#but I've spared you all the trouble

[dribs-and-drabbles]

The Thai Communal Wardrobe™ strikes again.

You're My Sky (ep 7) | Our Skyy 2 ATOTS (ep 15)

You're My Sky (ep 7) | Vice Versa (ep 5)

(with thanks to @respectthepetty for the yms screenshots)

[sudden-memory-loss]

Hi rhys! new mutual matthew here, I am going to go absolute ballistic in your inbox ^_^

please tell me about the subtle yet meaningful character development, please tell me how much the characters changed yet feel the same - from the start of the show through their powerful journeys. i NEED to know how much love they share, i need to know when or how they realize how much they care for one another, i need to know when the characters finally see the love between all of them and realize that they'll be alright.

i need to know about the dynamic of rodney and his sister, and i especially need to know literally everything about this show, enlighten me because i am putting stargate atlantis on my watchlist

okay okay I'm gonna be honest I was half asleep and emotional and had just spent a couple of hours reading sga fanfiction when I wrote all that but yes. yes. I can tell you more. by which I mean I am actually going to go on about rodney mckay for longer than would be socially appropriate for any other setting. thank you. (I do touch on everyone else and the show as a whole but I will be honest, most of this is about rodney skfjsh)

so the thing about rodney mckay (my favourite character in the show) is that he's an asshole. bear with me here. he's an asshole in a way that's actually so amusing and so clearly a (poor) cover up for how he's a mess of neuroses and not used to caring about other people or having them care about him.

he first shows up in the original stargate show (stargate sg-1) and lets say his performance is. poor. he basically suggested the team break the cardinal rule of stargate: don't leave anyone behind. certainly don't leave your teammember to be erased in the buffer of the stargate, but anyway. sg-1 is also a good show but that's another ramble.

the other thing about rodney mckay is that he's a genius. two phds: astrophysics and engineering. smartest person in two galaxies if he's to be believed (and quite honestly, he is). he's got an ego the size of a small planet, but he can back it up. he is absolutely as smart as he claims. he's usually the one pulling miracles out of his ass as sheppard yells at him to do it faster.

the other other thing about rodney mckay (oooh, look, complexities), is that he's a huge fucking wimp. absolute baby when it comes to any sort of physical danger. he has a deadly citrus allergy that he goes on about at every given chance and will absolutely run away if he thinks he can get away with it.

so that's baseline rodney mckay. possibly the most high strung person in the known universe with a genius level brain going a mile a minute at all times.

I don't know how to explain it succinctly. but the biggest change in rodney is about bravery and belonging.

in sg-1, rodney would have happily (well maybe not happily but certainly without question) had someone give up their life for his own. he hadn't yet gotten to the point of understanding how bonds like that are important.

by the end of the show, if it came down to it, rodney would die for atlantis. he would die for his team. but he also gained the trust that maybe, just maybe, they can get him out of the dangerous situations that he occasionally gets himself into in an effort to keep the rest of the team safe (or pure bad luck).

but believe me, he'll absolutely still bitch about it. he doesn't lose that annoying charm--and trust me, it is kind of charming. there are real assholes in sga (e.g. kavanaugh, ugh) and rodney is not that. rodney will call you an idiot while saving your life and kavanaugh will tell you that it's hopeless and you should give up. and also bullheadly tell you he's right even as he's oh so terribly wrong. rodney isn't wrong. well, rarely. he did blow up a solar system that one time but, you know, it was uninhabited.

that's one of my favourite things about rodney honestly. not the blowing up a solar system thing, but the fact that he never stops being a blustering asshole for all his moments of sincerity; he's still a coward for all his occasional moments of bravery. he thinks he's better than you but he'll save your life, he'll just call you an idiot while he does it. he becomes a better person without changing who he is.

also he doesn't think biology is a real science which is so funny to me. yes, you're right, mckay, clearly medicine is vodoo djgdk.

jeannie miller (rodney's sister) is first brought up in letters from pegasus, if I remember correctly. during which, to give some minor spoilers, they think they're all gonna die and they're each sending messages back to earth for the people they left behind.

rodney actually spends most of his talking in circles about "leadership" and also absolute nonsense, but of course he has to have his one moment of sincerity, where he addresses jeannie. it's also, I think, the first episode where it's acknowledged how they are a kind of family now, these people in atlantis (”family is... important. I’ve come to realise that, because the people here have become sort of a surrogate family to me.”). those videos are never sent and turns out they don't die (surprisingly /s) but we saw it, even if jeannie didn't. yet.

jeannie is also a genius, of course, except that she isn't an asshole and also at one point decided to make a family and give up all the long nights and hard work that comes with being a genius. she married an english major and had a daughter, madison. rodney did not take this decision particularly well and then they didn't talk for 4 years. whoops.

eventually their relationship heals, with work from both sides, the start of which leads to one of my favourite exchanges in the whole show that makes me wanna cry and hyperventilate whenever I think about it.

and their whole relationship is so delightful. the actors are real life siblings so they know how to act like siblings. there's no 'bro' or 'sis' (does anyone actually talk to their siblings like that???) but jeannie is the only one to call rodney by his real name (much to rodney's everlasting despair) she tells embarrassing stories to his friends (as is her right as a little sister), she berrates him and they whine at each other. but they love each other, even for all the years they were estranged.

but, god, yeah, that’s just rodney. and obviously I have the most to say about him because he’s my favourite character, but there’s so many good characters in this show.

there’s elizabeth weir, lawful good leader of the atlantis expedition, who cares so much about every person there. there’s john sheppard, cocky flyboy allergic to talking about his feelings but regularly willing to blow himself up to save other people (who’s way smarter than he lets people think). there’s carson beckett, scottish doctor who puts up with so much bullshit from rodney but is good natured and endlessly kind and also kind of a bit of a coward too sometimes (there’s a reason those two are friends). there’s teyla emmagan, leader of her people and full of such incredible strength and grace. there’s ronon dex, warrior with a tragic backstory and dry wit and hidden affection.

there’s radek zelenka, basically the only scientist rodney actually considers capable, and aiden ford, an absolute puppy dog of a marine, and peter grodin, possibly the only other scientist rodney would consider capable. you have laura cadman, a marine/explosives expert who rodney can’t stand because she loves to tease him, and peter kavanaugh, a scientist rodney can’t stand because he’s terrible. and eventually there’s evan lorne and jennifer keller and richard woolsey and even sam carter (a main character from sg-1, along with col. jack o’neill and dr. daniel jackson, who also both turn up every so often), and they all have a place in this strange and wonderful city.

and there’s the intricacies between the relationships where you have teyla and ronon as the aliens on the team not comprehending the shit rodney and john say about earth or their pop culture references, and you have john and elizabeth starting out clashing but eventually melding together as a command team really well, and you have woolsey trying to integrate into a group of people who are already so close knit, and you have rodney’s really ridiculous crush on sam that’s mellowed out enough she can actually stand to work with him, and the way that everybody fucking hates kavanaugh because he’s totally insufferable skjfd.

and it’s the way that once they’re all settled in, they just trust each other (except maybe rodney, who trusts most of the scientists in his lab as far as he can throw them off a balcony into the ocean). there’s no question about it, it’s just there. there’s an episode where a virus causes everyone to lose their memories, and sheppard has a picture of teyla on a tablet and despite knowing nothing, searches for her because he knows she can help. there’s countless episodes where john throws himself into dangerous situations with full belief in his team’s ability to bring him out again (much to rodney’s constant stress: “you see, the thing is, colonel sheppard and I have sort of gotten into this habit of saving each other's lives, and it's my turn.”).

honestly, the plots range from borderline ridiculous to actual emotional shit and I couldn’t tell you which I prefer.

there’s an episode with this guy who has a “potion” that makes everyone adore him despite the fact that he is more insufferable than kavanaugh (I hate this guy <3). but there’s also an episode where rodney is slowly losing all his memories and they bring jeannie in to say goodbye and it’s. so much. and then again there’s an episode where rodney and cadman are trapped in the same body. so the mood is. variable. it’s great though, because sometimes you need shit that doesn’t matter. and sometimes you do.

anyway that’s my ramble I think skfjsd. thank you very much for reading and if you decide to watch it, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do <33333

[momochiiee-reblogs]

Welp, since I'm being rendered jobless starting this following weekend, and some issues at home happened I am now taking on all cleaning duties home

The bright side is, I will probably clean more often my room precisely cuz if I'm cleaning all other areas, it takes no extra effort once I'm set in motion, by force of I don't want to disappoint anyone else even less than what I usually disappoint myself when struggling with starting tasks ahdshfhdhfhjf

[gallusrostromegalus]

Basically. I got screwed.

I am very sorry for how relatively quiet this blog has been but I've been dealing with a very unpleasant situation the last few months, and now I need help.

Essentially, I tried to help someone out, and she took advantage of me, and I have no way to recoup my losses.

Earlier this year, I moved into a new house. Before we sold the old house, a Now-Former friend ran into some trouble and was about to become homeless with pets and a small child. Not wanting them to be on the street, we offered to hold off selling the old house so she could stay there for a little while, if she could pay the cost of the mortgage on that house (because I could afford one mortgage but not two) while we helped her find somewhere more permanent.

I was not making money from this- since I was still paying the utilities and property taxes, I was actually losing money, but willing to soak that in order to help her save up and get her on her feet.

Instead, she:

Never Paid a Dime towards covering the mortgage costs like she agreed ($12,000 for the nine months she was there)

Trashed the house ($500 dump fees for the trash alone)

Let her pets piss and shit all over the house ($1,500 bio hazard cleanup, $4000 to replace the carpet and other damaged flooring)

Caused an electrical issue in the garage ($900 to repair)

Broke the washer, dryer and refrigerator ($2500 to replace)

Broke the fence ($1000 to repair)

When I told her I could no longer financially support her and that I needed to sell the old house, she illegally squatted there for a solid three months and I had to hire a lawyer and actually take her to court to get her to leave ($2,500)

The resulting stress has been, as you can imagine, stressful.

So stressful, in fact, that it aggravated a the medical conditions my husband had and made him extremely sick. He had to go to the hospital and take time off work to recover. Now the health insurance is trying to weasel out of paying his short-term disability claim.

So net, this woman has managed to cost me around $25,000 and that's not taking into account the missed paychecks and medical expenses. I do not have $25,000, and until at least $13,000 of that is spent to repair the damage she did, I legally cannot sell the house to even begin to recoup my losses.

Theoretically, I could sue this woman, but she doesn't have any money and it would be me paying even more money I don't have to get... Nothing. So I'm asking for help to cover the costs of getting the old house ready to sell, my husband's medical expenses, and other expenses incurred by this debacle:

If you can help out in any way-share, donate spare change, anything- I'd be extremely grateful.

Thank you.

[luveline]

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy. 

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?" 

"You don't? You're the expert." 

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question. 

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test." 

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums." 

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–" 

"Lovely?" 

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him. 

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully. 

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done. 

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did." 

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up." 

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't." 

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."  

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down. 

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry." 

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" 

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you." 

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."  

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…" 

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope. 

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth. 

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose." 

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine." 

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather." 

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing. 

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress." 

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years. 

It only feels like years. 

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern. 

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath. 

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault." 

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone." 

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this." 

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain." 

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly. 

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you." 

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."  

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips. 

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips. 

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart." 

[crustgremlin]

How to start a pair of punk patch pants

(a potentially really shitty tutorial)

I've seen a couple videos on this but a lot of them seem to skip out on some really key information and tricks so I thought I'd just write a probably really long and really rambly post about it!!!

Step one: gathering supplies

In terms of supplies the main things you'll need are:

The pants

Approximately 4 rolls of dental floss (this can change depending on number of patches and your pant size)

A needle with a big enough eye to fit the floss through

Acrylic paints

Brushes

Scrap denim or other scraps of fabric for the patches

Pins

Some kind of marker or pencil that will work on the fabric you've chosen

I will be going into some detail below about why you need each of these items!!

The pants themselves

personally I prefer either using a pair of jeans I already own or thrifting a pair to be as sustainable as possible, however if you really need to go out and buy a new pair for whatever reason get a high quality pair, this will help in the long run with preventing them from falling apart as easily.

The second main point I want to make is that the pants should not be skinny jeans. This is because when you sew on patches it slightly cinches in the fabric, and with skinny jeans generally being stretchy, this is going to result in the thread of the patches stretching out and snapping. Your patches will all just start falling off and it'll ruin your hard work.

This is why I'd recommend using a pair of jeans or pants that are a bit looser of a fit, such as straight legged pants or a pair of pants a size up from your actual size if possible!

Dental floss

The reason it's generally suggested to use dental floss rather than actual thread is because dental floss tends to overall be a lot stronger than your average thread, as well as often being more easily accessible to buy.

Needle

This ones pretty self-explanatory, just make sure you get a needle with a long/wide enough eye (the hole the thread goes through) for your floss to be able to fit through without trouble.

Acrylic paints

You may be wondering why I'm suggesting acrylics over fabric paints and there are a few reasons!

The first is simply that they're both cheaper and far easier to purchase for the average person than fabric paints, and I want this tutorial to be as accessible as possible for as many people as possible.

The second reason is that fabric paints require a lot of fucking around with setting the paint, whereas acrylics can just be left to dry and be finished, and so long as your pants are hand washed, the paints won't come out (unless you layer it on super thick or are really rough when you clean them).

Brushes

Another pretty obvious one, these are needed so you can actually paint your patches!!!

Fabric/spare denim

You need fabric or scraps to be able to actually create patches for your pants, so this is essential.

Any kind of scrap fabric can do, a lot of fabric stores tend to have bins of scrap fabric that are either pre-priced or priced by weight and that can be a really good opportunity to acquire the fabric you need!

Another way (the method I tend to use) is thrifting a few pairs of jeans alongside the pair I want to patch and then ripping them up into patch-sized pieces!

Either way, I really advise against buying straight up new fabrics by the metre for this as it kinda goes against the entire idea of sustainability and reuse.

A really big tip I have for when you're cutting the fabric of your choice up for patches is to actually only cut a little slit, and then rip. This produces a really nice distressed edge and will help add some texture and more of a fucked up look to your pants a lot quicker than if you waited for the fabric to fray by itself!

Marker/pencil

This is literally just so you can draw your designs onto your patches! I've personally found that either a black or white (depending on how dark the fabric you're using is) pastel pencil is generally good enough to get the general gist of what you want down well enough for you to paint it on.

Pins

These are literally just to hold your patches in place and literally any kind from proper sewing pins to safety pins will work! (just don't forget they're in the jeans before you put them on I promise you it isn't fun to put on a pair of jeans full of pins).

Optional: a sketchbook

You may want a sketchbook or alternatively scraps of paper if you have any kind of original concept for a patch so you can draw it out a few times first to really nail it, and it's also helpful to have if you aren't as confident in your painting and drawing abilities!

Step two: patch making

I personally pre-rip/cut all of my patches before I paint anything on them generally speaking and then fit whatever design I want onto whatever piece I think it would fit on, however if you want to paint your patches and then rip/cut the design out that's also an option (and probably a much smarter one I'm just incredibly stubborn).

For punk pants you want a good mix of both punk bands, politics, and also maybe something a bit daft (I have the "he scream at he own ass" possum on the back pocket of a patched skirt for example). If you don't have bands and such, it kinda defeats the point of them being punk patched pants.

I personally generally pick a theme (eg. colourful patches, all black and white) when making anything patched because I think it makes everything look a bit more cohesive, but that is by no means a rule you actually have to follow I'm just autistic a fuck tbh.

Step three: the assembly

I personally put my main/bigger patches on first and put them on in a few different places until I get the placement I like, and then sew them on with the floss like this:

The main thing you want to do to make sure your pants don't wind up looking a bit weird or bare is to fill in any gaps between your painted patches with small, blank patches. Like this:

and that's pretty much it!!! I can't really explain via written text how to sew and how I personally tie off etc but if anyone would like a video tutorial lmk!!!

[churipu]

hihi i love ur works sm and i was wondering if i can request where the reader has an argument w the jjk men?? preferably w nanamin + any other characters :3 thank you in advance ^___^

BAD BLOOD — ARGUMENTS WITH JJK MEN !

featuring. nanami kento, choso, megumi fushiguro x reader

warnings. cursing, yelling, slight angst (ends in fluff dw).

note. hi anon, thank you for loving my works, it means a lot to me. and i love this request, i've been feeling like crap for the whole day so this is just what i needed! i hope you like this one <;33 and for anons who have sent in request, i'm writing them down and keeping them in my drafts for daily posts, so don't worry about it!

NANAMI KENTO. i feel like arguments with nanami will be very soft but angry. nanami is a gentle person, and he just hates the thoughts of saying something hurtful to you — but do keep in mind that he won't always be very soft, he could be loud at times. but most of your arguments with him are soft spoken, the both of you exchanging thoughts and troubles.

for the past few days, nanami has been extremely overworked and so you're walking on eggshells around him. he gets sensitive, and the slightest bit of inconvenience angered him. yes, you get it — he's tired from his work, you could totally understand that. he's a busy man after all.

"kento, don't you want to take a break..? you've been working non-stop, you'll get sick," you eyed him, poking around your food.

nanami sat across from you, his eyes glued to a paper, and honestly, it was getting a little sickening. all you wanted to do was to talk to him, but you felt as if you were selfish if you asked the man to prioritize you over his work — so you stayed silent, for almost a week the two of you haven't exactly been conversing right, or talking unless it was an exchange of "hi"s and "bye"s. but that was about it.

"i need to get this done, wait a moment."

that phrase sounded like a template by now, and you huffed, rolling your eyes, "i know, i'm just worried about you. you're not getting enough sleep, you're not eating well, and at this point, i'm just afraid that you'll dig your own gra—"

"i can take care of myself, thank you. you don't have to worry about me, i know what i'm doing."

you can't help but to furrow your brows at his cold reply, a little offended when all you seemed to be doing was care for him. the least he could do was thank you for it, "god, you don't have to be such an ass about it. forgive me for caring then."

at this point, your words only added fuel to the already big fire. nanami stared at you, the exhaustion in his eyes are apparent, and his lips pursed into a thin line before he inhaled sharply, "you're being a child, i just told you i can take care of myself. please, don't argue with me on this. i'm tired with all these paperwork, don't add more burden for my shoulders."

you clicked your tongue, standing up, not wanting to engage on this particular conversation anymore, "well forgive me for caring and for being a burden. enjoy your dinner," was all you spat out at him before going to the living room — plopping your body down the couch.

arguments with him usually ends up with the both of you apologizing to each other, but this particular argument seemed to not just go the way how it usually does. a couple of hours later, none of you talked. you assumed that the male finished his dinner, and you saw him walk by you into your shared room.

the two of you refused to talk to each other, or even as little as making an eye contact. you figured that you'd just spend the night in the living room where the TV could keep you company, so you stormed inside your shared room where nanami was on the bed, eyes still on his beloved papers.

he said nothing, nor did he spare a glance at you. so you become a guest in your own bedroom and grabbed your pillow, it wasn't that chilly outside so you didn't grab the only blanket laying on the bed (you actually left it there for him to use, the ac could be pretty cold at times).

and he never came out, not until you fell asleep with the TV still on. nanami hadn't even slept, he'd gotten his work done hours ago — but still he couldn't sleep. not without you by his side.

the clock strikes fifteen minutes past three in the morning, and nanami pushed himself up from the bed — feeling the void beside him, even with the blanket; he felt cold. opening the door softly, he trudged out of the room, the sight of you all curled up on top of the couch, vivid lights shining from the TV still managing to light up the whole living room despite the lights being off.

he squats down in front of you, brushing your h/c hair out of your face and it made you turn in your sleep. although not enough to wake you up completely, nanami one of his arm under your upper back, and one under your legs. carrying you inside the room with soft steps before laying you down, not forgetting to tuck you under the blanket and leaving trails of butterfly kisses on your face.

he could finally sleep.

with the sun rays greeting you through the creases of your still covered window, you squirmed. groaning out.

"y/n?"

upon hearing nanami's voice, your eyes flutter open. of course — it was a surprise for you to wake up on the bed when you fell asleep on the couch, "did you carry me here?"

nanami nods, he was leaning onto the bed post, "i'm sorry. what i said to you was wrong," he softly said.

the anger you felt the other night was gone by now, and you were just glad that nanami was willing to talk to you. you shook your head with a small smile, "it was part of my fault too, you were working — i shouldn't have pestered you too much."

nanami wasted no time in pulling you towards him, "you were worried for me. never apologize for that."

like i said, arguments with nanami will always end pretty quickly (the two of you are mature enough to talk it out), oh and also? he spoils you the entire day after an argument so — have fun!

CHOSO. i feel like choso would be confused a lot during arguments with you, on one side i could see him being brazen with his words, and on the other side i could see him being careful with them. no in between, he's definitely scared of saying the wrong things to you — and you getting hurt emotionally, hurts him as well. so at times he just tries to end it quickly by saying sorry.

god, he hates seeing you sad. at the end of the day, if he did say things the wrong way (even if it was to defend himself when he's not wrong), choso will apologize to you for how he said his words (and you'll apologize for your mistake). but choso has his share of apologizing because of his mistake too.

"cho, are you listening to me? gosh, you never pay attention to what i'm saying, are you taking this seriously?" choso looks up at you with his brows furrowed, definitely frustrated by everything that was happening around him right now.

first of all, he expected today to be a very special day. he hasn't seen you for the past couple of days because you've been so busy with work, and he was so excited when you told him you'd be having a couple of days to rest. he couldn't wait to meet you and go out on dates with you.

but clearly, his expectations were shoved down the drain because here you both were — arguing over your work hours choso had brought up a few minutes prior. and all he said was that he wished that the both of you would have more time to spend together, which irked you.

it had been a rough week with work where you had to write and write and write on countless paperwork (which you couldn't really complain on because you signed up for the job). and you weren't afraid to admit that you were in the wrong this time, when all choso wanted was time with you. here you were, getting all riled up because he wished that he had more time with you, and if the roles were switched; you were pretty damn sure you'd say the same thing to him.

