.”

“F-fuck-“ I stammer.

She slaps me, quick and hot across my jawline. Her face has turned stony. “Language.”

“S-sorry, sir- Um. Annie.” I said sir again. I know not to make that mistake twice, or I’ll be in trouble. It thrills me knowing that I’m probably going to anyway.

Her sternness recedes. “Listen to yourself. Can’t remember the rules.” She traces fingers over my collarbone, making me flinch. “So hard to think straight like this. You feeing dizzy yet, puppy?”

My body stutters under hers, trying fruitlessly to buck my packer into her. My head feels warm and kinda buzzy. It’s hard to think, the way she moves over me and hangs onto the last syllable of every word for just a breath too long. I really am getting dizzy.

“You keep saying ‘sir’. You ever had a Sir before, puppy?”

I shake my head, a little to stupid to speak. Not too stupid to moan.

“Where’d you pick that up then, I wonder? That little habit, how did that creep its way in?”

Annie carries on asking me embarrassing questions. As she continues, she reaches back to her zipper. Annie ruts down on my packer, and I feel her two fingers stroking away from between layers of fabric and silicone. I can feel all the movement as it presses into me- I’ve been extra sensitive to even the slightest touch on T. Since starting I’ve also lost all my endurance. I used to be able to top for hours on end and never even get close to cumming, but now all it takes is a sexy butch in my lap and I’m having to count to ten and breathe slow to hold on.

I feel the pressure and Annie’s own growing need to cum instead of seeing it; I can’t look away from her eyes. When my focus wanes, or I try to look aside, she firmly corrects me. The looking is intense and uninterrupted. It gives me this deepening feeling, like I’m going outside my body. At some point, I lost concentration on her words, but an errant moan punctuates her and snaps me back.

“Ahhh. Do you-“ she reorients her focus from touching herself back on her little submission speech. “Do you think about Sirs a lot? Do you fantasize about being bossed around?”

I don’t answer because I can’t focus on what she’s saying right now. But for the record, the answer is yes.

“Sweet puppy. I can do that for you. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take good care of you. Would you like that?”

I nod, the movements of my head getting lazy and loopy. Annie kisses my forehead.

“Good boy.”

She guides me to my knees. It feels so right. Damp leaves crunch under the palms of my hands. I look up at Annie, emptyheaded as she pulls her jeans partways down. She’s got a full thicket of dark curly hair that wraps up to her stomach and down to her calves, collecting into cute little curls in front. She has more hair here than on her head. That’s the way I like my dykes.

“Gonna put that mouth of yours to work.”

I grin stupidly, and get to it. Annie props her knee on the seat of the camping chair, tucking me head in tight into her wetness. I don’t wanna think. I just wanna be good and take it.

Annie is dripping down her thighs, coating my chin the moment I make contact. I don’t waste time with the typical tender thigh kisses and teasing, I just dive in. I think she likes the roughness from the way she yanks my hair sharply. My tongue brushes the underside of her clit.

“Fuuuck.” She grunts. “Good boy.”

Her hips open wider, reflexively responding to the touch. I’m definitely not unfamiliar with giving head- I’ve done it more than my fair share of times, but this feels different. Annie is right when she says there’s a difference between topping and dominated. I could be strapping or fingering or fucking her any way in this moment -and I would be lucky to- but it wouldn’t be dominant just because it’s penetrative. Every rock of her hips reminds me who is in charge, and I can’t pretend for a second that I’d prefer if it was me. Her wetness rolls off my tongue, all other thoughts faint and twinkling in the vast emptiness of my awareness.

My tongue drags up her slit tentatively, still warming her up. Annie is very responsive, guiding my mouth with forceful shoves and tugs to my hair. She mutters curses and little encouragements that make my thoughts melt and vanish. I switch between movements every so often, reveling in the sensation of her body in my mouth. Some things make her shake, others make her grunt. Each reaction and bit of praise makes my chest warm and my brain fuzzy. The tip of my tongue grazing her clit makes her moan and arch involuntary.

“G-god, you’re so fucking good at that.” She trembles, a bit too preoccupied to be rough.

I suck lightly, massaging her inner labia with my tongue. She tastes salty, a little sour too. It’s musky and warm in a way that makes me wild. My lower lip strokes her up and down and I switch to gentle flicks over the head of her clit with my tongue. Her hips rock into me.

“Jesus, ahh- Right there.” She whines.

She pulls in my chin, angling me how she likes. I feel used and controlled and thrilled at every unspoken instruction. The way she fills my mouth with smoke and spit and dripping cunt and whatever else she could possibly want to. The way empties my head. I dive my tongue into her and suck her stiff clit.

Annie braces a hand on the back of the chair. “Fuck. Fuck. Keep going, puppy, I’m gonna come.”

I keep sucking right there, faster and harder. Annie thrusts into my face and yanks on my hair so hard it feels like it’s gonna rip out. Each pitch of her hips pushes my shoulders into the seat of the chair. I feel so good being pushed between her body and the ground, it feels like where I’m supposed to be. I just wanna be good.

Annie cums, screaming out and gushing into my open mouth. I can taste her pulse on my tongue.

“Good boy.” She pants. “Good boy.”

Her knees are shaking too hard to keep thrusting, so I grab her by the belt loops and guide her hips to ride it out.

“O-oh my fucking- Damn, babe-“ she throws her head back and laughs, a little delirious. “Damn.”

She holds onto my forearms with grasping, shaking fingers. She’s so wet and pulsating against my tongue, the taste is entrancing.

“Jesus, you’re strong.” She chuckles between overstimulated moans. “Fuck. Good boy.”

I keep going, enjoying the aching throbs and feelings of her body against mine. It’s not hard for me to basically pick her up to rut against my mouth at this angle. She seems to enjoy it a lot, tugging big fistfuls of my hair and laughing in that raspy devious tone. Annie tells me to keep going, and I listen like a good boy. A big part of me just really likes being so close to her. I really hope we get to do this again. When it starts to feel like too much, Annie steps back shakily.

“Aw, you- ah- you liked it that much.” Annie pulls me to look in her eyes with a firm tug on my fringe. “Say thank you.”

My eyes flutter open a little deliriously. I grin like an idiot, cum running down my chin.

“Thank you.”

Annie smiles too, taking a big breath. She wipes some wetness from the corner of my mouth with her thumb. She exhales slow, blinking herself to reality.

“Wow. Sorry, just- that wasn’t what I thought was gonna happen tonight.” She shimmies back all the way into her jeans, not enjoying the sudden realization that her bare ass is out in the woods.

“Me neither.” I shrug, still giddily smiling.

She looks at me in a different way than I’ve ever seen her look at anything. It’s sincere and gentle, not preemptively scathing in the way she has to be most of the time. She sits on the ground beside me and leans into my chest.

“Are you cold?”

I hum. “Little bit. You?”

“Yeah.”

She nods. We lie still together and catch our breaths for a minute.

“So, what now?” I stare into the fire. It’s on its last legs, the last logs burnt down into splintering coals.

“What do you mean? Like right now?”

“Just” I gesture vaguely. “In general.”

Annie thinks for a moment, curled into my chest. “I just wanna make sure you’re ok for a second.” She sits up a bit. “You’re feeing okay about all that, right? It was kind of a lot. It’s okay to feel weird, if-“

I grab her hands, reassuring. “I’m okay. It was a lot, but… yeah. It was really good.” I kiss her palm.

She nods and relaxes back into me. “That was your first time being, uh, submissive?”

“Mhm.” I rest my chin on the top of her head. “Big fan so far.”

She laughs. “You’re pretty good at it for a first timer.”

We both sigh.

“Is it… gonna be a regular occurrence now? Semi-regular?” She asks nervously.

I try to mask my eagerness. Hell yes. Annie has my full attention from now on. I mean, she did before, too. I’ve been pining for longer than I care to say.

“It can be. I would like it to be. Would you..?”

Annie squeezes my hand. “Yeah. I’m just surprised. But not unhappy. Very happy with it, actually.

I think for a moment before I decide to be stupid. It’s not a very long moment, though.

“I know you wanna do this, and I want to too, I’m very excited for that- but I do wanna also say that, um. I really like you, Annie. I have for a long time. And I don’t just wanna have sex, you know? I will, if that’s what you want, but I also wanna like, have a chance with you. If that’s also what you want.”

She thinks. “That’s… a bigger question. Hm.” Annie ribs a thumb over our clasped hands. “How about… you take me out on a date. I cant make promises about anything. I literally only just realized you don’t hate my guts. But um, you’re sweet. I wanna see where this goes. And I don’t wanna ruin that by being stupid and going too fast. So let’s just do one date. For now.”

I nod, fake suave. Im barely restraining my excitement. “Yeah. That works for me.”

She chuckles. “You don’t have to play it cool, dude. My head’s on your chest, I can hear your heartbeat going fuckin nuts. You’re not fooling me.”

I burst out laughing. “I’m trying to be the tough guy here!”

“Yeah, well, I see through your whole thing now. You’re really just a corny romantic.”

She kisses under my chin, and it’s so fucking disarming, I really stand no chance. She has me where she wants me, and wherever she wants me is where I wanna be too.

[dailyautophagy]

do you ever feel like you are doing the right things

that sentence is kinda different depending on which word you emphasize

but please emphasize Ever cause that’s what I did lol

I will shower for the second day in a row today

It feels wasteful lol but also like I can’t just keep leaving the day on me and then be shocked when I get a pimple lol like 👍 hey retard, your pores need to get cleaned out, they are tiny gutters. How many pores do we have?

You ever type a question and then highlight it to look it up instead of actually opening a different app and typing it again

Look lol

you ever do that?? It just OPENS safari for you lol

iPhones are a drop of evil in the bucket of WORLD EVIL so like stfu about the child slaves like who’s making androids because I think my iPhone maker kid is probably friends with your android maker kid. And I can’t worry about everything happening in the world or I’ll implode, so…. TRAFFICKING IS WORSE. These kids just have to hurt their hands. BOTH ARE NOT OKAY. But there are levels to the evil shit… there are levels to everything

Like scale of 1-10 where 1 is got no dessert and 10 is got molested how bad was your childhood

….. anyway lol so you know how some things just do not feel right lol

How do we do things we know are wrong

Not even WHY but literally how lol what brain function is that

we aren’t just input/output creatures??…. I mean, we are lol input food, output waste, but with thoughts it’s like - input information, scumbag brain decides to ignore half that information and run with some part of it, output action…

it just doesn’t make sense that I KNOW going to sleep early and getting up early is good for my literal brain chemistry - and still don’t do it consistently

like amyloid plaque cannot build up if you sleep correctly because our body CLEANS ITSELF INTERNALLY at night lol so yo if you eat late and your body has to DO DIGESTION guess the fuck what your scumbag brain is like hey I know if I don’t digest this food it will rot and kill you so I have to do this BEFORE i can start all of the other INTERNAL CLEANING sooo - oopsie if we don’t get to everything. and then we wonder why Alzheimer’s and dementia are a problem.

Barbara O’Neill taught me more about the brain than fucking …. Any class. Granted I didn’t take brain chemistry classes lol but do you know how many prerequisites I would have to take before I could get to this information lol idk if that’s how shit works anymore - I remember more of highschool than college tbh because I didn’t smoke weed until the senior year of highschool and then NEVER STOPPED like how do I have a job lol paperwork, is how. DO YOUR PAPERWORK. Cover your ass. Everything will be okay.

usually going back to sleep feels good so i assume it’s the right thing but alas sometimes just because something feels good does not mean it is the right thing lol like doing DRUGS

Also this man mowed the lawn yesterday and I didn’t even suck on his penis about it

That

Is

Unacceptable

I have take not one but two large shits so now I am going to shower instead of laying back down til 630 lol

Can I just say how much I love not having kids

But I do have the time to make kids breakfast like set up a school room lol like teachers can’t even imagine a class size of single digits let alone 1-2 lol it would be SO EASY no wonder home school kids seem weird they know everything before everyone else and then probably look around at society like ‘these stupid fucks’ lol

There was a kid in my neighborhood named Walter and we played with k’nex and he didn’t have a TV and I think my parents knew his parents were doing a better job than them …. They were lol

Okay time to shower for another 40 minutes :D

Kidding, should be less time cause I don’t need to scrape off layers of dead skin from my AGING FACE. Castor oil you bitch, rub it on you after shower, why you never remember to do it????

I guess morning rambles are my thing now

[voidwhump]

Day 4, Alt. 1: Betrayal

Behold! A guy with a name! This is Kiah, who you will see later under the title Blood, Sweat, and Tears.

Ingredients: Environmental whump, fucked up workplace

Despite how nice it felt to be wearing half decent equipment, Kiah couldn’t shake their nerves. They were looping over the sequence that had been laid out for them as their partner led the way into the thickening smog.

They were only paying just enough attention to avoid tripping over their own feet, jutting flakes of sharp, volcanic rock jabbing them through their heat proof pants whenever they looked up for too long. Get there, let your buddy watch your back, leave quickly. They hadn’t been given much to do, despite this apparently being some sort of skill test for them. It was probably just the environment then.

The heat was already suffocating, even through the layers of protection they wore, and the smoke was getting so thick they could barely see their partner only a few feet ahead. Kiah squinted, rubbing some grime off the outside of the glass shielding their eyes, and briefly sped up, hoping to close the distance a bit. This proved to be a mistake.

They barely registered the bruising pain in their shin before they went down hard, almost smacking their face on another rocky shard that probably would have shattered the lenses in their mask. Groaning, they got back to their knees, blinking reflexive tears out of their eyes.

“Wait up, would you? I can’t see fuckin anything,”

Their voice sounded muffled, as if the smoke absorbed the sound. No one responded.

“Hello?”

They stood up, shifting their weight around and finding that they could stand fine. Probably just a bruise. The cavern was dead silent. There wasn’t much water down here anymore, and not a lot of things liked to spend much time in temperatures this extreme. Before, they could at least hear the footsteps ahead of them, slightly out of synch with their own, but even those were gone now. 

