#even if i've been muted on it for the last like three days and it's Partially bc I've misplaced the microphone for my headphones | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eupheme · 8 months

Text

— meet me in the woods

halsin x druid!reader/tav

rated e - 7.2k

tags: double druids, smut with feelings, aphrodisiac (in the form of a fertility solstice), mates/mating rituals, hinted at breeding kink, poly!halsin (but has a connection with you), pleasure dom!Halsin, canon-typical violence, masturbation, miscommunication, oral, PiV, size kink, multiple orgasms, cum play

Living in the city had muted your druidic powers, cut you off. That all had changed, in your journey across Faerûn. Something inside of you had cracked open - letting nature and instinct sink in.

And in spite of the feelings now burning inside you - you don’t know what it means to celebrate the Solstice. Luckily for you… Halsin is there to help you through your first.

The sky has started to slip from soft shades of blue to deep orange and purples. Your wrist aches from where you scrub at your hide armor, removing the layers of grime from the long days of travel.

Your eyes flick up, like they have three times already in the last ten minutes. Across the twist of smoke from the fire that Gale tends, a cauldron of stew that has begun to fill the camp with it's rich aroma.

To where he lounges. To where your eyes meet soft green.

You look away.

"Do you think he's looking at us?"

You don't mean to ask this question out loud. It's a thought that swirls in your mind - slipping between teeth and a tongue loosened from a warm afternoon under the sun and a flagon of crisp wine.

There's the cutting strike of shale against steel. Sharp eyes flicking across to where yours have slipped, once again.

A lip curling, with the click of a tongue.

"Chk. I've seen that look on a male before." Lae'zel's tone is knowing, the slightest hint of a smirk sent your way, as she sharpens the edge of her longsword, "A bear that wishes to devour."

You blink, glancing her way at the humor in her voice. Trying to ignore the fluttering flip in your stomach at the thought.

"Oh, I am not so sure he sees me that way." Your knuckles curl as they press into a stain, your eyes dropping in mock concentration.

A red eye cracks open near your hip, Astarion's head propped up on the wrap of your bedroll. Curled like a cat under the sun and with the wafting warmth of the fire - a hand coming up to shield the bright glare above.

If it had been anyone else lazing next to you, you might have asked them to lend you a hand with the basket of vegetables for the stew - the next in your long list of things to-do. But secretly, you were just pleased he chose to spend the afternoon near you.

"Gods - I took you for boring, darling. But I never took you for stupid." He sighs, with a stretch.

Well, you had been pleased.

He ignores your look of offense as he pushes himself up on an elegant elbow, chin propped in the cup of his hand, "I don't think he's stopped looking at you since he's joined us."

A wistful sigh, "It's enough to make me wish I had saved that child."

Before his nose wrinkles, as he reappraises that thought with displeasure.

"Appreciate that, friend." Your response to his earlier remark is flat, as he flops down again.

"Oh, don't be like that," He drawls, "You were the one who asked."

The misdirection is noted with a small huff of a laugh, as you turn back to work again. Flipping around their thoughts in your own mind.

How you wish that were true.

Your own feelings were no secret to yourself. There had been no pretending in your heart, after your first meeting. Even if you had not always known the strength of your powers, you had always known yourself.

There had been a near-instant attraction with your first meeting. A suspicion that there was something special about the bear trapped in the worg pens. That feeling blossoming with the fluttering in your stomach when he had changed - the depth of his thanks at your aid in protecting the Grove.

A seed had been planted then. A hope that perhaps, with time - with some tending - that there could be more. That feeling only grows since, flourishing, weaving its way between your ribs.

And lately, you think there has been something more. His laugh comes easier. An eagerness to join you when you left the camp. Never far from you, when you return.

You were the first one he turned to after the rage of battle.

“Are you well, teuivae?”

As if you could not mend your own wounds. The word that slipped from his tongue lost as his eyes searched - until he was satisfied that the blood splattered across your leather armor was not your own. Broad hands that cupped your face. Close enough to brush his own against yours, but instead he had hovered.

Waiting - but for what, you did not know.

It had you wondering. You suppose enough now that those thoughts have made their way out into the world. Not knowing what to do, with your friend’s confirmation.

That feeling only increases, the turn of the moon turning it into a surging weight in your chest. Something physical, that gnaws at you. Tipping past want and hurtling towards something that felt like need.

Your thoughts of desire running wild, until you can’t help but slip your fingers beneath the layers of your bedroll. Your teeth biting into the heavy fabric that muffles the quick circle of your fingers, the soft sigh of your relief.

It was hard not to. To see him that way, to want him.

He is kind. Almong the best Elves you have met. He could take care of you. Your mind tells you, now. Protect you.

A very instinctual thought, one that you’ve brushed aside. You don’t need protecting. How could one protect against the tadpole, better than you already are?

But the thought comes back.

He would keep you safe. You know that, as certain as the changing of the seasons.

How quick he already is to race to your side - all teeth and claws. Imagining the honor of sharing his bedroll, how he’d wrap around you…

Only now do you realize you’ve been staring - your damp rag hovering in your still hands. A small shake of your head as you concentrate on your work. Making a point not to look again, to push the thoughts from your mind.

You really needed to get a hold of yourself.

You’re still thinking about it later, as dusk settled. The sky now streaked with hues of purple and grey, the camp littered with small fires and torches. Bellies full of stew, content to wind down after the long day.

Under the stars, it's impossbile to ignore just how much things have changed.

In the city, everything had felt muted.

Even in the outskirts, the small towns you had flitted to. The desire to fit in cutting off your attunement with nature.

But, after the Nautiloid. After you had crashed down to the Wilderness. Met the others - truly embraced who and what you were - things had changed.

You felt more like yourself than ever.

Even when you thought your time left was marked by days. Hours.

The warmth of the sun against your face. Acres of trees, the bark rough beneath your fingers as you climbed.

It seeped into your skin. Invigorating you. That liminal space between beast and body melding as you changed freely, unrestrained by space or propriety.

It was freeing.

You didn't have a coven, in the city. A lone wolf - left to wander along.

Forgetting how it felt to channel the forces of nature, with the night air wrapping around you. A bond formed when you had met Halsin, your first prolonged contact with another Druid in years. Something had been planted, watered with admiration, carefully tended in the absence that had soon come.

An urge to stay at the Druid's Grove, once the fight was over. Something unlocking in you, a need for kinship.

It had been ignored - there had been no other option. But it was like part of you stayed cracked open. Inviting nature, the whims of Silvanus, to eddy inside you. Growing potent, under the wax and wane of the moon above.

Intimate feelings mixing their way in along the way. Undeterred by the quiet, shared murmurs. Of rumors and whispers of Halsin's many lovers - good natured ribbing about his scar.

You had often thought your heart was too large to belong to only one other. It had been a relief, when you heard Halsin speak the same, around the fire.

Not fearing a connection, but not limiting it. Like nature itself, he had said. His eyes had found yours - you had taken it as some sort of lesson, from the Archdruid.

Perhaps it had been an invitation, instead.

The thought is pleasing to you. Enough so that you think… you think it’s worth being brave for.

You can’t help but seek him out, once more. Thick arms cross over a broad chest as he talks, though you’re too far away to hear. But it doesn’t stop his gaze from finding yours over the top of Wyll’s head. The way his friendly smile softens, a look you suddenly feel certain is just for you.

One you return, as that thing inside your chest swells. Blooms.

You’ve trusted your gut so far.

You’re ready to trust it again.

There is a stirring. A rooting, something sprouting in his chest. A feeling that has flickered before, but never this strong.

It had been easy, for gratitude and respect to bleed into something more, after their first meeting. After seeing such a fierce little thing take down two goblins with the flash of sharp teeth, sharper claws. A worg following, almost bigger than themselves.

Few would have stood before him, after. A frown as ferocious as their bear-form as she had offered her own opinion on how to handle the Druid Kagha, though his sentence had already been bestowed.

It had been hard not to smile.

There had been more pressing matters that had kept him away, after. Denying the offer to join her - them - the Emerald Grove had needed him more.

But still, something had lingered.

A connection. Something invisible that ties them together, that has nothing to do with the being that squirms in her mind. It begins lower - beneath the cage of ribs and where, perhaps, something soft lies.

It has him feeling like a yearling again, in spite of his three hundred and fifty years amongst Faerûn.

As the moons have passed, he'd become too accustomed to the gleam of her fur, in the sunlight. Nearly blinding him. Eyes as sharp and a tongue as quick as his.

Her true form as pretty as a field of wildflowers, of the rainbow spray of colors against the mist of a waterfall.

Evenly matched, he has thought. More than once.

The sentiment settles in his bones, trapping him - a rabbit in a snare. Though he's not so desperate to be freed, as he might have thought. The idea of being tied down had never been appealing.

But there is no urge to leave. To walk amongst the forest again, to find his way back to the Druid's Grove, for Spring. To dance and join beneath the moon, like he had for so long.

A more singular focus taking over his thoughts, as the rite approaches. A deep-seated hope, his affections shown in the ways known by his people.

Many have begun their attachments in the span of evenings to follow. Perhaps they would take the same path, if is she was willing.

The thought is more than pleasing.

It has him seeking out the eyes that fall on him so often. Finding where they linger now, in the flickering of the fire. The look she gives him - one of consideration, one of seeing in a new light - is one he knows well.

The beast inside him can read the subtle looks like tracks in the mudbank. The glitter of lights in her eyes like runes - etching a message just for him.

Enough that when she turns from the fire, when she pushes herself so carefully up - slipping like a shadow, into the forest...

It's impossible not to follow.

You can feel him behind you, as you weave through the trees.

Anticipation, excitement, pricking up the hairs on the back of your neck. Guided by the stars that sift through the canopy of leaves above.

Your feet know the way, though your mind does not. Guided by something primal inside you, taking you to a small clearing.

Grass blankets the space, tucked away in the forest. Dotted with wildflowers, a break in the branches above to let down a shaft of moonlight.

The armor you once clung to left back at the camp. An innate knowledge that there was something special about this place - that you were safe here. Protected by your own abilities. Even more so, with him following.

There is much said, in the look that he gives you as you turn. The shift of his shoulders as he approaches, a slow nod of approval as his eyes sweep across the clearing.

“You’ve chosen this spot well. The Solstice, could you feel it?”

His words make you frown, suddenly unsure. The curve of his smile wanes at your silence, as he takes another step closer, “Is that not why you’ve come here?”

The hope you’ve carried sinks, settling low in your belly. So unlike the weight that was there before - one of hunger and desire.

“I must confess, I had been hoping.” He continues, with a cock to his head, “But it seems like we are on different paths.”

You have to answer him, you know this. It takes a second to gather your courage, this meeting quickly taking a much different turn that you have expected.

“I do not know anything of your Solstices. I came here because I hoped…” Your gaze drops, unable to look at him, “I had hoped that you would follow. That this night might be ours.”

A hand cups your jaw, tilting your head up. To your surprise he is smiling, his thumb stroking across your cheek, “Your answer relieves me. We are not so far apart. I thought I had been clear, but it seems you are still unsure of my intentions.”

Something flips in your stomach, melting the spray of ice that has coated your insides. A small flutter of hope, as your eyes search his green ones, “What do you mean?”

“I have become so accustomed to your presence, that I’ve forgotten that our ways are still unknown to you.” His voice softens, and you can’t help but lean into his touch - hanging on to each of his words, “I’ve been courting you for some time, now.”

Time freezes, for a moment. Your mind whirling past all the small moments you’ve collected - held so close to your chest. Reaching out to touch others that now made more sense.

Bringing you your share of dinner at the camp. A solving of the mystery of a fire that had been stoked during the night, an extra pelt placed over you for warmth. Caring for you.

You had mistaken them all for chivalry.

“-and I had thought you were accepting, tonight. With the beginning of the Solstice.”

“I must be dense.” You can’t help but smile, with a sensation of being able to breath again, “I had my own wishes, but I never knew-”

“I should have been more clear. Forgive me,” His hands touch his scars, his smile turning wry, “I thought it wise to let you set the pace of our journey.”

Hence his waiting for you to kiss him, after that battle. His following you, tonight.

Courage rises in you, once again.

“I want you to show me what it means to celebrate.”

He softens, for you. Hands dropping to entwine with yours, bending until your foreheads touch, “Then I am yours.”

The slightest tilt of his head, bringing your joined hands to point at the heavens.

“With the spring comes new beginnings. We lead the way, with the Solstice. Baring our flesh and joining beneath the moon, in an offering to the Oak Father.” His words are a low rumble, it’s impossible not to focus on his mouth, the way it quirks at his next words, “It is… rigorous.”

The heat that has simmered for weeks now flares to life, as his eyes darken.

Bu there's something small tickles at you, making you lean back. Your brow furrowing, needing the clarity.

"Is it just the Solstice that draws you to me?" Is it just duty that has ensnared his affections? Is this no more than fulfilling the desires of Silvanas?

He laughs, with a shake of his head, "If our first meeting had been in the Grove, your beauty would have been more than enough to enthrall me."

The knowledge is flattering. That he still would have wanted you, in another life, in another time. His next words are enough to cast the rest of your doubts aside.

"But make no mistake. For quite some time now, I have desired more. Deeper than the skin, down to the marrow." He brings your entwined fingers to his mouth, his lips pressing against your knuckles, "I fear you stole more than gold that day, in the Sanctum."

There is much that he reveals, with his words.

A sense that your feelings are more than reciprocated. A reminder that he does not mince words, like others you have known.

For as keen as your eyes are, you should have realized this sooner. The last curl of unease lifts, wafting up to stars above.

“How do we begin?”

“Eager. I like that.” Halsin grins - his eyes dragging over you, as his voice pitched low, “For starters… you are overdressed.”

With as large as his fingers are, they are dexterous as they tug at the tie of your tunic. A palm curling around your waist, tugging you close as your face tips up to his.

“And there is usually music.” He murmurs, dipping just enough to brush his mouth against yours, “But I am sure we can make our own.”

His name is a soft sound on your lips, before they press against his. Warm and solid and plush, a sigh in his throat as your hands reach up to grasp at broad shoulders. Slipping to tangle in his chestnut-colored strands, keeping him pulled close.

And you are reminded that he is strong. Abandoning your shirt when your tongue brushes his lip. Hands catching the underside of your thighs to haul you against him.

Your legs stretch wide around his waist. One of those hands moving to splay across the small of your back, a low growl rumbling as you nip at his lower lip.

Hunger gnaws at you, as he deepens the kiss. An ache to be closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him as he licks into your mouth.

Holding you against him as he sinks to his knees. Bringing you down against the blanket of grass, nestling you against it. A low chuckle at the way you still cling to him, entangling yourself around him like vines, as Halsin begins to tug at your clothes again.

Carefully, as if it's a gift to unwrap you.

"Come now, my love." He coos - another gentle tug, as you finally let go.

The air ghosts against your skin, warm with the changing of seasons. A low sound of approval with each layer that is stripped from you. The curl of a palm against your ankle, tugging off your boots. Heat pooling low, as fingertips brush up your thigh, settling at your belt.

"I long to see you bare beneath me."

He touches you as if he can't get enough. The sweep of his thumb over your thigh. Fingers joining yours as your hips lift, allowing him to peel your trousers down, and then off.

You think that perhaps it should feel strange, to be naked in the moonlight. But Halsin eclipses the brief fluttering of unease. The hunger in his expression captures yours, as he leans back to sit on his haunches.

So broad, so big. You think the desire must match in your own eyes, his sentiment so shared.

"Join me," You coax, a hand reaching for his thigh - feeling the muscles jump underneath.

His grin gleams in the moonlight, as he lets you start to do the same to him. Distracting you terribly as his hands skim from your waist to cup your breasts, teasing and pinching.

Only tearing the sleevless tunic from his shoulders before he's curling over you - his mouth pressing against your neck. Inhaling your scent with another low growl, his nose skimming over heated skin.

Those lips pressing against your throat, the threat of teeth as they part. You squirm beneath him, something inside you aching for him to bite down. To mark you.

You can feel his smile against your skin, his hands still teasing the tight peaks of your nipples. One drifting lower across sternum and belly, drifting across the curve of your mound.

It’s easy to arch into his touch, to urge his fingers lower. The sweep of his fingertips is so light, a summers breeze against your skin - a low hum of a laugh as your hips jerk again.

“I know it’s affected you.” There’s the slightest pressure - thick fingers split, tracing the crease where your thigh meets groin. Purposely avoiding where you need him, where you know you’re wet and wanting.

Another sharp intake of breath, before he’s pushing himself up to hover over you, “At camp. Your smell. It was difficult to hold myself back.”

He touches you, then. Twin moans as his fingers slip against slick flesh. Dripping, for him. Almost making you forget your words as the pad of his fingers circles your clit, as your hand brace against his biceps, nails biting skin.

“W-wasn’t the coming of Spring.” You protest - the rhythmic swipe of his fingers stealing your breath, “It was just you.”

The look he gives you then - it’s all soft edges, wrapped in a focus that’s so intense your eyes flutter shut. It’s too much, his gaze, his touch.

A low groan from his chest then, in recollection, “There were many nights lately where I wished to offer myself for your pleasure. Perhaps I should have.”

For your pleasure. Few would word it that way - conjuring images of him beneath you. His tongue tracing the same path of his fingers, your thighs pressing against the long points of his ears.

It makes you clench - the simmering fire in your belly sending up sparks, stoked by the way his head moves lower. Your fingers slipping to twist sharply in his hair, as his tongue peeks out to brush your breast.

“More, Halsin. I need you-” You pant, your free hand fitting under the bulk of his shoulder. Reaching to nudge his hand down lower, until his fingers are brushing your entrance.

He traces you, before he sinks into you, down to the first knuckle. His hands are so much bigger than yours, there’s already the slight stretching burn as he eases deeper.

The tilt of his head, chin pressing against your ribs. The fire burns in his own eyes, a heavy press of his hips against your thigh, letting you feel him.

“If we had been at the Grove, I would have hoped you would have chosen me as your mate for the duration of the three nights.” It’s a confession, the word mate ringing out - enthralling you, “Now, I do not know what tomorrow brings. I will give you all that I can, tonight.”

In a fluid motion, he moves. The ripple of muscles as he shifts between your thighs - their breadth stretching them too wide. Enough that you have to hook one over the curve his shoulder, before his head dips.

The heated swipe of his tongue hits you just as his finger presses deep and curls. You’re instantly thankful for his three hundred and fifty years, with the pointed exploration of his mouth.

A groan as he tastes you, those green eyes fixing on yours again. Fitting another finger into you as your heel digs into his shoulder, as your head tips back with a cry.

It’s too much. Pleasure skitters through your stomach, your hips moving on their own, matching the steady thrust of his fingers. How he drags them against a spot that makes you keen and squirm, before sliding them free to fit them between his lips.

Tasting the honey of your arousal, his lips already shining with you, before filling you again. Muscles clenching like the pull of a bow, waiting for the arrow to fire.

Halsin moans into your cunt like he’s feasting, like he truly means to devour you. His own hips pressing into the ground, easing his own need for friction.

Too practiced with the tight flicks of his tongue, the way his lips kiss and suck against the sensitive bud. The press of his fingers loud with how wet you are, matching your sharp, panting breath.

His name is a whimper before your muscles string even tighter. Going stiff as your breath catches, a pathetic whimper of a sound before you’re crying out.

The pleasure ignites, ripping through you as you come. As your thighs press around his ears, though he does not slow. Fucking you through it with his fingers, soft growls that buzz against your clit with each press of his tongue.

Leaving you breathless, boneless.

His mouth soft as kisses are pressed to your thighs, as you come back to yourself. It feels like you’re glowing, a soft haze settling over your limbs, down to the curl of your toes.

A broad hand smears your slick across his jaw, as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. Where his cock strains against the leather of his leggings, tenting the soft fabric.

You ache to make him feel as good you feel. Something primal roars in your belly, as you follow him. Hands pressing against his chest, the flicker of shock turning warm as he lets himself be eased back.

Until it’s your thighs straddling his, moving up until your slick cunt is pressing against that heavy curve. His lips parting with a soft pant as you lean over him, your head dipping to kiss him.

He tastes like you, the sweet tang of your orgasm. Another shudder of pleasure coursing through you at the thought - as his hands find your hips, coaxing you to rock yourself against him.

Back home, you don’t know if you would have had the courage to climb this mountain of a man. But the images that flicker through your mind - the ones of him beneath you - are too strong, tugging at you. Beckoning your limbs to follow.

“I want to-,” You’re mumbling, between kisses, “Will you let me?”

“Follow your urges, my heart. Wherever they lead you, I am here.” His words sound strained, his hips flexing up, against you. More than content to be your guide, or to let you explore at your pace.

Your fingers drop to tug at his belt, with his consent. His hands coming to cover yours, lifting you with the rise of his hips. Freeing himself, his clothes joining yours on the forest floor.

It’s only here that you pause, as your thighs stretch across his waist. Where it becomes evident just how proportional he is - his cock full and flushed and heavy, curving up towards his stomach.

Unable to help touching him, his eyes fixed on the slight frown and then panic that flits across your features. A low rumble as your hand fits around him, your fingertips unable to touch.

“You-” You stammer, suddenly unsure, “Halsin, I don't know if I can-”

His eyes darken at your insinuation, his teeth flashing with his smile. Fingers curl around his base, tilting himself up. Pressing himself against your belly, the tip smearing a wet spot on your skin.