"'m sorry for bringing that up. can we go out now..? i don't wanna fight w' you." choso mumbled out, averting his gaze to the side.

his tone ripped you away from your anger and you sighed, pulling him into your embrace, "cho, 'm sorry. i shouldn't have taken my anger out on you just because i've had a rough week."

choso returned your embrace mutely, a small smile dawning upon his lips. he was just glad the argument was cut short. all he wanted to do now was to go out of this slump and make you the happiest person ever — even just for a moment, a couple of days before you eventually have to return back to work.

"cho, say something."

choso pulls away from your touch, "i forgive you. let's go out? missed you. so much."

for the rest of the day, you and choso had the most fun in a week. also, choso fell into a pond in the park because he wasn't looking at the road — and also, you might've called your boss to extend your rest day (by saying you weren't feeling well) so you could have more time to spend with your boyfriend.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. i feel like megumi's the type of boyfriend who tries to stay out of arguments with you, if he was entangled in one where he isn't in the wrong — and you tell him to do something, he'd just kind of do it without any complaints. tell him to shut up? he shuts up. tell him to go away? he'll leave. tell him to leave you alone? he'll leave you alone (for a couple of hours).

but when he feels like things aren't ceasing, he'd try his best to negotiate with you and try to find out what the core of the problem is between the both of you. let's be real, megumi is a realistic type of person, he'd never admit that he's wrong when he isn't just to solve things the fast way, even to you; his own partner.

"y/n. how many times do i have to tell you that it's not that i'm bored of you alright? i've been busy. i'm not bored of you."

okay, you didn't expect one question to lead to this argument. all you asked him was a simple yes or no question: "are you bored of me?" and you didn't throw the question for no apparent reason, the reason behind that question itself was megumi's change of behavior the past two weeks.

he'd been extremely distant, and cold. whenever you asked him about it, he just tells you that he's tired. which you could totally understand since he is pretty busy, like uncle ben said: "with great power comes great responsibility."

being a jujutsu sorcerer is a big responsibility. you could understand where it was coming from, but when it happens again and again, you can't help but to overthink about it. overthink about how megumi might be bored of you and the whole relationship.

"megumi, i...okay— i'm sorry for asking about this. i was just worried." you tell him, not wanting to argue any longer about this whole thing, "i'm sorry, you must be stressed out with school and stuff."

megumi furrowed his brows, inhaling sharply, "no, no.. i'm sorry for lashing out. let's talk about this. i don't want you to get the wrong idea."

megumi explained everything from a to z, about how he was still so in love with you and he had been distant because of his power and what comes with it. it was pretty cute to listen to him talk, the constant flush on his face whenever he talks about you, and the stress in his voice when he talks about his power was apparent.

poor boy just needed a break.

"megumi, let's take a nap. you look like you need it."

"...i do."

argument ended. relationship stronger. and you both get to nap together, absolute win-win.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[earthtooz]

x : DON'T GO :*+ﾟ

in which: blade has always felt cold, but even more so without you.

warnings: 1.9k words, HURT/COMFORT with a sprinkle of angst, gn!reader who calls blade 'ren' once, mention of blood, ooc!vulnerable!blade, he's like a kicked puppy in this one

a/n: perhaps the most intimate piece i've wrote to date, this is nothing but pure yearning and longing on blade's behalf, and a nice fix-it fic with the most vulnerable i think blade could ever be. enjoy!!

in his new life, blade has always felt cold.

he is not spared from the constant feeling of goosebumps prickling his skin, not even for a second as the cold bites the tip of his fingers and sink their teeth into him to send shivers up his spine. but he has never felt colder than he does right now. 

your side of the bed is untouched, perfectly made, and devoid of any indication that you had been there. the blankets and mattress are cool to touch, with hardly any wrinkles in the sheets, and an ache declares itself home in blade’s chest.

the sun spills on his bare skin when he kicks the covers off, illuminating his scar-ridden chest as he gazes around the room, as if waiting for an sign that you were still here, and that he wasn’t too late. however, an immediate soreness tickles his throat that causes him to wince, serving as a reminder of the unpleasant discourse you had last night. 

it was hardly over anything of importance, but blade, a man of pride and relentlessness, had refused to back down, and you went to bed angry that night. he did too but woke regretful and cold under the covers, your warmth taken with you.

today was the day you had to leave for a mission, and although he knows you have a strict schedule to follow, he just wonders why you couldn’t have woken him up to say goodbye, especially after everything. 

he didn’t even get to say sorry or try to at least make amends. the swordsman only hopes you didn’t leave furious with him, and that you at least had something to eat before leaving.

to distract himself from the heartache, blade forgoes lying around and decides to start his day before the absence you left overwhelms him and the only thing his mind can do is think about you. 

not that he’s successful, because despite dedicating a monotonous afternoon of drilling sword techniques, the rampant thoughts about you did not decrease. rather, with each swing and sway of the cracked blade, his mind finds more and more to think about, with you at the epicentre of all of them.

it’s sometime around sunset when blade receives update on your status.

the swordsman is sat on a stone ledge, gold rays from the sun spilling on his skin as he waits for the sweat and fatigue to roll off. blade thinks of how you’d normally be seated nearby, watching him train to supply water and energy bars. although he never used to like the company or the doting, it doesn’t feel the same without you beside him, he misses you and wonders when you’ll return. 

“how long have you been here?” a raspy, female voice asks, breaking blade’s train of thoughts.

“since noon,” he responds merely. he doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s kafka talking to him.

“right. makes sense. i thought you’d be lonely since y/n’s gone.”

“need you remind me?” he huffs, voice teetering a threatening gruffness that would make ordinary people shudder, but does nothing to kafka.

“oh, spicy today, aren’t we?” she coos, ignoring the immense pressure radiating off blade effortlessly before taking a seat beside him. “what’s up? is there trouble in paradise?” a scoff comes from the swordsman. “i was only joking, did something really happen between you two?”

“none of your business.” 

kafka shrugs before her phone begins vibrating violently. when she reads the notifications, her face pulls the closest expression to concern that blade has ever seen her wear. 

“y/n got ambushed.”

his world freezes over.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the sunlight is gentle in blade’s eyes when he wakes up.

clothes are strewn on the floor, bedsheets are half off the bed, ceramics lie in pieces along the cracks of the planks, and despite the mess blade has made of your shared space, he is the most crumpled of them all. a kaleidoscope of volcanic anger, tsunamic worry, and mountainous yearning, the only place that has remained untouched by blade’s destructive touch is your side of the bed, lest your scent disappears. 

it’s been five days since anyone has received a live update from you, only hanging on to tracking notifications of your spaceship as any indication that you were fine. for the duration of it, nothing has been able to calm him, with kafka and silver wolf needing to stun him before he could do anything brash, like running off into the infinite cosmos to find you.

elio’s promises had never felt emptier, his constant claims of how you’d return very soon turning into dust in blade’s ears because how could he hold on to hope when you are alone amongst the stars? 

his texts are left delivered, but never read. in fact, it has been five days since your contact displayed to be online, and he finds himself staring at it in case that the circle will illuminate green, that you’ll give him some sort of update on your liveliness. 

so that you’ll see how sorry he is and all he wants for you is to return home. 

he doesn’t remember when he became so dependent, but perhaps this is another cruel punishment from fate with another inconceivable price of repentance.

for someone as unforgivable and despicable as blade to love means to mutilate the universe with aftershocks that tear through boundaries of what’s possible. for a man like blade to rebel, it means that the consequences will return tenfold.

and there is no crueller damnation than tearing you away from him. 

he turns on his side, arms reaching over to where you would normally lie, and dozes off again, feeling colder than ever.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

blade wakes up a second time. the sun is no longer the thing that awakens him, but rather, the sound of footsteps that echo outside the bedroom. disgruntled and still trying to gather his bearings, he shoots awake at the sound of your door opening.

you stand on the other side.

is this a dream?

“oh,” you breathe. you sound winded, caught off guard by the sight of your lover who stares at you like a bewildered deer. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think you would be here.”

he doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you, unnervingly unresponsive.

you look miserable. fatigue clings to your skin like a second skin, your eyes lack the brightness they usually have, and you are, evidently, very battered and bruised, blood staining your ruined clothes. 

but you are like sunlight, and blade thinks he can breathe again. 

“i guess i’ll leave,” you murmur, interrupting blade’s momentary assessment.

“don’t.”

turning back around, the swordsman is now slowly stalking towards you, seemingly teleported from the bed to halfway across the room in the blink of an eye. 

“is something wrong?” you ask and he holds back a scoff from the irony of your question. he’s the one that should be asking that, not you. 

but yes, there is something wrong; you left him alone. you went somewhere he couldn’t and then made him feel helpless because he didn’t know whether or not you were going to come back, stranded in the cosmos forever. 

stopping before you, his hands gravitate upwards with the magnetic need to touch you, to ensure that you were real and not some figment of his hazy imagination. blade raises a hesitant hand to sit on the back of your neck and the frostiness of his fingertips causes a shiver to run up your spine. gently, he presses you for a pulse and visibly gulps when he finds it, suffocating you in the tense silence that has occupied the air (you’re real, and you’re okay, delivered back to him in one piece).

then, he looks at you with the saddest expression you have ever seen him wear before engulfing you in his embrace. the stellaron hunter is hesitant with his touch, hovering around you in fear of overstepping, for blade would never forgive himself if he were to scare you off again. 

because you’re finally back where he can reach, and he never wants you to leave. 

“ren?” you pause, gently wrapping your arms around his waist and closing the gap he left, meeting him halfway. the little action floods him with endless relief. “what’s the matter?”

he shakes his head against you and his hold tightens mercilessly, squeezing all air out of your lungs. 

“you had me worried,” he confesses, no louder than a whisper because otherwise he would crack under the weight of his own words. the constant fear that has plagued him for the last few days would finally break him and he’d be in shambles in your arms, making a mess of something gorgeous with something hideous. 

so instead, he will continue simply holding onto you where you are safe. in his arms, you cannot leave, you cannot go places that danger you, and you cannot break his heart and choke him with the emptiness of your presence.

“i’m sorry,” you say, rubbing his back and he tugs you closer. “i didn’t mean to worry you, everything jus-”

“-you left without saying goodbye.”

you’re silent and guilty, but so beautiful. “i thought you didn’t want to see me. we were pretty mean to each other before i left,” you say after a second of contemplation. “i didn’t know where we stood, i wasn’t sure if you still wanted me.”

whatever is left of his heart breaks, crumbling into shambles that ring at your feet. there are a multitude of things that blade wants to say, yet no words come to fruition, to his dismay. he wants to offer you the comfort and promises you want to hear, and he wants to express the overwhelming relief he feels, but he can’t, and he curses his own inability to be heartfelt. 

instead, his grip around you tightens, like you’ll slip away otherwise and have him search for you throughout the cosmos. 

“don’t do any of that again,” he pleads instead, hoping that you’ll understand. “i beg of you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “i won’t.”

“don’t leave like that,” he tugs at your ruined shirt, grasp gentle and careful in fear of scaring you away with the intensity of his emotions that are hanging on by a thread

“i wont.” 

“please don’t go.”

“i’m here, aren’t i?”

blade sighs, nodding. you smile at him and it feels like a warmth powerful enough to drive the cold away. 

“but first, i need a bath,” you murmur, placing your hands on his chest to push him away. “please, keep your distance, i’m pretty sure i reek.”

he doesn’t say anything and clearly doesn’t listen, because instead of letting go, he simply leads you to the bathroom without ever unwrapping his arms. soon, the bath begins to run, and the sound of water streaming down ceramic echoes off the tiles, but the warmth of your laughter and tired words overpower it. blade sits at the edge, nothing but an oversized shadow that watches as you relax in the water, frowning when he catches the frequent bruise or fresh scar. 

afterwards, you both stumble onto the bed (careful to avoid the mess that blade as made, which you scolded him for, and he listened dejectedly before promising to clean it all up), and blade reaches over to your side, chest warming when he finds your figure to tug close. 

you fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. your lover, on the other hand, stays awake for a few moments longer, simply trying to commit you to memory. 

“don’t go,” he repeats, tugging at your shirt as the evenness of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

he doesn’t feel cold anymore. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery VI

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: Baking when you were Little Cub

"In trouble, again?" Paredes asks as Mapi leaves her meeting," What is it this time? Still the food issue?"

"There's no food issue," Mapi replies with an eye roll.

"If you're struggling with healthy food then-"

"There's no struggling to make healthy food," Mapi interrupts," It's fine. We're fine."

"I'm just saying, Mapi. I know Cub's properly weaned now so if it's difficult then just come over to mine. Lucía will be happy to feed you both."

"It's fine," Mapi insists," We have no nutrition problems in the house."

Paredes looks sceptical but doesn't push anymore as you toddle over, grabbing onto Mapi's legs and giggling as Ingrid tickles your tummy.

You've taken to Ingrid like flies to honey.

Paredes hasn't seen anything quite like it. You're notoriously impulsive and wiggly (she's still trying to convince Mapi to get you checked out by a professional) but you don't mind sitting still in Ingrid's arms.

She's your go-to babysitter now, even edging out Leila while Mapi's busy and you seem to love her.

"Are we still up for later tonight?" Ingrid asks as you duck back and forth between her and Mapi.

Mapi's cheeks turn pink and her voice goes embarrassingly high-pitched. "Of course! Cub's really excited. Aren't you, cub?"

"Makin' cookies 'gain?" You ask.

"If you really want to."

"Yes!"

"I see," Paredes laughs as you and Ingrid run off again," The nutrition problem is you can't say no to your kid. Cookies? Again? How many spare have you got?"

Mapi groans. "Too many. You know what Cub's like. My mama took her to a bakery last time she came to visit and she's obsessed now. I can't bake for shit so I think we've hit up every bakery in the city."

"And Ingrid came to your rescue?"

"I think Cub must have mentioned it because she turned up a few weeks ago with ingredients and they spent an hour baking together. I've never seen Cub so calm."

"And now you have too many to eat by yourself?"

"Way too many."

"Bring them in next time," Paredes laughs, clapping Mapi on the back," At least then the whole team gets the nutrition lecture."

"You know what? I think that's a great idea."

Ingrid follows Mapi's car home, having already bought more ingredients on the way to training so you could get right into the baking as soon as you got home.

The countertops of Mapi's kitchen (and every spare space) is already covered in baked goods, ranging from cookies to cupcakes to fancy bread that there's truly no hope in her eating all by herself, hence the reason she is constantly getting in trouble with the coaching staff.

"Alright," Ingrid says, commanding the room easily when you get distracted by showing Bagheera the lion on your t-shirt," Let's wash our hands please."

You go immediately over to the sink, letting Ingrid pick you up so you can reach while Mapi grabs the stool she keeps in the bathroom so you're tall enough to reach the countertops.

Mapi's in awe as Ingrid so easily gets you to follow her instructions. You're fairly unruly and impulsive at the best of times but you calm right down as Ingrid helps you break an egg into the bowl and stir it in with the rest of the mixture.

"Do you need any help?" Mapi's only really asking out of curtesy.

The first time you had baked with Mapi was also the last time when the cake mixture set on fire in the oven and the glass bowl you had mixed everything shattered.

"Why don't you just sit with Bagheera and look pretty?" Ingrid teases but Mapi feels it go straight through her body and she sits down quickly.

"Ingrid's da boss!" You giggle and Ingrid moves behind you to tie your unruly hair back properly.

"I don't think I'm the boss," She says to you and you shake your head.

"Are! 'Cause Mami's my boss and you tell her what to do! You're Mami's boss!"

Ingrid laughs, scooping out a bit of cookie dough and swiping it across the tip of your nose. "You're so sweet, cub," She says as you go cross eyed looking at the blob on your nose.

"Tha's what Mami says!"

"Well, your Mami is very smart. Now, what cookie-cutter shape are we using today?"

You end up choosing the star cutter and Ingrid helps you cut them all out before she puts them in the oven.

"I've noticed that," Ingrid says as she joins Mapi on the sofa," Doesn't she get bored?"

You're sitting in front of the oven, just staring at the cookies.

"It's normal," Mapi shrugs," You should see her watching the washing machine. It's so cute."

You watch the cookies bake the entire time until Ingrid comes over to get them out. You can't touch them just yet because they're still hot but you're pulled away by Mami making you help her box up the other things you made this week.

"Why?" You ask her.

"Well," She says," I thought it would be nice to give some to the team your snacks."

"But why?"

"Because your Mami really wants to share how proud she is of you," Ingrid jumps in," Your food is so tasty that she wants everyone to taste it too."

You gasp. "Can smash Tia Leila's face with cake!"

You're very determined to do that as you carry the box of cupcakes into the changing room the next day. Mapi and Ingrid lag behind with bags full of boxes.

"What's this?" Alexia asks with a laugh.

"Made bakery food," You say, tearing the top of the tupperware off," Tia Leila! Tia! Cake for you!"

As soon as she ducks down to take it from you, you slam it right into her nose.

[moonydustx]

Good Medicine

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

warnings: F!reader is sick, Law has some problems taking action to take care of her. Pre-established relationship, mentions of disgusting things about being sick (basically vomiting) , fluff

a/n: maybe I'll rewrite this better later, I just needed to get it out there to see if it sparked my creativity.

requests open | one piece masterlist

Today was one of those days where you woke up already knowing something was wrong, your only mission was to find out what. The plate in front of you looked strange that morning. The same coffee, the same bread, everything seemed wrong. The same went for your body, it seemed to weigh tons and your stomach was boiling with something that went beyond the hot drink in front of you.

"Are you okay?" Shachi snapped you out of your reverie, watching you roll a piece of the sandwich from one side to the other.

"I just need to get some air." You stood up, not having the trouble to even take your plate off the table.

With hurried steps, you reached the bathroom with just enough time to open the toilet seat before all your breakfast went away. You just hoped that like a good hangover, emptying it would be enough to improve but apparently you were wrong.

You had recently left the last island you had visited, which meant more things to keep: more work for you. In those days, you knew that rest would be scarce, as would the times you would meet your captain - who also served as your boyfriend in his spare time. Chills ran through your body as you struggled to stack two boxes of medical supplies, your body seemed to sweat more than usual. You heard your name being called in the distance, needing to focus a few times before you saw Law approaching.

"Are you ok?" He analyzed you from top to bottom. Pale lips, deep dark circles, something was wrong.

"Yes captain." you replied, respecting your treaty for when you were in public. "Just some heartburn."

"Keep an eye on it. You know where to find the medicine." he simply responded, analyzing you once more before leaving.

You finished putting away the boxes and leaned against the wall, trying to regain the air and strength lost in the whole process. Following the quick orders your captain had given, you swallowed some pills and continued with your tasks, even though your body seemed to fight against every movement.

You loved Law and you knew he loved you too, but sometimes it was a little difficult to deal with how methodical he could be especially when it came to being sick. On days like these, he tended to be more of a doctor than a boyfriend and you hated that. Ignoring the thoughts, you made your way to your shared room, reaching the bed and seeing Ikkaku hanging from the top.

"What ghost scared you?"

"What you mean?" you threw yourself against the pillows, using the blanket.

"You're pale, you look like you're going to disappear." She came down, standing in front of you and placing her hand on your forehead. "And you're burning up with a fever."

"I've already taken my medicine." you covered your head, trying to escape the cold that only you felt. "I just need to get some sleep."

"Did you eat anything bad?" She pulled your blanket back. "Or are you pregnant?"

"I'm betting more on the first hypothesis." you immediately reassured her, knowing that for the other proposal, you and Law were always responsible in terms of protecting each other. "I think it's just a virus."

"Did you warn Law?"

"He asked me to..." you sat down, to continue talking, but again your stomach turned.

Without responding, you ran once again towards the bathroom, this time Ikkaku's hurried footsteps followed you.

"Open the door." she asked and even though she didn't see it, you shook your head. A few minutes passed before it knocked again.

"I am worried." she warned. "Open the door or I'll have to call him here."

"It is not necessary." you reached up, unlocking the lock. "I'm just a little dizzy."

"Let me help you." Ikkaku pulled you, supporting your body as you washed your face. "Are you sure the medicine alone is enough?"

"Yes." you replied with clear discouragement in your voice.

"I'm going back to my room, maybe getting some sleep will help me."

Walking a few meters from the bathroom, the two of you came face to face with Law followed by Bepo, both discussing something about the likely next island they would find.

"Are you feeling ok?" Bepo was the first to ask and you just nodded. Law's gaze burned over you again, analyzing every inch of your body.

He knew there was something wrong, but he didn't know how far he wanted to intervene, for fear that you would feel uncomfortable.

"Do you need any help?" he asked in your direction, waiting for you to say yes.

"It's okay captain." you replied before Ikkaku spoke for you, giving what was your best smile for the moment.

he two of you walked away from him and it didn't take long for you to reach the bedroom. Ikkaku helped you get to the bed and watched you cover yourself up to your head. Being one of the only two people who knew about your relationship with the captain, she sat at the foot of the bed, watching you.

"Are you sure you don't want to ask him for help?"

"He's going to medicate me, probably tell me to eat and rest. I've already done almost all of that." you answered. "I don't want to be a problem for him, I know it's not in his profile to take care of someone like that, in a more intimate way."

"But it's what you need right now." she replied, walking away. "Get some rest, I'll ask them to prepare something light for you to eat."

The lights went out and you remained there in a light doze bothered by the fever. Ikkaku followed with firm steps, finding the captain heading towards his room, approaching him halfway and pretending to be angry.

"Captain, I need to talk to you."

She tried to appear more imposing in order to advocate for her friend, but she knew that would be a bit difficult when the person you want to impose yourself on is your captain. Law just gave her space to enter the room, closing the door for her.

"What happened?"

"Are you really going to let your girlfriend walk around dying?" she crossed her arms, indignant.

"She said it was just heartburn."

"That was her talking to her doctor. With her boyfriend she would definitely ask for help. Can I give some unsolicited advice captain?" Ikkaku leaned on the table, taking the opportunity to look around.