“If you’re messing with me just because you think I scare easy, you’ll be fuckin sorry when you don’t get any credit for the haul I’m about to get. By myself.”

Still nothing. Even though it wouldn’t be out of character for their lovely coworkers to try to haze them or something, there was also a chance that he just hadn’t noticed them fall and kept walking. They palmed the cibite compass they’d been provided, just in case, and felt the weight shift in their hand as the small, drained crystal inside rolled towards the closest charge it could find. They could do this, even if they had been abandoned they should probably be where they were expected to be anyway. They set off, holding the route shown and described to them in their mind as vividly as possible. 

Or maybe they couldn’t do this. The heat had gotten steadily worse as they walked, which they were expecting to a degree, but the air cleared suddenly, all the smog trapped at the ceiling, and they rapidly retreated from what was clearly a set of active heat vents. They didn’t expel anything but heat, and some light, but the air shimmering around the cracked, rocky mounds made them look almost malevolent. 

Even the split second of being within ten feet of the thing had them pressing their hands through their gloves, checking to see if they’d still managed to burn themself somehow. It didn’t seem like it, but this route was absolutely not the right one. They backtracked in their head. They had been hoping for a straight shot, but that wasn’t working out. They hadn’t been paying much attention to the forks they passed, so they turned around to check again. It’s not like they wouldn’t be making the walk anyway. 

Kiah passed up the first few, their educated guess being dead ends or more vents, but finally they stopped at one and considered. It was hotter at the entrance, but the passage dipped down very slightly. It could be that the path itself would be a bit cooler, and the more they thought about it the more they felt like they recognized a few features that their supervisor had been talking about earlier. If those features actually described when they should make a turn was up in the air, but they figured this was an alright choice. They chipped a visible slice out of the fragile layers of rock around the fork with their chisel, marking it as already traveled and which direction was out.

Luckily, it seems that the route they picked was a pretty straight shot. After a little ways of tunnel and a weirdly circular cavern, the heat returns and they enter a relatively narrow crevasse packed full of cibite. The crystals refract the light from their lamp hundreds of times over, lighting the whole area with a flickering, yellowish glow. 

There’s still no sign of their partner, or anyone else. Kiah rolls their eyes and gets to work anyway. Time is still of the essence, as their supervisor put it. These tunnels are unstable, and waiting around might mean the difference between your way out still being there when you get back and your route being blocked. They start chipping away at the crystal, breaking thin spines of it off at the base and sliding them into the set of insulated tubes they’d been given to transport them. 

It’s not fast work, but they’ve never been a slacker. They’ve wedged themself a ways into the crevasse at this point, two thirds of their containers filled. It’s an extra 40 pounds, or just about, but the walk back won’t be too long now that they know their route for almost sure. 

They’re scoping out their next target when a distant scratching, clicking sound they’ve been ignoring abruptly shifts and echos in the space behind them. Kiah turns, holding their light behind a nearby cibite spire to amplify the light without pinpointing their location to whatever is approaching. It doesn’t sound like earth moving the way it did from a distance. 

A shadow on the wall appears, a many legged, flat backed omen of the creature casting it. Kiah doesn’t stick around for the real thing. They force their way into the crowded space ahead of them, counting on this crevasse not to put the dead in dead end.

Smaller cibite spines break off and shatter around them as they force their way deeper. Whatever’s behind them is still moving after them, hardened limbs creating soft chimes as its steps impact the crystals. There’s a branching tunnel up ahead, and Kiah takes a gamble on a tight but direct squeeze. They lose. A hidden cibite spike catches the treated fabric of their suit and punctures it. It misses their skin by inches, but the heat of the environment invades their protective coating. The crystal itself burns against their skin, making a sharp line of heat across their side and back that brings them one step closer to real panic. 

The creature behind them speeds up, encouraged by their predicament. They pull to the side, yanking the crystal out of their suit, away from their body. One of the cylinders they’re carrying is lost in their rush, catching on the same spike and rolling out of reach. Pushing past, tight to the crystals on their other side, Kiah sprints down the tunnel. They can’t move as quickly as they’d like, those familiar shards of rock impeding them, but they can move fast enough. The thing behind them didn’t have an easy time getting to this path either, but the rhythmic tapping behind them has resumed. It’s getting louder, they likely couldn’t see it through the fog even if they checked, but it’s probably gaining on them. 

The temperature starts to rise, and despite the situation they slow. They come to a stop as the pervasive fog starts to thin, and once again they are face to face with a set of heat vents. Kiah’s stomach drops. The thought that they actually might end up dead hadn’t really sunk in until right that second. Then, they recognize the vents. They’re the same ones they ran into earlier, and now that they’re looking from the other side they can see it’s only fifty feet or so until they’d be out of the heat. With their suit punctured though…

The steps of the creature speed and stop, and as they feel the air move behind them through the hole in their suit they realize the thing just jumped at them. They don’t have a choice. Kiah runs all out, not caring about getting closer to the vents than they technically have to. They’ll get burned either way. Even the parts of their body still protected are prickling in the oppressive heat, their chest hurting with every inhale. The area exposed to the heat started blistering the second they cleared the fog, and they can only hope they clear the vents before there’s permanent damage.

And then they’re through. They immediately trip again, over a fog obscured rock shard, landing hard on their knees before taking the rest of the impact more gracefully on their side. Kiah just lies there. The rocky floor digs into them through their suit, aggravating the minor burns that probably cover any part of their body where the suit fit even a little bit tight.

Their body aches, the strain of the actual work they did compounding with the burns and bruises. They’re sweaty, blistered, and still don’t know where the fuck their partner went. They get up, slowly. On top of it all, they’re actually crying a bit now. They can’t wipe their face through their mask so they just blink until their vision clears somewhat. There isn’t any real emotion behind it, so they’ll probably stop soon. They’re just tired.

It’s a long walk back to the company checkpoint. It probably takes them twice the time on the way back, hurting and weighed down with the cibite. Eventually the bright lights of the little underground shack go from distant blurs to defined lamps, and as they approach they see not only their supervisor, waiting as she said she would be, but also their alleged partner. They aren’t even upset anymore, nothing to be done about it now.

“Did I miss something?” Kiah sheds the cylinders into the racks placed just inside the shack, metal clanking on metal as they separate the filled containers from the empty ones.

“It looks like you didn’t miss much, you filled more than half of those all by yourself?” 

Well at least they’re impressive. 

“Sure. Wasn’t expecting to though, what happened to him?” They gesture at the guy who was supposed to be with them. 

“Oh, this was all you! Don’t worry, you’ll be compensated accordingly, you just never know what’s going to happen in the field, you know?”

Oh. That manages to ignite the last fuck they have to give. 

“If something else like this happens, I’ll make an educated guess and straight back. I don’t see why… messing with me like this would make for good training.” Kiah looks around for somewhere to sit. Their body is done for the day. Probably done for the next several days.

“You’ll get it once you’ve gotten some rest. Come on, lets get you back to first aid, looks like you need it,” She takes their arm on their less burned side.

They glance over their shoulder at the collaborator in this stupid scheme. He doesn’t look particularly apologetic. He’d better not be getting paid for this.

[mmm-amba]

ravyn lenae's hypnos has kept me great company so far in 2023. her music is kinda space-y, space in like atmosphere but also space in like... galaxy? (venom feels like i'm zooming through space in a rocket ship but i'm in first class and the seats are made of maroon, tufted velvet. and the air smells like incense and smoke.)

i like how her songs are layered and... her voice is so angelic and sweet but she balances it out with some melancholy, some instrumentals that are playful or deep. like, i'm thinking about how raveena has a really sweet voice too, and her direction is more entirely sweet. ravyn rounds out her songs. and i like how her voice is kind of an instrument too, like it's very layered.

venom is kind of space pop, and then inside out is such a delicate caress with smoooooth violin. ah yes that's how i would describe ravyn lenae -- delicate. delicate balances, fragile but also grounded, artistically arranged and layered. mwah amazing! i will probably go a song by song walk through again later. this was just an initial brain dump of my thoughts.

anyways, life updates and small reflections:

i got a monitor! hopefully my eyes and posture will improve.

my goal right now is to have no goals. to actually try and enjoy the present. see how things go. sink into whatever's happening right now instead of willing and criticizing and pushing myself to get somewhere else.

that's how i tend to approach my life, actually. i'm constantly working myself to get from point A to point B. the start to the end. but the end goal is actually too big, and i end up somewhere in the middle.

it's hard for me to appreciate making progress only to the middle. my brain says that as long as i didn't reach the end goal, i've failed, and i'm right where i started. but that's so utterly useless and sisyphean. i don't want to be stuck in a hyper shameful, high pressured, constant burnout cycle of "productivity".

and that is capitalism wiring my brain.

...

i also want to spend some time allowing myself to feel all the bad things about myself. when i'm in a good mood, i can explore the things that i think about when i'm in a bad mood.

...

so my small goal for this quarter is -- for my problem sets, i want to do one question on my own. i want to work through the problem solving process, find my own mistakes myself, and work through the math anxiety. and "one question" can mean like one part of a question.

i think my goal at the start of the quarter was to be 100% acclimated to school and be this uber smart and incredible student. but that's simply not going to happen. and this youtuber i was watching said -- there's no fun in being an overnight success. stop worrying about trying to be an overnight success because it won't happen.

and plus, fuck it, i really enjoy school. when i try to burden myself with getting everything done, that's when i start to hate it. but i want to enjoy it.

...

a question i've been returning to is -- "is this how life should be?" the part of me that loves logic and order and straightforward answers wants to answer this question right away. yes or no, this is how life should be. but i'm trying to make space for asking this question to myself and not having a straightforward answer, and simply just pondering without frustration or anxiety in the absence of a clean, easy answer.

so i've been wondering -- "is this how life should be?" -- in the context of

materialism / shopping / consumption

consumption / hedonism / food / substances

consumption / eco anxiety / climate change

hedonism / wealth / validation / respect

wealth / "security" / soothing anxiety / purpose

if my purpose is just to seek security, do i want to be stuck in a scarcity mindset?

purpose / community

purpose / frustration : what parts of me are innate? what parts of me can change? why is my first instinct to change myself? can i change myself to be less focused with change? isn't this a paradox? and that is anxiety

scarcity mindset / "fun debt" / critical, shaming self talk

purpose / community / complacency?

complacency / losing touch

[just-want-fluff]

fuck everyone but you

part 3 of the cigarette duet series

(masterlist)

eddie munson x gender neutral reader

cw: smoking, swearing

“I swear to God, I will murder you, Sunwell”. What a lovely way to wake up with a hangover.

I stare back at Steve, who was pacing around the bedroom already dressed, hand covering his mouth, unsure of what to do with himself. Robin was unbothered, sat on the rocking chair contemplating who had actually gone crazy: her friend—who was now walking in circles—or her other friend—who had disappeared last night only to come back and pass out immediately after.

“Not if I murder you first, Harrington!” I got a sudden burst of energy and jumped from the king sized bed, essentially jumping onto Steve’s back while I laughed. I stopped laughing when my head started pulsating. Goddamn hangover.

“Hey! Hey!” Robin sat up and tackled me, grabbing my arms and helping me get down from Steve’s piggy ride. “No murdering, okay? Not with everything that’s going on right now.”

“Look, I know I was late last night, I’m sorry. However, I am my own person. Speaking of which, I have just realized that it is embarrassingly late in the day and”—I take a pause for dramatic effect, raising up my pointer finger into the sky—“I have shit to do!”

I messily get dressed, gather my bag and check that my lighter is still in my jeans and that last night was not just some weird drunk hallucination I had of meeting Eddie Munson, which it wasn’t, in case you were wondering.

Steve and Robin also have to hurry so we all hop in the car, music blasting: Steve drives, Robin struggles with her mascara, basically tearing her eyelid apart, and I sit in the backseat as the freeloader. _____________________________ The sun sets once again, like it did the day before. I was in the parking lot of beloved Hawkings High, basically staring through the sun with my yellow sunglasses on. I try remembering what exactly I talked to Eddie about, but a single part of the conversation kept replaying in my head: “Same time and place tomorrow?”

Was it a joke? Or did he genuinely want to relight the chaotic friendship we had three years ago? I looked at the sunlit clock by the school, struggling to make out the time, but after some squinting it read “6.32”, close enough to the time I went out into the woods last night. I didn’t really have anything to do so, fuck it, right? At least, that was my mindset as I plugged in my headphones prepared for the long walk over to Skull Rock.

At last, I found myself sitting on the same rock as I did 24 hours ago, afraid I might be stuck in some time loop. This was so dumb, I thought. I’m so fucking stupid, I thought. Of course some old friend who I almost forgot existed wasn’t gonna show up, it was just a poor joke.

I lit up a cigarette, frustrated with myself. I stood up and walked around, looking at the poor scribbled trees with all the couples that wrote their names along the years. I basically couldn’t make out a distinct heart or initials anymore, they were all layered over one another. I glanced at my backpack and took out a permanent marker. Why hurt nature when you could make much more permanent art without harming anything? I looked at the intimidating stones in front of me and started scribbling, doodling aimlessly with the black marker. When I took a step back I looked at a drawing of crow with wings wide open, its eyes censored by a black line.

I took out my white marker, wanting to write something over the black, but I was interrupted by a deja-vu, followed by a sweet yet deep voice.

“Holy shit, did you make that?” Eddie basically was summoned from behind a tree as he rushed, not caring which branches he stepped over. He jumped, landing right behind me, as if I wasn’t startled enough.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But this, this!” he said as he stared at the crow, tracing the black line with his long ring covered fingers and- damn he had cool rings. “This is fucking amazing, Sunwell!”

I sort of just look at him in disbelief, the marker frozen in my hands. Eddie notices my tenseness and I guess he gets awkward too, so he tries to lighten up the mood by taking the pen from my hand and looking at the drawing on the cold stone. “What were you planning to do here?” he says, pointing to the crow’s crossed out eyes.

