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hoseoksluna · 5 months

Text

BLUR | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 17k

summary: one encounter with both of the males heals you enough that you don't become anything but joy.

pinterest board: blur

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, marking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, cuckold kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, daddy kink, punishment, nipple play, oc gets triggered, face riding, ass play, male masturbation, multiple orgasms, use of butt plug, raw sex, cum eating, clit rubbing

note: i want to thank oc. i've always wanted to pinch jungkook's nose and i got to do that through her. LMFAOFSJLDKFS ANYWAYS—this is the LAST part of the steam series, whoop whoop. finally. this took me so fucking long to write and idk if it even makes sense, which is why i need you guys to let me know everything that you're thinking, feeling, hating, loving. I NEED IT. so pls, send me asks. spam me. thank you. ENJOY READINGGGGG. ₊˚⊹♡

A thin layer of sweat coats your hairline. And inside your skull, momentarily, there aren’t any thoughts—none, whatsoever. They have been swept aside as the feverish evening wind carries your boyfriend’s words through the aroused energy pulsating around your naked form. Around Jungkook’s, too.

Yoongi is still the only one fully dressed. And, adamantly, he’s taken the role of a watcher, shifting the dynamic in such a frantic way that the sole impulse that you find opening within you like buds of tree flowers is to obey. To submit to the role, externalize one that will fit it. To play along like he did, when he caught onto your scheme.

Even though you don’t know how to particularly go about it.

And when Yoongi walks over to the armchair in his living room, plops down on it, angles his head slightly to look at you and waves a hand towards the couch across from him, inviting you to sit, your nescience claws at you. Brutally.

You don’t know if there are any shadows thickening in his headspace because you deem there must be a reason behind his sudden decision to turn things around. He’s been okay with every practice done so far in the playtime—he validated all of them, was in charge the whole time until he gave that control over to Jungkook. You can’t help but worry if there perhaps isn’t a catch.

And the lower your disquiet sinks inside your gut, the higher your distrust of yourself springs, lodging in your throat. You’re not sure anymore if you’re right about anything. What if there is something you’ve done that you completely overlooked in the middle of your pleasure? In the middle of Jungkook’s pleasure?

Once you exchange a heavily-charged look with the puppy, you hope to find a hint in the tenderness of his eyes that would help you figure it out. Though, the more you deepen the scrutiny, the more you’re met with absolute blankness.

He’s as clueless as you.

Bewildered, mostly, that Yoongi let him have the upper hand.

Your finger itches to hook around his, but you only angle your head in the direction of the living room, dubious to listen to your body, intentionally wary. You make the first move and you don’t sit down on the couch like Yoongi motioned you. No, you sink your knees into the space beside his on the armchair, the leather creaking beneath you. Wrap your arms around his shoulders. Study the depth of his gaze as he focuses it on your face, looking for the hint, for anything that would lead you to it. Bury your fingers into his night-tinged hair the way he likes it, the way you like to do it, too. Pull it a little to make known to him that you’re bubbling with uncertainty.

Yoongi merely watches you, borrowing his friend’s stoicism.

You click your tongue, disliking it. “Yoongi,” you drawl out, cupping the sides of his neck, willing his attention to be more of an intimate sort. Just you and him. You need to talk to him about this. Need a peace of mind in order for you to enjoy this. In order to please him in the process as well.

He turns his head behind him, though. To check the whereabouts of his friend. And when you follow the same direction, you discover that his dining space is empty.

You don’t detect any panic in you. Perhaps it’s due to the fact Jungkook never abandoned you before. Or perhaps you’ve healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you anymore, no matter who does it. And what’s more, you think he probably went to pee.

With two fingers on his jaw, you turn his attention back to you. Leave them there. His lips curl up as he tries to purse them, his stoicism fragmenting. Eyes gentle, moonbeams swimming. The sight is so endearing to you that your own mouth mirrors his, butterflies awoken, fluttering their wings in your tummy. This is the man you love. This is the man that’s yours. Yours, only. And you’re alone, intimately, cordially. Just like before.

“Is something the matter, honey?” He tips his chin, irises dilated and looking up at you. Latches his hands onto the fleshiness of your thighs, just below your hip bones.

With your inhale of breath, you muster as much courage as you can. “Have I done something wrong?”

Perplexity writes itself on his softened face. Could it be—

“No, why do you think that, hm?” He narrows his eyes at you playfully, tapping his fingers on the side of your hips. You exhale a breath that loosens your worry a little bit and your mouth rounds. He leans in to peck it. “You’ve been perfect.”

Have you? You’re not so sure—on the contrary, what you’re sure of is the fact you can better yourself. You have to, in order to make your worries dissipate all the way.

And you can fulfill that if you know what role to play.

“Tell me what to do.”

One corner of his mouth tugs ever so slightly to the side and one brow quirks in confusion. “You’re about to get eaten up. Enjoy it—that’s what you are to do.”

You sigh, realizing you should’ve worded it better. That’s precisely what you want to do—enjoy it, but you can’t risk getting lost again. Can’t risk getting submerged. You need him to tell you who you are to be in this new dynamic he established and you don’t want to hear that you should be yourself. If you relax your boundaries, you’ll step into a dangerous territory—and you’ve been there before.

So has he.

“Yoongi, no, I meant—”

He squeezes your muscles. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here, you hear me?” he murmurs, one hand coming up to your hair and curling it behind your ear. And it’s these words that unwittingly, little by little, drive you to drop your own hand, your guard and your worries. The fact that he doesn’t even want to hear your better wording, too, because he understood you the first time. It guides you to think it’s not worth speaking out, not when he evidently knows better.

And it feels nice. To have someone intelligent enough that they know. To have someone care enough that they don’t let you immerse yourself in doubts because they know the type of shit your thoughts consist of sometimes. He remembers everything you unraveled during the therapy sessions. And that feels nice. More than nice.

Your mouth rounds again and you repeat it after him. To acknowledge yourself with it. To swallow it so it streams down your body, where its meaning can unfurl. “You’re here.” Your voice is subdued, unsure, the words foreign on your tongue. You knit your brows while you taste them, unable to identify the flavor. That is until you realize it could offend him. You relax your features right away.

But Yoongi merely watches you with a sympathetic look, one that makes you feel terrible for reacting the way you did.

Not for long, though.

“I know I’ve made a mistake in the past, but that’s not happening again. I’m not leaving you on your own this time,” he says and you realize that is precisely what you needed to hear, what your body needed to consume first in order to recognize the flavor of his reassurance. You caress his face in deep emotion and you try again.

“You’re here.” It’s a mere silken sound for only the both of you to hear, but it matters—it’s enough, it’s perfect. In the distance, you hear a shuffling of feet in the kitchen, the song of the wind gaining momentum, inclining to listen to the expression of love between you—to be a witness of the right thing being done at last. And you can taste the sweetest wine of the ripest of grapes, spiced with the most vibrant of roses. You can taste home; his stability you can lean on.

Yoongi smiles in your grasp, noting the way the words sounded different—more secure. The moonbeams liquify in his waterline. “That’s right. And because I’m here, I’m not letting history repeat itself.” He pinches your cheek, knocking your head back and forth with the well-meaning, ferocious movement. Erases completely the lingering presence of the guard and fears you’ve dropped. You laugh, softly, relieved—so fucking relieved. Joy fills your empty body, energizing you, roses rising in you. Your roses, the ones you know, fraternizing with the unknown flowers that Jungkook planted in you. And you discern that it’s you who’s in your comfort zone, in your safety zone. The males have stepped inside theirs and now you have. You inhale fresh air in your new lungs, exhale your relief. “Say it. So I know you understand.”

“You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.” Beautiful, beautiful words—beautiful consolation and kindness. A pillar of the most exceptional magnificence. Mentally, you rest against it, rest your enfeebled, exhausted body of all your needless worries and false thoughts.

You didn’t do anything wrong. Didn’t make a mistake. Though, if it weren’t for the weak moment, you wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have gotten the comfort you didn’t know you needed.

So peculiar, the newness. It dawns on you that it should’ve been like this in the beginning. Healthy conversations, reassurance. Why hadn’t you done this? Why did you jump headlong, bringing along such darkness of—

You close your eyes fleetingly to shut down those thoughts. Forgetting is taking place. Newness is here. Old is gone. Like the verity that he’s here, you repeat it to yourself again and again in your heart. You can’t change what’s happened. You can only move on with the eternal perception that you’ve changed, that you’ve learned. And that’s enough.

You brush your thumb upon the column of his neck. Back and forth, like he did with your cheek. Thankful for him. “You’re here and you’re not letting history repeat itself.”

Yoongi isn’t puzzled you whispered it to yourself again. In fact, he embraces it. Kisses you tenderly, deeply to seal those words. They spread roots in you. Rake through the earth so the roses, the flowers can grow healthily, happily, luminously. You feel them lean into the satin touch of the butterflies that elongate their dusty wings before they curl the membranes around their radiant petals, forming a protection circle. A dose of healing you didn’t expect to receive. Not from him, not now—not now when you’re about to be eaten out by his friend.

It’s so surreal to you. To feel protected like that. To feel safe. Safe to now roam freely in your undiscovered sexuality because you have someone to look out for you, to possibly guide you back if you lose your way. The stability that envelopes you—you can’t bear it; it’s too good to be true. And when you take a deep breath and those roses tremble with excitement in you, in the circle, there’s nothing left for you to do but to accept it because it’s so strong, because it’s unyielding. You couldn’t move it even if you tried. It won’t let you—it’s here to stay. Here to be alongside your boyfriend, protecting you as you venture out on your perverted adventure.

You’ve worked hard to get to this point. And now you get to reap what you’ve sown.

Yoongi grins after the long kiss, proudness emanating out of him and you feel like weeping. You’ve done the right thing, for the very first time. “That’s my good girl.”

The praise does something to you. Stirs you violently, magnifies the intensity of the flapping of the butterfly wings in you. Sends back feeling to the ache between your legs, propped against the linen of Yoongi’s pants. Throbbing, slapping, memories of what has been done to your pussy—you’re a meadow of wildflowers and you’re ready to be pleasured again, however you register a matter that pulls you away from this notion for a moment.

There’s no catch.

Because Yoongi created a new realm for both you and Jungkook with his sense of safety and comfort, there’s nothing for you to fret about. There’s no role for you to play. And, furthermore, who you are meant to be upon this ground is who you’ve been throughout the whole trajectory of your relationship.

A good girl.

Only this time it’s entirely different.

You didn’t want to be yourself because, if anything were to backfire, you thought you’d have the responsibility for it. In addition to that, you thought the normalcy of your sexual life was a no-gone zone for Jungkook, which is why you’ve been racking your brain, trying to come up with ways you could differ it, so Yoongi wouldn’t get jealous.

But things changed so drastically that because Yoongi took control, now you don’t have to be in charge of that. You’re not the artist, you’re not choosing colors for the palette. Yoongi is.

There’s still one more thing that doesn’t add up. And you voice it out. “If you’re not letting history repeat itself, though, why are you letting Jungkook be in control?”

Yoongi grabs your hands and holds them. “I’m letting him be in control of how he does what I tell him to do. I’m in control of the whole situation, honey.”

You suck in a breath. To protect himself, he won’t make the same mistake again; that’s just the person Yoongi is. He’s allowed Jungkook to have the freedom of a bird in the pleasure he wants you to receive from him, but he won’t hesitate to ensnare him if he runs up against something he doesn’t like.

You find that immensely, immensely attractive.

Hot.

The pillar of stability, the warmth of reassurance, the absolute fucking boss—that’s your man. You lid your eyes, swearing, leaning forward to suck onto his lip, kissing him with utter desperation and he lets you. Lets you kiss him. Lets you show him how much you liked that. Growls when your hand creeps to his neglected, clothed length and squeezes it. Hums when you feel him up until you find his tight balls. Responds to your touch—bucks his hips so you focus on them more and you go mad. Interminably, mad.

And when you swirl your tongue around his, you feel a cold, wet hand on your back.

The magnet to your madness. The healer stands by the side of the armchair with a dew-sprinkled face and there’s a feigned, playful jealousy that you feel when you regard him, for the only dew you want on his face is one that’s your own. He washed up in the bathroom—you reckon he did it to cool his desperation, to cool the sweat of arousal that lines his skin, much like yours. You note that it didn’t work, at least not fully, because when you roam your gaze down, you discover he’s still painfully hard. Much like your boyfriend.

You wrap your hand around him and the forbidden, exhilarating feeling of having two cocks in your grasp is too brief for your liking because Jungkook pulls your hand away again. Holds it and leads you towards the couch. You frown at him with a puckish smile, but while he tugs you away, you steal a kiss from Yoongi. A hard, quick kiss that makes him twitch—something that you get to feel before Jungkook grabs you by your pits and throws you on the couch.

You let out a string of giggles, loving the feeling of being manhandled; loving the feeling of Jungkook being in desperate need to eat you out. Your face heats up, your body following suit, the ache between your legs worsening. Yoongi smirks, validating your enjoyment and he adjusts in his seat, which you think is dismal. You don’t want him to be neglected. You want him to be pleasured, too.

The words tumble out of you before you can think them over. “Can you touch yourself for me, baby?”

Yoongi licks his lips. Pauses before he responds. Tortures you like he tortured Jungkook. You spread your legs to provoke him, giving him a show of the shine on your folds. It’s enough for him to palm himself briefly, as if he lost control for a split second. He takes his hand away and places it back on the armrest. “I’ll consider it.”

The boss at play. You swear, closing your legs to squeeze them, to give yourself some sort of relief from the ache you feel. Butterflies go rampant in your tummy, but despite the buzzing tension, you feel content, safe and utterly elated. Happy.

You expect Jungkook to say something, though he merely props a knee on the leather of the couch and spreads your legs how he wants them. He doesn’t lift them, only parts them as far as they can go. You go to grab his length again because you feel a certain magnetic pulling to it, but he catches your hand in time.

“Behave.” He presses your hand firmly to emphasize his scolding before he lets go. Such a stark contrast to the playtime of before. You remember how he wanted you to do the complete opposite. To misbehave. Your body heats up even more, the fire compulsing your hips to sway, asking for attention.

Another set of words tumble out of you unwittingly and you place your hands under your thighs. “I’m sorry.”

The surprise that floods Jungkook’s features is overwhelming to you and in response, you grin, coyly. He strokes the adorable fat of your cheek. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.”

You purse your lips and before the fire of that praise can lick your whole body, Yoongi speaks up, too. “Good job, honey. You learned your lesson so well.”

Shock comes first, then fire—vibrant blue fire that scorches you whole. You blush, deeply, squeezing the leather of the couch—the praise and the validation from both males so profuse, so profound that you can’t take it. You hide your widening grin beneath your palms. “Stop,” you drawl, the sound muffled and soft, even though you don’t want them to do anything of the sort.

Jungkook coos, pulls your wrist away, uncovering your rosy, glowy face. Then, he pets your head, fingers sinking into your hair. He forces you to look at him, to see the smile of endearment that bathes his face in light, but he does it so gently that you purr, his hold so stimulating, so titillating—his countenance so lovely, so darkly angelic. Eyes crinkled but still round, still so tender. “Who taught you to have such good manners, huh?”

You swipe your tongue along the top arc of your lip, his gaze flicks to it and and the answer thrums in your belly warmly like a sip of a good wine. It doesn’t unnerve you, doesn’t make you afraid. In fact, it’s so tranquil and so right that you relish every syllable. “Both of you did.”

The rays from the light side penetrate the dark one and healing takes place. Healing that you never thought you’d ever be a witness to. You know that the act of forgetting was supposed to fully sink in all three of you, but your words diverged its path. You swallow warmth and you swallow relief, watch as Yoongi gets up from his seat and mirrors Jungkook’s position, one knee on the leather, hand under your jaw. A soft set of tears rush in at the attention and the realization of what’s actually happening, and when the healer sees them, he lets go of your hair and brushes his thumb across your brow, hand spread across the side of your face. You lean into his palm, so terribly emotional, and when Yoongi plants a delicate kiss on your cheek, your chin begins to quiver. He felt it, too. Felt the gravity of those words that now dulcify his intention to make things right this time. And he kisses you again, prolongs the peck, as if to thank you for your goodness.

When Yoongi lifts his head and bores his mellow gaze into you, it is the same relief that you’ve swallowed that you see saturating his face in effulgence. At last, it has come for him, has come to live in him. At last, it’s here.

You’ve done it, all three of you. Healed from the pain.

Jungkook knits his brows at the sight of the first tear plopping down onto your skin as if it physically pained him to see you cry. And before you can register the movement, he swipes the liquid emotion away and kisses the residue of it, as if it were fate itself that wrote it was meant to pour down on the right side of your face—for Jungkook to collect, for it to seep into his fingerprint.

So much love. The air is thick with it. Your lungs tremble as you take a deep breath. The wind billows in and out, but doesn’t carry it off—intertwines its translucent body with it instead, bringing in a fresh gust of briskness into the atmosphere. No more tears stream down your cheeks; you smile at both of the males—the healer and the boss.

Yoongi remains standing beside you. Takes your hand in his. Says a myriad of silent words of great importance that you cannot decipher as he exchanges a look with Jungkook, who merely nods at them in plain understanding. You don’t have to wonder long what was behind it. Jungkook turns your jawline to him and kisses you softly. Doesn’t let go. Prolongs the kiss until he whimpers onto your mouth, softened, too, by the healing that occurred. No tongue, just the warmed silver of his lip ring, the smooth tenderness of his mouth and the most affectionate emotion exuded into the kiss.

The pop of the withdrawal is all you hear. You keep your eyes closed. Feel him take that kiss onto your neck, your collarbone, to your sternum. Feel the tightening of your boyfriend’s grip around your hand as Jungkook drags his lips down your tummy, where the healing vibrates and he says hello to it with his tongue, makes it feel safe. Feel the tightening compulsion to watch him as he does it and you obey your body.

Jungkook is kneeling before you. Brows furrowed, expression so terribly serious as he understands how significant this part of you is. Sinks his whimpers into your skin while he sucks it and it’s only when you run your fingers through his silky hair that he looks up at you. And the sight of his wet eyes breaks you.

He’s as emotional as you.

Your throat constricts. If it weren’t for him, none of this lively beauty would take place—and if it weren’t for Yoongi, too. It is their work of art and you’re the one doused in colors of most resplendence. And you tell them, your body urges you to, while you squeeze Yoongi’s hand and caress Jungkook’s hair. “I’m so grateful for you both.”

The healer whimpers again, letting go of your skin, leaving behind a purple memory of this heartfelt loveliness. His tears don’t escape the confinement of his waterline—he blinks them away. Blinks them even more rapidly when Yoongi places a hand on Jungkook’s bare shoulder and he gapes at him in disbelief—in disbelief that his closest friend is touching him with such gentleness after everything. You don’t allow yourself to think of the past, of the last violent touch that you saw, but you can’t help the emotion rushing in your eyes. You let go of Yoongi’s hand to clasp the one on Jungkook’s shoulder, deepening the love.

And you press a loud, exaggerated kiss on Jungkook’s forehead to make him laugh—like he did that one time by talking about his worm. To distract him, if there are perhaps any overbearing thoughts in his mind.

Now his disbelief is directed towards you. Mouth parted, wrinkles between his brows. You burst into laughter and it triggers his. Yoongi’s, too. It’s your breasts that bounce now and none of the pairs of eyes flick to it, fixed still on the glamorous gracefulness that blossoms out from your face. Jungkook shakes his head, cheeks awash with redness, irises glinting with a spark you’ve never seen before, and you consider your job done. He tells you to lay back down, but his grin lingers.

Yoongi takes your hand back in his and you perceive that he needs it, that he needs to hold you. You smile at him, fluttering your lashes, blowing him an air kiss, and he nudges his nose against yours to remind you to enjoy this. You begin to prepare yourself, taking a deep breath—

It hitches in your throat harshly. Jungkook kitten licks your clit with deep pressure, just once, lifting his head to watch your reaction. The reverberation of the pleasure causes you to moan and he smirks at you—what’s worse, he winks at you, so terribly smug that he coaxed such sound like that by one lick and it makes you tremble, needing more. He can see it, but he tortures you, keeping his hands on your thighs.

And when Yoongi reaches behind himself and sinks your headband with yellow kitty ears into Jungkook’s hair, you’re done for. You must’ve left it there when you were doing your makeup. Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge it, however. Too drunk by his first proper taste of you to do so, glossy eyes transfixed by that flesh of yours.

It suits him so well that you coo at him, grasping his neck to pull him back to your cunt, but he doesn’t let you. Your heart begins to thump with hard beats and you grow desperate, whining, looking at Yoongi to make him do something.

He merely smiles at you. “Be patient.”

At his words, Jungkook lifts your legs and begins to focus on the back of your thigh, marking it, groaning against your skin, inhaling your mango scent. He roams his tongue all over and you whine louder, finding it so unfair that you have to wait for it, that he reinforces your neediness by those hard kisses and sucks, by his sounds, breaths and control. You grind your hips, the ache between your legs made unbearable by your helplessness and Yoongi stops you by placing his hand on your lower belly.

“Did I not tell you to be patient? Be good,” Yoongi scolds, lowly, rubbing the place in slow circles. Your whine is bratty, but you nod your head, pouting, halting all your movements, becoming still like the wind that has come to stay and observe the unfolding of your daydream.

At your submission, Yoongi creeps a finger to your wet clit, testing you. Doesn’t do anything beyond that and once he sees you’re well-behaved, he plunges the same finger into your mouth, giving you a taste of Jungkook’s saliva. You mewl, sucking it. The healer watches the act in deep thought, your skin in his mouth, and you’re certain an idea flashes in his mind.

Jungkook straightens to his full height, proving you right and the feeling is utterly gratifying. Reaches behind him and grabs the tall glass filled with water that you never noticed he put on the coffee table. Yoongi withdraws his digit and inspects his friend’s doing with curiosity. Jungkook takes a small sip of it without taking his gaze off of you, tips it to your mouth right after and you realize he did it more so it wouldn’t overflow, as you take a well-needed sip of your own, rather than to refresh himself. That is until he does something that completely shocks you, ripping away your delightful proudness of being proven right.

It is something between a yelp and a moan when the coldness of the water drops onto the skin of your chest, scattering it with tiny, pellucid pearls that almost pool by your violent heart. The demo before the full game; your breathing gains as much speed as the throbbing in your clit. Jungkook inclines the glass again, holds it as a longer, thicker trail trickles down your body—from the middle of your breasts, across your tummy until it reaches your cunt. And the contact of the liquid with the hotness of your swollen seashell? You groan, rolling your body. So much that you slap your hands down on the leather, gripping it with all your might, needing something stable to hold onto, to release your pent-up desperation.

Amused, Jungkook sets the glass down and kneels back down. Licks a long, torturous stripe from your clit up to those pearls, following the path he mapped out while zeroing his stare into yours. You part your mouth, your madness closing around you again, puffing out short breaths and subdued, desperate moans and when Jungkook closes his lips over your neck and begins to suck, you turn your head towards Yoongi and roll your eyes back. Struggle to keep them open as you feel that muscle of his tracing patterns on the sensitive skin and Yoongi knows. He knows how good it is for you and he kisses you like he means it, mimicking what his friend is doing around your tongue.

Your sounds grow in volume. Your desperation, too, in intensity.

“Please.”