"I guess I have no choice, right?"

"She's burning up with a fever in her room, she vomited her guts out and can't stand up." with each new symptom, Law was the one who seemed to get paler and more worried. "Take care of her a little. A little affection is also good medicine."

"Right..." he seemed to analyze, waiting for more answers from the woman in front of him.

"I'll ask them to prepare some soup for her and leave it in her room, okay?"

"Could it be." Law turned his back to Ikkaku, ready to leave. "Thank you. This time I won't throw you into the sea out of insolence." he joked, earning a few laughs from the woman.

Law knew something was wrong, now he needed to find out why you didn't ask for his help. He walked quickly and felt his heart shatter when he found you curled up and shaking under the blanket.

"Just let me sleep Ikkaku, I don't know if I can eat right now." your dejected voice murmured, squeezing Law's heart even more.

Now it was all so clear, so obvious that part of the doctor felt ashamed for not having noticed it before. You were so careful with anyone who even cut a piece of their finger, it was obvious you wanted the same treatment.

"Hey, sorry it took me so long." he whispered. You opened your eyes and found Law bent down on your bed, his fingers were removing the strands stuck to your face by sweat. "I'm going to do a quick scan on you."

He warned and then used the sword he carried, analyzing every millimeter of your body. It seemed to be a virus and a resistant one. That would explain the fever and the tremors.

"Let me take proper care of you."

"No." you murmured, feeling his arms go around your legs and back, picking you up. "I already took medicine."

"I know."

"And I don't want to be tied up in an IV." you tried to pull away from him, feeling your stomach drop at the movement.

"I'm not going to medicate you." the blue dome appeared around the two of you.

"And I think I need to throw up."

At the last second, Law changed your fate, taking you to the bathroom. As soon as the gray walls of your room turned into the walls of the bathroom, you reached the floor again, leaning over the toilet and despite the immense urge your body didn't seem to have any more bile to be expelled. It took him a few seconds to follow you, but soon his hands found your hair, holding it with one hand while the other passed your forehead.

"Law." you called and flinched, pressing your own body against yourself. "It hurts."

"I'm so sorry sweetheart." he placed his hand on top of yours, which was pressed against your stomach. "You still have a fever and haven't eaten anything, we need energy for your body." he confirmed, gently lifting you off the ground. "Come on, I'll give you a bath.

"I'm disgusting."

"That's the point." Law spoke and saw you laugh, albeit lightly, which was already a relief for him. "I'm just kidding. Let's try to get this fever down."

Knowing that you didn't have enough strength to even talk, Law guided you to the shower, taking off your clothes while you leaned on him. As soon as the cold water came into contact with your body, you tried to escape and were immediately held by your boyfriend.

"Law!"

"Just a little, I know it's pretty cold." he allowed you to hug him even more and consequently get him wet in the process. "I promise, just a few minutes and I'll take you back to our room."

"If I survive until then."

"Do not say that." He scolded you, even though he knew that your way of dealing with problems was always sarcastic - sometimes even too much.

Law slowly turned off the shower. The first breeze that hit your damp skin made you cling against him and whimper, Law's usually colder skin this time was a warm pleasure to your body.

You felt a drastic difference in the environment and broke away from the man, seeing that you were in his room. Law guided you to sit on the bed and pulled a small blanket over your shoulders while he looked for some clothes for you to wear. Taking advantage of the comfort, you lay down and watched him walk from one side to the other.

"Can you sit down?" He knelt in front of you, using a small towel to dry your still damp skin.

Leaning on his shoulders, you sat on the bed and for a few minutes, you felt like a delicate, small doll. Using the extra strength he had that you lacked, Law dressed your body piece by piece, like a delicate puzzle. Even with the simple touch of your hand on your shoulder, Law could feel you tremble, probably due to the weakness that the virus brought to you.

A few minutes later, you were dressed. A pair of baggy black sweatpants and a blouse of the same size. Surprising you by showing that he had more pieces than the hat adorned with black circles, Law placed a black cap on your head, adjusting your ears so that they were also warm in the fabric.

"Unfortunately, we can't use that." he pushed away the blanket you were about to use. "If you cover yourself up and get hotter than that, it will only make your fever worse."

Avoiding your grumble, Law sat with his coat against the wall and pulled you to sit against his chest. Watching you curl up against his body, Law picked up the small bowl on the table next to him that Ikkaku had probably left as they agreed.

"I do not want it." you tried to move it away with your hand, having used your strength in vain as Law didn't move an inch. "I just want to sleep, just a little."

"Just a few spoonfuls and I'll let you sleep. It's that or more medicine." He warned, seeing you pout at the time. "Come on, I'll help you."

"Sorry to bring you into this."

"You don't need to say sorry." Law wished he could get rid of that virus right away when he saw you grunting in pain when you swallowed the first spoonful of food. "I should have noticed sooner, I know I can be more distant sometimes, but I need you to make it clear when you need me in moments like this."

"But what about the others, if they suspect something?" you accepted the other spoonful of food, the discomfort this time was smaller but still present.

"It's okay as long as you're okay."

Supporting the bowl of soup in one hand and the spoon in the other, Law convinced you to eat just five more spoonfuls, the last one being enough for him to see you push the bowl away and writhe in pain again. Law placed the bowl in the same room he was in before and saw you cling to his body, your eyes already heavy.

"Law you're going to get sick." you mumbled, already practically giving in to sleep.

"Don't worry about that." the last thing you felt was his lips on your forehead. "And if I stay, it will be worth staying with you."

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

A Bad Idea

Ominis Gaunt x f!reader

Summary - Request by anon for "Would you please write a scenario where Ominis has a secret crush on female MC and accidentally drinks a lust potion. Horny Ominis ensues 😏

Word Count - 2,018

Warnings - 18+ smut, slight degradation, oral sex

A/N - I know this isn't exactly 'accidental' but it's hard coming up with so many reasons for different stories as to why they took the potion

"Sebastian, I've told you this is such a ridiculous idea."

"Come on, admit it, you're just scared." Sebastian teased his friend before placing a mug in his hand. "We're not the only ones doing it! There are guys from other houses doing it as well. Of course, Garreth is doing it since it's his idea. Come on, bottoms up."

Ominis sighed deeply before feeling Sebastian tip his mug from the bottom and forced him to drink the concoction. Garreth had some grand idea to create a lust potion and force it upon an entire group of them. He saw it as some kind of challenge to see how long the lads could stand it before taking care of business.

Ominis wanted no part of it, but somehow Sebastian had talked him into it. He thought that he may have an advantage since he had one less sense that could lead him down the road of temptation.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," the blond coughed at the taste of the potion before jabbing the mug into Sebastian's hands.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do with my day."

Omins made a move to turn away and exit the common room, but Sebastian put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Actually, my friend, I believe Y/N was coming up to see you." Sebastian's tone was smug and Ominis knew right away he had been set up for his own embarrassment.

He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot just thinking about you. He had trusted Sebastian to keep his feelings safe and clearly, he had no such plan of doing that.

"You bastard. At least get out, spare me from having you as a witness to me making a fool of myself." He crossed his arms just as you came bounding into the room, calling his name.

Sebastian muttered a half-hearted goodbye before slipping past the two of you and right out the door. You gave him an odd look as he started laughing on his way out before you moved to stand in front of Ominis.

"Is something going? I feel like there's something I'm missing here. Sebastian told me you needed my help with something." When you said that Ominis immediately had thoughts he could not control. He imagined the smooth skin of your thighs as he spread them apart, digging into them with his fingers. He imagined your breathy voice telling him you need him and the moans that followed when he obliged.

He shifted nervously before taking a seat on the couch nearest to you both. He did his best to sit near to the edge, hoping to keep some distance between you both.

"Well, I'm afraid Sebastian is mistaken. I would love for you to keep me company though." He flashed you a smile and tried to steady his breathing. He knew he was playing a dangerous game with himself. He could feel his cock stiffening beneath his robes. Every word you spoke. Every waft of your scent that drifted his way; it all just fueled his fantasies. He was somewhat surprised at how fast the potion had an effect on him.

You eyed him suspiciously before taking a seat beside him as you usually would. Your hip and leg were pressed up against him as you sat near him, leaning over to examine him. He used every ounce of willpower he had to contain a moan from the subtle contact.

"Ominis is something wrong? You look as if you're about to explode. You can talk to me even if you don't think I can help."

He turned towards you, placing an unsuspecting hand on your thigh. He thought that maybe if he just tip-toed around the line and kept close to you like normal it would be enough to quench the ache he was feeling between his legs.

"It's really nothing. You know how Sebastian is. He's just been stirring trouble up all day and I'm fed up with him," he huffed. His anger and annoyance were very real at that moment. You reciprocated his affections by leaning your head against his shoulders with a sigh, "I'm sorry that you had to be his victim for today."

You were extremely aware of his hand that wasn't too far away from your own heat. You had mastered keeping a straight face when he reached out for you, but internally you were on fire thinking about what would happen if his fingers were to slip beneath the fabric.

You put your own hand on his knee as you sat with him in comfortable silence. You had just closed your eyes when you noticed his fingers tapping impatiently against you. His own leg had begun a steady rhythm up and down as well. You took notice of how unlike him this was before determining how to respond. You glided your hand up his leg in a calming gesture, but you froze when you heard a groan fall from his mouth. Your breathing was becoming harder to control as you realized what exactly your hand had stumbled upon.

He was painfully hard inside of his trousers. You had inadvertently just given him one big stroke. To his credit, his cock felt much bigger and thicker than you would have guessed. Certainly different from how you had always pictured it.

"O-Ominis," you stuttered, "I — I didn't mean to —"

When you tried to pull your hand away he clamped his free hand over the top of yours. He lulled his head towards you and you could see how flushed he'd become. You could see the detail in his eyes and the way his glossy pupils had become enlarged.

"Please," his voice was low and filled with arousal. The sound went straight to your core.

"I — Sebastian...Garreth made this stupid potion and I —"

"Oh." you cut him off before he could finish. You had heard Garreth talking about his experiments earlier in the day and thought them to be completely insane. Why would all the boys just want to make themselves incredibly horny to be around one another for the rest of the day? "I heard about that. I just didn't think...I didn't think you would be one of the people to take it."

You gave his cock a squeeze, running your hand down the length once more and he thrust his hips towards your touch. He felt like he was in heaven like this must be a dream, it couldn't be real. "But I...I don't mind helping you out." You gingerly took his hand that was on your thigh and guided it to the thin cotton of your undergarments, shamelessly letting him feel the wetness that had leaked through the material.

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm not sure...not sure I can let you do this. I don't feel like myself and I might be a little rough." His brain was screaming at him as he tried to give you an escape. He was practically drooling when he felt your slick with his fingers, pressing firmly against your heat, but he didn't want you to feel obligated to help him with his predicament.

You spared a brief glance at the common room entrance before you moved off of the couch and onto your knees on the floor. You situated yourself between his legs, carefully pushing them open further.

Small whimpers escaped his mouth as he felt the heat of your body between his legs. Although the initial loss of contact had him frustrated, he was now in disbelief at what it seemed you were about to do. You raised your hands to unfasten the top of his pants while you gazed up at him.

He placed a hand over yours, to give you one more chance, "Y/N," his voice was gravelly, "I'm telling you I can't think straight. I can't be delicate with your pretty mouth. I need it too fucking badly." His voice had evolved into nearly a growl, but you brushed his hand away and prompted him to lift himself up and let you pull down his trousers.

You took his underwear down with them and his cock sprang up in front of you. His head was dripping and you looked at it in awe of the size and all the beauty marks that were placed so perfectly.

He dragged his hand up your arm and then up the back of your neck, grabbing at the hair that was at the base of your skull. He pulled you forward, pressing your cheek up against his length.

He gave you enough leeway to adjust yourself and swirl your tongue over his wet tip. He tugged harder at your head, forcing your mouth over him and causing you to gag slightly from the sudden intrusion.

"Agh, Y/N, you feel so fuckin' good. More, please. I won't ask twice."

You steadied braced your hands against his thighs and made sure to look up at him. His lustful expression was all the motivation you needed. You stuck your tongue out against his cock and slowly stretched your mouth over it to take as much as possible.

Tears pricked at your eyes when he undulated his hips and forced as much as possible down your throat. "Your mouth is so perfect and tight, please, I'm not going to last very long." You began bobbing your head up and down, trying to take more with each attempt, but he was so thick. Even the added help from his pre-cum wasn't enough to make it all possible. You dug your nails into his thighs and he lost himself in your touch.

He started fucking your mouth relentlessly, getting off to the sound of your muffled choking and thinking about how soaked you probably were from doing something so lewd. And in the middle of the common room no less. "Nngh, what would Sebastian think if he walked in on you right now? F-fuck d'you think he and Garreth would try to get in line for you? After seeing you're such a slut?"

Filthy moans rolled off his lips, a light sheen of sweat making his pale skin glow as he assaulted your mouth and talked down to you.

"It's too bad because you're mine. They can watch all they want, but — agh — Y/N, your slutty mouth is mine. I'm so close, I'm close — "

He forced the full length of his cock into your mouth and let out a guttural cry. You had no choice but to swallow his hot seed as it fell down the back of your throat.

"Yes, swallow it, all of it," he panted and he released some of the tight grip he had on you. He instead rested his palm against your hair, stroking you softly. Once you're sure he's been sucked dry you take him out of your mouth and rest your head against his leg, struggling to catch your breath.

You're somewhat thankful he can't see the drool that's run down your chin and over the top of your blouse. "Oh, Y/N," he sounded more like himself now, not plagued only with thoughts of defiling you. He moved to tuck himself back into his pants before leaning forward to pull you back up to seat you on the couch.

"That's not exactly how I wanted this to happen for the first time, but you felt so good. You were amazing." He cupped your face and used a thumb to swipe across your lips, "Are you alright?"

You nodded as you curled against his chest, "Yes, Sebastian was right to come and get me for this task don't you think?" You laughed softly together as he wrapped an arm around you.

"Yes, I — I would not have sought out anyone except you. I hope you know I want more from you than that." He tilted his head so you could see the sincerity on his face, "I like you quite a lot. Perhaps we can make other plans together that don't just include these activities."

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐅𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing: dbf!ellaria sand x plus size!f!reader x oberyn martell, ellaria sand x oberyn martell

genre: smut, modern au, hurt/comfort, minors dni

word count: 7.2k

summary: Wanting to get away from it all for a while, your dad suggests that you go and stay with his friend in the city; Ellaria Sand. It's been a hot while since you last saw her and you must admit, you have a bit of a crush on the older woman. What you don't expect, however, is to find an equally charming stranger staying with her as well.

warnings: threesome, age gap (reader being in her late twenties), weed use, dirty talking, body insecurities (weight related), piv, oral sex (male and female), praise kink, light bdsm dynamics, subdrop, aftercare, squirting (but like very non explicit squirting as ironic as that sounds dfvdv), use of petnames (little one, pet, good girl), no use of y/n, both ellaria and oberyn are mentioned to be polyamourus, edging

a/n: this is hella indulgent and an idea I've had since September but never actually gotten around writing it. However, while I was taking a nap the idea suddenly consumed me and I had to pause everything else to sit down and write it. Enjoy the filth, there's so much going on ❤️‍🔥

**dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

You’re anxious as you wait for the door to open in front of you. It’s been a rough couple of months—years, actually. You feel suffocated by the world around you and yourself. Every day is another battle. You hate to admit it but you’re just so tired of fighting. There’s a constant weight on your chest that doesn’t seem to go away no matter what you do. Which led you to the doorsteps of your dad’s friend, Ellaria Sand.  

The idea had came from your dad. Noticing your troubles fitting in, he recommended you go and visit her. You were more than eager to oblige. You loved her company, she had an aura about her that just made you feel welcome. Talking to her came easy since she did most of it, and when you had something to say, she would actually listen. 

While you’re thinking about all of this, you’re trying very hard to ignore the fact that you might have a teeny-tiny crush on the older woman. However you’re ready to make the argument that it’s not your fault, she was just too charming—who wouldn’t have a crush on her? 

Ellaria’s excitement mimics your own as she opens the door. With a wide smile, she wraps her arms around you and drags you inside. 

“How was the trip?” she asks excitedly. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“Of course not, I like traveling,” you answer. “Thank you for having me by the way. How are you?” 

“Oh, pretty much the same. Nothing new.” she helps you with your luggage and you follow her to the spare bedroom. “Also I forgot to mention on the phone but a friend of mine will be visiting and staying with us as well. Is that okay?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be,” you say with a leveled voice. “Does the mystery guest have a name?” 

As you step into the room, she turns to you, still smiling.

“His name is Oberyn.” 

For your first night, you weren’t expecting to get high on the couch with Ellaria, yet here you are, your chest full of cannabis as your head rests over her lap. 

“So who is this guy?” you ask as she places the joint between your lips. You feel the warmth of her fingers. “A boyfriend or something?” 

“Or something.” 

You draw your brows together, confused, “What does that mean?”

“It means my sweet flower,” she answers slowly, dragging her knuckles up your heated cheek. “We’re together but we both agree that the pleasure of the world is too many to limit ourselves to one person.” 

“You’re in an open relationship?” you take a deep drag from the joint, your lungs expanding with smoke. 

“We’re both polyamorous.” 

“Wow, lucky,” you say with an envious tone. She quirks an eyebrow yet her smile continues on to be a humorful one. You stammer with your words. “I-I mean, it’s lucky that you found each other. Must be nice having the same ideals as someone.” 

She nods, placing the blunt back between her lips, “It is.” 

“Is he nice to you?” 

You’re not quite sure what prompts you to as that. First of all, it feels way too personal of a question to be asking your father’s friend. Even though Ellaria has spoken about her sexual relationships before, it still feels like your might be crossing an invisible line. A fog settles over your mind, loosening your tongue. You’re fascinated by functioning relationships. You’re fascinated by the idea of two people actually being understanding and caring towards each other—as ridiculous as that may sound. You haven’t had the best experiences when it came to partners, most of them going into it with hopes of changing who you are, so anytime you see two people actually liking each other’s company you can’t help but want to pull out a camera and record everything. 

Ellaria blows smoke toward your face, the warmth of it ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze. 

“He is. I wouldn’t really be with him if he wasn’t.” she pinches your cheek. “You have a weird look on your face.” 

“Oh,” you answer dumbly. “Sorry.” 

“I’m just worried. Your father didn’t really say anything other than you really needed a break.” 

“I guess I’m just a bit lonely.” 

“Well,” she says and reaches towards the ashtray to snuff out the blunt. “If that’s the case you came to the right place. You can stay as long as you want to.” before you can say anything, she starts rolling another one and a loud knock echoes across the dimly lit apartment. 

“Ah, that must be Oberyn.” 

Begrudgingly, you remove yourself away from her lap and watch Ellaria make her way toward the door. She’s wearing an orange dress, the color warming her skin. You can’t help the way your gaze drops to her behind, the soft fabric hugging her curves delicately. 

With a noise, you hurriedly snap your eyes away. It’s not the time to be ogling her like a piece of meat. 

No matter how good she looks. 

You weakly attempt to collect yourself when Ellaria returns with a tall man in tow. As you get up, you stagger a bit but manage to immediately keep yourself upright by holding on to Oberyn’s outstretched hand. His smile is kind, and the kindness reaches the depth of his eyes. Though you also see a hint of curiosity in them. His palm is searing against yours and his fingers are long and nice-looking, you spot a stylish golden ring on his thumb. 

A bit scared, and a bit excited, you meet his gaze. He’s quite handsome. In fact, you believe you might be in the presence of the most attractive two people in the city. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, framing his jawline which in return gives it an even more sharper look. 

While you two remain hand in hand, Ellaria makes the introductions. Oberyn’s thumb smooths down your inner writs. A shiver rolls down your spine. “It is very lovely to meet you,” he says earnestly. 

“Likewise.” 

Oberyn picks up the unlit joint Ellaria had left on the coffee table before she went to greet him. You see a faint sparkle in his eyes. “You two were smoking?” he asks, turning to Ellaria. 

“To relax the nerves, my love,” she answers with a playful smile. “Help yourselves, I’ll be back in a minute.” 

You feel as if someone poured cold water over your head, “Maybe I can help?” you take a step forward, intent on following her to wherever she was going—which you assume is the kitchen. But she stops you with the raise of her hand. 

“Please, I’ll be right back. In the meanwhile you two get acquainted.” 

A second later it’s just you and Oberyn alone in the living room. He seems unbothered and lights the joint as he takes a seat. There’s a certain air of expertise and elegance in whatever he does. He pats the cushion next to him, “Sit.”

You sigh softly, collapsing next to him. He flicks the lighter and leans towards the tiny flame, his eyes fixed on the empty threshold. He takes two quick exhales, the tip of the joint burning a bright orange. Smoke pours from the corners of his lips. You’re mesmerized by the sight of him. Shadows dance over his face, giving him a dark look. 

“How do you two know each other?” he asks, snapping you away from your thoughts. 

You blink, momentarily lost in his gaze, before extending your hand to take another drag from the joint. Your fingers feel slightly numb as you bring it to your lips. "She's a friend of my dad's," you explain, your voice barely above a whisper. "We've known each other for a while."

Oberyn nods, his fingers gently brushing the back of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself leaning closer to him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“What about you?” you ask, hating the way your voice trembled.

A soft smile plays on his lips. His thumbs continue their soothing caress on the back of your neck, tracing delicate patterns that send a shiver of pleasure through your body. 

"She walked into my lecture one day," Oberyn begins, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. "I was talking about the ancient civilizations of Essos, and there she was, her eyes filled with curiosity. After the lecture, she approached me with such confidence, asking questions that sparked my own curiosity. I learned that she was an artist and she was lacking inspiration. She thought a trip to the past would spark something in her." he says blissfully. “And spark it did.” 

“You’re a professor?” 

He hums, elevated by your intrigue, “Yes, but I do prefer excavating and traveling to new sites.” he explains, his voice tinged with a hint of longing. "It's much more freeing, rather than being trapped between four walls." 

