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dr-felitas · 2 months

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wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.”

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa.

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts.

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.)

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin.

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases.

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it.

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is.

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be.

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is.

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself.

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose.

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you.

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again.

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

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dreaming-medium · 6 months

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Stray Kids Kinktober Day 10

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Praise Kink - Hyunjin

Word Count: 11.7K

Summary: As a lead detective in the police department, you've been assigned to solve a serial killer case, but you've hit a point where you can no longer work on the case by yourself. Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department and your sworn rival, is assigned as your partner.

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You have officially run out of red string.

The cork board in the conference room doesn’t have any more open spaces for new leads or clues. You can’t even see the brown of the board anymore.

Instead of whittling information down, you’ve only come up with more suspects for the case.

It’s better than the case going cold, sure, but it feels like you’re getting further and further from actually solving the damn thing.

It also doesn’t help that you not only have Chief Bang breathing down your neck, but the entire city as well. You understand, really, everyone wants a killer to be caught.

But these sort of things take time.

And they usually don’t have a million and thirty leads. Typically, you were lucky to have one.

Everyone in the city has a tip. And you have to check each and every single one.

Three sharp knocks draw your exhausted attention away from the board.

“Come in!” You call out.

The door clicks open and dress shoes click on the floor.

“I think you’re going to need another cork board soon, Detective.”

Your mood curdles like milk.

“What do you want, Hwang?”

Hwang Hyunjin, the department’s top detective and your least favorite person in the world.

Every case he touches is solved. Every last one of them. But maybe— just maybe— it’s because he gets to pick and choose which ones he’s assigned to.

The golden child of the police department. The biggest, cockiest pain in the ass you’ve ever met.

He clicks his tongue and walks up to the conference table you’re leaning against.

“I have a whole new stack of tips for you.”

The sound of a thick stack of papers hits the table, you cringe.

You haven’t even finished going through the last stack.

“And I am once again humbly offering my assistance on this case.”

You look over at him for the first time tonight. His long black hair is pulled back with a few strands dangling in front of his face.

He wears a pressed dress shirt, black tie, black vest, and slacks.

Truly, it looks like he popped off a magazine cover and you hate it.

“And I am humbly declining. I can handle this on my own, thank you.”

Your own heels click along the floor as you come around the conference table to sit down in front of the first stack of papers.

Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets and meanders closer to the cork board.

He looks up and down all the different leads, the ever expanding list of suspects, murder weapons, locations. He’s silent for a long moment.

The only sound in the room is the clock ticking on the wall.

What time is it anyway? You’ve been here since 4 AM when a call came in about another victim. The bags under your eyes surely look like bruises at this point.

Since you started on this case two months ago there hasn’t been a single night where you’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep.

Words are blending together on the paper. Is the sun up?

Warily, you turn and eye Hyunjin, who’s still staring at the cork board. His head cocks to the side as he studies all the different clues littering the surface.

He takes a deep breath and turns to look at you. You point an accusatory finger at him.

“No! No, no. You’re not coming in here and solving my case that I’ve been working on for months!”

His mouth shuts, a smirk appears.

Oh, you want to smack it off his face.

“I was only going to say—“

“No! Nothing! I do not need your help! Get out of here!” You shoo him away.

“L/N—“ he tries again.

“Shut it!”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth while making his way to the door.

You glare daggers into the back of his head, praying that a ceiling tile will miraculously fall and crush him.

He grabs the door handle and walks into the hallway. Right before the door closes, he peeks his head in through the crack.

“The killer is ambidextrous,” he says in a sing-songy voice.

A frustrated, muted scream tears from your throat and you hurl the nearest object— which happens to be a metal cup full of pens and pencils— at the door.

It shuts before the cup makes contact.

Hyunjin’s laugh comes through the closed door and it only makes your blood boil more.

You slam your head down onto the wood desk.

“Of course he’s ambidextrous.”

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“Detective L/N,” Chief Bang’s head pokes into the conference room. “Can I see you in my office please?”

You haven’t gone home yet. You’re in the same clothes as yesterday except now they’re more wrinkled.

Nodding, you put down your pen and tell your chief you’ll be there in a minute.

He hums and leaves the room.

You rub the heels of your palms into your eyes to try and get the exhaustion out of them.

About 100 ounces of coffee is flowing through your body but it’s doing nothing to wake you up, all it’s doing is increasing your heart rate.

To anyone else who wanders through your police department, they might think you’ve escaped the morgue.

The walk to Chief Bang’s office was short.

As soon as you step inside, your heart sinks.

The chief sits behind his desk, but that’s not why your stomach turns.

Hyunjin takes up one of the chairs, another freshly pressed suit on his body.

The man is flawless and it makes you want to become a suspect for one of your cases.

“Take a seat, detective.” Chief Bang motions to the other empty chair.

Hyunjin looks up at you, arms crossed over his chest. A smug smirk pulls on his lips as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

You tongue your cheek for a moment and flip your hair over your shoulder before sitting down. Your fingers iron out deep wrinkles in your pencil skirt.

You try to maintain some level of pride. It’s comical, really.

“Now, I’ll cut right to the chase here, Y/N, it’s not that I don’t trust your abilities as a detective, I do.”

You deflate.

“But this case is becoming too much for one person.”

Your jaw clenches.

So badly you want to refute that claim, to tell Chief Bang that you have it handled, it’s no big deal. But that’s a lie and you both know it.

And the smug asshole next to you definitely knows it.

“Detective Hwang has kindly offered his assistance on the case, so I’m assigning him as your partner on this.”

You think for a moment. “Can I get a different partner? I think Detective Kim just closed his last case, meaning he’s available to help.”

“Detective Kim started a new case this morning.”

“Detective Lee?”

“Busy.”

“Officer Yang?”

“He’s not even a detective.”

“What about Detective Seo?”

Chief Bang stays silent, deadpan eyes watch you. He cocks his head to the side.

You sink back in the chair.

“I specialize in homicide cases, L/N.” Hyunjin pipes up from next to you. “I’m the best one for the case and you know it.”

“Zip it, Hwang.”

Hyunjin scoffs.

Chief Bang rolls his eyes, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Y/N, I’m going to need you to swallow your pride for the sake of the city. There’s a murderer on the loose, remember? You’re my top detectives, it would be stupid not to partner you together.”

You can’t meet his eyes, you look off to the side, crossing your arms over your chest. Anxiously, your leg begins to bounce.

“Put your personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

Silence falls over the room. Both of the men wait for you.

It really doesn’t feel like you have a choice, here. Obviously, you don’t.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Hyunjin taps his hands on the arms of the chair and then pops up. “I’m going to need access to all the files you’ve been looking at these past two months as well as the extra key to the conference room.”

He grabs his trench coat off the back of the chair.

“I’ll also need you to catch me up to speed on the latest tips from civilians; you did have time to read those last night, right? Additionally, I think we should rearrange our hours so that we’re on duty together until this is solved.”

He makes his way towards the door.

“Come on, L/N! We’ll discuss over coffee.”

You stare at Chief Bang. He offers you a slightly amused, slightly sympathetic smile.

“Best of luck, detectives.”

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The hot mug rests between both of your shaky hands. Hyunjin sat across from you in a large diner booth.

Files littered the entirety of the top of the table. It’s all things you’ve seen before and practically have memorized by now.

You explained everything you knew to him from the beginning, sparing no detail.

College girls were all found murdered in their dorms. No security footage of anyone going in or out of the building that doesn’t belong there.

Each victim is about two weeks apart.

A half eaten fruit cup sits next to your coffee. ‘Fruit cup’ is a loose term since more than half of it was honeydew melon.

Why can’t they just throw a few strawberries in there? Slice up a banana or toss a few blueberries in? They already have the fruit in the back for the pancakes, it would be so easy to—

“I don’t think this victim is from the same killer.”

Your head snaps up and you glare at Hyunjin. “Who?”

He slides the file across the table to you. “Andrea Bowman. She doesn’t fit the same profile as the other victims. All the others were blonde, Andrea has brown hair.”

You sip at your coffee, glazed eyes scanning the file. You’re simply too tired to keep up the anger.

“I had thought the same thing at first. But according to the coroner, her time of death would put her as the first victim of the killer, first victims of serial killers tend to not fit the profile of the rest since it’s the first taste.”

Her autopsy stares up at you.

“Plus, everything else is consistent with the rest, bruised wrists and ankles and a slit throat. They’re all college aged girls who went to the local community college.”

You slide the crime scene photos around, taking in all the details.

“Maybe she wasn’t his victim.” One of her school photos peeks out from the bottom of the stack, you pick it up and look at it solemnly. “But something tells me she was his first.”

Hyunjin watches you closely, any rebuttal he had died on the tip of his tongue.

Plates clatter in the kitchen.

Your nose scrunches and you pack away Andrea’s file.

“You said they all go to the same school?”

“Yeah, the community college.”

“Did they all study the same thing?”

You shake your head, taking another sip of coffee. “Nope, all different fields of study, all different extracurriculars. They didn’t even live in the same dorm building.”

Hyunjin leans back against the booth and picks up his iced coffee, taking a long sip while staring out the window.

Your fingers run through your hair. “I requested their transcripts and class schedules from every year but I’m waiting on all those requests to process. With how slow the registrar’s office is taking you would swear they didn’t want this case solved.”

“Red tape always gets in the way.” Hyunjin reaches down in his pocket and takes his phone out, tapping a few buttons and then holding it up to his ear.

You cock an eyebrow at him, he only holds up a finger at you. You scoff.

“Dianne? Hi, it’s Hyunjin!… I’m doing so well, and you? … That’s great to hear! … Yes, yes those homemade cookies were to die for.”

Your mouth falls open a bit. Who in the hell was he talking to? Homemade cookies?

Throwing your hands up in front of your face, you give him a flabbergasted look.

He narrows his eyes at you and gives you a look that says ‘be quiet’.

“Listen, I was actually calling to cash in a favor, I have a list of students I need transcripts and schedules of for a case. … I can email it over to you, it’s for the— … yes, yes that one.”

You slow blink at him. Does he have a contact at the registrar’s office? Of course he does, why wouldn’t he have one?

The golden child strikes again.

“You’re a darling, Dianne, thank you. I’ll send it to you asap. … of course, say hello to Rob for me. Bye!”

He hangs up and puts his phone back on the table.

Hyunjin takes one look at your face and shrugs. “What? I helped her with a personal matter when I was a P.I.”

If you roll your eyes anymore, they’ll go into the back of your head.

“So do you have a list—“

You interrupt him. “Yeah.”

“Can you—“

“Mhmm.”

You finish your coffee and reach into your purse, digging out a ten dollar bill and tossing it onto the table.

“Where are you going?” He asks you.

“Home,” you respond simply while shuffling out of the booth. “I haven’t slept since Monday.”

Hyunjin looks down at the various files on the table. “What about the list?”

You move the files around and pull out one of the papers and place it in front of him.

“It’s right here. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hwang.”

“Tomorrow? But what about—“

“If Dianne gets the list back to you, just forward it to me. I’ll look at it when I wake up.” Your voice is full of venom.

“I really think we should look at it together.” His eyes narrow. “We’re partners on this, remember?”

“As if you would even need my help,” you spit out. “By the time I come in tomorrow, you’ll probably have the entire case solved, the perp arrested, and all the paperwork done before I even pour my coffee.”

The more you talk, the more your anger levels rise. You lean over him in the booth, one of your hands on the back of the seat to keep you balanced.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen and he leans back as you go forward.

“The golden boy will strike again, solving a case that I’ve been working on for months and getting all the credit. Because that’s just how good you are. Mr. Perfect. Everything about you is just amazing.”

He gulps and shifts around. A red tint creeps up on his face.

And for the first time since you met him, Hwang Hyunjin is speechless. His mouth opens to say something several times but no sound comes out.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me.” You stand back up and turn on a heel, leaving the diner and a very flustered detective behind.

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Knock after knock after knock after knock bangs on your apartment door.

You’re not sure of how long whoever’s been knocking has been at it, but it takes you a solid thirty seconds to wake up fully. You had peacefully drifted into a very deep sleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

The entire bedroom is pitch black, the sun no longer in the sky. The clock on your nightstand displays that it’s around 1 AM.

“What the fuck?” You slur out. It’s so hard to open your eyes right now.

The knocking persists.

With all the grace of a drunken newborn deer, you slither out of bed and make your way to your front door.

You flip on a light on your way there.

Staring through the peephole, a frown pulls at your face as soon as you see who’s banging on your door at this ungodly hour.

You rip the door open, startling Hyunjin. His hand still hangs in the air when you open it.

“Finally!” He shoves past you and into your apartment.

“No, please, come on in.” You growl and shut the door, securing all the locks in place again.

Behind you, you hear him slam a stack of papers onto your kitchen island.

“I forwarded you the transcripts hours ago but you didn’t answer.”

“I told you I would look at them when I woke up.”

He takes in your disheveled appearance with judging eyes. Your hair was all frizzy and out of place, a loose t-shirt hung off one shoulder and was so big you couldn’t see the shorts underneath.

His Adam’s Apple bobs with a swallow.

It was obvious he wasn’t used to seeing you in such a relaxed state. He was still wearing his dress pants from earlier, but he only had a dress shirt on with his trench coat over the top.

“You’re awake now, aren’t you?” He looks back down at the stack of files and opens them up, spreading papers everywhere.

You come up to the table and look down at everything.

Semesters of different class schedules stare back at you. Some have highlighted portions, others are still blank. He seems to have given up in the middle of doing it himself, opting to bring it here.

You tongue your cheek, looking over what you can see so far.

It’s going to be a long night.

“I’ll make coffee.”

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Hours have passed, the sleepiness and weariness of being woken up has been replaced by the delightful thrum of caffeine in your veins.

After about a half an hour of going through the transcripts, you quietly asked Hyunjin if he was alright with you playing music softly.

He stared at you with wide eyes, “Ah, yeah, of course, that’s fine.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m just… not used to you asking for permission before doing something.”

Grumbling, you rolled your eyes and picked your phone up to scroll through playlists. You settled on a calmer one full of music from artists like Lord Huron and Tom Rosenthal.

Since then the two of you have been silently going through each schedule.

Biting the end of the highlighter absentmindedly, you study the class schedule.

“I’m only seeing one similarity.” You say out loud. Hyunjin looks up. “This one class, it’s a gen ed Physics class. But each of these girls took it, all at different times though.”

“Which class?”

“PHYS 100. Same Professor– Dr. Furon.”

“Do you think we should bring the professor in for questioning?” he asks.