Jungkook emerges from your neck but wraps a hand around it, nonetheless. Is as close to you as your breath, his nose bumping into yours. He squeezes your column firmly before he curtly turns your jawline away from Yoongi. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat under his forearm, if he can feel how desperate she is for him, too—in a way you don’t understand. “Please what?”

He opens your mouth wider and spits.

Shock comes first like a thunderbolt, spreading across your veins, paralyzing your body. Then it blurs into a tumultuous arousal that seizes you whole, that makes you beg for more. No one has ever spat in your mouth, not even Yoongi. You’ve never liked it in porn, but experiencing it first-hand gives it another meaning. The dominance, the absolute film of lustfulness caking his face, the estimable seriousness that wafts off of him. He’s turned you into a boneless putty, his putty, and you want him to do it again.

“Spit in my mouth again, please—please.”

Jungkook grunts. Shadows surround your vision as you narrow your eyes in sheer pleasure at his sound, biting your lip to cage in your worsening desire for him—but he saves your lip, pulls it away from your teeth and opens your mouth wide. You ogle him as he sloshes his saliva in his mouth above you before he taps your tongue, signalizing you to stick it out for him. Once you listen, he spits hard onto the muscle that waited for it. You moan, satisfied, swallowing it right away and showing him.

He pokes his own tongue in his inner cheek, fire blazing in his as equally narrowed eyes, the act of spitting in your mouth making him beyond fucked out. You can sense it deep in your core and your obsession with it grows.

“You’re filthy, but so good. It’s making me lose my fucking mind,” he says, hazily, fingers squeezing your throat for a heartbeat. The momentary lack of oxygen gives you a perfect demonstration of his words and the moans you let out are so breathy, so choked out that he takes your madness and makes it his own—loosening his grip and kissing you nastily, licking into your mouth, both hands traveling south to your breasts and kneading them harshly, pressing your nipples between his fingers.

And when you utter the words rising vehemently in your throat, he takes the demonstration to otherworldly levels. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Jungkook cocks his head at you and drags his teeth painfully across his bottom lip, swearing. His eyes darken, at last. Thrill sizzles beneath your skin and you feel an upsurge of adrenaline, the aftertaste of the title so sweet, so delicious on your tongue. “As if you didn’t deserve it already, I’m gonna take you to heaven for that.”

You laugh softly, brushing your fingers through his hair, anticipation joining the adrenaline. “You like me calling you that?”

He hums his agreement and you don’t feel Yoongi, you don’t even feel his hand; your vision, surroundings, persona blurring so rapidly. “Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good. All you have to do is come for him as many times as you can. Thank him that way. Is that clear?”

You shiver at the use of third person. Never thought you’d find it as alluring as you do. Brush your thumb across his brow like he does it to you. He coos, kissing your hand, sinking his body lower. Touched by the gesture. “Yes, Daddy. That won’t be too difficult for me to do.”

Jungkook gives you a smile that envelops you in an aura, where it’s just you and him. You don’t have the brain cells, nor the will, the desire to stop it. “That’s a good girl. On her best behavior for us.”

It wakes you up and the feeling of Yoongi’s grip on your hand returns, the circle of the aura withering. Disappointment descends in your gut, one that is soon forgotten when Jungkook sucks your clit into his mouth.

The squeak you let out would be embarrassing if you weren’t so out of your mind, but the confidence it came out with, the seductiveness and beauty—Jungkook shows you how much he liked the sound by humming against your sensitivity, the appreciation smothering every fiber and nerve ending of your body, hoisting you up towards the canopy of clouds. He swirls his tongue around the flesh, sucking deeper before he opens his mouth wider and licks you all over, closing his eyes and moaning, reveling in the feeling of you, the scent of you and the warmth of you. He toys with your lips, chuckling in delight when he acknowledges himself with them, burying his mouth completely in them, kissing them, caressing them with the puffiness of his pillows.

He’s pussydrunk—and the sight of it intoxicates you just the same.

And then he pauses. Kisses your clit. The peck so ardently earnest that he sucks it in the process. Does it again and again until he tinges your femininity in the faintest, daintiest, most dreamiest tone of red, prettier than any flowers you’ve ever seen—so akin to the wash of color scattering along his cheekbones. Then, he rubs his face in you, vigorously, moaning against you so intensely that your sounds become one.

Raising his head, features drenched in your dew—just like you wanted it—his chain taps your cunt in long staccatos. The pleasure is so dizzying, along with his looks, that you feebly jump at every contact. It reminds you, vividly, of the spanks you like so much. “Pussy so fucking wet and pretty for me. I’m gonna destroy you.”

It’s only at this time that you hear Yoongi smug but quietly laugh. He draws close to your ear and his hardened breath steals your attention from his friend’s praise. “He makes me wanna taste you, too, and make you come repeatedly on my tongue. Fuck, honey. I want that so bad.”

You mewl, about to burst at the seams, unable to take the double relish given to you from both men. Yoongi latches his mouth onto your neck, causing your eyes to roll back, and it sparks up some kind of competition in Jungkook, for when he dives back in—you scream.

The flicks of his tongue are so brutal that your lungs heave. You take many breaths but you can’t catch them, the heat from Yoongi’s kisses and the rapidness of Jungkook’s movement numbing your body to the point that you’re rendered powerless.

Jungkook alternates between fast flicks and long swipes from your entrance to your bundle of nerves, parting your lips so he can have easy access. And being spread like that, attended to by two males that you have strong attachment to, the kitty ears bobbing up and down as Jungkook devours you—your orgasm chases you down, the knot in your lower belly pulled so taut that it takes a mere heartbeat for it to snap completely.

And when you come, Jungkook laps you up, grunting in insatiable need for more. Your body violently shudders, but he keeps going, widening his swirls of tongue around your clit before he rubs it with the tip of his nose and—

He begins to fuck you with his tongue.

You don’t feel anything. Not your heartbeat, not your struggling lungs—just the hard jabs of his tongue inside your hole, pushing you closer and closer to paradise. Not heaven, you’ve been there, but to something beyond. A paradise of the warmest color and sunlight, swaying trees and a pool of the most refreshing water.

And Yoongi’s noise of joy is the bird that flies past in that place, dipping to its reflection. “Daddy’s so good he’s giving it to you better than I ever did.”

It’s those words that make you come again.

He laughs, fondles your nipples, holds you steady as Jungkook prolongs your orgasm by strenuously sucking your clit and you sob hard, tingling all over, senses gone, everything gone. You feel so lightweight, so airy, dopamine and oxytocin making your head all fucked up. Happy, satisfied.

Jungkook withdraws, kissing your clit one last time, licking it slowly. “You came so hard for Daddy, well done,” he praises, mouth wet, face as colorful as the meadow of flowers in you, gleaming iridescently. “But I’m not done with you.”

You moan, wanting more, badly. Take him by the neck with both hands and draw him closer to you, the chain stimulating your breasts. You kiss him hungrily and the taste of your dew causes you to let out such obscene sound that Jungkook and Yoongi growl simultaneously. Dulciness, with a hint of piquancy that makes you even hornier—the slipperiness of his mouth making it worse. “I want to ride your face. Please, please, let me.”

Jungkook smiles at you, pecking your lips, faintly. Cocks his brow at Yoongi. “You’re gonna give the princess what she wants?”

Your eyes follow the sharp line of his jaw and you bite your lip. Don’t think twice about taking that skin into your mouth, licking it over, watching as Jungkook closes his eyes at the contact. Musk, the forest, wood—you carry your still lingering hunger and unravel it upon the spot beneath that strong jaw, devouring that scent of his, aware of how his breath lodges in his throat. You mimic what he did to your clit there, enjoying every second of it, enjoying his reaction as he hums and thumbs your clit, waiting for Yoongi’s approval.

And you quicken it by begging for it, squeaking little sounds, beckoned by that slow motion of his digit. “Please, Yoongi. I want it so bad.”

Badly enough that you force your head away and look at him. As much as you thought there would be puzzlement to his face, what you detect is far more sinister. His smirking mouth tells you that he is simply pleased with the way you’re begging, with the way he gets to torture you. And not just you, but Jungkook as well. Ego high—his control at full play. You don’t blame him, not at all. It must be delicious to him in the middle of all this healing.

“Ride him well, make me proud.”

The joy springs in you so fast, but you don’t have the time to take in it. Yoongi gets up from the couch and you apprehend that you were very, very wrong.

You haven’t healed to the point that it doesn’t bother you when Yoongi leaves.

Your panic is so enormous that you rise, your movement so rigid that Jungkook stumbles, his arm quick to wrap around your chest, pulling you back onto the leather beside him. And you don’t see the twist of his brows, the deep clefts of his dimples while he scowles. No, you watch your boyfriend’s back as he makes his way to the dining table, your heart expanding in your throat.

“Tell her at least where the fuck you’re going,” Jungkook grumbles, ever the healer who senses your emotions and the fact he stood up for you like this makes you mouth merely round, your otherwise triggered trauma unsettling the rest of your feelings.

Yoongi returns a moment later with the butt plug and lube in his hand and with a solemnly guilty face. Kisses the top of your head in apology, but it’s not enough. Not when you can’t hear your heartbeat. Not when you can’t swallow. Not when your mind is so numbed by the recurring panic that you cannot even hear your mind.

“Don’t do that to me,” you whisper, but the words are firm, piercingly sharp, important and gravely, so much that Jungkook, with sticky hands by his sides, stills next to you.

Yoongi cups your chin, a dominant gesture, but you glare at him—masculine strength being the last thing you need right now. You may have foolishly thought your healing was complete and as much as it knifes you to be proven wrong, it’s the fact you expected more from him that hurts the most, especially after he promised you he’d be here. But maybe it’s foolish altogether, to be in hidden demand of him to tell you of his whereabouts, notably when you never voiced it out for him, not once during the therapy sessions, not once during the course of this perverted adventure—the matter of the gravity of your abandonment issues.

You point your anger at yourself and fall to a dark, dark abyss.

And you pushed yourself there on your own because you were incapable of reminding yourself of Yoongi’s reassurance, mind too blurred, too fucked out to remember.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m still here. I never left you.”

You nod because he’s right. “I know now. I didn’t remind myself. It’s my fault.” It’s as much of a surprise to your ears as it is to Yoongi’s. He widens his eyes at your honesty before tenderness swims past. “I’m really sensitive right now.”

Jungkook rubs circles on your back with his thumb and you welcome his touch, his warm energy.

Yoongi caresses your face. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. What we’re doing here is pretty overwhelming. But I’m here. I got you.” His words hold the same firmness that yours did and it’s difficult for you to grasp how they’re mending you, how they’re swooping that darkness in their arms and flinging it away from your reach. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing. Let me make it better for you, hm? You want me to make you feel better?”

Emptiness plummets down your body, in place of the darkness and the anger, and the moonbeams in his eyes engulf it, filling it with its pale light. All you can do is nod, too weak to express any other form of affirmation.

Yoongi kisses the place on your cheek beside your ear, slipping inside his words. “Good girl. The best. I’ll make you feel better. I’ll make you happy again, my love.” You sob at the pet name, at the tenderness, at the comforting feeling of Jungkook’s hand on your arm, pulling you back so you lean against his chest, participating in your healing. The round valley of his tattooed bicep nudges you in your cheek as he cages you in and you nuzzle your face into it, hooking both of your hands on his forearm. Musk, forest and wood suffusing your senses, along with a strong dose of safety. “That’s it, lean against him like that. Daddy will help you forget, too. Spread your legs for us.”

You do as he says, needing what he’s promising you—needing it from them both. Maybe then, when it’s from such a vast source, will you get your full healing.

Yoongi squirts a good amount of lube on his fingers, smearing it on your pussy. The coldness of it enlivens you and you lean your head back against the hardness of Jungkook’s chest, pressing your lips against his bulging muscles. And when Yoongi begins to massage your clit in slow circles, the healer tightens his hold around you, hand gripping your shoulders, the other one gliding down your tummy and staying there. Nipples pebbled against his forearm, breasts full and squished, your form safe, tucked, pleasured in the whole enormity that he is—you relax, giving yourself over to the delight of your boyfriend’s fingers.

He sinks two of them inside you, stuffing you to the brim and pausing there. Jungkook sneaks his towards your bundle of nerves, resuming the circles, breaths hot against your scalp, gaining pleasure from pleasuring you, especially so when your healing is the primary goal behind it.

And when Yoongi begins to fuck you, his hand drops from your shoulder and settles over your tit, pinching your nipple between the knuckles of his thumb and forefinger. You cry out and it drives your boyfriend to pump his digits harder—to the point that you can’t see the in and out motion, the pace so fast it becomes a blur.

“Let go, honey, come on, let it go for us,” Yoongi murmurs, putting his whole body into his intention; you would move along with him, too, if Jungkook weren’t holding you so tightly. “You feel so good around my fingers. So tight, so wet. Such a good girl, getting what you deserve.”

Jungkook quickens his circles, gruff groans muffled against your scalp. “You can do it, sweetheart. I know it feels good when we touch you like this.”

Your body drips in sweat and only when Yoongi agrees, pistons his fingers faster into you do you fully let go. Your anger, your trauma, your darkness leaves you in the form of your dew and Yoongi collects it in his hand. Doesn’t stop fucking you, in fact encourages another one and you spill until your wetness overflows from his hand. Eyes rolling back, hips lifting, legs spreading even further apart. Both men praise you, but you can’t hear them—your senses silent.

They come back to you when Yoongi licks his digits clean, swallowing your pain. Doesn’t waste time and turns you around, your sore, sensitive body colliding into Jungkook’s. And like him, he dives into your pussy, licking you clean, not having enough of your darkened taste.

You’re so out of it that you can only focus on the brush of Jungkook’s hand down your hair and the overstimulation that seizes you, that you can’t do anything about other than take it. “Coming so well, so many times for us. You feel better?”

You can’t answer his question, not when Yoongi begins to trace your tiny, virgin hole with his tongue, giving you a new kind of pleasure that you’ve never felt before. Your eyes whisk to the back of your head and Jungkook cradles it, understanding whooshing past his eyes—understanding that you can’t speak, not when you’re experiencing something so extensive. He smiles down at you, squishing your cheeks. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Fuck, you look so pretty.”

Your choked out moans are enough of an affirmation for him. He coos. Then, a squirt of lube. A finger slowly going in. A gasp, a warm breath that Jungkook inhales, feeling it with you. The uncertainty in your eyes that he instantly smooths out. “You can take it. You’re such a good girl, why wouldn’t you be able to take it? Just relax. I got you.” He kisses your nose and you want to weep in joy, so overcome with it all.

Per his reassurance, your round muscle relaxes and sucks him in. And when he begins to fuck you, you can’t contain your sounds. So lewd, so dirty, and Jungkook emboldens you by scrunching up his features, groaning with you, taking breaths with you. You give in, entirely, feel another orgasm coming, but Yoongi rips it away. Wants you to come around the thicker toy.

The coldness of it makes you tremble, although the hunger both of the males awakened in you for it drives you to move your hips back, helping Yoongi insert it in. It takes a few tries, a few ins and outs before you welcome in it, before the fullness enthralls you so much that you become even needier, even more confident and seductive.

Yoongi presents you to his friend, but each movement you make causes you to be more desperate than you’ve been the entire sultry night. Everything is heightened—every touch, every enjoyment of praise, every sliver of attention and all you want is to be fucked. Brutally, ravagedly fucked.

To absorb the sight of you as you’re positioned on your hands and knees, Jungkook begins to make love on the skin of your behind with his tongue. You feel every word of apology compressed into it. For every bruise, for every red splodge, for every acute pain caused, no matter how much you enjoyed it in the moment. It’s just between you and him, shielded by the premise of desire stirred by your adorned tiny hole. And you keep it that way, whimpering for him sweetly, validating it for him. Tucking it safely into every chamber of your heart.

Then, he strokes the flesh, replacing the bad memories with good ones—replacing the past with the present time. Lies down between your legs and pushes your hips down onto your face.

And you ride him. His tongue, his nose. Fondle the kitty ears askew on his head. Let his moans envelop around those chambers of your heart, protecting them. Let his eyes seal your scorching, enchanting femininity with all its spirited confidence. And once he pacifies the grinding movement of your hips and takes control, palming your breasts, lips sucking your clit, tongue toying with it, you come in seconds that are not pathetic in nature, but outright exhilarating.

You lean back against Yoongi, out of breath. He wraps his hand around your throat. “What do you want now, honey? You want to get fucked?”

You hum, the idea clutching your body in tight excitement. “Yes. Badly. Please.”

At your words, Jungkook begins to tug at his length and the needy movement reverberates throughout your entire body. You coo at him, enjoying the view and you get on your knees in front of the couch to watch him, inhaling his sounds like he did yours.

“You want us to take turns? He stops, as if he was seconds away from coming, and you wrap your lips around him, letting him know how much you like the idea—at which he trembles, pulling you away. You grin at him in pure joy. “Like the sound of that?”

“Fuck yes. Please. Both holes.”

Jungkook hisses, round, dark eyes rolling back for a split moment, losing himself—thumb swiping across your mouth once he comes back. “Daddy’s so fucking needy for you. Come here.”

He manhandles you. Like a child he carries you to the dining space and bends you over the table. You turn your head to see where Yoongi is and he slowly swaggers towards you and Jungkook, popping his button open and pulling out his length. Tip red and painfully swollen, length long and hard—longer than you’ve ever seen it—balls tight. And when Jungkook begins to fuck you sluggishly with the butt plug, you grip the wood of the table with all your strength, fingertips white, and watch as it drives Yoongi to fuck his fist.

The same fist he cups under your chin when he reaches you. “Spit.”

And you do—at the same time that Jungkook forces out the silver toy, tongue immediately coming to whirl around the stretched muscle. Like before, as Jungkook fucks you there, Yoongi fucks his fist. The sounds that spill out of all three mouths are simultaneous, creating a harmony fitting just right for the paradise you find yourself in. It’s such a vigor that he eats your ass with—he does it much differently than Yoongi. Hungry and feral, he again buries his face in your ass, squeezing the flesh, before he drills the muscle with fast, strong jabs. You can’t see anything, the pleasure so intense, so darkly intense and heavily pressured that your vision remains perpetually in the back of your head. Your orgasm closes down upon you swiftly, at once, when he rubs your clit with all four fingers, not expecting it at all as no flashes danced across that night-doused canopy of nothingness before your eyes, no body heat nor pressure rose. Jungkook secures your release by slipping the butt plug back in, smacking his mouth in delight. You slump against the table, boneless.

Jungkook takes your arms and pins them behind your back, angling the hot tip of his cock at your entrance. “You ready for this?”

Your yes is but a tweet.

Jungkook hums, breaths hard. “You want this cock?”

This time, your yes is a louder screech, vibrating through the whole apartment.

“Hm, I’m gonna stretch you out for him. Make your hole nice and big for all the cum we’ll dump you with. You’re gonna take it all like the good girl you are, aren’t you?”

Both of your holes, your muscles, your organs clench at his words and you can’t halt the litany of vulgar words and agreement from pouring out. His grip around your intertwined forearms is deathly and when he fills you to the brim, tip kissing your cervix, walls stretching around his thick girth little by little and gives you a singular, hard stroke that shakes the table, you scream so loud that the sound echoes around the room, carrying it out into the feverish night.

Your words are jumbled, a perfect mess, and it takes more than a few tries for you to get them out coherently. “You’re—you’re giving me all of it?” you ask, because if there’s more inches for you to take, you’ll die.

Jungkook chuckles, darkly, lips at your ear, his body heat enveloping yours like a chunky blanket. Sneaks a hand to your hip bone. Sinks a little deeper until his pelvis touches yours, his heat spreading into all of your pores. You gasp. “I’m giving you every.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Inch.” Thrust. “And it’s all yours, sweetheart.��

You’re breathless, weak, and it’s a slow crescendo, the way he begins to roll his hips, the way he straightens and the fresh wind goes for the imprint of sweat of your and his origin on your back, cooling it, though he rips the briskness away almost instantaneously, repeating his hard stroke, the table banging against the wall. Doesn’t give you the time to prepare.

“Can you take it?” he asks, along with that dark chuckle again. Your hands begins to tingle due to the way he’s gripping your wrists, your blood at a standstill. “Can you take us both, huh?”

Brutal thrust. Just what you wanted. He takes you by the throat and presses you against his chest, kissing you with such vulgarity that you moan into his mouth, the fullness you feel only heightening it. He grinds in response, hands descending to your breasts, kneading them, pinching both of your nipples between his knuckles and thumbs. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You whine.

He withdraws, then. Motions over to Yoongi. The loss disappoints you.

A man of his word, Jungkook stretched you enough for Yoongi to easily slip inside you to the hilt. You expect him to give you a few strokes before giving you over to his friend, and you prop your hands on the table to ready yourself for it, for Yoongi’s hunger as he’s the only one who hasn’t felt any pleasure over the course of the adventure.

But Yoongi only grips himself and pulls out.

A thicker length. To the brim. A slender one. And they repeat it until all you can hear is the madness of their aroused laughter, their grunts and their pants. Hands all over you. The feeling is so overwhelming that everything becomes a blur. You don’t know whose hand is touching you, whose mouth is kissing you, whose cock is drilling you, senses ascending to a place beyond the paradise—

And then you feel both of their tips toying with your abused hole, acting, feignedly—drawing in and out, never fully penetrating.

A short-lived moment that causes you to forget who you are.

“Oh, god,” you drawl, slumping against the wood, helpless. They continue to take turns in fucking you fluidly, the symphony of your slick so loud, so filthy to your ears. You’re numb to the point that you don’t peep a sound, disoriented and so adrift in the place beyond paradise that they took you to.

Jungkook takes control once he hears your call for help. Begins to piston his length inside you rapidly until stars take shape across your vision, wrapping a forearm around your neck similarly to the way he did in the middle of your healing, digging crescent moons into your shoulder. Stops your head from knocking back and forth furiously. You feel his sweat drip down his pelvis—and with each hard thrust, its pearls jump over to your skin, trickling down your trembling legs. The pressure in your core is but a heartbeat away from bursting. You sense it—and you sense it vehemently.

“Are you gonna come around my cock or around his, hm? Whose is it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Your body answers him for you, your walls tightening around him so resolutely that Jungkook stills, whimpering onto your neck. You come so hard that there is absolutely nothing else that you hear but that whiny sound—and all you can see is the stars gaining vibrant colors to their pointed shapes, various, various colors that blind you. Colors that, like you, get dumped with hot, ivory, thick cum.

Your orgasm triggered his.

You mewl like a little kitty cat, so pleased that he came in you, so pleased that you felt it, that you felt the twitching of his cock. Pleased that when you gape at him, you can see how spent he is, content and illuminated like those stars.

You want to lick him up. You want to taste that glow on your tongue.

His cum drips out of you when you turn around. Jungkook collects it with two of his fingers and pumps it back inside you. The look you give him is almost predatory, so awfully fierce that he grows faintly timid, post-nut clarity cocooning him in a soft aura, bringing his puppy nature back to him.

You sit back down on the table and spread your legs for your boyfriend, but your gaze remains fixed on him. Blindly, you reach for Yoongi’s hand, drawing him closer, and he happily obliges your silent command. Lines himself up at your entrance and pumps Jungkook’s cum deeper into you.

You let the puppy see the exhilaration springing up your body, tugging the corners of your mouth to each side. The glint in your eyes. The pure joy that you feel. Then, the falling of that expression as it blends into a depiction of your pleasure—furrowed brows, pout, narrowed lids. You don’t take your eyes off of him. Not even for a second.