His words wash over you like a gentle caress, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, craving more of his warmth. The joint burns low between your fingers, forgotten for a moment. With a jolt of panic, you extend it back to him. 

Oberyn's voice lowers even further, a velvet murmur that tickles your ear. "She's a remarkable woman, isn't she? So full of life and passion."

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you find yourself nodding, captivated by the combination of his words and the tender touch of his thumbs on your skin. "Yes, she is," you reply. 

“You like her,” Oberyn says, a statement, rather than a question. You’re horrified by the implication of it. Your lips part and close, words failing to come out. His sudden burst of laughter makes you jump. “Do not look so worried, I’m not here to judge you. I appreciate anyone who sees her for the gorgeous woman that she is.” 

His fingers find purchase under your chin, he lifts your gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. You forget how to breathe. With a soft smile, Oberyn brings the joint to his lips and takes a deep inhale, You can hear the sizzle of it, and feel the heat that radiates from the crimson tip. Your lips part by instinct, he leans closer. 

Oberyn fills your lungs with delicious smoke. Your lips never touch, yet you swear you can feel them pressed together. He breathes life into you and when it’s all done, he licks himself deep into your mouth. Pressing deeper, Oberyn flattens his tongue against yours and nips your bottom lip. Sweat drips from your spine and gathers at your tailbone. His hands affectionately cradle your face, inhaling you one last time, he breaks the kiss. 

You’re a panting mess, your lips tingling for more. 

“Take off your clothes.” 

Your eyes go wide, “I—Excuse me what?” slightly inching forward, you stare into his eyes. “Ellaria is right down the hall, wouldn’t it be. . . rude?” 

That sparks an amused chuckle from him. “You’re adorable,” he muses. “I promise you that she wants this as much as I do.” 

“She. . . does?” 

“Ellaria adores you. She also enjoys sharing her favorite things with the one’s that she cares for,” his fingers curl around your throat and you swallow. Oberyn tilts your head to the side. “Now, let me see you.” 

And this is the part where your insecurities make an ugly appearance. You avert your gaze, hugging yourself while Oberyn continues to stare. You want to do this. You absolutely do, if the slick gathering in your underwear is any indication, but it’s still hard for you to believe that he wants to. 

You feel the bite of his nails and bring your gaze back to him. You’re not sure what does it, but you find yourself scrambling off of the couch. You don’t see not one ounce of a lie in those eyes—you only see lust and intrigue. Besides, you came here to loosen up, what better way is there to do that than making out with a handsome stranger? 

When you’re left only in your bra and underwear, Oberny pulls you to his lap and you let out a soft gasp. He unclasps your bra and throws it over the small pile of clothes you had left behind, leaving you only in your, visibly soaked, panties. 

“Oberyn. . .” 

You jolt at the soft lilt of Ellaria’s voice. You stiffen over the older man’s lap, not knowing what to do. With a smile, he draws soothing circles over your thighs. 

Ellaria takes a seat next to you two. You’re too flustered to look at her but despite not looking, you see the delicate curl of her lips. 

“She’s too beautiful not to touch,” Oberyn drags his nose down your neck, and you smile giddily. Your heart beating a mile a minute. “Don’t you agree with me, Ellaria?” 

Her tongue swiping over her bottom lip, she reaches out and holds your breast, weighing it with her palm. She brushes a thumb over your pebbled nipple, a soft whine parts your lips. “I do.” 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

“Of course, love. Why would I not think you are beautiful?” 

You grow silent. Ellaria’s fingers dances along your arm and heat settles in your core. Oberyn, with a curious gaze and a half smile, drags his thumbs down to the soft contours of your stomach rolls and gently pinches. You whine, sticking your bottom lip out, you look away from them both. 

“I think I have an idea why she thinks like that,” he hums. Ellaria’s gaze drops to where Oberyn’s hands rest, meaning your stomach. Your cheeks burn. Her eyebrows raised, you feel the weight of her gaze locked onto your face, but still, you refuse to look at her. Or him. “She lives in a cruel world that makes her think she’s anything but desirable. But we see her for what she is.” 

“And what’s that?” you mutter, embarrassed to be read so easily. He was right, you never thought of yourself as being desirable, even if you desperately wanted to. There were mornings you just woke up hating yourself, staring into the mirror and poking endlessly at your face and observing every imperfection. You’re tired of it. Tired of thinking of yourself as less. Which is one of the reasons why you came here. Why your dad wanted you to spend time with Ellaria, he knew the woman had ways of making you feel better. 

Oberyn's firm yet gentle grasp on your chin draws your attention, anchoring your gaze and shifting your focus solely to him. His smile is wide and predatory, like a snake. You tremble as his hands slide from your stomach to your waist, their scorching touch and commanding presence stirring a primal reaction within you.

“You’re a gorgeous girl,” he answers with a melodic lilt from his sinful tongue. “The type of girl we want to ravish for as long as you’re staying here.” 

“If you want to, of course,” Ellaria adds, playfully pinching your nipple. Your eyes flutter closed. The sudden mixture of pleasure and pain makes your skin tingle pleasantly. “Do you, little one?” 

You nod. Everything that’s happening feels like a fever dream. The scent of cannabis is still heavy in the air, making you feel soft and slow like molasses. Ellaria’s fingers dance along your nape, nimble fingers sliding into the roots of your hair, she gently tugs. Meanwhile, Oberyn nips at the soft skin of your neck. 

“Words, love.” Ellaria commands. 

“Yes,” you breathe out, voice shaking. “I want to. . . if you guys want to.” 

Oberyn whispers, “Good girl,” against your skin, and a wave of dizziness engulfs you. The two devour with the ways they touch and bite. Ellaria’s lips melt into your own as Oberyn cups both your breasts, kneading the soft mounds. 

Kissing Ellaria had been a fantasy you frequently indulged in over the years and you’re pleasantly surprised to realize she tastes like cherries and roses. You have endless memories of slipping your hand between your legs as soon as you were in the privacy of your room. You always had a feeling that she knew. Her gaze too observant, too cunning not to see the thoughts lingering in your head. 

Oberyn lowers his head and lifts your breasts to his mouth. He laves his tongue over your nipples hungrily. A wanton moan echoes in the back of your throat, your head falls as you part away from Ellaria. You hear her chuckle. “You taste sweet,” she comments, making you keen. “Despite the smoke Oberyn blew into your lungs.” 

“You saw that?” 

“You two weren’t exactly being discreet.” 

You’re hot all over, embarrassment pouring over you like summer rain. Oberyn doesn’t seem to care, consumed with the taste of your flesh. Your underwear sticks to your folds and you squirm over his lap. The man groans when you brush his length, you feel him twitch through the soft fabric of his sweats. The blood rush is loud in your ears. 

He feels. . . big. 

“Shit,” you mumble, delving your fingers into his short locks. You tug him closer to your chest and sloppily grind on top of him. You feel the sharpness of his teeth and then—

He bites you. 

With a sharp cry you jerk away, your gaze instantly finding Oberyn’s. The man is grinning from ear to ear. Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage. “What was that for?” you gasp, chest heaving. 

“It was an affectionate bite,” he teases, then presses his lips over the tiny dents. “Did it hurt?” 

“No . . .” you answer, sounding uncertain. “I was just surprised.” 

Ellaria rolls her eyes and tugs Oberyn towards her. The man goes willingly, his wicked smile never fading as she crashes their lips together. You see the pink of Ellaria’s tongue slip between Oberyn’s lips. His hands drop, his thumbs digging into the crease between your thighs and hips. You watch wide-eyed at the way the two devour each other. They’re so earnest, so hungry. It makes you ache between your legs and a bit in your heart. While Ellaria licks herself deeper into his mouth, Oberyn guides the roll of your hips. 

Suddenly struggling about where to put your hands, you place them on his chest. The fabric of his shirt bunches underneath your fingers. Your eyes roll at the delicious caress of his clothed cock. You want to feel more. 

When they part, a string of saliva connects them still. Oberyn grins at her and tilts his head toward you. “She likes the show it seems,” he states. 

With a soft smile, Ellaria turns to you. She cups your cheek and smooths her thumb over your heated skin. Your heart soars. She’s so tender, so soft with you. It makes you dizzy. You never thought someone like her would be interested. And you don’t only say this because of your physical insecurities, you just always felt like she would find you too inexperienced. Too young. You always had this unnecessary fear of sounding dumb when you talked with her. 

“What are you thinking?” she whispers, coming closer. Her hot breath fans your skin as Oberyn flattens his tongue over your neck, dragging the wet muscle up until his nose is firmly pressed against your jaw. 

“I’m thinking that this must be a dream,” you answer. “And I’m thinking how intoxicating you two are.” 

Oberyn’s smile is wide as he pulls away, his eyebrows raised. “Look at that, she found her tongue. How delightful.” 

Ellaria kisses the right corner of your lips and addresses Oberyn. “You’ll scare her, she’s fragile.” 

“I’m not fragile,” you pout. With a laugh, she presses her lips against your jutted lip. “I’m just nervous. . . you know my experiences haven’t been—” You clear your throat, suddenly aware of Oberyn’s eyes on you. “Great.” 

“I know, baby. I know.” 

Obeyn chimes in, his gaze moving to Ellaria, “What does that mean?” 

“Poor girl never came from another hand but her own.” 

“Ellaria!”  

“Oh?” Oberyn’s eyes bore into your own. It’s so intense that you can’t look away, and honestly, you’re not sure that you want to. He pulls down your bottom lip, dipping his thumb into the seam. “You won’t have to worry about that with us, sweet creature.” 

“I’m sure,” you hum, a coy smile playing on your lips. “So can we uh. . . can we take this to the bedroom? I’m not that comfortable on the couch. If that’s okay?” 

“Of course,” Ellaria answers. “Besides I hate how this fabric feels against my skin. So the bed is definitely preferred.” 

Oberyn, without saying a word, nuzzles your neck before pulling you to your feet. You falter, still a bit dazed. Yet, his arm catches you, keeping you from falling. 

“Careful,” he tuts, lips touching your forehead. 

Oberyn’s arm never leaves your waist as Ellaria guides the two of you through the hallway of her home. A route you don’t doubt Oberyn has taken many times before.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you enter Ellaria’s room. It’s quite neat, the bed quite big, which doesn’t surprise you in the least. 

Ellaria looks at you with a smile, curling her fingers around the elastic of your underwear, she tugs you close. Oberyn looms right behind you, he hadn’t closed the door as he entered. His cock hard and aching, resting between the crease of your clothed ass cheeks. His palms caress the soft mounds, his breath warm and wet against your nape. 

You’re suddenly highly aware that you’re the only one practically naked. Noticing this, heat crawls up your chest and curls around your neck. At any moment you expect to wake up in the familiar setting of the guest room, none of this seems real.

“Lay down, Oberyn,” Ellaria’s voice breaks the silence, her eyes never leaving yours as she addresses her lover. “We’ll join you shortly.” 

“Hmm,” he kisses your neck, your legs shake in response. “Should I take off my clothes?” 

“Yes.” 

Oberyn smiles, gives your ass one last firm squeeze, and retreats. And as much as you want to stare at the man in his full naked glory, it’s hard to pull your gaze away from Ellaria. You hear the bed creaking under the man’s weight. Still, you don’t turn to look. Ellaria kneels before you, tugging your underwear along with her. Her hands, despite not being large as Oberyn’s, feels all consuming. They languidly slide above your calves and thighs as she raises to stand on her feet once more. 

When she stands, you make a move to take off her garments but she gently pushes your hands back. “You watch,” she says, pulling off the straps of her dress and allowing it to pool at her ankles. 

You touch her like art. Soft and slow. Almost as if she wasn’t there. You cup her waist and skim your palm until you reach the side of her breast, in which you hold tenderly under your hand. A soft gasp leaves her and you look at her with shock and amazement. You bend forward, closing your lips around the tender nipple. You swirl your tongue around the areola, her eyes fluttering as she lets out a sigh. 

“That’s nice,” she says, looking at you between heavy eyelids. “You don’t need to be shy with us.” 

If it were anyone else saying that you wouldn’t have believed them, “I think you’re right,” you whisper, more to yourself rather than her. “You’re sure you don’t mind me being. . . timid?” 

Her brows furrow with confusion, her gaze searching your own as your thumb continues to dance over the darker patch of skin. Then you see it, the recognition flashing in her eyes. She might’ve forgotten, but you remember her talking about how much of a bore it was to be with unsure people. Timid, as she had put it. Which is something you’re being right now—you think.  

Your eyes find Oberyn’s from above her shoulder. It’s a fleeting moment. But he seems to be eating you both with the darkness of his eyes. Your heart skips a beat. Ellaria’s hand cradles the back of your neck, gently tightening her grip. When your gaze moves back to her, you see that she’s smiling. 

“I didn’t mean you when I said that,” she answers. “You lack confidence, there’s a difference. And I doubt you’ll be holding yourself back after regaining it.” 

“You don’t think I’m boring?” 

“I don’t,” leaning in, she drags her nose over yours, soft lips only an inch away. “Let’s not keep Oberyn waiting.” 

When you both turn, you see that Oberyn is softly touching himself. Fingers teasingly moving up and down his impressive length. You clench your teeth, arousal overwhelming every orifice of your body. “How should we do this?” he asks, eyes on Ellaria. 

Grinning, she gently nudges your shoulder with her own, you can’t stop staring at Oberyn however. He’s all lean muscle, the extra padding making him look fit. The coarse dark hairs lead a path from his softened stomach to his pulsing cock. Noticing your gaze, he wraps a hand around himself and starts to fuck his fist with hard strokes. He watches with delight at the way you lick your lips when a bead of precome appears on the tip. 

“Would you want to taste him?” Ellaria’s lips touch your ear. 

An awkward chuckle bubbles from your chest, “Am I being that obvious?” 

“Only slightly.” 

She guides you to the bed, and you take your place between Oberyn’s legs while Ellaria is more to the side. His hand instantly finds the side of your face, thumb tugging at the corner of your lips as he stares at you with a softened gaze. 

“Needy,” he murmurs. “I’m going to enjoy playing with you, little one.” 

You feel your pupils physically expanding. Ellaria drags her nails down your scalp, you purr at the sensation. “He likes it when you go slow,” she informs. “Start at the tip and drag your tongue down, he likes being teased.” 

With an urge to please, you do exactly as she says. First, you swirl your tongue around the bulbous head, his thighs stiffen, then you flatten your tongue and move down. The moan that comes from him is unfiltered and loud. Slick gushes between your legs. 

“Good girl,” he gasps. “You too.” 

It takes you a while to understand what Oberyn means. You only become aware that he was addressing Ellaria when the other joins you, licking a stripe up the other side of his length. You moan as you take the head between your lips, meanwhile, Ellaria closes her lips around the base, sucking the delicate skin. A choked out moan parts his lips, not being able to keep still, his hips stutter, forcing you to take more of him. His width spreads your lips wide. Your eyes water and you feel Ellaria’s tongue as she kisses the skin right under your eye. 

She replaces your lips with her own. You watch in a dazed manner as she takes Oberyn down her throat with practiced ease. His fingers tangle into her curls when she hollows her cheeks, forcing her head down. The sight alone makes you drip for them both. Now feeling even bold, you meet Ellaria’s lips while she’s sucking on the tip. You swear you see a ghost of a grin when she slips her tongue into your mouth. You taste a mixture of them in your mouth, and your head spins. Not wanting to part away, both of you lower yourselves, taking Oberyn between your lips as your tongues struggle to meet around his cock. 

“Fuuuck,” he groans, cock twitching between the pair of lips. You feel his rough fingers moving along your cheek. “You’re doing so well—both of you are,” Ellaria pulls away and winks at you before turning to Oberyn. You take him halfway into your mouth, the tip touching the back of your throat. He makes a sound, burying his head further into the pillows. “If you continue doing that I’m going to come.” 

The sound of his voice lights a flame in you, the strokes of your tongue becoming more wild and eager. You swallow around him, over and over, until Ellaria pulls you away. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you choke out, eyes flitting between the two. “I want you to come,” you then add, jerking him. 

“Oh it is,” he answers with a sly smile. “But before that, I want to see you come undone on my tongue. And my cock.” 

Ellaria feels you shudder as she traces the line of your spine, “Get on all fours,” she says barely in a whisper. 

You do as you’re told. Arousal coils tightly in your stomach, your body burning from the inside out. You’re over-excited. Your breathing coming out in short, rushed pants. Oberyn gets behind you as Ellaria takes Oberyn’s place and pulls you between her delicate thighs. Your one arm instantly curls around one leg as you brace yourself with the other by flattening your palm over the mattress. 

Oberyn’s fingers languidly slide down the curve of your ass and slip two of them into your soaking heat with ease. You melt into the touch, your elbow immediately giving way and falling. Without thinking much you kiss the inside of Ellaria’s thighs, sucking and nipping her ample flesh. Oberyn begins to thrust his fingers in and out. Your walls flutter around the digits, your body growing tenses. 

“So wet,” he approves. “You must be very excited.” 

“F-Fuck, I am,” you whimper, attempting to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

He scissors his fingers and curls them, applying pressure to a delicate spot deep inside. A jolt of electricity rushes over you. Your body engulfed in a crackling heat. 

“Taste her,” he says. “Aren’t you curious?” 

Instead of answering, you meet Ellaria’s gaze before pressing your lips into her cunt. You moan into her, and she draws up her legs, bracketing you between the inside of her thighs. She cradles the back of your head with both hands, guiding you as you drag your tongue between her folds. She tastes fucking delicious. You love this, love giving her pleasure. With a hum, you close your lips around her aching clit and suck. Hard. 

Her body jolts, the bed underneath creaking. Oberyn swears from underneath his breath, and you imagine him staring at Ellaria’s debouched face. You bet she looks beautiful. Nudging the bundle of nerves with the curve of your nose, you tease her entrance with your tongue, slowly pushing in. 

“And you worried you would be timid,” she croaks out, her back arching as she tugs you closer. “Look at you now, my sweet girl doing such a good job in pleasing us.” 

Oberyn’s fingers are replaced with his sinful tongue, heat drips from your spine. Without wanting to, you pull away from Ellaria, moaning loudly between her legs. His tongue delves deeper, kissing your folds and lapping at everything you have to offer. He grazes his teeth and you writhe against him, your lips moving sloppily along the apex of her thighs as you attempt to kiss her. 

His tongue feels too damn long. . . he pushes the soft muscle inside, the mild stretch making your stomach roll. Oberyn is much better at this than you are. No doubt about it. Ellaria only watches as the most sinful sounds escape your throat. He fucks you with his tongue and between thrusts, he manages to flick your clit with the pointed tip. It makes you feral. You’re not even sure what you’re doing anymore. You continue to taste Ellaria, albeit much more sloppily compared to before. You catch her gaze whenever the fog in your head lifts, her lips are parted, eyes half-lidded. 

“I think you’re ready to take me,” Oberyn says, his voice hoarse. 

Before you can answer, Ellaria cups your cheeks, pulling you away from her core. Your chest heaves. She swipes her thumb over your lips, spreading the wetness caused by her cunt. “I want you to pick a word, love.” 

“A word?” you cringe internally at how out of it you sound. They haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already a mess. 

“A safeword,” Oberyn explains Ellaria’s words further. His hands grip your love handles and squeeze them tenderly, he pulls you back and you feel the warmth of his cock heavy on your ass. 

You think for a minute, your eyes darting around Ellaria’s face and the wall behind her. Your mind is completely empty. Blank. Not even one word comes to mind. 

Oberyn licks his lips, “How about that stoplight system? Green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for stop?” 

Ellaria’s gaze searches your own, and you nod, “That sounds good.” 

“Alright then,” Oberyn purrs, etching closer. He slides his cock between your folds, his hands skimming up your waist. Ellaria continues to hold your face, watching your every expression with interest. Your eyes widen— is she waiting to see your expression when Oberyn enters you? Fuck. Heat blossoms in your chest. “What is your color now?” he asks, hand cupping the back of your neck. 

“Green,” you say with a whimper. 

Oberyn pushes in inch by inch. He stretches you beautifully, only a hint of pain following while he fills you. Ellaria smiles as your eyes roll back, your lips parting with a guttural sound. He feels so good. So deep. When he’s fully sheathed inside, he waits for you to adjust to his size. Your legs shake. You’re barely keeping yourself together. Ellaria slips her thumb into your mouth and you wrap your lips around her diligently.  She hums with approval. 

“Does she feel good?” Ellaria asks Oberyn. 

“Yes. She feels like she was made for me. Such a perfect hole to fill.” 

You shudder, dripping down his cock and the inside of your thighs. “Oh god—” you choke out, your voice thick. 

Ellaria releases you when Oberyn rocks his hips impatiently. Your cheek drops to her thigh and with a shaky hand, you bring your fingers to her cunt, slowly slipping two of them inside. You know she wasn’t expecting it when her head snaps back. You can’t help the little smile that graces your lips. Her heat consumes you. Oberyn’s thrusts become faster, harder, sinking deep into your cunt. And with every stroke of his cock, your fingers go deeper into Ellaria. 

It’s a beautiful mess. 

You’re not sure how thin the walls are, you hope that they’re thick. You mentally apologize to the neighbors if not because none of you are making an effort to keep quiet. Ellaria grinds to meet your fingers, meanwhile, Oberyn’s cock is splitting you into two. His pace is brutal, you feel your skin rippling as his hips snap into you. Honestly, you’re not even trying to move your hand anymore, it’s all Oberyn—So technically, he’s fucking two people at once. 

Suddenly you find yourself being shoved into Ellaria’s delectable cunt, Oberyn pushes you down, blunt nails biting into your scalp. With a groan, you once again close your lips around her clit and suck. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves, then gently —almost fearfully due to the harsh grind of Oberyn’s hips— you graze your teeth. 

Ellaria cries out, a sound that takes you by surprise. Between wet eyelashes, you watch as her face contorts in pleasure, her walls squeezing your fingers tight. Her clit throbs against your tongue and just like that, she’s gushing heavily into your mouth. Oberyn’s movements slow, his brutal pace becoming a lazy one as his cock massages your walls. You have a feeling he’s watching her as well. 