“Couldn’t hurt. Right now he’s the only common denominator. Is it anywhere on your transcript?”

Hyunjin flips through the pages. “Yep, right here, her freshman spring semester back in 2020.”

You pull out a sticky note and write down that info.

“Can you go through each one and tell me when they took the course?”

Hyunjin gathers all the stapled packets of papers up. “Yeah.”

---------------------------------------

You and Hyunjin stood shoulder to shoulder looking through the one way glass.

A near ninety year old man sat on the other side.

“So,” Hyunjin says to break the silence.

“So.”

“It can’t be him.”

“Obviously.”

Another long moment of silence.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to question him or should I?”

You sigh, watching as the professor fidgets with a loose string on his sweater sleeve. The officers had completely forgone the handcuffs, allowing him to sit at the table freely.

They also rolled in a comfier chair and gave him a cup of coffee.

“My case. I’ll do it.”

“ Our case.”

“Shut it, Hwang.”

You make your way into the interrogation room with a notepad tucked under your arm.

The professor looks up as soon as you open the door. He shakily stands up from his seat with proper manners.

You smile gently. “Dr. Furon, thank you so much for taking the time to come down.”

Both of you shake hands before sitting down. His grip is not firm whatsoever.

Arthritis.

“Oh, it’s no matter. Happy to be of help.”

You place the notepad down and scoot your chair in. “I’ll get right to it since I can see you’ll be our best help here. When analyzing the list of victims, we saw that each of them had taken your class before. It’s a small lead, I know, but it’s too much to sweep under the rug.”

He nods, listening carefully. He blanches and leans back. “I didn’t realize I had each of them. There are so many students in each section, there’s not enough time to learn names.”

He shakes his head.

“I had recognized a few in the paper, but I try not to do too much digging, it hurts too much to look into. I don’t know how you detectives do it.”

You reach across the table and grab his hands warmly. “I feel the same way about physics, I don’t know how you do it. All those equations.”

Dr. Furon cracks a smile. “Someone has to. But I do have help with all my courses. Each student has a specific discussion section once a week with a smaller class size, but they’re all taught by graduate students.”

You jot that down on your notebook and lean your chair back. You knock once on the window.

“On it.” Hyunjin’s muffled voice comes through the glass.

“Just one more question, Dr. Furon, I won’t take up any more of your time, this has been very valuable. Are there any students or people that you come in contact with that maybe trigger some alarm bells or a gut instinct?”

He shifts around, he really thinks about it.

“I really can’t think of anything, detective, I’m sorry. The girls’ names that I recognize were normal students too, granted they weren’t the best, but I do know they were doing their very best. Breaks my heart.”

You scribble that down and stand up.

“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Furon. We greatly appreciate your help.”

He nods and stands up as well. “Of course, if I can do anything else, please give me a call.”

“If you think of anything else, here’s my card.” You reach across the table and hand him a small business card.

You showed the professor out of the room, asking if he needed anything. He patted your arm sweetly before leaving.

When you turn around, Hyunjin is standing there, waving a file around.

You roll your eyes. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

---------------------------------------

Your apartment has become the unofficial meeting place for both you and Hyunjin once your shifts are over. The department wasn’t great for concentration.

They say not to take work home with you, but your home is so much cozier.

It’s only about 8 PM. Takeout containers take up a small portion of the kitchen island.

Another pot of coffee is brewing.

“So, between the victims, there are five different graduate students that taught their discussion sections. And one of them graduated last year.” Hyunjin flips through his notes.

You run your hands through your hair.

“So, four graduate students.”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’.

“Do we have any information on the four students?”

“No, but we have enough cause to bring them down to the station for questioning.”

You sigh and pick up your phone. “Let’s do that, then.”

A message is sent off to Chief Bang, he replies immediately saying he’ll contact them immediately and have them brought in and that he’ll call you when you can come in.

“I just don’t think it was any of the graduate students.” Hyunjin adds, sliding papers around to grab a victim’s file.

“I agree.”

He doesn’t seem to hear you. “Two of the graduate students are women— women don’t commit murders like this, the other two are masters in their field with promising careers.”

“I know, I agree with you, Hwang.”

“And I just don’t think that— wait, you agree?”

You stare at him with a blank expression. “Yes, I agree with you.”

He shifts around on the seat. His mouth opens and closes a few times before actually speaking. “You agree?”

Rolling your eyes, you place the papers down on the table. “Hwang, you know I would rather die than agree with you, but in this case, yes, I agree, I think you’re right.”

“Oh.”

Looking back down at the papers, you absentmindedly read a sentence in one of the witness statements. “I know you get the job done, I’m not going to put personal feelings before a case.”

Hyunjin fidgets more. “So, you think I’m a good detective?”

Is he serious?

You roll your eyes, still not looking up. “Yes, Hwang. Chief Bang has proclaimed you as one of the greatest detectives— everyone at the station knows that.”

“I just didn’t think you thought that way.”

“I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He clears his throat and shifts forward on his chair. “But do you , Y/L L/N, think I’m a good detective?”

Putting the paper down on the counter, you look up at him with a cocked eyebrow and a frown. “Really? Do your work.”

“Not until you say it.” He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you look down once more. What was on this page again?

“Choke.”

Hyunjin takes a breath to say something, but your phone lights up with a call at the same time. Expecting it to be Chief Bang, you answer quickly.

“Detective L/N.”

“Detective!” An old voice comes from the other line. You pull your phone back to look at the unknown number and then bring it back to your ear.

Hyunjin’s attention peaks at your confusion.

“It’s Dr. Furon, I apologize for calling so suddenly.”

“Oh, hi Doctor, it’s no trouble at all.” You look around for your notepad.

“Put it on speaker,” Hyunjin hisses while leaning forward. You shoo him off. He reaches forward to grab the phone from you, you smack his hand.

“I remembered something I didn’t get a chance to say earlier, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it,” Dr. Furon continues.

“That’s quite alright, it’s the reason I gave you my number. Now, what is it?” You grab a pen and a random piece of paper.

Hyunjin reaches again, you smack his hand once more. “Speaker!” He grumbles again.

Dr. Furon talks, unaware of the petty brawl happening on the other line. “All of the students that are struggling in my class, I point them to the tutoring center in the library. As far as I remember, the names that were in the paper, the ones I recognize at least, they were going to the tutoring center.”

Your eyes widen and you write it down quickly.

Hyunjin’s patience wears out, he stands up from the counter and comes around to your side, his face dipping down to press his ear to the other side of the phone.

“Is there only one tutor available for your class?” you ask, jotting down notes.

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry. You know, now that I think of it, on their final exams, I give extra credit if they write down that they went to tutoring and name their tutor.”

“Do you have those exams?” Hyunjin asks into the phone. You reach over and flick his forehead. He swats your hand away.

“Oh, Detective Hwang, how are you?” Dr. Furon says politely.

“I’m doing very well, thank you.”

You go to smack him again, he once more swats your hand away.

The professor comes back to the conversation. “I have them but they’re in my office. Would you two mind coming to campus to get them tomorrow?”

“Of course,” both you and Hyunjin say at the same time.

You sneer and push his face away.

“Great!” Dr. Furon gives you all the details for tomorrow and the two of you hang up.

Placing your phone on the counter, you stand up to get away from Hyunjin.

“You could've put it on speaker.”

“You could’ve been patient!” Grabbing the nearest object— a tissue box— you hurl it at him.

Hyunjin only laughs and catches it.

“Putting more coffee on?”

“Obviously.”

---------------------------------------

“It’s the same one,” you say incredulously, flipping through the exams that Dr. Furon had given the two of you.

While you got the papers from the professor’s office, Hyunjin had gone to the tutoring center for a list of tutors. Apparently he had a connection there as well.

The two of you now sat in the conference room with your original cork board to the side. New leads and pictures right smack in the middle.

You had spent the day questioning the graduate students, but as you suspected, it was a dead end. No one knew anything.

The exams spread over the table were the best lead.

“It is,” he mutters in agreement and disbelief.

“Eric Rowan.”

“Do you think…?” Hyunjin trails off.

“I do,” you state clearly. “I really do.”

Shaking your head, you flip through the exams over and over to make sure you’re right, to make sure you’re not looking past something.

You’re not jumping to conclusions, are you?

Hyunjin suddenly stands up from the table and makes his way to the door. “I’ll have the chief get someone to bring him down to the station.”

He didn’t even give a second thought to your decision.

The door clicks after him. The silence inside the room is deafening.

It would be perfect if you could play music like you do at home.

“Eric Rowan,” you whisper solemnly.

One tutor from the library at the university.

It would make sense.

Hyunjin had managed to get Eric’s entire tutoring log, every student he’s ever tutored had been included.

You were able to highlight each and every one of the girls’ names that were victims of these heinous crimes. There were about two weeks of time between their last tutoring session and when they were found dead.

One name stuck out, one name brought you an endless sigh of relief: Andrea Bowman.

It made your skin crawl, but you instantly noticed she was the first female he tutored during his time.

Slowly, the pieces started clicking. Your throat got a bit tight, it was difficult to swallow the emotions.

You look around and grab her file underneath a huge stack. Her school picture is the top photo paper clipped on the inside.

Andrea’s smiling face will haunt you for a long time.

Hyunjin came back into the room, you didn’t look up.

“Chief just sent someone out to get him, we’re getting interrogation room two ready for him, I think that— L/N?”

Your head snaps up and you sniffle.

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse.

He shifts his weight in the doorway. “Everything finally hitting?”

You bite your lip and look back at Andrea’s picture. “Yeah.”

Standing up from the table, you close the file and tuck it underneath a few more.

“The guy hasn’t even confessed yet, I’m getting ahead of myself here. It just makes too much sense. These girls stopped going to see him two weeks before he killed— supposedly killed them.

“It just reads so clearly. He probably made a move, they felt uncomfortable so they stopped seeing him for tutoring, he couldn’t face rejection, so he killed them. It’s fucking sick.”

You roll your shoulders and look up at the ceiling. “Am I being too hasty? It just feels right, like … like these girls are cheering for me and telling me I’m right.”

The door shuts behind Hyunjin. He weighs his words carefully and walks up to his jacket, grabbing it off the back of the chair he sat in before.

Those perfectly polished dress shoes click on the floor. It echoes off of each wall.

“There’s one thing I’ve always lacked as a detective.” He folds the trench coat over his arm and walks up to you. “It makes me so mad that I don’t have this, it would help with so many of my cases.”

You watch him warily. There’s a sad smile on his face as he takes in your frazzled mood.

You’ve never worn your heart this freely on your sleeve before.

With a sigh, he reaches up and taps on your forehead. “Women’s intuition.”

For the first time, you have no response for him.

As far as Hwang Hyunjin goes, this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to a compliment from him, or even an acknowledgment of your skill.

Your lips stay sealed.

“I’ve never not trusted your judgment. Ever. If your gut is saying this is the guy, then this is him. When have you ever been wrong?”

Your mind is reeling.

Did he just compliment you again?

Heat rises to your cheeks. Your stomach flips.

“I’ve always been so jealous of that. You just… know.” He shrugs and looks around, a small tinge of pink on his cheeks. “When the pieces finally fit into place you’re fucking brilliant at solving everything so fast. What’s that about?”

A sad laugh tumbles from his lips.

“This case would’ve taken any other team months to solve, but you and I did it in two weeks. Maybe we should work together more often, Y/N.”

There’s no way he said that.

He’s jealous of you?

And did he just call you by your first name?

He stares down at you for a couple of seconds. Maybe you were imagining it, but you could swear that his eyes flickered to your lips more than once.

“Come on then, we have an interrogation to do.”

Hyunjin turns on a heel and makes his way to the door.

“Thank you,” you call after him. Hyunjin’s hand pauses on the door handle. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t acknowledge what you did— the favor you just returned.

He doesn’t speak on the new level that your relationship just crossed nor the mutual respect that you two just shared.

Nothing.

You don’t even get to see his face when you call him by his name for the first time.

But, by the way his shoulders square and his head twitches, you know it affected him.

Wordlessly, he nods and opens the door, leaving it open for you as he walks into the hallway and towards the interrogation rooms.

Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department, considers you to be on the same level as him. Who would’ve thought?

Maybe he’s right, maybe you should work together more often.

---------------------------------------

Hours and hours and hours have gone by.

Hyunjin as well as other officers have been grilling Eric for what seems like days. But it’s only been about 18 hours.

The bags under your eyes feel like bruises.

Three empty coffee cups and one full one sit next to you as you stare through the one way glass.

Hyunjin’s pacing around the room with his hands in his pockets.

His tie is loose around his neck, the sleeves of his button up are rolled up, his hair is tied up out of his eyes.

He’s been trying to go the good cop route for the last 3 hours. Slowly, that act has been dropping; Eric is getting on his last nerve.

You both let Eric sit in the interrogation room by himself for 4 hours leading up to this to get to his head. It didn’t seem to work. You can only legally keep him here for forty-eight hours.

If anything, he’s only gotten more agitated.

Hyunjin walks up behind Eric, he reaches one arm down to the table.

“You’ve never seen any of these girls before?” Hyunjin slides a few photos towards them on the table.

“No.” Eric answers quickly. “I’ve already told you that.”

“I just think it’s interesting you’ve never seen any of them, Mr. Rowan. You tutored them. All of them.”

“Do you realize how many students I tutor on a daily basis?”

Hyunjin barks a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn't realize you were that popular.” He comes around the table and opens a file.

Hyunjin pulls out one specific page, and reads off the top. “Actually, here we go, I know exactly how many students you tutor. Let’s see here: ‘Eric Rowan works two days a week in the tutoring center, Tuesdays and Thursdays.’ Last week you tutored 3 students total, and they were all returning students— how interesting!”

He slams the paper down onto the metal table. Eric jumps.

“Only three returning faces to your tutoring session, Mr. Popular. And here’s the funniest thing; I’ve noticed that there’s no women on this list. Weird.”

Eric’s eye twitches.

Hyunjin takes a seat across the table, folding his hands on top of a notebook.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Mr. Rowan?”

Eric scoffs and shifts around in his seat.

Your interest is piqued, you sit up straight in your chair and lean forward.

Why did he get so nervous all of a sudden?

Eric picks up the cup of water that he requested and takes a long sip from it. Hyunjin waits patiently.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything, Detective.”

Hyunjin laughs and opens the file. “See, I thought you would say that. My chief also asked the same question.”

Said Chief, who has been standing behind you for the better part of 5 hours, most certainly did not ask that. Chief Bang snorts quietly at the lie.

“But you know what, we detectives have to do our due diligence.” Hyunjin opens a file and slides a large printed photo out across the table. “Recognize her?”