Measuring. Your grip tightens and he groans, his hips flexing into your touch.

His voice ragged, rough in the night air, “You can take me. Know you can, my love.”

You can’t pretend you’re not eager to try. Hands pressing against his chest, eyes flicking between his face and his cock, as you lift yourself up.

One leaving to hold him steady, taking a second to feel him slide against you. Muffling a sigh when he bumps against your clit, slicking him up with your release. Before you line him up, and start to sink down.

He splits you open. The pinch of his fingers against your hips hurts, as he tries to resist thrusting up into you. Even with your orgasm, your cunt slick with pleasure, he still stretches you wide.

Taking an inch, and then another. A tremble in your thighs as your knees press into the earth, a strangled whine as you make room for him.

His murmured encouragement catches in his chest, the moon and spring calling to him - only his experience keeping him from taking matters into his own hands.

A strong jaw ticking as you sink onto him, achingly slow - until your hips finally lie flush. Your hand flying to your belly, as if you could feel where he fits inside you.

His gaze is heavy, reverent. The press of fingertips against your skin as his grip eases, lips parting as you carefully begin to lift up - to rock back down.

The sensation flickers through you like faerie fire, the slow and sweet drag of him. Making you feel impossibly full, your head dipping down to hang between your shoulders. Hands curling into the hair covering his chest, as you figure out how to move.

It’s impossible to describe. A desire like you’ve never known bites at you, curling in your belly. You think perhaps you understand now - this need to bring forth the Spring and celebrate its arrival. It’s been something inside of you this whole time, waiting for guidance.

You have it, now.

“I-I did not think there was anything that could rival your touch,” Your words some out shaky - your thighs already twinging with the effort of moving. The steady rise and fall of your hips, the hitch in your breath when he sits flush within you, “I am happy to be wrong.”

The corner of his lip lifts in a snarl, but it’s one of pleasure. Just as gone as you are, with the drag of his eyes from your face, down to where you bounce on his cock. The thick peek of him each time your rise, shining with your slick.

It’s enough that his hands slip lower. Fingers slipping to rub at you again, each time you sink down.

“Use me, then.” He rasps, “Come on, sweet one. Take your pleasure.”

Your heart races, breath caught in your throat at his words, his touch. The slow pace increasing, as you try to do what he says.

Instincts flooding wisdom, drowning it out - tilting your hips until your thighs tremble, as he knocks against a sweet spot inside you.

Again, and then again. His eyes are fixed on you now, and the look he gives makes you clench - coveting his attention. Wanting him to only look at you, tonight.

To sear the feeling of you into his memory, as he has done to you. You think there is nothing that could make you forget tonight.

To forget this swirl of magic, as if you’re tethered to the ground, the sky, him - all at once. Utterly free at the same time, your body moving on its own without inhibition, encouraged by the sound of his moans.

The clench of teeth - the heavy press of hips that have begun to snap upward, no longer able to hold back.

“Oh gods-” You keen. Once, and then again - a grinding circle of your hips against his fingers, as that feeling inside you threatens to burst again.

Halsin chases the rock of your hips now with his own, with his fingers. His laugh rough, caught between his teeth.

“The gods may be listening, little one. But only I will answer.”

It makes you shudder, makes you beg.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

His fingers stay true. Pressing just a little harder, a jostle of his thighs as his feet plant against the ground. Fucking up into you now, as your pace falters. Too focused on the rushing white noise in your ears, the feeling that’s so big that it feels like you’ll choke on it.

“Let me feel you.” The words are muted, miles away. Digging into your skin to weave around your ribs, “Sweet one, come on-”

Your cry rips from your lungs, as you tip over the edge. He’s there to catch you, the steady pound of his hips as your own legs fail you. Fingers sweeping as the pulse of your cunt matches the heartbeat in your ears, clenching around him as you find your release.

Pushing himself up to meet you, as your arms wrap around him. Letting you chase the last waves of pleasure with the grind of your hips, your mouth panting into his neck.

A sweet sweat beading at the nape of your neck, across your skin. Your head turns just enough to meet his, his hand coming up to curl around the back of your neck.

To hold you to him, hovering over him, as he buries himself in you again. Again and again, until he is panting as you steal kisses. Tasting where you still linger in his tongue, another melding of your spirits.

“How do you want me?” His eyes are bright, hands slipping down to cup your ass, to help you ride him, “My heart, I fear I won’t last-”

You had made a pretty coin, brewing herbs and potions. Enough that you could do it in your sleep, your talents extending to camp. Teas of protection brewed openly and without shame.

The need for him to spill in you floods your senses, your own breath ragged at the thought.

“In me, my bear.” You beg, leaning back - the snap of your own hips sharp and loud, “I need you in me.”

The groan he makes is laced with relief. The feeling coursing through him as well - an innate need to spill himself into your cunt. To rut himself into you, until you’ve taken every drop.

Your name is ragged on his lips, as his thrusts turn shallow. As you take over, riding him until his hands grasp at your waist, as he goes stiff beneath you.

He throbs, a warmth flooding deep inside you. A pretty sight, his strong back arching into you - lips parted, hair streaming loose amongst the wildflowers. A snap of teeth as he grinds against you until you drip with him, too full of his cock to keep everything inside.

Fully joined, beneath the moonlight.

Afterwards, you melt against him. A hand smooths down your back as your fingers wander. Across the fur of his bare chest, the curve of his lip. The swirls of scarred and tattooed skin - your lips following.

He’s beautiful beneath you. Eyes content and half-lidded as an arm tucks beneath his head. A little inhale of breath - his broad chest rising as your lips move to his neck.

If you were Volo you think that, perhaps, you’d write a song about this. But that would mean that you would not be with him now, and the thought all but fills you with agony.

That hand on your waist tightening as you push the thought away - stretching up to reach the curve of his ear, a groan as your tongue traces the point.

It moves you against him. His cock slipping part-way out, only to sink deep again with your exploration.

He’s still hard, achingly so. You’re more sure whether it is a blessing of Silvanus or just him - this being so perfectly crafted in nature’s image.

Your teasing winds him up, even as his release leaks from you, shining against your thighs. A groan buzzes against your lips, where they still press against his throat.

A shifting beneath you, a pointed lift of his hips that nudges him against that sensitive place inside you.

“Let me take you, once more,” He husks, his face tipping up to yours. Knuckles brushing your cheek, tender in spite of the fire burning in his eyes, “Like the Oak Father intended.”

Desire still burns in you. An ache at the thought of having him another time, enough that you’re pushing yourself up to straddle him.

Nodding, your begging “please” making him smile, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. His eyes raking over your body, bathed in the glow of moonlight. Where he’s still buried deep, kept warm by you.

Before he’s moving. Hands gripping at your waist - a soft whine when he lifts you off him. His cock flushed and shining where it rests against his belly, as he rolls you beneath him.

“Hands and knees, my love.”

You’re eager to do so. The grass soft against your palms as your knees press into the ground. Arching your back - feeling the weight of his gaze as his thighs brush against yours.

The curve of his cock pressing against you, as he squeezes the flesh of your ass. His touch reverent and hungry, grinding himself against your core as he groans.

“If I could keep but one image in my mind, it would be this one.”

You moan at his praise, rocking back to meet his press of his hips. His hand dropping to wrap around his slick cock, notching it at your entrance.

Holding himself there as his chest presses against your back - warm, as his other arm wraps around your middle. It does something to you. The position, the feel of him overwhelming you.

“Halsin-” You pant, each second ticking by feeding into your desperation, “Why do you wait?”

“My impatient little she-bear,” He laughs, but the sound is strained with you beneath him, “Do not fear, I will give you what you want.”

And he does, the thick tip of him parting you. Sinking deep with a rough thrust of his hip, making you cry out as he fills you.

You had thought he was big before, when you rode him. But you had been in control - taking him at your own pace. Bouncing at your leisure, aided by the span of your hands against his muscular chest for balance.

Now, it feels like he’s in your throat, as he seats himself completely. As you make room for him, gripping him so tightly he chokes on a breath, fingers biting into your skin.

Yours wrap around his wrist, braced against the grass for balance. Nails biting into skin as he noses at your neck, his breath warm where it ghosts against your skin.

A kiss pressed there, so tender that you feel yourself relaxing. Rocking your hips back, whimpering at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls.

“Take me,” You beg, wanting more, “Feels so good, I want you-”

He groans, and you can feel him throb inside you. There’s the sharp snap of his hips, starting shallow. Sliding out further each time, until pleasure is crackling against your skin.

The little clearing filled with the sounds of your joining. Panting breaths and the slick sound of you taking him. Fucking his own cum deeper into you, lewd with the way you cry out when his cock grinds against that spot. When the heft of his balls kiss your clit again and again, heavy with his arousal.

It feels right. Halsin’s body pressed against your back, bending you until your chest is flattened against the grass. Fingers finding purchase in the strands and flowers, giving you something to hold onto as his thighs crash against yours.

Each deep thrust pushed your breath from you with a soft whine, leaving you panting.

Trapped beneath him, until all you can do is take it.

Squirming against the cage of his chest and arms.

Fuck me. Take me. Fill me-

It comes from deep inside you. The want to be filled. An ache at knowing he’s already spent himself, that each thrust brings him closer to a second.

You must say the words out loud because he makes a noise that sounds wounded. A stutter of his hips, his words a jagged rasp, “Let go, my love. I've got you.”

So, you do. Releasing your hold on that last ounce of control. Leaving yourself in his hands, letting your sounds and cries flow freely. Embracing the mounting pleasure as it swirls through you.

You babble - half-formed words as he holds you against him. Shifting when he hears you sob, rutting himself against the spot that sends you up to the stars above. The broken “oh, oh, oh’s-” bleeding into “Gods, Halsin-”

His teeth press against your neck, pinching against your skin, “Give yourself to me.”

The arm curve around your waist moves. Fingers carefully wrap around your hair until it’s fisted in his grip. Pinning you further as he pants in your ear, soft grunts and growls that sound like music in the night air.

Not stopping until you’re shuddering beneath him. Until he feels the tight pulse of your cunt, his own release not far behind. As sweet as the taste of you, as your muscles jump under his touch, as you arch and claw at the grass below you.

It’s bliss. It feels like you’re channeling the forest itself. Feeding off the pleasure that radiates from him. The new beginning of the season, the pull of the moon above.

The Gods are pleased, you think dizzily, they must be, for I have never felt like this.

The slap of his hips is louder, as you soak him. An overwhelming instinct to claim you, as his teeth sink into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Holding you still against him as he growls. Eyes flashing gold as you cry out again - pleasure and pain melding as your orgasm flares out, beginning to ebb in sweet bursts. As the sensation drags him along to find his own end.

Spilling into you a second time with a shout. His hips moving on their own, shallow thrusts with each pulse of his cock. Your head twisting to meet his mouth, a press of teeth and tongue as you swallow his groans.

Until his strength is all but sapped from him.

Until he is more man that beast again, those eyes soft and green again - a field of clover on a bright spring day.

It’s an easy thing, to take you with him to the forest floor. To curl around you - blocking your smaller form from the midnight chill that’s begun to creep in.

Warm and strong - an arm wrapping around your hip, a large hand splaying across your belly. As if those thoughts still lingered.

Still pressed inside you, keeping you filled with him. You think you’d be content to stay like this all night. Longer, if there was not more work to be done, tomorrow. More paths to be taken.

It’s not long though, before you find yourself shifting. Dozing in his grip, a sleepy rock of your hips in an effort to feel him move in you again.

“Oak Father, preserve me.” Halsin stirs behind you, as he huffs into your hair, “Insatiable little thing. And to think I worried about you lasting through the solstice.”

Your teeth bite into your lip as you grin, as his arms wrap more tightly around you.

“I should have been concerned about myself. This old bear needs rest, little one.”

But even with his low rumbling, his hand drifts. The pad of a finger brushing against your clit, sending another shot of pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs part, a knee bending to give him access. Another soft whine as his circles against skin that is slick with his release, as his hips slowly match the lazy rhythm.

“Do not worry, my love. I will not leave you wanting.” He rasps.

“And there are many left hours until dawn.”

omg I started playing recently and I am so in love with this game. this was so much fun, I hope you enjoyed! I love Druids so much (and am playing one) and thought they for sure would have a 👀festival👀 of some kind and wanted to explore that in the context of like, act ii/iii (I am still playing so please let me know if I got any lore wrong!!)

Teuivae – ‘Moonlight’

(tags: @samspenandsword, @amywritesthings)

#halsin x reader #halsin x you #halsin x tav #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader

1K notes · View notes

47-protons · 2 years

Text

i on god adore the prox chat mod so much that shit SLAPS

#even if i've been muted on it for the last like three days and it's Partially bc I've misplaced the microphone for my headphones #and LARGELY bc something has ticked my brain into Noise Days for like three days and hbkjmh vocal stims my beloved #but i Don't Think anyone else on the server or GOD FORBID in a cave would appreciate like. god there is such a Spread of noises #imagine being in a cave you're down there mining for diamonds and then there's just an approaching hum and occasional scream #no one:#my brain after listening to the old family folk music album: TIME TO ENDLESSLY IMITATE A PENNYWHISTLE #i will be driving in the car simply listening to like. one of the songs on there #my cousin mark comes in w the fiddle and molly comes in with the pennywhistle and i am in my car going fuuuUUUUUUCK YEEAAAHHH!!!!!! to like.#idk. it might've been The Rose Tree. i have no idea if most of the songs are on like spotify or not i know a few are

0 notes

hyuuukais · 3 months

Text

-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee minho x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> gen, y/n talks abt being compared to her sister, family tension, food/eating mention, lowkey survivors guilt going on

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -> LIKE IT USED TO BE (partially written, wc: 898)

"Oh good, you're not dead yet," Han speaks a bit loudly into the phone and you move it away from your face slightly.

The bright screen has your eyes straining in the otherwise dark room, tucked under a plush comforter from your childhood. It's amazing it's still in good condition considering how old it is, but your bed squeaks under you to remind you of the age of this room full of old memories. On the night stand next to you is a framed photo of you with your family, your mom and dad standing behind you and another little girl, slightly taller than you; your sister. You lean over and put the frame face down.

"Still alive, barely," you reply with a sigh. "Why'd you assume I'm having a bad time?"

"Let me think," he puts a finger to his bottom lip in fake concentration. "'How am I supposed to last four more days'... doesn't exactly sound like someone having a good time."

"You caught me, but I swear it's nothing." A lie. "Nothing interesting." A truth; is your family drama really worth talking about? "How's the apartment?"

"Fine. We've started to try and befriend the guy down the hall, Seungmin? Maybe you've run into him?" You shake your head. "Minho seems to get along with him the best. I think it's because they both act unwelcoming to strangers."

This makes you snort. The two of you continue to talk and laugh, the cats making an appearance at one point with Minho, who gives you a short wave, and you don't realize how late it's getting until your eyes catch the time briefly; 3:08AM. Shit. How loud have you been? You freeze when you hear a door open, muting Jisung on the other end and flipping your phone over. Your door opens.

"What are you doing up so late? Don't you know what time it is?" Your sister groans. "And you're being kind of loud, mind keeping it down a bit? Who're you even talking to?"

"No one," you say too quickly, internally cringing at yourself. "Sorry. I'm going to bed soon."

"You're lucky it was me and not mom who walked in here," she says with a sort of laugh. "She would have screamed her head off and taken your phone, despite being an adult now."

You sit up. "Yeah."

"She really fucked us up a bit, huh?" She sits next to you hesitantly when you don't reply. "Maybe we'd be closer now."

"Hyo-"

"I'm sorry," she stands suddenly. "I shouldn't be saying all this. Forget this, please." Your older sister stands in the doorway, eyes pleading. "Don't mention this to anyone, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper, knowing damn well Jisung heard every word.

As you listen to her footsteps fade, you learn to breath again, flipping your phone back over and unmuting Han. When he notices you're back, he says nothing, fiddling with the string on the hoodie he wears.

"You-"

"It's okay-" You speak at the same time and laugh, breaking the newfound tension. He continues. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I guess this is what you meant by complicated?"

You pout, eyes beginning to sting. When you speak, your voice breaks a little. "Yeah, I mean, it's hard, you know? All my life I've been compared to Hyo by my mother and teachers and even my friends. Like, I have to be her instead of myself, and she never once stepped in to protect me from all that like a big sister is supposed to. Never heard her stand up for me when it was happening right in front of her, no moment of 'hey, let my little sister be who she wants, you already have one of me'. I feel like I can't talk to her anymore. I'm rambling, sorry."

"No, it's okay," Han reassures you.

"We used to be close when we were young," you speak into the space he's left you. "Then as we got older, we drifted. We're only a few years apart, but she always acted so much better than me once we hit a certain age. She said hurtful things to me a lot, and I'm sure I said equally awful things back." A tear falls onto your blanket and you sniff, looking up to your ceiling where a poster of a boy band is pinned to prevent more from falling. "I want my sister back, but... I think there's too much pain."

"Oh Y/nnie," Han gives you a sad look. "I wish I could hug you right now."

"I'm just saying stupid stuff now, I should sleep." You've overshared and want out of this conversation ASAP. "Goodnight Han, sleep well."

He's about to protest when you hang up, moving your phone next to the frame to charge. For a while you lay there, staring at your ceiling with a heavy weight on your chest. You've never fully talked to someone about the way your upbringing made you feel or the way it still affects you. There's still a scared little girl inside of you, shying away from hands that want to hold you, comfort you. Because what if it's all a lie? What if they all leave you, like Hwa? Or like... like him?

You glance over to the frame again, not having it in you to flip it back up.

notes -> me vs y/ns mother rn- who do we think this "him" is referring to? and what happened? will hyunjin and y/n make up?

taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @multifandomedsimp @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers @dreamerwasfound @imsiriuslyreal @lailac13 @palindrome969 @lixie-phoria @aalexyuuuhm @sunflowerbebe07 @st4rhwa @lukeys-giggle @jabmastersupriseee @judeduartewannabe @gaysontheprince @stepout-09-15 @splat00z

^^^ orange means i can't tag you

#-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143 #stray kids smau #skz smau #non idol au #stray kids #skz #lee know #lee know smau #lee minho smau #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x fem reader #lee minho x fem reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #smau #social media au

187 notes · View notes

dinodanicus · 4 months

Text

you can skip this wall of text its just about the scam this illustration was involved in.

This fairly ordinary illustration of two hands holding was involved in a very weird and convoluted scam. Last month I was commission to illustrate this image for invitations meant to go out for a supposed wedding anniversary coming up in March. The whole commission seemed odd to me I mainly draw dinosaurs and aliens. Not many people know I also draw people but the buyer who called himself Petterson Reid was offering to pay 300 up front and 200 after the work was finished. A nice offer for what was a very simple illustration. I took the job and sent him a very rough sketch of the hands to show him what the final image might look like. He liked the sketch and told me to finish the image after he sent the first payment I went ahead and finished the image that night. I held onto the picture to see if he would really send the 300 dollars first. The buyer wanted to send a check by mail which is weird but I thought he might have been a boomer who didn't understand how to use PayPal. His emails and text seemed like something my grandmother would write very proper and overly polite. I was fairly suspicious of him and waited to see if a check would actually be delivered. To my surprise a check did arrive a week later from Petterson Reid except it was for 2,790 dollars. knowing this was far too much money I asked him if it was a mistake. He said the extra money was for a PayPal invoice to the printers involved in the invitations. He wanted me to use the extra money on the check to pay the printers on his behalf. Again very weird but I chalked it up to an old person who didn't know how to pay online. I cashed the check the next day, since it was from an out of state bank they were putting it on hold for 3 days to see if the funds would clear. I told the buyer about the three day waiting period and asked for the invoice I was suppose to be paying and he went absolutely ape shit. He claimed I was trying to steal his money and was threatening to pursue legal action I was completely shocked by the change in attitude. I had to mute my phone because he kept sending wave after wave of threatening texts. At this point I was 90% sure this was some sort of scam but when I called the bank they said there was nothing to do until the hold expired. I was confident it wouldn't then to my surprise the check cleared and the money was in my account. At this point I had the finished artwork and the money so I wanted to get this crazy asshole on his way so I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. I told him to send the invoice for the printer and I would pay it with the money on the check then I would send the picture and our business would be done. This prick sends some half assed looking invoice with a payable link on PayPal. When I try to pay, it says payment will be held till Feb 7th. Apparently this date is too late for the printers so now that processing payment has been canceled by the printer in favor of a new payment process through Zelle. I was trying to figure out what was going on, if its a scam what is the take the entirety of the check was still in my account it didn't even say it was pending. I go to pay on Zelle and discover the 2,790 dollars has been rescinded by the bank. I call and learn this ass hair had sent a forged check to the bank in an effort to have me pay these fake invoices with my own money. He guessed the bank would deposit the check without fully vetting it for the standard 10 days since I'm a long time member. He knew he had until about five a clock that day before the bank would catch the discrepancy. He was posing as the printer in order to scam 4,740 dollars from me through both attempted payment methods. luckily for me I'm broke as hell right now and didn't have the money in my own account to cover either payment with out the check. everything has been taken care of now I just thought I better share this story since I've never seen a scam like this before. It took an entire month for him to essentially get nothing I really don't know what to think of any of this its such a weird scheme.

#my art #illustration #hands #sketch

177 notes · View notes

longhardtransitionreturns · 4 months

Text

I've always had this fantasy of not knowing I was pregnant, getting on a flight, and then having a really difficult birth on a plane while all the other passengers listen to my screams.