Noticing that she’s crying out both your names, your pulse quickens. 

You pull out your fingers and hold her hips, wet streaks glisten on top of her sun-kissed skin. Burying your mouth deep within her folds, you allow your tongue to lick the remains. Another, more gentle, orgasm washes over her, the cries from before becoming sighs of languid pleasure. 

“Good girl,” Oberyn growls, his hand becomes a necklace around your neck and he hauls you up. He shoves his lips against your ear, the tremor of his voice making you tremble. “You know, I’ve never seen her come quite that hard with the others. She must like you a lot, pet.”

fuckfuckfuck 

The way he rolls his tongue as he says it, pet—you don’t expect it to affect you that much but it does, your entire body tenses, his cock easing in and out of you even faster thanks to the way you gush around him. 

“You like that?” 

Shit, he noticed. 

“I—I—” 

He grabs your chin and clashes your lips in a bruising kiss. Oberyn leaves you breathless, your lungs convulse, burning with the lack of oxygen. You taste a hint of yourself on his tongue. 

“Our sweet pet,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re stunning like this, all fucked out.” 

Oberyn kisses you once more then turns to Ellaria with a smile, “I can still taste you on her tongue.” 

“I would think so. She was quite thorough,” she teases, her gaze fixed on you. 

Ellaria touches herself slowly as Oberyn resumes his brutal pace. Wet noises flood the dimly lit room, Oberyn buries his face where your neck meets your shoulder. You feel the softness of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth. Your loins burn. 

Oberyn dangles you on the edge of a cliff. Every time you’re close to your release, he slows his hips into a gentle roll, only to build you up again. Ellaria simply watches, gently drawing tender circles while Oberyn toys with you. Their pet. 

“Please,” you beg. “I want to come.” 

You sound teary and embarrassed. Oberyn kisses your neck. “You have been good,” he murmurs, eyes moving to Ellaria. “What do you say?” 

“Let her come,” she sighs, smiling. “Make it feel good for her, Oberyn.” 

Oberyn makes a sound of eager approval. His one hand slips between your legs as the other grasp your breast, keeping your sweat-soaked body flush against him. His fingers draw tight, quick circles around your clit as he presses into you, hips smacking against your flesh over and over. 

It doesn’t take you long after that. 

Your orgasm hits you like a truck—hell, it hits you like a train. It’s violent, intense. Every muscle grows taut and your skin tingles as if it’s burned. You can’t even cry out properly, your mouth wide in a silent scream. Something warm trickles down your thighs, and if it wasn’t for Oberyn’s constant, steady praise in your ear you would’ve been embarrassed. But instead, you just slump against him. Your body feeling limp as if you might never be able to stand again. He rolls his hips, and each time waves of pleasure wash over you, it’s not as intense, but it feels amazing. 

“That’s it,” he rasps. “I’m going to pull out now, okay?” 

Your nod is followed by a hiss when he does, the sudden lack of him making you feel empty, and frankly, a little bit sad. However, you don’t get the chance to linger on the feeling as Oberyn guides you toward the empty spot next to Ellaria. 

She holds you in a tight embrace, whispering praise into your hair. Oberyn shuffles until he’s behind her, his arm draped over her waist. His cock is still hard and heavy between his legs, glistening with your slick. 

You ask weakly to Oberyn, “What about you?” 

“Always so thoughtful,” Ellaria purrs. She throws her arm back, pulling Oberyn close by the neck. He kisses a delicate path up that follows the curve of her neck. “You don’t need to worry about him. Just relax. . . and enjoy yourself.” 

When Oberyn sinks into her, you understand why Ellaria was so eager to watch your expression. 

You stare into the small bathroom mirror above the sink, the light irritating your eyes. You’re fresh out of the shower, naked, still dripping, the drops warm as it slides down your skin. Ellaria’s reflection comes into view, also naked, her hands delicately moving over your body, examing to see if you’re hurt anywhere. 

“How do you feel?” she asks, satisfied with her examination. 

“I’m fine,” you answer dismissively, still staring at your reflection. You feel detached, your limbs slow and tenderly aching. 

Oberyn squeezes a tub of minty toothpaste over the bristles of your brush and holds your chin. Instinctively, you turn to him. He gently pinches your jaw. You open your mouth. 

He starts to brush your teeth. This man you just met, this man who just railed the ever-living shit out of you. . . is tenderly brushing your teeth. You taste the mint and without meaning to, you wrinkle your nose. He laughs. 

“It’ll be over soon.” 

The thing that makes you tear up is how delicate they are with you. It’s unexpected. They don't think you’re invincible just from your looks. They see that you’re broken, see that you want to be taken care of.  And they humor you, treating you as you wish to be treated, without you having to say so. 

They touch you as if you are a glass rose. It makes your chest ache. 

“I think I have ointment somewhere,” Ellaria mutters to herself, turning on her heel and looking over the shelves. “It will soothe your skin.” 

The small sniffle you make goes unnoticed by Ellaria but not Oberyn. With a raised eyebrow, he pulls out the toothbrush. “Rinse,” he says simply. He turns on the faucet for you and you fill your mouth with water. You swish it around. Then look to him before doing anything else. “Spit.” 

You watch as the foamy water goes down the drain. You straighten back up, watching the reflections that dance in the mirror once more. You feel his eyes on you but you’re too flustered to answer his gaze. Ellaria holds a small container of ointment, when she sees your expression her brows furrow. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you mumble, not truly knowing the answer yourself. Oberyn opens the faucet again and rinses the toothbrush. After placing it back, he brushes his lips over yours, the gesture sparking life back into your body. “I don’t know,” you then say. “It just feels all so nice, I’m not used to. . . I don’t know, sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ellaria says, opening the small container. She takes a hefty amount with two fingers and rubs it into the tender skin of your asscheeks. “It’s normal. You haven’t been feeling well lately, and it’s common to feel a bit of a drop after.” 

“Is it really?” you ask. 

Oberyn answers you instead, “It is. You’ll feel much better when we’re back in bed when you’re between us.” 

Ellaria nods and you manage to smile. With a soft chuckle, you shake your head. “You two are too nice to me.” 

“The bare minimum shouldn’t be surprising you this much,” Oberyn’s gaze softens. “But we’ll fix that.” 

As the two guide you back to the bedroom, you believe they will. 

[doumadono]

CONGRATULATIONS !!! Could I please get a cup of vanilla ice cream with maple syrup, preferably for Neuvilette or Wrio or Itto? (I'll take whatever you're offering, your writing is flawless!)

A/N: thank you, dear Nonnie! You're so sweet! Since you didn't specify the plot, I decided to create a few short sweet scenes with the boys

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

Wriothesley

Wriothesley found himself at a loss for words one dreary afternoon as he sat in his study, surrounded by stacks of parchment and ink-stained quills. Lost in thought, he was startled by the soft sound of your footsteps approaching.

"Wrio, darling, are you alright?" you asked, your voice filled with concern as you gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

The man sighed, his gaze meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "I fear I won't finish signing all these documents today, my dear. Try as I might, I cannot seem to finish this task that our beloved Neuvilette bestowed upon me."

Your eyes softened with understanding as you took a seat on his comfortable lap, your presence a comforting balm to his troubled soul. "Perhaps you simply need a gentle nudge in the right direction," you suggested with a tender smile. "If I were in your shoes, I'd suggest beginning with the lengthiest documents you have to sift through."

And so, with your encouragement, Wriothesely found himself immersed in a flurry of his stint, his quill dancing across the parchment. As the signatures flowed effortlessly from his pen, Wriothesley realized that his greatest muse that always helped him stayed focused had been by his side all along. As you settled into the comfortable embrace of his lap, his spare hand tenderly tracing the curve of your waist, he found himself consumed by thoughts of his deep affection for you. It wasn't merely your physical beauty that captivated him, but also the profound wisdom that emanated from your mind, weaving an irresistible charm that bound him to you completely.

Itto

Arataki found himself in an unexpected predicament one sunny afternoon. Amidst the chaos of his usual training routine, he stumbled upon a delicate sakura tree in full bloom. Entranced by its beauty, he couldn't help but admire it, his rough hands reaching out to caress the soft petals.

"Hey, Itto! What are you doing over there?" you called out, a spirited warrior with a heart of gold.

Itto turned, a bashful grin spreading across his rugged features. "Ah, just admiring this sakura tree. Reminds me of you, y'know? Beautiful and strong."

Your eyes sparkled with amusement as you approached, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. "You big softie," you teased, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Come on, let's enjoy the blossoms together."

And so, amidst the fluttering petals and gentle breeze, Itto and you spent the afternoon basking in each other's company, your laughter echoing through the tranquil grove.

Neuvilette

The Iudex, the suave and sophisticated man, found himself in a rather peculiar situation one evening as he strolled through the lush gardens of his estate. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with you, his girlfriend, a radiant beauty with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes.

"Ah, there you are, my dear," Neuvilette said with a charming smile. "I've been looking for you."

You giggled, a playful glint in your gaze. "I was hoping to steal a moment alone with you, away from the prying eyes of society."

Neuvilette's heart skipped a beat as he took your delicate hand in his own. "My dear, you need only ask, and I would gladly whisk you away to the ends of the earth."

With a soft laugh, you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. "Then how about we start with a romantic stroll under the moonlit sky?"

And so, hand in hand, Neuvilette and you wandered through the gardens, your laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves as you savored the magic of the night.

[yaespook]

Indulgence.

✧ Room Content: Dom! Top! GN! AMAB! Incubus! Reader x Sub! Switch! Priest! Kaveh x Sub! Bottom! Incubus! Alhaitham, mostly focused on Kaveh, threesome, sacrilegious themes (Catholicism), worshipping and blasphemy, inexperienced virgin Kaveh, Kaveh has religious guilt regarding masturbating/sex, Kaveh wears a clerical collar, handjob (reader receiving), frotting (Alhaitham with Kaveh), vague incubus powers (entering dreams and binding tattoos). Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: [The head of the fortune cat appears on the front desk.]

It started out quite innocently in Kaveh’s mind really.

It was another early morning Sunday mass. The same old kind where it was mostly just grandparents attending, when the warm sunlight hasn’t quite fully peeked through the clouds yet. The lights in the church weren’t all on either because only the front few pews were occupied anyway, dousing the environment in a cold sort of blueish grey.

For Father Kaveh, the processes were all the same. The same parishioners, the same blue-greyness, the same prayers. It was always the same and it has always been for a while now.

But today was different. During his homily, he caught a glimpse of two unfamiliar faces sitting amongst the congregation in the wooden pews of the church. It’s hard not to notice such a charming presence intently listening in on the homily he had prepared in a crowd of churchgoers who looked half asleep.

(He would be lying if he said that the both of you weren't attractive too. Unfortunately, lying is definitely a sin. Hence, he simply admits it in his mind and files it away in a mental archive for… further reflection when he has the time. Ugh, it’d be better if that man next to you put down the book he was reading.) 

If he injected a little more pep into his homily after you piqued his interest, then no one but God has to know.

However, he's later promptly caught off guard when the two of you were the first ones to approach him after mass for a chat. Kaveh’s never one to turn down an opportunity to get to know and welcome new parishioners so of course he enthusiastically grasped at the chance to talk to the both of you.

Sparing a subtle glance up and down, he drinks in the sight before him. You were both dressed impeccably, not a single hair out of place, sinfully glamourous. But Kaveh knows better than to ogle so he tears his gaze away and instead focuses on making conversation instead.

“A blessed morning to the both of you! I don't think I've ever seen you two in the early morning congregation before, I am Father Kaveh, the priest of this parish.”

He extends a hand for a handshake, first towards you, which you grasp firmly. When you make contact with him, Kaveh is slightly taken aback at the heightened warmth of your touch on his skin. 

“Sorry, I’ve been told I run hotter than most, but it’s a pleasure to meet you, Father Kaveh,” your voice is smooth and pleasing to the ear, a shake snaking its way down his spine when you say your own name. Silently, he repeats your name in his mind, and he’s further charmed when you remark, “I’ve heard a lot about you, all good things, don’t worry, which is why Alhaitham and I came to see you.”

Kaveh’s head swivels to look over at the other, Alhaitham, and when he shakes his hand, he finds out that the both of you run rather hot. There’s a book held in his other hand, the one he was reading earlier during mass.

“Likewise, a pleasure to meet you,” Alhaitham says, levelling Kaveh with an unreadable stare, “We look forward to getting to know you more.”

At this, Kaveh beams, a cheery grin on his face, “As do I. If you ever need it, the mass timings are always in the weekly church bulletin, I hope to see the two of you more often.”

He excuses himself to chat with the other parishioners, bidding the two of you goodbye. However, even whilst talking to the others and hearing about their day-to-day troubles, and throughout the rest of the week, he finds his mind drifting back to the both of you. What makes you so memorable, so charming to him? Is it the way you carry yourself? Your voice? Or is it simply just, you?

He catches himself looking forward to the next mass where he might see you again, to spot your faces amidst the tired crowd, to converse again. And he does, every Sunday morning mass.

Kaveh sees you and Alhaitham sitting in the same pew every time you attend and it’s almost like clockwork whenever his eyes quickly dart over to the two of you when he’s addressing the congregation. And he firmly attests that you crack him a small smile when you catch him doing so, as if you knew he was going to glance over at that very second.

Over the weeks, he’s grown attached despite the warning bells scolding him not to at the back of his mind.

“Kaveh, get a hold of yourself, you’ve dedicated yourself to the church, this is no way to be thinking of your parishioners,” slapping his cheeks lightly, he tries to shake the thoughts of you out of his head but it seems like no matter what he does, you’ve managed to slither your way into his brain, where you now reside in 24/7.

Sighing, he says a prayer (one imploring for the strength to resist temptation) before he tucks himself into bed for a restful night.

Except, it’s anything but.

As soon as he succumbs to slumber, his eyes snap open at the sensation of a hand stroking through his hair. They adjust to the ceiling light in his room, strange, didn’t he turn them off before sleeping? 

Blearily looking up, he sees the twin troubles plaguing him. But there’s no way the two of you are here, you don’t know the church grounds that well and there should be no reason for you to know which room he stays in either. It’s all improbable and that’s how he figures out that this is just some sort of fucked up lucid dream. (A small buried part of him deflates at this knowledge for some reason.)

“Hey Father Kaveh, sorry we couldn’t wait until the next Sunday, so we’ve come to see you early,” your words snap him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh no, for you to infiltrate even my dreams, just how much am I thinking about the two of you?” Kaveh grumbles as his hand goes to rest over his eyes. He hears you chuckle before Alhaitham speaks next.

“So you think about us too?” The bed shifts and another hand joins in to roughly tussle his hair.

“Begrudgingly so, it’s as if you’ve consumed my every waking thought,” a weak sigh, “Maybe it’s a test from above, something meant to test me.”

“That’s rough, Father Kaveh, to be reduced to ‘something meant to test you’, after all these weeks,” you feign a watery tone, “Is that all you see us as?”

“No! Of course not!” He yells out, snapping to sit upright and grabbing your hands. As if he could ever see you as a burden to shoulder. You’ve been nothing but courteous and kind to him, a rare indulgence in his routine days and scheduled masses. Someone who actually consistently converses with him, asking about him, caring for him. 

The bed shifts again, Alhaitham and you moving to sit in closer next to him, and you ask, “That’s a relief, then what do you see us as?” 

Kaveh feels that familiar quiver snake its way down his spine, like all those weeks ago when it first started, the words caught in his throat as he scrambles to produce an appropriate yet truthful answer to your loaded question. 

“I… I can’t lie,” his voice is shaky, trying to navigate the chaos in his mind for the right thing to say. 

“It’s fine, you can tell us,” Alhaitham’s voice lulls.

Whatever. It’s a dream after all.

Kaveh sucks in a breath before blurting out, “My thoughts about the two of you have veered into more sinful territories-!”

A beat of silence passes and he buries his face into his hands, bright red all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“Such an honest priest we have here on our hands, anything else you want to confess, Father Kaveh?” Your tease makes him flush even more, intense embarrassment washing over him but it changes instantly when you turn his hand over and gently kiss the back of it.

Great, now his mind is making him dream of such situations?

His vision spins when he feels Alhaitham’s hands roam up his back, the heat permeating through his pyjamas as you lean in next to his ear, your breath on his exposed skin hot, hot, hot.

“I would give you your penance but it seems like we’ve run out of time, shame,” your tongue darts out to lick the shell of his ear and he shakes. You snap your fingers.

“Wake up.”

Kaveh snaps up, awake for real this time. The warm sunlight streams in through a window but he can’t find it in himself to enjoy such a wonderful morning when his mind is still reeling from such a depraved dream. He looks down. He’s hard.

No matter what he does, his usual morning prayers, an awfully cold shower, nothing helps to solve his problem. And he’s running out of time with the next scheduled mass coming up soon.

Biting his bottom lip, he experimentally presses his palm against his clothed cock, immediately rewarded with a rush of pleasure through his body. Repeating the action, he palms his erection, breath coming out in pants at the ramping buzz in him. 

“Hah… Forgive m-me Father, for I- ah! -have sinned,” Kaveh blubbers out pitifully between breaths, praying as he tries to tear his mind away from the sin of his act.

He’s never… touched himself in such a way before, and to discover how terrifyingly addictive the bliss that he’s been holding himself back from experiencing all this time is, he feels his resolve crack.

Hurriedly, he shimmies his pants and underwear down, just enough for him to wrap his hand around his cock, revelling in the newness of the sensation. He starts with a light tug, aided by the amount of precum from his earlier palming, and the direct friction goes to muddy his brain. He resorts to biting down on his finger to muffle his noises lest anyone comes down the corridor.

Thoughts of you and Alhaitham flood his brain, the way his hands crept up his back, your tongue on his skin. Unconsciously, his hand speeds up its pace, slick sounds and stifled lewd moans filling the room the more he thinks about the two of you, the fantasies growing more and more unrestrained.

What would you think if you found out this is how your church’s priest spends his time? Would you berate him? Or would you indulge him? Maybe you’d teach him how to masturbate, your hand covering his own as you guide him on how to stroke your dick while Alhaitham steals kisses from him.

He thinks of your voice whispering lowly into his ear, frighteningly realistic, “We want you, Kaveh.”

Head thrown back, he feels the pressure building up to a peak in him, muscles draw taut as a blinding white-hot pleasure shoots through him, and he cums for the first time in his life ever, the forbidden fruit that he’s denied himself up till now. 

Kaveh struggles to catch his breath after his high, desperately rutting into his hand to ride it out. After he does, he’s instantly filled with an indescribable guilt, rushing into the bathroom to wash off the evidence of his act, staring at his dishevelled appearance in the mirror. 

How could he think of you in such a way? (How could he not?)

The next time he approaches the both of you after mass, he makes sure to do it after most of the crowd has already gone off, leaving the three of you alone. Avoiding your gazes, he starts.

“Apologies to keep the two of you waiting… some of the others had a lot to chat about,” a forced laugh, “But it is in my best interest that I should stop interacting so much with you both.”

You give him a quizzical look and Alhaitham quirks an eyebrow at his words, making him quickly tack on some reassurance, “It’s not the fault of either of you, worry not. And it would be too much for me to get into-”

“Certainly not,” Alhaitham cuts him off, his voice alluring, “It’s fine, you can tell us.”

Unable to stomach the thought of his relationship with you souring and ending on a bad note, he swallows down his fear and invites the two of you to his quarters to come clean about everything.

So, how is it that he’s found himself in this position?

It started out already rather lewdly in your mind. 

Catching wind of a devout priest in town, loved by many, adored by most. Naturally, it was your job as an incubus to corrupt him. And they’ve assigned your lovely junior, Alhaitham, as your partner in sin.

The first meeting went well enough, charming Kaveh without the use of your powers, it seems as if he was as taken with you as you were with him. His lovely blond locks, his sweet voice, that downright sinful waist of his. How long would it take until he would snap and tumble into bed with the two of you so that you could defile him and show him the delectable paradise of ecstasy that he’s been abstaining from?

Over the weeks, you’ve teased Kaveh in the most minute of ways. Sly innuendos tossed in nonchalantly during conversations, lingering touches that you can see him secretly longing for. And perhaps you can’t say that Alhaitham and you aren’t unaffected by his charm too.

The impatience was driving the both of you wild, judging from how uncharacteristically antsy he’s been behaving. You’re no stranger to being intimate with him, indulging him when he gets particularly needy. And you can tell he’s pent up when he’s grinding on your thigh as he kisses you, so spoiled. 

When you break apart, cupping his cheek, you ask, “Think our priest is asleep yet? How about we pay him a little visit?” Snapping your fingers, you transport the two of you into Kaveh’s dream, where you plant the final seeds of temptation and guide him down the blissful path of damnation.

The dream ended way too fast for your liking but it all worked out in the end, since now you’re here, in Kaveh’s room with him seated in your lap facing you.

Kaveh’s mind is spinning, unable to comprehend how fast all this is moving. First, he invites the two of you in to talk everything over in a more private location. Then, everything comes spilling out, his thoughts about you, even the sensual dream. His eyes are pinned to his hands clenched into fists in his lap, in fear that your gazes might be one of disgust towards him. It’s all too much, he’s backed himself into something too raw and too vulnerable and he can’t help when tears well up in his eyes, falling onto his hands.

A quick glance over to Alhaitham, and you pull Kaveh into your lap, an act to console him. Gently moving his head onto your shoulder for him to cry into, you shush him.

“Oh Father Kaveh, please don’t feel so guilty, after all, isn’t it natural to be tempted?” Patting the back of his head, you watch as Alhaitham rises from his seat and moves Kaveh’s long hair aside to brush his lips along the exposed skin of his nape.

“If holding it all in is causing you so much distress,” Alhaitham plants a kiss on Kaveh’s neck, “Perhaps giving in is the answer.”

“...No, I can’t,” Kaveh weeps, yet there’s a hesitation in his voice, as if he’s not fully convinced that he should turn away from the pleasure that you two can bring him.