In fact, you curl your fingers in beckoning. And when he comes to you, you lick a stripe of the sweat coating his defined abdomen, tongue rolling around the valley of his hard muscle. Kiss the skin before you suck it into your mouth, moaning when Yoongi goes all in—fucking you with all of his energy. The taste of his glow only betters the experience, but you don’t think you can come again. You enjoy it, nonetheless.

And when you turn your attention to your boyfriend, deeming he deserves it—Jungkook steals it in typical fashion. “Feels good?” Light, much bigger than yours, covering his eyes. You nod, humming, girlishly so—the sound pitched. “You’re gonna come again? For him?”

You consider it an impossible task, but for him you’ll do anything. “I’ll try.”

Jungkook makes a sound of approval, leans in and kisses you gently. Yoongi turns your chin to him and as soon as your lips touch his, you feel his cock twitch. Unlike Jungkook, he fucks you through his orgasm, groaning loudly into your mouth and you reach to the place, where you’re connected and squeeze his balls, wanting his cum, needing it.

And when Yoongi emerges from his bliss, he smiles at you, breathing out a soft laugh. Features relaxed, drowsy. You give him a smile, too, the same tiredness engulfing you.

Slinking out of you, you discover he came so vastly that his male essence trickles out of you. You graze a finger across your slit and you gather so much of it that as you take your hand towards your mouth, it plops onto your stomach. You giggle, high on the hormones released through your body, high on the happy males watching you, high on life—high on rightness. The joy doesn’t even let you wrap your lips around your finger, adamant on showing them how well they gratified you by keeping them stretched in a dopey grin.

They’re so endeared by you that the same expression graces their faces. Exchanging a single glance, they start at once—picking you up like a child. Yoongi by your legs, Jungkook by your pits and it’s him, the healer, who leads the way to the bathroom, walking backwards hurriedly.

Though promptly, when putting you down, your legs are so sore, so weakened that if it weren’t for their arms, you’d fall onto the tiles. Giggles and obscenities are swallowed by the crooning sound of the streaming hot water in the shower and you sigh so deeply once it touches your skin. It alleviates the ache of your muscles, alleviates the throbbing memory of the last time you were under that burning cascade—especially when Yoongi twists your body, making you face Jungkook; especially when he says the words that quicken your heartbeat.

“Wash her clean.”

Making things right. Erasing that afternoon that ended in blood and bruises.

The wet, puppy eyes you give to Jungkook are enough for him to do as Yoongi says, mirroring your mien, greatly affected by the permission, by the act of something so forbidden untangling its inextricable knot. It happened so suddenly that he doesn’t truly believe he’s allowed to do it, hands shaking by his sides, clenched into fists. It is only when Yoongi begins to shampoo your hair that he’s spurred to do something.

And you help him. With a thudding heart and tight emotion lodged in your throat, you hand him your favorite almond-scented body wash. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you when he spreads the aroma on your sternum. Doesn’t blink once, doesn’t let his eyes wander south to your body—as if it was sacred, as if it was not meant to be looked at with lust in this intimate scenario.

And you don’t feel fire when the heat of his hands glides down your neck, your shoulders and your arms. You feel something else entirely, something you can’t really pinpoint. Something holy, something so immensely heavenly. Maybe it’s brought about by the fact that he doesn’t touch your intimate parts—not your breasts, not your vulva. The only time he comes near to it is when he leads you into his chest and carefully, while peeking down, tries to pull out the forgotten toy. You sense Yoongi’s hands on your backside, watching over, and the feeling of being rid of it is so uncomfortable that you cringe against his pec, squeezing him hard, hugging him with everything in you. Jungkook makes gentle sounds for you, encouraging you and it relaxes your body enough that it lets go of the toy.

Grabbing your shoulders, he studies your emotions. Sees only your same old tiredness and he pecks you, descending onto the tiled floor to cleanse you of your stickiness. Isn’t grossed out by the male essence that isn’t his. Kisses your trembling muscles on the apex of your thigh. Cradles your foot, massages it. The other one, too.

And when Yoongi rinses out your shampoo and the bubbles of your almond body wash, Jungkook tells him, gravely, “Wash her where she needs it.”

You’re so touched by the fact he doesn’t dare to lay a hand there in a non-sexual environment that it doesn’t leave any space for shock to come through. Your finger itches to hook around his, but you take one step further—you slide your hand into his. And like a child, you let yourself be washed in between your legs as Jungkook, like a father, watches over it.

Once you’re clean, the males take their turns. You observe the bubbles, the white foam, their veined hands gliding along their glistening bodies and, alternating, you touch them, helping them in a way. Touch the love bruise upon Jungkook’s abdomen; touch the indistinct happy trail on Yoongi’s. Rinse them off.

Needing to be held, you guide Jungkook’s hands to your waist and fold your arms around Yoongi’s shoulders, but both males think differently. Squishing you in the middle of them, they hug each other, each head buried in each crook of your neck. You feel their hearts beat as one and it nearly lulls you to sleep, its healing beauty soothing you to the point that your lids become heavier. And the three of you stand there, in a cozy, homely embrace, until coldness wraps around you, too.

They let you do your thing on your own.

Once you come out of the shower, Yoongi kisses you and asks you if he should bring you any clothes. You merely shake your head and he leaves it at that, following Jungkook out of the bathroom.

You lather your body in your mango butter in your aloneness. Blowdry your hair. Do your skincare. Note that there aren’t any thoughts in your brain, just deep, content silence swimming around with happy hormones. You’re so grateful for it that you could weep.

To bed, you wear your newest purchase. A pink lacy camisole with matching bodycon shorts. You slide your feet into your fluffy slippers and as you make your way into the living room, you hope with all your heart that Jungkook hasn’t left. You haven’t exchanged many words after the sex and because of that, you knife yourself with the expectation to find only Yoongi lounging around in the sitting area.

Midwalk, you bind it all into a loose braid. Don’t use a tie to seal it. Merely flip your hair back—with the futile wish it would untangle.

And it does when you find the males smoking on the balcony with the door wide open. Jungkook, fully dressed in the outfit he came in. Yoongi, wearing his pants. You let out a quiet breath of relief, stooping to the ground to pick up your robe and the cheese ball, a dreadful twinge in your lower body alarming you. And then, you notice that someone folded your little sheer outfit neatly on the chair.

“I wasn’t able to touch her after you,” you hear Yoongi say, the wholeness of the starry night plating his low pitch. You still your breathing, the perplexity from his words forcing you to whisk your head in his direction. “All I saw was my shortcomings… and—and I didn’t know how to please her anymore because you showed her new things. I felt less than. Unable to be the right person for her sexually.”

Your heart shrinks so much it pains you. Yoongi never told you these things during the therapy sessions. He mainly spoke about the sexual moments at the cabin, but never about the ones after, never about what truly bothered him on his healing journey. He bottled it up. Your throat fills with bile.

“Has what we did tonight changed that?” Jungkook asks, shoulders tense. “We practically did the same things and she was more than pleased.”

Your heart grows back to its full size at the positive mention of you. You rise to your full form, flinging the cheese ball into its empty bowl before folding your robe. Your ears perk in waiting for his answer.

“I think so.” The bile sinks back down, along with the pain coated with sadness. “I also think we should do this again.”

Your mind doesn’t allow your body to exult, knowing the reason why he said it.

He wants to either finish the hidden healing or… check if it has come to an end.

The tension doesn’t ease in Jungkook’s shoulders. “Only if you work hard and focus on her. I’m not consenting to this if you only touch her with me being present.”

Silence in your heart—a skipped beat. You don’t want to hear any more of that conversation. You put away your robe and grab the dishes, washing them in the sink.

No matter how much dish soap you use, you can’t scrub away the healer’s magic off of your hands. It pelts under your skin, to and fro, over and over as you repeat his words in your mind. Gives strength to your fingers as you hold the unusually heavy plates and bowls, the tiredness a hefty burden on your shoulders, weighing you down.

Such a good man. You’re so grateful to know such an extraordinary being like him. A good friend, the best you could wish for Yoongi. A good lover, too—

“I think it’s way bigger and deeper, this relationship and how I feel about it. I can’t help it—” Jungkook’s voice no longer a far-off murmuring, he halts his words at the sight of you. Calls your name. “I thought you were asleep already.”

You turn off the tap water, ignoring the question in your body about the incomplete sentence he uttered while being under the impression you were beyond hearing distance. Think you’ve learned and come about plenty enough of things tonight. You want to go to bed. With both of them.

You don’t say your reasoning behind why you’re here. Deem it’s pointless. “Let’s go to bed.”

You reach out your hand for him, but it is only the wind that encases your palm. You drop it.

A chaos of shoulds and desires swarms in him. You can see it, vividly. “I should go home.”

You’re having your way, you don’t care. “No. Stay.”

Jungkook calls your name again. Yoongi licks his lips, smiling, fondly. Walks towards you and grabs your hand, leading you towards the bedroom. The puppy stays fixed on his feet, not comprehending that you want him to sleep in Yoongi’s bed and not on the couch.

You raise your hand again for him. “Come, you’re sleeping with us.”

Jungkook has gone commando under his jeans. You eye the sliver of minimal hair on his pelvis and before you can ogle his worm, he cups himself.

Unabashedly, you click your tongue in disappointment, even though the recollection of your private decision to have his boxers as a keepsake, approved by him, suffuses your exhausted body in delight.

You get under the sheets, right in the middle, watching as Yoongi hands him his gray sweatpants to wear, holding your breath when Jungkook turns around and you gain a perfect view of his round, toned ass.

You’re certain that man will be the death of you.

Yoongi crawls into the bed, nuzzling into the crooks of your body that he knows well, cuddling to your arm. You hear him inhale the scent of your shampoo. “You smell so good.”

You stroke his forearm with your fingernails, transfixed by the way the waistband of the forbidden pants hangs low on Jungkook’s hips, by his slow, seductive walk that you don’t particularly think he’s doing on purpose. That’s just what makes him him, which worsens it all.

In similar fashion, he lays down beside you, but he doesn’t turn to his side as your boyfriend has done. No, like you, he rests on his back, hands by his body, touching you without meaning to. His warmth environs you, but you notice that a good half of his body isn’t covered by the sheets. You fix it right away, tucking him in—tucking the fabric right under his chin.

He gives you a strange look that makes you giggle. “You want me to burn?”

Oh, men and their body heat. You’ll never grow tired of it—it’ll forevermore fascinate you.

You shush him. “Sleep.” Pinch his nose, deepening his funny scowl. “Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

Yoongi begins to purr beside you and you know he’s halfway on his journey to dreamland. You lay back down, hip to hip with both males, hands on your tummy, your eyes languidly fluttering closed.

A hand on your thigh. You open them fleetingly, surprised at the contact, before they close on their own.

“I’ve missed his purring,” Jungkook whispers, thumb brushing across your smooth skin. Just once. “Haven’t heard it in a while. It’s better than brown noise.”

You laugh, softly, agreeing with him in your heart. Submit to the call of your own dreamland and you turn to your side, facing Yoongi, propping the back of your hand under your chin.

But then Jungkook folds into your form.

Mirrors your position. Arm around you, hand relaxed on the mattress an inch away from your tummy.

It makes you feel funny. It makes you wild, your body gaining the tiniest tendril of energy. You curse him, mentally, although you don’t mean a single word.

You feel his gentle breath fanning the nape of your neck. Along with it arrives the need for him to touch you. You purse your lips, burying your head deeper into the pillow in effort to shake that off and focus on relaxing your body—

“Hyung?”

He hums in response. You curse him, too.

“She didn’t come when you fucked her.”

Your eyes fly open. The audacity this man has—

Tense, tense nothingness. It thrums uncomfortably under your skin.

“Lemme make it right.”

Radio silence in your heart, its profound waves shaking through your entire body, tearing off its drowsiness.

“Okay, Jungkookie.”

Your gasp is so minimal, yet Jungkook feels it. He presses his palm against your stomach, pulling you closer to him. Yoongi turns to his other side, as if giving you the privacy for what Jungkook wants to do to you.

Reposing halfway on his back, halfway on his side, he maneuvers your form to mirror his position. And for the longest time, you both just lay there while Jungkook brushes his fingers along your clothed body. Back and forth, in circles, in peculiar patterns that soothe you. You thought you’d fall asleep this way, but the touches keep your body awake, promising it things in a silent language that it so evidently wants.

And it isn’t until Yoongi begins to snore that you perceive Jungkook waited until he entered his deep slumber. The breath you let out is loud, absorbed by your boyfriend’s much bigger ones, but it makes Jungkook hold your jaw steady as he draws his lips close to your ear.

“I didn’t like that he used you,” he whispers and his words fill your body with something foreign, something that drives your brows to knit, your muscles to clench, for butterflies to stir awake, although you disagree with him. Yoongi didn’t use you. You don’t really think he did. When you motioned him to take his turn, you expected to come again, but your body was so spent that it wasn’t able to do so, which is completely okay in your opinion. “If I fuck a girl and I come first before she does, I don’t stop until she creams all around me. Even if it hurts.”

You remember him pushing you away when you wanted to keep going after he orgasmed. “You don’t like to be overstimulated, though.”

He snickers again, softly and lowly. “And yet I don’t stop.” Both hands on your tummy, he glides them down, towards your hips, towards your thighs before he drags them back up. Lifts up your camisole this time around, getting a feel of your skin. Rubs circles. “I want to make you come like you deserved to. Can I?”

“I came a lot of times. I don’t know if I can.”

Jungkook caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, angling your jaw towards him. “We can try and see if you can.”

We. He kisses your cheek and you pout in his hand. Brain turned off, too numb by all the orgasms, the attention and the affection you’ve received, you take the other one and slide it beneath your shorts. Feel an onrush of freshness in your lungs when he whimpers at the contact of your lips with the pads of his fingers and you move your hips back against him, gaining another sound of similar nature that willingly tempts your madness to return to you.

He’s hard.

You grind your backside against his thick imprint, loving the feeling of it, loving the soft noises he makes as if he was trying to stifle them, but you were making it awfully difficult for him to do so.

“Don’t do that or I’ll cum in Yoongi’s pants.”

Your laugh is feral. Quiet, gentle. An oxymoron that could only belong to his name. To his art. The idea of him coming in your boyfriend’s pants drenches you and he gasps once he discovers it, teasing your entrance.

“You want me to come like this?” he asks and you hum your agreement, his fingers ascending to your clit, stroking it in slow, slow circles. His breath hardens in tandem with yours and he swears. “But I don’t and you will listen to me.”

He pulls out his hand and you whine, catching his wrist, bringing it back where it belongs. On your clothed, now swollen clit. You grind your hips with more fervor, just to work him up, just because you enjoy it and he fists the material of your shorts, stimulating you with the seam, dominating you through and through.

You merely beam at him, illuminating the room, fisting his cock. “Don’t stretch out my new shorts.”

“Don’t provoke me and we’ll reach an understanding,” he retorts, swirling his tongue around the bone of your jaw before he kisses it. Responding to it, you grind your pelvis back, angling your hips so his cock fits just right in between your cheeks. He tuts in disapproval, shifts a little bit more to his side nonetheless, pulling you flush to his body. “No, other way sweetheart. Grind your pussy against it.” You try it, placing your hand on top of his, unsure and he helps you, guiding your hips with his, grinding upwards, as if he was fucking you. You mewl at the pleasure permeating your veins and with his free hand, he clamps your mouth shut. “Yes, that’s it.” He tightens his hold on your shorts, hoisting it higher. “Feels so good like this, doesn’t it?” You nod, your noises loud, only slightly muffled by his clammy hand. He shushes you, breath hot against your ear. “You gotta be quiet. We don’t wanna wake Yoongi up, do we?” You shake your head ‘no’, squeezing your hold on his hand. Jungkook lets go of your shorts and slides beneath them again, fingers spreading your new arousal on your clit. You squeak again, terribly sensitive and turned on, bound in his arms. “I told you to be quiet. Do you know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You’re glad to hear he didn’t add “to me”, for some deranged reason and for that, you don’t peep a sound.

“They get punished,” he answers for you and you can’t stop the moan from escaping your throat, the idea of getting punished by him again making you utterly, utterly delirious.

He strains his fingers around your mouth until it hurts, but that’s not the reason why you draw it away. You do it so you can speak. “Teach me a lesson, please. I need it.”

You wish you could see his reaction, but the darkness keeps it to itself. You can only hear the sharp inhale of breath he takes—and you can feel the twitch of his cock against you that divulges to you that he’s gone mad just the same.

While silence takes place, he drags your shorts down to your thighs, the tight cotton preventing you from spreading your legs. He moves you so you lay on your back and from this position, you sense Yoongi’s body heat and the lift and fall of his chest, though he still remains facing you with his back. Jungkook lifts your camisole until your breasts are exposed. And then, he props the back of your head on his bicep, clamping your mouth back shut. He looks down at you and you can only slightly make out his features. The glint of his lip ring irradiates him. Mercifully.

You want to kiss him so bad.

“How does Yoongi punish you, hm?”

The question shocks you, coaxes out a string of your arousal to drop down your clenched thighs. Whilst he waits for your answer, he grazes his palm down your sternum, your stomach, your mound. Leaves it there.

It’s your body that responds out of its own will, not your brain. You can’t, for the life of you, think. He allows you to speak. “With his words. His cock. And… with pussy spanks.”

Jungkook hums. Puts the covers out, revealing you to himself. “Show me how he spanks you.” Your hand trembles as he lifts it. He brushes his thumb across your knuckles while he places it on your cunt, taking control of that expression of nerves. Wraps the other hand around your throat.

When your fingers collide with your clit, you hiss in sensitivity. Decide you will only show him this way. You can’t take any more. “Like this. Gently, but firmly. So it doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t like to cause me pain.”

He exchanges your hand with his and spanks you. With bigger firmness than Yoongi ever used. You arch your back, not expecting it with your dumb brain. He pinches your right nipple between his knuckle and thumb, making you moan softly, not having enough and enveloping it with his mouth, sucking briefly before he swirls his tongue around the nub. Your wetness rushes out, along with your noises that you’re just so incapable of stopping. You grip his hair on the back of his head and in response he flicks the muscle. Your hips buck, asking for attention.

Jungkook withdraws, stares you dead in the eye. “I’m punishing you for making a sound and yet you do as you please?”

You swear, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”

He spanks your clit. “Sorry what?”

Remembrance flashes through your mind. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Hm, that’s right.” He rubs your clit rapidly. Spanks it again. Your moans come out in strained breaths. “That was for the curse word. Say you’re sorry.”

But then, you can’t help but mewl at his fatherliness. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He pecks you, deeply. For the title, for your good manners or perhaps to silence you—you don’t know. “How sorry?”

His fingers find your clit again, strumming it, lips moving against you in a passionate kiss. Your brain malfunctions. “So sorry,” you whisper onto his mouth, gripping his hair.

He spanks you, softly, for pleasure, then continues. “You won’t say it again?”

“No.”

A sound of approval. “Good girl.” He sinks his middle finger inside you as far as your restrain allows him, fucking you slowly. The pressure of delight begins to build in you. “One more?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

Ring finger joins in, instantly. “Such a good girl. I love hearing you say that.” He jackhammers into you a few times before he stills, thumbing your clit. The fullness, the stimulation on your most needy part—it’s enough to make you come and you feel it chasing you again, nearing and nearing. “I want to fuck you like this with my fingers and have that toy on your clit. The one we used the last time. Keep the setting low, so it wouldn’t wake him up.”

A curse word rises on your tongue, but with the last brain cell you have—you swallow it down. You’re tiptoeing before the edge, knot tight in your tummy, pressure so enormous, and you tell him. “I’m gonna come.”

He lifts his thumb. “Hold it.”

You panic, faintly, standing still before the edge, face to face with your orgasm, close, terribly close. “I can’t.”

Jungkook shifts. “You will.” Bends you in half while keeping his fingers inside you, mouth latching onto your soaked cunt.

Takes control of your orgasm as he begins to toy with it, building it little by little with sluggish circles on your clit with the tip of his tongue. Then, he wraps his lips around it, nibbling on it and resumes the movement of his fingers, fucking you steadily.

The pleasure is so new, so different that you feel as though you’re levitating in heavenly places. You grind your hips against him, meeting him, but briefly. When he sucks your clit, he stills your motions and spreads shakes across your entire body. “Come for Daddy, sweetheart.”

He flicks his tongue—and you do. You come so violently for him that you grip his hair with all your might, surprised that he isn’t wincing in pain. And he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going until all that’s left of you is nothing but the cordiality of your high and those shudders, licking you up, devouring all that you’re giving him, wet fingers spread on the back of your thighs.

Then, he sets your legs down, straddles you and kisses you nastily. Makes you taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue and he enjoys the principle of it all. Enjoys giving back to you what you leaked for him. “I could have you come on my tongue all night.” He pecks you, swirls his tongue around yours. “You kept quiet through it all. Good girl. You learn so well.”

You’re speechless, satisfied, sensing something approaching you that you fail to understand. Something bigger than attachment, but smaller than feelings. Connected to his healing gift or perhaps invented from it. Something that’s smack dab in the middle, growing in you, and you submit to it, unafraid of it.

A certain desire fraternizes with it. You push at his shoulder, wanting him on his back. As if he senses what it is, he stays put. Solid as a rock. In both ways.

But you’ll have your own.

You tug the waistband of Yoongi’s sweats down his hips and grasp him in your hand, spreading his thick arousal down his length. Jungkook’s breath shakes, but his words don’t. “When did I tell you you could do that?”

You grab him with both hands, squeezing him. He hisses, muscles bulging along his arms on either side of you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Can I?”

He coos. “Only because you’re so well-mannered.” Nods at you. “Keep going. Make your Daddy feel good.” Your Daddy. The fire it sparks in you, you put its wholeness into your movement—jerking him off, twisting your wrists, using all of your strength. “Hands off.” He spits on his head, the trail long and delicious to your eyes and you’re quick, you’re desperate, to resume and make him come, ache pressing down on your pussy all over again.

The slickness, his stifled noises, the snug warmth—you understand all of a sudden how he’s able to feel your pleasure because you’re experiencing it. You are pleasured because you’re pleasuring him. But still, you want more. You press him against your clit. “Fuck my hands like this, please.”

He repositions your hands. Slides them lower on his length, so his tip can stimulate your bundle of nerves. And when he begins to thrust, you’re transfixed.

By the roll of his hips, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, the evident delight overwhelming his body. You can’t take your eyes off of him. Especially not when he lets his guttural vocality loose.

You smile. “You should be quiet.”

He laughs down at you, softly. It vibrates in your core. He kisses you, humming into your mouth. “You’re right, but it feels so good like this. Doesn’t it feel good on your pussy?”

You nod, biting his lip, angling your head and devouring his mouth, plagued by his arousal, by his pleasure, by his response to your little slyness. He fucks your hands faster, gliding across your clit, not lasting for a moment longer. He shoots out his hot cum onto your tummy, cock twitching in your hands, his noises muffled by your mouth.

And he remains there. Even as he fingers you so fast that you come in seconds. Even as he takes those drenched digits, collects his male essence and plunges them into your mouth. “‘Atta girl. So good for me.”

He cleans your folds and thighs with his tongue. Dresses you, like a child. Fixes your camisole. Puts the covers back on you and spoons you.

Yoongi remains soundly asleep. You succumb to slumber faster than you came but before you do, it’s Jungkook’s words that lead you to that dreamland. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

In the morning, you wake up first. And the sight you see is so profoundly beautiful that you take a moment to gape at it, folding it into your heart.