I spend the day leading up to my flight dealing with stomach cramps but figure they're either from the dodgy kebab I had at the pub or it's my period finally showing up. I've never been regular but it's been quite a while since I've had one so this could be the start of a really bad cycle.

I'm excited to wear my new jumpsuit, which is basically a one piece sweat suit that zips up the front. I'm meeting my partner when I land so I put on a tiny black lace thong and the matching bra and set off for the airport.

Wrangling my luggage while my stomach keeps clenching so hard it takes my breath away is difficult but I finally make it through security. I'm taking a break, rubbing my aching belly, when a pregnant woman passing grabs my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic smile.

"It hurts when they get rowdy, huh? Seems like they know when you're about to fly."

My cheeks turn red. I know I've been gaining weight but I didn't realize I looked pregnant!

I feel like it's rude to tell her that I'm not with child and actually just have to take a massive shit so I smile and mumble what I hope sounds like a sympathetic noise.

After unsuccessfully trying to go to the bathroom, I finally board my flight. I'm grateful to be in first class because it's suddenly really painful to sit any other way but with my legs spread wide.

I try to sleep, especially because I hate flying over the water and the first 6 hours of this flight are over the Atlantic. But not only does the pain in my stomach stop me from sleeping, it drives me from my seat every ten minutes to go strain on the toilet. I'm starting to freak out a little; I've never felt pain like this and for the first time I start to get scared something is really wrong.

Eventually even the engine noise can't mute the groans coming from the tiny plane bathroom. When I stumble out for my 10th time in 2 hours, the flight attendant is waiting with an annoyed looking man in a stained Metallica sweatshirt.

She stops me with a wary smile. "Honey, I think we need to get you checked out. This is John, he's an EMT. He's the only medical professional on board but he agreed to take a look."

John looks hungover or maybe still drunk and his agreement had to have been reluctant but he sits down with me in an empty last row of seats and starts asking questions about my symptoms. When I tell him I haven't had a period for almost a year but the pain feels a bit like period cramps, his eyes go wide as saucers.

"Uh, ma'am, I think I'm gonna need to check your vagina. I think you might be in labor."

I've had enough. This is the second time today someone has thought I'm pregnant! I get up and brush roughly past John and start making my way back up to my seat, hopefully to sleep.

I barely make it to the middle of the plane before the worst pain yet clinches my belly and I feel an undeniable weight plop painfully into my pelvis. It drops me to my knees and I'm suddelny howling in agony, much to the horror of my fellow passengers.

I don't even have time to think before I feel a pop and fluid gushes out of my twat, soaking my panties and jumpsuit. I feel just a second of relief before the pressure is back, worse than I've ever felt, and I know with sudden horrifying clarity that the weight is that of a baby moving down my birth canal.

"There's a baby in my pussy and I need to push!"

John and the flight attendant are immediately at my side, pulling me painfully to my feet. Before I really even know what's happening I'm in the galley in the back of the plane with John unzipping my jumpsuit and peeling my soaked thong down my legs. They lay me spread eagle on the floor and he sticks his fingers up me.

I'm pretty out of it from the pain and shock but over the next ten minutes I gather I'm seven centimeters dilated, it's three hours until we land whether we turn around or keep going, and I'm probably going to have to crown a baby lying on a dirty floor underneath the drawer where they keep the diet Coke and little bottles of liquor.

I can't really focus on anything but the pain, which now includes long, searing stabs through my back as well as my front. The pressure is insane. I never imagined birth would feel like my hips are going to dislocate because the baby passing through them is so big. I hear John say things like "back labor" and "posterior" and, worryingly, "very narrow pelvis" but by that point I am in transition and shaking and puking and pleading for someone to let me die it hurts so bad.

I learned later, through a TikTok video a fellow passenger posted that got four million likes, that I crowned for thirty minutes. The guy who posted the video made a time lapse and edited my screams for help and death over it. He even got a cheeky shot of my bruised, bleeding pussy stretched around the head at the widest point.

When it finally pops out, I pray my ordeal is almost over. But, no matter how hard John pulls or I push, the shoulders are jammed tight in my opening. I spend the final half hour of the flight with a massive head hanging out of me while I drift in and out of consciousness.

I remember how bad it hurt for that head to be jostled when the plane landed and it was agony to be lifted on to the stretcher, my legs carefully held wide to accommodate the head hanging between them. I remember being horrified most of the passengers were filming me being wheeled up the aisle, legs open, screaming about the pain in my pussy every time we hit a bump.

It wasn't until hours later, my 14lb son in my arms and the good drugs masking the horror of what they had to do to me down there to finally get him all the way out, that I realized the creative folks on the internet had turned my birth from hell into a trending TikTok song.

I never really found the humor in putting me screaming "I've got a baby in my pussy and I need to push" and "Oh my God, my clitoris just ripped" to music. Especially since all I got was a kid I didn't want and a lifetime fear of both birth and flying.

#birth kink #labor and delivery #maesiophilia #preggo kink #painful birth #giving birth #birth

142 notes · View notes

nightdiary · 1 year

Note

HELLO MILA <333

I love ur blog sm and i just realised i never asked anything ??????

So i was wondering if u could do something with beomgyu’s s/o surprising him at their recent tour 🫶🏻👀

word count: 2.1k genre: fluff, (secret) established relationship dear anon!!! thank you so much for your wonderful request, i hope i was able to do your idea justice! i had lots of fun writing this, and i've always wanted to try writing something similar! i'd love to hear your thoughts, thank you for your support and patience 🤍

the nature of your relationship with beomgyu had always been built on something light-hearted, even as the two of you grew into your separate selves and careers.

it’s what you believed kept your relationship blossoming– the spark as so many relationship experts had dubbed it. it’s what you believed kept you and your boyfriend together after so many years, after so much time spent apart, and after so many things had attempted to come in the way.

easily put: loving your idol boyfriend was easy because of the both of you were just a little bit unserious (sometimes).

the unexpected call comes at an hour too late for you to ignore. beomgyu’s manager is on the other line with a proposition that makes you sit up in bed and tug your sheets off urgently. you nearly think you’re stuck in the midst of a wishful dream, his voice a mere product of your sleep-deprived mind. but then he mentions something you’d been pondering on for months, something you’d never thought would be brought up to conversation with your boyfriend’s management team.

you’re left staring at your frazzled reflection in the bathroom mirror when he hangs up. he leaves it up to you to decide whether or not to tell beomgyu.

so, when beomgyu’s message inviting you to their last show on tour appears on your phone with a muted ding!, you decide to act. it feels a little mean, and it nearly makes you break your act when he sends enough sad face emojis to make the app lag, but you tell him you’re busy; unable to get a day off from your employer, who’s livid at the thought of you taking a vacation on such short notice.

it’s believable, almost too much so, because beomgyu answers with a voice message comforting you and promising to take you next time. he also sends you a selfie of him in his hotel bed, hair wet and lips devastatingly pouty, and you resort to turning your phone off to avoid telling him the truth.

you’ve come across countless photos and videos from his concert before, received even more from your boyfriend directly, but no amount of beomgyu fancams could prepare you for physically seeing him on stage. he looks absolutely incandescent, like a star that’s gotten to close to earth, and your lungs constrict at how effortlessly he carries himself through the songs.

the fervor and keenness with which he throws himself into his performance has left you awe-stuck every time, but seeing it on a stage in such a large-scale venue makes your heart squeeze with pride. there’s a certain glow to all of the members, really, one that made it hard for you to take your eyes off the stage during the entirety of the three hour show.

the stadium’s alive with roaring fans, the energy palpable in the thrumming air as each note reverberated like an echo. the eagerness in your throat nearly suffocates you. with every passing song, you could feel yourself growing more and more nervous, increasingly unsure of how beomgyu will react. despite sitting somewhat close to the stage, he has yet to acknowledge that he’s seen or recognized you.

beomgyu’s eyes briefly meet yours during one of the ments when he’s scanning through your section. his gaze pauses on you for just a moment longer, enough to let you see the brief flicker of shock on his unassuming face, before he schools himself and moves on to fans that are seated higher up. but you still manage to catch his gaze on you every now and then throughout the remainder of the show, fleeting and brief, yet progressively more incessant as everything draws to a close.

you swear you see him mouth something at you, but then confetti’s being blast out and you’re drowning in the screams around you. admittedly, the hardest part is waiting for the venue to begin emptying out, enough so that you can find a trusted staff member and be escorted backstage. you’re unsure of how long after the show it’s been when you can finally slip away to see beomgyu, but it’s all forgotten in the past when you turn into a room and see him staring back at you, this time unabashedly.

everything around you bleeds into hazy, distant nothingness as you run forward to close the gap between you two. beomgyu’s arms encircle you like a lifeline, pressing you into his chest with a measured tenderness. he’s warm and firm and familiar, and as he tucks himself into your shoulder, you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“i can’t believe you made it,” he mumbles against your neck, hold tightening around your waist. he’s sweaty all along the front, shirt practically drenched through after hours of performing, but all you can think about is the fact that he’s finally here. not on a screen. not in your fleeting thoughts throughout the day.

“airplanes are a crazy invention,” you joke breathlessly.

beomgyu laughs wetly from where he’s nuzzling your collarbones, seemingly intent on getting as close as physically possible to you. your own hand raises to card itself through his damp locks, untangling them where they’ve gone unruly from his dancing. you almost feel awkward with the mill of staff around you, but they look too busy tending to the clean-up process to even worry about the two of you huddling in the middle of it all.

“you two are so cute,” you hear from behind you, and as you crane your neck to meet taehyun’s genuine eyes, you flush.

stepping back from the hug, you feel beomgyu’s calloused palms move to cup your cheeks, gently cradling your face with a tenderness so raw it nearly hurts. he’s looking at you with such intent, almost as if in belief that you’re real and in front of him, and you resist to rock forward on your toes and kiss him square on the mouth. his thumbs smooth over your damp cheeks, and you realize with a start that you’ve been crying.

as the room continues to crowd with more staff filtering in, beomgyu takes the initiative to pull you into one of the more secluded corners of the lounge for some semblance of privacy. you lean back against the wall and peer up at him through your lashes, studying the way the glitter of his makeup catches the light. he’s even more beautiful up close, impossibly ethereal, and your heart aches at the thought of leaving him again.

the rest of the members seem to have also taken note of your presence, judging by kai’s excited holler from the doorway, and you preen under their attention when they crowd into your corner. beomgyu makes a noise of complaint when they circle around you, but the frown on his face doesn’t last long as he watches you hug the rest of his bandmates. they’re all still dressed in their stage outfits, equally sweaty and noticeably exhausted, and yet they greet you with such heartfelt enthusiasm that you feel yourself go warm all over.

“no way, you didn’t tell us you were coming!” soobin pulls back from smothering you to look you over, gasping when he notices the tour shirt you’d slipped on over your outfit. “you’re wearing the one beomgyu sent you! oh, i hate couples. i’m going to be sick–”

soobin breaks off, pretending to gag, and you swat at him with a smile so wide that hurts your cheeks.

“we’ve missed you so much,” kai continues earnestly, grinning impishly, “probably more than gyu, if we’re being honest.”

“careful, i know where you’re sleeping tonight,” your boyfriend grumbles, sticking his tongue out at the both of them as he scoots into your side, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“so do i? we’re literally staying on the same floor…”

“at this point, can’t we just ask manager-nim to get an extra room at our hotel for you?” yeonjun’s question is innocent, but it makes you go warm all over. partly from excitement, partly from embarrassment.

“no way, your manager’s done already done so much for me.” that was an understatement. he’d been more than understanding when you’d first brought the idea up to him, been too kind and patient in sorting out details and ruling out alternatives. he’d pulled too many strings to secure you a spot at the show, backstage even, that it felt outright inconsiderate to ask for more. you’d gotten to see beomgyu shining from afar, gotten to see him sweaty and tired and soft between your arms.

it was enough, no matter how selfish you wanted to be.

“it’s okay,” a deeper voice cuts you off before you can continue, and you back up into beomgyu in surprise. their manager laughs good-naturedly at your shock, moving in between the members and reaching out to shake your hand in greeting.

“it’s okay?” you squeak, meeting his hand tentatively.

“i appreciate your consideration,” he nods, turning to pat beomgyu on the back. “the boys have all worked really hard on this tour. it’s the last stop, and they have a long flight back to korea tomorrow. what’s one night of celebration? you’ll have to take a separate car and follow extra protocol, but it won’t be anything our team can’t handle. beomgyu, think of this as my congratulation to you for a successful tour.”

“if beomgyu gets to be with his partner, i want in-n-out,” soobin pouts, and everyone in the circle breaks off into laughter. yeonjun seconds this with a raise of his hand, and you watch with amusement as kai and taehyun quickly follow suit.

“thank you,” beomgyu whispers to his manager, smile sincere and flustered. his hold on your hand tightens, and you look over at him to share a knowing look.

the anxiousness at the back of your mind doesn’t disappear as beomgyu and the rest of the members go through the motions of warming down and preparing to leave. you’re instructed to wait on one of the empty couches in the corner, leg bouncing restlessly as you watch your boyfriend disappear down the hall, presumably to change into something with less frills and gems.

outside, you can still hear the hum of excitement from the venue, though considerably scaled down from what you remember it being during the show. your heart squeezes with pride at the thought of how far they’d all come– sold out venues with capacities the size of small towns. an achievement so deserving, and yet once unfathomable to the entire group.

beomgyu returns clad in sweatpants and a loose shirt, face wiped clean of highlights and glitters. he seems almost bashful as he approaches you, looking around with a shy quirk to his mouth as he comes to back you up against the corner. you know what’s coming before he even leans in to peck you, know from the determination in his eyes that this isn’t the last you’ll be seeing of him like this tonight.

“ready to head out?” he asks once he pulls back, reaching for your hand with a smirk playing at his lips. your fingers comfortably slip between his, and as you make your way out after the staff, you clear your throat and try to hide the blush on your cheeks.

“i also want in-n-out,” you say.

your boyfriend’s answering laugh is loud and fond, and it rings down the hallway like peals of bells. he leans into your side, nudging you with his shoulder, and you note that he still smells like the body wash you have at home.

“almost sounds like you’re more excited for the food than to spend time alone with me,” he pouts.

flicking him on the forehead, both of you pause before a set of doors, ones you assume lead to the exterior of the building. you know his manager isn’t far behind you, and after being briefed on the measures you’d have to adhere to once outside, you think it’s best you stick by a familiar face. the security milling around should have you feeling more on edge, but beomgyu’s secure hold on your hand is enough to make you forget all about the predicament.

“i’ll see you at the hotel,” he promises.

there’s a crowd of staff forming behind you, commotion rising in the hallway as the team prepares to leave. you look at the flutter of beomgyu’s lashes as he looks up at them, then back at you, and you hum quietly when he begins to let go of you hand.

“with in-n-out?”

beomgyu’s smile is blinding, like that of a star you’re finally able to hold in the cusp of your palms. “with in-n-out.”

456 notes · View notes

mybelovedwoo · 1 year

Text

i'm glad i have you with me

bff!san x f!reader

fluff, comfort, childhood best friends to lovers (slow burn) / wc:1.3k

warnings: cheating, crying, swear words, cuddling

note: so tell me how you liked this one. i am a bit nervous because this is my first non-wooyoung fic, but i really enjoyed writing it. please stay tuned in the future for other members' fics too. if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

san masterlist - main masterlist

Sitting on a couch at a house party all alone with people you don't know, there's literally any other place you would rather be. Originally you came with you're boyfriend Seungjun, but you haven't seen him in hours. You weren't much of a party person, but this time you accompanied him, because he begged you for days for it, but now you are starting to regret it honestly.

You take out your phone from your back pocket, but before you open it, you look around once more to see if your boyfriend pops up somewhere, you are out of luck, so after you unlocked it, the first thing you open is your messages. Your fingers linger over Seungjun's name, but it says he's been unavailable for hours, no shit Sherlock, you think. Instead, you scroll down a bit and open the messages for your best friend, San.

You know well that he probably not gonna answer, because it's Saturday night, and he is most definitely out with his friends too. You don't care, you try it anyway, he is your best chance to rescue you out of this hell. "Hey, San." is the first you send, you're not sure what to write him, you don't want to bother him. "What are you doing?" you wait a few minutes, but he's not responding, his phone is probably on mute. "I'm kinda bored, I don't know where Seungjun went. I need your rescue ㅠㅠ." Nothing, no response. You feel really annoyed at this point, but not because San, poor boy did nothing wrong, it is just a bad moment. "You know what I'm gonna look for Seungjun. Don't worry and have fun." You lock your phone and put it back in your back pocket.

You look around the kitchen, then in the yard, but you don't see him anywhere. You are getting kinda worried that maybe he left you there. At last, you walk up the stairs, the hallway is full of kissing couples, who must have only met tonight. The moment you enter one of the rooms, you regret everything you did until now. Your boyfriend was there with another girl you had never seen before, doing things you never expected him to do with anyone except for you.

You didn't know what to do in the big shock, but you didn't speak up, maybe they didn't even notice you or just didn't care. But you turned around and hurried down the stairs, unable to control your tears. You just needed some fresh air, you had to get out of this place immediately. You crashed out of the entrance of the house and fell down to the stairs. Sitting there you didn't even think, you were already calling San. This is urgent now.

Your phone didn't even ring for two seconds when they already answered it. "Hey Y/N, is everything okay? I'm sorry my phone was on mute I haven't seen your texts. Have you found Seungjun? Wait, are you crying?" You couldn't even speak, though you wanted to tell him everything. "Y/N please say something! What happened? Are you hurt?" You took three big breaths to calm yourself down enough to talk a few words. "He cheated on me. Could you come to pick me up?" You didn't have to say more. "I've already sat in the car the minute I saw your messages, don't worry. I'll be there soon."

He wasn't lying, he got there in record time. You watched as he pulled up with his car to the driveway of the house. When he gets out of the car, is only when you get up from the stairs you've been sitting on. San rushed towards you at a high speed, so you didn't have time to move even an inch in his way.

"Where is that dickhead?" He asked with blunt words when he got to you. He seemed really angry, maybe even angrier than you, you had never in your life seen him like this before. You shrugged, implying that you don't know and don't care either. But that was not enough for him. "Is he still inside there?" You started to get a little worried.

"I think so. But please don't make a scene, let's just go home." You pulled him through his forearm when he already started walking to the entrance. "Wait for me in the car, okay? I'll be quick, I'm not gonna do anything he doesn't deserve, I swear." He said to you, while he stroked your face with his right hand. You hesitated, but who are you to tell him what to do, so you went up to his car and sat on the passenger side for like five minutes.

At this point you didn't care much about waiting a little longer, that's what you did all night long. San slammed the door behind himself, and somehow he looked even angrier than before. He got in the car next to you and when he looked at you his expression softened. "What did you do?" You asked him with a sobby voice. "I just showed him where he belonged. Let's just say he went swimming." You look down at his hands and you see it's all bruised up.

He started the engine. "San, I don't wanna go home. What if he comes there?" You didn't know what to do, since he had a key to your apartment. You couldn't bare to see his face once more.

"We're going to my place." He didn't even hesitate. You slept at his place many times now, but not since you started dating Seungjun. San was worried when you found out you are going to different colleges, he was afraid that you wouldn't spend as much time together as you used to. But you thought that was nonsense since you have been best friends since you were very little, you grew up together.

He never liked Seungjun, he always said he didn't deserve you. But he was your first boyfriend, and you were blinded with love, at least that's what you thought. Looking back, you also know that he didn't treat you well, but you don't know that when you're in it.

Entering San's apartment, all you could think about was that you needed to get some sleep asap. Weariness hit you the moment you got hit by the heat of the comfortable room. You didn't want to bother San with your presence, you don't know what plans he had.

You've been quite comfortable in here, so you decided to lie down on the couch in the living room. "What are you doing?" Asked San, entering the room with a glass of water in his hand.

"Sleeping. I'm really tired." You mumbled, not able to speak properly.

"You can't sleep here. Go to my room, there is my bed. I'll sleep on the couch." You sat up at his statement. "No, you can't. This is your place." There's no way you letting him sleep out here in the cold living room when he has his own warm bed just a room away. "Let's sleep both in the bed. I think it's big enough for the both of us." You said. It's not like this is the first time you sleep in the same bed, you always fell asleep next to each other when you were little.

"Are you sure?" He hesitated. "We are not so small anymore." The joke made you both laugh, it made his heart clench to see you happy again.

After you took a warm shower, he gave you a big shirt of his and a jogger pant that was definitely too big for you. You got under the cover, San was already there, lying down. He turned off the lamp on the bedside table, which illuminated the whole room until now.

As soon as it got dark your eyes started watering again, you remember everything that happened today. All of a sudden, you feel a pair of hands slip on your waist. San hugged you tightly from behind. "I got you." He whispered in your ears. He didn't let go of you all night long, you woke up in the same position the next morning.

#san #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagine #choi san #san x reader #ateez san #ateez san fluff #childhood best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #slowburn romance #san x you #san comfort #bff san #san imagine #ateez fanfic

505 notes · View notes

alphabetboyluvr · 11 months

Text

throttle - jjk | four

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - smut, a lil dirty talk over text, titwank, lil spit, lil degradation, lots of praise <3, handjob, showers, vaginal sex, (1) reference to you up?, jungkook cums 3 times in this one, the oc.... does not. CURIOUS. jaykay is soooo smitten :( Busan is proposed!! oh how our throttle couple luv busan <3, the angst is about to go from a 2 to a 6, jk is the pied piper, jk and cc play the desperation olympics, and they both lose!! namjoon is the worst (calls the oc a sket (twice!))

word count - 10.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

"Look what the cat dragged in," you smile, all big and bashful as soon as you see him.