“No one has to know,” your hands cup the sides of his face and move him so that you can look into his eyes, the sincerity behind them startling him when you say, “We want you, Kaveh.”

The world seems to stop when you say those words, his heart soaring and in the split second, his resistance slips away. He abandons it all for you, for a longing reciprocated, for a tangible love, and he presses his lips onto yours.

He whines into the kiss when you take charge, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip and he gasps. When you enter his mouth, your saliva mixing with his, his breath hitches as his desire suddenly heightens tenfold. You can feel him getting hard in your lap, ever so slightly grinding down without even realising it.

“Will you let us take you apart? Allow us to worship and love you like you deserve? To open your eyes to the true salvation of human pleasure?” 

Kaveh’s drowning in your words, the blessing that the two of you are gracing him with, leaving him bare and naked in his longing.

“Please.”

Soon, you have the blond seated on the edge of his bed and stripped of all his clothing, except for his white clerical collar, which still lays clasped loosely around his neck.

“Look at you Father Kaveh, perhaps mankind was indeed made in God’s image,” you watch on from above him as Alhaitham laves a tongue over Kaveh’s clavicle, “If not, how else would you look so divine?”

He flushes crimson at your praise, bashful at how unaffected you are in this scenario. You move and sit next to him on the bed, unzipping your pants as he watches on with bated breath.

“From your mouth to God’s ear, Father Kaveh, your fantasies have been heard and they’ll be fulfilled today.”

Like him, you’re already hard, precum beading at your tip. Your hand goes to grab his, bringing it over and wrapping it around your shaft. Covering his hand with yours, you entertain his desires, cooing as you slowly start to move his hand, pumping your cock at a steady pace while you savour the sensation of his hand.

Kaveh’s eyes are glued to the sight of you guiding his hand up and down on your length, the warmth of your hand over his own. He’s enraptured until he feels fingers under his chin, tilting his head up and suddenly he’s locking lips with Alhaitham. When he realises that the two of you are actually recreating the scene from his imagination, his mind is left reeling. 

He moans into the kiss with Alhaitham when he feels you throb in his hand, more pre dribbling from your tip.

“You’re so good, Father Kaveh, always so kind, so understanding, hmm?” Your praise gets him so worked up, his hips uselessly rutting up against nothing but something settles onto his lap and presses against his own cock. Cracking his eyes open, he realises that Alhaitham has slotted himself into his space, and breaking away from the kiss so that Kaveh can breathe, he frots his erect hard-on against Kaveh’s.

“Maybe this way I’ll keep your attention on me too,” the grey haired male says, hands going to rest at Kaveh’s hip to steady himself as he ruts.

He can feel his legs shaking as that daunting pressure starts to build inside of him again like before. The pacing of his strokes under your hand begins to falter as he chases after his high, grinding more and more frantically against the man in his lap.

But just as he’s seconds away from reaching his orgasm, Alhaitham clambers out of Kaveh’s space, at the same time, you remove his hand from your body 

The sudden detachment brings him back down from his almost peak, his mind clearing up just enough for him to whine out, “Wh- What was that for?” 

“We’re saving the best for last, Father Kaveh,” you say as the two of you manhandle his pliant body into position.

Alhaitham’s beneath him, hands gripping the headboard as he lays on his back, facing upwards. Alternatively, Kaveh’s on all fours on the bed, hands and knees on either side of Alhaitham with you standing at the foot of his bed, hands firmly gripping onto his hips.

“Are you ready to take us into your heart, to accept us for all that we are,” and you all but purr his name, “Kaveh?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” he begs, desperation akin to a sinner’s prayer. 

“Such a lovely obedient lamb, truly the best one in the flock. I’d say you should finally get a reward for such excellent behaviour,” He gulps at your words, the praise you’re showering him in muddling his thoughts as he anticipates whatever the two of you have planned for him. 

Goosebumps rise on his skin when you trace a blunt nail up his spine. However, the breath is punched from his chest when he looks back down at Alhaitham, pointed horns crowning his head, emerging from his mop of grey hair. His head snaps to look at you over his shoulder where he sees a similar sight. Coiled horns like a ram’s adorn you, leathery unfurled wings, and a long slender tail that’s tipped with a heart at the end.

“My dearest lamb, I ask you once more. Do you take us into your being, to love us for what we are,” your voice takes on a sultry tone, dripping with sinful indulgence, “To let us defile you?”

His head bowed, he dutifully replies, “I offer all of myself up to you.”

And with this, you partake in the feast of him.

Coating your fingers in your thick aphrodisiacal spit, you rest one hand on his ass, spreading him apart as you prod at his rim.

“Relax for me, Father Kaveh, you’re in good hands and we’ll never lead you astray.” You hear him release the breath he’s holding and he untenses, allowing you to slip a finger into him.

“Ah-!” The sensation is unfamiliar but not unwelcome, the stretch gradually turning into a growing pleasure thanks to its aphrodisiac qualities, slowly getting used to the feeling of being filled as you prepare him to take you.

A finger loops through his clerical collar and pulls him down. Looks like Alhaitham’s had enough of being ignored. He kisses him like a man starved, teeth clacking noisily as he drinks in Kaveh’s moans.

Taking this opportunity to slip in another finger, your other hand goes to grip his waist, steadying him as he loses himself to the mounting delectation. Scissoring your fingers, it proves to be too much for the inexperienced Kaveh and his legs give out from beneath him, pressing him against Alhaitham’s body.

“Haitham, did you prep yourself beforehand?” He nods briskly at your question. Lowering yourself down so you’re bearing down on Kaveh, you lick the shell of his ear, (he shivers), and ask.

“Do you think Haitham can take you? He’s been waiting for you for so long, he’s even prepared himself for you.”

Between dazed blinks, Kaveh manages to process your words, nodding his head and muttering out a dumb, “Uh- Uh huh.” 

With this, Alhaitham lines his hole up with Kaveh’s drooling cock, and with you pushing down on his hips from above him, Kaveh’s head pushes past Alhaitham rim, a guttural growl leaving your junior’s lips at the sensation of Kaveh sinking into him with your guidance.

“M-Move please…!” Alhaitham groans out when Kaveh doesn’t seem to do anything when he bottoms out inside of him. The lewd heat that surrounds his length overloads his mind, bliss coursing through every vein in his body.

The erotic sight of your two sweethearts under you, the one who’s supposed to be the incubus pleading for sweet salvation from the once-pure, clueless lamb laying above him who’s finally had a taste of the forbidden fruit. Both of them dewy-eyed and left greedily wanting more. It’s easily all too tempting.

You remove your fingers from Kaveh with a wet shlick! before replacing it with your tip at his entrance. As you push into him, the pressure causes him to reach deeper into Alhaitham, resulting in a lascivious harmony of wanton moans in the room.

And when your tip brushes past his prostate for the first time, he can’t help but mewl, “O-Oh God!”

“Rude to call out someone else’s name when- ugh! -you have two incubi pleasuring you right here, Father Kaveh!” Punctuating this with a sharp thrust, you wring a drawn-out cry from Kaveh.

“S-Sorry! For- hng!! -forgive me!” Pitifully sobbing out, he rocks his hips clumsily back against yours, urging you to fully sheathe yourself in him. With his motions, Alhaitham finally gets the stimulation he’s yearned for, as Kaveh moves in time with your thrusts.

Your tail wraps itself around Kaveh’s thigh when you encircle your hands around his slim waist.

“I’ll fuck you so good that you’ll be worshipping me when I’m done with you.”

Pulling out until just your tip is left in him, you position your mouth at his shoulder and when you bite down on his pristine untainted skin, it’s the only warning he gets before you sink your length back into him, all the way down to the hilt.

You’ve left your mark on him, marred him, sullied him, defiled him for all of eternity in the eyes of the church. But Kaveh can’t find it in himself to care, too fucked out from the carnal pleasures he’s wrapped up in right now. The way you pound into him, the way Haitham’s walls squeeze down on him. Who is he to say that this isn’t heaven on earth? Who is he to say that this is damnation?

Perhaps he’s found his God in you.

“Hah! God, please! I’m close- ah! -so so close!” He’s delirious and Alhaitham swears he can almost see the hearts in Kaveh’s eyes.

“Calling me your god now, Father Kaveh?”

“Yesss! Please, I’m s-so close, let me- hng! -finish, God, I beg of you!” Kaveh quivers under you as both him and Alhaitham approach their climax. Their breaths come out in ragged pants as you speed up your pace, also chasing your own peak.

“Then take all I give unto you, Kaveh,” you bury yourself as deep as possible as his walls clamp down on you, his head thrown back in ecstasy as the three of you cum together. The searing rapture rips through him as you fill him up, eyes wrenched shut with him seeing stars behind his eyelids. His lower abdomen feels hot as he cums into Alhaitham, whose eyes have rolled back into his sockets, breath hitching at his orgasm.

You complete it with short shallow thrusts, helping the both of them through the fading waves of pleasure, wringing out the last of their debauched noises. When you pull out of Kaveh, a raspy whine rips from him. Manoeuvring his spent body to lie on his back, you’re pleased to see that the session took, evident from the glowing fuchsia tattoo on his lower abdomen.

Pressing a kiss against it, Kaveh shakes at the increased stimulation. Curious, he peers down at it, ghosting his fingers over it as he watches the tattoo’s glow intensity slowly fade and settle into a faint pink outline.

“The three of us have been unified, we’re bound together now, my dearest lamb.”

Alhaitham lazily rolls over to leave a kiss on Kaveh’s cheek before you pull him in by his clerical collar for a chaste kiss on the edge of his lips.

And suddenly, his Sunday mornings don’t seem so dull anymore. 

[> You add a clerical collar to your collection.]

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[world-of-aus]

Safe With Me

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky x MobDaughter!Reader

Warnings: hints of previous domestic abuse (very small hints), angsty, protective bucky (he's a warning folks).

Author's Note: I've been wanting bodyguard!bucky for a hot minute and here is part one of a two part installment. He's my grumpy turned sunshine I never new I needed till now! I also want to thank @winterwitch-trash for constantly sending me into the afterlife with her inspirations for this piece. Happy Readings Buns <3

Boisterous laughter fills your ears as you step a heeled foot into the extravagant hall. The room is filled with business suits and dazzling dresses.

His hand tap yours where it’s wrapped tightly around his bicep, your gaze meets his, a warm reassuring smile on his lips. A tilt to your head and he’s leading you further into the room, pulling you into the pool of suits and dresses, the laughter all consuming as he pulls you further in to the masses.

You slip into your role as he guides you, a warm pleasant smile on your lips, a tilt to your head as you greet the bigheaded business suit and his dazzling dress. He leads the two of you till your face to face with your father and his company. The men of the group can barely spare you a glance much less a proper greeting as they take to the man who holds you on his arm. You find the women are kinder acknowledging your presence with a nod of their head, it was the most you had found they were allowed to do at these events.

Caught up in a conversation your father takes the time to acknowledge you, his voice low as he leans in. “You are to stay with him at all times tonight, where you go, he goes, is that understood?” You want to ask if he’s here, there’s no other reason your dad would abide you caution if there wasn’t a threat involved. He leans back, eyes trained on yours, “do as I say.” A finality to his somewhat cryptic statement. You offer a tight-lipped nod, watching as he throws himself into the conversation.

Unlike the other women of the group, you don’t grow bored, your nerves on edge as you glance 9around the hall. Eyes scanning the business suits for him, you knew he was here. He had been set to take over the business when you hung off his arm, you had no doubt with the time that passed that he had already claimed the title.

So intent on finding his eyes you don’t feel Bucky lean in till he’s whispering into your ear, “let’s go dance.” He breaks your trance, head tilting to look at him but he’s turned to your fathers group dismissing the two of you with a promise to the men to grab a drink later. Your father catches him before he can whisk the two of you off, whispering something into his ear, it’s when the two separate eye to eye that you catch your fathers look, it was enough for you.

With a pat to Bucky’s arm, he sends the two of you off, your grip on his bicep tightening as you part through the group. His hand lays over yours squeezing, thumb brushing over your skin soothing. Bucky had grown so attune to you over the months, learning to read you better than most in your life could. There was nothing you could hide from the broad-shouldered brunette, not anymore.

You break onto the dance floor, his body turning into yours as he molds you to him, your hand clasped tightly in his. It’s quiet for a moment between you two as you let him take the lead, body pressing further into his as he takes you around the floor. He leans into you, “you’re safe with me, he’ll never lay another hand on you as long as I’m around.”

You want to ask him how long that looks like, want to ask him about the contract your father drew up and had him sign that fateful morning in his office months ago. You had no part in it despite it being drawn up for you and your safety. “What troubles you,” he breathes into your hair.

You lean into the motion, “you won’t be able to keep me safe forever,” your murmur into the black velvet of his suit. “What will happen when the contract you signed with my father is up? Surely there will be other jobs needing you, once your time here is done.” Your feet slow, the hand that rests on your back squeezes, “you need not worry about that, to worry about what your future holds, stay here in the present with me.”

You can’t help but to think of the future; a future without Bucky Barnes in it. He wraps you closer, your head finding his shoulder as he sways the two of you amongst the mass. The question of how long you had left with him sitting on your tongue. You don’t ask, not wanting to break the moment you share with ‘what ifs’. You wondered if you had held your walls as high as Bucky had when you were first introduced to him all those months ago if you might have saved your heart from the pain that would come when his time was up.

The hand that held yours finds your cheek, beckoning you from your spot on his shoulder. Your eyes find his, the question wants to fall of your tongue but a voice that has your blood running cold stops it altogether. Bucky’s form goes rigid when you freeze in his arms, fear clouding your features at the man that has appeared from the masses behind you.

“For claiming to be so devoted you move on rather quick, petal,” he spits.

Your eyes slip shut, breathing in deep as you steel yourself, you would not let yourself live in fear over this man. It’s what he wanted, wanting to keep you down when you were already in the dirt. You had lived it enough when you were with him, no more would you allow him to have you cowering before him. Enough was enough. There would be a time where the man that held you, the man who made you feel safe wouldn’t be there, and you needed to be ready to face things alone. Steeling yourself, you compose your features, throwing on a smile as you turn on your heel Bucky’s hand still on you offering you a sense of comfort as you turn to face them.

Your stomach drops at the sight, but your smile remains, “what a pleasant surprise Rumlow,” you greet, your eyes flicking over to his mistress, the one he had in your bed far too many times to count. “Elizabeth, you look radiant, you’re glowing,” you add as you allow your eyes to drift down to her swollen belly. It would have only been a matter of time before she fell pregnant with his child, you’re just glad it hadn’t happened with you there.

“Not sure we can say the same for you,” Rumlow throws in smugly. He wants a fight, wants you to bark back so he can find a way to put you in your place, like he did when you were under him. Bucky can sense his intentions as he presses into you, the hand that laid at your back now curled into a fist.

“Well surely you can’t say the same, because we’re not the same.”

Despite the lack of venom in your tone, Rumlow bites, “He’ll grow tired of you as well,” he murmurs eyes flickering to Bucky, “don’t lock yourself down with this one pal,” he finds your eyes again, “she isn’t worth it.” Bucky should have stepped in sooner but the feel of you shaking form in his arms draws the line. “Rumlow is it?” he questions as he steps forward, his form shadowing yours as he puts himself between you and the man you once called your fiancé “listen pal I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been talking down to my girl, now I’ve tried to respect her wishes of being on my best behavior tonight but I think it’d be best if you and your partner here walked away now, were trying to enjoy ourselves, surely there are others around that you can get your ego stroked with that isn’t mine.”

Rumlow looks visibly ticked by Bucky, his hand clenched at his side, but he knew better than to start anything tonight, no one ever dared to start a fight on a night like this. The dark haired brunette clears his throat as he steps forward towards you. No regard for Bucky he gets as close as he can voice low and menacing as he speaks directly at you, “your daddy’s little guard dog can’t protect you forever,” he steps back smirk on his lips as he takes the two of you in, “pleasure seeing the two of you, and y/n ill see you soon.” he says over his shoulder as he walks past the two of you.

Bucky’s eyes follow the man as he goes but your frozen on his words, heart pounding in your chest, a ringing in your ears that screams its all too much. You suck in a shaky breath, the need to run all but suffocating, you’re slipping from Buckys hold as you move forward, smile pressed on your lips despite the dread consuming you whole. You squeeze through the business suit and dazzling dress, slipping your way through the crowd the exit at the forefront of your mind.

His voice is a light buzz in your ear but you can hear him call for you, telling you to wait, slow down, but your feet won’t allow it, your racing heart making it harder to breathe the longer you’re in here. You make it out past the grand doors, feet barely just meeting the edge of the first stair before you’re being pulled back into a broad chest. His hands are on you, turning you in his hold muffling the first cry that tears from your lips. “It’s okay,” he breathes into your hair, “I’ve got you, you’re safe with me.”

Your fingers clutch at the lapels of his suit, “he’s never going to stop, and you won’t be here forever, I – I can’t do this anymore, I'm not strong enough to do this."

Bucky prays you don’t feel the way he tenses up at your words, the way his heart skips a beat, he pulls you into his arms tighter, lips finding your head, “you're stronger than anyone I've ever had the privilege of working under y/n, we're going to figure this out, I've got you, I promise you I've got you." You want to scream into the night air but settle on the choked sob that makes it past your lips instead.

"It's just so unfair," you whisper into his jacket. You weren't sure what you found more unfair though.

The situation with Rumlow, or your newfound situation with Bucky.

[hamsterclaw]

Fugitive

You're kidnapped by a desperate man and you can't see a way that this is going to end well, for either of you.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 10k

Genre: Escaped criminal, convict Yoongi

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of a gun, threat of gun violence

Author note: This story is based on the romance novel Perfect by Judith McNaught. I've taken a few liberties with the plot and characters.

The coffee at this mountainside diner is good, warming your belly as you frown at the snow outside. 

All the weather reports say there’s a storm coming from the east, but it doesn’t take a trooper to know that. 

Even a city girl like you can see how the sky’s darkening, how the wind’s relentless, how the temperature is rapidly dropping.

You’ve got snow tires on, four wheel drive, emergency supplies in your trunk, but you think you won’t need them, you’re heading west and you’ve made good time on your way to visit your sister and her newborn.

Like your dad used to say, your family’s full of grit. 

You swallow your smile when you see the man standing just outside the diner looking straight at you.

Did he think you were smiling at him?

You look down hastily.

The waitress comes round with the check you signalled for, you put money on the little acrylic tray and get ready to go.

By the time you step outside, the wind’s picked up even more, snow swirling, making your eyes want to screw shut under your beanie.

You don’t hear him until he’s almost on top of you.

He’s not a lot taller than you, and he’s not particularly dressed for the weather, in denim on denim, a parka. No hat or gloves.

His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and his skin is pale, like he doesn’t get a lot of sun.

He looks vaguely familiar but you can’t really place him.

‘You have a flat,’ he says, pointing to one of your front tyres.

You look down in dismay only to see that he’s right.

Shit!

‘I can help you change it, if you’ve got a spare,’ he offers.

‘Would you?’ you ask, grateful.

‘Yeah, not a problem.’

You show him where the spare and tools are, and as he crouches by the tyre, you’re very aware of how, unlike you, he doesn’t have gloves on. 

You feel a surge of guilt.

‘Hey,’ you offer, ‘whilst you’re doing that, can I get you a hot drink or something?’

He looks up at you, hands braced on the flat.

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course,’ you say, relieved that he’s not too polite to take you up on your offer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You hurry back into the diner to get him a coffee. As you wait you wonder if he might want a sandwich too, and impulsively, you order him a hot sandwich.

He can always say no if he doesn’t want it, you reason.

By the time you come out, he’s putting the flat in your trunk, tidying up the tools he used.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him, passing him the drink.

‘No problem,’ he says.

A little awkwardly, you hold out the wrapped sandwich. ‘I got you a sandwich too, if you want it. It’s turkey.’

He accepts with another murmured ‘thank you.’

You’re wondering if you should offer him money for his kindness when he says, hesitant, ‘I could use a lift, if you’re heading west. I’ve got a job interview I’m hoping to make it to.’

Now you’re the hesitant one. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, but he is still a total stranger.

He waits without looking at you, sipping his coffee, keeping his distance.

You think about his lack of warm clothes, and as you’re looking at him, you notice the crispness of the creases in his clothing, remnants of how they must have been folded when he bought them.

You think about his calloused palms and how he accepted the sandwich without hesitation.

‘Hey, it’s ok,’ he starts to say, and it’s that, more than anything else, that spurs you on to reply.

‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll take you as far as I’m heading.’

***

He gets into the passenger seat, and from the sigh that passes his lips you realise that he really was as cold as you thought he might be.

You start the engine, and warm air starts to blow through your A/C vents.

You check that the GPS is still set and glance over at him. 

‘You ready?’

You’re a mile or so out of the diner, listening to the radio, when it occurs to you to ask him his name.

‘I’m Y/N,’ you say. 

‘Yoongi,’ comes the reply.

In here, away from the whistling wind, you can hear the gravel in his voice.

‘What job are you going for?’ you ask.

‘Just some construction job my friend’s lined up for me near Maisan,’ Yoongi says.

He glances in the rearview mirror. 

‘I hope you get it,’ you tell him. ‘Do you live around there?’

He seems to hesitate.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ you say, quickly. 

To bridge the sudden silence, you say, ‘I’m going to see my sister and her new baby. She chose a good time to have him, right before a storm.’

You notice movement up ahead, a police roadblock.

Beside you, your new acquaintance sits up. 

‘Nice and easy,’ he says, and you look at him, confused, until you notice that he has a gun in his hand.

Pointed right at you.

You straighten up so quickly your neck cracks.

‘What —-‘

‘Nice and easy,’ Yoongi says again, a hardness to his voice you haven’t heard up until now. 

‘There are six shots in this gun, but I’ll only need one to hurt you,’ he continues.

Your hands tighten on the wheel, and your lips clamp together, trying to stifle the squeak of terror that threatens to slip out.