Jungkook drools in his sleep. Celestial countenance, tousled hair in all directions, broad chest lifting and falling in absolute tranquility. He twists his features for a split second, as if he was dreaming about something uncomfortable and you’re so affected by it that you look away.

Turn your gaze to your boyfriend instead.

Still snoring, mouth parted. Ebony hair brushed back, exposing his forehead. The corners of his lips tug up and stay and you think angels must be playing with him in his dreams. You kiss his arm, crawling back, painfully, until your feet hit the floor.

You take a long, long shower. Practice your gratitude, recollecting last night’s events and words spoken by Jungkook that weren’t as private as he thought. Hearing them, they were too fresh to be consumed, but now that you think about them—your own smile finds your lips and you agree with him in your heart. You can’t let him walk away after this. Can’t let him return to his normal life that exists without you, not when you’re something along the lines of attached to him. Hell, you can’t return to your own normal life without him. Without his touch, without his celestiality. Without his attentiveness and healing gift.

This has to be a continuous relationship.

Jungkook was the one who called it that way and it feels right. Even as you taste it on your tongue, it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever swallowed. It fills your body with verve, one that you deem is essential at this point. One that you will need every single day from now on.

You have to talk about this with Yoongi. The idea doesn’t scare you, despite the fact you can’t really picture his reaction. Can’t imagine which way it will gravitate towards—whether to light or to dark. You don’t mind at all, in fact you look forward to it and you wash your body with greater care than you ever handled it with before.

With a face mask on, you take your cosmetic bag and do your makeup in the living room. The sunlight spills in, kissing your ebullient mien, and you imprint its red marks with a touch of blush across your cheeks, its lovely color with glitter on your eyelids and you finish the job with a few brushes of mascara upon your lashes and a singular swipe of a glimmering lip gloss on your lips.

It is only then that Jungkook appears in front of you.

“He still sleeps like a bear.”

You’re so happy to see him that it manifests on your face.

“Don’t try to wake him up or you’ll get eaten.”

Placing your cosmetic bag on his lap, he sits beside you. “I wouldn’t dare.” Examines your face for a good moment. “Why are you putting this on? You don’t need it.”

“I enjoy it,” you say, watching fondly as he takes out each makeup product and scans them. Once he comes across your tiny tubes of glitter of various shades, light flickers in his eyes. Your heart does the same thing. And a somersault right after.

“You wear glitter?”

You nod, a precious, girlish smile stretching your glossy mouth. “I’m wearing it right now.” You close your eyes for him, letting him see the small sparkles, resplendent of the sun. He praises you, the word ‘pretty’ embracing you tightly in all its snug simplicity, forcing your eyes open. A brighter spark shines in his irises. You brim with the yearning to doll up his eyes to match it and, having your way as always, you steal the tubes from him. “Which one do you want?”

He doesn’t even fight you. As a matter of fact, he’s already decided. Doesn’t waste a second to reply. “The silver one.”

Excitedly, you quiver all over. Dab the applicator on the back of your hand and lift your sight to catch him smiling cutely at you like the puppy he is. Your hand itches to ruffle his hair. Grab his cheek and bite into it. Go for his nose next.

Whirling the pad of your finger on the splatter of glitter, you hover it above his lids. “Close your eyes.”

He listens, immediately. You pat the imitation of his glint across that soft skin, but you focus on that beautiful, pouty smile of his. Think you’ll save his lips for last and savor them as you eat them.

You swipe your finger for more and adorn his other eye. Take the rest and speckle it on the highest points of his cheekbones—this time with his attention all on you.

You lean back to observe your artwork and find that something is missing. You know right away what it is.

You dab the applicator on his cupid’s bow and drag it down his collarbones. Take care of that first before you move over to his lips. You blend it there with utmost care and he lets you, zeroining his gaze into yours. Deep, but gentle. Loving.

To finish it, you kiss him. And it’s not because you were driven by your emotions or by that stare of his. You do it because you want to. Kiss him again, so the highlight is perfectly blended.

He’s puzzled when you draw away, but you’re not unnerved by it. You’re firm and stable in your decisions, happy in the outcome, any hints of repercussions or doubts far, far away from you. In another world, in another galaxy. It has long forgotten your name and you’re glad for it.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

There he goes with ‘we’ again. It makes you weak.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” you say, soothingness coating your voice, penetrating his negative emotion to the point that he relaxes. Before he can say anything, you continue. “I heard what you said last night. To Yoongi. That this relationship is way bigger and deeper.” Surprise and timidity bleeds into the glitter on his face and he’s unable to look you in the eye. You grab his palm, holding it with both of your hands in your lap. “I agree with you. I feel it, too. This wasn’t just a one time thing. I don’t think it was ever meant to be just for one night.”

There’s rawness to your words that make him reciprocate your eye contact. He gnaws at his lips, as if to eat away his nerves. You squeeze his hand harder and are about to continue, but the creak on the hardwood floors stops you.

Yoongi. With his wrinkled face and puffy, but awake eyes. In a pair of boxers and nothing else. You stand up to your feet, dropping Jungkook’s hand, and you go to meet him halfway, but you don’t make it far. The soreness between your legs won’t let you.

He grins at you, wrapping his arms around you. “Can’t walk?” His taunt is loving and scrunch your face at him. “Good morning, honey.”

You kiss his bare chest. “Good morning.”

Yoongi moves over to Jungkook and places a hand on his shoulder. “Sleep well?”

Wet softness in his eyes. “The best sleep of my life.”

“So, I want two boyfriends.”

While Yoongi made coffee for all three of you, you were more than happy to make breakfast. Scrambled eggs on avocado toast—one that Jungkook chokes on upon hearing your words and one that flings out of Yoongi’s mouth because he bursts into a violent laughter.

You laugh along with him—so hard that tears well in your eyes, slapping your palm down repeatedly on the round wooden table. Yoongi mirrors your movement on Jungkook’s back as he fights for his life, red in the face, eyes wide.

“What did you say?” the puppy croaks out, bewildered, letting go of his bread and you feel terribly bad for him, for shocking him so enormously.

The decision came upon you suddenly while you cooked. Easy, smooth. Appeared on your heart that sprang it up to your mind. Gave it pros and cons—good friendship, good sex, good time; Yoongi might get jealous and/or possessive, nothing else. It made sense to you, grazed your attachment ever so sweetly. How else would you keep last night continuous? Even Yoongi went around the matter when he talked Jungkook’s head off, asking him if he’d been with other people after you.

Boyfriend simply means that. No other people—just you and Yoongi.

You weren’t going to keep it to yourself. Even if there was a risk of it going downhill.

It’s not relief that you feel upon hearing Yoongi laugh—it’s a river of liberation, concocted with absolute joy, coursing in your bloodstream. He woke up in a good mood. Woke up happy. And you fold that fact into your heart, hoping it stays for a long time.

“Eat your toast, silly,” you say, smiling, eyes crinkled. Take a bite of your own. Happy that Yoongi is happy, happy that you’re eating your favorite fruit, sitting again at the table with your two favorite people. “You heard me.”

“Oh, fuck,” is all Jungkook says, whisking his eyes to Yoongi, who’s chuckling, bending down to pick up the piece of toast he was in the middle of chewing.

You look at him, too, waiting for his response.

Yoongi brushes his hair back, a lazy smile on his mouth. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

You grin so hard that your cheeks hurt. The river in you speeds its stream. “Thank you,” you exclaim, rubbing his arm, quivering with excitement. “I say we mess around and have a good time. We can go on dates.”

Jungkook relaxes a little bit, furrowing his brows as he chews on his toast.

“She wanted two cocks, don’t tell me you didn’t expect this,” Yoongi says to his friend, patting your thigh. “I did.”

Perhaps that’s why he had such a hard time in all of this. He knew it was inevitable—and he worked his way through it until he ended here. Fine with it. Healed.

“When did that happen?” you ask, sliding your hand down to his.

“When I decided the first time I was gonna give it to you. Then, again when I promised you we were gonna make this work,” he says and you pout at him, so grateful, so touched. He squeezes your thigh, looking at Jungkook. “I can see your questions all over your face. Out with them.”

Jungkook has finished his toast, brows still furrowed as he swallows. He leans back in his chair, manspreading, hands intertwining behind his head. Pokes a tongue in his cheek, smirking. “Don’t kill me for this, but,” he starts, showing his teeth. “Do I get to have her to myself? Without you? And vice versa?”

Your heart beats ferociously in your chest. Yoongi pauses for a moment, thinking about it. He let him do it last night, he let him have you to himself, though under different circumstances. You figure what Jungkook meant is whether he can fuck you without asking for permission and the idea exhilarates you.

And the vice versa part. Jungkook is one sly—

“It won’t be instant, but we’ll work hard. Work our way through it until we’re all comfortable and happy,” Yoongi finally says and you kiss his hand.

You’re so overwhelmed with joy that your blood buzzes.

Jungkook nods. “Of course, I understand.”

“Is this something you want?” Yoongi directs the question at you and you nod.

“Yes, once you’re ready.”

Silence settles like fine dust. You finish your toast quietly and as soon as you’re done, you deem Yoongi should know about what happened in the late hours. “We didn’t fuck last night. While you slept. It didn’t even cross my mind and I wouldn’t do it unless I had your… blessing.”

Yoongi cackles at your choice of word. “Good girl,” he praises. “You’ll get your blessing soon. I promise.”

You look at him for a long time and you wonder if there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you.

“So, it’s settled, then,” Jungkook says and places a hand on the table, opens it for you. You grab it and he squeezes you. “Let’s celebrate.”

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two, READ part three

#jungkook x oc #yoongi smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 7 months

Text

reader pronouns: she/her

Daryl burst into the clinic like a mad bull. Maggie did her best to slow him down and explain. Down the hall, you easily heard the whole thing as you did your best to hold perfectly still as Denise stitched you up.

"The hell is she?!" Daryl roared.

"Just calm down. She's fine," Maggie was insisting. You could picture her with her hands out, trying to slow him down.

"Fine?! She got fuckin' shot! Dun tell me it's all fine," he growled back.

"Daryl—"

Heavy boot steps approached down the hallway. "You might as well tell him we're in here, let him in," you said to Denise.

"Kind of in the middle of something here," she replied, not taking her eyes off the delicate work she was doing on the wound near your hairline.

There was a moment's hesitation outside the door and then Daryl knocked loudly. "Hey—Denise? Can I—"

"Come in, Daryl," you responded loudly. He burst in and his eyes whirred over you. "Hi," you greeted him calmly.

He was clearly relieved to see you vertical. You couldn't move as Denise was still stitching the bullet graze on the side of your face. His face clouded over with a shadow as he peered at you.

"It's just a graze, Daryl."

A flame seemed to flicker in his eyes. "On yer head," he emphasized. "Which means ya were damn fuckin' close to bein' dead."

You winced as the needle pricked a particularly tender spot and Denise muttered an apology. Daryl began to pace in front of you.

"Who the hell would want to shoot ya in the head?" he demanded, his agitation almost growing with every passing second.

"A lot of people want to kill me. I take pride in that," you joked wryly.

"This ain't a fuckin' joke, Y/N!" he barked.

Luckily, Denise had just finished and she dabbed briefly at the wound with a bit of gauze and then put down her tools. "I'll just be—I'm gonna—" She pointed awkwardly at the door and rushed past Daryl and out into the hall.

A thick, heavy silence fell. His gaze was intense. You shrugged and gave him a look. "What do you want me to do, Daryl? It's not like I asked for this."

"I want ya to stay alive," he said forcefully. "And if that means ya dun go outside the walls anymore—"

You scoffed and slid down off the table you'd been sitting. "Don't. You of all people—don't even say it," you warned him dangerously.

Daryl gulped and some of the heat of his anger left him. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously and paced another line in front of you. "Well—what then? Cuz we can't have ya gettin' fuckin' shot."

"What's the difference? This world is trying to kill all of us, every day, one way or another. The only difference with this is that I know the asshole who pulled the trigger."

Daryl nodded. "Alright. Then we pull the trigger on them first. Cuz I ain't gonna have ya dyin' on me."

"We?"

"Yeah. We. I don't give a shit what this is, ya ain't alone on it. I won't let ya be. I can't."

Prompt: "Who the hell would want to shoot you?" / "A lot of people want to kill me. I take pride in that."

#protective!daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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kinardgo · 2 months

Note

bucktommy / tevan prompt: drive, car/vehicle, hands

i literally cannot see the words "bucktommy" and "hands" and not instantly get weird about it so uh. sorry. if you're not into short, kinda horny oneshots. thank you for the prompt!!! <33

bucktommy / rated m / mild and implied sexual content / prompts open

Buck never gets out of the city, these days.

That's an over simplification, of course. Sometimes he does. Calls out of the city. Assists out of county. But it's been a long, long time since he made it out of LA for anything fun. And, this? This is fun.

The early evening has made a painting out of the North California landscape, streaming past them like so many brushstrokes. A sky in pink and lilac, trees tops in black shadow. Tommy, pretty as a picture, pretty as he always is with his hands on the wheel and his eyes forward.

Jesus, Buck has never wanted anyone so much in his life.

"You're staring."

"You're gorgeous."

Tommy huffs, but doesn't tear his eyes away from the road.

"You know I could watch you do this for hours."

"You have been watching me do this for hours," Tommy reminds him, mouth a sly smile, "Except for that powernap you took after lunch."

"You want me to take the wheel for a bit, babe?"

The same smile that always crossses Tommy's expression when Buck callshim babe appears. It's a soft little thing, but it's one of his favourite things in the world.

"Nah, there's only an hour left. Besides, I wouldn't want to deny you your favourite spectator sport."

It's true, it is. Maybe not in the way that Tommy thinks, maybe Tommy doesn't get it at all, actually. Buck likes to watch him. Watch him drive, watch him cook, watch him shave. Watch him nap on the couch after along shift, watch him comb his hair back before one. The confidence in his walk, the set of his shoulders, the surety of his hands.

His hands.

The same hands that are on the wheel that have pulled people out of burning buildings have washed Buck's hair in the shower. They've piloted helicopters, and cooked dinner for the two of them. They've patched up burns and lacerations and concussions in the field, and touched Buck the way no one else has ever quite managed.

Tommy flexes his hands, palms sure on the wheel.

Something stirs in Buck, a sense memory tucked into the joints of his wrists, the swirl of his fingerprints.

Buck stretches out in the passenger seat, a pleasant warmth settling at the base of his spine, a tingling in his gut, his fingertips, his legs.

There's a little sweat gathered in the fabric at Tommy's collar, where it's trickled down his neck. There's a drop of it tracing a faint red mark there, just under his hairline. Too faded to show any trace of what caused it, but Buck knows it was his teeth.

Buck runs a hand up his thigh absently.

"Evan," Tommy says warningly, but there's a touch of amusement in his tone, too.

"What?" he says innocently.

"You know what."

"Nope," he grins, "You look good."

"You look like a distraction."

"You can handle it."

"If I crash this car, and someone phones 911, you do realise neither one of us is ever going to live it down, right?"

He knows. He can practically see Chimney laughing his ass off already, hear Hen cackling. They gave him enough shit when a photo of Tommy appeared in his locker, a perfectly innocent picture of his boyfriend passed out cold on the couch in Buck's apartment, Jee-Yun beaming wildly into the camera after a day at a waterpark. Tommy's not wearing a shirt, because it got wet chasing Jee through a splash field. It's in Buck's locker because it's a great picture. No correlation.

"You flew a helicopter into a hurricane, I think you can manage the I5."

"You didn't have a hard on in the helicopter."

"That's what you think," Buck grins. He does now, easy and eager to go, like he's eighteen again, dick on a hairpin trigger.

"You didn't get enough this morning?" Tommy asks wryly.

This morning was slow and easy, still under the covers with the early morning light coming down on them like a blessing. Tommy's mouth on his stomach and his fingers inside of him, pulling an orgasm out of him like pulling on a loose thread - unravelling Buck into an incoherent mess.

"That was like eight hours ago-"

"It was maybe five, at an absolute push-"

"-and you just look so good sat there-"

"-I'm not doing anything!"

"-and I want you," Buck says, chest going warm at the way Tommy's mouth snaps shut and a blush starts spreading across his cheeks, "the way I always want you because you always look this good."

"We're gonna crash on the I5 and there's gonna be a pile up, and they're gonna check traffic cam footage and see that it's because I swerved into oncoming traffic, and when they ask me what happened, I'm gonna have to say it's because-"

"We're not going to crash, Tommy," Buck laughs.

"-because my boyfriend is insatiably horny," he interupts, louder, before glancing over at him. His eyes drop down to where Buck is rubbing himself through his sweats and he groans, a deep rumbling thing in his chest that makes Buck jerk helplessly in the seat, "and because he looks so good right now."

The satnav on the dash says there's still ninety minutes until they reach their destination, which is damn near an eternity. The thought of being confined in this car with Tommy, in a nice fitting t-shirt and shorts that have ridden up to expose a slither of inner thigh, for more than an hour feels impossible. Buck grinds into the heel of his palm, images of them pulled over at the side of the road, pressed together in the backseat of Tommy's old muscle car, or Buck bent over the hood, or leaning against the driver's side door with Tommy on his knees in front of him- They bomboard his imagination like firecrackers, every one of them vivid and alive like memories rather than fantasies.

Tommy's hand shoots out like a gunshot from the wheel to clasp his wrist.

He didn't realise how close he was to coming until his hand stopped moving.

"Jesus, Evan-" Tommy breaths out, his fingers like a vice, chest heaving, "You're trying to kill me."

"Whatta way to go though, huh?" Buck slurs. His hips are still twitching, even as he steps back from the precipice of orgasm. Everything is still so close, so hot, so intense. Tommy's jaw is so tight the muscle is jumping under the skin, but he lets go of Buck's wrist to lace their fingers together instead.

It's probably not the placating gesture Tommy wants it to be, not now that Buck's so worked up, not when it's Tommy's hands that have him writhing in the passenger seat of this car, Tommy's everything, really.

"Evan."

"What?"

"Quit it," he says firmly.

Buck grins, "Or what?"

"Or," Tommy says easily, "Every time I catch you, I'm adding an hour onto how long I'm making you wait when we get to the hotel."

That definitely doesn't have the desire affect, or it does. Buck can't tell over the wildfire that courses through him, caught between the desire to chase relief as soon as possible, and drag whatever game they've stumbled onto here out for as long as he can. Whatever shows on his face makes Tommy laugh, pull his hand back and put it back on the wheel.

(They make it to the hotel by the skin of their teeth, check in like a pair of maniacs on the run from the cops, then Tommy shows him just how serious he was about that three hour penalty by strapping his arms to the bed with his belt.)

(He only makes it two and a half.)

#bucktommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 #**writing #bucktommy tag #i also go into heat when i look at lfj's hands buck its okay bby :)#thank you for this prompt i really hope you're not averse to m rated content!!!!!! <3

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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

Text

im having more fem Danyal thoughts. But specifically I've been thinking about Dani in this au. Now, Fem Danyal is just the alt. version of Danny to my other DAG au, which means she follows that lore. that being said. Danyal and Dani already had a pretty rocky introduction in the first place, ANd if we follow canon's setup, Dani in fem!Danyal's world would be a boy rather than a girl. I'm gonna call him Ali for easier difference (my train of thought was Daniel -> Eli -> Ali). While Danny may resemble Talia more than Bruce, Danny and Damian still look very similar to each other. Their blood relation is unquestionable.

You can imagine how fem Danyal might feel, walking into her room one day after school, and finding a little boy on her bed who looks, at first glance, like the little brother she loves to death. If meeting Ellie triggered Kill Bill Sirens in Danny's head, meeting Ali bass boosted them. For a terrifying, fleeting moment, Danny thinks Damian is right there. That somehow, her clever, intelligent little brother found out she was alive and tracked her down.

She slams the door shut, completely at a loss for words. Her heart has nearly stopped a second time. Then she realizes: this boy's eyes are blue. Not green. He looks too old to be her brother. His jawline too narrow, his hair too messy. As he talks, his voice is not the same as the sparse few videos on the internet showing Damian speaking. This is not the child she helped take his first steps with, nor the child she watched utter his first words. This is not the boy whom she taught to pick up a sword; this is not her brother.

Safe to say, Ali gets a knife pulled on him much, much faster than his female counterpart did. He lives, fortunately, but their relationship is unsteady and rocky even after Ali betrays Vlad and joins Danny.

Danny is unsettled by him, not for being her clone -- although that plays a minor part -- but because every time he drifts into her peripherals, she keeps thinking it's Damian. And it spooks her half out of her mind. She gets her hopes up at the same time her heart drops, then she turns her head, and it's not Damian; it's Dani.

It's also why she won't call him 'Dani', it's one letter too close to 'Dami' and she's afraid she'll call him that if she's not careful. So when he brings it up jokingly, she immediately shoots it down; "I'll call you Eli." instead. (Ali thinks she's boring -- he thought 'danny with a y' and 'dani with an i' was funny. Frankly, so did Danny, but she's too uncomfortable with the idea of calling him Dani.)

When he asks her why, she lies and says it's to prevent confusion. When their relationship is better, "Eli" eventually becomes "Ali".

("Why Ali?" he'll ask her, with an ear pressed against her ribs while Danny coils one of his curls around her finger. She's steadily become more and more affectionate; Danny has the impeccable ability of making it seem so forced and stiff and natural at the same time.)

("Do you not like it?" She'll ask him, voice stilted and unsure. She's got her heart in her throat, but she's starting to stop seeing Damian whenever she looks down. "We can keep it Eli if you'd like.")

("No, no. I like it. Just... why Ali? Does it mean anything?")

(Danny will smooth her palm over Ali's forehead, scratching his hairline with her nails, and feel embarrassed. She'll be silent until he looks up at her, and then she clears her throat. "It means eminent; exalted; noble.")

(Ali stares at her in dead silence, long enough that she starts to grow worried. Then tears bubble up in his eyes, and for a moment Danny thinks she said something wrong. "I lied;" he croaks, "I love it.")

(She will hesitate, and then wipe the tears off with her thumbs. "Ali al Ghul," she'll mutter, "but that name is for you and I only. To the world, you're Ali Fenton." Perhaps she shouldn't be giving him her mother's last name, but he is of her blood now too.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #fem danyal al ghul #fem danny fenton #does this mean that ellie eventually changes her name and has a moment kinda like this with og danyal? yes. i just havent found a name #that i like for ellie that both fits her character and still sounds recognizable to her. Ali was perfect because it sounded so close to Eli #do i believe that Danyal and Ellie's relationship would've been fundamentally different if Ellie ended up being a boy in the original au?#yes. there would've been a very similar or the exact same result as it did with fem danyal imo. danyal was already uncomfortable with her #just for being another little sibling *alone.* my man was not comfy with the fact that he had another blood sibling even if she was a siste #if ellie had been a brother instead? the result would've been the same as it was here.

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underoossss · 1 year

Note

idk if this fit ur blurb request but can i request a first bf steve with reader. they have a fight and reader thinks theyre over but steve and them talk through it bc he doesnt want to break up?

thank you for your request! I love this, miscommunication + idiots in love 💕

——-

You close your eyes as you lean you head on the cold tile of the shower. The warm spray of water falls on the nape of your neck and down your back much like the tears that cascade down your eyes. You squeeze them shut when your heart pangs with pain once more. Steve and you are over, the stupid fight you had earlier in the afternoon triggering the breakup. How funny is it that your first ever fight is also your last?