It's been a little while; too long, you think. Different schedules and busy personal lives have kept you apart - but none of the distance ever matters. It always melts away with one flash of his pearly smile, which he often tries (and fails) to contain around you.

"I wish," he groans, flopping onto your sofa. You're on the floor, typing away on your laptop, indifferent to the way he just lets himself into your apartment. It's been this way for a while now. "Haven't been near pussy in ages."

You gag, as if he's your brother or something. "Shut the fuck up, Yoongi."

He's dressed down in a pair of jeans and a shirt two sizes too big for him, but you can smell his laundry detergent from where you're sat. He's made an effort.

"You started it," he snorts, eyes not on you, but on your television. It's playing some muted drama that neither of you care for. He knows this, even when he asks you, "Whatcha watching?"

"Dunno," you hum, as predicted. "Just had it on for company."

Yoongi nods, understanding the desire.

He does it too; leaves the television running just so that he doesn't have to be alone with his thoughts.

Things are better these days. He's not as scared as he once was. It's been a couple of weeks, and after all, time heals. Eases. Pacifies.

Yoongi asks what you're doing, and pretends to be shocked when you tell him you're stalking.

"Who is it this time?"

"Just a guy."

"It's never 'just a guy'."

It's morbid, the curiosity that Yoongi forces himself to endure. It's like your nails have a grasp around his heart, and with every beat of it, they sink further into the muscle. The more attached he becomes, the deeper the pain runs.

You don't realise quite how profoundly his blood turns green. He's good at feigning indifference; good at pretending like it is just a crush.

And so he asks questions because he wants to hurt himself a little bit more. Wants his heart to ache. Wants to feel the discomfort he so closely associates with love. It's reached a point where he thinks love has to hurt, otherwise, it's not real.

"Since when has a guy ever been more than just a guy," you toy back. None of your past lovers have ever lasted too long. You doubt Jungkook will, either. Just the way the cookie crumbles.

"Since you fall in love at the drop of a hat," Yoongi smiles. His eyes are slightly clouded, the sombre vapour of burnt-out desire smoking in them.

"I've never been in love," you retort a little too quickly.

It's not a lie, but it makes way for the admittance of something else instead: you just love the attention that comes with men fawning after you.

And so you let Yoongi think that you have the capacity within you to love, because you fear that the love he has for you is conditional; transactional.

You just have to trust that the intentions behind acts of love are pure. You have to trust.

This issue with trust is that it's earned, not owed; and nobody has ever earned your trust. Never. Serpents lie beneath roses, and you'll be damned if you pick one either way, 'cause if it ain't a fang, it's a thorn that'll get you instead.

"Anyways," you hum, not wanting to dwell on the topic. All of your searches of Jungkook's name have garnered minimal results, nothing of which you can be sure relates to him. Now, you need a distraction and Yoongi is as good as any. Your knees click as you stretch out, and Yoongi winces at the sound, before you plonk yourself down on the sofa next to him. "What shall we order for dinner?"

There's a howl of wind sneaking between the cracks in your window panes; a stark reminder that winter is still here, and it's still as bitter as ever. Like the river you walk across on a near-daily basis, your heart will take a while to thaw.

But as with all seasons, winter will mollify; and perhaps so will the ice chains that wrap themselves around your warmest muscle. Maybe. The way Jungkook hugs around your chest when he takes you from behind already has the ice weeping in the dark of night. You think it's just some kind of placebo effect. Best not to get carried away with sensation.

Yoongi says something, but you're not listening. All you can hear is the soft splatter of water dripping from the ice; right down onto the chime that's oscillating in your stomach again. Fuck.

Across the street from your apartment complex sits a black SsangYong. It lurks in the shadows; silent, sinister, stalking.

A curt snap echoes through the car, as Namjoon breaks a Pepero stick in half, much to Jungkook's annoyance.

That's literally not how you eat them, he seethes internally. His nostrils are a little flared, and his eyes are hard as they stare out the window and across to the stairs that lead up to your entryway. It has a plain end for a reason.

Namjoon knows this, obviously. Doesn't care. Can sense the way it's getting under Jungkook's skin, so he does it again.

"No point in us being here," Jungkook eventually huffs, channelling his disdain into something - anything - that isn't how fucking annoying Namjoon is. It's been nearly an hour.

"Whoever owns that heap of shit has to come out, soon," Namjoon says of the Mini parked outside of your apartment block. He mutters under his breath for what must be the millionth time, "Fuckin' Ajumma's car."

"It's a John Cooper Works," Jungkook says a little flippantly. He's not impressed, not by any means, but he knows it isn't something to turn his nose up at. Might look like the kind of thing his mother would have loved, but it packs a punch. Limited edition, factory-grade. One of only two thousand. A mean little beast that'd give his Pony a run for its money, even with the mods.

"Okay? Tell Mr John Cooper that it's still an Ajumma's car," Namjoon shrugs. He doesn't give a shit about imports. They're all weak in comparison to the homegrown beauties he likes to drive. Jungkook could argue for days that he's wrong, but Namjoon simply wouldn't bother to listen - so what was the point? "Anyways," he continues, snapping another chocolate coated stick. It's about now that Jungkook wishes Peperos would have sharp ends so that he could stick them in his ears. "Either the fucker who drives it comes out now, or he says inside and carries on railing the sket until the sun comes up. Doesn't matter which. We've got a car to keep tabs on."

"You don't know he's fucking her-"

"We've both seen her," Namjoon scoffs, mouth half full, a little biscuit dust puffing out from his plump lips. "He's screwing the absolute fuck out of her."

"What does that even mean?" Jungkook's nose really is upturned, now. "You're just being vulgar for the sake-"

"Oh, give over. What was the first thing you said about her?"

"I-"

"Prissy bitch," Namjoon imitates. "Stick up her ass - pretty good ass though."

It almost makes Jungkook laugh, because while his former self isn't wrong (he thinks your ass is a gift from the Gods), he knows that it's your tits he could worship all day long.

If it were him in your apartment, he knows he'd be doing just that. Praising you; Worshipping, devoting, revering. He's never believed in God, not really. Never prays, never looks to the sky and mumbles words of desperation; but when he's beneath you, he finds himself beseeching. Imploring the man in the sky to let him feel the way that he feels when he's inside of you forever. Sometimes he wonders if you must be what heaven feels like. Knows he'd sacrafice himself for it. For you.

In theory, at least. Fears if he tells Namjoon this, he'll have to experience it in practise. He's not ready to, not yet. Just in case he's wrong, and he really does lose the closest thing to heaven that he's ever known.

"I just think we're going to an awful lot of effort for this," he deflects. "The more we know about this girl, the more variables we have to consider, and the less likely it is that we can actually get this shit done."

"We knew less last time," Namjoon says without skipping a beat. He knows this game better than most. Knows that it's imperative that they resolve the mess they made in the gas station as quickly as possible. "And look at where that got us - beating up some fuckin' dude who didn't have a clue what was going on."

"You didn't have to go so hard on him."

"I did. You know I did."

Silence resumes, and remains that way until Namjoon whacks Jungkook on his chest with the back of his hand a few hours later. His attention is diverted from his phone, which drops to his laps as his neck almost snaps to look in the direction of your apartment.

You're laughing as you walk down the stairs from your entryway. Jungkook thinks he can hear you.

He can't. He just remembers. Know the way it almost sounds like you're hiccuping when you start struggling to draw more air into your lungs, too happy to focus on keeping yourself alive.

Your body leans into the guy you're with, and there's an ease to the way you are together, one that has Jungkook feeling all uneasy. He adjusts in his seat - earns himself a hiss from Namjoon for being 'distracting' - and tries to focus on anything but the way you pull the guy in for a hug. It's not necessarily anything more than platonic, but it's not the hug of a stranger, either.

"It's him," Namjoon's voice is low, barely a vibration between his lips. "Guy from the gas station. Sket is shitting where she eats." He laughs. "Un-fucking-believable."

Jungkook says nothing. It's a little hard to speak with the weight of the world crashing down on your lungs, though.

Instead he simply nods, and reaches for his phone.

꾹: i gotta see you.

꾹: think i'm going crazy without you.

You don't reply until you're inside, clearing up the remains of the food you'd shared with Yoongi.

You: i'm not a therapist :/

꾹: please.

You: my place or yours?

꾹: mine.

When Namjoon asks who Jungkook is texting, he lies.

"Just Jin. Says if we have a visual on the driver, we're good to go."

"Good to go?" The question is asked an octave or so higher than Namjoon's usual deep drawl, surprised at such an instruction. "Thought we had to tail?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Change of plan. Says Kang ain't around to report to, so it doesn't matter what we do."

His lies will catch up with him eventually, but not today.

Today, Jungkook gets to pretend like everything is okay for just a little while longer. He's lucky that Jin trusts him enough to get the job done. He won't ask questions, will just know that whatever reason Jungkook had to lie will be worth it in the long run. He's a good worker, part of the team. He'd never intentionally sabotage them.

Or at least, he was a good worker. Was part of the team. Was never one to sabotage. Was one to play by the rules, and always win.

But Jungkook is playing games with trick dice, now. Rolling doubles every single time. He's gonna be the first to reach the exit line, but he's gonna reach it alone.

"Alright," Namjoon sighs, starting the engine up. The lights from his headlamps flare in front of the vehicle, flooding the desolate road. It's always quiet around these parts after it hits midnight.

A little off the beaten track, your place is on the backstreets; somewhere inconspicuous. Somewhere easily hidden. Concealed. The daughter of a politician disguised in breadline poverty.

Jungkook kind of hates that he knows where you live.

Not because he doesn't want to know, but because you haven't shown him. You've always gone back to his. He wouldn't suggest anything else, for fear of being caught without reason down around your side of town. There are only so many times he can lie about late-night boxing sessions without someone catching on.

"What a waste of an evening," Namjoon huffs a little more. He's a smart guy, smarter than Jungkook and probably every other fucker who congregates at Old Kang's place, but he's credulous to an absolute fault when it comes to the fuckers he runs the streets with. Would never betray a single one of them - not even Jungkook.

"It was past your bedtime, like, three hours ago. Consider yourself lucky that you got to stay out and play for this long," Jungkook ribs.

See, Namjoon's partner doesn't like him staying out so late. They worry. Blow up his phone, not to control, but out of concern. They've seen the dark side of the business that the boys are caught up in, and don't want that darkness to stain the colours of the man they love.

It's a mean jibe, and between close friends, it would have been funny -but the pair of them haven't laughed together in weeks.

Not since Jungkook fucked Namjoon's younger sister.

He hadn't meant for it to go as far as it had, but she was keen and he was horny. What's a boy to do?

They'd been in the same year group at school, so it's not like it was the most absurd pairing in the world. Never been friends, not really, but knew each other well enough that they always managed to strike up a conversation after a few drinks.

She was always hanging around the bars the boy went to, and Jungkook had been letting his hair down; one last night of freedom before he had to knuckle down and start the job Kang was assigning them.

He'll never admit it, but your assumptions about him on the first night you met were right. The KNJ on his phone was a FWB turned far too clingy: Kim Naejeon.

Needless to say, Namjoon hasn't exactly been Jungkook's biggest fan since he found out. Such is life.

Jungkook's phone buzzes in his lap, and he's relieved to see two little c's on the screen where the message ID is.

You: time?

꾹: just on my way home.

꾹: lemme send a taxi to yours.

Sat on your floor again, laptop open with your last search - jungkook, daegu, pony - on screen, you find yourself deafened by the chime in your stomach. It rings like the theme to a studio ghibli film, all pompous and ridiculous, and warm and lovely.

You sound like a banshee, squeaking with badly handled excitement. The shrill noise that escapes your lips as you throw your phone onto the sofa is borderline psychotic.

You never get like this over a boy.

You don't actually think you've ever squealed over a boy before, but one small act of chivalry - the bare minimum - has you doing somersaults.

It's funny, because it's not like he's the first guy to ever suggest sending a taxi your way. Unlike all of Yoongi's offers, though, you accept. You play it all cool and coy by simply sending him through your address, not like he needs it.

꾹: on its way.

꾹: i can't wait to see you.

You're not really sure how to deal with such a declaration. It's needy and pathetic and if it were any other boy, it would have you throwing up in your mouth - but it's not just any boy. It's him.

You: someone's a little desperate.

You don't have it in you to play nice, even if your grin is wider than the river behind your apartment block. Jungkook doesn't expect any less. In fact, he smiles when the message comes through - and quickly stiffens his cheeks again, not wanting Namjoon to make a comment.

꾹: desperate?

꾹: i'm not sure this is a game you want to play, CC.

Oh, how wrong he is.

You: i love games.

The double-entendre isn't lost on him, but any ability to not let you affect him is. Blood pumps around his body faster. Harder. It rushes, almost, with a single destination in mind. Makes him adjust ever so slightly in his seat, his spare hand coming to rest between his legs. He used to think he had self-control, but you're constantly surprising him.

He's learnt more about himself since he met you than he has in years. Realised that he isn't maybe who he thinks he is. Doesn't dwell on it, though, 'cause he enjoys the way it feels when the crotch of his trousers gets tighter.

꾹: i only like them when i win.

You: i only ever win.

꾹:we'll see about that tonight.

You: oh?

꾹: see who really is the desperate one.

You: its you :) x

The taxi arrives far faster than you expect, but Jungkook is pleased when he checks the app and sees the car en-route to his. He takes a note of the number plate and the registered driver. Doesn't trust the drivers around here. They're too fast without enough skill, he always thinks. Has lost count of the number of busses he's seen rear-end asshole taxi drivers. Luckily the roads are dead at this time of night, but he'll be damned if anything happens to you.

꾹: sure about that?

꾹: i know a few ways to get you a little desperate.

You: you don't know shit.

꾹: i know you get a little desperate when my hand is round your throat.

You: bullshit.

꾹: i know you get incredibly desperate when my fingers are in your mouth.

You: your fingers have never been in my mouth.

It's a lie. Of course it is. It's kinda become rare for the two of you to fuck without them being in your mouth at some point or another, whether it's to clean them off or just to give him a visual of just how devoted you look when he does it. He loves it and so do you.

꾹: no?

Jungkook almost ignores Namjoon as he asks, "what are you smiling at?", only to tell him that it's none of his business, lowering the brightness of his screen and clicking through into his camera roll.

He's a visual guy. Likes the things he can see. Tangible stuff. The photo that comes through to your phone has you flustered.

It's just the lower half of your face, and Jungkook's distinctive, tattooed hands in your mouth. There's a sheen to your lips. His fingers, too.

It's alarming how quickly you've become so comfortable with him. You barely know the guy. Shame that the alarm bells are always muted by the chime in your stomach.

You: must be some other girl ;)

꾹: told you already, CC.

꾹: i'm not interested in any other girls.

꾹: i only wanna see you.

When a picture of your legs, crossed and poised prettily in the back of the taxi, comes through to his phone, he's pleased. You're wearing tights. It's one of his favourite things a girl can wear - though he's not really sure why. He just loves how soft they are, how smooth they feel against his skin. Has him thinking about running his hands up and down them, and the way he knows you'll be looking all smug when he does so.

You: i'll see u soon x

You: desperate ;)

Jungkook thinks about locking his phone. Thinks about leaving you hanging. Thinks about the fact it will probably put you on edge a little if he doesn't reply - but he's weak. Knows that not replying will just put him on edge instead.

꾹: will it make you feel better if i admit it?

You: yes.

꾹: fine.

꾹: been thinking about you since the moment you left my apartment last.

꾹: impossible not to when my fucking pillows smell like you.

꾹: think about you when i smell gasoline at kangs.

꾹: think about you when i stop at red lights.

꾹: also think about how fucking wet you were the last time we stopped at one.

꾹: i'm at a red light right now.

꾹: god, i gotta fuck you.

You: told you you were desperate :)

꾹: i am.

You: how do you want me tonight?

꾹: naked.

You: that goes without saying, no?

꾹: naked and begging.

You: i don't beg.

You: not for any man.

꾹: c'mon, CC. a little reciprocation goes a long way.

꾹: you got me on my metaphorical knees.

꾹: be nice of you to get on yours.

You roll your eyes as the taxi rolls to a stop downtown, just by Jungkooks place. It parks on the wrong side of the street, but you pay it no notice. Chalk it up to a GPS error on the app.

You: i'm pulling up to yours now. you home yet?

꾹: not yet. be about 5. let yourself in. code is 0901.

There's a casual intimacy to the way in which Jungkook trusts you with his door code. It's an act of convenience, not anything to read too much into, but you're a creature of habit. Assumptions are your bread and butter. If there are conclusions to be jumped to, you're getting your pole vault out. Setting a new PB. Going for the world record.

So no, it doesn't have to mean anything. You know it probably doesn't - but you indulge in the 'what if' just for the hell of it.

His apartment is cold, the ondol off, one of the windows cracked open ever so slightly to let the air out. Winters are dry round these parts, and Jungkook has an odd paranoia around developing black mould in his apartment. It's not unwarranted - he's pretty sure his last place made him sick because of it. Knows for certain that it made his mother weaker before she passed. Refuses to let history ever repeat itself.

You're unaware of this, though, and slide the window shut. It's the height of winter, and he knows damn well if he's gonna get lucky tonight that it's gotta be a little bit warmer in his apartment.

You take a moment to refamiliarise yourself with his place. There's not much. A little furniture, some prints you recognise from the market downtown up on his wall. There are no personal artifacts, though. No more clues as to who Jungkook really is. You'll have him naked tonight, granted, but you won't have him naked. He won't be vulnerable; laid bare.

But you're not exactly gonna complain when you have him bare in the other sense.

In fact, you think you much prefer it this way. It'll be easier to let him go when the time inevitably comes.

You toss your coat on his desk chair and your shoes are kicked beneath it, not caring much for neatness. The rest of your clothes follow suit, and then you're waiting, all desperate and pliant, just like he asked for.

Though you're not one to beg, you're aware of how nicely he had requested - and how hot and bothered he had gotten you en-route to his place.

There's a thrum in your chest, and it beats to the same harmonious melody that the chime in your stomach produces.

Back straight, feathers smoothed, you're a songbird waiting for someone to hear your call. It only takes a few moments, the beep of Jungkook's keypad echoing through the door as he punches in the code adding a new layer to your song.

"Hey," he calls through, his voice muffled slightly through the sliding partition doors. The glass is frosted, but you can make out his silhouette as he kicks his shoes off by the door. "Just been on a job. Emergency at an office building downtown. Some bad wires. Tripped."

The lies roll off his tongue like butter in a hot pan. They sizzle. Spit. Burn you and scar you with the portrayal of a man who isn't who he pretends to be.

Thing is, Jungkook is exactly who he pretends to be.

He really does get too hot in the night, and genuinely does find videos of kids falling over far funnier than he knows he should. His hair sticks up on end when he wakes up, and he loves his car more than life itself. The way he winces after taking shots, and his dimples, which form in moments of contemplation beneath his cheeks, are entirely natural to him.

None of it - none of him - is a lie. At his core, Jungkook is the idea in your head; the yellow of midafternoon sun before it sets.

He's the amber light that flashes before fading into red.

That's his issue, though. Inevitably, he will always, unavoidably, turn red.

Jungkook likes to tell himself he's not a bad person. He just does bad things, occasionally. But don't we all?

Yeah, the voice in his head would rationalise. But bad things are sneakily not paying for plastic carrier bags at supermarket self-checkouts, or failing to tell a friend they have food stuck in their teeth. Not petty violent crimes and conspiracy to-

"Took your time," you flirt.

It takes him longer than he'd like to get from his kitchen and to where you are, his laces proving to be a bit of a bitch when he's in a hurry. He's dressed down, a pair of light wash jeans clinging to his thighs for dear life, a baggy grey sweater hiding that itty bitty waist of his.

You find yourself smiling, his presence bringing more than just the promise of satisfied desire.

It's dangerous how you can't hear anything other than the chime in your stomach whenever you see him. Might deafen you one day. Or maybe you'll hear it so often that it will just fade into white noise. Not a favourable outcome, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Holy fuckin' shit."

You tilt your head and feign confusion, as if you don't know why he's salivating like a dog being offered a bone. You're on your knees, as requested, palms flat on the tops of your thighs; not naked, but you may as well be. A lace red set leaves little to the imagination, one of his flannel shirts draped over your shoulders to keep you warm - but also 'cause he seems like the kind of guy to eat that shit up.

So while you're right where he wanted you, as he struggles to form a coherent sentence, he's exactly where you wanted him.

Finally, he finds a few words.

"Desperation looks good on you, CC."

Arrogant son of a bitch, you think, but there's a grin on your lips that you just can't hide.

"Mmm," you flirt, not caring to drag things out. You want him so badly that hard to get seems like a dumb idea. "Maybe - but I think you'll find I look better on your dick."

His shoulders pull up towards his ears, head dropping as a small laugh vibrates in his throat at the boldness of such a statement.

"You're not wrong - but I like this," he says, closing the space between you. His voice is soft, as one of his hands cups your cheek and angles your jaw upwards so that you're looking directly at him. His thumb traces your bottom lip, and - almost like you've been conditioned - your lips part for it to rest on your tongue. "I like this a lot."