‘I just want you to know that I will hurt you if you try anything,’ Yoongi says. There’s a seriousness in his voice that makes your blood chill. ‘So nice and easy, get us past this roadblock.’

You’ve slowed automatically as you approach the uniformed policemen, your years of driving making your body do the expected things despite the way your head is reeling.

Yoongi has a gun, and he seems perfectly capable of using it on you.

The fear crystallises into a single sob before your throat closes completely. Your breathing quickens but you know you’ll need to look normal, unsuspicious, to get you and Yoongi past the police.

‘Are they looking for you?’ you ask. Your voice is shuddery, you’re trembling so hard.

In response, Yoongi jams the barrel of the gun against you, high up, against your ribs, so hard it’s like he’s impaled you.

‘Shut up and get us through this,’ he snarls.

Your lips snap together again, and you make a conscious effort to pull yourself together.

Just before you stop, Yoongi says, ‘If you try anything, I won’t just be trying to hurt you. I’ll kill you.’

His tone is low, and another shiver runs through you.

You roll down the window.

The police trooper leans in. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘We’re going to see my sister in Maisan,’ you say, grateful at least, that your voice is steady.

Beside you, Yoongi’s sitting perfectly still.

‘You’ve not picked a good time to go,’ says the trooper.

This time, it’s Yoongi who answers. ‘I did say we should wait, but my girlfriend’s been looking forward to seeing her new nephew.’

He shrugs, a picture of indulgent exasperation.

The trooper laughs along with Yoongi even as you try to make desperate eye contact with him.

‘Better carry on then, hopefully you’ll make it before the storm hits.’

Then he’s waving you off, and you have a split second of panic, a moment where you consider screaming, before Yoongi’s gun jabs into your ribs again.

Again, your body responds before you do, driving you away from your last chance to seek help.

***

Twenty miles out from the diner, Yoongi tosses your phone out of the window.

Forty miles out, he programs a different address into your GPS.

It’s another ten miles before you find your voice again.

‘You can take the car, you know, and leave me here. I can’t call anyone.’

Yoongi almost looks like he’s considering it. 

‘I can’t leave you here out in the mountains in the middle of nowhere,’ he tells you. ‘You’ll die of exposure, especially if you can’t call for help.’

‘Also,’ he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought, ‘you know the address of where we’re going.’

‘I didn’t see it,’ you say, too quickly.

Yoongi’s silent.

Finally, he says, ‘Just keep driving.’

‘Please,’ you plead. ‘Just let me go. I won’t tell the police where you’re heading.’

Yoongi’s grasp on the gun, still in his lap, tightens.

‘You’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell would you give a ride to a strange man you’ve just met?’

You don’t have a good answer to that.

‘You changed my tyre,’ you say. ‘I thought —‘

‘I slashed your tyre,’ he says, low, cold. ‘I was hanging around outside the diner, I saw you pull up, saw you were alone.’

His admission chills you.

Tears start to spill down your cheeks when you realise what a fool you were to trust him.

‘I just wanted to help you out,’ you tell him. ‘You seemed hungry and down on your luck, and you didn’t even have any warm c-c-clothes!’

You swipe at your cheeks furiously.

‘Didn’t have any warm clothes,’ Yoongi repeats, incredulous, scornful. ‘You’re some fucking good Samaritan.’

You’re crying quietly now, despairing over your naivety.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, and neither do you.

***

By the time you reach your destination, it’s snowing so hard you can barely see six feet in front of your car. 

Snowy walls close in either side of you, buffeting you from the wind but heightening your sense of claustrophobia. 

The clearing’s upon you before you quite realise it, and you end up stopping in front of a huge structure in the woods. 

It’s more than a cabin, it looks like a proper house, from what you can make out, with a shed and a carport. 

Yoongi reaches out and takes your car keys. 

‘Wait until I come round to your side.’ 

He doesn’t point the gun at you, but you don’t need reminding. 

He gets out, walks around to your side, pulls open the door, pushes you in front of him.

You try to take note of your surroundings, landmarks, but all you can see is snow.

Your boots clomp on the concrete as you approach the front door.

Behind you, you can hear Yoongi rustling, glancing at his phone before he punches numbers into the keypad discreetly placed by the door. 

He cups a hand over the keypad, you don’t see a thing.

He pulls you in as he enters, and you’re initially just grateful to be out of the snow. 

Yoongi says, ‘Take your coat off.’ 

He makes a move as if to do it for you when you don’t react quickly enough, and you snap into action, pulling the snaps apart, unzipping hastily. 

He takes your coat, tosses it carelessly to one side, grasps your wrist, tight. 

You flinch as he tightens a cable tie around your wrist and attaches you to the steel flap of a radiator by the entrance hall of the house. 

‘I can’t trust you not to try to run,’ he tells you. ‘I won’t hurt you, but I can’t afford for you to interfere with my plans, not now.’ 

You’re barely listening at this point. 

The terror of the last few hours has drained most of your energy. 

Yoongi stands over you for a few moments, as if to make sure you aren’t going to bolt, and then he heads further into the house. 

***

Time passes, you’re disorientated by the darkness brought on by the storm outside and your own sense of disjointedness. 

It doesn’t seem like that long ago since you loaded your things into your trunk and set off from home, and yet, it seems like forever. 

Gradually, you become aware of the hardwood floor under your salopes. The entry hall you’re being held captive in gives you the impression that this is a nice house. 

Whoever had this built has money. 

The ceilings are high, the wood panelling rich and beautifully rendered.

The radiator beside you has started heating up, the steel flaps burning you whenever you let your hand move too close. 

Your snow boots have made puddles on the hardwood. 

Where the hell are you? Who owns this place? Why did Yoongi have the code for the door? 

If he has friends this rich willing to let him use their house why the hell did he need you to drive him? 

Your mind swirling with thoughts you can’t reconcile, you pull your knees into your chest and tuck your chin in, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

You fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. 

***

You wake to complete darkness and a searing pain in your hand where you’ve let it fall against the radiator. 

It all comes back to you in a flash. 

The diner. The state trooper. The house. Yoongi. 

Your hand hurts, badly, but it’s too dark to see. 

As you straighten your legs, your foot hits something that falls with a soft thud, then rolls. 

A water bottle. 

You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is. 

You reach for the bottle, but maddeningly, it rolls out of your reach. 

There are tears on your face but you’re not crying, not really. 

Maybe you are. 

***

When you next wake, the cold thin grey light filtering in through the windows tells you it’s morning, or early. 

You look up to see your captor standing over you. 

You look at each other wordlessly. 

Yoongi crouches next to you. 

‘Do you need the bathroom?’ he asks. 

You nod. 

He reaches down to detach you from the radiator. 

Your hand. 

You can see it clearly now, the blistered, reddened side of your palm, the thin line of blood where the cable tie’s cut into your wrist. 

You say nothing. You don’t know if you can form any words. 

You get up carefully, follow Yoongi down the hall to a small bathroom. 

‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ Yoongi says. 

You take care of business, trying not to sob at the pain in your burnt hand and wrist. 

The window to the bathroom doesn’t open, and there’s nothing that you can use to break it. 

There’s a knock at the door, you feel a surge of hysterical laughter threatening to come out. 

He’s kidnapped you, locked you to a radiator, and he’s knocking because he cares about your privacy? 

The door opens, and Yoongi comes in. 

You stare at the scissors in his hand. 

‘Your wrist,’ he says. 

You watch, detached, as he cuts the cable tie. It falls to the floor, and you instinctively raise your hand to your chest to rub at your wrist. 

Yoongi says. ‘I have food for you.’ 

He takes you down another hallway, to a huge kitchen full of windows. The early morning sun filters in, bright and blinding, adding more of a sense of unreality to the situation you now find yourself in. 

Yoongi gestures to a seat at the kitchen island, sets a plate in front of you, like he’s made you breakfast. 

You stare in disbelief at the food. 

‘The car’s coming for me in two days, I’ll let you go then,’ Yoongi tells you, like you’re making plans together. 

Like you’re just two people who know each other, discussing plans over breakfast, instead of captor and captive. 

Now you’re staring at him. 

‘You’ll let me go?’ you ask. Your voice comes out in a rasp, you have a vague recollection of trying to drink water but being unable to reach. 

Yoongi winces a little, pours out a glass of water that you gulp down. 

‘You should have told me you wanted water,’ he says. 

‘You took my phone so I couldn’t text you,’ you say, the snark coming out of your mouth surprising you. 

His brow lifts. ‘You don’t have my number anyway.’ 

‘Don’t need it,’ you snap, gulping down your refill. ‘We’re not going on a second date.’ 

Now it’s his turn to stare at you. 

‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he snaps back. ‘Eat your food.’ 

For a moment you contemplate going on a hunger strike but you suspect he wouldn’t give a shit anyway so you examine your plate. 

You fork up some eggs and chew cautiously. 

They’re good. Better than you expected. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

The food’s doing wonders for your energy levels. 

‘Why are you running from the police?’ you ask. ‘What did you do?’ 

‘I was convicted of murder,’ he tells you, cold. 

‘Did you do it?’ you ask, unimpressed. 

‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he replies, flat. 

‘Wait. Were you in prison?’ 

‘I escaped,’ he tells you. ‘With a little help from my friends.’ 

You mull this over as you finish the last of your eggs. 

‘You have friends?’ 

Yoongi gives you a look that makes your chest tighten a little. 

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he agrees. 

He takes your plate, gathers up your cutlery, turns his back to put them in the sink. 

‘Don’t even think about throwing your glass at me,’ he says, back still to you. 

Your hand stills on the counter. 

You change the subject. 

‘This is a nice house. Do your friends know they’re harbouring a fugitive from the law?’ 

‘My friends have nothing to do with anything,’ Yoongi tells you, giving you a hard look. 

He sets out a bandage and some ointment on the kitchen island in front of you. 

‘Your hand,’ he prompts impatiently, when you don’t make a move to take them. 

You’re about to reach for them when he sighs, unscrews the top of the tube, drops a dollop on your burnt palm. 

You stifle a hiss of pain as he rubs the ointment in. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says quietly. 

He’s close to you now, so close you catch a whiff of the freshness of his shampoo. 

‘You should be sorry,’ you say. ‘I thought you were just some guy who was down on his luck who needed a break, and next thing you’re waving a gun in my face and threatening to kill me.’ 

You can feel the tears threatening to rise again, but you blink them back. 

Yoongi’s touch is gentle on your sore hand. 

‘I am sorry. Believe me, if there were any other way I would have taken it. I promise, I’ll let you go. I have no intention of hurting you.’ 

He says the words with conviction but you know you can’t believe anything he says. 

Trusting him is what got you into this in the first place. 

You let him bandage your hand. 

‘Which radiator next?’ you ask, resigned. 

‘I won’t tie you up again, but I’ll have to keep an eye on you,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘There’s a den we can sit in, if you want.’ 

You don’t see that you have any better options. 

***

You start off in the furthest corner of the den from him, back to the wall, wary. 

Yoongi ignores you completely as he turns on the TV, scrolls to the news.

You glance over the books on the bookshelf along one wall, but the TV catches your attention.

‘The search continues for Min Yoongi, the disgraced former rapper who was convicted of the murder of Han Jisung three years ago.’

Your gaze snaps to Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you, attention fully on the screen as an old media clip of him rapping plays.

‘The federal police are looking into several leads, and members of the public can contact the number onscreen if they have any information as to his whereabouts.’

The next story flashes up, and Yoongi sits back. You can see the tension leaving his body.

He catches the way you’re still gaping at him.

You blink, clear your throat. 

‘So, you used to rap?’

Yoongi’s expression morphs into one of incredulity. ‘That’s your take-home from all that?’ 

You try again. ‘Too bad I don’t have my phone to call the number. Do you think there’s a reward?’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘I didn’t kill Han Jisung,’ he says. 

He refuses to be drawn into any further discussion about it, and finally, you give up and pick up one of the books from the shelf.

***

Lunch is a sombre affair, sandwiches that you eat mechanically while looking at the grey outside.

The storm’s upon you, you doubt your snow tires would be up to the challenge even if you could get your car keys off Yoongi.

There’s no visibility at all, and if the wall of ice that’s forming around the glass of the floor to ceiling windows of the house wasn’t enough to deter you, the fact that you have no idea where your parka is certainly helps put you off.

You grew up in a mountainous area like this, and you’ve got a healthy respect for the weather conditions when it's like this.

You wonder how your sister’s doing, and your new nephew, if they’ve noticed you’re missing yet.

Maybe they think you’ve stopped to seek shelter and are waiting for the storm to pass before you continue on your journey.

You wonder if they’ve put your lack of communication down to a signal failure.

You wonder if anyone will notice you’re missing.

Your thoughts drift to Seokjin, the man you’ve recently had a few dates with. 

He’s a good looking guy, outmatching you in looks if you’re being honest about what you think, but he seems to like the way you look, and to enjoy spending time with you.

You realise that Yoongi’s talking to you.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks, nodding to your half eaten sandwich.

‘I’m fine,’ you answer. You pull a face. ‘Well apart from being held captive against my will.’

Yoongi looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

‘Were you really going to see your sister?’ he asks. ‘Will she notice you’re missing?’

You eye him narrowly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s sending out a search party for me just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Yoongi says, unexpectedly, ‘Why not? You’re pretty, you’d catch attention on the front page of the newspapers.’

You say, incredulously, ‘I bet dozens of women go missing every single day.’

‘They probably do,’ Yoongi agrees. 

‘How did you get put in prison if you didn’t kill that guy?’ you ask, changing the subject. ‘I’m sure you could afford a good legal team.’

Yoongi takes a while to answer. 

‘I was fucking Han Jisung’s fiancee.’

You raise a sceptical brow at him. ‘And?’

‘I think his half-brother set me up.’

You mull this over.

‘So what’s the plan? You escape from prison and leave the country?’

Yoongi shrugs, but his gaze is hard. 

‘I stay on the run until I get enough evidence for a re-trial. Prove my innocence.’

‘Seems a long shot,’ you say, but you have no desire to piss him off, at least not while he’s got a gun in his possession.

‘I have influential friends who are willing to help,’ Yoongi says, simply.

You say nothing.

‘Do you know what it’s like to be put away for life for something you didn’t do?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly. ‘I’ve lost three years of my life to this, there’s no chance of parole for another 7 years.’

His voice rings with anger and frustration.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say. 

You have no idea if he’s telling you the truth, but you’re convinced of one thing. He believes it. 

If he’s telling the truth, you can’t think of anything more awful.

‘Some say I brought this on myself,’ Yoongi says. 

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t blame them. I was an asshole and a womaniser.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ you retort.

Yoongi looks at you, momentarily speechless with surprise.

Then he laughs. 

‘Has no one ever taught you not to make fun of a man with a gun?’

You look at him seriously. ‘You promised you’d let me go in two days. Was that a lie?’

‘No,’ he answers. His eyes meet yours, gaze steady and unwavering. ‘I’ll keep my word.’

With him looking at you like this, you almost believe him.

***

Night’s falling, or so you think, it’s been dark all day but you get the sense that daylight’s fading fast.

Yoongi gets up, says, ‘Come on, I’m going to bed.’

‘You want a bedtime story?’ you ask, tetchy.

He just waits patiently by the entrance of the den for you to join him.

‘Any chance I could take a shower?’ you ask.

You’ve been in the same clothes for a day and a half, and you feel pretty grimy.

‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘Need clothes?’

Yoongi takes you to what looks like a pretty impressive master bedroom, with an equally luxurious looking bathroom.

He rummages in a drawer, hands you a set of grey sweats.

He says, the faintest note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘There’s no women’s clothes here.’

You accept the clothes with a murmured ‘thanks.’

Yoongi says, ‘the door doesn’t lock, but I won’t walk in on you. The window’s too high to jump from.’

You eye him.

‘I have no interest in walking through this snowstorm without a coat.’ 

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want to give me the car keys?’

Yoongi chooses not to answer, steps back so you can close the bathroom door.

You get undressed quickly, step under a shower of water so hot it feels like heaven after you’ve been cold most of the day.

There’s toiletries that you avail yourself of, and by the time you get redressed, you feel practically human again, burnt hand and sore wrist notwithstanding.

You wrap a towel around your hair, step out to see Yoongi sitting on an armchair by the bed.

His gaze flicks over you once, his expression unreadable.

‘I don’t want to tie you to another radiator,’ he says.

You wait to hear where he’s going with this.

‘I’m going to lock the bedroom door. You can share the bed with me, or there’s that couch.’

‘I’ll take the couch,’ you say. 

You get onto the couch, pull a blanket over your head, and you must be more tired that you thought, because you’re thinking of everything Yoongi’s told you, and then you’re not thinking of anything at all.

***

You wake in complete darkness, quiet save for your own breathing.

As your eyes adjust, you realise that the lump near the window is Yoongi. 

He’s looking out, facing away from you.

‘What time is it?’ you ask.

Yoongi inhales, keeps looking out.

‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. ‘Does it matter?’

You sit up, curl your legs under you.

His profile is strangely lovely, the slope of his brow, the high bridge of his nose, his jaw.

‘What are you going to do if you manage to prove your innocence?’ you ask.

It’s a clumsy question, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’d like to live near a beach,’ he says. ‘Make music. Be away from people for a bit.’

You guess there’s not a whole lot of privacy in prison.

‘I have a beach hut,’ you say. ‘We used to spend summers at the seaside. When my parents died, my sister and I inherited it.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, turning towards you.

‘Yeah. We swam a lot. Explored caves. Did some rockpooling.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Yoongi says. ‘When I was a kid I spent summers trying to earn money.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did a lot of gigs, trying to get exposure. I had my own crew though.’ He sounds wistful. ‘We busted our asses.’

He laughs. ‘When I signed my first record deal I got a house so my crew would always have a roof over their heads.’

‘No diamond encrusted chains?’ you tease.

‘Baby, that was after I got my first platinum record,’ he shoots back.

You laugh, and after a moment, he does too.

‘You got a job?’ 

You look up at the ceiling.

‘I teach,’ you tell him. ‘Grade school. I’ve got a class of seven year olds.’

‘You do have that whole teacher vibe,’ Yoongi remarks.

You’re amused.

‘What whole teacher vibe?’

‘You know. Responsible, prepared for everything. I mean, I saw the supplies in your trunk.’

You can’t argue.

‘You’re too soft,’ Yoongi continues. He’s still turned towards you. ‘You shouldn’t have offered me a ride.’

‘Like I said,’ you reply. ‘You looked like you needed help.’

He scoffs. ‘If I were your man I’d teach you to make any man regret even thinking about messing with you.’

‘I don’t need a man to teach me that,’ you say. 

Yoongi shrugs, a rustle of his sweatshirt. 

‘All I’m saying is you should work on looking less sweet and harmless.’

You toss a couch cushion in his direction.

‘I’ll show you how to crush a trachea tomorrow if you want,’ Yoongi volunteers.

‘Can I practise on you?’ you mutter, disgruntled. 

Yoongi just laughs. 

He turns back to the window. 

It’s too dark to tell if the snow’s still falling but it doesn’t make a difference to you, because soon enough, you’re asleep again.

***

Yoongi’s quiet today, prepping breakfast with a distracted concentration that makes you wonder what’s on his mind. 

You’re fixing coffee, looking for filters. 

You pull open a drawer and freeze. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the way Yoongi’s back stiffens. 

There’s a revolver in the drawer. The same gun Yoongi used on you that first day. 

Yoongi turns around slowly, and your eyes lock. 

He’s too far away to have any chance of getting to it before you. 

Yoongi tilts his head. 

‘It’s fully loaded,’ he says. ‘You cock the trigger to arm it. Point and shoot. It’s reliable. It doesn’t jam.’ 

You blink at him. 

‘The car keys are in my pocket. The snow’s still a little crazy but if you wait a few hours it might settle. It’s safer to go tomorrow.’ 

Thoughts swirl in your head, too much for you to process. 

Finally, you reach out, and close the drawer wordlessly. 

‘You’ll let me go tomorrow?’ you ask, wondering if you’ve just made the most stupid decision of your life. 

‘I’ll let you go tomorrow, I promise you. Even if my friend doesn’t come through.’ 

You can’t look at him. 

You can hear him approaching, but instead of heading for the drawer, he heads for you. 

‘Thank you,’ he says. 

You look over. 

His eyes are serious. ‘It’s been a while since anyone who didn’t know me before trusted me.’ 

‘Like you said, I’m dumb and soft,’ you reply. There’s a wobble in your voice that belies the snarky tone you were going for. 

His hand lands on your shoulder. It’s gentle. 

‘You’d be eaten alive where I come from,’ he agrees, when you look his way again. ‘But that’s never going to happen, if I have anything to do with it.’ 

He squeezes your shoulder, reassuring. ‘Forget the coffee. I’ll make it. Go and eat.’ 

***

The unfamiliar sound from overhead is making the wineglasses rattle. 

You glance at Yoongi. 

He’s quicker than you, mouth set in a straight line, heading for the window in the lounge. 

‘What is it?’ you ask, but a moment later, you know. 

It’s a chopper, flying directly overhead. 

Yoongi turns to you. 

‘If that’s the police, stay inside, hands up, away from the windows whilst I turn myself in.’ 

You’re staring at him, again feeling like you’re three steps behind. 

‘It’s the way that it’s safest for you,’ he says, patient. ‘They’ll want you to come in for questioning once they take me in. Just tell the truth, don’t try to hide anything.’ 

Your throat feels like it’s filled with cotton, your heart’s pounding in your ears. 

‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’ 

‘There are other ways to hurt a man than shooting him on sight,’ Yoongi replies. The bitterness is back in his voice again. 

There’s a truth to his words you can’t deny. 

Overhead, the noise intensifies, until finally, it starts fading away. 

You don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking at first, but eventually it becomes clear that the chopper’s becoming more distant. 

Yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot by the window. 

‘They’re not here for you,’ you say, unnecessary, but the silence is so loaded you have to fill it with something, anything. 

‘Not this time,’ Yoongi agrees. 

***

Around mid-day, Yoongi switches on the news in the den. 