So many different emotions fly across Eric’s face: anger, loss, betrayal, depression, rage, hurt. The muscles in his face dance as they try to settle on an expression.

“No,” he grits out.

An obvious lie.

“Interesting.” Hyunjin pulls out another photo and slides it across. “Because just by taking a quick look at your social media profile, I can see how this girl was your girlfriend . Look, here you are together! Leah Miller. Pretty girl.”

Eric says nothing. He can’t look away from the picture.

“Most interesting part I noticed was that you haven’t posted anything with her in about a year. What happened? Breakup? They suck, hm? Sorry, should I have said ‘ex-girlfriend’ before? My bad.”

You can’t help but smile. Hyunjin’s always been brilliant in interrogations, you can’t deny that. You’ve only ever heard rumors about how he is on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Sneaking a peek at the picture of Leah Miller, your eyes widen. She fit the profile: long, blonde hair and sweet, light eyes.

More pieces fall into place.

“It’s none of your business,” Eric grits out between clenched teeth.

Chief Bang shifts behind you and grabs the back of your chair. Obviously he senses it too, a confession, a slip up, anything. It’s showing its head.

“What? What are you saying?” Hyunjin laughs. “It’s exactly my business. That’s quite literally what my job is, you know, to know your business. It’s the same reason I know that you asked out Andrea Bowman during one of your tutoring sessions and she rejected you.”

“That’s not—“

“Oh, sorry, is that not how it happened? Did you maybe try and make a move on her and she rejected you that way? Maybe you put an arm around the back of her chair? Classic.”

“I-I didn’t—“

“Not that one? Understood.” Hyunjin nods and flips through the pictures on the table. “Oh, did you use the old ‘give me your number just in case you need more help’ trick? Used that on a girl in college, myself. Of course, it worked for me.” He winks at Eric.

Eric is fuming, his face is turning redder and redder, the vein in his forehead is popping.

“Here we go,” Chief Bang whispers under his breath.

Your mouth is agape, you’ve heard about Hyunjin in interrogation rooms before but you’ve never actually seen it.

It’s like he’s dancing with fire so beautifully. He’s twirling a flaming sword with a silver tongue.

“I think Andrea rejected you and then when she never came back for more tutoring, you lost it. You looked up her campus address in the internal systems, because guess what, you have access to that as a tutor, and you went to her dorm room, and you killed her.”

“Wh-What? You’re way off base here, Detective.” Eric stutters, his eye twitches again, his leg starts bouncing under the table.

He pulls on the cuffs keeping him to the table.

Hyunjin you’re so close, come on, come on.

“Funny!” Hyunjin exclaims and slides another piece of paper across the table. “Here’s the search history in the library computer with your login credentials!”

Eric gapes, his mouth opens and closes several times.

“You know what, maybe you didn’t go to Andrea’s dorm with the idea of killing her. Maybe it was a grand romantic gesture, yeah, that seems more like it— flowers and everything.” He slams another picture on the table.

A bouquet of flowers was found at Andrea’s crime scene.

“You presented her with the flowers. And she rejected you. Again. ” Hyunjin’s voice is getting louder and louder, crescendoing with Eric’s anger and heart rate.

Your breathing picks up. Both you and Chief Bang stop moving.

“Stop,” Eric suddenly pleads. His hands shoot up to cover his ears but they’re stopped by the cuffs.

The metal clinks and pulls, they dig into his wrists.

“She rejected you twice! To your face! But you couldn’t take that for an answer. God, why did she do that? Why did she turn you down when you were just trying to be nice? ”

Hyunjin stands up slowly from the table, towering over Eric.

“She was just like her, she was just like that bitch that broke up with you? She tore your heart out and spit on it! She was no better than Leah! So, you knocked her out and you tied her down to her own fucking bed in hopes that she would just hear you out!”

“Stop, stop!”

“Because maybe if she just listened she would understand that you’re just a genuine guy trying to be a good boyfriend to someone! You’re so nice, you’re such a good guy, no one likes good guys anymore, huh? And, of course Leah didn’t see that either!”

“ Stop! ”

“She tried to scream for help, so you killed her. You slit her throat without a second fucking thought for anything! And it felt so fucking good, didnt it? It felt so good to finally take power back from her? So, you didn’t stop.”

Tears spring from Eric’s eyes as he squints them shut, his body physically curling in on itself. He writhes around, unable to get far because of the handcuffs.

“So you kept going, and you went after women who looked just like Leah. And it felt amazing because every single time you could picture her face as you slit their throats. Each and every one of them babbling for mercy, crying out for their mothers, to only choke on their own blood—“

“ FINE! ” Eric screams, slamming his fists on the table. “I killed them. I killed each and every one of the fucking bitches. And I fucking wish I could have killed her too!”

The sudden seemingly endless torrent of sentences comes to a screaming halt.

Hyunjin sits down on his chair once more with a huff.

And just like you did yesterday, he leans back on his chair and knocks once on the window.

It takes you a second to find your voice after witnessing the most amazing, jaw dropping interrogation you’ve ever seen.

“G-Got it!” You say loudly through the glass. “We got it. Oh my god!” You stand up quickly from the chair and turn around to Chief Bang, who has an equally surprised expression. “We got it! ”

He stutters for a moment and shakes his head to clear his mind before speed walking out of the side room to get officers to arrest Eric.

Eric Rowan, who is now pathetically sobbing in his chair.

Eric Rowan who signed his confession with the opposite hand that he’d been using to drink his water.

Eric Rowan who is ambidextrous.

---------------------------------------

It’s so weird to see your kitchen island devoid of files and endless stacks of papers after the last few weeks.

Eric was taken in for booking. Your job was over.

Well, it was over for now. Chief Bang gave you and Hyunjin a week off and then you’re due back in the office for the next case.

Plus, you’ll have to be at Eric Rowan’s trial since you were the lead detective on the case.

So maybe ‘over’ isn’t the best way to describe it.

More soft music plays from your speaker as you clean up the rest of the files. A large t-shirt draped over your body, it practically covers the shorts you have underneath.

There’s a couple knocks on your door. His knocks are so distinct. You’ve gotten so used to them over the past two weeks.

“Come in, Hwang!” you call out.

The door opens and shuts.

“I think I left a few things here,” he says kicking his shoes off in your entryway.

You hum in response, gathering up files to stack them neatly.

His soft footsteps pad up behind you.

“I don’t think I ever saw your countertop, is this granite?” he teases over your shoulder.

You snort a laugh. “Yeah, it is. Came with the place, so don’t ask any more questions.”

Putting the stack down, you turn around and come nose to nose with Hyunjin. He is so much closer than you thought he was.

You jump slightly and back up a bit, your hips hitting the countertop.

Hyunjin doesn’t move.

“I didn’t get to see you after the interrogation,” he says with a quieter voice.

Not able to hold his searing gaze, you look off to the side and cross your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, well, you know how the hustle and bustle can wrap someone up after a case closes. Next thing I knew, Bang was sending me home.”

Hyunjin takes a half step closer to you. “What did you think?”

“Hm?”

“What did you think of the interrogation?”

So many sarcastic, sharp retorts die on your tongue when you remember the conversation that the two of you had earlier.

But still, complimenting him was about as easy as petting a cactus.

“I told you I’m not going to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He takes another step towards you, both of his arms come up to cage you to the counter.

Heat rises on your cheeks more and more with each passing second. You refuse to meet his eyeline.

“Humor me, L/N. How was my performance today?”

Tonguing your cheek, you roll your eyes. Your heart rate picks up at his proximity. Why does he smell so good?

The last time the both of you had an opportunity to shower was two days ago.

He still smells like aftershave and expensive cologne.

“It was good, okay? You got the guy.”

“ We got the guy, L/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, golden boy, we got him.”

He knows your sarcasm is empty. Just by looking at your flushed face he can tell you don’t mean it.

“Come on now, L/N.” Long, lithe fingers grip your chin and turn your head towards him. “You can do better than that.”

Your jaw clenches. Arousal shoots down your spine like an electric shock.

Fuck.

Closer and closer his alarmingly handsome face inches closer to yours. The beauty mark under his eye seems more prominent than ever.

His mind is one of a brilliant detective, but god, that face. He should’ve been a model.

You bite the inside of your cheek and when you try to look away from his deep eyes, the grin on your jaw tightens.

“Come on, L/N.” He smirks. “Tell me how good I did today. Say it.”

The brat inside you decides to surface. So, he wants to go this route, hm? “Why do you need me to say it so badly, Hwang? Everyone else in the department is so far up your ass, they can wear you like a hat.”

He rolls his eyes, his body pressing against you entirely. Your arms uncross and you reach back to grip the countertop next to his hands.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You should be shoving him away, slapping him across the face, spitting on his shoes. But instead you relish in the feeling.

“Yes. But they’re not you. ”

Your eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches. He knows he has you in the palm of his hand. He just needs to break you more.

But does he really?

Finally, he brings his lips closer and closer to yours. He pauses right before he makes contact, giving you a chance to say no.

Nothing of the sort tumbles out.

The first kiss he presses to your lips is nothing short of devouring.

His soft, plush lips consume yours like he’s a starving man at a feast. You meet his enthusiasm with fervor.

Hyunjin’s head tilts to get better access to your mouth. His eyebrows pull together in concentration, he almost looks like he’s in pain.

The fingers on your chin move down to your neck, he wraps his hand around it, thumbs on top of your pulse point, but he doesn’t squeeze.

Your hands tentatively reach for him, grabbing at his dress shirt and tie, pulling him even closer to you.

A small moan comes from the base of his throat and through his nose. Hyunjin’s other hand grabs your hip possessively.

“Say it, L/N,” he hushes between kisses, completely out of breath. “Tell me how good I am.”

How is it that he has this sort of possessive grip on you and yet he’s putting the ball in your court?

A small boost of confidence courses through your veins.

“Can’t you just admit it already?” he adds.

Smirking, you say nothing. One of your hands threads into his long hair and yanks his face back to yours for another bruising kiss.

He huffs through his nose once more, but kisses you nonetheless.

Twirl after twirl of his tie around your hand tightens your grip. With the last tug, Hyunjin moans once more into your mouth. The hand on your throat squeezes a bit.

“L/N,” he pleads again against your lips.

You tug hard on his tie. Hyunjin loses his balance slightly, his knuckles turning white from grabbing your countertop so tight.

Bringing your lips to his ear, you blow hot air on the sensitive skin first. He shivers against your hot body.

At the same time, your bare foot travels up the back of his clothed calf, your thigh brushing against his hip.

“If you want my approval that badly, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Hyunjin makes a choked moan, “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. The hand on your hip tightens. The fingers wrapped around your throat twitch.

“How does that sound, Hwang? You be good to me and I’ll let you know how well you’re doing.” You roll your hips against his.

Your words have an obvious effect on him, the hardness that presses to your leg says it all.

Hyunjins lips drop down to your neck, he bites the soft skin where it meets your shoulder. “Fucking hell, L/N, don’t play hard to get.”

Humming, you roll your head back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your skin. “I’m not playing anything, I already told you how to get what you want.”

Licking and sucking his way down your neck, his teeth nip at your exposed collarbone. The hand on your throat slides backwards and into the hair on the back of your head.

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth to stop a moan from leaking out. You pull Hyunjin’s tie to keep his face there.

“Just like that, golden boy, your mouth feels so good.”

His hips involuntarily buck into yours at the praise, he whimpers against your skin. “ Shit, ” he curses into your neck with a hot exhale.

You wrap your entire leg around his waist and roll against him more. His mouth stutters, but afterwards he sucks hard . A bright purple hickey already surfaces when he detaches.

“L/N,” he murmurs into your neck. You hum in response. “Can I take this off?” He tugs at your shirt.

You smirk. “You can.”

When your hand unwinds from his tie, Hyunjin backs off of you. His face is already so fucked out; eyes are half-lidded and hazy, his lips are so puffy and swollen, spit glistening off them in the soft kitchen light.

From all your pulling, Hyunjin’s hair is all askew and coming out of its usual ponytail.

He wastes no time, grabbing the hem of your t-shirt and yanking it over your head, he throws it behind him carelessly. His eyes light up at the sight of your bare chest, tongue poking out to lick his already slick lips.

You chuckle.

“You gunna touch me or what?” you tease. “Or maybe you don’t want it that badly.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenches and he meets your eyes. The look he’s giving you is dangerous.

He huffs once and grabs your waist tightly, lifting you up off the ground and sitting you on the cold granite. The sharp temperature change against your flushed skin makes you shiver.

Hyunjin parts your legs and stands between your thighs, his head dips down and envelopes one nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck!” you cry out, grabbing a fist full of his hair.

One of Hyunjin’s hands trails up your leg to grab at your exposed thigh while the other comes up to play with your other perky bud.

His eyes shut in his own pleasure. That tongue is absolutely relentless, licking circles around your nipple to flick over it a few times and then sucking.

Your toes are already curling, legs wrapping around his waist to get him closer to you.

“How about now, L/N?” his hoarse voice whines against your spit covered chest. “Is this good for you? Does it feel good?”

The more he talks, the more you can’t tell if he’s teasing you or genuinely asking for his own sanity.

“It feels fucking amazing, Hwang, keep– shit – keep going.”

Hyunjin takes in a shaky breath and switches sides, your fingers yank on his hair and he whines again around your nipple.

You let him continue for a while, relishing in the feeling of his spit dripping down your chest and onto your navel. The wet licks and sucks bouncing off the walls combined with his own small whines and your loud moans.

Roll after roll of your hips grinds against his hard tent in his dress pants. After a few minutes, your hips seem to have a mind of their own, your soaking wet cunt seeking friction against anything to satiate the need for contact.

The more he licks at your chest, the more Hwang Hyunjin continues to drive you insane.

“H-Hwang,” you pull his attention. His eyebrows furrow as you yank him away from your purple marked chest.

When he finally detaches, he looks up at you, panting.

“Touch me, touch me, please . I can’t fucking take it.”

His shoulders curl forward like you knocked the air out of him.

With more strength than you thought he had, he scoops you up and wraps your legs around his waist while smashing your lips together again.

You cling onto him for dear life while letting your tongues slide over one another.

“Hah,” you pant out in between kisses. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

He whines.

“Could’ve made me cum with just that tongue on my tits. Such a shame.”

Hyunjin drops your body onto the couch without a warning. You squeal and bounce on the soft cushions.

“Hwang–” your voice dies in your throat when you catch the sight of him standing on the other side of the sofa arm.

The change in his demeanor gives you whiplash.