Your lips close around it, tongue massaging his thumb as you slowly suck on it.

It's gentle, and warm, and - fuck - he's spent so long thinking about the way your mouth feels but it never compares to actually experiencing it. Your lips vibrate as you hum, satisfied with the effect you seem to be having on him.

His lips are parted, eyes void of all thoughts, as if you've bewitched him. Maybe you have. He wouldn't put it past you. There's something dark behind your eyes, something he doesn't quite understand. Something he knows better than to let himself study for too long.

Jungkook's room is dark, the glow of his fairy lights dousing him in soft reservoirs of gold. The light from his kitchen pours in behind him, his back to the clouded screen door, a halo circling around his darling blonde waves. Your eyes must be betraying you, you think, 'cause there's no way a man this heavenly exists. It's impossible.

"Bet you're wet, aren't you?" he toys, voice low, a teasing grin on those pretty pink lips of his. He may look like an angel, but there's a pair of horns hidden beneath his curls.

There's no hesitation as you nod, vocalisations cut short thanks to his thumb remaining snug between your lips. Why lie? He wants you desperate, so he's getting exactly that. You think he deserves it. Think he always makes you feel good, so why not indulge him in this little fantasy? You can play desperate, if he really wants.

"Show me," he says so quietly it's almost a whisper; almost as if he doesn't believe he's asking you to do such a thing for him. It's not like it would be the most outlandish exchange the pair of you have had together, but the vulnerability is never easy.

Never easy to ask for, never easy to give. Especially not when Jungkook is harbouring secrets that he knows would shatter the fortress walls he's built up around the pair of you.

You're unaware of this as your hand creeps between your thighs, to where a mess is pooling in your panties.

It annoys you just how eager you are for him. You wish you weren't; wish he had to work for it. The tips of your fingers push against your entrance, but it's all just for show - you've been wet since the moment he first messaged you that evening.

You let your eyes fall to his crotch. It's strained, the pale denim doing an awful job at hiding how hard he is. He's been plump the entire journey home, but now that he's here - now that you're looking like that - he's solid.

He watches you, the way you move, the slight heave of your chest, and knows that you're down just as bad as he is. You wouldn't be on your knees if you weren't. In fact, you wouldn't be here, full stop.

You reach for his belt and set about getting to work immediately. His jeans are pushed to midway down his thighs, boxers following suit. The way his cock springs out of them, all fat and proud, has you salivating.

And so it's only fair that you take it in your mouth as soon as you can.

He reaches behind you and tweaks at the clasp of your bra. It loosens almost instantly, and you hum in approval of how easily he managed to do that. You let the straps slide down your arms, his cock still in your mouth as you toss it to the side.

"Between them," he instructs.

It's tempting to just do as he says. Irresistible, almost. You want him between your tits just as much as he wants to be there, but you want him more vocal. Want him begging. It's his own fault for getting you into such a submissive position. It's a flaw, the way you need to level the playing field, but one that he never fails to deliver on.

"C'mon, CC," he whispers, voice dulcet, trapped in his throat as he suppresses a moan. "Put my cock between your tits."

Your hands fall from the backs of his thighs to play with your breasts, your nipples hard and eager for him. Vibrating around his mouth as you moan, you're pleased with the grip he has on your hair. It tightens, and when he speaks, you're convinced his voice could make you cum alone, "I'm not gonna ask you again."

His cock takes a few more strokes of your hot mouth before you withdraw, stiff and flushed in front of you. He encourages you up so that you're sat on your knees, ass up instead of resting on your ankles as it had been. There's a string of your slick running from your heels to your pussy, the mess desperately seeping from you. Jungkook can't see it, isn't aware of it, so before you do anything, you dip two of your fingers between your folds to gather it up. He watches with laboured breaths.

You don't drop contact with his eyes, not even when they're trained on your fingers. He watches as you hold them up, glittering from the reflection of his fairy lights, before your tongue licks them clean. His cock jerks, the visual stimulation building his need to come undone by tenfold.

There's a little bit of your slickness still on your fingers when you pump his cock, once, twice, three times.

"Sorry, baby," you toy with the term of endearment, the groan he exhales when you say it confirming that you need to call him sweet nothings more often. "Where did you want your cock, again?"

He's been avoiding touching your chest, not wanting to take control of the situation, but your shoulders roll back just a little, your soft mounds his for the taking. His grip drops from your hair, the tips of his fingers ghosting your chest. He runs them delicately across your stiff nipples, his touch so minimal that you feel yourself leak, pussy throbbing, desperate for more.

Resting perfectly between his index finger and thumb, your nipples are pulled ever so slightly, before he finally indulges himself and cups your tits like he so desperately wants to. He holds them together and wobbles them, obsessed with how soft they are. He edges closer, the tip of his cock nudging against your cleavage. There's a small trail of precum leaking from his tip, the sheen now coating your skin. "Right there."

Spit gathers and pools in your mouth, lips pouting as you let it drip onto your tits. Jungkook groans, his hips pushing his cock further onto your chest. You hold your tits apart, his leaking crown kissing your sternum before you angle him upwards. The soft, pillowy cushions press around his thick shaft, keeping him firmly in place.

"That's it, baby," he mewls as you spit again, this time onto the head of his cock. You drop your gaze and lower your head, tongue flat as it licks the tip, spreading your spit. His hips are jerking against you, his foreskin nestled in place, cock tugging against itself.

"Look at me," he says quietly, as dulcet as the atmosphere in his room. Your eyes meet his, as your hands firmly jiggle your cleavage. His mouth hangs ajar, brows knotted in such a way you think he looks like his mind is all tangled up. You're not wrong - he can't think straight like this. All he can think about is how much he wants to fuck you in every single capacity he can. "That's it."

You grin, but try to hide it. "You like my tits, huh?"

Jungkook wants to roll his eyes, and almost does - but then you spit again, the pace of your jiggling hands quickening, and he finds himself doubling over.

"Fuck," he whines, completely undignified. Any strong, stable demeanour he has feigned is lost as his cock gets slippery, covered in your spit, being massaged by your tits. "Spit."

The momentum is retained, but it's getting sloppier. There's limited friction, your spit acting as the perfect lube for him to fuck your tits. He doesn't really know what to do with himself, how to withhold himself from spilling onto your chest, but he's all hot and bothered. He isn't gonna last long.

"Bed," he husks, pulling away from you, not even registering the fact he's helping you up. He just kind of does it, his mind entirely on where he wants to be. "On your back."

You do as you're told, your bare back hitting his freshly laundered duvet as your head nestles into his mountain of pillows. His legs straddle either side of your chest, movements frantic as he traps his cock between your tits once more. He's in control, the pace entirely set by him, his large hands gripping the flesh of your chest like he normally does your waist.

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuckin' love your tits."

Your hands grip his ass, encouraging his movements, before one of them roams to toy with your clit. The change in your moans is noticed by Jungkook, who glances back to check you're doing what he thinks you are. Suspicions confirmed, he laughs. "Dirty bitch," he keens. "Love being owned by my cock, don't you?"

You pause, and Jungkook notices a look in your eyes. It's one he knows well; one he enjoys. Nonetheless, one that panics him when he's in such a compromising position, because it looks like you've just been challenged.

With a pathetic, pouty mewl, you push your fingers into yourself. It's quick, your fingers pumping frantically to build enough slickness on them to wipe the smirk off Jungkooks face.

The hand that's still on his ass squeezes, your nails indenting him ever so slightly. He hisses, a lopsided grin on his lips as he continues to fuck your chest - until the feeling of your soaked fingers stroking his taint has him stuttering.

You apply a little pressure, the pump of his cock slow between your tits. His breaths are laboured. It almost sounds like he gasping for air, unable to concentrate on anything but the sensation of you.

Brows furrowed, eyes wide, you pout. "Thought I was being owned by your cock, baby?" You tease him, and are met with him cursing you out, a saccharine smile on his lips.

"Fucking hate you," he laughs, abs shuddering as your fingers trails further up. They're stroking, caressing, toying - and they don't stop. Not until they reach the tight muscle of his that you're just dying to penetrate. He's silent now. Doesn't want to tell you that he wants it, but fuck it, he does. He pulls back, eyes on yours. There's a hint of a nod, but you're not gonna do anything too daring unless he explicitly asks for it.

Your soaked finger presses against him, cautious not to take it too far. You're still learning each other; what you both like, and you aren't sure where his limits lie.

"Yes? No?" you question, eyes earnest. His ass has never been explicitly discussed between the pair of you, but he also never ruled it out, either.

He's quiet, but smiles when he shakes his head. "Not yet, C. Another time, though."

"I'll hold you to that," you tease, curious about his desires. You wanna know all the ways you can get him off, and you think you'll be willing to do almost anything. In fact, you know you will. All he has to do is say the word, and your tongue will be wherever he wants it.

His eyes roll back, and so do his hips. "And I'll hold you to the offer."

It's a rarity, he's found, for girls to be so bold. He's always had to be the one to initiate his own pleasure, or to just finish quicker than he'd like because his partner was already done. He likes this about you. Likes that you like to fuck. Likes that you apparently, for whatever reason, seem to especially like fucking him.

It's thoughts like these - something about luck, fate - that plague his mind as he pushes his cock between your tits again. It's fast, and it's sloppy, and it's wet, and soon enough, he isn't thinking at all. All he can do is feel - your warmth, your softness - and then all he can feel is how fucking good it is to be with you.

When he comes, he comes hard. It hits your throat, coating you in everything he is. A moan catches in his throat, eyes closed, hands pushing your tits so tight together that it fucking hurts - but he's shaking, and you know that his orgasm has him unable to realise just how strong his grip is.

It's not till he looks down at you, all breathless and blushed that he realises. There's a sheen on your chest, and he knows better than to dirty you all over again - but he's a creature of habit. His grip loosens, chest heaving as his hands begin to stroke at your tits. They fill his palms, overspill blooming between his spread fingers as he gently remedies them of his strength. It's unintentional, though not minded, how he spreads his cum as he does so.

You try and keep a straight face, but it's impossible, and then you're both laughing. It echoes around his room like the missing instrument to the song in your stomach. You aren't really sure why you're laughing. Nor is he. You're just happy. The pair of you remain this way for a moment or so, casually enamoured with how easy things are; how easy they could be.

"C'mon, CC," he speaks fondly, but spanks your titty for the fun of it regardless. "Let's get you cleaned up."

There's a tender nature to the way Jungkook moves your body. So docile, he's a world away from the version of himself that you'd just had in his bed.

This Jungkook - the one gently pulling your hair back so it doesn't get too wet while you wait for the shower to fully heat up - is so well mannered that you couldn't imagine him cursing, let alone calling you a bitch during sex.

Something about it, about him, has you feeling far more infatuated than you should be at this stage.

You're not ready for all this. Not prepared for the way you're feeling. It scares you. Gets you wanting to grab the towel and make a swift exit - but then he kisses your neck, hands on your hips, chest pressed into your back, and you realise that there's no place you'd rather be.

He reaches out to check the temperature of the water that's steaming into his bathroom, and decides it's just right. It's not that the water is particularly hot, just that his bathroom is bloody freezing.

Your reflection in his mirror is a vision of beauty; eyes trained on him, skin tainted by what would have been his legacy. Part of him doesn't want to wash it away. Just wants to marvel at you. Study the way your skin dimples and bumps when you're cold; then remembers that you can't cum when you're cold, so you probably aren't enjoying this as much as he is. He lifts the showerhead from its holder, and lets the water pour over you, and you alone.

The warmth has your shoulders easing almost instantly, and Jungkook feels a little guilty for having kept you cold so selfishly.

He's quiet as he rinses himself from you, contemplative dimples perching themselves beneath his cheeks. He barely utters a word for the entire shower; just peppers your shoulders in kisses.

It's not till you turn to face him, taking the showerhead from his hand and begin rinsing his body that he finally speaks up.

He takes a moment to study you first; watch the way your eyes glaze over his body, following the trajectory of the water, making sure you don't miss a single inch of his skin. Your lashes are dark, hiding your eyes from him, and he doesn't like it. Instinctively, his hands cup your jaw, bringing your eyes to his.

"Thank you."

His lips are on yours, soft, no pressure - and then they're not. They're trailing down your neck instead, as if he can't decide which part of you he wants to devour.

'All of you' is the correct answer, but he eats for pleasure, not for sustenance.

Easily, he could have you for everything that you are within a few seconds - but he wants to savour you. Wants to hear the way your breath hitches as his tongue flicks against your earlobe; feel your fingers dig into his scalp as he paws at your round ass. He wants the memory of your body in his hands, 'cause he fears you're like sand, and that his grasp won't be able to keep hold of you forever.

His bathroom is cramped, more like a wetroom, and the same grey tiles are on the walls that are on the floor. Shower attached to the sink, it's the standard for one-room apartments around these parts.

Yours is the same - but you do have the added luxury of boujie conditioners and loofas to soften the blow.

Jungkook has a 2-in-1 body wash and shampoo combo, and doesn't see the point in fancy scrubs when the labour of his job leaves his hands all rough anyway.

In your right mind, you'd moan about it. Tell him that he's such a boy, or that next time, he's coming to yours for a shower - but you're distracted by the hardness of his cock against your stomach and his hands cupping at your chest while he kisses you. The stream of water makes it borderline impossible to open your eyes, so you revel in the way it feels to be overwhelmed by everything he is.

"Again?" You mumble into his lips, to which you're met with a nod.

You slip your rings off and hear them clink against the porcelain of his sink, praying that your aim is correct and they won't end up down the drain. He hums a small purr of confusion, questioning your actions, and then groans an 'oh' into your mouth when your hand clasps around the base of his cock.

"Gentle," he reminds you, still sensitive but desperate for you once more.

His lips leave yours, head tilting back as he revels in your touch. Neither of you speak, but there's really not much to say. You'd just be making noise for the sake of it.

Regardless, there's a weight in your chest, clamping down on your lungs, that makes talking seem impossible. Might be trepidation. Might be nothing at all - but it sure does feel like something.

You marvel at the column of his thick neck as it stretches back, and think how pretty it would look covered in purple and pink, the bruise of your intimacy staining his skin just like it has done your heart.

Your movements pause when you realise you're thinking about your fucking heart. You're not sappy. You don't attribute sex to love, and the idea of even falling in love has you wanting to run for the hills.

It's been said before that the heart is just a muscle. It has no real bearing on your emotions, nor your amatory exploits.

But when the thoughts of your feelings cloud your mind with dainty pink vapours, all sparkly and strawberry scented, you can't help but feel like you're in danger.

In your chest, you can feel your heart ache.

So yeah, it is just a muscle, but muscles get worn out.

Jungkook notices your hesitation. He casts his eyes down to check you're okay. His crown rests against the wet tiles, water-saturated hair stuck to his face, lashes damp and lips all pouty. The man is a vision. Naked, bare, vulnerable. Yours for the taking, or so it seems. His eyes are heavy-lidded, deep brown; sweet as chocolate, sinful as straight whisky.

"You good?" He asks quietly, only for you to nod and pick the pace up again. His eyes stay on yours as a laboured grunt escapes his lips, brows pinching together. The way you feel around him is so good. Not too tight, just the way he likes it. Fingers all dainty, nails painted red, it's a sight he thinks about when he's alone more than he cares to admit. He's thick and hot in your grasp, working his foreskin up and down his shaft.

There are goosebumps on your skin, body positioned just out of the shower stream because you wanted to look at him; watch as you wound him up, just to make him unravel again. He pulls you closer, hands cupping your jaw as he kisses you, until you're beneath the water again.

His tongue is in your mouth as his hand drops to meet yours. So much larger than your own, his fingers clasp around yours and joins the effort, speeding up. He doesn't say anything else, but he's struggling to kiss you, now. His lips are ajar, resting against yours, little purrs of satisfaction finding a home on your tongue.

"Yeah?" You encourage a little breathlessly, as if you're the one moments away from ruin. "That's it, Kook."

He nods, as the hand that isn't on yours tangles in the back of your hair to keep you close. His hand works to increase the pace, making it a little rougher. There's a wetness between your legs that isn't from the shower, but you're too focused on him - on making him feel good, on being what he needs - to bother doing anything about it. He'll return the favour later, you're sure. He always does.

His grip on your hand loosens, leaving it up to you to finish the job. It only takes a second or two, and then you're milking him, thick white cum desecrating your hand and spurting into your stomach. There's not much, most of it spent on your chest earlier. He shudders, one of his legs a little more so than the other, his moans lost in the pitter-patter of the shower until they become nothing more than hot, heavy breaths.

And then, because quite frankly he doesn't know how to articulate how good, how fucking precious, how god damn infuriatingly beautiful you are, he kisses you again. Though his tongue is soft as it strokes against yours, his piercing is hard - much like his cock which is still firm against your stomach. He encourages your arms up and around his neck, hugging tightly. Your chest presses to his, nipples hard, tits pillowy and soft, and Jungkook swears he'll risk it all for you.

Thinks it would be worth it.

He'd do this wherever with you; in his crappy apartment, in a hotel he'll pay far too much for, in a derelict motel that hides you both when it inevitably becomes time to run.

Thing is, he knows you now. Knows you'll never run with him. Knows that when you find out, he'll never get to do this ever again. It makes him want to cry. Makes him wanna get on his knees and beg for forgiveness before you even know you're mad at him.

You don't forgive. You don't forget, either. You wouldn't be working in a shitty GS25 if you did. He knows this. Knows that as soon as the truth is out, so is he.

And so Jungkook lies. "Come to Busan with me."

Your noses are nestled together, and you can feel his words against your lips. The shower keeps on pouring, but it won't cleanse him of his sins. The water still runs red, even if you can't see it.

"Busan?"

He nods, steals a kiss, and begins to build upon the weak foundations he's formed. "I gotta go visit home. Been putting it off. Think it'll be more bearable with you there."

You kiss him back. Partially because you want to, but mainly because you don't know what the fuck to say. Your heart rate has doubled. Trebled. In fact, you're not sure it's beating anymore.

Family isn't a subject either of you has divulged in, not really. You fear that him opening up requires reciprocation, and that's just not something you're willing to give. Not to him, nor anyone else for that matter.

"When?" You finally murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling away to slip your rings back onto your fingers.

He doesn't want you to meet his family. Doesn't want you anywhere near them - but when the time comes, he needs you to know why he ended up here. Needs you to know that everything he's done, rightfully or wrongfully, has been for them.

Doing right by them means doing wrong by you, but he didn't know you when all this started.

Didn't know that you're the type to point out every trash cat you see, or that you make up little songs to soundtrack almost everything you do (regardless of the fact you're tone-deaf). He didn't know that you drank peach tea like it's water, or that you'd somehow taste a little bit like it too. He didn't know that you'd become his favourite flavour, or that the scent of your perfume would have him hugging his fucking pillows for days after you slept over.

He didn't know.

Didn't fuckin' know.

And now he does. And it's tearing him apart.

He's a good liar, though, so you don't notice just how cut up he is when he shrugs and twists the shower tap off. He reaches around for the towel and begins to wrap you up when he says, "Next weekend?"

When he's like this - voice soft, skin bare, tucking the top of the towel over against your chest - it's like you've got the upper hand. There's no battle being fought between the pair of you, and yet you don't feel like equals. Feels like the balls in your court. You just don't realise you're playing different games.

There's pitter-patter beneath your feet and a chime in your stomach. You shuffle between his feet, his arms wrapped around you, lips pressing a kiss against your hair.

"I'll have to check the rota," you say, but you know you'll just ask Yoongi to swap shifts if you are scheduled on. "But I haven't been to Busan in a while. I'd like to come."

His eyes are hot as he presses them shut, chin resting on your head. You think the stutter in his chest is just a hiccup, so you smile. Without the sound of the shower, he can hear his phone buzzing, vibrating on his desk in the next room over.

"Gotta get that," he says, squeezing you before loosening his grip and reaching for a small towel that barely covers his ass. The air is cold against his skin as he opens the bathroom door. Steam gushes out of the room, and so does the hazy, cum-drunk atmosphere the pair of you had created. You miss it the second your skin begins to pebble, goosebumps chilling you, the hair on your arms stood up on end. Almost like someone's walking over your grave.

Maybe just leading you to an early one. Either, or.

You hear him as he mumbles on the phone - "Jin. Yeah? What's up? Cool, can do." - but ignore it. Steam has fogged up the mirror, creating a cloudy canvas for you to do your worst upon. It's childish, yes, but nothing stops you from drawing a little something on there to remind him of you next time he showers.

An uneasy weight sits on your chest when you look at what you've done. It's nothing bad, but part of you thinks you'll regret it - but that part of you is silent when he calls through for you.

When you emerge a few moments later, you're casual as you ask him who was on the other end of the line. He says 'a friend,' and then clarifies that it's 'one of the boys' because he doesn't want you to think the worst. It's an answer you accept.

Dropping the towel, you're unbothered by his eyes as you spend a few moments naked. You're just reaching for his shirt, but the way you move, how your muscles flex above your bones, but the soft flesh of your curves moves without your control has him feeling all kinds of fucked up. He's never wanted anyone more; never known that it was possible to feel such a way.

He tells himself it's just hormones. He's fucking empty, entirely spent on you. That's gotta be the reason. Some kind of primal desire type thing.

Even he's shocked when he begins to talk.