“I think I wanted to write some edgy shit, but I’m out of ideas” I sigh, crossing my arms and looking down at my feet. When I look back up at Eddie I see what I think is the most beautiful smile I never thought a face could make. Naturally, I smile too and let out an embarrassed laugh.

“What is it?” I question him, sensing he has a mischievous idea.

“Let’s do one of those things like uh.. Oh, I know!” I can see his eyes literally spark as he turns around and starts writing. I try to walk up and see what he’s doing but his wide shoulders cover up the drawing. I can hear him giggle as finally turns around to show me his creation, arms happily held up and pointing as I read the text “Fuck everyone but you”.

I have no idea if he means me personally, if he means it in a dirty sense or if it’s just meant to be edgy, but for some reason I feel a warmth in my chest. Eddie had been looking at me expecting a reaction, which I just now noticed, so I quickly turn to face him.

“I love it”

He takes a step closer and puts his hands on my shoulders. We just stood like that for a moment, smiling like idiots. “Great, cause that would’ve been embarrassing”

In that moment—with his cool rings brushing against my exposed neck and with the sun through his curls—I seriously thought I might melt and die.

He let out a sigh as he dropped his hands back down.

“Hey, what were you doing here by the way?” I get the sudden urge to ask. Did he just stumble over and find me?

“I uh.. I come here a lot to smoke. So if you need me and I’m not at school or home.. Y’know”

“Good to know” I smile at him.

[draconic-ichor]

NSFW dabble

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, oral sex, hand jobs, penetrative sex, fingering, cream pie

Heisenberg x Reader

This is part two of a previous Touch Starved Karl fic. I wrote this very late last night and did very little editing

Part 1

It had been a while since that first steamy encounter. Afterwards he was all bravado and toothy smiles, obviously knowing your attraction to him bolstering his ego to the moon. You were still shy, easy to get embarrassed by his heckling.

But now if he caught you, it was messy kisses and groping hands.

You were yet to have actual sex, nervousness coupled with his busy schedule. Heisenberg had taken the time to eat you out on several occasions, even lifting you up on one of his operating tables to do so once. He loved the sounds you made, loved that he was the one making you produce them.

Your own hands finding his cock and trying to learn what he liked. He enjoyed your back and forth, definitely not complaining about getting off. But his mind was ate up with the need to stuff you, it started impeding his work, even.

That day you were in his workshop, organizing papers over a desk while he worked. Or while he was supposed to be working. Instead he was starting at your ass, his pants tightening as you bent over the desk to get more papers.

You didn’t hear him stand, or as he closed the distance between you.

“Y/n…” his voice was low causing you to jump.

You dropped the stack of papers, hissing, “Heisenberg don’t do tha-“

The words were cut short in your throat as he pressed against your back, trapping you between the desk and himself. You suddenly felt his erection press hard against your ass.

“Heis…” you breathed out as his hands snaked around your body to cup your breasts.

“I told you to call me Karl.” He growled softly into your ear before nipping at your neck.

A moan escaped your lips as his teeth found your sweet spot, “Ah-ah, Karl!”

He hummed into your skin at the sound of his name from your pretty mouth, bathing the mark he left with his tongue.

Your face felt hot, your core moistening from his attention. He felt how you started to tremble, drifting a hand down your front.

He pushed you more forward, grinding himself on your ass with a groan.

“Goddamnit y/n…” Heisenberg started, “You’re such a distraction.”

“I w-was trying to help.” You mewled.

“I know.” His voice was almost a purr as he ran his hands down your sides, “You’re always such a good little kitten for me.”

The praise made your thighs clench, forcing you to swallow the sound that threatened. Heisenberg thought for a moment, pulling you up to be flush against him, one of his large gloved hands engulfing your throat.

You looked at him over the top of your head, gasping a bit from his hold on you.

“I need to get this shit done.” His voice was low, “So be a good girl and go wait in my room for me?”

You tried to nod the best this position would allow, causing a smile to spread across the man’s lips. Your obedience was definitely doing terribly wonderful things to his mind. He released you, stepping back to allow your escape. You took a breath to steady yourself before dashing out of the workshop. He watched you with ever sharp eyes.

~

It felt like hours since you were instructed to wait for him. His room was much more cluttered then your own, the bed smelling heavily of smoke and musk. You had removed your pants and bra, only in your shirt and panties now as you lay on your belly across his bed. You buried your face into one of his pillows, his scent driving your already sensitive body wild.

You cursed him for getting you all worked up earlier, just to send you away.

The sound of the door startled you, lifting your head to see Heisenberg striding in. He looked hungry and determined as he took large steps towards the bed, with every step he shucked a layer of clothing from his body, pausing to kick away his boots. By the time he was at the bed he was only in his gloves, tank top and boxers.

You rolled over to watch him. His eyes were almost glowing as he pulled his gloves free, tossing them aside before diving into the bed.

You made a little sound when he pounced on you, his mouth swallowing them up as he locked you into a heavy kiss. Your hands found his hair as it deepened further.

You both were a jumble or hands and legs, your mind swimming from the contact. Your core almost ached from the lack of stimulation, your nerves wearing thin.

“Please just fuck me!” You whimpered out. Your previous fears forgotten, mind too ate up with lust.

“The mouse is making demands?” Heisenberg chuckled huskily.

You tried to speak, say something smart, but he nipped at your throat, huffing as he rutted your clothed sexes together. He was like a Lycan, messy and hot. He pulled his mouth away, leaving a string of saliva.

Your mind was a mess, tangle wires fried by his heavy teasing. He felt you trembling under him, plush thighs tightening around his hips and driving him mad.

Fuck he wasn’t going to be able to be gentle, not at this rate.

Every nerve screamed for him to breed you into the mattress. And with you begging under him…

You gasped as he tore through the rest of your clothes, the cool air not getting a chance to find your skin. He was a wildfire over you, hungry hands finding your dripping core. Two fingers dipped into your honeypot, setting a fast pace.

Your mewls spurred him, his movements giving some relief to your aching core.

He licked his lips, cock jumping at the squelching sounds his fingers made in your cunt.

You met his eyes, his dark and blown out. You panted out, clenching around his fingers as you felt your release coming. Your cry turned into a whine as he pulled free of you, licking his finger clean of your slick.

“Mmm, fuck!” He smiled roguishly, “You taste so fucking good y/n.”

You could feel the blush burning your cheeks.

It caused him to chuckle again as he pulled away enough to strip the rest of his clothing off, “Aw, don’t get all shy on me now buttercup. We’re just getting started!”

With that he lifted your legs to hook around his hips. You fell into place almost instinctively, the want to come driving the anxiety from your body.

Heisenberg rolled his hips shallowly, his weeping cock head rubbing your clit. A moan slid past your lips, causing your own hips to buck a bit. He grabbed your thighs, keeping you still as he pushed forward. His cock slid into you, causing your walls to burn as they tried to accommodate.

It took all his willpower to halt, giving you time to adjust. His hands moved to prop himself over you, breathes ragged as his eyes flicked over you intently.

Tears threatened your eyes at the intrusion, the thickness of him teetering on pain.

“Relax.” He whispered, cupping your cheek with one hand. You felt his calloused thumb wipe away a tear. You nuzzled into his touch, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

Feeling your walls ease slightly he gave a testing thrust. Hearing you mewl he paused, worriedly.

“N-no keep going.” You managed.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back until just the head was left in your fold before rocking back into the hilt, fucking you completely open.

The burning sensation gave way to pleasure, the veins of his cock rubbed deliciously against your soaked walls. You panted in-between cries, it spurring him to thrust into you faster.

He’d been waiting for this, fantasizing how’d you feel around him as he used his fist on himself for weeks.

Now he had you, begging and crying under him. Fuck it was amazing. Everything he’d hoped for and more. Your cute sounds filling his ears as he stuffed you.

“Fuck, y/n!” He hissed, moving your legs to his shoulders, “You’re so tight.”

The new position allowed him to hit deeper, bottoming out with each thrust. Your body shuttered, the tight band in your core snapping.

You screamed out your release, cunt gushing onto Heisenberg as his name tumble off your tongue.

He watched you fall apart, keeping up his onslaught. It wouldn’t be long now until he also succumbed to the pleasure, he knew it.

He bent down, nipping and licking your neck as you trembled and mewled under him. You felt his body rutting against yours, chasing his high, fingers holding you hard enough to bruise.

The sound of the factory was drowned out by the wet slapping of your hips.

“You’re mine.” He growled, voice hot against your ear, “You’re all mine, y/n.”

He licked the shell of your ear, thrusts meeting your hips roughly, each one gaining strength as he neared his end.

“Say it.” He demanded, not letting up.

You tried to formulate the words but your mind was garbled. He didn’t take the silence well.

“Tell me your mine!” He growled savagely, bucking into you now like a beast.

“I’m y-yours!” You cried out, digging your nails into his back as your walls clenched down on him. Your body was a fever of pleasure, vision whiting out as your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

He was done for, feeling your body tighten around him was too much. He pushed forward, wanting to plant as much as he could fit inside you.

You whimpered as you felt a rush of liquid heat, his cock painting your swollen walls. He gave a few shallow thrusts, riding out his own orgasm.

Feeling your core milk him made him shutter, the overwhelming sensation of spilling inside you blanking his mind for a moment.

Come oozed around his still inserted cock as you both tried to calm your breathing.

“…Fuck.” He cursed, pulling away enough to catch your lips in a messy kiss. You hummed into the contact, body tingling all over.

You held onto him, not wanting this feeling to end.

[oscarseyebrow]

Sand

gif by djarsdin

Rating: 18+ Pairing: Mand’alor Din x Fem!Mandalorian Reader Word count: 9k Summary: "I lost my home," Din starts, "I lost the covert, I lost everyone that I fought alongside," He continues, only this time, his free hand now moves to slide across your lower back until both arms are wrapped firmly in place, "I lost my ship, I lost my kid... And I'm not going to lose you. Not again." Warnings: Language, some angst, fluff, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, a heavy amount of smut, mention of loss and exile. A/N: Written for this smut prompt, including: "I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you." and "Can you feel what you are doing to me?" This came out so much softer than I was intending and I'm really not sorry about it because soft!Din is everything. Enjoy.

Sand. Something so simple, yet complex. A natural occurrence; remnants of things that had come before – broken down over thousands of years into nothing more than insignificant grains which were now spilling through your fingers. That’s when you notice it. A lingering warmth just beneath the top layer; a heat from a long day underneath the intense glares from the twin suns. The feeling was unexpected but not unwelcome.

From down here, the sky was beautiful. Dusk had given way to the darkness and the stars were out in full force. This was something you would never usually get the time to admire – not that now was the time to be doing it – But it was breath-taking. So many white, twinkling spots dotting and pulsing against a black backdrop. They were the map of the skies; each plunge and rise of the constellations a notable reference point.

You store it to memory, finding beauty in the strangest of moments. Because just like that, your vision is obscured by that of a helmet – so reflective, even out here, in the darkness. It tilts, as if trying to decide if you’re still alive down there. You are. At least, you think you are. You blink and there’s a heavy sigh. By now, you’re fluent in Mandalorian sighs. This one, you know, is a sigh of relief. Who would have thought that a simple exhale of breath could mean so many different things?

It was a language you had picked up very quickly when getting to know this man.

“You okay?” That smooth, modulated voice is level, but you hear an edge of concern creeping into it. You were fine, you think. The thousands of years’ worth of eroded rocks had really broken your fall and given you a soft landing. Sand. Love it or hate it, it was a lifesaver. That familiar gloved hand reaches down in your direction and you hesitate for a moment; eyes flicking back up to the sky to take one last look at it before your hand takes a firm hold of Din's to allow him to pull you back up to your feet.

And so those tiny grains begin to fall from everywhere - Somehow, they seem to have seeped into every small crevice created by your armor, only now that gravity has taken hold of them, they pour down your body and into your boots. Fucking great. That's not the most annoying part of this, though. Oh, no. It's inside your helmet, too. So without thinking, you reach up and remove it in front of the Mand'alor himself. Yes, you'd heard all about that from Boba when he retuned after his little adventure with Din.

This isn't new to him - You, removing your helmet in front of him. Your loyalty to the covert that had saved both of you was now gone. They had stripped you of your honour. You had been exiled; sent out into a galaxy where Mandalorians were already few and far between. But it had been everything that you deserved.

"What... Happened?" You finally ask while brushing sand from under your chin with the back of your hand. The speeder bike you had been on was now in parts; smoking and skewed in the sand not far from where you had landed. Din's head turns to follow your gaze, also taking in the carnage you had somehow escaped from unharmed.

"They set up a trap. You went right through it - I swear, you flew further than I've seen you go with a jetpack." Oh, he found this amusing? There was a hint of a grin in his words, you could hear it through that damn helmet. Narrowing your eyes, you turn your head to look back over at him.

"I could have died." You point out.

"But you didn't." He's quick to counter and then turns away from you to walk back over to where three silhouettes are splayed out over the sand; unmoved from where they had clearly been shot down. You simply watch as Din goes about searching them, completing the job that Boba requested his help with. This was something that you could have done solo - You didn't need the other Mandalorian to tag along with you, despite the fact that you weren't complaining about it. Running these jobs for Fett was something you had easily slipped into without any questions asked.

It's only when that reflective beskar comes to stand in front of you again that you blink, noticing you had been staring whilst getting lost in your thoughts.

"Is this it?" Din asks, holding up a familiar looking bag of credits that had been stolen. You nod and easily catch it with your free hand when he tosses it across to you. "I'll let you tell Fett you found it. He might go easier on you about the speeder." Right, the speeder.

"You clearly don't know Fett." You grin and pocket the bag but it's a grin that slowly fades as Din steps closer - Almost close enough to touch. Maker, it had been so long since you had last touched the man hidden away beneath all of that armor. Someone that had once been so familiar to you should have felt like a stranger after all this time. Standing there, in his armor made from reclaimed beskar of The Purge, now the rightful owner of the Darksaber that gave him claim to the throne of Mandalore. And what did you have to show for your time since leaving Nevarro?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing other than your loyalty to Boba after he had found you and took you in; much like a stray animal looking for a home.