His eyes are dark, almost black. His chest is heaving with heavy pants. Those long fingers are tugging at his tie, until it's loose enough for him to rip off his neck.

Your knees tuck up a bit towards your chest as you watch him with wide eyes like prey.

Hyunjin reaches down and snatches your ankle, he tugs on it harshly. You yelp as you’re dragged forward into a lying position.

Coming around the sofa, he swings one knee over you to straddle your hips. One by one he begins to unbutton his dress shirt, never once breaking eye contact.

Each sliver of skin that is revealed is devoured by your eyes greedily. Never once has he so much as undone the top button on his collar at work.

Shamelessly, you rake in his athletic build.

“You want to cum with just my tongue? Okay, L/N, I can do that.”

Your heart thuds in your chest.

He shrugs his shirt off and drops it to the floor. Hands grab at the waistband of your shorts and yank them off with your panties in one swoop. Another article of clothing to hit the floor.

The cold air against your soaking wet folds makes you hiss slightly.

Hyunjin stares down at your arousal, biting his bottom lip. Lower and lower he descends until you can feel his heavy exhales against your cunt.

He pushes your thighs apart, putting one over his shoulder, your heel settles into the dip of his spine. He’s smirking the entire time.

Finally, he tears his eyes away from your folds to look you right in the eye.

Your jaw clenches and you watch as he licks all the way from your entrance, up to your clit, circles around it to go back down to your entrance again.

An immediate shockwave of pleasure shoots through your body down to your toes. You toss your head back with your mouth agape, a silent scream stretching your lips.

Hyunjin keens at your reaction, doing the same maneuver again before focusing his attention on creating the most sinful figure eights with his tongue.

Your hand flies down to grab at his hair, shoulders arching off the couch. “Shit, shit, H-Hwang, feels so– hah – s-so good.”

He moans into you, the vibrations go right through you.

With your heel on his back, you can feel how his back curves as his hips rut into the couch underneath him to relieve some pressure off his aching cock.

Praises fall from your lips like water falling over rock. Each one makes Hyunjin whine and kick it up a notch.

“That fu- uh -cking silver tongue, holy shit .”

Hyunjin moans loudly, he grabs both of your hips, nails digging into your skin with deep scratches. It only makes you cry out louder, pulling on his hair even harder.

The tie in his hair comes out completely. You toss it away from you and gather up his hair in between your fingers to keep it out of his eyes. It feels like silk.

A coil within you begins winding tighter and tighter. The more he licks and sucks, the higher your cries get and the tighter your abdomen feels.

“Feels so good, it feels fucking amazing ! S-So close! Shit, please make me cum, please, shit!”

Each word makes Hyunjin sutter and moan into your folds, his eyebrows pulled like he’s in pain. Harder and harder he ruts into your sofa, his nails digging into you so much you think he might draw blood.

It’s taking every ounce of his will not to spill out in his pants at your praise. At your begging .

One of his hands comes up and kneads at your chest. His thumb rubs over your nipple a few times and that’s all it takes for the band within you to finally snap.

Your orgasm washes over you so hard it’s like being hit by a bus.

With a silent cry, your entire body tenses up. Hyunjin’s movements slow down, but he still coaxes you through your climax with that skilled tongue of his.

He hums into your folds, licking up every last drop of your juices.

You come down from your high slowly, chest heaving up and down, every exhale is paired with a moan. Shockwaves still ripple through your thighs.

Hyunjin’s eyes open and he stares at you, his mouth going over to bite your inner thigh. You squeal and squirm.

Slowly, like a lion, he gets up and crawls over your form, keeping eye contact. Once he’s close enough, he captures your lips greedily. Your arousal is still all over his tongue. It’s swapped between the two of you with your spit.

Your hands reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. Hyunjin makes no move to stop you, instead, he pushes you further.

“Look at that,” he pants, looking down at your fumbling hands. “So desperate for my cock, huh, L/N?”

Your eyebrow twitches. You undo the buckle and reach down to grab his rock hard erection through his pants.

Hyunjin’s elbows buckle at your touch and he grunts, squinting his eyes shut.

“All talk, aren’t you? Once I touch you, you crumble .”

“Shit!” His eyes snap open and he bucks into your hand. “Because– ugh –, like I said, it’s you . Fuck ,” he moans when you squeeze him again over his pants.

“Keep going,” you tease. “Keep going and I’ll keep stroking this fucking monster cock you keep tucked in these pressed dress pants of yours.”

He exhales shakily while you unbutton his trousers.

“When were you ever going to fucking– agh – realize that you drive me fucking insane, L/N?” His eyes start to unfocus when you push down the waistband of his pants and boxers down his thighs.

Fucking hell . Has he always been packing this?

“God damn, Hwang.” Your hand runs up his length. Hyunjin shudders and closes his eyes. Your touch is so featherlight he thinks he’s going insane.

His eyebrows twitch and hips buck forward to try and reach your touch.

“I’m not hearing a lot of talking.” You lean up and attach your lips to his neck, continuing to only trail the gentlest of touches up and down his throbbing cock.

The head is red and angry and weeping precum.

His body trembles. “ Shit – I wanted you for so long, L/N. You drive me– fuck – insane. Every single fucking day I did whatever it fucking took to get your attention.”

Finally, your hand wraps around his length tightly and you start pumping very slowly. The long, pathetic moan that tumbles from Hyunjin’s lips is something of sin.

He sounds so relieved yet even more aroused at the same time.

You continue to suck your own marks onto his perfect skin. Sweat drips down the side of his face and down his now slick back.

“ Ughhh – L-L/N…” He buries his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hand stops moving when he stops talking.

He cries out into your neck, hips frantically bucking into your touch to chase it. You only chuckle in response.

“ Please! ” He whimpers.

“Keep going then, golden boy.” You suck a sensitive spot underneath his ear.

Another stutter of his hips.

“I begged the chief to put me on your case!”

Your pumping picks up speed again, his entire body rolls into yours. You grip him tighter and jerk him faster.

“I said– ah – I would do whatever case he wanted next if he– ffuuck – let me work with you on this one– oh my god! And I still would, I would do whatever– mmmph – case I need to to fucking work with you every day. Agh! ”

Despite your outwards nonchalant expression, on the inside, his words are fucking killing you. The throb in your cunt that was satiated moments ago comes back with a vengeance.

To hear Hwang Hyunjin at your mercy is going straight to your core. Each noise he makes goes straight to your pussy.

“God, fuck , L/N, I-I’m close. Please, god , shit.”

After a few more pumps, you stop, taking your hand away completely. Hyunjin cries into the crook of your neck again, his body rolling and rutting the air at the loss of contact.

“Please, why, fucking hell , I was so close!”

You grab the hair on the back of his head and yank his head up to look down at you. His eyes are cloudy, ears and cheeks bright red. Sweat drips down the side of his face and over his sharp cheekbones and jawline.

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?”

His face twists up with another moan.

Hyunjin dives down and captures your lips in the sloppiest kiss of the night. He’s messy and desperate the longer he kisses you.

While trying to stay attached to your lips, Hyunjin fumbles around to kick off his pants and boxers.

Both of you finally naked together, he grabs his cock in his fist.

“I-I’m not going to last–”

You cut him off with a sharp tug to his hair. “Fuck me, golden boy, don’t you think you deserve it after today?”

His eyes practically roll back in his head.

As soon as he’s lined up with your entrance, Hyunjin slides into you slowly. Inch by inch you’re stretched open,

He might not be thick but god, he is long .

With his mouth on yours, he swallows each moan and cry of pleasure. Without wasting any amount of time, he pulls out to slam back into you.

Both of you moan out together.

Your arm wraps around his neck. He rests his weight on one elbow and the other wraps around your shoulders to hug you close to him. His hand splays out between your shoulder blades to keep you anchored against his sweat slicked chest.

The skin to skin contact sends both of you wild.

Over and over again his hips undulate to thrust into you in the most delicious way. The angle of his hips brushes his pelvic bone against your clit with each slam against you.

“You feel so fucking good,” you whine into his ear.

Hyunjin’s next thrust hits a bit harder. If praise makes him fuck you harder, then so be it.

“God, your cock is amazing.” Harder. “Hitting me just right.” Harder. “Never knew you would feel this fucking good.”

With his mouth on your neck, he leaves sloppy hickeys wherever he can reach. His pants fill the room and mix with your whines.

His head suddenly dips down to take your nipple into his mouth once more. You keen and toss your head back, hips canting up. The new angle has his cock slam right into your g-spot.

A loud scream tears from your lips. Hyunjin immediately picks up on this and picks up the pace, making sure he hits that spot every time.

If you thought your first orgasm had a sudden build up, it’s nothing compared to this one. There’s a sudden pressure increasing in your lower stomach.

“Fuck!” Thrust . “So good!” Thrust. “Oh my god!”

Praises and noises fall from you, you don’t even realize what you’re saying anymore. The pleasure has your mind in the clouds.

“Y/N,” the sudden use of your name grabs your attention. Hyunjin comes up over your face with a pleasure twisted face.

“Say it, please, please , I’m fucking begging you , please, say it.”

Your eyebrows pull together, mouth still hanging open. What does he want you to say that you haven’t said already?

“ My name. Say it, please, please, please, please–”

Oh, fuck.

You smirk and watch as the desperation drives him wild. Even in the deepest throes of pleasure, you string him along for a few more seconds as you approach the edge.

Closer and closer you come to the edge.

He whines, begging louder and louder as his own climax creeps up on him, the muscles in his body tightening more and more.

He needs it so bad.

“Y/N! Please! ”

Just as you’re about to tumble over, your mouth stretches open.

“Fuck, Hyunjin! ”

The loudest moan you’ve ever heard from a man comes falling out of his mouth as he buries his face into your neck. Hot, sticky warmth shoots within you in long, drawn out spurts that match with Hyunjin’s whines and groans.

His hips stutter for another twenty seconds before his moans finally calm down.

Both of you hold onto each other tightly, heaving heavy inhales and exhales to catch your breath.

Absent-mindedly, your hand begins to rub up and down Hyunjin’s clammy back, drawing small circles and lines onto his skin.

He hums into your neck and holds you closer for a moment before collapsing onto the couch on top of you.

Surprisingly, his weight on top of you doesn’t seem to phase you; instead it brings the same comfort as a weighted blanket.

After a few more minutes of you silently rubbing his back, Hyunjin begins to lazily press kisses onto your bruise covered chest, paying extra attention to your collarbones.

The kisses are soft and sweet, nothing like the lust coated ones from before.

“Did you mean it?” you ask him quietly.

He pauses his kisses only to answer you. “Mean what?” He starts kissing you more.

“That you asked Bang to work on the case.”

He chuckles against your neck, his hair tickling your skin. “Oh, yeah. It took entirely too much convincing.”

You laugh with him and keep him close to your body.

In the back of your mind, you know you should get up, that he should pull out and the two of you should shower and drink water, but you can’t seem to distance yourself from him.

There’s no harm in sitting there for a while anyway.

Hyunjin hums into your neck again, “Thank god we have the week off.”

You couldn’t agree more.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hwang hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids x y/n #skz x y/n #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic

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tidetfs · 2 months

Text

Dan stared at the bottle he had ordered. Never thinking it would actually have arrived from the sketchy online seller, the liquid within shone a bright orange. Bringing the bottle to his nose, the 20-year old nerdy college student recalled the ad: "become a hot, dumb, smelly, musky, blonde himbo Aussie surfer dude with long hair!" - what he initially thought as ridiculous and something that would only live in his fantasies, he began to think the ad might have been a little real as he popped the cork and gave it a sniff, recoiling. It smelled like the combination of the sea and a high school locker room!

The ad had promised a transformation time of 30 minutes, and for the effects to last forever! Dan looked around at his room...did he really want to do this? Leave his nerdy life behind? As soon as he began to have doubts, he forced himself to rip the cork off the bottle. Before the smell got too bad, Dan imagined the stuff was just a shot of vodka he always saw his hot roommate taking, plugged his nose, and downed the whole bottle.

As he finished the last drops of the nasty liquid, Dan felt the effects immediately. His stomach felt warm and gurgly. A wave of heat and energy washed over his body, causing him to drop the empty bottle and fall to his knees. He suddenly felt rejuvenated, as if he could go outside right this instant and put his pudgy body through a fifty mile run, while at the same time feeling a strong urge to vomit. As Dan tried to stand, he felt another wave of heat coursing through his body. Dan screamed as his veins felt like they would burst out of his skin, falling back to the floor.

Dan moaned again as the heat began to become unbearable, his shirt becoming wet with sweat as he struggled to pry it off. Panting, Dan struggled to remove his shorts too, almost feeling as if he was basking in the hot summer sun. Once his clothes were all off, Dan laid there on the floor, a puddle of sweat surrounding his body. Suddenly, the vomiting urge disappeared, and was replaced by a new one.

"I-I'm horny..." Dan mumbled as he reached down to stroke his hardening cock, a few inches long. He had never been able to get hard, and certainly had never had a wet dream or orgasm, let alone masturbate. But now, Dan couldn't stop himself from touching his cock, and the feeling was electric. It had never felt so good before!

"What is this?!" Dan gasped as his cock seemed to pulse with each stroke. Dan was in heaven, his whole body tingling as he began to play with his nipples, never before having considered that area pleasurable. He didn't even notice the slow growth of hair on his arms, chest, and legs. As Dan began to furiously stroke his lengthening cock, small blonde hairs began to peek out of his head, and a thin patch of pubic hair sprouted. Dan moaned and thrashed about, his cock pulsing with pleasure as it slowly became longer and thicker, surpassing 9 inches and growing to the width of a beer can. Dan began thrusting into his hand as the pulsating head spurted precum like a fountain, dribbling down to his new mess of blonde public hairs that was still growing, becoming an out of control forest reeking of fresh sweat.

"Oh fuck yes" Dan moaned as the rest of him began to grow. Dan's feet began to pulse and crack spreading across the cold tile floor as wild, bushy tufts of bright blonde hair sprouted between his toes and grew up his feet, soon surpassing size 12 as Dan cried out in pleasure. His legs began to swell, becoming thick, toned and covered in sweaty, sticky blonde hair, reeking of male scent and...gnarly waves? Dan began to question how he would know this smell, but the heat overcame him again as his legs pushed him taller to a striking 6'2. His thighs and ass swelled, his hips and waist widening with them as his muscles grew stronger and thicker, his ass cheeks soon swelling to the size of a small chair cushion and bouncing with every move, his hips wider than the doors as he was left with a small, round, bubble butt that shook like jello when he moved. Here too, a jungle of smelly, sweaty blonde hair consumed his ass as Dan screamed in pleasure, his hands kneading the soft flesh as he thrusted his cock into the air.