"You can't ever leave."

It's barely a whisper, his voice small, though the weight of his words is so incredibly large.

"Need you here forever."

It's the way that Jungkook talks in such certain terms that has the chime in your stomach ringing again.

You're sure he must have broken a thousand hearts with words like that. You wonder if there are still girls across the city pining after him, thinking about the way his breath feels on their skin as he fucks himself into them. Wonder if the fondness in his eyes is because of you, or because he's just riding a post-climax endorphin high.

"You don't mean that," you tell him, because you don't believe he does.

He shakes his head. Senses the challenge in your voice, and smiles. "You think I'm lying?"

"Think you haven't reached post-nut clarity, yet."

"You'll have to fuck me again, then. Third time lucky."

The third time comes in the morning.

It's still dark outside, Jungkook waking you with dainty kisses along your shoulders, his hands pawing at your tits.

"Morning," he husks into your neck when your hand goes to join his on your chest. "Dreamt about you."

"You are so full of shit," you laugh.

Truth be told, he didn't really sleep. Looked at you for far too long. It's borderline creepy, he thinks, how utterly obsessed he is. Part of him doesn't understand it, but the rest of him does.

You're forbidden.

He can't help but want you.

Jungkook may be Adam, but you're no Eve. You're that damn snake. Or maybe you're the fruit. He doesn't know at this point; just knows that he's eaten it, and he's pretty sure it's poisonous.

"Am not," he grins, riding that poison high. "What did you dream about?"

He's repulsed he's even asking such a thing.

"Can't remember," you pout, turning to face him. Dreams always elude you. It's frustrating, but at least you're not having nightmares. "What about you? What were we doing? Where did we go?"

Just like him, the fact you're asking him questions like that has you wanting to die.

"Busan."

It's not a lie this time. He isn't looking at you, though, so you half think it is.

He's just focused on the hand of his that's toying with your hair, pushing strands away from your face. The only reason he isn't looking at you is because he's embarrassed.

"Busan?" You ask, reminded of his proposition from the night before.

"Mhmm," he nods, his hair no doubt tangling against the pillow. "You 'n' me."

Again, you don't know if it's a lie, but oh what a beautiful one it would be.

"We were on the beach," he continues. "Not really doing much. Just sort of existing."

You laugh, eyes fond but away from his. You're looking at his hair now, too, playing with it. Mirroring his actions. Reciprocating. "Existing?"

"Existing," he says, refusing to clarify. You're distracted when you notice the way his smile brightens. No longer contemplative, he's got a dimple that only comes out when he's beaming all big and bashfully. "I like existing with you."

And so exist you do, in his bed for the next hour and a half. There's no talk of any substance and yet you're chattering for the entire time. He barely even kisses you. Just wants to hear you talk. Wants to hear your perspective on the world, and all the assumptions you make about it.

Jungkook's duvet is shitty quality. The heat it traps is minimal, but you'd take a morning beneath his sheets in the height of winter over being back at your place any day.

It's thoughts like these that make your feet itchy. Makes you wanna run. Bolt. Head for the hills and never look back - but you're locked in place by his arm over your torso. Faint light pours in through the clouded glass of his window panes, curtains apparently too much of a luxury despite the holes in the wall where a rail once sat, and you study the dark ink marking his skin.

There's a story to be told from reading his arms, but you haven't figured that out yet. No google search of his name could ever match the lore embedded in his skin. The tips of your glossy red nails trace the lines in awe, wondering how many people have had this luxury before you.

You wonder who sat by his side during the tattoo appointments, and who laughed with fondness as he winced in pain. Whose hand did he hold? Whose suggestions did he listen to for placements? It plagues your mind like a disease, turning the rubies in your veins to emeralds.

Who are you, you think to yourself. And why am I feeling like this?

It's only a matter of a time - a few languid movements and a couple affirmations later - until he's fucking himself into you again. Predictable, really. Money would be wasted on a fortune teller, and yet you want to go and see one anyway just to confirm whether or not you get to keep him forever.

Lazy and slow, the sex is just an accompaniment to the way he's kissing you. His cock is thick and deep as it fills you, but his hips are sluggish and tepid.

It's almost laughable that the sex is an afterthought.

By its basic definition Jungkook is fucking you - but he's fucked you enough times for you to know how likes to conduct his lays. Quick, fast, to the point. Finish line in his sights.

This doesn't feel like that.

It doesn't feel like that at all.

Even the way his kisses you as his cock stiffens and pulses, unloading itself into you isn't familiar. It's short, his stamina not back up to his usual performance, but it's so deep you think it might be fatal. Any chance you had of getting your heart out of this alive? Yeah. Good luck.

He groans into your mouth, tells you how good you feel, and presses his lips so tightly shut that it's almost as if he's scared he'll never kiss you again.

It's interesting, the way that Jungkook doesn't make you cum. Sure, the sex is good. You've enjoyed it all - but you're currently on 3-0. You chalk it up to a lack of realisation. Innocent inconsideration.

See, his words may betray him, but he's trying to be better. Trying not to drag you further into the web of lies he's woven around the pair of you. Issue is, you've mistaken it for silk. You're comfortable. Enjoy where you are.

He thinks it doesn't count; thinks that if he's the only one who finishes, then you won't be falling for him in the way that he hears girls do. Jimin had ribbed him for it after he'd fucked Naejeon; told him that the reason she was so into him was to do with the oxytocin cocktail that had flooded her bloodstream. It's not like it was news to Jungkook. He'd always known it was a thing, he'd just never really seen the impact of it quite so severely.

The way he see's it, the less you cum, the less you care. It's flawed logic, and it leaves him feeling guilty, which is why he blurts out dumb shit about wanting you around forever. Might be true, might not be. Maybe he's the one confusing hormones for heartfelt honesty.

But as you watch him tear himself away from the bed and head towards the shower, you realise that none of it matters.

You've been hearing bells since the moment you met him.

They're so loud they drown out the bullshit.

"You coming, C?" He calls through, as the shower begins to splutter into action in the next room over. He appears in the doorway, a tattooed hand cupping his balls and covering his modesty. His eyes are soft, grin lopsided as the sun rises.

It's beyond your choice as you move towards the sound of his voice, like he's some kind of pied piper.

You know he's taken over you.

Yet still, you follow the sound of the pipe.

And whether you like it or not, you know you'll let him drag you to the river, just for him to watch you drown.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

289 notes · View notes

kitashousewife · 7 months

Text

we're in trouble now

an: Halloween vibes? but not really? idk sort of kind of based on bad, bad, bad by LANY

pairings: geto x fem!reader

warnings: MANGA SPOILERS (vol 0, geto's past/high school years) mentions of: killing, curses, death, blood, police, crime, throwing up/gagging. sorcerer au, reader is not a sorcerer. established relationship, pet names, angst to comfort kinda? geto is just a little troubled, lowercase intentional

geto has been...off lately. and you're not sure why. he's been coming home later and later each night, causing you to lie awake in your shared bed, staring up at the ceiling, worried out of your mind.

it must be his job.

you've been dating for three years now. you knew before you started to date that he was a jujutsu sorcerer. he told you one night at the fanciest restaurant in tokyo, flushed cheeks and stuttering over his words. you couldn't care less, though. if anything, it was fucking hot to have a sorcerer as a boyfriend.

his job never got in the way of anything, though. he had amazing friends, who you've spent lots of time with. he was always home before dinner, never leaving on missions any longer than two days, even offering to take you along.

the last time that happened was about five months ago.

now it's 3:30 am, and you've found yourself in bed by yourself. again. calling him again, the line goes to voicemail almost instantly. you huff and throw your phone on the bed, watching it bounce before it lands face up. to your surprise, he's calling you back. rushing over, you leap onto the mattress, answering as quickly as possible.

"s-sugu? baby, are you alright?" your voice shakes. you're not sure why your chest feels so tight, why your breaths seem harder and harder to take.

geto feels the same way. he always does after he finishes off another one.

phone between his ear and shoulder, geto stands in front of a public restroom sink, scrubbing his hands for the third time in a row. the cheap soap does nothing to get rid of the blood that stains his fingers, deep in every crevice of his skin. looking at himself in the mirror, he feels an incredible sense of guilt.

"yeah, i'm fine baby. hey can you do me a favor, sweetheart?"

you can hear his voice echoing, almost as if he's in a pool.

"s-sure, where are you?"

geto feels guilty. he doesn't mean for you to be this upset. he also doesn't want to lie to you.

the four bodies behind him in the open stall are making it a little tough.

"oh i've just been finishing up work," one of the bodies, eyes still open, stare right at geto through the reflection of the mirror as he speaks. "i'll be home soon though, darling. i promise."

he hits mute as a shaky sigh leaves his lips. he peeks at his reflection once more, watching as the shirt worn by one of the dead bodies soaks up more blood. one of the bodies lets out a liquidy gurgle that echos off the tile walls. geto can almost see the last bit of life escape them, floating up into the air to join the rest of those that died the same way these ones did.

"what was the favor you needed?"

geto feels sick now. your voice so sweet, so innocent and airy. he can't you're with someone like him.

a killer.

sneaking out of the bathroom and to his car, he unmutes himself.

"could you grab a couple suitcases from the closet? pack up enough for a few days, and could you pack a little for me as well?" he buckles himself in and just as he starts his car, the sound of sirens appear in the distance.

"yeah, i can do that," you stand up, heart still racing. did you have a trip planned?

turning down different back alleys, stalling for a second as the sirens get closer, geto takes a deep breath.

"you're an angel. i'll be there soon. i love you, my perfect girl."

you end the call and begin to do as you were asked. filling the suitcases as quick as you can, you don't pay much attention to the outfits you've created. you don't even know where you're going, anyway. you smile, picturing in your mind a quick little getaway for the two of you. sightseeing, sleeping in, and spending time away from work.

you still feel a little off.

where was he?

the door bursts open, presenting a very flustered geto. his bun is almost out, dark tresses barely hanging at the nape of his neck. the pieces that fell out stick to his face from what looks like sweat. his pupils are blown wide, mouth slightly agape as he breathes heavily. you drop the t-shirt of his out of your hands and scramble to your feet.

"s-sugu? oh my god, what happened to you? did you get mugged? d-did someone try to kill you? oh my god," you gasp, hands reaching for every part of his body to make sure he was in one piece.

geto swallows back the guilt induced vomit that sits at the back of his throat. "no, baby, not at all," he coos down at you, but his eyes look anywhere but your face. they check each window and door, before eyeing the suitcases. "thank you so much for doing this. we're going away for a few days, is that alright?" he says with a smile. cupping your face ever so lightly with his slightly stained fingers. he's thankful you forgot to turn on the lights.

"of course, suguru. are we going far? let me make something to eat," you pull him towards the kitchen, but he tugs you back.

"we can eat when we get there, i promise. let's just get going," he speaks quickly, eyes still checking the windows.

"is everything okay?" you say, copying his stares out the window. he notices and grabs his suitcase and yours, before heading towards the door. he almost throws up again, torn between telling you everything and keeping you in the dark. he swallows hard.

"the car is on, i can explain everything later. we'll be just fine, i promise." you smile, feeling a little more at ease. with a nod, you grab a jacket and head out the door.

as soon as you get to the car, geto opens the passenger door for you and puts the suitcases in the back with speed. you haven't even buckled your seatbelt by the time he starts to drive away.

"it's 4:30 am baby, we don't need to race! it's not like anyone is on the road," you laugh and reach your hand to hold his. he jumps when you touch him. "i'm sorry! i didn't mean to scare you," you mumble, and he gives you a small smile, which fades as soon as the faint sounds of sirens fill the air. his stare jumps up to the rearview mirror, and he takes a sudden sharp turn that has you jumping in your seat.

"suguru! what is going on?"

he turns down another street and speeds up a little bit.

"angel, i've gotten myself into a bit of trouble, okay? everything is gonna be just fi-"

"what did you do?" your voice is stern, but geto gives you a smile, eyes softening as he drives down a back road.

"i'll explain everything later, just like i promised. for now, i need you to trust me, okay?"

your mind and stomach scream no no no at you, but your heart takes over.

"okay, i trust you."

you must have fallen asleep at some point on the drive, because when you open your eyes you're met with sunshine and costal views.

"there she is, good morning darling. we're almost there."

blinking a few times and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you realize that you have pulled into a small town next to the ocean. geto appears to be more relaxed. you reach around for your phone, but you can't seem to find it.

"are you looking for your phone?" you nod. "i put it in my bag for you. i thought it would be good for us to stay off of our phones for the next couple of days. just time with each other, how does that sound?" his face beams at you from the driver's seat. you can't say no, especially not when he's being so kind and sweet.

"i think that sounds lovely."

you pull up to a motel, which looks as if it doesn't get a lot of business. you start to feel a little uneasy, and geto can sense that.

"wait right here, i'll get us checked in," he kisses your cheek and walks towards the motel office. now that you're a little more awake, you start to become hyper-aware of your surroundings. based off of the looks, you're at least four hours from home. you start to think a little more. was he running from the cops? what type of trouble is he in?

he returns quickly, room key in hand. he grabs the suitcases out of the car and you follow close behind him all the way to your room. as soon as you enter, he quickly shuts the door and locks it behind him. you have a seat on the old motel bed without a word.

feeling a little more relieved, he sighs and looks at you. worry all over your face, wringing your hands that are placed in your lap.

"isn't this nice? our own little place, right on the ocean. i know how much you love the ocean, we could even go check out the shops later!"

you don't say anything. geto begins to panic.

"are you hungry? would you like me to get some food for us? if you want, we could go-"

"why did you take me here?" your voice is nothing more than a whisper. you feel sick, you know something is terribly wrong. he kneels in front of you on the floor and grabs your hand.

"sweetheart, do you think humans are good people?"

you give him a confused look. "maybe not everyone, but most people i know are good people," you think out loud. geto's stomach feels a little uneasy.

"your asshole manager? you think that guy is a good person?"

"no, not him. but my other coworkers are great people, remember? you've met them!"

of course he has. he's been to many work dinners and events.

he also killed one of them last night, but he won't tell you that.

"darling, why do you think there is so much crime in the world? so many good people like you say, having their lives ruined by these terrible humans. wouldn't the world be a better place if they just...went away?"

your mouth opens slightly and you blink at him a few times. you start to sweat a little bit, and the room feels like it's caving in on the two of you.

"what are you suggesting?"

he comes to sit next to you on the bed and holds you in his arms.

"do you know what i do for work?"

he feels you nod into his chest. "you fight curses, right?"

"that's right. do you know why curses exist?"

you shake your head.

"because of humans. regular humans, like you, who can't fight or see curses. curses only exist because of them. they are able to flow through people and hurt them, which makes my friends and i come in to save them. that doesn't seem very fair, does it?"

you disagree. you know deep down that this isn't right, what he's implying is evil.

"w-well no, but-"

"do you know hard it is to fight curses? to even be around curses?" he stands up, voice raising. hot, angry tears fill his lash line. "do you know how disgusting my cursed technique is?"

your mouth opens and shuts, unable to form any words at all. you want to speak, but you simply cannot find the words to say. you know there is nothing. you can say to help him feel any better.

"i don't know but i want to, i want to understand you better," you mumble, lip quivering and voice cracking slightly. you feel terrible, you had no idea how much pain geto has been in. he paces back and forth in front of you, wiping his tears with his hands. suddenly he stops.

"you'll think that i'm gross, that i'm a monster," he rambles. you stand up, grabbing his hand and holding him close.

"i promise i won't. i love you,"

he takes a deep breath and backs away, leading you back to the bed to sit down. you continue to hold his hands in your own, attempting to provide any sense of comfort.

"i can summon curses. i can call them to help me fight, whenever i need them," he starts, glancing at you to see your reaction. to his surprise, you're completely neutral.

"that sounds really cool, sugu. what do they look like?" you ask, eyes wide and full of curiosity. geto can't help the smile that grows on his face at how innocent you are.

you are exactly why he wants this perfect world.

he raises his hand and a small curse appears. something kind of silly looking, much like a kids drawing with wings. you look at it for a second, before he interupts.

"can you see it?"

you nod. "that's good. some humans can see them, and some can't. this little guy is harmless," he waves his hand and the curse flies away, out the door and into the world.

"can you make bigger ones?"

he chuckles. "yes, some ten times his size, maybe even bigger. they all have different abilities, some are stronger than others," he looks at you once more, relieved to see that you're smiling.

"how do you get them, do you make them?"

geto doesn't say anything, but continues to stare at the carpet at his feet.

"i swallow them," noticing your confused face, he elaborates. "it turns into a ball, fits right in the palm of my hand, almost looks like a crystal ball," he swallows hard. "then i just...swallow it."

you nod and stroke his back. he shivers a little at the thought.

"it tastes so vile, so disgusting. i can't even describe the taste," he shakes his head, tears brimming his eyes once more. "tastes like death. which make sense," he sniffles.

"why, sugu?"

he looks at you, tears streaming down his face at this point. you brush them away with your thumb, but they keep falling.

"i'm a killer. you don't deserve me. i try to make this world a better place, one where i don't have to watch my friends die. one where i don't even have to worry about curses, one where i don't have to think about ever losing you," he raises his voice, each word coming out through choked sobs.

"i want to keep you safe. i want to be away from this, from everything. i want to protect you," he cries, and you pull him close. "god, everyone probably thinks i'm so fucked up. they probably thing im ruining your life,"

you shake your head. "people can think whatever they want." with a nod, he lays back down on the bed. you push the fallen strands out of his face, playing with them a bit to help him calm down.

"how long do you want to stay here?"

he wipes his face and props himself up on his elbows. "i dunno, couple of days at least,"

you nod. the two of you sit in silence. geto has run out of things to say, as have you.

it’s light outside, sunny and bright. the exact opposite of the mood inside of the dingy motel room. seagulls sing outside as they perch, happy tunes that almost make you laugh. you’re not sure what to think, what to feel.

“are we gonna be alright, sugu?”

he sighs. “i think so.”

#this has been sitting in my drafts for an entire year #geto x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto angst #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

143 notes · View notes

thefallennightmare · 10 months

Text

Ménage à Trois-nine

*credit to me(thefallennightmare) for creating the gif. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+ only please, swearing, angst, fluff, kidnapping, torture, violence. M/F/M relations.

Summary: Bucky has a proposition for Reader, something involving Steve. This trio, however, never expected for their lives to change after that night the way it had.

A/N: I believe there will be either four or five chapters left. But I do plan on having a sequel because I've decided to follow the Captain America universe timeline! Tags are open!

Tags(open): @matisse030502 @buckystevelove @floral-recs @inlovewithametalarm @buckies-dolle @cjand10 @matchat3a @kamaria-sweet-writes @pono-pura-vida @miikayywhocares @kunaikunari @mousee555 @akmenia @pono-pura-vida @ezraa-the @kandis-mom

The rain pelted hard against the car as I sat in the backseat, staring at the raindrops that slid down the window. A muted yawn slipped through my lips and I leaned farther back into the leather of the seat, knowing that I still had a while before I reached my destination. Even though I was exhausted, thanks to the long flight, my knee still bounced with the excitement of seeing him. It had been almost two months since I last laid eyes on and kissed him, and my body buzzed with the need to feel him again.

After Steve became the super soldier, the government needed him for something other than fighting the war. I was apprehensive at first when Steve told me about it but he assured me it would only be a few times then maybe by then, they would send him off to fight in the war.

But that was two months ago, and the Senator had Steve singing and dancing on stage to sell bullets or bonds; whatever it was, it was working. So much so, Steve received his new nickname.

Captain America.

I laughed out loud when I first read the flyer I saw hanging in a store window shortly after Steve left.

But what was supposed to be a few shows in New York turned out to be 20 shows all over the country before it went overseas. Steve called me a few days ago to check in and tell me he was heading to Italy to visit some troops there to raise morale. I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice when he told me it would be even longer before we saw each other again.

“I’m sorry, doll if I could change it you know I would.”

The phone call ended in a fight; me accusing him of wanting to do this more than spending time with me and Steve saying that he needs to do this, for Dr. Erskine.

“I don’t think this is what he had in mind when he made you this super soldier, Steve,” I spat into the phone before hanging up.

As soon as we hung up, I instantly regretted fighting with him because I did not know when the next time I could talk to him. I was already in a terrible mood because the letter I sent to Bucky last month got returned to me. After all, he wasn’t at that base anymore. It had been almost three months since I heard from him and my heart was hurting with the thought of if he was alright.

“Miss?”

I broke my gaze away from the window and smiled at the driver. “Yes?”

“We’re here. Would you like me to walk you over to him? The rain is quite heavy.”

Immediately I waved him off. “Unnecessary. A little rain never bothered me. Thank you for driving me.”

Before I got out of the car, I looked around the base camp the car stopped in front of. Even if it was dreary because of the rain, I don’t think the sun shinned much here. Which made my heart ache even more for Bucky. He was stuck in something like this, away from the two people he loved the most.

With a small smile, I quickly darted out of the car and took the direction the driver gave me where I could find him. This trip was a surprise, thrown together by the Senator for Steve's great job.

Ducking away from the rain, I stepped in front of a tent that was assigned to him. He was sitting outside, hidden from the rain with his back to me and I saw him leaning over, sketching something in his book.

“Steve,” my voice came out soft like butter.

He peered over his shoulder, doing a double take when his eyes landed on me.

“Hi,” he said.

I raised my shoulders. “Surprise!”