Stepping out of the shower, you go through the motions of getting dressed and ready for bed. Your eyes are tired from crying, but the tears don’t stop as you recall the end of your conversation earlier.

Can we just leave it? I’m done. Steve said, running a hand through his hair and motioning for you to get in his car.

He wasn’t there to pick you up today, leaving you stranded in the rain. He claimed you didn’t tell him you worked until 4pm instead of 5 today so he showed up an hour late for you but on time for him. You told him you’d mentioned it yesterday and the arguing had started then. Granted, you had an awful day at work, and from the tension on Steve’s shoulders he had a bad day too. Or as it seemed maybe he was already planning on breaking up with you, and the fight gave him his chance.

The drive back to your house was silent and tense, as you held your breath to avoid crying in front of him and all but ran to the front door as soon as he parked. You didn’t take off your rain soaked clothes for another hour, too heartbroken and busy crying your eyes out to mind. It was only when you started to shiver that you went upstairs and took a long hot shower. It didn’t soothe the ache on your chest one bit.

Hair towel-dry and brushed you leave the bathroom and head to the kitchen to have some water when the doorbell rings. There’s still a light drizzle outside, and you know you didn’t order any takeout so you’re more than confused about who could be ringing your doorbell. Leaving the glass of water on the kitchen counter and pretending you don’t look a puffy mess from crying, you cross the living room to the front door.

Steve stands on the other side, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a plastic bag with unknown contents inside. His hair has some droplets of rainwater clinging to the ends and so do his eyelashes. He wears a dark blue sweatshirt and jeans, and a face so pretty your heart aches at what you lost.

“Steve? What are you doing here?” You ask, eyebrows meeting in the middle as you furrow them in confusion.

“I wanted to talk to you, I don’t like how we left things earlier?” The hand that was in his pocket scratches his chin, his eyes wide and vulnerable as they look at you.

You twist your lips to keep yourself from crying. “You want to break up officially then? Ok, do it.” You wraps your arms around your chest, protecting yourself from what will come next.

“Break up?” Steve’s eyebrows raise towards his hairline comically, mouth falling open in shock at your words. “Babe, what the hell?”

“Don’t be mean, Steve.” You shake your head and press your lips together as a tear falls down your cheek like a small traitor. “You already said ‘I’m done’, I got it.”

Steve, wonderful and beautiful Steve takes a step closer to you, face a mixture of confusion and pain. “Baby, you think we broke up? Just from that fight?”

“What else am I supposed to think Stevie?” You whisper, looking away from his sweet brown eyes and swallowing hard the knot in your throat.

“Honey, I drove you home. I would’ve hugged you goodbye but you ran out of the car before I could.” Steve shakes his head. “I thought your were pissed at me, not that you thought we broke up. Can we talk?”

You blink a few times at him as your mind tries to catch up. Steve’s always been a gentleman, of course you’d think it was normal for him to drive you home even if he broke up with you; the rest, well, you didn’t stay in his car for him to say anything else did you. Nodding and stepping back from the door, you let Steve in and close the door behind you.

Now in the warm light of the living room, Steve has a clear look at your red-rimmed eyes and the way his face falls brings fresh tears to blur your vision. “Oh, baby.” Steve frowns and pulls you to his chest, hugging you flush against him as you let yourself cry. “I’m sorry, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“We were both so angry, when you said ‘I’m done’ I assumed—” You take a step back and look at him, his face pained from seeing you in pain.

Steve’s hands hold your face gently, the kiss he presses on your forehead is just as soft. “I meant I’m done fighting, not that I’m done with us. You’re the best thing in my life, you know that.”

Your boyfriend —you can’t believe you thought you’d have to say ex before it— leads both of you to the couch, where you sit down facing each other. Steve takes you hands in his as you lean your face on the headrest, embarrassed, happy but still hurt from the heartbreak you put yourself through hours before. “I’m sorry, we were both under a lot of stress, I forgot you said 4pm and I shouldn’t have let it start a fight between us.”

You shake your head, “I shouldn’t have gotten mad either, I was already annoyed from work and let it get the best of me. I’m sorry too, Stevie.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Steve shakes his head, “I know you like clarity, and I was very vague earlier. I should’ve said I wanted to stop fighting, instead of saying I’m done. I mean it baby, I wanted to end our fight not our relationship.”

You nod, “I shouldn’t have assumed, but I was scared to ask. I thought you found an excuse to dump me.”

“And be an idiot who lost the most perfect girl in the world?” Steve shakes his head and you give him a small smile. “It was our first fight, that’s all, it doesn’t mean my feelings for you changed.”

“I’ll call you to remind you next time my schedule changes.” You whisper, shifting closer to Steve, “I should’ve done that today.”

“And I’ll write it down, somewhere I won’t forget.” Steve’s hands find your hips and pull you closer until your legs are thrown over his and he’s looking down at you, an adoring look in his eyes. “I love you.”

You hold his cheek and smile, “I love you so much.”

Steve closes the gap between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a soft but passionate kiss. His arms wrap around you as he leans closer, humming against your mouth when you run your fingers through his hair. He kisses you until you’re breathless and his lips place scattered pecks on your cheek, your chin and one more on your nose. It makes you laugh and the smile Steve gives you in return could power up all of Hawkins.

Rewinding to the memory of him standing in your doorway makes you pause. “What was in that bag you brought?”

Steve’s smile turns sheepish as he leans in to kiss you again, a sweet thing that gives you butterflies. “Well, I uh– thought you were pissed at me so I brought some snacks and a movie so you could forgive me.”

You smile widely at him, stomach flipping incessantly and heart beating loudly with affection. This man really does own your heart, no wonder thinking about losing him wrecked you. “You are the best thing in my life, you know? You don’t need snacks to get me to forgive you but they’re appreciated.”

Steve chuckles and wraps you up in his arms, face pressed to your neck. “Sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s okay.” You smile, soaking in his warmth and breathing in his familiar scent; feeling at ease, and safe. “We really need to communicate better though.”

Steve’s laugh is a beautiful sound next to your ear.

#I hope you like this 🥺#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #ask

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riririnnnn · 8 months

Text

I don't really understand why Shidou chose PxG though. I mean, he should've chosen BM because it has the world's best striker, but I think he wanted to settle scores with Loki (That match with the World 5 or something after second selection)? Or maybe he just did it to piss off Rin, or as my delulu mind says, Sae told him to stay close by Rin and to take care of him.

Frankly speaking, I'm not much educated in Soccer/Football whatever you call it, but I'm glad he chose PxG because I just know none of the other teams would've been able to handle him.

Let's start with the coaches who themselves couldn't have been able to handle him:

1. Lavinho

Just look:

Just look how triggered he got when Bachira said that; man's nerve literally appeared.

You are telling me that Shidou would quietly listen to someone yapping like this:

By the end of NEL, I bet Lavinho would've at least one charge of aggravated assault on him because of Shidou.

2. Chris Prince

I don't even need to explain it.

My man went from beefing with the world's best striker to beefing with a literal teen.

What makes you think he wouldn't get petty and purposely make Shidou bench throughout NEL?

And as tough it is for me to say this, but no, Shidou isn't an angel. He would definitely rub on Chris' face that he is only the number 2 in the world, and look how good Chris is at provoking someone by only words:

The whole Blue Lock's electricity budget would go into electrocuting these two.

.........................

Now the coaches who I think could handle Shidou:

1. Marc Snuffy

He is a mature person.

Shidou would definitely try to 1V1 him, and then get humbled, after which he'd listen to him.

So in this case, it's not the coach, but the team instead because are you forgetting Sendou? Okay, maybe we can consider that Aiku will protect Sendou and keep things in check, but him:

Oh hell nah.

These two would make Snuffy's hairline recede.

2. Noel Noa

Noa is a calm man, and like in the case of Snuffy, Shidou will, of course, 1V1 with Noa, and then get humbled and will become somewhat tame.

But, look at him:

Do I need to say anything more?

Like, just look me in my eyes and tell me that Shidou wouldn't try to light up Kaiser's hair-tail on fire.

Just see:

His face looks like the human embodiment of arson.

Blue Lock will go bankrupt with the amount of Therapists Ego would need to call for Ness's wellbeing.

And let's not forget about Kunigami.

Bro it'd be on sight.

And by the time NEL ends, half the players of BM would be in jail and half would be in an asylum.

I really love Shidou with all my heart though. I mean, yeah, if he were to be real, then I would've probably be scared to even breath in his direction, but you get the point, right? He is just a silly pookie wookie cookie.

#blue lock #bllk #shidou ryusei #julian loki #pxg #lavinho #fc barcha #chris prince #manshine city #marc snuffy #ubers #noel noa #bastard munchen #雪 ranting

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thegnomelord · 10 months

Note

Congrats on 500! #28 with Gaz?

Thanks anon! Play the game HERE

Prompt: Forehead Kisses

CW: SFW, GN Reader, forehead kisses, light hurt/comfort, fluff

God, you hate flying. You don't just hate flying itself, but everything that comes with it, turning every flight into your own personal hell; The roar of the engines turning you near deaf and the hum of electricity bearing down on what hearing you have left, the metal shaking all around you like you're riding on an abandoned rollercoaster, the harsh lights overhead turned into tiny needles that stab your eyes.

But worst of all is the migraine you get each time you fly, pain pulsing and banging against your skull like a maggot growing fat off your brain. The loud US marines you were squished between certainly didn't help, making your trigger finger twitch before you clenched your hands into fists. Luckily the flight was coming to an end, the plane shaking as it landed, and you got up, trudging behind the marines.

Gaz is waiting for you on the tarmac, standing on his tippy toes to try and find you, biting on his lip when he sees you, head down, shoulders tense and his legs move before he even notices it.

"Hey," Gaz says in a hushed voice, reaching out to hold your hands. His hands are warm against your own.

You push closer to him, groaning as you bury your head into his neck. Kyle's wearing the cologne you'd gotten him, the sweet peppery scent filling your senses and easing the pain just a bit, but not enough.

"Migraine?" Kyle asks, fingers running across your scalp, his other hand wound around your waist.

"Migraine." You admit, your eyes closed, shifting your head to shield from the light and noise into his neck.

You let out a discontent sound as he pulls back, tugging on your sleeve. "Come here," He says, soft, sweet, barely a whisper to not grate on your ears. And like a lost lamb you follow after him, both of you ignoring the wolf whistles you receive from the rowdy marines.

You're a little surprised when he leads you to a janitor's closet, keeping the lights shut off as he guides you inside. "Really? What are we, teenagers?" You manage a small huff of laughter, dropping your pack on the ground, the darkness soothing the ache in your skull.

"You're certainly moody like one." Gaz cracks a grin you can't see, his eyes acclimating to the darkness quicker than yours. He guides you to sit down on a chair, clever fingers unclipping and pulling off your Kevlar vest.

"Am not." You argue, his hands settling on your cheeks making you melt. You part your legs and pull him closer so he's standing between them, resting your chin on his chest.

"What's this then?" Kyle's tone is teasing and warm, gently massaging the sides of your neck. He cups your jaw in both hands, his heart fluttering at how you just melt against him. You're always so guarded, but you tear down your walls for him, only for him.

"Me missing you." You say, honest, your eyes closing without notice, not that it makes much of a difference.

"Oh, sweetheart," Kyle coos, voice sticking to your ears like honey. He leans in, placing a soft kiss between your brows where the pain is the strongest. "I missed you too-" he does it again, the second kiss barely above the first one. "-so much."

His words birth a giggle in your chest, your body moving on it's own to hug him around the waist, to keep him close to you. "I don't believe you," You hum, just about able to make your voice sound teasing. "I need more proof."

"Yeah?" Kyle's voice is equally as teasing, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothing circles above your brows, massaging the ache away like only he can. "Well, we can't have that."

He assaults you with affection from your hairline to your brows, leaving constellations of kisses across your forehead from one temple to the other, muttering soft 'I love you's and praises into your skin. Both of you start giggling like children at a random time, the sound of his laughter driving the ringing from your ears.

"Is'at 'nough proof for you?" Gaz whispers against your brow, kissing down the bridge of your nose, soft lips making your skin buzz pleasantly as they brush against your eyelids, coming closer and closer to your lips.

"I could use just a bit more." You tease him, your grip around his waist tightening; as if he'd even think of leaving you.

"Oh you cheeky shit," He giggles, pushing his head closer, "but how can I refuse?" He kisses you on the lips, slow and sweet.

You feel like a fish thrown back into water, leaning into the kiss, feeling his soft lips against yours, all of your senses consumed by him. You feel his tongue brush against your lips and you part them easily, swallowing his pleased groan as his tongue explores your mouth.

The growing lack of oxygen forces you to part only a fraction of an inch to catch your breaths, his warm breath washing over your face. You can't see his face, but you'd bet everything you own on how handsome and pretty he must look right now.

"Well?" Kyle pants against your mouth, and you feel him smirk, "Got your proof?"

"I certainly did," You chuckle, almost entirely forgetting about the migraine for a few seconds, leaning in to catch another kiss.

You both jump when someone knocks loudly on the door. "Yea bettah not be snogging in there!" It's Soap, and your lips pull in a snarl before Kyle kisses it away.

"Come on lovie," Gaz chuckles, tugging on your sleeve again. "I'll help you shower."

And you follow him, like you'll always do.

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #gnome correspondence #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x gn!reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #kyle garrick x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #fluff

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darlingofvalyria · 1 year

Text

As lovers, you and Aegon were the best. As exes, you and him might be the actual worst. But he can't help himself, and you're powerless to your own desires. A Halloween Party, more than hard liquor, and glances that attempts to stifle stares of want— everything comes to a catalyst.

╰┈➤ PROMPTS ❝ INTOXICATED, DOM/SUB DYNAMICS ❞

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 2,359 ] [ masterlist ] | Modern!AU Aegon Targaryen II x F!Reader

contains— smut, angsty - exes to lovers, frat parties, college au!, possessive, cheating (not you or aeg), intoxication - messy sex for the messy exes, sorta toxic if you squint - petnames: sweet angel, sweet girl, sweetheart - mention of drug usage, slight hint addiction - nsfw: fingering, overstimulation, marking, dubcon + enthusiastic agreement, degradation, praise kink, dom!aeg— dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink if you squint, creampie - no betas.

a/n— hopefully this works for the request! it's a little... sadder and smuttier, but hey! ahahah! this is why i don't do daily kinktober. as an overwriter, it's just not possible to be quick jsdhjsh. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

It starts with, "Don't look, it's your ex."

And you pause. You freeze. You physically feel the adrenaline course through each and which way vein in your system, finding the end of your epidermis and hairline. It's a lot and you still have yet to land your eyes on him. The punch you've been offered not long ago that's slowly been condensing between your fingers register in your brain as cold, a drink, alcoholic— that you toss your head back and chug.

You sputter and choke afterward, your friend slamming her hand on your back in sympathy. "F-fuck. That's gross."

"Dude," she nervously giggles. "I don't think you were supposed to throat shot that."

"It tastes chemical, like chugging a nuclear reactor. I don't recommend it either." You exchange each hand to wipe the wetness on your skirt and holding your glass, trying to settle your nerves. "Where is he?"

"Got waylaid by two frat brothers, Dumb and Dumber, I think... think he's chatting up— yep, Frat President, with... an Olsen Twin on his lap. Fuck. I'm sorry, bestie."

You try to laugh but it comes out strangled. Because of course. Aegon is a pretty comet who streaks by, just as pretty and just as infrequent, coming to pass like a godly miracle and people just devours him.

Because he's Aegon, always the shiniest star, the bestest friend, somehow everyone's first something. First kiss, first messy hookup, first 'and he did this thing with his tongue, oh my gods, I saw five stars and the moon!', etcetera.

You aren't his first love and you sure as shit aren't going to be his first heartbreak. You wonder how many heartbreaks it'll be tonight; there's a running tally of three heartbreaks within one party, a fantastical rumour, a proud, mysogynistic chidding between male friends— before you got together with him, before your sphere ever clashed with Aegon Targaryen when he too was just a comet to you, a moon, an asteroid— always on orbit but always outside, unknown to the taste of his lips when he giggles between kisses, nor the pretty sighs when your fingers find the bulge in his pants.

Fuck. You're getting teary and you're in your first Halloween party since breaking up with Aegon. You got dressed up and had gotten your makeup done by your more creative friend.

You need to stop wasting emotions and cruelly painful thoughts for the star haired boy.

"Fuck it. Where's the hard drugs?"

Your friend snorts. "I'm not letting you do hard drugs. I am going to do very nice grass with you from very nice people on the sofa already hallucinating."

"Fine. But we're doing shots."

Aegon didn't see you the first time he arrived, but he will always, always find you in a crowd.

It's your laughter that triggers it this time, a sound embedded in his bones that he turns like a dog at the sound, as if finding his master. And then you're there, loose and happy, his heart stuttering at the pure joy and fun in your face, in your body, as you swayed slightly the beat, holding a freshly emptied shot glass.

He swallows. Fuck. You're still so pretty.

Your makeup is done sharper, your lips glossy and bright— a cherry red. His mouth watering when you pout dramatically at your friend, the pulsing lights caressing every dip and bow, every curve and edge of you. Your hair is loose, framing your face with a fake, paper halo over your head that sparkles in glitter, matching the body glitter across your shoulders and collarbones, even the peeks of your thighs under the white, silk dress that, with a jump in his throat, has his cock standing at attention.

He knows that dress.

He remembers the ghostly echoes of the lace detailing atop your chest, how it feels under his palms when he skates his hand over to squeeze your tits, the feel of the silk against his stomach when you lean over his body as your pussy flutters, clenching, while you roll and grind against him, trying to find pleasure—

"Fucking hell," he downs the punchy, mysterious liquid that's just straight vodka with rum, soda and strawberry syrup (absolutely disgusting but good enough for college students on a Friday), because he's fucking hard, and you're just there, oblivious, dancing, looking gorgeous, and his heart is aching. You're everything he's ever want, desired and should have kept better care for— fuck all the arguments, all the fights, all the stupid little reasons that he can't remember anymore why you two broke up —

And his stare is heated, penetrative, because the next thing he knows you're looking back at him. A thread of swallowing gaze, of empty thought but the baseborn sound of a Halloween party and two people who can't look away. Their past is twisted between them, their future uncertain, but their present is here and the want is certain.

The shared heat is gone when a hand is on his shoulder and he is forcibly turned. Qoren Martell shakes his head, lips turned down.

"No, dude. That's a bad idea."

And Aegon smirks because that's what's expected of him. His fingers tingle as he clench and unclench them. He can't be seen mooning over an ex.

"Not if she wants it."

It's a douchebag reply, an Aegon Second of His Name reply, but Qoren knows him better than that, even Jason who's not even looking at him, staring at Solana who was grinding against some frat bro from Beta Theta while staring directly at him.

Aegon snorts when Qoren smacks Jason's head.

"So that's why you didn't bring Johanna, you fucker." Aegon takes another beer, itching for the paraphernalia hot in his pocket. You've turned away and the itch is back, low but steady.

Jason shrugs. "I don't know what you mean."

"I am not babysitting both of you, motherfucks," Qoren mutters. "You're both responsible of your mistakes tonight I'm meeting Somi tomorrow and neither of you messy fuckers are going to ruin that for me, alright?" With that, he slaps a hand on both of their backs, making Jason curse as his beer spills.

When Aegon watches Qoren leave, he turns back to you and see you're already staring, irises too wide, full lips slightly open, and the thrum of heat, nice and striking, runs down his body.

He's going to fuck you. Or you're going to fuck him. It's set in stone, written in fate's ink. When you move away, his stare hooked on you, he smirks the moment you turn back to see if he's still watching, starving, and cocking your head as if asking,

Not going to follow?

But of course he does, it's you and him.

It doesn't start with a kiss. It's a hungry stare meeting in a bathroom mirror spotted by dry water, and he knows what you need, taking your hair in his hand as he stands beside you, tugging you toward him as a gasp leaves your lips, your hands winding to his hips, anchoring yourself.

"How much have you had?" he asks, moving his hand to your neck, stroking the edge of your jaw, watching your wet lashes and licking lips. "Come on, sweet angel." His other hand moves to the edge of your white silk, running his nails across your thighs.

"Does it matter? I want you." A breathy whimper leaves your lips as his mouth latches on your neck, tugging your hair to the side to start sucking bruises as his hand finds your panties and a groan rips out of him.

"You're this wet, sweet angel? All for me?"

"I was grinding on, hhh— Jon, don't flatter your—" You yelp, a sounding slap on your wet cunt and your wetness clings to his hand. You squirm in his hold, but he tightens, cupping your centre with his thick hand.

"This is my pussy," he hums sweetly, cheekily, but you know better. Aegon got sweeter when he was jealous. He smiled brighter when he got angry. He goaded when he hears warning in someone's voice. Daring them. Daring you. "How fucking dare you let someone— Snow, that creepy, depressed asshole, really, sweetheart? — my pussy?"

A flash of heat in your eyes meets his mullish blue gaze. Heat and hurt. "We've broken up, Aeg. You don't get to own me."

His heart thrums, head swimming— but not much as yours. You don't do drugs as hard as him, and you've been hitting something tonight. Your irises are wider, blacker even when you're turned on. You kept wetting your lips even as slick already covers your gloss. With a hum, he thrusts two of his fingers inside without preamble and you keen, arching against him as he kept a steady, fast pace, using the meat of his palm every few chuckles to rub your clit until your leg shakes.

"F-fuck, fuck, Aeg—" Your hands hold onto him for dear life as you feel your orgasm tide but he doesn't let up, continues his humming with his fingers, his mouth sucking your neck until you feel slobbered through the haze, until it starts to hurt with your overstimulation, forming bruises continually sucked on— and you cum again, too fast and too painful the second time. Pushed rather than pulled into the peak and he coos as he slows once you start crying out, tears in your eyes, mouth agape, patting your pussy and even you can hear the squelch.

His last pat is more of a slap, making you jolt and wail.

He smiles as he meets your watery gaze in the mirror, leaning back against the tiled wall to pull your skirt up, bracing you against his knee so you can see your wet and abused fluffy folds.

"What'd I tell you, darling? This is mine. Even she recognises me when you couldn't. For being an angel, you sure do got a mean streak."

You sniffle, nodding along in your hazy mind. "S-sorry. I'm sorry, Aeg."

"Aw, it's okay, only hurt my heart a little." He gives you a sweet peck on the cheek, fingers running down the wet path of freshly forming bruises on your neck. "I've missed you s'all."

"Me too. I-I've missed you too, baby," you say, eyes burning as you blink at the sincerity, smile turning a little softer, more real. "Wanna feel you."

"You already did, sweets, you did well too. How many special grass have you had?"

"Just okay." You twist in his hold, his knee straightening as you turn to him with your hands on his chest, looking up, pouting. "But I want you."

His cock throbs and you feel it against your thigh, but his face remains neutral, tinged with amusement as if he doesn't want to hoist you and fuck you into oblivion.

"It seems such the angel has forgotten her manners." He presses his thumb against your lip until he pushes it deeper, pressing it against your tongue before letting you suck on it, lashes fluttering.

"That's not what we say when want something. Use your words properly, baby," he mock, heat sizzling inside you, cunt throbbing. Though pleasing him has always been how your dynamic works, enjoying the way your mind blanks, filled only with the desire to be his sweet girl, his good girl while he relishes in dominating you.

Physically manhandling you was one thing, puppeteering your wants to mould his was another.