"You got a little something here." Din murmurs and reaches out to brush some sand from the bridge of your nose before his thumb gently swipes away the lingering particles from your cheek. Even after they're gone, his hand lingers and you feel the warmth there, much like the lower layers of the sand, tucked away beneath the cold surface. And just like the sand, Din's touch was something simple yet so complex - A reminder of things that had come before.

Closing your eyes, you turn your head away from his touch, preventing him from holding your face any longer. "Don't do that." Those words sound more like an unsure request by the time they leave your lips as something just above a whisper. You weren't worthy of that touch - Not anymore.

Din had always been one to respect your word and despite the small sigh, he drops his hand back to his side and then glances over to the one remaining speeder bike. Any possibility of a moment shared between the two of you was gone before it even had chance to start. That's not why you were here.

"I'd let you drive, but we both saw how that ended for you last time..." And just like Din, he changes the subject to avoid the atmosphere that neither of you are willing to address. Boba shouldn't have asked him to help. Or, better yet, he shouldn't have insisted on you working with him. Drawing in a slow breath, you force a small smile onto your lips as you roll your eyes at the man who still finds your crash somewhat of an amusement.

"That wasn't my fault." But your protest seems to go unnoticed as Din makes his way back over to the speeder bike and slips onto it with ease. This job was coming to an end and you should be thankful for that. It meant that soon, he would be leaving Tatooine again and some sort of normality would return to your life.

With a heavy sigh, you take one last look up at the stars in all of their glory before returning your helmet onto your head. From inside, it was hard to see the natural beauty in most things; everything you saw was through a tinted visor and that altered the world around you. It was one of the many things you didn’t miss once you’d broken your creed and removed it. Taking it off for the first time had been like a breath of fresh air - as though a weight had suddenly been lifted from your chest and you were able to see life as it was supposed to be seen. The colours... Oh, the colours of everything. You saw the whole range of the colour spectrum around you, as though looking through a stained-glass window for the very first time.

The beauty of the planets in the galaxy was something that Din would never get to experience, not truly. But that was his choice and you respected that in the same way that he had respected the choices you had made.

Following in the man’s footsteps, quite literally, your boots step into the marks that Din’s had made when walking back over to the speeder and without saying anything, you climb onto the back of it and then move your hands to hold onto his sides.

There’s no conversation on the journey back to The Palace that Boba had claimed as his own. Somehow, the silence seemed to rest easy between you and the other Mandalorian; your body pressed so close to his back as you held onto him maybe a little too tightly. Din had been one of the only people to take a stand for you and fight for you to stay when you had faced the consequences of your actions. It was something you would be forever grateful for, to know that he had still looked upon you with the honour you once held while all the others had turned their backs on you. You hadn’t deserved his loyalty then and you definitely didn’t deserve his kindness now. Yet, here he was.

Even in the darkness, the Palace stood tall against the backdrop of stars; the outline making it look so grand amongst the sand and scattered buildings around it. Eventually, the whirring of the bike begins to ease until coming to stop in the same place you had left from earlier. But there’s a moment, in which you sit there and Din doesn’t move; neither one of you wanting to be the first to break this contact as you hold onto him.

With a small sigh, you let your head tilt forwards just enough for the front of your helmet to rest between Din's shoulders through the back of his armor. It's a small, soft gesture that's met with one of his own as his hands cover yours where they continue to hold onto him. He shouldn't have come back here. Saying goodbye to this man never got any easier but now, he had much bigger things to concern himself with so it was time for you to let him go, again.

"Thanks for the ride back." And as unwilling as you are, you finally pull back from him and climb down until your boots sink an inch or two into that damn sand. You already know you'll be finding it for days; hiding away in your armor or pouring out of your boots each time you put them on. Fucking sand. By the time you look over at him again, Din's attention is already on you; the wrist of one hand casually leaning over the handle of the speeder while his helmet tilts just a little.

"Here." You take the bag of stolen credits from your pocket and throw them back over to him. Din catches them with ease in the same way that you had, but now his attention falls down to the bag instead, clearly confused as to why you were returning them to him. "You deserve the credit of doing the job he asked you to do. Tell him... I don't know, tell him I'll steal him another speeder to replace the one I wrecked."

Small talk. That's what this was and it had never been your style, just as it had never been Din's. But maybe this was your way of avoiding the bantha-sized tension here. Whatever it was, you were on edge and Din could clearly see that. Maker, you needed to relax. Drawing in a slow, stale breath from inside of your helmet, you let it out slowly and tilt your head back a little to look up at the sky again. The stars weren't as bright through your visor, but you knew what they looked like up in that sky.

"I heard what happened, back on Nevarro..." This was the moment you were choosing to do this, to bring up the conversation you hadn't yet had with this man. And Din, being Din, holds his silence as he looks back over to you again, giving you the time to speak. "They didn't deserve what happened to them - None of them did. I'm sorry that you lost your home, Din. Truly, I am."

You barely catch a breath before Din is cutting in with words that you weren't expecting. "You lost your home long before I did." And the truth behind them has you silenced. Din was right. He was always fucking right, even when you didn't want him to be. Your loss had been one of choice, though. His hadn't. You could point that out, but you don't. This man was stubborn and an immovable force once set on something.

"That was by choice," You remind him and then continue before he has chance to make any more comment on a subject you weren't particularly fond of discussing. "I'm glad that you decided to help Bo-Katan. She's, uh..." You trial off, looking for a word to describe her without causing too much offence.

"Interesting." Din finishes for you and you can hear the smile on his lips through his voice. "She's interesting." That she was. Between the stories and Boba's impressions of 'the princess', you knew that Din had his work cut out for him, working with her. But if anyone could rebuild a place for Mandalorians to unite again, it was him.

"You're a good man, Din Djarin." You take a couple of steps towards where he was still sat, now side-on and watching you. The man doesn't move, not even when your hand lifts to rest gently against the side of his helmet. "You're reclaiming a place in a galaxy that has turned its back on Mandalorians for too long." Din already knew this, you didn't need to tell him. But you wanted him to know, that despite everything, you believed that he was doing the right thing.

"This is the Way." His voice is quieter than usual as it comes through that modulator and you wish he could see the soft smile on your face at his words.

"This is the Way." You murmur back to him.

--------

Sand. Something so simple yet able to get into places that it had no business being. You had scrubbed everywhere and washed everything twice before finally satisfied that not a single grain remained.

By now, Din was long gone. No doubt on his way back to deal with whatever it was he spent his days doing now that he was the Mand'alor. The stories that Boba had told you did bring some comfort to you because although Din was a man who never wanted a throne, you knew that he would do what he thought was right; he was an honourable man and that would be the foundations on which his leadership was to be built.

You would miss him, though. You always had and you knew that deep down, you always would. At one time, there had been a chance of a life with him - But not now. The path that he was on was very different to yours and there would be no coming back from that. You had lost your honour. You had lost your right to call yourself a Mandalorian in the eyes of the covert and so you were making the most of your life in exile.

Boba had made sure that you wanted for nothing; everything that you needed, you had. But even now, sitting in your living quarters with a bathrobe pulled tightly around your body, you weren't sure if it would ever be enough. The wealth, the jobs, the distractions of working alongside Boba Fett and Fennec Shand - It was wonderful, at face value. This held no comparison to the things that you had lost, though.

There really was no hiding the groan that leaves your lips when the knock at the door cuts over the background noise from the Holodrama - Not that you were paying any particular attention to the woes unfolding on the projection. It was there simply to fill the silence. Clearly you're taking too long to get to the door, because it knocks again.

"Maker, give me a second!" You shout out, knowing it's most likely Boba coming to give you shit for the speeder and also for slipping by him without telling him what you had done. Fixing your robe firmly in place, you keep one hand on the material to ensure it's not exposing too much while your other works on opening the door.

You're not met with the green armor, though. No, that would have been too much of an easy evening for you, wouldn't it? Instead, the man dressed head-to-toe in beskar stands there; hand frozen in place from where he had been about to knock again before you opened the door.

"Oh..." Your hand tightens into the fabric against your chest as you stare up at Din, suddenly feeling a little too exposed while he slowly lowers his hand and lets his helmet tilt down. He's not averting his gaze, you're quick to notice, because the helmet slowly lifts again while he takes in the sight of you. "I - What - Uh," Fucking stars, pull yourself together. "I wasn't expecting you." You finally get out.

"No?" Din asks, helmet tilting a little to the side now. "Who were you expecting?" He's teasing you. He's giving you shit and making you squirm and he fucking knows it because you do just that. You shift under his gaze and swallow.

"Boba," You answer his question a little too quickly and you don't need to see that face to know he's raising his eyebrows at your answer. "No, not like that. I thought he was coming to - You know what, never mind."

"Do you often greet Boba Fett in nothing more than a bathrobe?" Din's voice has a heat prickling at the back of your neck now and you know this teasing. You should be used to this by now but after so long, it has you somewhat flustered.

"No." You almost groan, finally moving one of your hands from your robe so that you can rub the side of your face. "It's not like that."

"No?" He asks, as though needing some confirmation now and you notice that his amused tone is absent from that single word.

"No..."

"Good." Good? What was that supposed to mean? Your question is quickly answered by Din's advance as he steps over the threshold and finally enters your living quarters and Maker, it's an advance you don't reject. Before you even have chance to blink, he has you; one arm curling around your lower back while the other reaches out to shut the door behind himself.

Your body responds to him on instinct; arms moving up to wrap around his shoulders to bring his body just that little bit closer to your own in an all too familiar way. You shouldn't. You really shouldn't - But this is inevitable.

"Din..." The way his name sounds as it leaves your lips is the only warning that you can bring yourself to give to him. You want to fight him on the decision he has made to come here tonight, to not leave even after the job is done - But you can't. Not really. The man is already shaking his head, though.

"I lost my home," Din starts, "I lost the covert, I lost those that I fought alongside," He continues, only this time, his free hand now moves to slide across your lower back until both arms are wrapped firmly in place, "I lost my ship, I lost my kid... And I'm not going to lose you. Not again."

This finally made sense. Din was here because you were the only familiar thing that he had left; when faced with so much uncertainty and change, you were still you. That's why he was here. With a soft sigh, you unwrap your arms from around his shoulders and slide your hands down until they come to rest over his chest.

"Come with me to Mandalore." His words make it sound so easy, as though you have any right to be on that planet. You didn't deserve to be there, just as you didn't deserve the armor that you still wore. You had made the choice to remove your helmet and go against everything that you were once taught, so exile was what you had accepted.

"I can't..." You whisper up to that helmet and then frown as he finally reaches up with a hand to hook his thumb under the edge of it; using the grip to lift it up and off. This was a face that you hadn't seen in a very long time; it was older now but still just as handsome as you remembered it. Without being able to stop yourself, your hands slide back up over Din's chest until they're settled against his jaw - Fingers brushing gently over stubble that now held more grey than you remembered.

"Yes, you can," Din murmurs as those eyes meet yours in such a tender moment. The depths of them was something you would never be able to forget; the times you had lost yourself in them when you were younger and maybe a little too reckless for such strict codes that you were supposed to live by. "I don't know if you've heard... But as Mand'alor, I get to make my own rules now..." And there it is, the curl at the corner of his lips as a hint of a smirk lingers there.

How could you say no when those eyes were holding yours? Din knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing. You close your own, if only to shut his out for a moment while trying to play through this in your head. It was a big decision and one that wouldn't be welcome by certain Mandalorians. However, if what Din said was true, then-

Your thought process comes to a sudden halt as lips move to press against yours. It's gentle and tentative, as though waiting for you to respond before taking this any further. If there was one thing you were sure of right now, it was how much you wanted this. Any other decision you were expected to make could wait. Everything else could wait. Because those lips were on yours again after so long and Maker, you could think of nothing else.

This time when your hands move, it's to allow for one them to slide up and around to the back of Din's neck; fingers easily lacing themselves into dark strands of hair while you lean up into him and part your lips, welcoming him back to your body as though he was finally coming home. In essence, he was. He was coming back to you.

Now knowing that you weren't going to push him away, there's an all too familiar thud of beskar against the floor as Din releases his helmet to free up his hand again. It returns to your back, sliding over the fabric of your bathrobe to pull your body to his again as his lips finally part to deepen the kiss. You've missed this. You've really fucking missed this and you don't waste a single second to greet his tongue with your own.

Din licks slowly into your mouth in that all too familiar way as he begins to back you up into the main room of your quarters, but it doesn't stay slow for long. There's an urgency almost, a need to feel you again in a way that he still knows, even after all of this time. And you are more than happy to comply. It's messier now, growing more desperate while he holds you as though you are the only other thing existing in this galaxy right now; just you and him - two, insignificant beings amongst all the stars and planets, but to you, he's everything.

Your hips meet the back of the couch and no sooner do you stop, his mouth is gone. There's a protest right on the tip of your tongue but the only sound that makes it out is a long exhale of breath as Din's head dips to work along your jaw and neck. The sensation is divine as every receptor in your body seems to kick up a notch - Your skin prickling with a heat that seems to spread all across your body and pool somewhere deep in your lower stomach.

"Din..." Your sigh steals his name from you as you close your eyes and drop your head back, exposing your throat for him to continue his journey. There had been others since him, of course there had been, but nothing came close to this. Nothing could ever come close to the way his mouth worshiped the skin that he had the pleasure of exploring.

With your body trapped between the back of the couch and solid beskar, you're suddenly very aware of how cold it is against your skin. In a way, it's somewhat refreshing but there's no stopping the soft gasp and the tightening of your fingers against those messy strands of hair as your nipple brushes against the plate over his chest now that your robe has begun to slip.