He tossed the sketchbook inside his tent before standing to his feet, quickly taking me into his arms. The familiar warmth spread over every inch of me as I took in his scent, my hands gripping his back.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked into my hairline.

Still in his embrace, I looked up at him. “The senator was pretty happy with how your little tour is going so he flew me out here to visit you.”

Underneath his smile, I noticed how tired Steve was. The lines at the ends of his eyes were deep and the darkness under his eyes mirrored the stormy skies. The tips of my fingers grazed over his cheek, a frown pulling at my lips.

“When was the last time you slept?” I asked.

Steve brushed his lips across my forehead. “Not since the night we fought on the phone.”

“Oh,” my heart dropped into my stomach and I wrapped my arms tighter around him. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he said before dropping his lips to mine, capturing it in a long overdue kiss.

This was the longest I had been away from Steve since I first met him and now that we were dating, it made being away from miserable. I missed the way the heat from his body would radiate off of him when he held me at night or the way his lips would brush against mine as his cock slammed into me.

My cheeks blushed at that thought and my core ached with the need to feel him again especially when Steve’s kiss picked up to a ravenous pace, his tongue darting into my mouth with such force it made my head spin.

When we finally pulled away, I motioned to the tent him. “You’re not bunking with anyone are you?”

Darkness filled Steve’s pupils as he shook his head then laced our fingers together and all but dragged me inside. It wasn’t much, only a cot with a blanket and one pillow. His bag lay unopened at the end, his clothes scattered throughout. A table next to the cot had some of his sketchbook and a picture of him, Bucky, and me.

I grasped it tightly in my hand, and a lone tear dropped onto Bucky’s face. It was taken about a year ago and it blew my mind how much hand changed since then. Steve stood behind me, staring down at the picture over my shoulder.

“Do you think he’s doing alright?” I asked.

His lips left a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s Bucky. He’s doing just fine, doll.”

Setting the picture back onto the table, I turned to face Steve.

“Can I be honest with you?”

When he nodded, I continued. “Sometimes when we’re together, I feel guilty. I know Bucky said we can do things like this but a part of me scolds myself for falling into bed with you while he’s somewhere fighting this war.”

“Y/N,” my name came out hushed on his lips. “It was Bucky’s idea for all of us to be together. What we’re doing isn’t wrong.”

I nodded. “I know that and I’m not saying it’s wrong. It’s just-.”

My voice trailed off unable to find the right words for what I’m feeling.

Steve lifted my chin with his finger, bringing our gazes together.

“You wish he was here,” he observed.

“I miss him so fucking much,” I admitted with a shaky breath.

Strong arms wrapped around my hips and I allowed Steve to bring me into his embrace once again, pressing my cheek into his chest.

“I’m sorry for getting so upset. We only have one night together and I don’t want to ruin it,” I said.

I could only stay for less than 12 hours, the Senators ordered.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve admitted with a quiet breath.

Instead of answering, I lifted my face to his and pressed our lips together. It was slow at first almost as a way of remembering how we tasted but soon, Steve’s tongue brushed passed my lips devouring my own. I moaned into it, my hands sliding underneath his shirt to graze over the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under my touch before shivers plowed through Steve. My name fell from his lips in a desperate moan. It had been a while since we were together like this which made me pull away from our heated kiss. Steve’s lips were swollen red from our kiss and I was sure mine matched.

“Can we-?” My words trailed off as I looked from the opening of his tent back to him.

Steve’s usual bright blue eyes were darker because of the lust and he nodded slowly. “You’ll have to be quiet, though.”

I snickered. “We both know that’s impossible.”

Our lips touched once more and Steve began to slowly lead me towards the small cot, the back of my knees hitting the side of it before falling onto it with him cowering over me.

My nails scratched at the skin of Steve’s chest, tracing white lines in shapes that made no sense to me but that didn’t seem to bother him. His chin rested on top of my head while his hand rested on my lower back and his breathing slowly evened out.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to your new stamina,” I joked.

Steve chuckled while squeezing me. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Something burned low in my stomach as I thought back to not even an hour ago when Steve had me bent over his cot, cock slamming into me hard and fast while one of his hands was over my mouth to keep me quiet while the other strummed lightly over my clit. The words he groaned into my ear replayed in my mind.

“I bet the thought of getting caught is making your pussy wet. Knowing that any moment someone could walk in and see you bent over taking my cock so well, it’s making you weak.”

When I said nothing, Steve’s hand left my clit for a few seconds to land a hard smack to my ass. My answer then came out in a dragged-out yes.

“Not at all,” I hummed while placing a kiss on his chest.

Ever since he became this super soldier, Steve’s stamina during sex had increased and he could go faster, harder, and longer. It wasn’t something I was used to, even though I had been with Bucky for so long before Steve.

The last hour did exactly what I needed it to; forget about Bucky being away from us. But now that our high had dissolved, I let out a shaky sigh.

“What are the chances Captain America will perform for Bucky’s unit?” I asked.

Steve tensed underneath me only for a moment. “I’m not sure. They don’t tell me who I’m performing for. Only where to go.”

The sadness behind his words made me look up into his eyes. “Come back home with me.”

“I can’t do that, doll,” he sighed.

Knowing that this would only end in another fight, I bit away the words from my lips before resting my cheek against his chest once more. Steve knew I wasn’t happy with his answer but did nothing to reassure me, also knowing the same thing I did.

“I have another show tonight,” his voice broke through the quiet after some time.

I looked up at him again with a raised brow. “Are you saying that I finally get to see Captain America in action?”

Steve chuckled. “It’s nothing special.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve been dying to see how you look in those tights.”

Now Steve’s brow raised. “Oh, yeah?”

I nodded while rolling on top of him, his large hands sprawling over my back. It was already a tight fit for the both of us on his small cot because of the size of him but Steve was fast to make our new position comfortable.

“Do I have to beg you to wear it one night in bed?” I questioned.

Steve’s cock twitched underneath me, the head of it brushing against my folds. I let out a breathy moan while my eyes fluttered shut.

“Doll, you never have to beg me for anything,” he groaned into the crook of my neck.

A quiet cough from the other side of the tent caused Steve to roll me off of him, hiding my bare form behind him. I peered over his shoulder at the redhead who stared straight ahead at Steve’s chest and then down to the blanket that hung loosely on his hips. Thankfully, it covered his bottom half.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

Peggy’s lips pulled in a tight line. “Clearly.”

My eyes sliced into her not liking her tone.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” I asked.

She motioned to the tent. “How can I?”

Steve knew I was a few seconds away from launching myself over him to give Peggy a piece of my mind so he placed a hand on my hip.

“What do you need?” He asked her.

“I wanted to see how you were doing but seems as if Y/N beat me to it,” Peggy said.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered into Steve’s bare back.

“I’m fine, we both are. Is there anything else?” He asked while clutching the blanket closer to his hips.

Peggy nodded but made no effort to leave.

“I heard that the last show was rough.”

Steve shrugged. “They would rather have seen the girls.”

“Well, it’s been a tough time for the men. They’ve lost half of their unit in the last attack. Who you saw earlier was the rest of the 107th.”

At her words, my spine straightened as I sat up in bed holding the blanket against my naked body.

“Did you say the 107th?”

The question came out shaky and broken.

Steve was also sitting up in bed, his shoulders rigid.

Peggy looked between us unsure why we were so upset with her words before nodding. My ears filled with what felt like blood as the noises from the rain outside faded away, my thoughts tangling together.

The 107th? This was Bucky’s unit. This entire time, we were on the same base as Bucky and didn’t know.

“Did you know?” I quietly asked Steve.

He was quick to shake his head. “No. I didn’t see him in the crowd either.”

My heart fell into my stomach when I slowly realized what that meant.

“I need to talk to Colonel Philips,” Steve said while slipping his briefs back on underneath the blanket.

I sat frozen on the bed with fear filling my veins, as I thought the absolute worse. If we were on Bucky’s base camp and he wasn’t in the crowd earlier during Steve’s show that must have meant they captured him.

It was when Steve, who was fully dressed now, placed my clothes from earlier into my lap and then grasped my chin between his fingers.

“We won’t know until we talk to Colonel Philips. Get dressed.”

I blinked, coming back to reality, and nodded. Bucky was heavily on my mind now more than ever before and I needed to know if he was alive.

291 notes · View notes

126dvtn · 2 years

Text

— are you mad at me..?

summary : scaramouche has been keeping secrets from you, and he finally reveals it all... one last time.

warnings : very dialog heavy ; soft scara ; (spoilers!!) d*ath

genre : fluff to angst

a/n : anti-comfort writing because i need to cry tonight. inspired by one of ふむ's audios on youtube! (will find and link it tmr)

scaramouche has made many promises ever since he started pursuing a deeper relationship with you. one of which is fairly easy to uphold- "never hide secrets from each other."

but as it turns out, it's on this tranquil morning that he's decided to tell you the many secrets he's been concealing. he sits on your right gingerly- an uncertain smile gracing his face. his lips open and close with evident hesitance.

"[name], uh-" there's an awkward chuckle, "i don't know where to start... you know that promise we made?" he starts playing with his fingers. "the one about not keeping secrets from each other. i..."

a doubtful pause fills the air. "i've been hiding some secrets from you- but before you say anything, hear me out, alright?" scaramouche takes a deep breath and glances at your face. expectant. and he begins explaining.

"i'll start with the lightest. i know i always, um, act like i don't like it when you hug me." he places a hand on top of yours. "well, that's a lie. i actually love it when you hug me, or do anything with me, generally," a cloud-like laugh escapes his lips. "i know, i know, i should've just been upfront with it. but your face- your pouty face- is just... too cute to resist," and he grins, eyes scanning the ground.

scaramouche looks back at you and squeezes your hand. "ready for the second one? this one's worse." a deep breath.

"i've been watching you when you sleep. not- not in a creepy way, though!" a bright red tinges his cheeks. "you're too adorable for your own good! i'm simply appreciating your beauty." he says while frantically attempting to justify himself. "no no, don't get mad at me yet. i have just one more."

he takes a final deep breath. "listen- i know you always tell me to let you brush your teeth before i kiss you. but..." and on his face is a certain look- one that says 'you know where i'm going with this.' "you're so enticing that i wake up early just to secretly kiss you. sorry, morning breath doesn't exist in my eyes!" and with that, laughter erupts.

and when his laughter fades out, scaramouche releases a long sigh. "so, are you mad at me..? i did break a big promise there, so i don't mind if you are..." and as his voice trails off, dread begins to climb the walls of his throat. his smile is a lingering ghost.

"really, just scold me. i've acknowledged my mistake already." he mumbles as the foreboding feeling weighs down on his shoulders.

"it's okay to scold me... you know?" now, it's a whisper- a muted tremble that even he can't hear. he ignores the thick tension plugging his throat.

and that's when one tear falls.

"hey, [name]? please- please scold me... do it like you always do?"

two tears.

"you can do anything to me- shout at me, hit me, anything you want. just please, do something."

three.

"hey... hey, [name]... open your eyes, please?"

and the dams in scaramouche's eyes finally rupture. his hands are uncontrollably shaking as he struggles to hold yours. yours, which are cold. pale. lifeless. he presses your fingers against his forehead; not daring to even glance at your blank, resting face.

"i promise i won't keep secrets anymore, i promise i won't kiss you in your sleep, just- just- spend one more day with me?" he sobs- voice cracking so frequently that his words can barely be understood. he grits his teeth- "wake up, [name]. that's an order. i order you to open your eyes and get mad at me. now." and he expects you to listen to him- his orders are absolute, after all.

but no matter how opulent scaramouche's dreams are, in the end, they're merely dreams.

you don't wake up.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact fluff #scaramouche fluff #genshin impact angst #scaramouche angst

2K notes · View notes

chemicallywrit · 5 months

Text

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! Last one of the year! There are so many amazing shows I listened to this year--Gastronaut, Kakos Industries, Madame Magenta, Dungeons & Daddies, Cry Havoc! Ask Questions Later, Bronzeville, Deviser, Ghosts in the Burbs, The Silt Verses, Fall of the House of Sunshine, The Ballad of Anne and Mary, Eliza: A Robot Story, Eeler's Choice, Hemophobia--this list isn't even comprehensive! But here is what stood out to me this week. (As always, some spoilers follow.)

🦸‍♂️ I've had Superhuman Public Radio on my radar for a while, but I finally got a chance to listen to it this week. For lack of a better way of putting it, the structural integrity of this show is flawless. It sounds exactly like listening to NPR, and it's funny and clever with some really incredible worldbuilding. It's everything I like about listening to local news without the stress of it being local news that affects me. I love it.

✨ I'm also new to Breathing Space, but the Firefly vibes are off the charts. I love any story that is basically just Anticapitalists in Space, but the western vibes of this really make the stories hit home. I especially liked S1E2, "A Rat Among Falcons," because who doesn't love a scruffy nobody being incorporated into a found family? S1E5, "The Salvage of the Valentina Tereshkova" was also a really excellent space horror story. I can't wait to see what they do next. And that theme song tho, right??

❤️‍🩹 @thefringespod has been making incredible use of their new full cast, and I love the twist that this season is driving home--it's not a story presented to you, the listener, it's a tragedy that the mute second character is helping to undo. The softness of the family that Pine Gonzalez spent the whole first season describing comes through beautifully in the work of the actors.

🌊 Modes of Thought In Anterran Literature is always a little bit unnerving, but this week our professor faced the horrors of...rich people. Like, REALLY rich people. "You're already paying for private security?" Absolutely chilling conversations. There was a headline this week about a bunch of Silicon Valley millionaires trying to start a utopia in the desert, which works great all the time of course, and I thought of Anterra, tearing itself apart, and about the professor, who doesn't exactly make great choices, tearing himself apart too.

🐺 Things are getting very scary on Palimpsest! Is this a werewolf season?? It is VERY gothic, which is fun in a Jazz Age setting. It feels incongruous, which just adds to the horror. The quiet build of Palimpsest never disappoints me.

📦 Bless those children on @storiesfromylelmore, they're so darn good. ItMe has always been excellent at writing along the span of human nature, and seeing them do it with the three kids in Stories from Ylelmore is wonderful. Of course, a lot of the credit has to go to ItMe's flawless line delivery too. The kids feel very real, even while they're delivering magical packages from a bookstore to the head of the local witch coven.

🐦 The Amelia Project's Twelve Days of Christmas thing has been so funny. I half hope we never find out who's tormenting Alvina. The only downside is that now I have the song stuck in my head constantly, and seeing that it's like, the second-worse Christmas song, this is a problem. The show's worth it, though.

🕯️ What should appear in my podcatcher this morning but the second episode of Flickers! I was intrigued by that first episode, and this second one is really bringing home the isolationist horror. I can't wait for the next installment.

👽 Among the Stars and Bones is coming back! It's coming back this month! This is one of my all-time favorite sci-fi shows, everyone, if you're not on board yet then GET WITH IT, because this next season is guaranteed to blow your mind.

That's what I've been listening to! Here's what's going on with me:

🧟‍♀️ The Dead has been posting episodes from its second series, Ephemeris, which I wish we could have spent more time on, because the premise is so good. Zombies. In. Space. My gosh. David Ault and Kayla Temshiv in particular are killing it on this story. It'll be a few weeks before our next story premiers, but I'm REALLY excited about that one. Tune in!

Finally, the most important news...

💚Inn Between Returns on Wednesday!🏹

AAAAAAAAAAAAA

I am THRILLED about season five. The cast is killer, the story is fantastic, everyone's bringing their A-game, and I can't wait for you to hear it.

That's all for me! Happy New Year everyone!

(If you like what I do, I'd love it if you could send me a ko-fi! Especially since my car just frikkin. Died. So rude of it. Thanks!)

#superhuman public radio #breathing space podcast #tales from the fringes #modes of thought in anterran literature #palimpsest #stories from ylelmore #the amelia project #flickers podcast #among the stars and bones #the dead podcast #inn between #audio drama sunday #audio drama #audio fiction #fiction podcast

52 notes · View notes

liketwoswansinbalance · 2 months

Text

The Good, the Evil, and the Volcano

I've been watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch (1996), as per a recommendation from @rosellemoon, (Thank you, by the way—I've really been enjoying it!) and had a thought based on the season three finale, "The Good, the Bad, and the Luau."

The premise of the episode was that Sabrina had an evil twin, Katrina, and both twins were put on trial, to determine who was the good one as a matter of life-and-death.

⸻

There were three "trials"/testimonies in the episode, if I recall correctly, and the twins had to bring forth evidence of their goodness.

To loosely interpret what happened: whomever was found to be the evil one was to be sent away, a fairly benign punishment. Yet, it actually turned out that the evil twin would be pitched into an active volcano as a human sacrifice, to cleanse the pair of its shadow. (Hold that thought for a bit. I will circle back to it later!)

Ok, now to transpose this into the Endless Woods:

Unbeknownst to the brothers, the stakes of the trial are much higher than they first believe, worse than they were initially led to perceive by the impartial Gnomeland judge who lied to them, so as to preserve the integrity of the examination.

One fateful day, Rhian and Rafal are brought to trial, to determine the true content of their souls and thus, their fates, accordingly, probably in a version of the Endless Woods that wants to purge itself of all Evil, being more dystopian than it already is.

In the episode, Katrina passes one of the tests with flying colors, and things originally look bleak for Sabrina. As far as Rhian and Rafal go, the plot could look like this:

Rhian is performatively Good, and he's far better at looking Good on paper than Rafal is, for all intents and purposes. Yet, the question is: how much of his Goodness is sincere? Appearances can be deceiving and not everything is as it seems. Just, keep those classic adages in mind.

And, even if Rafal is renowned for his Evil all throughout the Woods, he tries his hardest to win the trials, and so too does Rhian.

They have ample reason to try after all—neither of them wants to be cast out of the Woods, consigned to a magicless existence. And, more importantly, neither of them wants to be the loser on principle, because that would mark them as the inferior twin for the rest of their days.

Anyway, by contrast, Rafal's reputation does not serve him well, and whenever he does Good, it's for selfish reasons. His motives are often more visibly selfish than Rhian’s reasons. Albeit, Rhian's reasons for doing Good are also just as self-serving, just more subtle; they revolve around vanity more than Rafal's power-hungry drive for tangible gains does, at the very least.

⸻

Thus, during the first of the trials, Rhian had a lifetime of clearly Good Deeds to show for himself, and Rafal had... nothing. And, Rhian exhibited compassion during a spontaneous act of kindness.

During the second trial, Rafal won by acting quickly under a high-pressure situation, leaving Rhian as the loser.

Now, during the third trial, Rafal had a better answer than Rhian's in response to the prompting from the judge: to recall something Good they did for another during the last 24 hours. (Luckily for Rafal, hours ago, he had done something that qualified indirectly as a Good Deed: he had been thinking over a riddle the Kingdom Council had given him to solve, and the Stymph screeches outside had finally gotten to him. He decided to confront the birds, and Humburg, who looked to be the source of their agitation from Rafal's view, as Rafal didn't have all the information available. The Stymphs had been starving, made irritable by their prolonged suffering, and Humburg was suffering from back pain, groaning on the ground, being pecked. So, Rafal cast a spell to silence the Stymphs, providing them with food, but he only did it to "mute" them, in a sense, in order to shut them up, so he could properly concentrate, and get back to his riddle promptly. He also decided to "help" Humburg by petrifying him temporarily, but even if that was a crude, scornful "solution," it did technically alleviate Humburg's back pain!)

Later, however, it turned out that when Rafal's answer about the aforementioned Good Deed was reviewed in more depth, it was found to have been driven by impure intentions, disqualifying Rafal's evidence, meaning Rhian, was, by default, the victor of the third trial, and had won 2/3 of them, fair and square.

So, it came to be that the moment of the sacrifice had arrived.

Both twins were told the truth of the matter, that the actual punishment for being Evil was to be thrown into deathly, red-hot lava. And, it was the Good twin's noble duty to bid his Evil twin farewell and perform the send-off.

The judge commanded Rhian to push Rafal into the volcano, and he does! Miraculously, without question, Rhian obeyed the authority at hand.

Rhian said, "Okie dokie!" with unusual cheer, and shoved Rafal over the edge to his demise, secretly relieved that he had the chance to continue living. (Rhian was willing to sacrifice his brother because he's cowardly and didn't want to die himself.)

Rafal and the Ever witnesses present stared in slack-jawed, wide-eyed horror at how Rhian had publicly exposed his sudden, seemingly newfound capacity for Evil.

Then, Rafal toppled, almost plunging straight into the hot, molten lava below, but he managed to latch onto the cliffside by Rhian's feet, and when he regained his bearings, whilst still dangling precariously over the fuming, burning crater, he vengefully seized Rhian's ankle and pulled. And, he didn't pull himself up. Instead, he intended to drag Rhian down, shouting that he would take Rhian down with him, even if it was the last thing he did!

The judge observed these ongoings, and heaved both twins back over the edge, back onto solid ground, saving them. He then announced that no Good twin has ever had the heart to do away with his Evil twin, in the history of all other twin trials preceding this... exceptional outcome, but while this would, under ordinary circumstances, mean that he should pronounce the victim the Good twin and the one who followed through with his unethical order as Evil, this time, it was... rather hard to tell them apart, especially when accounting for Rafal's outburst, his equally murderous reaction toward Rhian's act, being petty retaliation and all.

Neither had passed the Volcano Test, a harrowing final test in disguise, which had devolved to become more hazardous than it was originally designed to be.