You don’t have to wait long for an update. 

‘The search for convicted murderer Min Yoongi intensifies. CCTV footage from a mountainside diner near east of Maisan suggests that he was aided in his journey by an unidentified female driving a 2004 Grand Cherokee Jeep.’ 

You watch, your heart in your stomach as grainy footage of Yoongi getting into your car is played. 

The clip is less than 10 seconds, and your face is barely visible, but it’s definitely you. 

The same information about how to get in touch with the police flashes up, but you’re beyond listening. 

You get up shakily, rush to the bathroom, and throw up the partially digested remains of your breakfast. 

By the time you emerge from the bathroom, Yoongi’s waiting outside. 

‘Are you ok?’ he asks. He’s holding out a glass of water that you accept automatically. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. You take a big gulp, swipe at your face. ‘Am I in trouble, Yoongi?’ 

‘You’ll have to make a statement when you get to your sister’s,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Tell them I forced you at gunpoint.’ 

You think of the gun you had the opportunity to take this morning. 

‘I offered you a ride voluntarily,’ you say. 

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ Yoongi says, harshly. He steps forward. ‘And they won’t give a fuck, either. This won’t affect me, I’m already a convicted murderer. But it’ll affect you if they think you helped me.’ 

He slams his open hand against the wall next to him, startling you. 

‘You need to wise up. I don’t care if you throw me under the bus, and it won’t make a difference to the charges against me. But this could affect your future, so you need to do whatever it takes to make sure you come away clean from this.’ 

What he’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know you. 

‘I promised them,’ you burst out. 

Yoongi stops dead. ‘What?’ 

‘I was adopted, when I was eight,’ you say. The words are coming out in a rush now, garbled, and you’re not sure if you can make him understand but you need to say it all. 

‘I promised my adoptive parents I’d never lie again. I was some dumb kid when they adopted me, I’d been in and out of foster homes. I’d developed a thing for taking things I wanted.’ 

Stealing, your inner voice says, accurately. 

‘And when my parents adopted me, I promised them I’d never lie again.’ 

Yoongi’s staring at you now, incredulous. 

‘I’ll tell the police the truth,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m not going to ‘throw you under the bus’.’ 

Yoongi lets out a long breath. ‘Fucking hell.’ 

He shakes his head. ‘I wish I’d never got in your car.’ 

You kind of wish the same thing. 

***

Yoongi’s cracked open a couple of beers with your dinner. 

‘Be careful when you’re crossing the stream tomorrow – the bridge is hard to see at the best of times, and I don’t think the snow’s made it any easier.’ 

‘Yes, dad,’ you say, rolling your eyes. 

You’d listened the first time he said it, but he’s repeated himself a few times now. 

He’s acting like he’s more worried about you getting to your sister safely than himself evading the entire manhunt that’s looking for him. 

‘I did survive an entire adulthood without you, you know,’ you say, teasing. 

He ignores you. 

‘There’s an SOS box two miles west when you get to the main road —’ 

‘Yes, I know how that works,’ you say, cutting him off. 

‘And if any man sends you dick pics you should block him right off the bat,’ Yoongi finishes. 

You stop, processing his words, then realise he’s joking. 

Your laughter makes the frown line between his brows disappear. 

‘And you don’t owe any man anything even if he makes you come,’ Yoongi continues. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Should I be writing this wisdom down?’ 

Yoongi frowns. ‘I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.’ 

‘Show me how to crush a trachea,’ you suggest. 

Yoongi swigs his beer. 

‘Yeah, good idea.’ 

He gets up, pushes his sleeves back. 

You catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his upper arm. 

‘If any asshole tries anything with you, you should go for all his weak spots.’ 

He points to his own neck, the hollow between his collarbones. ‘Jab them right here, elbow up into his nose, knee into his balls. Then, fucking run.’ 

He holds out his hands. ‘Come on, try me.’ 

You look at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to hit you?’ 

Yoongi says, patient, ‘Hit me now so when you hit the next asshole you’ll know how to do it right.’ 

‘Who are all these assholes that I’m meeting?’ you ask, but you comply anyway. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes as you jab your fingers into his neck. 

‘Harder,’ he says, grabbing your hand. 

‘I don’t want to hurt you —’ 

‘Hit me as hard as I shoved that gun into your ribs,’ Yoongi says. 

The memory makes you wince, and you redouble your efforts with the next jab. 

When he coughs and splutters, you jerk your elbow up, straight into his nose. 

He’s doubled over now, but there’s one last move he’s asked you to do. 

You knee him in the balls, and he grabs your thigh at the last second so hold off the blow. 

You wrench his hand off and take two steps back. 

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears. 

He folds over onto the kitchen floor, still coughing, eyes watering. 

‘You’re supposed to run now,’ he wheezes out. 

‘Do you — do you want some water or something?’ you offer. 

He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re good. You’re pretty damn quick.’ 

‘Sorr—’ 

Yoongi fixes you with a glare. ‘Don’t even think about apologising,’ he scolds. ‘You fuck the asshole up, and then you run. You did it perfectly.’ 

‘Can I practice it again?’ you ask, sweetly. 

Yoongi says, ‘Yeah —’ 

It takes him a moment to realise you’re joking. 

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, fully dressed, his hair still wet, making little trails of wet course down the neck of his sweatshirt. 

You’re already on the couch, covered in a fluffy duvet. 

‘You can take the bed if you want,’ he offers. ‘I’ll take the couch.’ 

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair. 

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he asks, voice dry, ‘Something on my face?’ 

‘Nothing,’ you answer, startled. ‘You look good clean.’ 

His laughter is deep, gravelly. ‘I’d have taken a shower earlier if I’d known you preferred me clean.’ 

‘You should get clean for yourself,’ you answer, primly, but your lips are curving in a smile anyway. 

‘Your hair looks pretty like this,’ he says. 

You tug at a lock of hair, self-conscious. 

‘I’m surprised you’re not better at handling compliments,’ Yoongi continues. He’s looking at you now, teasing in his voice. ‘Given how pretty you are.’ 

You bury your face in your duvet. 

‘Stop teasing me,’ you say, muffled. 

He seems to hear you just fine. 

‘I’m not teasing,’ he says. ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’ 

‘Just turn the lights off,’ you grumble. 

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re not the first woman to tell me to shut up, to be fair.’ 

He gets up, turns the lights out. 

***

You wake in the middle of the night to Yoongi groaning, tossing and turning in bed. 

‘Yoongi?’ you call, sitting up to look at him. 

He doesn’t answer, but his groaning intensifies. 

You get up and pad across the room to him. 

He’s drenched in sweat, thrashing in the sheets, holding out his hands. 

He’s having a nightmare. 

‘Hey,’ you say, grasping his hand. 

He sits up abruptly, looking around in the dark, bewildered, disoriented. 

You don’t have to think about it. 

You pull him in a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. ‘You’re fine. It was a nightmare.’ 

You don’t think he’s really listening, but he holds you back. 

His heart’s thumping so hard you can feel it under your arm. 

‘You’re fine,’ you tell him again. 

Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls back a little. 

‘That was some bad dream,’ you say, breathless from how tightly he’s been holding you. 

He doesn’t answer, and you realise he’s staring at your lips. 

His kiss takes you by surprise, but you don’t pull away. 

His lips are soft and warm. When he licks into your mouth you can’t help the whine that falls from your lips. 

Your hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt as he kisses you again and again, pulling you into a haze of pleasure so deep it takes you a moment to realise he’s stopped, his hand on your side, on your bare skin, under your top. 

He says your name. 

‘Do you want this?’ he asks. ‘We don’t have to do this if it’s not what you want.’ 

‘This?’ you ask. ‘You mean us kissing like this?’ 

You run your hand along his chest, stopping when you get to the waistband of his sweats. 

‘You mean touching each other like this?’ 

Your hand delves lower, and he lets out a low groan as you wrap your fingers around his hardness. 

‘Like this?’ 

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Yoongi says, his hand closing over yours. 

‘I want to do this with you,’ you tell him. 

He groans again, pulls you fully onto the bed, helps you tug your sweatshirt over your head. 

His warm hands slide up from your waist, making slow passes over your sides, and by the time he cups your breasts, your nipples are fully hard. 

‘Don’t tease, Yoongi,’ you say, trying not to moan as he rolls a nipple under his thumb. 

‘Not teasing,’ he says, voice low, thick. ‘I just — fuck, you’re so pretty–’ 

He dips his head, and at the first flick of his tongue against the tip of your breast, you moan. 

‘Yoongi,’ you plead. 

‘I’ve got it,’ he tells you, lifting off your breast. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi mouths at your breasts until your hips are writhing under him. 

‘Please, please,’ you plead. 

He tugs at your sweatpants, and when you raise your hips to help him get them off, he leans down and presses a warm kiss to the bare skin over your hipbone. 

‘Wanna taste you,’ he tells you. 

He pushes your thighs apart, stops with his face over your core for a split second, breathing you in. 

Then he kisses you, open-mouthed, tongue delving into your cunt like he’s starving for you. 

Your moan changes into a cry of pleasure as he licks at you, nose nudging your clit. 

You reach out for something to grab, fisting the sheets, and Yoongi’s hand grips the flesh of your thigh, firm. 

‘Shit,’ he says, ‘ you’re so wet you’re gonna make me come.’ 

The idea of him coming before he gets inside you could make you cry. 

‘Get inside, Yoongi,’ you moan. 

‘Not gonna last, not with you like this,’ Yoongi tells you. He strokes between your legs, presses his thumb in firm strokes over your clit, licks into your cunt again, and you cry his name as you come. 

‘Fuck, that’s my good girl,’ Yoongi grunts. ‘Can you take me now?’ 

He slides his cock into you, hard, thick, whilst you’re still pulsing from your orgasm, and you keen with the pleasure of it. 

He’s breathless, head thrown back, eyes shut as he moves, fucking you deep. 

You kiss along his bared throat, and he swears. ‘Fuck, baby, stop – I can’t —’ 

He pulls out suddenly, and a moment later you feel the warmth of his cum spurting on your belly. 

‘C’mere,’ he says, pulling you close, kissing you deep. ‘Stay.’ 

***

You wait on the porch whilst Yoongi drives your car out of the carport. He pulls up in front of the porch, gets out. 

‘Remember what you have to do?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. 

You’ve talked about it so much you don’t think you can bear to go over it again. 

‘Drive safe, ok?’ Yoongi says. He’s looking at you, intently. ‘And thank you, for everything.’ 

‘Good luck with being exonerated,’ you say. 

It sounds stupid, you sound stupid, but you don’t know what else to say. 

Yoongi walks you over to your car, waits until your seatbelt’s buckled. 

‘I’ll see you, Yoongi,’ you say. 

‘Take this,’ he says. 

You look at the phone number he’s got scribbled down on a scrap of paper. 

‘It’s a burner phone. I can’t check it all the time but do you think you could —’ 

He breaks off mid-sentence, then pushes on. ‘Do you think you could text me when you get to your sister’s? I just want to know you’re safe.’ 

‘Sure,’ you say. You slide the scrap of paper into the pocket of your salopes, zip it up. 

‘Good,’ Yoongi says. 

You reach out, tug the collar of his parka. 

His kiss is as good a way to say goodbye as any, you think. 

Yoongi closes the door, waits on the porch as you drive away. 

He gets smaller and smaller in the distance, and eventually, you can’t see him at all. 

***

It’s been nearly a month since you left Yoongi at the house. 

You’d pulled up at your sister’s house to find out she’d just filed a missing persons report on you. 

You’d had an emotional reunion with your sister, an equally emotional introduction to your new baby nephew, and one meal and one hot shower later, you’d found yourself at the police station, being questioned by a couple of detectives who’d regarded you with suspicion so strong it was a short step from open accusation. 

You’d been questioned for hours but had eventually been allowed home. You’d been truthful, as you’d told Yoongi you would be, apart from one thing. 

It was only later, when you were on your bed in your sister’s spare room, that you’d picked up your phone and scrolled to the name you’d saved Yoongi’s number under. 

You’d typed out a text, two words, unincriminating, you’d thought. 

I’m safe. 

The next morning, there was a text back, similar to yours in brevity.

I’m glad. 

You’d refrained from texting again, or calling, not wishing to put Yoongi at risk in case anyone looked into your phone records. 

You’d been called in again for questioning on two separate occasions after the initial interview, once by people who’d introduced themselves as federal agents. 

You’d thought that was the end of it until the media got hold of your identity. 

There was a week or so of reporters stopping you outside your house, waiting for you in the school car park, until eventually something more newsworthy came along. 

You’d been photographed more times in that week than you’d even been in your life. 

You’ve taken to watching the evening news every night, but as time stretches on and Min Yoongi hasn’t been found, he’s been dropping down the list of top stories, barely scraping a mention. 

You’re glad. 

You hope he’s closer to getting what he wished for. 

***

‘Y/N,’ says Bora, your head of department. ‘Mr Lee wants to see you.’ 

You look up from your grading, a little surprised. ‘Did he say what it was about?’ 

‘Nope, just that he’s free now.’ 

You pocket your phone, straighten your ID badge and get up. 

Mr Lee is the school principal, and you’d organised a meeting with him when the media frenzy over your involvement with Min Yoongi was at its peak, but you’ve not seen him since. 

Mrs Choi, his PA, waves you in. 

‘Mr Lee,’ you say in greeting. ‘Did you want to see me?’ 

‘Yes, please come in and have a seat,’ Mr Lee says. 

He’s a serious man in his mid forties, and as far as principals go, you know he’s got a good reputation. 

‘There’s been a complaint put in about you,’ Mr Lee says, sparing you any preamble. 

Your stomach drops. 

‘What about?’ you ask. 

‘I know the media furore has died off over Min Yoongi, but the PTA has fielded a number of concerns raised by worried parents over your involvement in the case.’ 

You’re taken aback. ‘A number of concerns? It’s not just one —’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr Lee, and to his credit, he does seem genuinely upset. ‘I’m going to have to ask if you can take a few weeks off.’ 

‘Off?’ you ask, worried. 

‘It’s not a suspension,’ Mr Lee says, somehow giving the impression that a suspension is exactly what it is. ‘You’ll be paid, and at the end of four weeks we’ll meet again to discuss what your future is at this school.’ 

You’re trying to make sense of this. ‘My future at this school?’ 

Mr Lee gets up, moves to take the seat next to you. ‘I’m hoping that having you off teaching for a month will give enough time for these parents to realise that you’re not a bad influence on their kids.’ 

‘And if they don’t?’ you ask. 

‘I’m hoping they will.’ 

You swallow, and to your horror, tears prick the back of your eyelids. 

You blink them back. 

‘Should I look for another job, Mr Lee?’ 

‘It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,’ Mr Lee says gently. 

You suppose that’s that. 

***

You wake to a dozen missed calls and texts from your sister. 

You blink blearily at your phone and swipe to answer. 

‘Yeah?’ you grunt. ‘Is everything ok?’ 

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ your sister says. ‘He’s all over the news.’ 

You sit up abruptly. ‘Is he ok?’ 

Your sister, who’s heard all about your time with Yoongi, barring the details of your one-night stand, laughs. 

‘He’s more than ok. Get online, sis. There’s a press statement you might want to watch.’ 

You’re still a little drowsy, but by the time you’ve got your laptop open and made yourself coffee, you’re wide awake. 

Your phone rings again whilst you’re reading about how new evidence and a new witness was brought forward, resulting in a swift retrial. 

Distractedly, you swipe to answer. 

His voice makes you stop in your tracks. 

It’s gravelly, low, with the distinct mix of sardonic and soft that brings you back to the house in the woods, over a month ago now. 

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’re you keeping?’ 

You close your eyes, suck in a breath. 

‘Jeez, you telemarketers are getting a little personal, aren’t you?’ you ask. 

His laughter makes you feel warm inside. 

‘I just wondered if you wanted to go get dinner with me sometime.’ 

‘Depends,’ you answer. ‘Are we going to have to avoid the police?’ 

‘Always,’ he says, making you smile. ‘But I’m a free man now, I guess you haven’t heard.’ 

‘Your friends came through, huh?’ 

‘All of them,’ he says, the warmth in his voice palpable even through the line. ‘Including you.’ 

***

You’re a little nervous as you wait for Yoongi at the restaurant he picked. It’s a little out of the way for you, but at least it’s not snowing. 

He’s dressed in black, a cashmere sweater that sets off the glow in his skin, his hair styled back. 

The rings in his fingers, the earrings in his ears gleam in the golden light. 

He’s so beautiful you can’t quite believe he’s real.

Yet it’s him who stops in front of you, gaze flickering over you with a flattering intensity. 

‘How can you be even prettier than I remember?’ he asks, tilting his head. 

‘Guess you have a bad memory,’ you say. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind. 

‘I’ve thought about you a lot,’ he says. 

‘Yeah?’ 

Yoongi pulls out your chair for you. 

‘Yeah. I saw the footage of those reporters hounding you.’ 

‘They got bored after a while,’ you tell him. 

‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Yoongi says. 

Over dinner he tells you about how the retrial resulted in all charges against him being overturned, how he’s been back home resting. 

‘Been to the beach yet?’ you ask. 

Yoongi looks at you over his wine glass. ‘You inviting me? You’re the one with a beach hut.’ 

‘We can go,’ you say. ‘I’ve been informally suspended from my job.’ 

This is news to him. 

‘Is it to do with me?’ he asks quietly. 

You shrug. ‘I’m hoping it’ll die down, especially since everyone knows you’re an innocent man now.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you tell him. 

He frowns a little, but lets the subject slide.

After dinner he walks you to your car. 

‘Can I take you out again?’ he asks. 

‘I’d like that,’ you tell him. 

He leans close, brushes a kiss against your cheek that sends a thrill all the way to your toes. 

‘I live about a half hour drive from here,’ you tell him, when he pulls away. 

‘Maybe I can drive us this time,’ he says. 

***

Yoongi slips his hand into yours as he walks up the front driveway to your house with you. You look over at him in surprise. 

‘What?’ he teases. ‘Don’t you want to hold my hand?’ 

You stick your key in the lock, push open your front door. 

‘Baby, I want to hold more than that,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi’s eyes darken, and he lets you push him against the door. 

He’s already leaning down, lips seeking yours. He kisses you hungrily, his large hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth. 

‘I’ve fucking missed you,’ he murmurs. ‘Shit, I’m so hard it’s embarrassing.’ 

‘Been deprived, huh?’ you tease, breathlessly. 

‘Nah. Just you.’ 

He kisses a fiery path down your neck, into the hollow between your collarbones. 

His hands slide down into the small of your back, cup your ass to pull you against him. 

You can feel the ridge of his cock against your belly, and you roll your hips, trying to get closer. 

‘Pull these down,’ Yoongi says, thumb looped in the band of your lacy panties. 

They’re stuck to you, the wetness between your legs trails a path down your bare thighs that Yoongi’s only too happy to lick off. 

‘I wanted to wait,’ he tells you, lifting the skirt of your dress, unzipping his trousers. 

‘Wait next time,’ you tell him. ‘Want you now.’ 

‘You’ve got me,’ he tells you. 

There’s the rustle of foil, the snick of elastic, then Yoongi’s parting your legs, sliding inside you with a groan deep in his chest. 

Just like before, he fills you perfectly.

Yoongi kisses you again, slow though you can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest. 

‘Feels so good, every time,’ he tells you. 

He starts to move then, doesn’t stop when you part your thighs to take him deeper, doesn’t stop when you cross your ankles behind his back and cry his name, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, sticky with your release, clutching him tight. 

It’s only then that his thrusts start to become erratic, speeding up then slowing as he reaches his peak. He comes with a shout of your name, buried deep inside you, hips still moving like he, too, can’t get enough. 

***

When you wake in the morning, it’s with Yoongi’s finger tracing a lazy path down your spine, his fingertip warm on your bare skin.

‘More, Yoongi?’ you ask, sleepy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, you can hear the rumble in his chest as he suppresses a laugh.

‘Tapping out on me so soon, my love?’ he asks.

After the first time when you hadn’t made it to your bed, you’d fucked three more times before you’d finally collapsed in a tangled heap.

You’d woken once, to see him flat on his back, looking out the window, fingers intertwined with yours. 

‘Can’t sleep?’ you’d asked. 

He’d turned to you, pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Just thinking how lucky I am. I’d thought being wrongly imprisoned was the worst thing that had happened to me. And here I am.’ 

‘Here you are, you lucky sonofabitch,’ you’d laughed, squealing as he’d pinned your hands to the bed and half-heartedly climbed on top of you again. 

‘I am lucky,’ he’d said, his free hand sliding under your ass, squeezing. You’d have fucked him again if he’d wanted, despite the soreness between your legs, but he’d wrapped you in his arms instead. ‘Sleep, baby.’ 

So you had. 

Now your phone rings, distracting you from Yoongi’s wandering hands, just about. 

‘Shit, it’s Mr Lee,’ you say, sitting up straight. 

Yoongi cocks a brow at you as you take the call. 

‘Y/N, I wanted to let you know that the school board have voted to have you back taking your regular classes,  at your earliest convenience. If you’ll have us.’ 

You frown. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a vote?’ 

‘An emergency meeting was convened last night,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You don’t have to let me know now, but we’d love to have you back.’ 

You hang up, thoroughly confused. 

‘I guess I’m not informally suspended any more,’ you tell Yoongi. 

‘For a new gym with a fully functional basketball court, and a grant for gym equipment, they’d better be giving you a raise too,’ drawls Yoongi. 

‘You did this?’ 

‘What? You thought I was some deadbeat who held you at gunpoint and wasn’t going to repay everything you did for me?’ 

‘I never thought you were a deadbeat,’ you say. 

‘I know,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re an idiot.’ 

You swat at him, outraged. 

‘You’re my idiot,’ Yoongi says, deflecting your blows easily. ‘And I’m going to make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again.’ 

He hesitates. ‘If — if you’ll have me.’ 

You pretend to think about it. ‘Well, you’re not perfect,’ you say, ‘but I guess you’ll do.’ 

©hamsterclaw 2023