"Yesssssss" Dan cried, as the heat began to spread up from his crotch to his abdominals. His stomach began to grow outward, the pudge melting away and giving way to a firm, chiseled, rock hard 6-pack abs that glistened with sweat. Dan's nipples became dark, sensitive nubs of flesh, his pecs swollen with muscle as they began to pulse. Screaming at the pleasure coursing through his chest, Dan ran his hands up the chiseled surface of his abs, feeling them become coated in a sheen of rancid sweat that would never truly wash away. As he began to grope and massage his bloating man tits, the blonde jungle from his crotch began to consume his chest and underarms, his armpits turning into a wet, sweaty pit that would forever stink, the blonde hair growing thicker and curlier with each second. Even with his arms resting at his sides, the pits would still spill outwards, a mountain of hairy flesh and sweat. His chest became swollen, the pecs now growing large and round, a pair of thick, perky, sweaty man tits that would shake like water balloons with any movement. The hair on his chest went into overdrive, thickening and spreading as a trail formed up the middle of his back, ensuring any shirt he wore would be ruined by sweat, no matter the number of showers he had.

As Dan continued to massage the still-growing mounds of muscle on his chest, his arms began to pulse with the summer heat. With each wave, Dan screamed in ecstasy, as the veins and muscles underneath his skin swelled, becoming thicker and bigger. The reeking blonde jungle from his crotch and chest, now complete, consumed his biceps, triceps, and forearms, growing into a dense mat that would only grow and grow until the day he died, a permanent, rancid stench that would make him the subject of attention wherever he went. Dan moaned as his arms began to flex, his hands reaching up to the ceiling as his hands swelled, growing longer, larger, and thicker, the hands of a brute. As he used his new hands on his raging cock, he felt the heat once more as his shoulders began to pulse, feeling them widen as his back grew thick and powerful with strong muscle, his broad shoulders bulging with the same power.

"O-oh f-fuck..." Dan moaned, as he flexed his arms, feeling them bulge with raw strength, biceps and triceps thicker than a normal person's thighs, the smelly blonde jungle making them seem even bigger. He breathed deeply as his cock continue to leak, his whole body dripping with sweat, as the heat began to travel up into his neck as it grew thicker and wider, giving him the appearance of the jocks he wanted so much to be like. Dan moaned, feeling his voice drop deeper and deeper into a low, sensual baritone as his Adam's apple pushed outwards, forming a thick, protruding knot.

As Dan reached down to play with his hairy ass, his face began to tingle. His eyes fluttered and closed as his nose cracked pushed outwards, giving the slightly crooked appearance that it had once been broken as his lips grew plumper and fuller as his longer tongue licked their edges. Dan's teeth grew dull and slightly crooked, a perfect set for the dumb surfer boy he was becoming. A low, sensual chuckle came from deep within his chest as his jaw cracked, growing larger and wider as his cheekbones bulged.

"Heheheh" Dan chuckled again, his new, low voice reverberating throughout his body, as blonde stubble began to appear on his face and neck. Dan's hands caressed the smooth, baby-like skin of his face, before it erupted into a wild, dense jungle, covering his entire head. The smell was unbearable, but Dan could do nothing but moan in ecstasy as he raised his muscular arm to huff the sea of hair spilling from his pit. He breathed deeply, smelling the mixture of his rancid male musk, salty sweat, and the ocean, feeling a nostalgic sense of returning home. He moaned again in his new, low voice as his skull began to grow a thick set of curly, sweaty blonde locks, only adding to the smell as the last of his short, black hair changed color and began to spill behind his ears. Dan moaned again, the sound of his voice sending shivers down his spine, as his mouth filled with saliva.

"Fuuuuuck" he moaned, his tongue swirling around in the saliva, causing some to spill out as drool onto his still pulsing cock, earning Dan another wave of pleasure as his greasy locks grew even more curly, reaching the back of his neck. Dan opened his eyes, the pupils now a beautiful aquamarine, and watched his hair grow in the mirror, the light from the window glinting off the golden blonde curls.

"D-do I have long hair?" Dan mumbled, his mouth filled with spit, as he stood up and walked over to the mirror. Dan's cock bobbed with each step, precum flying everywhere, as he stared at his new, sexy, handsome body.

"I-I look like a surfer" Dan said slowly, looking at his long, wet, curly locks, shining like gold in the light. He looked at his strong, muscular arms, the blonde hair shining as it cascaded down to the jungle on his hands, before continuing to his chest. Dan's hands moved to his pecs, feeling them, before his hands traced the outline of his six pack. "I'm strong..." Dan muttered, watching his cock twitch and bob. Dan looked up to the mirror again, his new model-like face staring back at him. He looked at the blonde curls, his thick, wet, red lips, and his aquamarine eyes, feeling the drool dribble down his chin and the scent of the sea and man sweat fill the room.

Suddenly, Dan realized the potion had one more surprise for him as he felt a splitting headache, his hair growing even faster and longer.

"Owowowowwwwww" Dan moaned, grabbing his head and bending forward. His hair grew and grew, his hands running through the wavy curls, slick with grease, salt, and sweat. He looked in the mirror again, noticing a subtle shift in his eyes as he quickly realized what was happening. "Wait, n-no-" he started, as he quickly began going over calculus facts from his advanced college course, before the pain became unbearable.

Dan cried out, the words and math in his head becoming more complicated and foreign as the pain slowly morphed into a gentle, pleasant vibration. The words and math slowly slipped from his mind, his once brilliant brain turning into a dumb, empty hole, as it became harder and harder for Dan to picture even basic metal math. "Fuuuuck" Dan moaned again as the pleasant vibration consumed his whole being. "Fuckin A..." Dan whispered in his new, deep timbre as complex thoughts became harder and harder to imagine, almost feeling like he was high. He chuckled again, as the words and math disappeared from his mind. "N-nooo, I'm dumb..." Dan slurred, his voice sounding slow and drunk.

Dan blinked and chuckled, as his mind turned completely empty, only capable of simple, primal thoughts and urges. "I'm horny..." Dan growled, his voice sounding like the sexy, rugged surfer he had always dreamed of being. His new, handsome, chiseled face broke out into a stupid grin, a look that would become the new himbo's default expression. "But the fuck am I doing here..." Dan chuckled again as his dorm room began to shift and morph. He blinked and giggled as the white, clean walls turned to a worn, brown wood. He blinked and laughed as his desk shifted and molded, becoming a simple bed frame and dresser, his computer changing into a surfboard and a cooler.

"Oh fuck yessssssss" Dan moaned, his cock pulsing and dripping precum. "I'm at the beach!" Dan cried, looking around his new room. There was a small, circular window where his door had once been, allowing the sunlight to illuminate his room. Even the time on the clock changed as the heat accosted Dan one final time, this time in his vocal cords.

"Owowowow" Dan groaned and coughed as the final effects took place. His vocal cords became even more raw, coarse, and masculine, his voice dropping an octave lower. "What the fuck, mate" he gasped, his accent changing as he spoke. Gone was his once boring, nondescript American accent, replaced by a low, gruff, sexy Aussie drawl, his words slurred together and slow as he vigorously jacked his still-hard cock, his blonde pubes caked with sweat.

"Oh fuck, oh shit, uhhhh" Dan moaned, his balls beginning to pulse as the heat traveled from his neck down his spine. "G-gonna...cummm..." Dan moaned, feeling the pressure build in his nuts. He felt them begin to pulse, and then he exploded, the biggest, loudest orgasm of his life erupting from his cock, the stream of cum enormous as the windows fogged up and the floor began to soak. His cock pulsed and pulsed, a seemingly endless river of cum.

"Ughhh" Dan grunted, as his orgasm finally began to subside. "Awww shit, my dick's really fuckin big" Dan giggled, the sound reverberating through his room and causing the glass in the window to vibrate. "Mmmm, but my balls are so heavy" he groaned, cupping his fat nuts and letting the weight settle.

As he heard the final change, a small crackling noise coming from his brain, he realized the beach was gone, his old, boring life was gone, and a whole new world had opened up for him. He would never forget his old life, but it would always seem to Dan as a distant memory. Dan giggled, as his brain finally stopped working, replaced with a dumb, happy, empty void, incapable of stress or worry.

"Fuck yeah, mate!" Dan cried, his stupid, happy grin returning. "I'm a surfer dude!" he yelled, his accent slurred. He jumped around his new beachside shack, the dumb himbo bouncing around the room. He was naked, and the heat from the sun warmed his sweaty, blonde, hairy body. He breathed deeply once more, the salty, fresh air filling his lungs, the scent of the ocean mixing with the pungent smell of his own rancid, musky male scent, before walking to his dresser, his cock still hard and leaking. "Man, I gotta get my trunks on if I'm gonna score tonight" he giggled. Dan's mind was empty and happy, only able to process the most simple of thoughts, and that was good enough for him.

As he grabbed his favorite swim trunks and slipped them on, he walked back over to the window, looking out onto the beach. There were hot girls and guys, all scantily clad and tan, running about, playing in the waves and lounging. He could feel the sand between his toes, and could almost taste the cool, crisp water of the sea. He was finally free of his old life, and now he was here, the happiest himbo surfer there ever was.

#dumber #himbo tf #male tf #surfer tf

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peachesofteal · 9 months

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter 7

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Brief suggestive content. Angst, anxiety, self loathing, relationship issues. Darling is her own tag/warning. Panic attack, eating related issues, fainting. Emotional hurt/comfort, fluff. Established throuple. It's better when they're here.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Kyle grins in response, and then pulls you in for a hug. His face is full mirth, his cheer warming you from the inside, and you embrace him in return.

“’bout time they bring you out here. No reason to hide you away all this time.” Something nervous, a light giggle, slips out from between your lips, your eyes rolling in an exaggerated fashion. Johnny's hand flexes against the base of your spine.

“Gaz.” Simon sighs, and he barks out a laugh before turning back to you.

“Try not to let these two bore ya to death.” He whispers, before giving them both a nod and ducking down the hall. He makes absolutely no noise, feet silent against the floor, practically disappearing before your eyes, shadow here then gone, presence felt, and then void, all at once.

“He’s nice.” You look up at the two of them. Johnny chuckles, amusement scrawling across his lips and cheeks as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“Don’t let him fool ye.” He quips and you frown, confused.

“Gaz is… very, very good at his job. One of the best there is, I’d say.” Simon explains gently, and then your stomach sours, because you remember.

What they do. What their jobs are. Why you’re even here in the first place. You’ve never asked for in-depth detail or explanations, but you’ve heard enough, know enough, to know.

He turns the lock and pushes their door open, giving you a view into their room, a short hall that expands out to something that looks like a college dorm, except maybe a bit bigger. It’s got all the similarities though, cinderblocks and an old, tiled floor, singular window and a bit of an odd smell.

“So, this is your room?”

“Aye. We’ve got a big bed, mostly thanks to Si, and a little more space than everyone else on this floor but, this is it.” It’s sparse too, no pictures or personal items, nothing that looks like or resembles them except…

There’s a bulletin board, hanging on the wall above the bed. It’s empty, save for one thing, a photo that’s been stapled to the cork.

It’s of you, this photo, you under a white sheet, smiling at Simon, who’s behind the camera, with just the shadow of Johnny’s hand along your upper arm. It was taken last year, you can tell, because you recognize the style of your hair from that time, and you stand there for too long, staring at it, mouth partially hanging open, breath held in your lungs.

Nothing in this room that reflects them, or their home, or each other… nothing. Except for a photo of you.

“Darling?” Simon murmurs, and his chest presses against your back, thumb and forefinger stroking along the back of your neck. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah. I… I’m alright.”

“So, like… what is that you guys do?” The question lands to a silent reception, both of them exchanging looks in front of you, almost like you’re not even in the room. You feel awkward, and self-conscious, while they seem to have a silent debate with their eyes.

“We’re in multi-national special ops unit.” Johnny provides, and your eyebrows crease as you process. A what? A multi-national what? You laugh, until you realize their faces are deadly serious.

Wait. Are these guys in the fucking military?

“Special ops, like… the military special ops?”

“Kind of.”

Oh.

Fuck. Your cheeks feel hot, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or the topic you’ve stumbled upon, but you swallow loudly as you process it.

You’re not exactly a huge fan of the military. Not like you really know anything about it, just that most of the wars your own country has been involved in for the last twenty years revolve around oil and imperialism, and all the dudes who serve are abusive and predatory. Assholes. Creeps.

Or at least, that’s what it’s like where you’re from.

“She didn’t like that.” Simon murmurs from behind the mask, and Johnny grimaces.

“Alright?” He hums and a small noise gets stuck in your throat, like you want to say yes, want to say no, like you’re not sure what you want. “We travel a lot, for work. So, we’re not always around… that’s where we’ve been the last few weeks. Working.” The words make your heart skip a beat, and you nod, still processing.

Not always around… not always around.

So they really aren’t planning on making this a thing, then. The thought stings with bitterness against your tongue, and you shove it away.

When you don’t say anything in response, Johnny sighs, and reaches for your hand, fingers curled against your palm in your lap. “How did we get on this subject anyway? We’re supposed to be havin’ some fun.” He smiles, big and warm, sending butterflies spiraling through your stomach and up your spine.

Simon’s gaze never strays from your face, and his brow furrows, like he’s reading you, or piecing you together. The scrutiny makes you shiver.

Why are you worrying about it? This is only like the third time seeing them, anyway. You’re getting too attached. You’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re just having fun. That’s all it is.

“Right.” You quip, and then pull your drink towards you before rising from the chair. Your skirt is short, and you realize it’s probably too short when you see Simon’s jaw grinding behind the mask as you turn your body, edge of the fabric brushing against the back of your thighs. His gaze is heavy, it’s hot, and you remember the image of him looking up from between your legs the other night, lower half of his face buried in your cunt, still hidden from view without the scrap of fabric. “So… should we get another round then?” You hold your empty drink, ice clinking against the glass, and Johnny chuckles before standing in front of you, a hand on covetously laying on your waist as his lips brush your cheek.

“’ll get them, love. You sit.”

The bed is very, very warm. You don’t even need the duvet and sheet that you have pulled around your shoulders, your hips, but you snuggle down into them farther, breathing in the scent of Johnny’s shampoo, of Simon’s skin.

It all whirs around you in some soft, soothing scented lullaby, and you allow yourself the indulgence, closing your eyes again even though you’ve only just woken from the nap that you slipped into when they left for a meeting.

You’ve managed to trap their body heat beneath the blankets, and you wiggle around until you’re facing the other side, staring at the bulletin board, your own face frozen in time staring back at you.