So, the judge concluded that both twins were Evil.

Consequently, he issued a court order for them to be closely monitored for signs of "reformation" as they returned to their daily lives, once again, having outlived a pretty surreal experience for the ages. In fact, in hindsight, the case was interpreted by a law clerk to mean that, incidentally, they had proven themselves more a danger to each other than a threat to the Woods at large.

The END.

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #rafal #rafal mistral #rhian #rhian mistral #stymphs #dean humburg #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #my post #my aus #sabrina the teenage witch

14 notes · View notes

befuddled-calico-whump · 7 months

Text

Hand in Hand (part eight)

@whumptober Alt. 12: Broken

cw: broken bones (didn't see that coming did you :) ), death mention, deathwish

prev ///// au masterlist ///// next

~ ~ ~

He's on the verge of sleep when he hears noise outside the room; shuffling, muted voices, the click of the lock.

It's time to act.

Dan knows nothing is optimal about the situation; he'll be outnumbered for sure, and even if he wasn't, he'd already be at a significant disadvantage from his physical condition. Surprise is the only tool he has, and once he uses it, he knows he can't hesitate. It's all or nothing. Escape now, or die trying. Better that than this unlife Swift has him trapped in.

He'll wait for them to unlock his restraints, of course. He'll probably even let them get a good distance down the hall, let them sink into the complacency of routine, then he'll make his gambit. If there's only two guards this time, he stands a fighting chance. Hell, even with three, he might just be desperate enough to pull it off. And if he fails... if he fails, he can only hope that she doesn't let Wes suffer for it for long.

Dan closes his eyes, breathing slow and quiet as the door swings open. If he feigns sleep, will they be put more at ease?

"Good afternoon, Mr. Melchior."

His eyes fly open, and he turns his head fast enough that his previously-subdued headache flares back to life, making him wince.

The guards are here, but they aren't alone. Mercury Swift is at their side, smiling down at him.

A sick feeling begins to coil in his stomach, his body sensing a wrongness before his mind can catch up. It's okay, he tells himself. Don't panic. Let her say her piece and save the plan for next time.

But what is her piece? She's never come directly to his room like this, he's always been brought to her. Is she here to make threats? Tell him how she'll be puppeting him at the next meeting?

"Is it already afternoon?" he replies, the words scraping against his throat as they leave it. He doesn't care.

"Ah, forgive me. It must be difficult to tell the time from in here."

"What do you want?" He's too tired to carry the banter for long. He just wants her to spit it out and leave him alone.

To his surprise, she doesn't chastise him for being impolite. "Straight to the point, then." Her smile widens. "I've been doing some thinking these last few days."

Dan's heartbeat is speeding up, thrumming in his chest. He tries to ignore it.

"Since your little... escape stunt, I've realized it's not possible to be too careful."

Breathe. Keep breathing.

Swift turns to one of the guards. "Alright, send him in."

The Riot King leaves, and Dan's chest tightens. Him. Wes? Is she about to force him to watch another fucking demonstration?

But when the door swings back open, it's just another guard, this one holding a heavy metal pipe. His stomach drops.

"Right leg, I think," Swift says to him, then sits back and watches Dan pull uselessly at his chains as the man and the weapon close in on him.

"No..." He needs to think, needs to find a way out of this. "Swift, please," he gulps down air, mind frantic for any words that might sway her. "You've already punished me for the escape, th-this isn't necessary--"

"It isn't a punishment, it's security," she murmurs, sounding disinterested.

"What about the meetings?" he tries. The man reaches the bed. "What will your allies think?"

"You don't need to walk to be useful to me," Swift says. "And is a broken leg really so uncommon?"

The pipe raises, and Dan isn't sure if it's the Riot King holding it that's dragging out the moment, or his own panic. Any plans he has, any hope of making it out, will shatter with the bone. Forget fighting, how will he walk? How will he carry Wes?

"Please!" he cries, jerking on the chains, causing nothing but a sharp clink. "Please, don't do this, I won't do it again, I swear--"

"It's your leg or your friend's," Swift replies. "Make your choice."

The obvious choice is Wes. If Wes can't walk, that's fine. Dan can take care of him. If Dan can't walk, they're both doomed. But even as he opens his mouth, he can't say it.

Spare me. Hurt him instead. Break his leg, make him scream and tell him it's because of me.

He can't. His body is recoiling more from the thought of that than the thought of being hurt.

He can't be responsible for any more of Wes's pain.

He inhales shakily. "No. Don't hurt him."

"That's what I thought."

Dan closes his eyes.

He hears it before he feels it. A brief whoosh as the pipe cuts the air, followed by a sharp sound that's more crunch than crack.

At first, the pain is surreal. A distant, impossible explosion, so bright it hurts his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes, the air in his throat chokes him, and for a moment he can't even scream. His leg, just below his knee, is engulfed in something jagged and inescapable, like someone is taking a cheese grater to the bone.

He barely feels himself being unchained, trying to hold as still as possible to avoid making his leg any worse, and when a hand closes around his wrist, yanking him off the bed, he doesn't even think to fight it.

His now-broken leg is the first thing to hit the ground, and Dan screams, crumpling into a heap. He bangs his head on the bedframe in his haste to take weight off the limb, but he doesn't feel it. Hands catch hold of him from either side, hoisting him back up, and even though he's careful not to let his bad leg touch the ground, the pain is almost enough to steal his consciousness.

He wishes it would.

The guards start walking, dragging him with them, and every little shift is enough to make him cry out. Every bit of strength that remains in him is devoted to keeping the bad leg off the ground, no room left for wondering where they're taking him, wondering what comes next.

Somehow, there's still room for fear. Not the overthinking, frantic planning Dan's used to, but a blind, pain-driven panic.

The movement suddenly stops, and then he's being shoved forward, into colder air, onto rough concrete. The impact with the ground goes right to the shattered bone, sending a sharp wave of nausea through him, and for a long while he can do nothing but lie as still as possible and gasp for air.

He doesn't know how long it takes for his body to get used to the worst of the pain, his consciousness finally pulling back its focus from his leg as it accepts this as his new state.

He's in the cell. Subconsciously, he already knew that, but now that he's actually aware of it, he lifts his head, eyes sweeping the dim room until they land on Wes. The other man is curled up tightly, with his back to Dan. His ribcage is heavily bruised, his skin layered with unhealed welts. Every breath must be agony, but he is still breathing. Still alive. Dan isn't sure if that's a mercy anymore.

He inches towards Wes, pulling on the concrete with his hands, pushing off with his good leg. The movement, however slow, is excruciating, grating against the fragmented bone like the teeth of a predator, but he keeps going, breathing through tightly clenched teeth, not trying to stop the tears from pouring down his face.

This might be it. This might be the last of the time he has with Wes, and he isn't about to waste it. Inch by inch, foot by foot, Dan drags himself across the cell floor, the pain in his leg building to a howl long before he reaches his friend.

But he does reach him. Shuddering, panting, crying, but he's there.

"Wes..?" He reaches out, carefully lays a trembling hand on his shoulder. There's no indication that Wes is conscious, but his bare skin is cold, so Dan shifts again, wincing through the movement, until he's tucked up behind him, chest to back, one arm draped carefully over his side. His leg is throbbing, but Dan holds as still as he can, not wanting to agitate the wounds on Wes's back, the ones he caused.

Fuck, how did things get this bad?

How could his own men hate him enough to let them both suffer like this? How could Swift be so cruel? How could he be stupid enough to let it happen, to let Wes drag himself into it, to not escape when he had the chance? How?

He's truly lost all control. The plan he'd had was a last resort brought on by desperation, but it was still his, it was still something he could've done, even if it was destined to fail.

Now there's nothing he can do. He's whatever Swift wants him to be, and if he isn't, she has no trouble breaking him apart until he's the perfect puzzle piece. He can do nothing---

He could kill Wes.

The one kindness he has the power to grant. He could kill Wes, and ensure Mercury can't drag this out any longer.

He could, but he can't, he knows he can't. He knows Wes will die either way, but he's still not strong enough to at least make it as painless as possible.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"D...an?" the voice is quiet and broken and small.

"I'm here," he says, trying to keep his own voice steady. "I... I can move though, if y-you want."

"Stay. Please."

Dan doesn't need to be told twice. He inches closer still, pressing his face into Wes's neck, wanting to say I'm sorry again, because it's hard to think of anything else when everything hurts and they're both going to die here.

But he doesn't. Instead, Dan holds Wes close.

"It'll be okay," he lies. "We'll be okay."

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast @kixngiggles @shywhumpauthor @whumpsday

~ ~ ~

#whumptober2023 #altprompt #broken #oc #fic #death mention tw #broken bones tw #death wish tw #riotkingsau #broken in more than just the physical sense! :D #angst #multiple whumpees #lost hope #captivity whump

38 notes · View notes

thepenultimateword · 2 years

Note

okay so:

I had a dream about this one idea where everyone makes fun of villain for whatever reason. Villain starts to believe all those things, still feels terrible of course, but finds it easier to deal with it all when they just accept those "jokes" as truth.

But well, since I'm a sucker for villain x villain stuff, Supervillain swoops in to help them out of their misery

Thanks a lot in advance and have a wonderful day ❤️♥️

*Me reading this ask*

My villain x supervillain heart can’t resist. (May just be my favorite ship, even more than hero x villain. Just something about two crime-hardened people being soft for each other)

CW: Bullying, panic attack

"Smile~," the hero said, the big black eye of their phone camera reflecting Villain's queasy face.

The colors were muted, but even so, their skin was far too pale. Their lips seized somewhere between a grimace and a glare. A scribbled line of a mouth that gated off the burn rising in the back of their throat and anything else that might let it loose, even their own words of defense.

They didn't even know who this hero was. They were just some start-up who jumped them in one of the back allies. What was worse was this wasn't the first time. Not even close. Every hero seemed to have eyes on them these days. Even some civilians got the courage to gang up together and get in on the fun.

"Come on," the hero insisted, pouting their lips like they were talking to a baby. "Just one little smile."

Villain swallowed hard on the bile, wincing at the way it scalded on the way down, and shakily rose the corners of their lips. This was fine. It was just a stupid trend. People would forget about it soon. And maybe it was funny. Villain certainly had never met anyone else with such an...interesting reaction to fear. People liked it because it was weird. It was just a joke.

Villain's eyes burned. They'd been wearing these contacts for too long. The wetness pricking in the corner of their eyes stung like salt in a wound.

Wait. Wetness? Were they crying?

No, please. Not now. Not here. Not with their hands bound to a back alley waterspout and this vigilante nobody putting them on their live stream for the whole world to laugh at.

"Aww, why are you crying, buddy? You're just fine. I mean, I've barely touched you aside from those bonds. You're not actually frightened already are you?"

Logically, Villain should be fine. They'd won against stronger heroes than this idiot. So why couldn't they move?

“N-no…” Villain choked weakly. They had meant to shout it, but as soon as their mouth was open, they felt any force on their stomach muscles would be their doom.

Their heart pounded in their ears at this point and it was hard to get enough air with their mouth clamped shut. Dark spots flecked their vision, but the alternative seemed much worse.

No, Villain wasn't frightened. They were terrified.

This hero might be a rookie, but Villain didn't know them. They didn't know what they were going to do to them. Whether this joke extended further than their humiliation. What their limits were. And it was the same story with most of their attackers these last three months. Ever since a reporter caught Villain puking on video in response to Other Hero pinning them in a corner and nearly killing them. They should be somewhat thankful for that; Other Hero's shock had given them the few seconds needed to escape. But in this moment, with so many people talking, so many people watching...it was hard not to see that as a catalyst for a nightmare.

It wasn't the only thing of course...there were also the tics: handwringing during monologues, giving up on schemes when it turned out none of the heroes they were used to were coming, etc. Half a villain the media called them. Because some part of them must be a hero for how much they foiled themself.

Yeah...maybe that was funny. Maybe Villain just needed to understand the joke better, and they would stop being so scared. Maybe if they just went along, things would get better.

"Alright, viewers," the hero said cheerily, "what do you say we spice things up a little."

They moved in closer, and Villain huddled back against the brick wall behind them.

"Now, now, don't freak out. I'm just going to ask questions, and you're going to tell us some things. Things we've all been curious about. Like why you do it."

Villain squeezed their eyes shut as if doing so could hide them from the hero's prickling smirk. They didn't want to talk about this. They didn't want to talk about this. They didn't want to--

"Get that phone out of their face before I choke you with it."

Villain wasn't sure who said it, but there was a yelp and the scrape of two pairs of shoes scuffling in the gravel, and then the pounding of one pair running away. When they opened their eyes, the hero was gone. In their place stood a face they'd only seen on television. Well-dressed, unnaturally attractive, and sharp, diamond-cutting eyes boring into their soul: Supervillain.

Villain gaped. People like Villain didn't just run into people like Supervillain. Maybe they were both criminals, but they were in completely different classes. Supervillain was untouchable. They didn't even bother hiding when they went out because not even the heroes had developed a good protocol to stop them. The media compared them to a cat swatting at flys.

And now they were right here. This...this was...

They doubled over and vomited into their own lap.

Nooo.

The shame blanketed them in a hot haze, and their upper lip went cool with a gathering sheen of sweat. Villain twisted away from Supervillain's face before they could see their disgusted expression. "I'm sorry. I--" They scrunched small and pressed their forehead against the cool brick, swallowing the sour taste trapped in the dry of their mouth several times before mustering up a few more words. "Thank you. Thank you, but... Please go."

"That must hurt." Gentle fingers touched their raw wrists where the ropes pinched and scraped. Something cold and metal laid across Villain's forearm and pressed through the small space beneath the bonds.

Villain flinched and whirled their head back around just in time to see the rope slacken and flutter to the gravel. They stared at the mess of frayed cord for several moments before forcing their gaze toward the master criminal.

Supervillain twirled the long blade back into a holster on their side. A moment later, they unclipped their cape and swept it around Villain's shoulders, fussing with the folds a moment before bundling them up in their arms.

"N-no," Villain protested gripping awkwardly to Supervillain's arm through the fabric as their feet were taken out from under them. "You shouldn't touch me. I-I'll ruin your cape."

"I get it dry cleaned twice a week," Supervillain said, voice vibrating low and even in their chest. "It'll be fine."

Their arms squeezed a little tighter around Villain's form, and with a rush of air, the dark alley shrank and dropped out of sight. It wasn't even that Villain lost sight of it as Supervillain jumped; it was like the world literally folded it out of existence, leaving them sailing through dark nothing. Villain tried to make sense of it, but they were already in a daze, and their lurching stomach wasn't making cognitive functions much easier. Most of the journey was a blur. So it was rather sudden when they found themself on their own two feet again in the middle of a bright, cream-colored living room.

Villain felt like a newborn deer blinking in their first surroundings. It was beautiful. Like something from a home decorating show. Suede sofa, plush rug, tall ceiling...

Supervillain stood to the side, steadily drinking them in, and Villain pulled the cape tighter around them, as if it could shield them from Supervillain's view and hide their obvious displacement . One worn shoe tread halfway over the cream rug and when they edged onto the hard floor, it left an ugly, gray smear.

Villain's eyes leaped up to Supervillain's in a panic, but the master criminal simply looked down and up again. They smiled.

"Why don't you take a shower? Make it as long as you want. I'll leave some clothes outside the door. We'll talk when you're done."

Villain stared.

"Bathroom is straight down this hall. Use any of the products you find; I have a lot."

Villain nodded numbly and unsure what else to do, followed Supervillain's pointing finger into the master bathroom.

It was beautiful too. The bath looked more like a hot tub and the shower was like a walk-in closet. The mirror covered nearly the entire wall and only then did Villain realize how truly pathetic they looked, especially beside the rich, deep blue of Supervillain's cape. Hair a mess, eyes sunken, dirt all over their face, lips bloodless, and just overall small.

Villain broke eye contact with themself and began stripping away the dirty clothes, carefully folding the vomit stains inwards before gingerly piling them on the toilet. The air conditioning from the overhead vent sent a shiver down their spine, but it was nothing compared to the goosebumps still prickling their skin from the incident.

They turned the faucet up to nearly the hottest setting and let all that cold fear and alley grime wash down the drain. Steam gathered comfortingly around them in humid lavender and mint as Villain busied themself with lathering their hair.

It took a long time for their uneasiness to fade, but once it had, they wrapped themself in one of the bathroom's plush towels and peeked outside the door to find a neatly folded pile of clothes: a fleece long-sleeved shirt and a pair of baggy drawstring sweats, all roughly their size.

They dressed quickly, and a little poking under the sink led them to a bottle of mouthwash that rid them of the sour bile taste lingering in their mouth.

Feeling significantly better, Villain padded out to the living room, clenched hands sunk deep into their pockets. They found Supervillain sprawled out across the sofa, a book pinched between thumb and forefinger. They looked up at the sound of Villain's footsteps.

"Ah," Supervillain swung their legs to the rug and waved Villain toward the pillow-covered arm chair across from them. "Please, sit.

Villain did so, hunching their shoulders and staring at their knees. "Um, so, thank you again for um…well…all this, but...what did you want to talk about?"

Why did you bring me here? That was the real question knocking around in Villain's head, but they didn't dare say it loud.

"I haven't introduced myself," Supervillain said, tone as if they'd truly only just realized. "Excuse me, I'm--"

"Th-that's ok," Villain interrupted peering up from under their lashes. "I know who you are."

Supervillain smiled, even looked somewhat flattered as they leaned their elbows on their knees. "Good. I'll be blunt then. I can change your image. That is, if you want."

Villain swallowed. “How?"

"The media is fickle," Supervillain said. "They drop the old for whatever's hot. It may not be exactly what you want, but if you present them with another story, one that overshadows your current image, it will be like all this other stuff never happened."

"And...what would that other story even be?" Villain asked, trying to feel out Supervillain’s angle. There was no way they were doing this out of the kindness of their heart.

Supervillain scooted onto the very edge of the sofa. They clasped their hands, unclasped them, laid them flat on their knees. "Perhaps your new relationship with me?"

Villain choked on their own breath. "My... my what?"

“Think about it! It’s the perfect solution! I’m the biggest name in villainy this city has ever seen, and that’s not my ego talking. No one would dare touch you knowing that you’re associated with me. And with a presence as strong as mine, after a few months, you’ll only be thought of as my partner. This ‘half a villain’ nonsense will fade away.”

Villain had a lot of things on their mind but the first thing that burst out was, "What if it backfires? What if I ruin your image?"

Supervillain chuckled like Villain had something silly. "Not gonna happen."

"So...we'd pretend to date?" Villain said slowly, still trying to figure out why Supervillain was doing this.

"Oh. Oh, no, no, I was thinking more of the real deal,” Supervillain said quickly. “I'm not really into confusing personal feelings with work. But hey, if you're not comfortable, I can see about giving you a job instead. It may take a slower course, but it should still do the trick."

Their smile remained pasted on, but their forehead creased and the nonchalant wave of their hand seemed stiff. They preferred the relationship idea. Not a fake one. A real one.

"Why would you want that?" Villain said.

"Um, because you're adorable?" Supervillain said without hesitation. "We have the same ideals, same job, there must be tons of other things we have in common. And you've got this defenseless vibe around you that I can't resist. I saw you in that first video, and I knew right away: that villain is going to be mine."

"I don't get it."

Villain’s voice cracked without warning. They clenched their fists, but they were already trembling. Was Supervillain in on this too? Was there a hidden camera somewhere amongst all this finery? Ready to broadcast Villain's gullibility? That had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. There was no way Supervillain—Supervillain!—was interested in them of all people.

“What about that video could have appealed to you? The whole city saw what happened, maybe the whole world. Everyone saw what a joke I was. It's hilarious how bad I am at being a villain. And all those weird things I do, fidgeting and throwing up and all the rest, they must be funny too because I'm a trend now. Why would you involve yourself with that? I'm a total embarrassment!"

Without warning, Supervillain's warm hand slid over their cheek and cupped the left side of their face. Villain wasn’t sure when they crossed the room, but here they were crouched in front of them. They tipped their head up at them, and those shiny eyes drilled earnestly into their eye sockets, maybe saw right through them. Their faces were still a couple feet apart, but it felt as if Supervillain was whispering straight in their ear.

"I want to protect you."

"W-what?"

"Let me protect you," Supervillain said.

Villains mouth had gone completely dry. This whole situation was strange, but a part of them wanted to believe it was true. They were just so tired of hurting.

"Prove that you really want to,” they finally said. “If you can…then ok.”

“That should be easy enough,” Supervillain grinned. They leaned in closer, hands bracing on either armrest. The heat of their breath ghosted against their cheek.

Villain squeezed their eyes shut and tried to steady their trembling. They weren’t prepared for this!

Supervillain’s forehead knocked against Villain’s, the tips of their noses just shy of brushing and… And then they stopped.

Villain cracked open their eyes. Supervillain stared straight through them, irises alive with a deep fire. Gone was the sharp, measuring look they’d maintained most of the night. This was hungrier, more destructive. Without breaking eye contact, they gently rubbed their forehead back and forth against Villain’s.

“I’ll start with the one who hurt you tonight.”

Part Two

#villain x villain #villain x supervillain #writing snippet #hero x villain #villain #creative writing #heroes and villains #fiction #heroes and villains community #superheroes and villains #hmmm does this ending feel too close Big Bad or Date or Die?#beginning to worry that all my supervillain x villian stories are the same

502 notes · View notes