At some point, Din must have discarded his gloves because when you feel his hands slide down over the robe that covers your thighs, you're greeted with his warm palms as they bunch up the fabric and drag it out of the way to expose your skin. Maker, those hands. You've missed those hands. They slide so easily over your outer thighs while his mouth makes work against the crook of your neck and fuck, you're already so wet for him that you should be ashamed. But you're not. You're really not.

"Come here," You murmur as you reach down to take hold of one of his wrists while your eyes open to find his again. Now that his mouth is free from your skin, he straightens up a little to let his forehead rest against yours as the sound of the Holodrama finally begins to register again in the background. With no hesitation at all, your hand slips down from Din's wrist so that you can take hold of his fingers and guide them right down to your slick heat. "Can you feel what you're doing to me?"

Oh, Din could feel it. He could feel exactly what he was doing to you and in that moment, you had never seen his pupils dilate so much. Maker, they're so dark. Dark and dripping with the desire that he wasn't even attempting to hide. Was it possible for a look to make you even wetter than you already were?

"Fuck." Din's voice is low as he curls a finger to drag it so slowly through your folds, clearly enjoying the way your body was reacting to him. It dips again while he takes a moment to really appreciate how it feels against his fingers before he drags it up and against your clit slowly. It's one, fluid motion and fuck, it has your breath catch in your throat as you close your eyes. You want it again and again and Maker, he gives it to you; finger sliding back down again to collect more of your wetness and then using it as he begins to rub slow circles against your clit.

"I've missed this." This time when his fingers dip, Din applies just enough pressure to your entrance to allow the very tip of his finger to slip into you. Your muscles automatically clench around it and it earns you a hum of approval from deep within the man's throat. Din doesn't give you any more than that, though. And just as quickly as it came, the tip of his finger is now gone again as he slides it out of you and back up to your clit.

It's agonisingly slow as those fingers rub circles right over the sensitive bundle of nerves and you swear, your hand grips so tightly at his wrist that you're sure there will be bruises there within a few hours. It does nothing to hurry his movements, though. Din is not one to be rushed, you know this. And so he continues; fingers alternating between circling against your clit and then sliding down to push into you. Those fingers draw out and slide right back in again as his mouth gets to work - Every slow thrust of them, every lick and nip only adding more fuel to the ever burning fire that seems to be spreading further through your lower stomach now.

"Din..." You try and warn him and fuck, you hear his fingers this time as they slide of out you with such an obscene sound. If anything, it seems to turn him on more as his mouth finds yours again for another deep kiss. There's no more warning him now as his fingers move to your clit again, rubbing a little faster as he gets carried away with the kiss and all you can do is moan into it; hips rocking against his hand to create even more friction.

He doesn't stop. Din doesn't know that he needs to stop and you can't find it in yourself to regain control over the situation as everything suddenly begins to tighten. You're clenching around nothing now as absolute bliss suddenly takes over; the pleasure sparking through you at such an alarming rate that you shudder violently under his touch and quickly clamp your thighs together as though desperately trying to hold on a little bit longer. It's useless. You're already falling as you pull back from the kiss to let the moan roll out of you; hips continuing to grind against Din's fingers while the blazing heat from your orgasm fills your whole body.

Right then, you're thankful for that body pinning you so tightly up against the back of the couch because another jolt of pleasure quickly sears through you as Din's fingers lazily trail over your highly sensitive clit.

"I never forgot how fucking beautiful you look when you cum." Din's words roll off his tongue in such a way that you're suddenly very aware of the heat still tingling across your body as you stand there; bathrobe dishevelled and hanging off your shoulders.

"Why don't you remind yourself how good it looks while you're fucking me?" You ask with a small smirk, but before you have chance to hold it, your lips are parting again to allow for a soft moan to spill out as Din's fingers move to drag through you again.

"Because," Din starts before pausing as his eyes lower to look you over for a moment. "Because I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you."

And Maker, there's nothing you want more.

If you were to count, you're sure it would have taken Din mere seconds to pick you up and carry you through to the bedroom and in a way, you wish it took longer. You want everything to take longer, if only to give you more time with this man before he truly has to leave.

"Wait," You break the easy silence that has fallen between you now and Din pauses, not yet putting you down onto he bed as he was planning to. "Let me help you take off your armor." There's almost a hesitation while the man thinks about your words, considering your request before finally giving you a nod.

It's something so intimate, to remove another's armor piece by piece; to take away the one thing that offers protection until all that's left is the person beneath it all - open, exposed and vulnerable. But he's willing to let you do that.

Din finally lets go of your legs so that you can slide down until your feet touch the floor again and you take a moment to look him over - Fingers exploring his armor that had been completely upgraded since the last time you had seen him. It all fit together in the same way, though. So your fingers began their work; unclipping and unfastening pieces of beskar - removing more of that cold, outer shell. To those who weren't familiar with such armor, this would have been a tricky process to undertake, but you knew your way around Mandalorian armor better than most; especially Din's.

No sooner was the last piece removed, Din's lips were on yours again; hands pulling at your hips to bring your body closer to his so that he could actually feel you against him now - The armor no longer inhibiting your body from fitting together with his.

And then, you're falling. No, you're being pushed - Your legs hitting the mattress and causing you to fall backwards with a loud gasp. Din doesn't follow you, not straight away; he simply stands there for a moment, admiring the view of you sprawled out in your unflattering landing position but there's already a slow grin curling over his lips and Maker, there's that heat again. So slow and steady while it crawls across your skin, much like those brown eyes that still haven't left you.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are-" You don't get to finish that cliche because Din is already cutting you off.

"Oh, no. I am going to come and fuck you... In... A - a mo - oh..." He begins to stumble on his words as you very slowly part your legs for him, allowing him even more of a view to drink in from where he stands. "Fuck."

"What's wrong, sweetie? Loth-cat got your tongue?" There's a lingering smirk on your lips now while you watch him but the only reply you get is the movement of him stepping up to the edge of the bed and reaching down to smooth a hand over your knee. Din is a man of his word and you had almost forgotten that he was intending to kiss every inch of your body before fucking you. Almost.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?" Din asks in a tone that's equal parts rough yet gentle and full of admiration. It's a tone that matches those eyes perfectly as they look you over again. Were you supposed to answer that? Was it a rhetorical question? You wouldn't say that you lacked self confidence but you wouldn't call yourself beautiful, either.

"Spread out, just for me," He continues and the way his voice dips a little has your breathing changing so noticeably but it's nothing compared to what comes next. "I'm going to spend all night eating you out... Got a lot of time to make up for." And holy shit, everything seems to tighten with a sudden need. All you can do is think about the things that this man can do with his tongue; the way he has always seemed to worship everything about your taste and the feel of his tongue submerging into you and-

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Fuck. Your words. Coming right out of his mouth but it's the slow raise of his eyebrows that gets you. "Loth-cat got your tongue?"

"Din." His name comes out as a whine as you drop your head back and close your eyes for a moment, trying to draw as much composure as you can right now. This is the moment his lips meet your skin; his body leaning over from where he stands so that he can brush a kiss to the inside of your knee. It's so light that it barely registers, but it's there - Along with his warm breath as he moves up only an inch or so to kiss at another patch of skin. Every inch of your body, that's what he wanted before he would fuck you. Every damn inch.

The attention that Din pays to your body is painfully slow, yet you love every second of it. His mouth moves up over your thighs, kiss by achingly slow kiss, across your hip, your stomach and then right to that one ticklish spot right underneath your ribs. He's fully aware of it because you feel the way his lips grin against your skin at the jolt and sharp intake of air that he causes while his hands move to your sides to hold you steady.

If there's one thing you know for sure right now, it's that Din is right where he wants to be; giving you his full, undivided attention while you lay back and allow him to kiss every inch of skin that he can reach. And for the first time in a very long time, your mind is completely blank; devoid of all thoughts other than what this man is doing to you right now. Nothing else matters, only Din.

With a small bite of your lip, your hand quickly falls to lace your fingers through those longer strands. It has more length to it than you remember; soft curls kicking up and out in different directions now that they have freedom from being confined to a helmet. You love it like this, so messy and fluffy, perfect for burying your fingers in and tugging on gently as his mouth begins to move lower. You know exactly where he's going.

Because Din always keeps his word.

"Oh, fuck." You breathe out when he slides back down off of the bed and hooks his arms under your thighs, now using them to pull you right up to the very edge.

"All night." Din reminds you, as if you could ever forget, and then his head dips to envelop your clit in the heat of his mouth. The sound that escapes from you is something that no human should ever be able to make; it's long and strangled as it catches in your throat and you quickly throw your free hand over your mouth to muffle it, almost ashamed of how easily he pulls it from you.

Maker, that tongue. To say that he devours you would be an understatement. Those licks are so slow and thorough; not missing a single part of you while he works the strong muscle through your folds - alternating between firmer licks and then flicks from the very tip of his tongue. Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck. You're not quite sure what sounds are coming out of you right now but it's nothing compared to the moan that vibrates right through you as you roll your hips up against that mouth.

"Keep going." He urges you in the brief moment he takes to pause the way he's working you with his tongue. But then he's back, his head holding still as he allows you to set the pace now. Your hips roll again while you keep hold of his hair, feeling the way his tongue drags through you in whatever way you want it to. You have the control now, you're the one dragging his mouth back up to your clit to let his tongue flick against it in the best way possible.

But then he sucks and that's it. That's all you can handle as you instinctively arch towards the source of the pleasure and cry out at the way the change in angle only adds to the way your orgasm is hurtling towards you.

"I-I... 'ng..." You gasp loudly and feel your whole chest expand at the amount of air you take in. It doesn't stay with you for long because that's it. That burst of searing heat and pleasure suddenly explodes from somewhere deep within you. "I'm - Ohfuckdon'tstop." You bumble and cry out, fingers gripping impossible hard at Din's hair as everything contracts while you cum with such a force that you're not even aware of anything else around you.

And just as requested, Din doesn't stop. Not even for one second. He continues to work his mouth against you as you writhe beneath him, giving him absolutely everything that you can in that moment. But somehow, you know this is only the beginning.

--------

All sense of time left a long time ago. It could have been hours and you wouldn't have known. The only thing you truly knew right then was the man between your legs and the waves of pleasure that seemed to roll over you, allowing you no rest between them as Din pulled orgasms from you long after you thought you had reached your limit. At this point, you'd lost count. At this point, you were simply a gasping, writhing mess on the bed; flushed, flooded and unbearably sensitive - But you didn't want it to stop. You never wanted this to stop.

It's only when Din's stubble scrapes against your stomach that you finally open your eyes and blink down at him, watching him kiss his way back up over your trembling body and finally allowing you a second to breathe. Maker, you'd forgotten what it was like to fill your lungs with air and not have it stolen straight back out again by such intense pleasure.

In your hazy bliss, Din's arm moves under your back to pull your limp body up against his so that he can position you further up onto the bed. The gentleness of his actions melts you while he makes sure your head is comfortable against the pillows before he moves to lay down beside you; fingers now stroking so lightly over the skin on your hip.

"Thank you." He murmurs and leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder, as though you're the one that has taken him to pleasurable highs you never knew existed. You should be the one thanking him and if you could find your voice in that moment, you would. You would tell him that he's the one that has put the work in here, not you. He's the one that has taken the time to remind your body of how it feels to be alive and appreciated in ways that you'd almost forgotten.

Opening your eyes again, you turn your head to look over at him and take some time to just drink him in. It was a face that you could stare at forever; the way the softness of those eyes mixed so perfectly with the rugged roughness of his stubble. And those lips, those perfect, soft lips. Without thinking, you reach over to rest your hand gently against his jaw and slowly trail your thumb over the lower one as you watch it part beneath your touch.

"Take me," You whisper, almost afraid to speak too loudly in this moment in fear of breaking whatever this was right now. "Claim me as yours." Din's breath falters as your eyes lift to meet his again, sharing a silent understanding right now. No matter where you both were in this galaxy, he would only ever be the one that would mean anything to you. Because Din meant everything; he always had and you knew that he always would.

Those lips hastily find yours again and you're greeted with the lingering taste of yourself on Din's tongue when it meets with your own; even after the time and effort he has spent going down on you, he's still so eager to explore the heat of your mouth while fitting himself so easily between your legs. And then he's there, he's right there - The slight pressure from that thick tip pressing up against you before the familiar stretch begins to follow as your body welcomes him home.

"F-Fuck." You gasp out of the kiss as your thighs pull tight against his sides, almost trying to buy yourself some more time to allow your muscles to relax enough to take him in further. Maker, he's not even half way in as you hear him groan and drop his forehead down against your shoulder for a moment.

"Stop... Tensing... Fuck." Din grits out, clearly struggling with the tight heat while he stills his hips, doing his very best to give you a second here. You appreciate it, honestly, you really do. But then he moves again to pull back, almost the whole way out as he reaches down to guide himself back in again. This time you cry out and push against him while simultaneously using your legs to drag him in further.

"Keep going," You plead with him, "P-Please. Keep going." And he does, in such a way that you know this is taking every single ounce of fucking control that he has right now. Almost every inch of him buries into you and then draws back; his hips rolling in the slowest pace he can manage while you both feel the tension giving way as your body adjusts to him.

You don't need to tell him, somehow Din knows this is the exact moment to draw back from the roll of his hips and then snap them forwards into a thrust that has you throwing your head back with a loud moan while your hands grip at his shoulders. You were ready. You were so fucking ready for this now and he doesn't waste a single second of it.

"Mmh-fuck." Din's voice is somewhat muffled by your chin as his mouth catches it; teeth grazing over it as the next thrust of his hips has every inch of that thick length filling you with more ease now. The lingering discomfort begins to give way to pleasure while your muscles grip him so firmly that you feel the way he twitches subtly inside of you.

Those lips are soon finding yours again - a meeting of mouths for something so deep and passionate, yet controlled. You breathe him in like he's the only thing keeping you alive in that very moment, as though without him you would simply cease to exist. Din is the one to pull back first, not only from the kiss, but his whole upper body leaves you so suddenly until his arms hook under your knees and practically drag your legs up into a position that allows him to get so fucking deep inside of you.