You look different. You look like you’re in a haze of contented bliss, a peaceful state of happiness, safe and secure, tucked between the two of them without a care in the world.

Why did it change? Who changed it? When? How?

The questions echo as you piece through the last few months in your mind, trying to place where the original seeds of darkness sprouted from, to find where the murky thoughts and feelings really came from, their roots, their birth.

This process, this seeking, makes your hands shake against the sheets. It makes your legs twitch, feet rubbing against each other while your chest tightens. Dread, panic, shame, all twist and turn through your mind, pinpointing your weaknesses and failures, exposing you to yourself like the fool you are.

They’re trying. Are you?

You don’t need the answers, not truly. You know where the blame lies. You know what happened. You know the part you played; you know the parts the guys played.

You stare at the wall and try to count the patterns in the concrete, willing your brain to focus, willing yourself to pull up, pull out, put your head on straight. The sound of blood rushing in your ears is deafening, loud enough that you think someone may hear it down the hall. May hear you, succumbing to yourself.

It feels like drowning.

They could pull you out. Simon could fix it. They could make it better.

But would they? Could he, now? When nothing is the same?

The memory from leaving the hotel ripples across your heart like a familiar melody, acid burning in your calves as you blink and shudder.

Simon, holding your nape, Johnny, holding you to him in the elevator, in the car.

“Stay with us darling. Stay here. With us.”

You wonder if it will ever be the same again.

You hate this one as much as the last.

Your mouth pulls into a frown, hands resting on your hips as you stare at the canvas in front of you, rotating your head from left to right, like that will make you see it better. Like that will bring it into focus.

The colors are wrong. They don’t harmonize, they don’t crest and swell together like you had envisioned. They don’t blend in a cacophony of floral silhouettes like you saw in your mind.

Instead, they look like a storming sea. Darker hues overpowering the light, like thunder through daybreak.

Maybe you could fix it? Or maybe, you should just abandon this technique. Maybe you could-

There’s a knock at your door.

It’s not light, or gentle, but firm, ringing out in rapid succession and you jerk.

Who could that be? You’re not expecting anyone until-

Oh. Oh no. Oh god. Oh no, no no.

Your eyes dart frantically around the art room before you're shoving the two brushes from your hands into a tray and tripping out into your living room.

“Oh my god.” You gulp out loud to no one but yourself, the person who has spent the last three, possibly four days in a haze, a painting binge, trying to escape the stress of your job, of life, of this… thing that’s going on with Simon and Johnny.

Trying to escape yourself. Your thoughts. Your feelings.

Your flat expresses it well. You think, possibly, it could appear like it had been ransacked. Your clothes are everywhere. Draped over your tiny loveseat couch, shoved between cushions and pillows. Two-day old toast sits on your kitchen counter, accompanying two, three, four coffee mugs that are filled with varying levels of liquid. Your uneaten dinner from last night sits on a plate next to the trash can, your oats from the other morning sit cold in the sink.

A prescription bottle that hasn’t been touched in four days, lurks on the kitchen counter with a handwritten note taped beneath it:

“You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.”

Another knock sounds at your door, thumping followed by the sound of your phone vibrating next to the stove.

Your left sock has a swipe of chartreuse across it. Your overalls are tacky with dried paint. You can vaguely feel your hands touching your hair, your neck, hovering above where your heart hammers.

You can’t let them see you like this.

They’ve never seen you like this.

This is supposed to be light. It’s fun. It’s… not real. They’re not with you. They cannot see.

You take a deep breath.

Maybe you can pass it off. You can… say you’re sorry for the mess, that you’re sorting through things for donation. And you don’t have to lie about painting. That will explain the clothes.

You take a breath, and then open the door to find Johnny on the other side, happily smiling at you, mohawk shining in the light of the hall. He looks you up and down briefly, and you freeze, waiting.

Waiting for him to say something nasty, something hurtful. Waiting for him to reprimand you for failing, to accuse you of being useless, helpless. Waiting for him to tell you he doesn’t have time to deal with this. That you should be better, do a better job of taking care of yourself.

“- and he’ll just be a minute, but we’re so excited, been thinkin’ about ye all week. We had such a good time before we left, really loved sharing those days with you.” What? You blink. He cocks his head. “Love? Y’alright?”

“Yeah.” You answer, voice monotone. Somewhere, trapped beneath layers and layers of the worst pieces, you’re screaming. You’re aching. You’re desperate.

“This all paint?” He motions to the splatters and stains, and you nod robotically. “I remember, you mentioned that last time… that you paint. I uh, draw sometimes.” Of course, he draws. Because he’s beautiful, and perfect. He rubs his neck almost sheepishly before raising an eyebrow at you.

Oh. Right.

“D-do you… want to come in?” You offer it meekly. Please say no. say no, say you’ll wait out in there, say you don’t want to.

“Sure, thanks.” Fuck. He steps by you as you motion, brushing against you closely, close enough that the butterflies flutter and you can feel the heat of him. “This is cozy, yeah?” He gestures to your flat from the kitchen, and you nod again. On autopilot.

All you can see is the food, untouched, uneaten. Evidence of your struggle. A water bottle that’s full to brim. The coffee cups, that you couldn’t even bring yourself to wash. All you can feel is your own skin, dry around your mouth, your nose, and oily everywhere else, your dirty clothes heavy against your body. You can feel your teeth, your tongue, unbrushed, unclean in your mouth, jaw clicking while your grind your molars.

You shouldn’t have let him in. He’s going to see. He’s going to hate you. Hate this.

The room spins.

“Hey,” There’s a hand, on your arm. It’s big and soft, and sweet and you blink again. “Darling.” There it is. That pet name. That nick name. That name that’s quickly becoming your own. The one that makes you feel warm, safe, cherished. The one that makes you feel like this is something more.

You hate it.

You love it.

“What is it?” Johnny’s handsome face peers down at you, concern worrying across his brow.

“N-nothing.” You try to lead him off, but your breathing stutters through your nose, and he looks alarmed.

There’s a new knock at your door, heavy and quick, and you both turn to look just as Simon is filling the door frame, half of his face hidden with the black mask that he always wears.

He watches you. Like a predator. His eyes flick from you, to Johnny, to the kitchen… the living room.

It's like there’s a train sitting on your chest.

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He says softly, clicking the door shut behind him. As soon as it’s secure, the mask comes off, and he’s focused on you, eyes not leaving your face, moving closer and closer until he’s upon you and Johnny, huge hand coming to hold your elbow. “What’s going on?” He murmurs, but it’s not for you. Even if it was, you cannot answer. There’s a train sitting on your chest, after all.

“Ah dinnae ken.” Johnny answers immediately, while his palm works up and down your arm in a calming pattern.

“Darling?” Simon cups your cheek. Ever since he showed you his face, he’s been… like this. Intuitive. Too intuitive. Too keen. Like he already knows. Like he’s been waiting.

“I-“ you try to tell him it’s nothing. That you’re tired. All of your lies flit through your head, the stories you wanted to concoct to explain everything away but nothing comes out. Not even your breath.

The room spins again, but this time so does your head. The floor feels like it’s tilting, or maybe it’s your feet that are off balance. You’re not sure. You feel light though, like your legs don’t even exist. Like your knees aren’t real.

“Shite.” Johnny swears, and lunges, hands darting out to catch you before the world goes black.

“Are you asleep?” There’s a whisper, like a soft touch, against your ear. It’s enough to prickle, enough to crack a smile across your lips, and you press your face into the blankets while strong hands shift your hips.

“I dinnae, might be.” Johnny hums, stroking fingertips down your ribs. It tickles, forcing a breathy giggle from your mouth that’s met with another’s, lips moving with yours while you melt away in a pile of partners and pillows.

“How was the meeting?” You whisper. Simon cradles you to his back, warmth bleeding through his shirt to your skin, and you shimmy closer, pressing hard until you’re flush with him, Johnny watching the two of you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Standard.” Simon answers. “Thought about you the whole time.” He kisses your cheek, arm reaching for Johnny who obliges, nestling himself against your chest. You focus on them, taking long, deep breaths, keeping yourself above water, keeping the murky depths at bay, for now.

It’s better, when they’re here. It’s always better, when you’re together.

“Thinkin’ about ye asleep in our bed, bare cunt on our sheets enough to drive me mad.” Johnny groans, fingers skating across your hip bone. You’re not wearing underwear, just a giant sweatshirt, one of theirs, though you’re not sure who’s.

Lust roars to life between your legs, desire, want, has you clenching, but you try shove it away.

It’s too much, too soon. You’re too… off center. You’ll lose yourself.

But they’re here. They’ll put you back together. Simon won’t let you fall.

It’s not a good idea.

You want it. You want them. Need them.

The back and forth makes your head hurt.

“I- I’m not ready.” You blurt, and he freezes, pulling his hand free immediately but you grab onto it, desperate to have his touch, to feel him.

Guilt burns in your heart.

“Of course, darling.”

“I’m sorry… I want to I just-“

“You never have to apologize.” Simon rumbles and you shake your head.

“I know but, I feel bad. Guilty.”

“Look at me.” He urges, and you shift, all while clutching Johnny’s hand in yours. “We love you. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about. We will be here when you are ready, but there’s no rush.” He strokes a thumb across your cheek, and you lean into it, eyes slipping closed. “I think I’d be more worried if you were ready to jump right into sex, after everything.” Johnny hums his agreement and presses a warm kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s take a nap then?” He suggests, and you pull his arm to your chest, rocking between the two of them until you’re effectively sandwiched, comfortable, and secure, just the way you like it.

The way you dream about it.

The way you can only hope it might be, from now until forever.

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

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Bravado

(Gator Tillman x Female Reader)

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, depression, anxiety, mentions of body hair, vaginal fingering, & oral sex (female receiving).

A/N: Listen, I know the show isn’t out and we have no real visual (besides that one pic), or any characterizations that are complete of our boy here, but this is just my take! It’s all in good fun! And I’m using this gif as a sort of visual for him, because we obviously don’t have anything else, lol. Dedicating this to my love Meg, @courtingchaos — I’m here and I see you, honey! Feel better! 🖤❤️

There’s a kind of explosive energy when he hears the front door slam — it’s worn, dust caked blinds slapping against a sheen of glass that could use its own cleaning. He prepares himself for a bantering battle, stubbing out the cigar’s end in the gun shaped ashtray you'd gifted him from your last summer’s venture to see your childhood friends in Virginia. He never has admitted how much he missed your presence, and not just because you kept shit running around here for him, kept his head on straight when his mind went galloping off at top speed — no, it was something else entirely that Gator Tillman was not ready to admit to himself yet. Uncrossing a boot clad ankle from the other, Gator lifts himself off the worn desk chair, uncaring as it hits the wall and makeshift cork board behind him. There’s more pressing matters.

His thick digits twitch at his sides, electric prickling at his fingertips. He’s ready to reach out and touch what’s his. And as he makes his way to the front where your back is to him, arms shrugging out of your thin leather jacket and discarding it on the office visitor rack — Gator feels an ache on his tongue. A longing to map, to explore, to taste, to lick every inch of your skin. You’re wearing a pale pink lace top with intricate buttons and blue jeans, but that’s not what throws him off, halts him in his tracks.

It’s your lack of hat wear. Every morning, each shift — without fail, you’d strut in here with your velvet cowgirl hat, delicate charms pinned to the tassel. Gator hated that damned thing, always loud and cliche, and you knew he did. He never missed a chance to tell you that either, until now. Maybe you’d already tossed it off and behind your desk?

His brows pinch together. That’s not right, something isn’t okay. He approaches slowly, uncharted territories. He’s unused to defusing you. Perps, yeah. But the woman he’s been having sex with for nearly a year and has known for much longer?

This is a new anxiety, one that temporarily halts that aching on his tongue’s tip. You turn around before he can say something, the leather in his boots giving his position away. He’s gotta fix that. You’re without makeup, but you’ve never looked more fucking perfect to him. A light dusting of perfume caresses your neck, along with a sheen of humid perspiration.

“Gator.” You’re sighing in exasperation, your own voice exhausted and demolished, incapable of anything more. “Please don’t start.”

For a moment’s pause, he wants to lash out, walk away from the unknown. But it’s you, and he can’t. He nods several times, licking the aftertaste of tobacco and stale coffee off his mouth, and he steps into your space and laces his fingers through yours, tugging. You don’t fight his grasp, you don’t complain when he adjusts the locks on the front door, you’re even silent when he walks down the small paneled hallway and nudges you into the pale blue painted bathroom. The tile flooring provides a little coolness to the room’s expanse, causing you to relax slightly.

Gator makes quick work of using the scratched metal towel dispenser next to the sink, dowsing what papers he collects in water, his large hand drifting into your sight. He knuckles scrape behind your ear, calluses on his fingers tickling the lobe. You let him maneuver you until you’re sitting on the oak dresser beneath the window, one dying fern beside you. He tilts your neck to the side and runs the wet towel over the sweat, mopping up the heat and instantly making you sway into his hold. You reach back and grip his wrist, nails rubbing at the bone, eyes closed.

He wrings it out along your flesh, his nose fitting into the curvature of your jawline, tongue finally filtering out to taste you. Every bead of water that rolls down your skin, he’s collecting, spreading around, leaving behind a trail of saliva in its wake. Once you’re more pliant and there’s merely wrinkled paper, he trashes them and pinches your chin between two fingers. “What’s wrong?” He’s not stern, but he is strong in his question.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lie.

“Bullshit, Bravado. Somethin’ is up your ass. And since it’s not me…”

Your head snaps up at that, a poor attempt at an eye roll getting lost on the both of you. Stupid fucker can read you like a book. There’s no need to hide it, you don’t feel like mustering the energy anyways. Shrugging, you give him your honest answer. “Everything. I don’t know. Just overwhelmed and over all of this. I’m tired, I need a break. And this stupid hell hole is hotter than Satan’s asshole. What do you want me to say, Gator? I’m just… I’m exhausted.”

He’s known you years before you’d ventured outside friend territory, so he automatically knows that if he pushes anymore — you’ll bolt. And hell, he’s been there. He’s been there multiple times in the past two weeks, but you’ve always been here to keep him together, get his ass in line… Make him forget. With a stern, bushy brow, you’re watching in bewilderment as his hand finds purchase on your shoulder and squeezes, an understanding tenderness that he hasn’t given you since he fucked you for the first time and you were extremely overwhelmed.