Loss of control was a soft tissue in Aegon's armour. And though you had gotten close, he had never opened up that part of him.

It was one of the reasons you broke up.

Your intoxicated-addled mind comprehends that, to a level, this is bad, but b, he's close, distracting you with his presence, his thumb on your mouth a familiar action, and you never get just one orgasm from Aegon so it doesn't linger long. The thought vanishes like a salt-licked ghost from a too recent past before you're holding on his hand and you're smiling sweetly.

"I want you to feel good too, Aeg," you whisper. "I want your cock inside me."

And he smiles— won, lost, who knows anymore. "There she is."

The next events are truly hazy. All you can remember is that he's close, closer than he's been in months, in you and stuck to you, snapping his hips against yours while your legs are up and jelly, bunched up in his arms while you hold strong against the wall.

The world is mush of thought, tongue, and messy kisses that are more spit and moan between your familiar, favourite cock driving into you again and again. A steady, almost sweetly, rock of his hips driving into that spongy, hard part of you that makes your toes curl and the pleasure to overwhelm. There's sweat and there are tender presses of his lips on your face when you both calm down, almost too sweetly, too needy for the Aegon that you know.

But every time you're about to come down from that high, he's rocking into you again, squeezing your thighs, your tits, using the mess of your cum and his to rub against your clit, and you're gone again.

The pleasure, driven again and again, wipes your memory of the more tender words he murmurs against your skin.

"L-love you so much, baby, god, you don't know how much I've missed you."

"You cumming again? T-that's a good girl, so sweet f'me, fuck, so good."

You don't know how you got to the room the morning, but you're dry and clean and the morning is stale but not head pounding. And you wake up alone, no trace of Aegon at all.

If it wasn't for the trail of bruised kisses against your throat, the throbbing between your legs, full of shared cum when you dip a finger in— you could've said he was nothing more than a ghost of the past, a pretty little dream.

Hooking up with your ex ends with a toughened heart, too empty to cry as you read a message from him.

BLOCK HIM: i'm sorry.

#aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon ii smut #aegon ii fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii angst #aegon targaryen ii fanfiction #aegon targaryen ii smut #aegon targaryen ii angst #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#︶꒦꒷♡ elle tries kinks ♡꒷꒦︶#🌼━━･❪ requested ❫ ･━━🌻

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

The Stranger 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Summary: A stranger buys the farmstead nearby and disturbs your sleepy village life.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

As Chris’ shadow lingers around the house, you find yourself restless. You can’t stay there. Especially not with your grandmother’s ranting and raving. She’s found your best dresses and wants to know which one to fix up. You leave her without an answer.

“You don’t needa bother with these on our date…” his words ring in your ears, nipping at the nape of your neck.

You set off to town, staying off the main roads, instead picking through the brush and the old trodden pathways amidst the trees. At first you have no destination but as the sun rises and the day casts down, your lack of sleep creases beneath your eyes.

It’s still early. There aren’t many people out. You have a little change in your purse, enough for a tea. You enter the cafe, sweat speckled along your hairline and trickling beneath your cotton shirt.

You wait your turn and step aside as your drink is prepared. Your eyes fall on the cafe owner as she speaks with an older pair of women; one you know as well as anyone. Frigga Odinson. In the back of your mind, you know you shouldn’t listen but you latch onto the distraction from your dire thoughts.

As you do, the door opens and closes with a jingle. You glance over and your chest knots. Not him. You turn your head straight and try to look like you didn’t see him. You focus on the conversation ahead of you.

The women talk about a party. The owner agrees to cater then turns back to her work. You hear her asking another employee for help. You wonder if…

You step up, hoping to make yourself look busy in hope that he won’t bother you. You’re order is called and give a small wave as you approach.

“Um, sorry, er, to eavesdrop,” your voice shakes, caught in your throat. The woman leans in and you try to speak a little louder, “if you need some help, I could do some… stuff.”

“Oh, uh…” she sputters in surprise. Right, you don’t really have a prodigious resume.

“Just for the night?” You frown, “sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, that’s nice,” she says gently, “you live with your grandmother, right? Up behind the ridge.”

You cringe, you suppose that’s how people would know you. “Yeah, we could use the money,” you confess.

“Sure, not many jobs to go around in Hammer Ford,” she say empathetically, “can you be here for one?”

“Uh,” your eyes round as you sense a shift. You glance over at Chris and find his gaze fixed on you. “Yeah, i’ll be here,” you quaver, “thank you so much.”

You turn back to her and find a stone in her eyes, slightly narrowed as she tilts her head, “you know what, we have a special on, how about you sit and have a scone?”

“Um…” you look down at the cup.

“You got a far way back, you should enjoy your latte,” she says as her eyes flit over towards the register.

“Okay,” you surrender uncertainly. If you leave, you’ll be all alone.

“You go sit down and I’ll bring you the scone,” she smiles. “If you stick around, we can chat a bit about tomorrow when it slows down.”

“Oh, yeah,” your heart flutters, “makes sense. Thank you so much.”

You take your cup and turn, nearly walking into someone else. You find your way to the corner and sit in a haze. Wow, you think you might have got yourself a job. Grandma will be so happy and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be a good excuse to get away from him.

You peek up at Chris as he stands at the counter. The owner hands him his coffee, her eyes narrowed at him. You can’t see his face as his back is to you. He takes a step back, caught in the woman’s glare. Do they know each other?

He leaves without a glance at you. You let out a sigh of relief but quickly choke on it as you watch him through the window. He tosses the full cup into the dirt and stomps on. He wasn’t there for coffee.

🍏

You stand in the kitchens of the Odinson B&B. It’s the economic life force of Hammer Ford, owned by the old wealth that founded the township. You peer around in awe of the sparkling silver utensils hung from racks against the wall and pots and pans that dangle from hooks.

The hotel is lively once more with the noise of the gathering hordes. It’s a party, the cafe owner explained, and you’ll be heating up the food to serve. The low thrum has yet to reach a tantamount as you await your orders. You don’t do well with crowds, you only hope she doesn’t send you out there.

You stand quietly to the side as the cafe owner talks to Thor, the host of the get together. You’re not paying attention as your ears garble. When there’s too much going on, all sounds seem to blend together.

“Anyhoo,” he booms, “it is my party, I can’t be hiding by the ovens all night.”

Before you can react, he grabs your shoulders and kisses your cheek. You don’t react, terrified of the golden child of the first family of Hammer Ford. Katherine, another helper, sighs as she receives the same.

“He’s… loud,” you utter, trying to shake off the tinge of his touch.

“And so handsome,” Katherine babbles.

“Alright,” the cafe owner ignores your chagrin, “we have to get this plated. And trays in the oven.”

You’re eager and set to task. You need the distraction. You hadn’t been prepared for the chaos of the event and it’s only getting started. Music suddenly blasts from the other side of the wall and you steady your hands before you grab a tray from the cart.

“If you get your work done, you can go out there,” the owner says in exasperation as Katherine squees. You’ll be happy enough to stay back here.

#chris x reader #dark!chris #dark chris #destroyer!chris #destroyer #drabble #series #au #backwood au #the stranger

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whatswrongwithblue · 13 days

Text

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 25 - A Place To Put Your Pain

Word count: 7,465. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: some last smut and fluff before the battle. Trigger warnings: overstimulation, unable to orgasm, drunk sex. If you've made it this far into the series, you should know what kind of demon sex these two get up to, it's definitely MDNI kind of content.

Series Summary

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 25 - A Place To Put Your Pain

They landed clumsily in their bed together, a soft ooooof leaving her lips as the back of her head sunk into the comforter beneath her. Alastor was above her, his mouth wet and warm against her throat, his body heat radiating into hers and she realized then they were both completely naked.

His hands roamed her body, clumsy and needy, grasping her breasts or her thighs, stroking her ribs or tugging at her hair. Her legs were dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed and as Mina tilted her head to the side to expose the side of her neck that Alastor was so eagerly sucking on, she saw they were strewn across the bed sideways.

As drunk as he was, his cock was already impressively hard between her legs, teasing between the joint of her thigh and her sex as he pressed himself against her.

Mina raked her nails across his scalp, running her fingers up the back of his head until she could grasp his antlers and pull his mouth back to hers, claiming his lips hungrily. She didn’t really believe either of them would die tomorrow, there was an odd lack of fear in her bones when she thought of the upcoming battle, but the anticipation still had her on edge and she felt it turning into a desperate need for Alastor that felt akin to being in heat again. Less hormonal and less about the feral desire to be bred; it was even more basal than that. Every single one of her senses were craving him. She needed to feel every inch of his body against hers, to taste his desire for her in the sweat that glistened on his skin, to hear the shaky way his voice would break when he said her name, to smell the sweet and Earthy scent of wilderness when she pressed her face into his hairline, and most of all, she wanted to see him come undone at her touch.

And even through his whiskey induced stupor, the way his tongue was dancing against hers, how tightly his fingers were pressed into her skin, Mina got the impression he felt exactly the same way.

She was soaking wet between her legs already, her desire erupting out of her in a way not even her alcohol consumption could damper, and when his fingers found her slit, he quickly had her clit and every bit of her folds coated with her slick.

Alastor played with her pussy in a slow, lazy way at first, letting two fingers stroke each of her folds inside and out, occasionally going high enough to circle her clit and low enough to just brush against the edge of her ass. It was wonderful. It was torture. And she was already embarrassingly close.

She whimpered against his mouth and gave an irritated love nip to his bottom lip.

“I need you,” she growled when she felt his smirk and pulled away to glare at the audacity of him to laugh at the desire that he had caused.

“You have me,” he replied cooly, his eyes glowing mischievously red and he slipped a solitary finger inside her core, giving her a couple subtle strokes before abandoning her once more to return to his game.

“All of you,” she panted, thinking of his cock that she could still feel against her thigh, hard and ready for her.

“But I could do this all night,” he said, letting her clit slip between his two fingers, back and forth, the pressure so nearly perfect if he just pressed his fingers together she would come undone in seconds. “I love the way you feel when you’re this wet,” he licked along her jaw, nuzzling his nose into the top of her neck. “So soft and silky,” he bit lightly on her pulse and mercifully his two fingers finally came together, pushing into her clit as they began working it with rapid circles. “Perfect and entirely mine.”

She arched her back, crying out with relief and pleasure, as he built her up into an orgasm that washed over her body quickly and was over in just a brief few seconds, leaving her instantly wanting another.

“But I do love to watch you cum for me,” he said when she opened her eyes again.

Oh he was in a mood tonight. Teasing and dirty talking, things almost always reserved for when he was in a rut which was still months away, and yet there he was, a devilish glint in his eyes telling her this night was far from over.

Her own smile was ravenous as she shoved at his shoulders, rough enough to successfully make him lose his precarious balance on the edge of the bed, but he quickly recovered and stood up. She followed his movements, sitting up and meeting the now irritated but still heated desire in his eyes.

“You think you can act like that just because I said you were pretty?” she asked, taking his erection in hand and ever so lightly kissing its tip as she pumped him slowly. “When you know how much I need this beautiful cock inside of me tonight?”

His hand snatched a handful of her hair, his sharp claws grazing painful across her scalp, but she resisted the tug as she pressed several more kisses along his shaft.

“When I know you love how this cock looks when its stuffed inside me?” she licked him from base back to tip and then pulled away completely, letting her hand fall to her side as she scooted back further up the mattress and splayed her legs wide for him.

She could feel the puddle she had left on the comforter beneath her, knew there was an enticing sticky trail following her, making her pussy shine and glisten, a welcome invitation for his eyes to take full view of.

“When you and I both know you can make me cum better than that?” she challenged and he reacted immediately, grabbing her by the underside of her knees and pulling her back to the edge of the bed. He let go of one leg for a moment, just to line himself with her entrance before slamming into her, and then he was forcing her legs wider and back until her knees were to her chest.

“Be careful what you wish for, my dear,” he said, furthering his threat with a vicious thrust that she could hear as well as feel.

“You are my wish. Now get down here.” She had him again by the antlers and pulled him down until his chest was pressed against hers. He let go of her legs, allowing her to wrap them around his ribs, as he braced himself on his forearms and sank his body fully into hers.

There were fewer words spoken after that and the room filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing, mixed in occasional moans or gasps of pleasure, Mina’s lusty little whimpers increasing in tempo the closer she got to her next orgasm.

Alastor kept his forehead pressed to hers, leaving almost no space between their bodies, and she could smell the whiskey on his breath, the rye that she would forever associate with him. His eyelids were heavy over his eyes, drunk from his drink and his desire. Occasionally the black tip of a lock of his hair would fall in way that would tickle her neck or the top of her shoulder. Every time he lifted his hips to pull away, she could feel the drag of his cock inside her walls, just for him to return to her, pushing himself roughly back inside her until they were so close, her entire sex was covered by his flesh. His rhythm was a little clumsy, the only real indicator of how intoxicated he was, but the irregularity of it was indescribably perfect. It made it hard to predict when the next brush of his body against her clit would come, how quickly he would rock his hips against hers, or how deeply the next push of his cock inside her would reach.

Having already cum once and her own state of drunkenness still building, Mina’s next orgasm took its time arriving, but she was enjoying herself enough not to mind. Every part of Alastor felt so right, so perfect, against her overheating body that she didn’t want this moment to ever end. But she was getting close now, her body tightening against her wishes, and she turned her head so that she could kiss and suck on Alastor’s neck, wanting to feel him shudder and groan from a well-placed love bite when she came.

She opened her eyes and saw his shadow on the ceiling above them, its menacing smile stretched wide and glowing green as it loomed over them, watching Alastor fuck her from above. Mina gasped in surprise at it, wondering how long it had been there, and it seemed to acknowledge her eye contact; smiling wider and stretching itself out even further over them, almost as if it were trying to peel itself away from the ceiling and reach for her . . .

Mina came, her body spasming hard around Alastor cock, and she squeezed her eyes shut, clinging tightly to her husband and pressing her face into the crook of his neck, trying to shut out the image of his shadow and the uncomfortable amount of desire she had felt from looking at it just then. When she dared to open her eyes after several moments, it was gone, either having rejoined with Alastor or disappearing into the recesses of the room, which is what it normally did when her and Alastor were intimate. It had never once shown interest in either of them during their love making and the sudden change in its behavior unnerved her, but her reaction to it unnerved her more.

She wondered if Alastor had been aware of it; he was connected to his shadow in ways that Mina would never be able to comprehend, but she did know they had a strange ability to read each other’s emotions and thoughts. It was a part of his soul, after all – a manifestation of his subconscious self. But she decided then she wouldn’t bring it up unless it happened again.

Tonight she wanted to focus on him, on all the lovely ways he would find to fuck her brains out. And her ability to read him told her he hadn’t been anywhere near close. In fact, she had been so lost in her thoughts about his shadow, she hadn’t quite realized he had never stopped pounding into her; only slowing his rhythm down ever so slightly when she came but now he was building her back up again.

Alastor was a master of this, of riding the currents of her last orgasm and using it to keep her going. He would slow his pace for just a little while, paying close attention to the tightness in her body and the sounds she was making, waiting for the little whimpers of overstimulation to turn back into the breathy sighs of building pleasure, and then he would begin to ram into her harder than before.

Mina held on tight, crying out with each slide of his cock inside her, begging him to keep going just like this, until she was seeing stars and her entire world existed of nothing but the man above and inside of her. She curled herself up underneath him, angling her hips upwards while leaning her head forward, letting him slam into her pussy at a more devastating angle while she bit down on his shoulder. He grunted in approval at the pain and the moment she tasted his blood on her tongue she came again, the only thing stopping her scream being the mouthful of his flesh she had her teeth clamped around.

He pulled out of her once her orgasm had passed, his cock wet and still very hard against her stomach as he kissed her, chasing the taste of his own blood as his tongue delved into her mouth and sucked on her lips. Mina couldn’t stop the purring that burst forward from her throat at the sudden switch to tender affection, her body grateful for the brief reprieve from the aggressive fucking she just took, especially because judging by the state of him, Alastor still wasn’t close to finished.

Once again, she was reminded of his rut, but the difference was he would and could cum often and easily when in rut, he just had zero to little refractory period then. This was a case of whiskey dick at its finest; not too drunk to get it up but numb enough that his own orgasm would evade him for quite a while. Her swollen and puffy cunt throbbed at the thought of it, a mix of delight and concern at how much more cock it would have to take before the night was over.

Several minutes later, they were still on round four. Mina was on her knees this time, her hips lifted as high as they could go, her back flexibly curved so that her chest was resting on the bed beneath her, each thrust Alastor made into her rocking her forward and making her claw into the blankets below her, trying to hold off her next orgasm by sheer stubborn will alone.

This was far from her favorite position; it was still lovely and made her climax hard and fast every time; the sweet drag and push of his cock inside her impossible to ignore, making her drip down her slit, coating her thighs and her clit, and she did enjoy being so completely at Alastor’s mercy like this. But he was so far away when she was knelt like this before him. With him behind her, she couldn’t hold him, kiss him, run her fingers along his skin, or hold on tight to shoulders or antlers. Almost all the intimacy she was craving was gone in this position, but it was one Alastor found great pleasure in.

She knew he loved the visual of it, getting to watch every inch of his length as he moved inside of her, her sex on full view for him so he could properly see just how wet and swollen he could make her. Mina kept her tail lifted high and to the side, encouraging him to appreciate the full view of just how lovely his cock made her feel; how tight her walls could grip his width, how deeply her pussy could take him, how wet she could get him, even down to his base, as he fucked her senseless.

His pleasure was so closely tied to her own, he struggled to enjoy himself unless he knew she was, too. Alastor needed to see her, hear her, to know he was unravelling her in order to get off, and Mina was doing her best to lean into her pleasure for him, and rock her own hips back into him, and make those debauched and wanton noises for him, but it was making her so fucking close and she didn’t want to cum this time without him.

So of course he decided to amp things up.

She felt the cool tendrils of his tentacles begin coursing up her back, slithering first down her spine, before more were wrapping around her hips and her shoulders. They covered her in seconds, giving her that flesh on flesh contact she so greatly lusted after. One pulled her hair back from her neck, stroking the flesh their rather than choking her like they usually did, and then reached for her mouth, pausing at the partition of her lips as if for permission and she opened her mouth eagerly, letting the appendage slide and undulate across her tongue before she wrapped her lips tightly around its width, sucking on it with as much lusty enthusiasm as she would Alastor’s cock. She heard him gasp and groan behind her, the slamming of his cock deep inside her getting harder and more insistent, and she took the tenacle in further, letting it hit the back of her throat, knowing Alastor could feel every inch of the delicious darkness inside her warm and willing mouth.

And then more tentacles went for her erogenous zones, two pinching and twisting at her nipples while another one began sliding across her clit and Mina was done for. With her eyes squeezed shut, she had no way of knowing just how many shadows she had wrapped around her but she could feel them everywhere, holding her in their tight embrace, toying with her body and pushing her over the edge even has she bobbed her head and sucked on the one fucking her mouth.

She came again, her cunt clenching down painfully on the fat width of Alastor’s cock, having completely lost herself and her mind to the feel of his essence all around her. This one shook her body for close to a minute, Alastor’s slow drawn out drags of his cock inside her drawing out her orgasm to the limits of what her body was capable of giving her, prolonging it until she was completely spent and limp beneath him.

The tentacles became slack around her, as did Alastor’s claws that had been gripping into her hips, giving her reprieve enough to pull away, crawling a couple paces on her hands and knees until she felt his cock slip out of her and she could twist around and raise herself up until she was in the same position as he was; upright on her knees and chest to chest with.

“Oh you poor thing,” she mused as she ran her fingers over his taught muscles, kissing along his chest and feeling the tension all along his back, ribs, and abdominal muscles. He was never going to finish in the state he was in. Frustrated with himself, overstimulated, and blinded by his own drunken mood. Gone was the jovial side of him that she had seen earlier, even the adoring sleepy lust that had hooded his expression earlier was missing. Every bit of him, from his smile to his ligaments, were pulled as tight as a bow string. She looped her arms around his waist, giving his tail a soft, lazy stroking as she leaned up and kissed along his jaw line. “Let me help you.”

“Mina-“ he began to protest, and she shushed him before he could get on his bullshit. She knew every excuse that would pass through his lips, his ego bigger and more demanding than the cock that was still sporting what must be a painfully hard erection.

She continued her affections to his tail as she pressed her torso against him, lightly running her fingers through his fur as she kissed him. He was hesitant at first, still tense and irritated, but the longer she teased him, the more she felt him relaxing against her. As much as she wanted to, she ignored the throbbing member between their bodies, feeling it twitch against her flesh, eager for more attention and she let that need build until she knew the threat of numbing overstimulation had finally passed.

Alastor’s mouth became more demanding against her own, his tongue delving deep between her lips, stroking against hers with his teeth occasionally nipping painfully down until she could taste the metallic tang of her own blood. All the while she stroked his tail, letting his desire build and build, and she even dared to run her fingers through the very top of his ass crack, smirking against his lips every time she felt him shudder beneath his touch.

She finally gave in and took his shaft in hand, feeling the bit of precum leaking out of it as she used the pad of her thumb to smear it over his tip, and she knew he was good and ready for more.

Mina purred and broke the kiss, slowly stroking his cock as she nuzzled her nose against his. With a pleading look in her eyes and a well-timed flutter of her lashes, she pleaded for him to lay on his back for her, knowing it would have the desired affect on him.

She crawled over his body, letting her legs cage in his hips and pinning his warm and velvety smooth length underneath her core, not inside her but nestled between her folds.

He groaned and shifted beneath her, unused to the feeling of being teased in this manner, and reached his arms up to grab her.

“Ah ah ah,” she said, taking his hands off her body and lacing her fingers through his own. She leaned forward, pushing his arms down as she did so until they were forced into the pillows on either side of his head.

He chucked a little, tilting his head as he analyzed this new dominating persona she was taking on.

“You’re adorable,” he said with a smirk, “thinking you can hold me down.”

She kissed him quickly and tightened her grip on his hands.

“You’ll stay put,” she said and ground her hips down, letting her sex slide up and down his shaft, her clit rubbing against the bulging tip in a way that had them both gasping a little. “If you want me to let you cum inside me.”

“Darling-“ he tried to warn but she abruptly stopped her movements, making him huff with frustration.

“Or I can just keep doing this,” and when she felt him relax she began rocking against him again. “Make you cum all over yourself. I bet you look even prettier all messy and wet like that.”

“Let me up,” he growled but she could feel his cock twitching through her slick and swollen lips and knew he was enjoying this more than he wanted to be.

She moaned, a throaty slutty loud moan, just the way she knew he liked her to.

“But this feels so good, Al’” she said, pressing down harder and feeling his cock and balls becoming even more soaking wet and she slid over him with perfect ease. “You’re so thick and hot for me, it feels amazing against my clit just like this.”

She rocked even quicker, pushing his hands down firmly into the pillows, and she didn’t have to fake the sounds coming from her throat.

“Fuck,” he hissed against her ears as she buried her face into his neck and he began to lift his hips as he joined her rhythm.

“Hmmm, you do like this, don’t you love?” she said, her voice affected by the vibration of her purrs that she kept going, knowing the vibration of it against his chest turned him on.

“You’re a fucking tease,” he said between heaving breaths, his voice laced with anger and undeniable desire.

“Oh, but you’re so close now, aren’t you?”

He stayed silent, the flash of red in his scowling eyes the only confirmation she needed.