There really is no controlling the strangled moan that you manage to choke out, but it just doesn't seem to stop. Those arms keep such a tight grip on your thighs, not letting your body move even an inch away as the power behind Din's thrusts begins to build. All you can do is grip onto the sheets and cry out in pure bliss at this angle.

It's there, an all too familiar heat starting to simmer somewhere so deep inside of you. You'd lost count of how many times Din had pushed you to orgasm with his mouth and fingers - Had you even managed it each time? They'd seemed to roll into each other, blurring around the time you lost the ability to do anything other than lay back and allow him to take full command of your body. It shouldn't be possible. It couldn't be possible for this man to already be edging you towards another orgasm as he hits just the right spot and Maker, it's glorious. It's truly fucking glorious.

"Again?" Din breaths, almost in disbelief as he feels the sudden change in your body. "Fuck, baby." Holy shit, the way that word falls from his lips just for you.

"H-Harder." You almost beg now and he drops your legs; allowing them to fall open so ungracefully as he grabs hold of your hips and works on fulfilling your request. You're sure the whole fucking palace must be able to hear the sounds filling the bedroom right now, especially when Din's thumb suddenly presses against your clit as he thrusts into you again. It's a good job he has such a strong hold of your hip with his other hand because you writhe beneath him as the hottest bolt of pleasure suddenly explodes from within you.

"That's it," Din praises breathlessly now, "Oh fuck, that's it, baby. Cum for me. Let me see y-" Whatever he says next, you don't catch a single word of as your back arches off the bed and every single muscle in your body tightens. It's pure fucking ecstasy as your body finally gives in and allows you one last rush of that pleasurable high, one more final build before you crash and cum so impossibly hard around him.

There's absolutely no concept of anything now as you lay there, the aftershocks of your orgasm trembling through your body. "Din - Oh shit - Ohh, fuck." You gasp and then his hips suddenly begin to move again. Everything sounds so obscenely slick and wet and Maker, he loves it. Din Djarin, the Mand'alor himself, loves fucking you.

Din moves over you again, elbows and forearms now braced against the bed either side of your head as he holds you so close; his face finding a temporary home against the crook of your neck as he fights off his own release for as long as he can. You know he doesn't want this to end, but it's inevitable. He won't last much longer as his hips begin to stutter; those thrusts becoming shorter and more desperate now.

You feel it so suddenly. The falter of his hips, the way they fall out of rhythm as though his body kicks into some sort of autopilot and forces him to bury himself so deeply into you as he finally cums. His moans are filled with nothing but praises as he throbs inside of you and gives you everything before his body becomes so much heavier above you.

Din is no longer holding himself up. He's done. He's exhausted; both of you having nothing left to give as you wrap your arms so tightly around him to hold his body close against your own.

A gentle silence seems to blanket itself over everything within the room as Din's breathing slowly returns to a somewhat normal pace; it still tickles against your skin, warm and comforting with each relaxed exhale. It's only then that you open your eyes and notice the first hints of daybreak outside the window - the gentle, orange glow of those twin suns beginning to lighten the sky and announce their arrival. Soon, the hustle and bustle of the day would begin before you'd had any chance to sleep - But that would come soon enough, your body exhausted and drained from a night spent with this man.

Ah, this man. Just the thought of him has a soft smile touching your lips as you tilt your head enough to catch sight of him with his head against your chest, eyes closed and body completely relaxed. Had he fallen asleep?

"Hey..." You murmur softly and move a hand up to very gently run your fingers through the side of his hair. The action disturbs his peaceful state momentarily as he blinks his eyes open again; first looking up at you and then lowering them to glance down while he finally moves to ease himself out of you. Before he has chance to move too far from your body, you wrap your arms around him again to draw him back down to where he was. "Stay where you were."

Din needs no encouragement. His head returns to almost the exact same spot on your chest while he gets himself into more of a comfortable position against you and his weight is such a comfort. As soon as he's settled, you return your hand to his hair again and allow your fingers to trail so lightly through those long strands.

"Get some sleep." Din's voice breaks the silence, "You've got a busy day ahead of you with all the packing." You only catch the side of his smile from this angle, but it's there, so gentle while keeping his eyes closed. You don't fight him on it. Din was set on you returning to Mandalore with him and deep down, you both knew that you would.

Wherever he went, you would go, too. You would travel the whole galaxy over for the only man that had ever held your heart, especially if it meant holding him just like this for as long as humanly possible.

You could get used to this.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙅𝙀𝘼𝙇𝙊𝙐𝙎𝙔 | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

∘ request(s):

Ooh maybe edgy!karl teaching skateboarding :o. I’m also in uni and I remember my first frat party was quite interesting 😂 -🦋

ahhhh part four of your edgy karl was soooo good!!! could i get jealous karl? maybe someone else is hitting on the reader at a party

please please please more edgy!karl if u can. like maybe where him and reader get into a fight because he gets like jealous and he just shows the reader who they belong to fjsjjsj thankyouuu !! 🤍🪐 x

∘ pairing: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader

∘ warnings: nsfw (18+ minors dni), smut, light bdsm, jealous, somewhat toxic behavior, crude language, frat boys (again), mentions of masterbation, biting, domination, spanking

∘ word count: ~3200

∘ links: 𐐪 ao3 𐑂 𐐪 previous part 𐑂 𐐪 submit an edgy!karl edit 𐑂

a/n: not me having to watch daddy tony hawk tutorials for this bc I'm uncultured and only skateboarded for like three months when I was 14 :)))

thank you for all the requests (especially 🦋 ily). if any of you have ideas for what I should call this series, lemme know! as always, have a great week and happy reading :)

♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

The parking lot behind the campus union was barren. The morning dew in the air left a sweet smell to combine with Karl’s cologne as he walked beside you, his arm bumping yours as he listened to you nervously ramble on about one of your classes. You weren’t sure why, but the thought of falling on your ass in front of Karl terrified you more than anything. This man had degraded you and made you completely submit to him in the past, yet you were worried that not being able to master his ~craft~ would ruin his image of you. 

He dropped his skateboard, his feet settling on it lazily as he rolled beside you. You watched quietly as he stopped, kicking his foot down on the front of his board so it popped into his hand. “You won’t fall. I’ve got you,” he joshed, tugging on your hand so you were in front of him. 

He set the board down, his hands going to your hips as you stepped on it. His fingers dipped under the hem of your sweatshirt, your skin lighting up at his touch as if his hands belonged on you. “You look like an anemic Victorian boy. I don’t trust you as a safety net,” you grumbled, your hands covering his. You knew, roughly, how to skate from a middle school phase you had. Karl only promised to teach you a few tricks, but to say you were rusty would be an understatement. 

He chuckled darkly, nudging you closer to the middle of the board and peering over your shoulder to look at your stance. “I’ve fucked you without your feet touching the floor. I think I can catch you before you hit the ground, baby,” he chided, making you scoff. 

Your cheeks flushed with heat at his words. “Dirty, dirty boy,” you mumbled. He instructed you on how to kick the board up to where you needed it. His words were simple and almost plain like he knew you could figure it out. You attempted to push the board up, but crashed into Karl’s arms, your back thumping against his chest. 

He giggled slightly as he straightened you up, setting you back on the board as his foot kept it from rolling out from under you. His hands hovered over your hips again as he moved his foot, leaving you to balance on your own. “If you fall correctly, people will just think you were giving really good head,” he jested. You shoved his arms away at his words as he laughed at his own joke. 

You attempted a few more times and nearly had it down before Karl’s hands were on your hips again, giving you further instructions. You fought not to smile as his breath ghosted against your neck. You knew he cared about teaching you something that---on paper---was seemingly so easy, but his vulgar teasing was beginning to swarm your head. With his next steps set as your goal as well as the feeling of his hold on you, you kicked the board up and attempted to jump with it. While your brain was up to speed, your feet weren’t, sending the board out from beneath you and you to fall into its place. 

Karl snorted as choked back a laugh at you scrapping your hands on the concrete. “Come on, don’t be a pussy. Try again,” he chided, voice uneven and laced with whatever dark humor he was getting from watching you do this. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, letting him tug you up in front of him. As you wobbled on the board once again, you let his hands dig into your sides. Obviously, it seemed that he actually was worried about dropping you again, despite the fact that he was holding back some kind of sick laugh. “You would be great at teaching a kid how to ride a bike,” you quipped, the fact that he called you a pussy seeping into your mind. 

You gasped slightly as you slipped again, this time Karl’s arms wrapping around you tightly, pressing your body against his. “Awe, you want me to put a baby in you, pet?” He jeered with his lips near your ear. You shrugged out of his grip, breaking up your indecent thoughts at his comment. 

You could feel the heat rising to your ears as you balanced on his skateboard again. “Stop, you perv,” you deflected, hoping he couldn’t tell how hard you were having to bite back a smirk. 

After your skateboarding escapades, you sat typing away at your computer, Karl occasionally looking over his phone to peer at you. His legs were thrown lazily on either side of you as he stretched out on his pillows. 

An alarm went off on Karl’s phone, startling you in the process. He fought against smirking at your surprise as he sat up, crawling over to you. “Okay, I gave you two hours,” he stated, leaning forward to press his lips against yours and gently close your computer. The taste of him on your tongue was like a drug for you, leaving you constantly wanting more. 

You smirked into his kiss as your brain finally caught up with you. “I hope that document saved, asshole,” you groaned, pushing him back into his pillows as he chuckled at you. His fingers dragged up the length of your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his hands as you straddled him. “Fucking weirdo, timing me. Who are you, my dad?” You teased, pressing a kiss to his neck and digging your fingers into his hair. 

He moaned lowly, grinding against you. “Oh fuck yeah. Call me daddy,” he cantered. 

“No,” you answered simply. You sat up, reaching over to his top drawer in search of protection, but running your fingers over a lacy garment instead. Your brows knitted together as your gaze shot to the drawer, your underpants dangling from your finger. Karl tucked his hands behind his head, looking up at you nonchalantly as your mind flashed with memories of your time in the bathroom. 

Before you had the opportunity to ask him what he was still doing with them, his door popped open to reveal one of Karl’s roommates, his name beginning with a D but slipping your mind. “What are you guys doing in here?” He asked with a rather dopey smile, gesturing to Karl still between your legs. “Everyone’s downstairs, come on.” You and Karl shared a look as he left. 

You leaned back down to him, kissing him briefly before pressing your lips to his neck again. “Wanna come over instead?” You suggested softly, your lips ghosting over his ear. 

Karl loped down the stairs in front of you, a heavy layer of smoke hanging in the air above your heads. A mass of people crammed themselves together, finding solace in each other after the long week. If you weren’t so hung up on getting into Karl’s pants, you might have considered joining them. 

Before the two of you could reach the door, someone called out for Karl. Their voice boomed over the loudness of the music, making Karl wince slightly. His face flattened into a frown as “Todd” waved at the two of you. Karl took a few slugging steps to stand close enough to Todd’s group that they wouldn’t have to yell at each other. You settled your hand on Karl’s hip as you wrapped your hand around his waist, leaning against him. Todd’s eyes traced over you. 

He wet his lips. “You guys leaving already?” He asked, leaning back in his chair and accepting the joint offered to him. From an outsider’s perspective, he looked like the king of the castle. Luckily, you knew better. “Come on, play a game with us!” He suggested, patting the empty spot beside him. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could tell Karl was rolling his eyes. “I got a seat warmed up for you, baby girl,” he nodded towards you. 

You perked an eyebrow in his direction and Karl slipped his hand into yours nonchalantly. “Thanks, but no,” Karl stated. 

“Come on, Karl. Don’t make me pull pin.” At Todd’s words, Karl groaned reluctantly, the sound barely audible. You furrowed your brows at him. “Fifteen minutes. We were gonna play Never Have I Ever.” 

You leaned towards Karl. “What’s pulling pin?” You mumbled. 

“Flexing rank,” he grunted back. He tugged you with him to join the group. Before you could sit down, Todd pulled you into the spot beside him. You laughed nervously, watching as Karl’s features darkened as he sat across from the two of you. Todd handed you a drink, which you took but avoided sipping out of. 

A boy beside Karl piped up. “Okay, so never have I ever graduated high school. My degree is literally fake.” The boy smiled before taking a drink, making you giggle slightly. Todd draped his arm around the back of the couch where you were sitting. He wasn’t touching you exactly but every ounce of his being was getting under Karl’s skin. 

Todd smugly shook his head. “No, Zeke. Those aren’t the rules. You have to say something that’s not true about you. Like…” he trailed off slightly, his gaze settling on you before his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Never have I ever slashed someone’s tires.” 

You humored him with a subtle smile as if to ask if he was serious. He gestured towards Karl, who took a drink. You bit back a grin. “Well, never have I ever masturbated to a girl my roommate’s sleeping with,” Karl retaliated. Your eyes grew wide, suddenly happy to watch the event unfold before you. 

Todd took a drink after glaring at Karl. He leaned closer to you, this time his arm dropped to pull you against his side. “Do you wanna take a turn?” You shook your head, flashing your eyes to Karl before looping your fingers with Todd’s. Karl chewed the inside of his cheek, looking like he was holding back another laugh. “Alright, I’ll go.” Todd brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your palm. “Ah, I know. Never have I ever betrayed the secret oath of the frat and called the police.” 

Karl took another sip, his eyes on you. “Yeah, because never have I ever set the house on fire trying to light a bong,” he answered, making you snort. 

You let your free hand settle on Todd’s knee. “Awe, I’d light your bong for you,” you chided, making Todd laugh as he took a drink. 

“I bet you could do a lot for me, Princess,” he flirted, his lips nearing your ear. You raised your eyebrows in Karl’s direction, who was sitting with his chin in his hand. His expression was darkly entertained as you flirted with Todd. “Speaking of,” Todd looked to Karl again. “Never have I ever fucked someone on my roommate’s bed,” he teased, tucking his nose in the crook of your neck. 