“I take care of my own.” He says it, a secret he doesn’t mean to let out of the treasure chest, a gift. His caramel enriched eyes swirl with mirth and self-shock. He doesn’t take it back though, just has his other hefty palm following suit and his fingertips trailing along your collarbone, toying with your blouse’s buttons, before settling on your other shoulder.

A helping hand, a brief understanding. Gator admires your ability to read people, it’s why you’ve never needed a polygraph in the office. You’re the internal ball buster. And he’s damn proud of you. You swallow harshly, throat glistening with his licks.

There's exhaustion, however, as a few seconds tick by. You don’t have the strength to pleasure him, to sink to your knees in these, on this dingy floor. But Gator is shaking his head, nose nudging the underside of your chin, lips pressing, a sentence filtering off smooth. “M’ not asking for everything. There’s only one question I’ve got for you, Bravado.”

Your voice is almost a whisper when you answer him. “And what’s that, Tillman?”

Without missing a beat, shards of green swirling beneath that glossy hazel — he’s there. “Are you gonna take your clothes off for me, or am I takin’ them off for you?”

He’s got something planned. Your stomach stirs, that pulsating ache slapping you between your thighs, webbing across your body and holding on, woven through every orifice, and latching onto every organ. He smirks at you when you try to decipher, waiting patiently. Your response is to lift your hands and sink them underneath his own, pushing your top off your shoulders, nodding at him, your hands meeting his on the buttons and undoing each one. His scratchy stubble bites into your jugular, his mouth at your neck the entire time until your shirt is coming apart and he can ease your bra cups below the swell of your breasts.

You begin to pant, struggling to stay still and hold onto the chipped wooden surface below you. He steps back to unwind his holster and secure next to your hip, his worn Levi’s dusted with fresh dirt and mud at the knees, ripped open and exposing hairy skin. There’s damp stains on the pits of his brown shirt when he raises his arms, your nails stimulating paths of goosebumps as you run your fingernails up his biceps, helping him discard the fabric. He smells so fucking good, just as he always does. That cologne has sunk into his neck, smeared in with aftershave and the hair gel he’s slicked his locks back with, and that layer of body odor he accumulates during the heat.

He sinks his pearly whites into his lower lip, pupils expanding — capturing the lush green and melting the caramel into a thin ring. His hairy chest is accentuated by his own sweat line that shines across his sternum, his gold chain pendant swaying back and forth with his brisk movements. You pull it into your palm and clutch, lifting your hips for him to get your jeans unzipped and pulling them off with your panties in one go, legs parting for him to filter in between. You’re like a buffet and Gator Tillman is ready to feast, whilst still keeping the task at hand — making you forget.

He helps himself to your breasts, big hands squeezing and jiggling, rolling your nipples until you’re arching your back and pleading. “Good girl,” he praises.

“Gator, please.”

“Got such perfect fuckin’ tits, darlin’.”

You hum your appreciation, a slight smile playing on your lips, your cunt awaiting attention, soaked every time you move — audible. Gator notices, of course he does. But what you aren’t expecting is for his hand to bypass you, tickling your inner thigh, already teasing slick, but not taking. He doesn’t break eye contact with you, his boots giving him away yet again (as if he’s not completely visible) as he lowers himself to the floor in front of you, his knees hitting the ground. Your tummy knots itself into somersaults, eyes glazing over.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You’re already pleading, demanding, encouraging.

He licks at his teeth and nods, his large hands looking diabolical clutching your knees and pushing you impossibly wider. His breath is warm across your thighs and soaked lips, making you jump slightly. He kisses you where your thigh meets you, inhaling like a starved man, running his fingers through your creamy curls. You both sigh in elation. He loves the way you look between your legs, unafraid to let your natural hair grow, always doing what you want, unlike a lot of the women he’s been with.

And when he’s finally able to taste you? It’s like a fucking memory that molds together nostalgia for him. The echo of a good song on a jukebox in an empty bar, how smooth his first drink he bought to celebrate when he became Sheriff tasted as it went down. You’re better than the celebratory cigar he planted between his lips and smoked as he watched you dance to that old song — drunk off your ass with your bare feet gliding along faded wooden planks. He thinks, he wonders, his finger gliding along the seam of you before it pushes inside your wet heat — that you’re feeling this all too.

You cry out for him and your legs drape down his back, thighs squeezing his head, pressing into his cheeks. That fucking day old beard burning your flesh. Gator mouths off one last time, before he dives in. “Tell me how much you need my tongue, baby.”

“Always need it, always need you.” You’re stammering and already close to exploding, everything hypersensitive.

The heat is boiling to a pressure point, and as Gator licks his way into your cunt, pulling your hips down onto his face, his finger finding your clit, he doesn’t object when you demand he take himself out and cum with you. He works you both in steady and easy rhythms, alternating, paying attention, not taking his eyes off of you the entire time. It’s intense, more so than you anticipated, and the coil tightens in your abdomen, seizing your muscles with a delicious destruction. He moans in vibrations against you, causing the high to drown you, your mouth opening and cries of his name dousing him, along with fresh waves of your arousal — hot and sticky on his tongue. With your curls tickling his nose, the fresh scent of your cum on his mouth, seeing you come undone and use one hand to grab your own tits — he spills all over the floor, uncaring about the mess, licking you through your orgasm while bucking into his hand to ride out his own.

He rests his head against your thigh, enjoying the heat. Your hands gravitate towards him, one linking through his own, the other combing through his now unruly mane. He has trouble standing, tucking himself back in, but you work together. He cleans you both in comfortable silence, helping you button your shirt and adjust your pants. You fiddle with his chain as he slips back into his t-shirt, accepting a kiss with your own taste.

Nothing more needs to be said, at least, not about the intimacy just shared. Gator, ever-the-little-shit, he has one more surprise up his sleeve. As you find your desk back in the small lobby and he unlocks the door, he leans into the counter on his elbows, leaving you with one last thing. “My place tonight. Steaks and drinks, so don’t be late, Bravado .”

// Eat me paragraph //

#kristenwrites #my work #my writing #gator tillman #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman fluff #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x female reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n

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jungle-angel · 5 months

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The Students Become The Masters (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: D'Nadi clearly made a mistake picking on you and Cal and your students couldn't have made it clearer than that

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Warnings: Pregnancy, D'Nadi being an asshole etc.

Calvin re-emerged from the kitchen with a hot mug of homemade tea to help calm your nerves. God it had been a day. Never in his life had Calvin seen you so upset about D'Nadi approaching you and not giving you a reason as to why you had been sent home from the college. He had felt terrible about cancelling his other classes for the rest of the day, but he knew that you needed him now more than ever.

"C'mere love," he said, gently lifting your tired head into his lap.

You sniffed a little as the tears stung your eyes. "God I hate D'Nadi," you croaked.

"I know, I do too sweetheart," Calvin said, running his fingers through your hair. "Try not to stress so much. I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby."

"I know," you croaked again. "I have an appointment at the teaching hospital tomorrow."

You snuggled into Calvin, a little too tired to drink the tea he had made, until he had finally convinced you to drink just a little. His hand trailed to your now noticeable bump, gently caressing the little life that grew within. A knock at the front door had startled you both and threw Six-Thirty into a barking fit until Calvin shooed him back to his bed near the fireplace. When Calvin opened the front door, he was a little surprised to find Father McDowell standing there on the front porch.

"Sorry to be disturbin ya laddy," he apologized. "I know it's late and you and the missus are probably settlin in fer bed."

"It's alright Padre," Calvin said. "Just a bit of a rough day is all."

"Ah so I can tell," Father McDowell said, seating himself in the old wingback near the living room window. "How are ye (y/n)? Still feelin a little blue are ye?"

You nodded.

Father McDowell sighed as Six-Thirty put his paws up on the chair arm, the priest gladly letting him have a few scritches. "Tis a damn shame we ain't back in Cork," he said. "If he'd have been attendin me old boardin school, the nuns would've lashed'em so hard he wouldn't be able to sit for at least a week."

You and Cal both chuckled a little. Despite his salty nature, Father McDowell's presence was always welcome at times like these as well as his rather twisted sense of humor.

"One way or another m'lamb, ye'll get through it," he assured you, lighting his pipe. "All will be right with the world......somehow."

And you and Calvin had hoped so.

***************************

Dark night had fallen over the college campus, but that didn't mean the halls were dead. No, they remained brightly lit, the rushed footsteps of students feet on the tile and parquet floors, hurrying to an out of order bathroom at the very end of the hall.

Two students, one of Father McDowell's theology students and his girlfriend, knocked on the door of the bathroom which was promptly opened by Sandy Levenstein, one of your assistants in the classroom.

"You two here from the Padre?" she asked.

"Yep," the young man answered.

"Get in," Sandy told them.

The bathroom was crowded with students and TAs alike, everyone packed elbows to assholes in that small little room from all walks of the campus life, bookworms, jocks, exchange students, chemistry majors, nursing majors, art and art history majors and everyone and anyone in between.

"Alright, you wanna take this Mei? Or should I?" Sandy asked from her perch on top of the garbage can.

"I'll do it," Mei told her. "Marshall? Wanna gimme a hand?"

"Hell yeah honey!" he answered, hoisting Mei up onto his big shoulders.

Mei began pounding on a metal garbage can lid with her Nainai's wooden cooking spoon. "ALRIGHT EVERYBODY SHUT UP FOR TWO SECONDS!!!!"

She waited until the whole room fell silent before speaking again. "Alright, now that I've got your undivided attention," she said. "Marsh, you can put me down now, thank you."

Marshall lowered her down to the floor, letting Mei stand amongst the eager to listen crowd.

"It seems to me that some foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach, had a bone to pick with our dearly beloved professors," Mei explained. "So I ask you, good people of this university.......what the hell are we gonna do about it? Are we gonna stand by and watch him pick on them again?"

"HELL NO!" everyone exclaimed.

"Are we gonna stand for this shit?" Mei asked.

"HELL NO!!"

"Are we gonna let that slimy little schlemiel get away with it?!" Sandy declared.

"HELL NO!!!!"

"I don't care how any of you have to do it," Mei told the crowd. "I don't care how long it takes, what methods you have to use, orthodox or not as long as it's within legal means.........but all of you, get out there and show the little cockroach who really runs this place!"

The crowd in the bathroom cheered, high-fiving and slapping the overhang of the door on their way out.

"You think this is gonna work?" Sandy asked.

"It's worth a shot," Mei laughed.

*****************************

Calvin was in his office, working on the grant proposal for the college's chemistry program, the typewriter clicking away as Six-Thirty came back with a note from the college president. It had been almost a week since D'Nadi had pulled his little stunt, the both of you worried sick about work and how things would turn out. Calvin was an anxious mess as he opened the letter and read it, but relieved beyond words when he saw the response.

Dear Professor Evans,

I apologize for this being so late in coming, but I wanted to let you know personally that you and your wife will continue to teach at this establishment. I will allow her full benefits and time for when the baby is born and you as well. Give my best to (y/n) and we look forward to seeing her when she returns.

Regards,

William B. Hayes III, University President

Calvin was relieved and knew that you would be too. He shoved the letter into one of the pockets inside his briefcase, eager to show you when he got home, when the quiet in his office was suddenly broken by a knock at the door.

"I'm not to be disturbed!" He warned loudly.

"Doc it's me! It's Marshall!" answered a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Cal quickly rose from his desk chair and opened the door. Marshall Ray Thomas, Eugene Walsh, Cindy Bianchi and Sylvia Patton, all students of his and yours, entered his office, each with a cheeky grin on their faces.

"What did you idiots do?" Calvin asked, suspicious of the reason for their visit.

"Oh ya'll are gonna wanna see this," Marshall laughed, handing Calvin a stack of polaroids.

Calvin flipped through each and every one, his eyes bugging at a few, particularly of one where D'Nadi had been strapped to the surgical gurney in one of the nursing classrooms, the students all surrounding him wearing surgical gear and wielding the tools as though they were in a horror movie.

"Jeebus fuck!" Calvin chuckled, going bug-eyed.

"Oh, wait until you see the ones we took in the chemistry labs," Eugene chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "Sonny Ortega had fun with that one."

Calvin had to stifle a laugh when he saw it. Eugene hadn't been lying, seeing as he and Sonny had been cohorts from day one. What Cal hadn't been expecting was a full recreation of the lab scene in "Frankenstein" and the photographic evidence that had come with it.

"Oh my God," he laughed. "This is just.......wow."

A collective cheer and the chanting of students and teachers alike, soon reached Calvin's ears. Marshall, Eugene, Cindy and Sylvia made their way into the hall where the entire faculty seemed to be chanting "walk of shame" and clapping as loud as they could. Calvin caught sight of a sneering and sulking D'Nadi carrying a box of his things out of his office as the students and faculty kept it up, including Mrs. Petty, the elderly receptionist, who hated D'Nadi with every fiber of her being.

Calvin couldn't help the broad grin that was beginning to crawl across his face, especially when Dr. Powers and Professor Broussard clapped their firm hands on each of his shoulders.

"Mon amie," Professor Broussard said to him. "It seems justice has been served on your behalf."

Calvin laughed as he joined in, everyone cheering loudly when D'Nadi rounded the corner, never to be seen or heard from at the college again.

*****************************

You laughed as you went through the polaroids again with Calvin as soon as he got home, relieved that you still had your job at the college.

"So wait, tell me again," you laughed. "They seriously did that in the nursing classroom?"

"Photo evidence is right there," Calvin answered.

You snorted when you saw it. "Oh my God what are we gonna do with them?"

"Who knows my love?" Calvin said, kissing your forehead.

You couldn't have been happier than at that moment.

#calvin evans #calvin evans x reader #lessons in chemistry

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littlescaryinternetguy · 7 months

Text

He put down the string he was coiling and stood up. Oh no she didn't, he thought. He climbed down the chain in the grandfather clock with practiced ease and slipped out of a very small crack in the back.

Ok, YES, this was stupid, he said to himself. Well then it's stupid. Maybe he's stupid. He looked to the sides, although he knew she was in the kitchen on her phone. Then he darted across the front room, along the wall in the dining room, and into the vinyl-tiled silo of the kitchen.

She sat at the table, finishing up her conversation with whomever. Pleasantries and goodbye. She put the phone on the table. Right. Let's do this.

He hadn't thought of how exactly he was going to hail her. Well, fuck it. He walked up to her shoe. Mercifully it dipped down below her ankle. He rapped upon it, three times.

She ascended into the atmosphere with the speed and sound of a rocket full of screech owls.

He stepped back a couple of paces while she landed on the chair, her feet scrambling against the tiled floor. She looked down with primal terror etched deeply on her face.

He cleared his throat.

She began to open her mouth but he interrupted, a miniscule bellow. He wasn't used to talking to big folk.