She laughed again, pressing her lips to his until she felt him give in and kiss her back. He reached up and bit her hard on the neck when she broke the kiss, drawing blood in long shallow lines across her throat when she pulled away more quickly than he could let go.

“You’re lucky I like that,” she said, squeezing his hands in warning. Still, he kept his arms where she had put them, pinned beneath her weight and unable to touch her.

“You expect too much of me,” he said and sat up, her strength nothing compared to his and he had his hands untangled from hers and wrapped around her hips before she could get a word of protest out.

Mina tried to pout at him ruining her little game, but as her fingers laced through his hair and she felt his cock still pressed against her, even now that Alastor was siting upright with his chest to her, she felt her smile betray her giddiness at his sudden show of eagerness for her.

He grabbed handfuls of her ass, his claws digging into the swell of her flesh as he pulled her roughly to him.

“I’m going to cum in you now and you know it, so you might as well get on with it,” he said, his voice dangerously low and demanding, making her body ache for the feel of him inside her once more. If he told her to sit and spit in that tone of voice, she would have.

She braced herself on his shoulder with one hand while she used the other to hold his cock in place as she slid herself over him, impaling herself on his length until she felt him pushing against the ends of her depths.

“Good girl,” he praised and snapped the fingers of one hand. A vibrator appeared in his grasp and he held it up before her. “Now we’re going to do the rest of this my way. You know what to do.”

Mina took the toy from him and turned it on, pressing it to herself and immediately feeling her final orgasm building. Alastor leaned his weight back on one hand while the other came up to cup her breast, kneading the round flesh and pinching her taught and erect nipple between his thumb and index finger. The blood from the bite he had marked her with was oozing two long red trails down her front and he spread the liquid with his fingers, coating the pale flesh of her breast with his fingertips crimson the heavy swell of her tit bounced against his palm.

He kept his eyes on where they were joined, watching her rub the vibrator over her clit as she bounced on his cock, acting for all the world like a passive spectator while somehow keeping his control over her.

“That’s it,” he sighed, the static in his voice increasing as he neared his own finish, his eyes never once darting from the view of her pussy sliding up and down his shaft.

Mina knew he could feel the vibrations through her body and along his cock and she turned up the speed and cried out as the sting of it hit her clit, and he moaned a guttural, static filled sound as the sensation hit his entire length at once. He came just a few seconds later, his seed hitting the deepest part of her walls in several hot spurts, and she kept riding him until she could feel his essence leaking out of her. Just as she could feel him finally softening inside of her, she came one last time, holding the vibrator against herself until the last spasms faded away and she could take no more.

They fell back into the mattress together, lips clumsily finding each other, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, and in a drunken, post-orgasmic stupor, made out on top of the comforter for several long, mindless minutes, the mess between their bodies all but forgotten as they lost track of all time and senses, other than what they could find in each other.

____

Normally one or both of them would crash after such an intense round of love making but sleep wouldn’t come to either of them.

Mina was curled up into Alastor’s side, her head low on his chest, with her cheek pressed against his sternum and the thump thump thump of his heart beating beneath her ear. Normally she couldn’t hear its beating over the sound of her own purring, but the soothing vibrations wouldn’t come to her.

Alastor’s nails dragged gently up and down her spine, occasionally taking the ends of a lock of her hair and twisting it around his fingers, idly showing her affection as his mind drifted off somewhere other than their bedroom.

She could feel the restlessness radiating off him, the silent frequency of his power like an impossibly low hum just beneath his skin, though he stayed still and relaxed beneath her. His signs of agitation were far too subtle for anyone but her to pick up on and if she hadn’t been so awake herself, she might have missed them. Mina wondered what had his mind so troubled but figured it was all about the battle that loomed just on the other side of the coming sunrise.

Her mind was tormented by other things.

We trusted him. We trusted you.

It had just been a stupid fucking dream, she told herself, willing Charlie’s voice in her head to be quiet.

Scenes of the empty, darkened hotel flashed across her eyes, only becoming clearer when she squeezed her eyelids shut.

Do you really think I would have voluntarily left you?

Alastor had asked her that the day he had first returned. She had felt some relief at the implication that he had been taken from her rather than willingly left, but now the idea of it terrified her more than anything. If it had happened once, it could happen again. And the first time had been horrible enough, she didn’t think she could go through it again. He kept telling her it would all be worth it in the end, but would it? She was far from certain and didn’t understand how he could say that. Unless Abaddon was right, and Alastor still didn’t regret his deal.

Ask him, I dare you.

Mina took in a long, deep breath, feeling the question rising up in her chest like boiling water, burning and scalding her throat before the words even left her lips but Alastor spoke first.

“I need to you help me keep Charlie away from Adam tomorrow. If the wards fall, and he gets involved, you must stay down below with her while I fight him alone.”

She sat up slowly, feeling her cheek still flushed red and warm from where it had been resting against him, and turned her scowl towards the bayou and away from him. Her exhale left her in a heated, quick huff, her agitation ready at the surface before she found her words.

“Not a chance,” she said firmly, the false calm in her voice doing little to hide her disappointment in him.

“You have to.”

“Alastor, I did not go back to Abaddon, agree to go back to work, drag my friends into this mess, your bloody mess, in order to get my powers back, just for you to push me aside when I’m most capable of helping you.”

She turned and looked at him over her shoulder and grew even more furious when she saw he wasn’t nearly as agitated by this conversation as she was. He looked as matter of fact as ever, his smile just an easy thin line and his eyes almost disinterested in what she had to say.

“If you really want to help me, you will help Charlie.”

Mina scoffed at him, hating these vague conversations with him more than ever.

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“If Charlie and Adam go face to face tomorrow- ”

She spun around, turning on him before he could finish his sentence.

“The only reason Charlie would fight Adam tomorrow is if he kills you. I’m not letting that happen.”

“Of course you’re not, because it won’t come to that.”

“Then why- ”

“Mina,” he finally sat up, grabbing her face in his hands and making her stare him down. “I wouldn’t let either of us be there tomorrow if I thought there was a chance I would be giving up everything I’ve worked towards and that includes you and I. So just fucking listen to me for once. Please.”

“Do you even want me here tomorrow?” she countered.

“No, not really,” he answered quickly, his eyes narrowing at her. “I’m still counting on Abaddon showing up and dragging you kicking and screaming away from here and holding you hostage in The Pit until this is all over.” His eyes darted away from her for just a second. “But they won’t agree to that. But it’s fine, really,” he lay back, lacing his fingers behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. “I have back up plans to my back up plans when it comes to tomorrow. Really, dear, you shouldn’t worry. As long as you do as I say, everything will work itself out.”

“I hate you when you’re this way,” she spat out, feeling her throat tighten and swell with her anger, that annoying threat of tears to come burning her face and flushing it red.

He stiffened next to her, visibly stung by her words.

“You do not,” he said quietly.

“Why shouldn’t I?! The last time you talked to me like this you disappeared. My life, our life, was ruined and the only thing you told me before you did that to us was to listen to you!”

“That was not all I said to you that day.” He sat up again, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. She pulled away, just a little, but not enough to leave his embrace. “I know because I remember. I can recall every second I spent with you that morning. And this is nothing compared to that. This is easy compared to that, ma cher.”

“Nothing about this is easy,” she scooted away down the bed and turned to look at him. “You’re getting everything you want, aren’t you? Whatever benefits you got from your deal, your status, your power . . . me. You think everything we lost is worth it. There’s not a single fucking atom in your being that regrets for a second what you did to me, is there?”

He sat back, stunned and at a loss for words. Not even his smile could hide the pain her words had caused him and she couldn’t stand to see it. How dare he feel any kind of shock or indignation at her accusation when it was so painfully obvious? She watched him swallow, knowing he was fighting down a reaction to the hurt, and she turned away, afraid to see what would come next. If he cried in front of her again, like he had several weeks ago, like she knew he nearly had that morning, she would break.

Her thighs were still sticky from their lovemaking, her chest and shoulders still covered in dried streaks of blood from his bite mark, and it was suddenly too much. She needed to be clean, to remove any traces that just a few minutes prior to this conversation, they had been happy enough to lose themselves in their love for each other.

“Ma cher- ” she heard his broken voice say, felt the mattress shift behind her as if he was reaching for her, but she stood, pulling the blanket with her and wrapping her nude body with it, blocking her skin and her soul from his gaze as she stormed off into the bathroom, making sure to the slam the door hard behind her.

She wiped at herself with a damp washcloth, angrily swiping away the tears that blurred her vision as she did so. The bedroom on the other side of the door was quiet and she was relieved for once that he hadn’t chased after her.

Mina was just wringing out the excess water from another rag in the sink and bringing it to her neck and chest when his shadow appeared on the wall in front of her.

“Go away,” she hissed through her teeth, feeling her ears pin back against the top of her head.

She watched as its eyes darted to the door and it moved in that direction a few inches before pulling back to the wall beside the mirror, fixing its hard gaze back on her.

It was telling her to go back out there, that Alastor was hurting and needing her. She knew that, but shook her head in defiance.

“He’s not my problem right now,” she said dismissively, wiping away the blood across her chest.

Its expression turned instantly to that of fury, its toothy smile spreading in a way that looked more like it was stretching its mouth wide to devour her, and suddenly the lights in the bathroom shut off, bathing her in darkness.

Mina held her breath, knowing what would come next.

In a brightly lit room, Alastor’s shadow was at its weakest. It could only cast itself on two-dimensional objects, but in a dim room it could lift a hand out, capable of brushing its form against her flesh in a soft caress. It could even wrap its fingers around her enough to transport her somewhere. But in a completely blackened room such as this, it could become solid. It had often held her while she slept, wrapping its limbs around hers as real as Alastor’s own flesh, and she had even sworn a time or two that she could feel its breath against her skin.

Her heart pounded, a rushing of blood in her chest, a throbbing she could feel in the veins of her throat, a roaring she could hear in her ears. For the first time, she felt real, paralyzing fear of Alastor’s shadow, worried that it might lash out at her of its own accord for hurting its master.

The touch that reached for her face was gentle. Cool, slender fingers caressed her cheeks and thumbs brushed away the streaks of her tears, and something like a forehead pressed against her own. She closed her eyes in relief at the tender embrace and when she opened them again, the green glow of its eyes and smile illuminated the room just enough for her to take in the shape of it.

It looked identical to Alastor in way that truly took her breath away. Its features were exactly like his, down to the sharp angles of his cheek bones and the little points of his antlers and ears above.

She had only a moment to register how eerily identical it was to her husband before she lost herself in its glowing eyes, suddenly overcome with emotions that were not her own.

Pain.

She sucked in a breath as it hit her, the force and depth of the emotions that Alastor had been keeping at bay.

There was love for her, for his mother, for Niffty and Rosie, but above all, it was just various forms of pain. The pain of loss, a deep seeded insecurity, and a devasting amount of fear. Fear of losing more, of not being enough, of what he was without his power, of failing, and a desperate, driving need to push forward, to keep going in order to make it all go away, to be strong enough to be able to forever cling to the things that make it all worth it. A pain caused by a mix of all that fear and an incredible amount of loneliness. She could feel how much his heart ached for her to be near, how much it shattered him every time they fought. And something, a force that made him feel like he was being torn in two, that left what felt like a gaping hole in her heart, something that he was being pulled towards while also trying with all his might to cling to her . . .

The lights flicked back on and his shadow was gone, leaving her alone in the room and trying to catch her breath.

Mina covered her mouth to stop the sob that nearly screamed out of her. It wasn’t guilt or shame that coursed through her then, but an immense amount of gratitude and relief. She had needed to feel what Alastor was feeling, had needed confirmation that whatever his reasons were, he had been just as hurt by the last seven years as she had, and his shadow had known how to give that to her. Had been the only thing that could really show her that whatever had happened, whatever was going to happen, the last thing Alastor wanted was to lose her.

Fae had been wrong, they had both been wrong, when they had assumed Alastor was too arrogant to imagine her ever leaving him. When in fact, it was one of his biggest fears and not just since his return. The ability to feel how much he wanted her to be a part of his life, to know his thoughts and whims, and to be held back from that, to be forced to keep her at an arm’s reach when it came to everything his deal touched in their lives, was hurting him as much as it was hurting her. Maybe even more, because he could handle his own pain, but could barely even face the idea of causing her any.

Mina waited in the bathroom just long enough for her breathing to slow down and her racing heart to settle before she went back out into the bedroom, the washrags and comforter forgotten on the floor behind her.

Alastor was still sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands. She could see right away that he wasn’t in the thralls of another panic attack; his breathing was normal and he was quiet. He just looked exhausted and defeated, his ears drooping pathetically downwards and even his tail looked limp and small as it curled its short length towards the side.

He looked up at her as she approached and though she could see a subtle sheen of unshed tears in his eyes, his face was free of any telltale streaks, though his cheeks were flushed a little red from the effort of holding them back.

Still both completely nude, Mina unashamedly climbed into his lap, pulling his arms around her hips and hugging him to her and he willingly melted against her. She cradled his head, mindful of his antlers beneath her chin, and held his face to her breast. There was nothing sexual in their naked intimacy now, just a need to be as close to each other as possible.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, caressing one ear and placing a kiss to the very tip of it.

He shook his head, his antlers raking across her collarbone, and the fur of his ears tickling the bottom side of her chin.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, gripping her by the shoulder blades and holding her tightly to him.

“I know.”

He shook his head again.

“I can’t tell you. I keep trying, I keep trying so hard to tell you why everything is the way it is and it’s driving me insane. I get angry and then you get angry and I- ”

“Al’,” she said sternly and leaned away, tilting his chin up by her hand to make him look at her. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

He stared up at her, those ruby eyes shining with hope and adoration for her, highlighted by his red tinted eyelids and heavy black eyebrows and lashes and she smiled down at him, thinking he really was incredibly pretty. Everything about him, from his looks, to his personality, to his mannerisms, were a very strange and conflicting mix of masculine and feminine and made him so very perfect for her.

“I love you,” he choked out, bringing her forehead back down to rest against his. “I don’t regret anything yet because I still do believe it’ll all be worth it in the end but that is only if I don’t lose you. If that happens, none of it will be worth it. I’ll regret every move I’ve made since the day I killed my father.”

She watched one solitary tear roll down his cheek and wiped it away and kissed his forehead. He chuckled, a bitter laugh lacking all humor, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against the skin of her neck.

“I’m too drunk for this,” he said and when she met his eyes against, she noticed the shaking of his pupils as he focused his sight on her and realized he was indeed still absolutely langered.

“You’ll never lose me,” she said, kissing him on the lips and then on the corner of one eye, feeling the dampness on his lashes and the salty taste of the one tear he had let fall. “Never ever. I promise.”

His head fell forward, back into her embrace, all of his energy having left him.

“Oh, my dear, take if from a deal maker,” he said, his voice becoming flat and dull. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Next Chapter ->

@inuhalfdemon @saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday @redvexillum @visara-valentina @reath-solia

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor x oc #alastor #alastor smut #the radio demon #alastor fic #the fire in the sin

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solar-wing · 1 year

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⚣ Duke To The Rescue 💈

⚣💈A/N → Usually, I write my reader characters as general as possible in all manors of looks and traits so as many people as possible can relate (whether male or g/n). But, I wanted to give some special attention since I rarely see any content like this being an African-American writer and reader myself. Hope you all like it! Plus, this is triggering some dark memories of when I used to get my hair cut so enjoy my pain lol.

⚣💈 Summary → You're the newly adopted Wayne kid after your parents are caught in the crossfire of one of Batman's battles. Bruce, trying to prove himself a better father, attempts to do your hair but since he knows nothing about African-American haircare, you're in for a painful ride. Your poor hairline...

⚣💈 Words → 2.0k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please!💛

⚣ ENJOY 💈

“Okay, so how do I do this?” Your dear old dad asks.

“I don’t know! I’m just a kid! Aren’t you supposed to be the parent and know these things?” You asked with your hands waving around animatedly as you sat on a stool chair taken from the dining room into one of the many bathrooms.

Bruce gave you his signature frown while looking at the assortment of combs and hair products on the sink.

After your parents had gotten caught in the crossfire between Batman and one of his notable nemeses, the billionaire decided to take you in, making you an official Wayne kid.

For a 7-year-old, you were very knowledgeable. Something your new legal guardian immediately noticed after adopting you, and because of your age, you were now officially the youngest kid Bruce had taken in.

You were also the only other African-American kid Bruce decided to take in outside of Duke. And that didn’t even really technically count since Duke was already a teenager by the time Bruce officially adopted him.

So, your adopted father was at a loss for words while staring in the mirror at your hair while you played games on his phone. Your hair had grown to a considerable length, and you’d been asking your adoptive father for a while now to help you get this new style that was becoming more popular called ‘twists.’ Well, new to you since you hadn’t seen it before.

‘I thought that was a dance move.’ Bruce thought to himself.

When you showed him the video you saw, the Dark Knight persona immediately decided he was taking you to a professional barber who knew more about your hair texture and maintenance to give you what you needed.

At least until Jason ran his big mouth.

“Wow, old man. Can’t even take care of your own kid’s hair. Shameful.”

He was really just patronizing the older man, always enjoying the moments when he got a reaction from him now and then. But, he’d begun to regret that decision when he along with your other siblings saw Bruce carrying an armful of hair products and tools to the upstairs bathroom while holding your hand in his other hand leading you upstairs.

It was quite comical seeing the frightened look you threw at your second oldest brother as he along with your other siblings watched Bruce’s towering frame lead your tinier one up the grand staircase with you looking like you were heading for your doom.

In hindsight, you might have been, and Jason could only smile sheepishly at you as Bruce led you toward the bathroom.

Now, they all stood outside the bathroom watching their shared father struggle as he read over the ingredients from the different hair products.

“How bad do you think this is gonna go?” Steph asked.

“Oh, I’m betting on a full shit show within the first 10 minutes,” Dick said while munching on some popcorn.

“10? You’re too graceful dickhead. I’m betting 3 and half minutes tops.” Jason threw out while reaching to grab some popcorn before having his hand slapped by the acrobat. “Hey!” He yelled in offense before getting into a sorta-ish fight with Dick, trying to tug the bag of popcorn from him.

“Cut it out, you two! You act like wild children throwing tantrums.” Damian snapped at the two vigilantes.

“Says the actual child who throws ninja stars and daggers during a tantrum when daddy grounds him from patrol,” The Red Hood persona remarked, stuffing his mouth with a handful of buttery popcorn after nabbing the bag from his older brother who was now mean-muggin' the shit of him.

Damian growled at Jason, rolling up his sleeves before Steph grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him back to his place. The second Robin laughed while taunting the young assassin, throwing kernels at his face.

While that was going on, you sat and watched Bruce read label after label on the various hair-care product bottles.

“Uh, Bruce, are you sure we can’t just go to a barber?” You asked, a fearful tone evident in your voice which did not do well for Bruce’s confidence. Even as a 7-year-old, you could tell when a situation was about to go left without the side comments from your adoptive siblings.

“No, no, Y/N! I got this. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t take care of my own child’s hair.” Bruce said while reading the red bottle. He was holding his phone in the other hand, reading a review online under his breath, “...mixed with a high amount of sulfates to help cleanse build-up of oils and other products in the hair.”

“You realize Jason was joking, right? Right?! Jason, tell him you were joking!” You frantically shouted, turning in your seat towards the vigilante who held a sheepish smile while his mouth was full of popcorn.

“I was joking.” He tried to say, words muffled by his chewing.

“Y/N, calm down. If Bruce can handle taking down crazy madmen and women at night as Batman, how hard could it be to do a simple hairstyle?” Tim spoke trying to reassure you.

And it almost worked…until you felt Bruce try to brush your hair with what you were sure was Stephanie’s hair brush.

“Is that my hairbrush?” Steph asked.

“It says I’m supposed to pick his hair out before washing? Is brushing not the same as picking?” Bruce asked, looking at his kids with the most confused face.

“I’ll pray for you at your funeral, Y/N.”

The desperate and confused face on Bruce's face was actually so adorable that if you weren’t terrified for your scalp (and life) at that moment, you would’ve hugged him just to help him feel better.

Cass had walked into the bathroom before grabbing a larger comb off the counter and switching it with the hairbrush in Bruce’s hands before returning the purple hair tool to its rightful owner.

“Thanks, Cass,” Steph said.

‘You’re welcome.’ She signed back.

“Alright, here we go,” Bruce uttered before grabbing your shoulder and placing the comb at the base of your scalp, pulling back to ‘pick’ through your hair.

“Ow, OW, OOOWWWWWW!” You shouted in pain while holding on to the counter for dear life, feeling like your face would tear in half.

“Bruce, you’re going to rip his head off!” Dick yelled, coming to your rescue, “You gotta comb from the sides.”

He pulled the comb to the side of your hair causing your head to yank in that direction.

“OW!”

“Whoops, okay, maybe that was wrong,” Dick said, smiling in apology at you.

“Alright, you idiots, get out of the way. Looks like another issue I have to take care of for you.” Jason stated, placing the popcorn down before cracking his knuckles which really did not help ease the nerves and fear you were feeling in your stomach. He pulled up his sleeves and licked the butter off his fingers, which, gross by the way, “You gotta pull with some strength.”

“OOOWWW!” You yelled, glaring hard at your older brother who once again just smiled sheepishly at you.

“You guys are hopeless,” Tim sighed, grabbing the comb only to make it worse by tangling more into your hair.

“TIM!” You screamed.

“Maybe I’m hopeless too.” He said, a confused expression taking over his face as he tried to figure out how to solve this.

“Okay, simpletons. Move over.” Damian said.

Your eyes went wide at that.

“UH UH, back away gremlin!” You grabbed the nearest thing that could be considered a weapon which turned out to be another hairbrush. Not even caring, you decided you would make it work.

Damian was not allowed anywhere near your hair.

“What the- I’m older than you!”

“So?!”

“Fair point, brother.”

Stephanie tried to help but only managed to get the comb fully lost in your hair. You could feel yourself getting dizzy and a headache coming on as your head had been yanked back and forth in different directions.

As your family was busy yelling back and forth at each other while playing tug-of-war with your scalp, none of them even noticed when Duke came up the stairs, confused by all the chaos.

“What’s going on?” The Signal persona asked Cassandra.

‘They’re trying to do Y/N’s hair,” She signed.

Duke’s eyes went wide as he heard your cries of pain before rushing into the bathroom.

The tears forming in your eyes were clear as day as your tiny hands gripped the counter with everything you had, feeling like if you’d let go at any moment, you’d be yanked out of the chair and swung back and forth like a yo-yo. Duke also saw Damian creeping through the mess to grab at the tangled comb in your hair, giving it a yank causing another cry of pain from you making him smirk in cruel enjoyment.

“Hey!” Duke screamed at the top of his lungs, effectively shutting everyone up and turning their attention toward him. “Everyone out!” He pointed his thumb behind him. They all quickly shuffled out of the bathroom, mumbling to themselves while Bruce remained behind, looking quite beside himself.

Duke picked up the bottle the older man was holding in his hand before turning it over, seeing the ingredients and what he had pulled up on his phone.

“Really, Bruce? Sulfate?” Duke said.

The billionaire only groaned before his forehead fell into this palm, “I should’ve just taken him to a barber.” He grumbled,

Duke looked towards you, seeing how tense you were and the fresh tears in your eyes from the amount of pain your scalp was in.