Karl smirked. “You’re right, you probably haven’t,” he stated simply, downing the rest of his drink. Todd tensed slightly beside you. Karl stood, ruffling the hair of one of the other Brothers that were in the group before holding his hand out for you to take. As the two of you left, you heard one of the guys whistle and say something about never having peed in a pool before. 

As the two of you left the house, you walked in time with Karl’s heavy steps, swinging your entwined hands as if you were completely oblivious. “I can’t believe I made you jealous,” you taunted. You could practically see the steam rolling off his shoulders as he opened the passenger car door for you. Before you could slip into the seat, Karl’s hand gripped the back of your neck, bringing you to press your lips roughly against his. He pinned you between him and the cool metal of the car as the taste of beer spread across your tongue. 

His fingers dug into your hips, his other hand tightening around your throat. The coolness of his tongue ring was a welcomed sensation as you attempted to find friction against his hips. Your fingers moved to close around his wrist as he pulled away, leaving you gasping for air. His face was expressionless as his gaze danced from your lips to your eyes. “I’m going to fuckin’ ruin you for the way you acted,” he ribbed, stepping away from you. 

You nearly slid down the side of the car at his words. “Okay,” you whispered, heat rising to your cheeks and ultimately to your core. 

Karl’s calm exterior followed you until you finally got your apartment door open. Karl pinned you against the wood of your bedroom door, reaching to twist the lock as his lips began to commandeer your own. His hands dragged up your thighs beneath your skirt, squeezing at the flesh roughly. He yanked your shirt off, grinding his hips up and against yours as his teeth moved to nip at the skin of your neck before returning to badger your lips. 

The taste of beer on his lips blended with your flavored chapstick as your tongue slipped into his mouth. In a mess of tugging and biting each other, your body melted into his rough grasp. You wanted whatever repercussions his twisted mind could come up with. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted to you. You fought against diving your hands into his jeans to beg him to continue, but he broke away from you as you fought to catch your breath. 

Your lips were buzzing as the feeling of him still lingered. He brought his hand up to your jaw, tipping your chin up to him. “Fucking slut,” the devil’s grin painted across his face before he continued, pressing his lips against yours once more, his grin dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. “You act like I don’t fucking own you,” he nearly growled, his face hovering over yours as his hand squeezed your throat. You moaned quietly as he regulated your breathing with his hand. You wanted to drink in his dark, commanding appearance. 

He pushed you back on the bed, making you instinctively crawl up towards the pillows. He smirked slightly, undoing his belt and slipping it into his hands. He put the garment on your bedside table. After tugging his shirt off, he was on top of you again, pushing you into the pillows and the fluffy comforter. Karl’s lips seared yours, showing you how much command he had over your body. He ground his hips against yours, the fabric of his jeans digging into you to elicit a moan echo from your mouth. You could feel his erection hardening against your leg, the tension deep within you tightening at the prospect of what he was going to do to you. 

His fingers tugged at your skirt, gripping the material in his fist and dragging it down your body as if it was nothing. He flipped you, your elbows crowding the pillows as you felt him sit on your back, snapping the belt in his hands again. You let out a short breath as Karl’s nails raked up your back before his fingers dipped in your hair, tugging your head back to look at him. “I want you to scream my name tonight,” he groaned. You obliged as he dropped his grip on you. 

He pulled your wrists between the bars of your headboard before binding you to the metal with his belt, yanking the leather to sinch against your skin. He dropped his head to press his lips against your shoulder, a tender nod of affection you knew would be the last. You leaned on your side to watch him sit back on his knees to unbutton his jeans. “Be gentle,” you leered, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth to fight your grin again as you watched him spit into his hand and stroke himself in preparation.

He chuckled. “I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart,” he murmured darkly through a smirk. He pulled your hips up and against his own, forcing your face into the mattress. Your hands tightened around the metal bars, as he angled himself at your entrance before driving himself into with an act of force you knew you deserved. A moan of his name slipped past your lips as his fingers dug into your hips, thrusting into you to drive himself deeper into you. “That’s right. I want the neighbors to know who’s fucking you,” he groaned, snapping his hips against yours. 

Moans of pure bliss escaped your lips as his head neared yours. Karl used your hips as leverage for his unwavering pace, leaving you a mess of pleasure beneath him. His lips found their way to your neck as he nipped against the sensitive skin. You wanted him to mark you, to claim you, and he deserved to. His hand from your hair became wrapped around your throat as he began to reach his peak. 

His hand slapped your ass with such force you knew there was a handprint, but you were too overwhelmed with the noises escaping his lips and your climax threatened to disobey your control to be concerned with the sting. If anything it threatened to push you over the edge. Your hands pulled against the leather of his belt as he pounded into you. 

Your toes began to curl as he leaned over you, his breath fanning against your shoulder as you bit back heavy moans of pleasure. Karl’s hand was knotted in your hair again, his other fisting the sheets beside you. “Who’s making you feel this good? Huh?” You moaned out his name as he punctuated his sentence with the thrusts of his hips. “That’s right, you fucking slut.” You tightened around him, your orgasm sweeping over you with an element of shock. 

You could practically hear Karl’s smirk as he moaned at the sight of you coming undone beneath him. He continued to ride you, finishing rather abruptly. He pressed his lips between your shoulder blades before loosening the belt around your wrists. Your back popped as you were finally able to move freely. He bit back a chuckle as you gingerly snuggled beneath the covers beside him. You slipped your hand across his torso, hugging his side against your chest as he rested an arm behind your head. 

As you laid your head on his chest, his heartbeat began to steady, his fingers lightly brushing against your skin. “I’d rather eat my own feet than sleep with Todd, you know,” you croaked, realizing just how much your voice was weakening, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

Karl chuckled softly. “Me too,” he commented, making you smile slightly. “I’m actually…” he paused slightly before continuing as if searching for what he wanted to say exactly. “I’m actually not sleeping with anyone else.” 

You couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your face. “I’m not either.” You hugged him tighter, letting his fingers twirl into your hair. “I’m good with you.” 

“I’m good with you, too,” he mirrored, a smirk evident in his voice as his other hand traced over the red marks on your wrists from his belt. 

Tags: 

@mrwinemaker @madsbbg @idiotinnit @xxtakechancesxx

[volturialice]

what is alice's style/aesthetic for you?

oooh good question, anon! can you believe I have never discussed this ever before here in my entire career at volturialice industries

possibly because I'm pretty clueless when it comes to fashion I pretty much dress like a post- plane crash yellowjackets character

so although this question would probably be best answered via images, I'm just gonna use my Words like a loser

I've seen a lot of takes on how alice would dress, ranging from "yes good I agree" to "is it crack? is that what you smoke, do you smoke crack?" but lemme discuss some Fashion Factors first.

#1) Midnight Sun garbage - let's be honest, the passage in MS about how alice (and all the cullens) only wear long sleeved turtlenecks in beige and khaki in order to "blend in" is fucking hilarious. can you think of a better way to look like a freakish fundie cult?? @ smeyer your middle-aged mormon is showing and I'm embarrassed for you

#2) actually fitting in - if the cullen kids were actually concerned with blending in with their human peers, they'd dress like actual american high school students—ie, mostly-casual fast fashion in youthful styles that are trendy but not too trendy. if you go by the 2000s trends of when the books/films are set, alice and rosalie should be dressing in henleys and layered hollister tanks like jessica stanley. they should not be wearing the chanel boots.

at least, not to school.

but, as characterized via their actions rather than lip service, the cullens are not actually making anything more than a token effort to blend in, so I'm throwing that factor out the window.

#3) this fandom has latched WAY too hard onto the word "pixie" and they're flat-out Wrong - if I had a nickel for every time I heard fanon describe alice as a "manic pixie dream girl," I would be rich enough to buy 10 yellow porsches. instead, I only have psychic damage. that's not what "manic pixie dream girl" means!! nor is it what smeyer meant by "pixie-like!" she just meant "really fucking petite," y'all (and maybe "energetic.") alice is way way wayyyy too conventional to be an MPDG, both in style and attitude. that's also not even slightly the role she plays in the story, but I digress. it's one of my pet peeves do not come around here with that nonsense

my actual thoughts

if you were a fashion-obsessed superpowered centenarian immortal permanently frozen as a 4'10" “pixie-like” teenage girl, how would you dress? in cutesy “fairycore” that made you look like a child playing dress-up? somehow I doubt it.

I know I would dress to counteract that. pick styles that made me look taller, more mature and worldly, kind of edgy and sleek and bold. I see alice’s style as being very feminine, but not very organic. the few times her outfits get described in the books (“a black satin dress with geometric cutouts” to prom and “a sequined tank top and red leather pants” to the grad party), they’re daring and revealing, especially by smeyer standards. she’s the one who packs bella edgy honeymoon lingerie, so clearly she’s got some expertise in that area, too. I also think she’s less about trends—how many of those has she lived through? and more about experimentation.

so if she doesn’t dress like a mormon cultist, or an indie manic pixie dream girl, or an actual 2000s human teen, who does she dress like?

hear me out: alice dresses like she goes to Euphoria High School. maddy perez toned down with a dash of cher horowitz preppiness on occasion. of course, unlike Euphoria High School, Forks High probably has an actual dress code, so she’d have to work within that, at least on weekdays. but I think she’s up to the challenge.

I also think alice dresses very strategically, depending on her visions and personal agenda. like, I have this one dress that makes me look like I’ve never done anything wrong ever in my life, and this one pair of boots that make me look like I just did bath salts and burned down an orphanage, and I deploy them depending on how I wanna be Perceived on a given day. so in alice’s case, she’s choosing outfits with an eye toward what she knows she’ll be up to later, and that’s gonna determine stuff like how much she blends in vs stands out, whether she’s trying to look young and innocent or mature and authoritative or dazzlingly seductive, etc.

anyway, I’m sure I’m not the only one with Opinions about this! if you guys have specific aesthetics or inspo or whatever that gives off alice vibes, drop it below or just like, show me whenever. I’m always interested in how other people see her!

[charnelhouse]

alright so the million dolar question is, why watch your step? where did that come from?

Oh wow what a question! So I wrote the bloom universe which involved the tf guys and a reader and I thought it was the most self-indulgent shit I’d ever written bc who the hell writes a story with four dude love interests who all end up with the main OC. Turns out I didn’t know that the concept of “reverse-harem” existed until like the fall of 2021 and I then read a bunch of books that featured that trope.

There aren’t a ton of good ones out there tbh and I feel like a lot of them can be incredibly abusive. WYS is certainly dark and has pretty fucked up elements, but I want to explore that toxicity and build off of it. These are bad people who are capable of good things and there’s just a different level of morality here. It’s like when you watch the Sopranos or SOA - people die/kill all the time. In a lot of those reverse harem mob books, the guys were always cartoonishly evil or fell in love two days into meeting the mc. I wanted to make sure each guy was different and had layers and dimensions and blah blah. I wanted the main girl to be her own level of fucked up and not perfect or “not like other girls” adjacent. Faire has her Mary Sue qualities at times, but she’s insecure and self-destructive, too.

I’d never been into mob aus, but I read Den of Vipers and was like okay the concept of the mob setting actually works well with a reverse harem trope bc you kind of need guys who are all stuck in the same environment and are already taboo by nature bc of their living. I felt like the TF guys looked like they could fit the mob trope. Oscar just gives me that vibe and Charlie has played Jax Teller who is essentially the leader of a gang. They’re also all smoking hot.

I wrote a snippet of a scene and asked if people would be into it and a lot of people were. What’s so funny is that I made the guys WAY more mean and dark in that short drabble and just couldn’t really keep that up once I started the story itself.

It’s become something else entirely. Sometimes I don’t even envision the characters the way i originally did. There’s literally zero connection to Triple Frontier other than the names and the absolute boner I get when people have told me they read WYS despite never having seen TF. I’m half-asleep in bed so hopefully this made sense.

[maddiwrites]

Beauty is Pain

Pairing: Mostly Platonic!Pogues, mentions of JJ Maybank x reader 

Summary: You and Kie try to wax your legs yourselves for the first time and accidentally get yourselves trapped in a sticky situation that gets you locked in your room with JJ and Pope while you listen to Sarah and John B fight outside your door. Routledge!Reader.

Note: I got this idea from a Friends episode. If you watched the show, you’ll know exactly which one I’m talking about. Mostly wrote this without the intention of doing a JJ x reader pairing but then I got an idea(: Hope y'all like it!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: Language, maybe angst?? 

For her birthday, Kie was gifted a hard waxing kit. At first you thought it was odd, a Kook like her was better off going to a professional to get evenly waxed brows or a perfectly clear bikini line. But when she asked you to try it out with her, you were intrigued. 

You invited her over to your messy home everyone calls the Chateau. Your brother had a date with his Kook girlfriend, Sarah Cameron, which meant you had the house all to yourself. Even though it was just Kie, your best friend of four years, you decided to clean up the place before she got there. Your house was littered in empty beer cans and ends of JJ’s rolled blunts. You noticed John B was drinking more, smoking JJ’s weed, and even sleeping in later than usual. He’s called out of work two times in the past two weeks, and if he does manage to a say hello to you, it’s a grumbled mumble of words you can barely understand. You chopped it up to him just being moody, but there was also a small part of you that wondered if something serious was going on you didn’t know about.

You tried questioning your friends about it. Kie said she had no clue but noticed his change of attitude too. Pope would get nervous when you brought up John B’s name and claimed he didn’t know what you were talking about. Before you could question him further, his dad whisked him away to clean up the store and run a couple of last minute groceries. JJ, your boyfriend, tried to tell you it was probably nothing, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with you when he talked. He busied himself with rolling another blunt or folding the tossed laundry on your bedroom floor. When you called him out on it, he got snippy and frustrated, which just led you to drop the topic because you didn’t feel like dealing with a second moody teenager. 

Kie showed up right when she said she would with the boxed waxing kit in her hand. You raised one brow up at it as you tossed the filled trash bag out the door. 