"OK, first of all: did you say I 'scurried'?"

She looked at him and slowly shut her mouth.

"You were talking on your phone device there and you said, 'This place has mice, I saw one scurrying this morning.' You said that."

"... did I? Wait. What..."

He cut in, no small feat when you consider that he was two inches tall with a voice to match, but he had righteousness on his side.

"That was me. I am not a mouse. No ears." He pantomimed ears, waggling his hand at the sides of the top of his head. "No tail." He turned around and shook his rear end at her. "Not a mouse."

She took in this information. He was undoubtedly right. He was not a mouse.

"What... what are you?"

He hadn't considered that. He tried to keep his stern look. His neck was getting sore from craning it so far back.

"A tenant. Just like yourself. A tenant of long-standing."

"Oh," she said. Well that settled that: everything was completely insane. Now that that was clear, she relaxed a bit.

"You said 'first of all'." "Did I?" he said. He hadn't thought this far ahead. He hadn't thought at all. To be honest, it had already been a long day in a long string of long days. Getting called a rat, well, who could have stood for that? "Well! Yes I did!" He desperately tried to keep his composure. He sensed the power shifting and he wanted to be gone before it went all the way.

"I like the way you play piano."

He turned and started walking back towards the front room. He was just riffing at this point. He was just saying anything, trying to wrong-foot her. Well, really more screaming anything. Keep her confused. Could she even hear him? The truth was he did like the way she played piano. Not infrequently, he would climb into the instrument from the back so he could hear the squeak and rasp of the pedals being used, in a cloud of sound, the wires blurring as they were struck. When he did that he could feel the music more than hear it.

He could only do that every so often because he'd be deaf for hours afterwards. Usually he just sat quietly far up in the clock and listened.

"... thanks?"

"Keep it... uh, keep it up," he yelled at the top of his voice. He reached the door from the kitchen to the dining room. She remained in her chair. He turned around. He suddenly remembered something her heard her say to someone who was leaving.

"SMELL YOU LATER."

He had never run so fast as he did then, but he didn't hear her trompy footsteps coming. He made it into the clock.

What did I just do? he thought.

She remained at the table, glanced around, reached across for a half-full bottle of cabernet.

He likes the piano, she thought as she took out the cork, regarded it for a second, threw it over her shoulder and drank straight from the bottle. She looked down at the sheet music on the table. One page. Vexations, by Eric Satie.

She smiled and put down the bottle. This oughta hold him, she thought.

#g/t #sfw g/t #g/t fluff #giant/tiny #sfw gt #city life #condo frontier living #Eric Satie

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maegalkarven · 8 months

Text

So look in my mercy mirror.

m!Dark Urge x Gortash, m!Dark Urge x Astarion.

Redeemed!Durge (but not morally), good run.

The team confronts Lord Gortash in his keep.

Karlach wants to kill the man; June has another idea.

TW: tadpoling (not graphic), June refers to Gortash solely by his name.

What are you doing?

Emperor’s voice rings in his ears - in his mind - slightly tinted with suspicion. Funny, for how much the mindflayer insists June can trust it, it doesn’t seem to trust June at all.

You said I need to gather my allies, he replies absentmindedly, hands working on taking this damn cork off and opening the bottle. Such a small thing it is, and how much it contains.

Enver was personally responsible for the creation of this new, nether-touched illithid parasite.

Enver and him; the details are hazy, but June can easily see himself fit into the narrative the lordling painted for him. He can see himself, on top of the world, with crown of Karsus in his hands, ready to conquer the entire Toriel for his father.

What a fool he was.

It’s changed now. He is a changed man.

“June?” Karlach looks uncertain and that hurts.

Hadn’t she learned by now to trust his judgment, had he not proved himself to be a good, loyal friend? The mere fact what she doubts him still is simply unacceptable.

She’ll see, June knows. Once he puts his plan in action, she will see the brilliance of it.

What use Enver’s death would be to her? It would not turn back the time, it would not give her back her heart or ten years of her life.

But this? This can turn the tide.

“It’s alright,” he smiles, but for some reason she doesn’t smile back. Damn it, did the smile come out wrong again? “Just hold him firm.”

She complies, but looks even more unsettled.

“This is...Not what I’ve expected,” Karlach admits. “You...What are you going to do with this thing?”

June smiles; this time the smile comes out right.

“I am going to fix it.”

Enver lets out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“And there I was, concerned they’ve somehow ruined you,” for a man beaten bloody and pressed down the cold tile floor he looks surprisingly content. “Worried Orin damaged your brain too much and somehow turned you into...” he trails off. “But I was a fool to fear that. No, you’re just as you’ve always been.” Another annoyingly long pause and then- “You’re going to tadpole me.”

“Yes,” June smiles.

Of course Enver of all people would understand.

He pulls the specimen out of its glass cage and holds between his fingers. Gently, ever so gently.

Enver’s eyes trail the movement.

“We worked so hard on these curious little things; you’ve worked so hard on them. It would be a shame for you to not test out your own creation, would it not?”

“June,” Wyll calls out and June doesn’t need to turn around to know his friend looks downright horrified.

Why can’t they see?

This is the right thing to do. Death is too simple, too easy. This? This will give Enver a chance to atone for his crimes. No, it will downright force him to cooperate.

And cooperation is exactly what June needs.

He is in your head, comes out an echo of a conversation long passed. Gortash, Gortash, Gortash – this damned lordling is all you can speak of these days! I doubt father approves of that, brother dear.

But June doesn’t care if father approves anymore. June doesn’t do his father’s bidding.

He is a free man, a free and a good man. And if he can change like that, who knows how Enver could?

“This is a chance,” he thinks and realizes he’s spoken aloud. “To work together. To fix the mess we’ve started. To make things right.”

“This is wrong,” Wyll argues. “You know this is wrong, June-“

“Juniper,” Enver speaks. There’s a strange glint in his eyes and it takes June some time to decipher it. There’s dread, of course, but also...Satisfaction? Like this is expected outcome. Like this aligns with Enver Gortash’s image of the world.

June frowns.

“You look entirely too pleased, my dear,” he comments lightly, crouching down to Enver’s level. The parasite dangles from his fingers, sharp jaws opening and closing in a rather rhythmical manner. As if it senses the prey nearby.

Enver manages a weak shrug, still pressed firmly down; Karlach looks distressed but her hold does not waver.

“No sense to panic over something I can’t change, is there?” True, but that does not explain the smugness. “And it’s a relief.”

“A relief?” June slowly reaches out, hand getting closer and closer to Enver’s face. Did he caress this face before? Were they that close?

The deep, annoying longing inside insists they were.

Close. Closer than Bhaal would permit, perhaps. Was he the reason for June’s little rebellion?

If so, it’s only right to repay for that.

“This thing with Selûne,” Enver frowns. “It was entirely...anticlimactic. I am glad you’re as ruthless as I recall you to be.”

June frowns right back.

“You’re delusional,” he replies. “I was ruthless once, but no more. This is mercy. I am sparing you, sparing your life. Enver, I am your savior.”

That makes the lordling look even more smug.

“Of course you are,” he smiles as if he knows something June does not. Annoying. “Now, shouldn’t you cut this ‘will he, won’t he’ business and finally-“

His voice cuts short as June drops the parasite on his face, as close to the eyes as he manages.

The creature crawls up and immediately buries itself into the depths of Enver’s skull. Clever little thing.

June watches, fascinated, as the man struggles while parasite takes a hold on him.

Then he raises an artifact.

Emperor? He calls out. Will you do the honors?

Of course.

A wave of pcionic power washes over them and Enver’s mind clears. He blinks; once, twice, brushes the uncalled tears away. Then looks up, straight at June.

“Not too bad,” comments plainly, asshole. Like June didn’t just turn his life upside down. “I assume you’ll force me to comply with your clever plans now?”

“Of course,” June thought it was rather obvious. “Now we’re going to save the day like the true heroes we are,” he smiles. “We don’t need any gods for that, we don’t need any cults. Bhaal and Bane can fight over the rubbish all they want, but we know better. We are going to have Baldur’s Gate eating from our palms. But first,” he feels his smile turn slightly malicious. “We’ll visit an old acquaintance. Halsik has everything prepared and stands at the ready.”

At that Enver perks up.

“You’re dragging me to Hell,” he comments rather cheerfully. “Again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a trip to Hell is your idea of a date.”

June snorts, and Karlach snorts, and even Astarion, who was mostly silent through the entire encounter, snorts, though his snort is more unkind than the others'.

“No, silly,” June drags his hands up Enver’s torso until they lay placidly on his chest. Warm, he notices absentmindedly. Warm and familiar. Selûne’s Grace, am I in love with this man?

That would be...unfortunate, all things considered. But not entirely unexpected.

“We are going to break into the House of Hope,” he feels Enver stil underneath the touch. “I assume you’re more than familiar with the place, are you not?”

The lordling wets his lips, then grasps June and uses him as a leverage to stand up. Karlach almost doesn’t let him, but June waves her off and she, rather begrudgingly, lets go of the man.

There’s still a sense of unease about her, unease and...A hint of distrust? Of him, of June? But he is fixing things, surely she knows that!

“And what exactly are you planning to get there?”

Enver is close, gods, he is so close and his breath is warm on June’s forehead and it’s hard to think- Fuck, they definitely were lovers and June is definitely not over it. Astarion is going to kill him. Or worse, going to be hurt by him, by that. Stop, stop, stop, he needs to stop-

Two things happen at once.

Enver’s hand finds its place on June’s waist and takes a sure, firm hold of it.

Astarion’s mind, gentle in a way a mind of a man intimately familiar with all the ways personal boundaries can be broken, making damn sure he is not breaking and entering into the depths of June’s mind unwelcome, brushes past him.

June lets him in.

Stop fucking fidgeting, his glorious lover complains immediately. You’re giving the bastard a leverage over yourself.

I’m sorry, June immediately blurts and does it with such a force he is sure both Karlach and Wyll heard him. He avoids thinking of Gortash being linked to them the same way now. I’m sorry, I didn’t know, or maybe I did, but didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he’s here and he is so close and I- I am sorry, I am so, so-

Do you take me for an idiot? Comes out a huff and how did Astarion manage to huff through a mental link? You might have emotional intelligence of a redcap, but I’ve been aware you two knew each other on a level what’s far beyond any niceties the moment Gortash stopped his own coronation to gape at you.

He didn’t gape at me, June argues, thought he isn’t so sure now. Was Enver gaping at him? He sure looked friendly, much friendlier than Ketheric and Orin combined. But gaping?

He stopped his coronation, Astarion repeats. To come down from his high horse and chat with you. To welcome you back. He took control over one of his steelwatchers simply to invite you to the damn thing. And you- now there’s an actual, visible huff coming from his lover.

June catches Enver watching Astarion closely; a loose, entirely self-satisfied smile on his lips, hand still on June’s waist, head leaning on his. Enver invades June’s personal space like it’s his life goal, like instilling his presence in June’s life is something he has at his top priority.

This is...flattering.

“No, the fuck, it isn’t,” Karlach says aloud, and it’s a cue for June to realize he might have been thinking too loudly. “This is disgusting is what it is, I can’t believe you would-“

“My sweet June has his strong suits and his weak ones,” Astarion speaks, giving Gortash the smile so sharp it should’ve splinted the man in half. “His awful taste in men is, admittedly, one of the later. Not me, of course,” he chuckles, but June hears the underlying self-degrading tone noneless. They should’ve made Cazador Szarr suffer more. “But other,” vampire spawn gestures at Gortash. “Lesser men.”

“Lesser, you say?” And of fucking course Enver would take the bait. “I would-“

“Enough,” Wyll all but barks and for once they all comply. “We have bigger things to worry about but you two fighting over June’s affections,” June catches Karlach make a gagging face at that and Enver sending her a rude gesture in response.

Children, he is surrounded by literal children. Worst of all, these children are the ones saving the world with him. Ridiculous.

“Right, right,” he sends a grateful smile Wyll’s way and is relieved to see the man smile back just as warmly. At least someone is in his corner. Someone other than Astarion, but that’s given; June and Astarion are bound for life now, for as long as both of them live.

Admittedly, said life might include Astarion murdering June’s former, current – who could tell? – tyrannical lover in a cold blood. Or hot blood. In a pool of blood, definitely.

June isn’t even sure he would be very angry about it, mostly just...sad? He does seem to care for the said tyrant a lot. Oh, bother.

“We are going to break into the House of Hope,” he reminds these literal children who now are making faces at each other. If anything, seeing Karlach and Enver flip each other off would work for an evening entertainment. June will have to work on this destrusting undertone of her; talk her through it, explain things.

Karlach is a good person, she will understand. June is sure of it.

They’re doing this for the greater good.

“For what?” Enver cuts the chase off. “I assume not to make a deal with Raphael, he usually comes to his victims himself.”

“No,” June agrees. “Not for that, though he tried to strike a deal. He needs the Crown of Karsus, you see? And has something we need. But luckily, Raphael was kind enough to let us know he has it.”

“And why would we strike a deal with him,” Astarion hums. “When we can simply take what we need?”

“Exactly.”

Enver smiles.

“You are planning to steal from him.”

“No,” June leans into him almost involuntarily. He smells...good. He smells familiar. He smells like home. “We are going to steal from him. You,” a sharp nail hits Enver in the chest. The hand is immediately grabbed and held firm. “Are going with us. Care for some heist, my dear lord? Not Mephopheles’ vault, I’m afraid, but just enough for an evening entertainment.”

Enver smiles, wide and sharp and entirely wicked. An evil smile, people would call it. How he managed to convince people of the Baldurs Gate he is not villainous villain is beyond June’s comprehension. By brainwashing them, most likely.

“When let’s rob the devil,” the lordling speaks.

Then he kisses June.

And June can finally breathe.

#dark urge #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #astarion x dark urge #dark urge: june #bg3 #dark urge x astarion #baldur's gate spoilers #june is delulu #he is lowkey terrifying in that #also yes june's full name is juniper but literally noone but gortash uses it #june in response always calls gortash just 'enver'#it's so instilled into him recalls it even after the brain trauma #baldurs gate 3 #avery.txt #fanfiction #june: i'm a good man!#everyone: DOUBT #unproofread #june is unhinged without realizing it and gortash digs it #isn't it fun when your lover is capable of horrors without realizing he is capable of horrors #or what he's doing is indeed a horror #not pictured: karlach and astarion getting into a fistfight with gortash behind the tents #they kick him so hard withers has to resurrect him #asks like 10 times if June is sure #song: mercy mirror by within temptation

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