“Don’t worry, little bud, I got ya.”

~~~

A few hours later, everyone was waiting in the kitchen while Alfred served refreshments before hearing your happy feet skipping down the hallway, Duke right on your trail. Your hair was done, washed and conditioned, and twisted right into the style you wanted.

“Ta-da!” You yelled upon entering the kitchen, opening your arms as if you were giving a grand finale. A mix of delightful reactions and cheers filled the room from your family members, everyone smiling at how excited you looked. Even JDamian, despite how small it was.

“Wow! Look at you, Y/N,” Dick said, biting into an apple.

“Hold still! I’ve got to get pictures for my feed.” Steph said while coming to take some pics of you.

“You look quite charming if I do say so myself, Master Y/N,” Alfred said, before handing you a cookie.

“Thanks, Alfred!” You said, happily munching on the treat, before climbing into one of the stools without any assistance. Okay, you had a little help from Jason to make sure you didn’t slip, but since he didn’t mention it, neither would you.

Bruce walked up to Duke, who was still standing by the entrance to the kitchen leaning against the wall.

“Thank you, Duke.” He said, patting his shoulder, which was weird for Bruce, but he was learning how to show more affection to his kids now that he had you so everyone was slowly getting used to it.

They were also weirded out by it too.

“No problem. Just glad I got here when I did. By the way, why didn’t you just take him to a barber?” He asked.

Bruce looked reluctant to say, so the brown-skinned boy didn’t push it, “Don’t worry. I won’t ask. But, if you want me to teach you how to take care of it, just ask. I learned from watching my parents do my hair growing up. Then, when I kind of had to start taking care of myself in the foster system, I picked up some different tricks here and there.” He explained, answering Bruce’s questions before he could even ask.

“Thank you,” The older man said before their heads turned at the sound of you screaming.

They saw Damian next to you with another smirk as you rubbed the back of your still tender head with an irritated grimace at the youngest Robin.

“Damian!” Bruce shouted.

“What? That’s what he gets for calling me a gremlin.” Damian said before he felt a harsh tug on his own hair, looking back to see you with your own mischievous smile.

“Ow!”

“Now, we’re even, gremlin.”

☀️ | Bat Family | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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acaaciia · 2 years

Text

bleach

relationship: Gekko x gen!reader || Mateo x gen!reader

listed tags: fluff, friends to lovers (?), reader being a good nuera/yerno, oneshot

trigger warnings: none

synopsis: Bleaching some hair gets a little heated.

You and Mateo have known each other since before you knew how to write your own name. You were there when you each first scratched your knees attempting to learn how to ride a skateboard, down to when the first light had occurred.

Needless to say, the two of you have been through the thick of it, and when Mateo asked for you to come over and help him with a new look, well, you couldn’t resist the offer.

It didn’t even take a second after you knocked on the door, for it to fling open, revealing Mateo with a giant grin. Wingman stood to his right, peaking over the side of his leg.

“Por fin! (1) I knew you’d pull through.” He said, taking one of the bags from your hands and handing it over to his companion.

You grinned in return, “Of course I did, I couldn't let you damage your hair alone.”, You joked as you reached down to pet the little creature, “Now come on, let’s get this over with before your mom kills both of us.”

Stepping into the small home you immediately greet the older woman who was busy cutting up a variety of fruits, “Hola Señora, ¿cómo está hoy?”(2)

“Aye, bien mijita/mijito, ¿cómo está su mamá?” (3) Mateo 's mother looked up from where she stood in the kitchen, “Todavía está tomando ese té que lo mande?”,(4) she whipped her hands on her apron, walking around the small island to greet you with a hug.

You laughed, shaking your head as the two of you parted, “Lo termino, pero eya empenso a tomar ajo y curcuma.” (5) you said, turning to Mateo, making a sour face at the thought of the combination. “She even started putting it in my licuados.” (6)

This sparked up a whole conversation between you and Mateo’s mother, as she went over the multitudes of things your mom should start eating to improve her health. It didn’t last long before Mateo came in to save the day from his mothers ranting, “Perdoname mami,(7) but we got something super important to do.” He insisted, nudging you towards the hallway that led to his room.

The older woman rolled her eyes at her son and waved the two of you off, “Fine, fine, pero dejan la puerta abierta.” (8) She half joked, returning to her previous task.

Mateo could feel his ears heaten up at the implications and groaned out a small ‘aye ama’(9). You chuckled at his embarrassment and shot the woman a thumbs up as you let your friend lead you further into his house.

Entering Mateo’s room, you immediately made yourself at home pushing away the random junk he had laying around to make room for your snacks and bleaching materials. You set up your makeshift salon station, passing a chip or two to the quartet of creatures that watched you with interest, mainly interested in the snacks you had. As you finished setting up, you threw a curious glance to Mateo who was spinning himself around with his desk chair, ‘patiently’ waiting for you to finish.

“You ready for this?” You questioned, slipping on a pair of latex gloves before making your way around the man, a bowl filled with a mixture of bleach and developer in hand. He stopped his spinning, his eyes met yours as he looked at your reflection in the mirror. He grinned and gave you a nod of approval, “Show me whatcha got.”

“Just let me know if it starts to burn,” you warned.

Taking the brush into your hand, you started on the back of his head, trying to angle your strokes perfectly so as to not get any of the bleach onto his skin. This process took a while and continued till you finally reached the front of his head.

You were so close, he thought, your legs straddled his own as you leaned in closer for better precision around his hairline. Mateo could feel his heart pounding rapidly in his chest, his hands twitched as they tensed up to his side. Of course, he was aware of the fact that he had a thing for you, he always did. He never acted on it directly though, but with you so close he- “Quedate quieto.” (10) You practically whispered as you placed one of your gloved hands under his chin, tilting his head up for a better angle.

Mateo’s face burned as you cradled his head, he’s never gotten such an up-close view of you before. He swore he could die a happy man with a view like this. He watched as your eyebrows scrunched and contorted with a look of concentration. The way your lips pursed ever so slightly as you meticulously painted his hair with bleach, he had half a mind to take the brush from you and pull you down for a kiss himself.

“And I think that should be it.” You stated as you finished applying the last of the bleach to Mateo’s hair. It was only then, as you pulled back slightly to inspect your work, did you realize the position you had placed yourself in. Your breath hitched as your eyes met Mateos' own, your hand still hovering gently under his chin.

You didn’t know what came over you, maybe it was the fact that you could feel the warmth of his body under your skin that made your head feel light. Maybe you simply had breathed in too much of the bleach and now it was messing with your head. Whatever the cause you couldn’t help yourself when you leaned down and captured his partially chapped lips for a kiss.

Mateo was stunned by your action but quickly recovered and reciprocated the kiss. His hands grazed over the top of your body gently, dipping between every curve and crevice trying to memorize every detail into the depths of his brain. He shifted you in closer, one of his hands making its way to your thigh to hold you in place, while the other came around to grip your waist.

The two of you lost track of time in the little universe you created where only the two of you existed. Neither of you could tell when Mateo had finally brought you down to sit comfortably in his lap, or when you had lost the bowl of bleach as or when your other hand wrapped around his neck, but the two of you weren’t in the mood to care.

Key:

1. Finally 2. (formal greeting to an older woman) Hello Ma’am, how are you? 3. mijita/mijito: a term of endearment typically from an older person to a younger person, used in a similar context as sweetie. Not to be used in a romantic sense/relationship. "Sweetie, how is your mom?" = "Mijita, how is your mom?" 4. Is she still drinking the tea I sent her? 5. She finished it, but has started to drink ginger and turmeric instead. 6. (a shake/smoothie) 7. Forgive me, mom. /Excuse me, mom./ I’m sorry, mom. 8. But, leave the door open. 9. Mom, please. (a whiney, complained/embarrassed way of saying it) 10. Stay still.

#gekko x reader #mateo x reader #valorant #gekko #valorant gekko #reader insert #x reader #fluff #friends to lovers #valorant x reader #oneshot

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temptingfatetakingnames · 1 year

Text

The Last Steve Harrington Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Hello my loves. This chapter was very difficult to write and it is very heavy. If you have no triggers please continue to the story. If you do have triggers please read the warnings carefully. I do not want anyone to be hurt by my story. I'll put a brief synopsis under the tags.

Trigger warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide

---

It was late in the night; their plan had been set and there was nothing left for them to do but sleep. As if they could. As if it was that easy. Steve was on his back with Eddie tucked into his side. He stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t slept well in days but his body still refused to rest. Even though there was no immediate danger he thrummed with tension and apprehension. He had this terrible feeling –

“I have this terrible feeling it might not work out for us this time,” Eddie whispered against his neck and Steve clutched him tighter against him. His heartbeat quickened at Eddie’s words, at the confirmation that he wasn’t the only one feeling this sense of doom. They had been too lucky. Over and over, they had planned and they had fought… but they had been lucky. The problem with luck was that it always ran out eventually. He just had to hope that it would hold out one more time.

“It’ll work out,” he whispered back just as quietly. Trying to reassure himself and Eddie. It had always worked out for them before…and it would again… it had too.

Steve awoke quietly that morning, rising out of the dream and into his new reality without blood or red skies. It felt wrong. He deserved to wake up screaming from his nightmares. Steve hadn’t known how terribly he had lied to Eddie that night. Hadn’t known what awaited them the next day. How badly it did not work out. Another betrayal, another failure.

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and rested his hands in his lap. He turned them over and looked at the scars and callouses he had gathered over the years – the memories carved into his skin. He brushed his fingers over the bite on his left palm. Remembered ripping the bat away from Eddie and it latching on to him instead. It had torn a chunk out of him, leaving behind an ugly mess of scar tissue when it healed.

Light was already shining in the window and he could hear movement throughout the house. He got out of the bed and stood quietly for a moment, taking in the sounds. Joyce was in the kitchen and he could hear a shower running in the bathroom. Turning, he looked at the back of the mirror. Steve hadn’t looked at himself since his first night in the house. He walked over to it and turned it around; his stitches had been removed yesterday and he was curious how he looked.

The man that stared back at him was one he was starting to recognize. His eyes weren’t as sunken and there was some colour in his cheeks. The scars across his body stood out starkly, however. Jagged lines and bites of torn away flesh. Trauma that had begun in ’83 and never stopped – only escalated. A small scar was mostly hidden in his hairline, courtesy of Billy. A thin line wrapped around his neck from a Demobat, almost unnoticeable unless you were looking for it. His torso was a canvas of healed pain – with scar tissue covering his sides in large chunks. They had been too healed for the doctors to do much. Claw and bite marks from his most recent wounds had been tidied, the skin was still red but the lines were clean now and the stitches gone. Other small scars ran down his arms and legs. He had nerve damage in three of his fingers from the bat bite and he was partially deaf in one ear. Migraines and nightmares plagued him constantly and it was difficult to meet his own eyes.

Broken.

He stared at the man in the mirror for another moment before turning it back around. Closing his eyes, he brought his hand up to his chest feeling his heartbeat. Opening his eyes, he strode to his dresser and pulled out clothes for the day. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Robin had said about Other Steve in the bathroom a few nights ago. There were differences in their stories, especially from high school but everything about Scoops and after had seemed the same – just swap Robin and Eddie. It was the sameness that he couldn’t get out of his head. He needed to figure out the moment of divergence that caused them to have such different endings.

He needed to talk to the kids; out of the people he could reasonably discuss all of this with, they had known Other Steve the longest. It’s not like he could walk up to his parents and ask them for his life story. He was afraid to see the kids again though and especially afraid to learn more about Other Steve. He had to though – had to face it and them. He just didn’t know if he was ready.

When he walked into the kitchen, Joyce was at the stove and Eleven and Will were sitting at the table eating breakfast. He sat down with them.

“Good morning, Steve,” Joyce said as she put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. The kids smiled at him; mouths too full to speak.

“Morning,” he replied quietly.

Chatter continued around him as he ate his breakfast. Hopper came in, hair still wet from his shower and took a seat at the table. Steve’s appetite had been returning slowly and he gave Joyce a small smile when she put more bacon on his plate. It was a lovely morning but Steve still had to fight the urge to scream and ruin it.

He cleared his throat and turned to Will. “Could you radio everyone to come over? I’d like to talk.”

Will looked surprised but he nodded. “Sure, Steve.”

---

Dustin showed up first.

He must have left his house as soon as Will got off the radio with him, he was there so quickly. Steve was in his room when the doorbell rang. He set his book aside and waited. Hopper brought Dustin up a moment later, showing him into the room and then leaving. Steve got up from the bed and they stood facing each other. This was the first time Steve had really looked at him. He was taller than he remembered, older. A ballcap was pushed down over his curls and Steve wanted to take it off and ruffle his hair. In another universe, he would have. His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

“I’m sorry about the code red,” Dustin said, breaking the silence.

Steve thought about what to say in response. He knew that Dustin hadn’t meant any harm. Thinking back to the panic he had felt in the moment though, Steve couldn’t deny that he had caused harm. He could tell that Dustin knew that though, his eyes glancing away and back to Steve’s.

“It’s alright, Dustin,” he finally answered.

“I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“I know.”

That got him a tentative smile.

“I brought some stuff for you,” Dustin said coming closer and pulling his backpack off his shoulder. “Some books and movies, snacks and things you might like. Will said you’ve been reading The Hobbit over and over. I brought you the The Lord of the Rings.”

“The Lord of the Rings?” Steve asked.

Dustin nodded. “By the same author, it’s a sequel to The Hobbit… sort of –” He trailed off, walking over to Steve’s bedside table and picking up his book.

“It was my Dustin’s,” Steve said quietly.

Dustin examined it closely before he opened it to the first page. Written in the right corner was ‘property of Dustin Henderson’ in a looping, childlike script. He could see Dustin’s hand grip the book tighter.

“It’s the same as mine,” he said in an awed voice, “the handwriting and placement, it even has the same rip in the cover.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to talk about parallel universes and why some things seemed to carry through and others didn’t.

“Thank you for the books, it’ll be nice to have something new to read.”

Dustin put The Hobbit down and turned to smile at him. “I can’t wait to talk about them with you! Steve wasn’t much of a reader. Who’s your favourite character? What’s your favourite part?”

Before Steve could even begin to think of a response to his questions, the doorbell rang again. Dustin was still smiling at him, waiting for him to answer, but Steve definitely couldn’t handle an exuberant Dustin one on one.

“We should go down,” he said instead, “and see who that is.”

Dustin didn’t seem disappointed as he turned towards the door and they both went downstairs. Will was already letting Max, Lucas, and Mike in when they rounded the corner into the living room. Eleven was standing off to the side and Dustin was just ahead of him. It felt like a moment out of a horror movie as the six of them all turned to look at him. It was the first time since the hospital they had all been together. His gaze slowly went around the room, taking each of them in. His kids; beautiful and alive and… not his. He felt on display as they all looked back at him. He crossed his arms across his chest as he felt the panic start to rise.

Will clapped his hands and all eyes turned to him, allowing Steve a moment to breathe.

“Everybody downstairs!” he called out.

“Hi, Steve,” Max said smiling as she walked by him.

“Steve.” Lucas nodded at him as he followed her.

“Hey,” Mike said.

Dustin went too and then it was just him, Will and Eleven. He ran his fingers through his hair. This was a bad idea; he wasn’t ready for them all. It already felt like too much, their eyes too heavy.

“Are you okay?” Eleven inquired.

He took a deep breath and nodded – he needed to get this over with. Will started walking over to him as a knock sounded on the door. He went to open it and Steve saw Robin and Eddie standing on the other side. Will moved back so they could come in and he closed the door behind them. Robin came right over and gave him a quick hug and a peck on his cheek.

“Harrington,” Eddie said and… it hurt. Steve thought the way Eddie said his last name would always hurt.

He tried not to show it as they went into the basement. It was Steve’s first time seeing it. There was a big comfortable couch and chairs surrounding a television and a huge table at the back of the room with DnD stuff completely covering its surface. Everyone was getting settled so Steve went to sit down in one of the empty chairs. He fiddled with his hands as he waited for everyone to get comfortable.

“What did you want to talk about, Steve?” Dustin asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Now was the moment. Back out or keep going? He needed to know what was different about him. He wouldn’t have peace until he knew what the defining moment Other Steve had that he didn’t. He needed to know.

“Tell me about him,” he said. “Tell me about Steve.”

Shared looks went around the room before Dustin started speaking. He settled in and listened intently to the story of Steve Harrington.

---

At the end, Steve was surprised. At least in terms of the kids and The Upside Down, their stories were the same. There was still a lot of his early life that he was missing though. They were looking at him intently, waiting for him to get his thoughts together, waiting for him to speak.

“A lot of it is the same. Except the end, obviously…” Steve trailed off.

“What were you like in high school?” Eddie asked suddenly, looking at him intently. He had asked the same question in the hospital. Steve hadn’t answered then, but for some reason the question really mattered to Eddie.

“I was a sort of popular I guess, friendly with everyone and no one tried shit with me or my friends. I was on the swim team but wasn’t the star by any stretch. Most days I hung out with Nancy, Jonathan and Barb. Got closer with the kids in ’83 when everything went to shit. I wasn’t the best at school but Nancy helped me pass. Me and Eddie became friends at Scoops and Robin joined the group after Vecna killed Chrissy in her room.”

“What about Tommy and Carol?” Eddie questioned.

“What about them?”

“You weren’t friends?”

“Why would I be their friend? They were assholes.”

The room was very quiet. They all looked at each other. Back and forth.

“So, no King Steve?” Robin stressed.

He shook his head. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Eddie and Robin took over the story, filling in a big missing piece from the kids’ retelling. Robin had mentioned a bit of what Steve had been like in high school, but they told him the rest of what they knew of him then. The popular jock who ruled the school, the bully who didn’t care about anyone else. By all accounts a mean asshole. Robin told him what happened with Nancy and Jonathan and how Steve had been introduced to The Upside Down. How he could have left, could have avoided all of it… but he went back. Then getting closer with the kids… and then the rest.

King Steve. The first key difference then…but it still didn’t explain why. Why would being ‘King Steve’ make a difference in their ending when the moments before were so similar? Why? Why? Why?

“… I still don’t understand why you want me here. I’m not your Steve. I’m a goddamn coward and I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to have any of you.”

“There are echoes, Steve,” Dustin said earnestly. “Parallel universes. Not divergent, parallel. There are going to be differences, some of them big – like you living – some of them small – like your favourite colour or something – but a thread is going to weave through them all. You said yourself that most of the big things are the same. You’re not a coward.”

Steve couldn’t help but shake his head at his words. Dustin got up and stood in front of him, he waited until Steve met his eyes before he asked, “did you help Nancy and Jonathan against the Demogorgan?”

He hesitated a moment before he nodded.

“Did you help me look for Dart and defend us at the bus?”

He nodded.

“Did you fight Billy and go into the tunnels with us?”

Steve could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him. Heavy. So heavy. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. He nodded.

“Did you get tortured by the Russians and help us defeat the Mind Flayer?”

He nodded.

“Did you fight with us against Vecna?”

He stared up at him, eyes hard, but Dustin refused to look away – looked back at him just as hard until Steve finally nodded once.

“How does any of that make you a coward, Steve?”

“Can’t you see how that same thread was leading up to a predetermined moment where I was supposed to die protecting one of you? I spat in the face of destiny and my family suffered the consequences for it.”

More looks around the room, a question going around that no one would be blunt enough or cruel enough to ask. But they didn’t have to ask it. Steve knew what the question was. The question he had been dreading since they had torn him out of his universe and told him that every other Steve Harrington had died a goddamn fucking hero. He remembered the fear. Fear for himself and for everyone else. How chaotic everything was once the battle had started, how immediately the plan went to absolute shit.

“I don’t know why I didn’t. There wasn’t a moment that screamed ‘if I step in front of that blow, then Eleven can take him down, or if I lead away the bats, they’ll have a chance to do something.’ I was scared… Everyone was failing, struggling, and I – I could see that we were going to lose and I just…didn’t want to die,” he finished quietly, ashamed. He turned away; he didn’t want to look at them. Didn’t want to see the disappointment or the pity in their eyes.

“I don’t know what made me different from all the other Steves. I don’t know what they saw during the final battle or how they knew what to do to save everyone. I don’t know.” Steve put his head in his hands and cried. He had been afraid and he didn’t want to die, there was no other answer. No absolution. No justification. No forgiveness.

Dustin’s hands gripped him and pulled so Steve’s head rested on his shoulder. His arms came around him and he whispered, “it’s okay, Steve,” over and over. But Steve shook his head… because it wasn’t.

“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings,” Dustin whispered into his hair as Steve tried to breathe.

But Steve wasn’t the snow. He was the fire and the dragon.

---

Steve didn’t like to go out during the day, finding the sun too bright, too much. Leaving the house at night felt safer, more comfortable. He was used to the darkness. The sun was something he thought he would never see again – and was now something he denied himself.

Steve wandered the streets, lost in thought. The kids had left after he had stopped crying, he could tell they wanted to stay but Eleven and Will convinced them to go. Robin had stayed for longer, but he wanted to be alone and she had left too. Eleven and Will tried to get him to watch a movie but he told them he was tired, spent the rest of the day in bed but couldn’t sleep. He had left as soon as he knew everyone else was sleeping. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to face any of them again. He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to see the pity and sadness in their eyes – didn’t want to feel the weight of their memories and expectations anymore.

Steve tried to remember the last time he had been happy – truly and peacefully happy – and the moment that came to mind was when he thought he was dead. When he thought he was in heaven, reunited with his family. When he thought everything was over and he could finally rest. He wanted that feeling back. It was all too hard and he didn’t know how to let it go – the anger, the pain, the guilt. He was drowning in it. He had clutched those feelings tightly to his chest when he thought they were all he had left, but now they were suffocating him. But worst than the anger or the pain or the guilt was the fucking hope.

It was trying to wriggle its way in and he couldn’t take it. It hurt worse than anything he had ever felt before. The hope that he could live a happy life here… but…

His kids were dead and it was his fault.

How could he ever let himself be happy when his kids were dead? How could he ever move on and live when his kids were dead? So, the hope had to die too. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t let it in. He had to atone. Had to make the sacrifice he didn’t make the first time and set everything right.

Endings.

The quarry was quiet when he arrived, though an angry wind kicked up around him as he stood at the ledge. The stars shone brightly and it was a beautiful night to die. If there was a God, he would be reunited with his family when he died, even if he was in the wrong universe. He prayed that his soul would know where to go, that it would find them. He felt bad about leaving the kids here – but they didn’t need him, he didn’t know why they thought they did. Other Steve had taken good care of them. They would be fine. He hoped that they would never find his body, would believe that he had simply… left.

He looked over the edge, at the long way down. The fear he had always felt in the presence of danger was silent for the first time. All he felt was peace. He was going home.

Steve took a deep breath, looked up at the stars, and raised his foot.

Part 7

@just-a-tiny-void @mx-jinxous @child-of-cthulhu @goodolefashionedloverboi @awholedamnmesstbh @phoenix0bird @queenie-ofthe-void @bookworm0690 @estrellami-1 @hbyrde36 @a-gae-af-racoon @nailbatandfreak @newtstabber @novelnovella @meela86 @lenathegay @vampireinthesun @penny00dreadful @questionablequeeries @espressopatronum454 @r0binscript @seths-rogens @fruity-nerd @sani-86

Synopsis: Steve hits his lowest point after learning about the life of Other Steve. He is tormented because he believes that learning about his life only confirms that he is a coward who failed his kids at the moment he should have saved them. Nothing in Other Steve’s story explains why their endings are so different. He is tired of his guilt and wants to rest with his kids, he goes to the quarry and contemplates jumping.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #multiverse #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #the party

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