“This it?” You said.

“Yes. You haven’t shaved your legs in a while, right?”

“Yeah. It’s been two weeks like you said. JJ says my legs are looking hairier than his. He’ll barely even touch them. One time he called them monkey legs.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Boys are such hypocrites. If they had to do half the stuff we did, they wouldn’t be complaining at all. They shouldn’t even get to complain about what women decide to do with their bodies.”

Kie continued ranting about how pain is beauty and men will never understand it unless they lived in a woman’s body for a whole month, including the week a woman’s period started, as she set up the kit. 

You worked in your room because there was more space for both of you to try your best to be comfortable. Kie plugged in the warmer on your nightstand and mixed the pink wax pellets with a flat wooden stick until it turned to a warm goo. 

“Okay,” Kie sat up against your bed’s headboard and patted her thigh to motion for you to give her your leg. “You’re up.”

“Why do I have to be first?” You asked.

You’ve never waxed your legs before. Only your brows and sometimes bikini line and even then, you usually just pluck and shave. Getting your hair professionally waxed was expensive and you tried to prioritize your purchases as much as possible to stabilize the life you and John B still had.

Kie sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it together. Let me just put the wax on you.”

You gave Kie your left leg and she slathered the warm wax up the left side of your shin. You watched as she did the same to her own leg and grimaced nervously when you felt the wax hardening against your skin. 

“Ready?” She asked with a teasing smirk.

“On the count of three?”

Kie nodded. “One.”

“Two.” “Three.”

At exactly three, Kie pulled the long waxing strip from your leg and you did the same with hers. A searing hot pain ran up you leg as Kie ripped the wax off, making you bite down a scream. 

“Fuck!” Kie screamed up into the ceiling. You looked down at both your legs. There was a thick line of red from where the wax was. “That shit hurts.”

“Let’s try it again,” You suggested. “Maybe we’ll get use to it if we keep doing it.”

Kie nodded. “Okay. Yeah, let’s try again.”

This time, Kie slid two long strips on both your left and right leg. The warm wax felt soothing. You almost wished you didn’t have to rip it off in the first place. 

“On three?” You said.

Kie nodded.

On three, you each ripped one strip off your own legs. You cursed against gritted teeth from the pain. You were wrong about getting used to it. You didn’t think you would ever be able to tolerate this pain. 

“What the hell? This has never hurt this bad.” Kie said.

“I think whoever gave this to you secretly hates you,” You said to her.

Kie sighed and looked down at the hardening wax still left on your legs. “Well, we have to finish. We’ll just rip them all off really fast.”

“Okay.”

You ripped three out of the four strips that were left at rocket speed, but they all hurt exactly the same. It felt like you were ripping more than just the hair off your leg. You wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down and saw half the layers of your skin ripped off. 

You blinked back the tears at the exact same time Pope and JJ busted into your room looking around frantically. JJ was holding a baseball bat and Pope a pan you just washed and placed on the drying wrack an hour ago. 

“What’s wrong?” Pope yelled.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ narrowed his eyes at you, surprised he wasn’t looking at you being attacked by an intruder or covered in cuts and bruises. When he first heard you screaming when he and Pope walked into your house, his heart raced a million beats per minutes. His mind wandered to all the different things that could have happened to you. He swore he was going to make you lock your door every day and night now. 

But here you were, safe and sound and laying in bed with Kie. Although he could see your labored breathing and clouded eyes, he knew you weren’t in any imminent trouble. His eyes traced from your face down to your legs where a pink strip of wax was still waiting to be pulled off. 

“We’re fine. We’re just waxing our legs.” Kie said.

“What are you doing here?” You asked your boyfriend.

“Pope said Kie was here so we came to hang with you,” JJ said absentmindedly. “I thought you were being murdered.”

“It sure felt like it,” You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered from JJ’s protective side.

JJ scoffed. “It can’t hurt that bad.”

Kie tutted her head forward. “Oh yeah? Come here.”

“What? No.”

Kie ignored him and grabbed his arm from across your body and slapped on another slab of wax. JJ hissed from the heat then visibly relaxed.

“Y/N, wanna do the honors?” Kie smirked at you.

You glared at her. “I’m not volunteering to hurt my boyfriend.”

Kie scoffed at you. “What did he call your legs again?”

You clenched your teeth together and nodded once. Kie made her point, and you remembered everything she said about how men will never understand the pain women go through to please not only themselves, but their lovers too. 

“Oh, yeah,” You said within a split second and ripped the wax off JJ’s arms. He flinched away from you, rearing his arm back far away from your reach. His mouth was opened in an ‘O’ shape and his brows pinched together. “Monkey legs.” You smirked at him.

“Fuck,” JJ shook out his arm as if you physically lit it on fire. 

“It can’t hurt that bad, right, JJ?” Kie mocked him.

Pope laughed at his blonde friend and shook his head. “Stupid.”

“Y/N, you have one left.”

“Shut up, I know,” You rolled your shoulders back like you were getting ready to run a marathon. 

“Want me to do it for you?” You nodded. JJ came up next to you and offered his hand for you to squeeze. “Okay. On three. One, two -” Before Kie even said the word three, she ripped the wax off. You closed your eyes and squeezed JJ’s hand hard, until his knuckles rolled in your closed fingers. 

“Shit, baby,” JJ crouched next to you awkwardly, trying to mend his fingers back together.

“Sorry,” You huffed. You weren’t that sorry. He called you monkey legs.

You heard the screen door open and close. Figuring it was just John B back from his date, you relaxed against your headboard again and made a promise to yourself to never wax your legs again. Beauty wasn’t worth this pain. You’d rather be monkey legs than go through that again.

Or just simply shave. 

“ - And that’s supposed to make this all okay?” Your eyes opened when you heard, not JB, but Sarah Cameron screaming right outside your room. Pope quickly closed your bedroom door as quietly as possible and held up his finger to you and Kie to be quiet. “That’s your excuse?”

Your brows pinched together in confusion and you looked at your boyfriend for some kind of answer. This was the first time you ever heard Sarah raise her voice at your brother. As far as you knew, the couple never fought.

JJ was looking down at the ground and avoiding your stare. His hands were wracked through his blonde strands and resting on the top of his head. He and Pope didn’t look as surprised as you and Kie.

“What the hell is going on?” Kie asked in a hushed whisper.

“I - I was scared. I’ve never done this before -” John B stuttered.

“Here’s some advice. Rule number one. Don’t cheat!” Sarah yelled. You swore you could hear the pain behind her voice.

You gasped in surprise and snapped your head in JJ’s direction. He wouldn’t look at you, which mean he knew about this long before you did. You put the pieces together. No wonder John B has been acting miserable. Who knows how long he’s been holding onto this. 

Well...apparently JJ and Pope know.

“What the hell...” Kie sits up straighter. “Is she serious?”

“Did you know?” You asked your boyfriend. This time he did look at you. And he looked guilty as hell.

Your eyes snapped back to the door when John B yelled back at her. “That’s gold coming from you. Did Topper use that same line when you got together with me?”

You physically cringed at the mention of Topper’s name. It may have been a low blow, but John B had a point. 

“Shit,” Kie cursed and sped walked towards the door.

You followed in her footsteps and pressed your ear against the door. One thing was for sure, you couldn’t leave your room now. You couldn’t walk in on that. But at least you could be nosy and eavesdrop.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t love him. I loved you. I left Topper for you!”

“You cheated on him.”

“Because I loved you, John B! You cheated on me because you were scared because...why? Because I’m a Kook? I’ve always been a Kook and you’ve never had a problem with that! Not until now!”

You and Kie crouched on the floor so JJ and Pope could hover over you and listen. It sounded like John B cheated on Sarah a couple weeks ago with a Pogue from your school because he got scared of his feelings for Sarah. Rafe got in your brother’s head, telling him how he will never be enough to care for Sarah when she’s no longer reliant on her father’s money. He became insecure and looked to someone who wouldn’t ever think of him like that - someone who would understand him.

John B was in the wrong and your heart cracked for the couple you once swore was going to be the first to get married out of your group of friends. Although you and Sarah had a rocky start, she quickly became the sister you never had. You got along just as much as you and Kie did. Sometimes John B would find it annoying when Sarah would come over to hang out with you instead of him, but the other part of him loved that the two most important people in his life were as close as he was with JJ. You couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. Not even another Pogue. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sarah asked. She sounded broken and her voice cracked with exhaustion. You wanted to walk out of the room and hug her tightly while yelling at John B for being an absolute idiot. 

You heard John B sigh. “I was going to. I regretted it the second it was over and I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to leave me over some stupid mistake. JJ and Pope said -”

“JJ and Pope knew about this?”

You and Kie looked up at your boyfriends with the deadliest glare either of them have seen out of both you. JJ took a step back and held his hands up in surrender as if you were holding a loaded gun to his head. 

“I can explain -” JJ said quickly as Pope’s mouth moved silently to come up with an excuse.

“I didn’t know what to do! They said telling you would only hurt you -” John B weakly tried to explain.

“Of course it would fucking hurt me! You’ve been lying to me for weeks. You had sex with another girl!” 

You heard something shatter before a deafening silence. You waited for John B to say something, praying he was smart enough to say anything that could salvage what little of a relationship he had left.

You didn’t want to make this about you, but you wondered how many times JJ didn’t tell you something because it would hurt you. You wondered if he did anything just as detrimental to your relationship and didn’t tell you because he was afraid you would break up with him.

John B and Sarah continued to fight for another hour. You wondered if John B was worried about where you might be. If you go somewhere without telling John B, you usually text him later in the day to tell him where you are. It’s something both of you started doing ever since your father disappeared. So that if something were to happen, you would know where to look first.

You thought about jumping out your window, but your window frame was rusty. Even if you moved the window up a little bit, the wood would grind against each other, and your cover would be blown. You were getting hungry and JJ was getting antsy, probably afraid that John B would say something more to push him in the dog house. You’ve barely looked at him since John B threw him under the bus.

“Baby...” JJ said quietly to try to get your attention. “Come on, baby, let me explain.”

You glared at him and continued braiding Kie’s hair with your back to the door. 

“We had good intentions,” Pope tried to save his own ass but Kie’s look mirrored yours. “We just didn’t want them to break up.”

“Shut up, Pope,” You said for Kie. 

“We were wrong,” JJ said, making you advert your attention from Pope to your boyfriend. “I was wrong. It was my idea for John B not to tell Sarah. But the more time I spent with you, I knew I’d never be able to do that to you. It would eat at me inside, and that’s exactly what it was doing to JB. So yesterday I told him he had to tell her. Or else he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t.” Your eyes soften under his ocean blue ones and your hands fell from Kie’s hair. “I know I would.”

The corner of your lip twitched up into a lopsided grin, and just like that, you were entranced by the blonde Pogue all over again. JJ had his way with words. It’s gotten him both into certain situations and out of other bad ones. But you knew JJ like the back of your hand. You knew when he was lying. He wouldn’t look at you and if you questioned him on it he would get angry. Looking at JJ, you knew he was telling the truth. 

“Yeah, what he said.” Pope said, pointing at your boyfriend.

You and Kie rolled your eyes playfully. Pope, on the other hand, wasn’t so great with his words. That’s why it took so long for him to score Kie as his girlfriend. 

“Where are you going?” You heard John B yell. He sounded defeated.

“I can’t be here. I need...I need space.”

“Sarah...”

“Please. I just need time to think. Okay?”

Your front door slammed shut and you held your breath, waiting for John B to run after her or break more shit in your living room. But nothing like that ever came. Instead, you listened to John B cry to himself probably somewhere on the couch. 

And just like that, you didn’t care about being caught. You didn’t care if he screamed in your face for eavesdropping or calling you nosy and inconsiderate. Your brother needed you, and in that moment, it didn’t matter to you that he was the one in the wrong. At the end of the day, he was your brother. Your blood. Your family. And you’re the one who will always be his rock. 

Kie stood up with you and watched wearily as you showed yourself to your brother. John B looked up with wide eyes, surprised to see not only you but the rest of the Pogues hidden away in your room. 

He wanted to be mad, but he didn’t have the energy to be. Instead, he cried harder because he hated that you of all people knew what he did and that he was now being weak by crying about it in your living room. He wanted to be the role model you could always look up to, especially now that your dad was gone. And he thought he failed at it. 

John B was pleasantly surprised when he felt a pair of gentle arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a side hug as you sat on the couch next to him. Kie sat on the coffee table in front of you and rubbed John B’s knee comfortingly. Pope and JJ knew the girls were better equipped to handle John B’s emotions, so they busied themselves in the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers and pretzels and setting them down on the table next to Kie. 

Even though John B cheated and created a big mess in not only his life, but the rest of yours too, you were family. You would never leave him on his darkest day and play the blame game. You’ll help him get control. You’ll help him fix it. You’ll help him live his life to the fullest. And that’s what John B loved about you. You never turned your back on him, even when he deserved it.

The five of you spent the rest of the night drinking beer, ordering pizza, and watching comedy movies to get him to forget. Later in the night, you and Kie left to comfort Sarah. You admitted that you two heard the whole thing and would support her with whatever she chose to do about her relationship. You and Kie slept over her house and discussed the pros and cons of her staying with John B. You ate popcorn and applied face masks while Keeping Up With The Kardashians played in the background. 

“You know, Kie’s waxing kit is still at my house,” A mischievous smirk pulled at your lips. “We could cause a lot of damage while he sleeps.”

Kie encouraged the idea and Sarah laughed, feeling grateful that the two of you would even come to see her when you both had loyalties to John B. She really did love you guys and would be devastated if her relationship with John B drove you guys apart. 

In the end, Sarah ended up taking John B back. It took a while for them to get their relationship back to the way it was, but they loved each other enough to salvage it. John B worked his ass off to prove how much he loved her and Sarah appreciated every second of it.

And as for you and JJ...well you made sure to give him one really good reason as to why he should never cheat on you (;