#fuck all else to do except live in the dark work and smoke

[famousblueraincoatmp3]

why is steam constantly updating. it still looks like absolute shit so theyre not doing anything

[kentopedia]

♰ sent to destroy — dazai osamu

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 5 - fallen angel!dazai

he promises he's not the devil, but he steals your soul with just a kiss.

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, takes place in 1920s for fun ig, actress!reader, alcohol, one mention of suicidal ideation and prostitution by reader, blasphemy, sacrilege, pls don't read this if ur religious & will get offended LMAO, angel fucking (& he has wings), bondage (thru powers), unprotected sex, cunnilingus, corruption kink, possessive sex, softish dazai, mm idk what else — 6.1k

note: i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i normally do so plss ignore any mistakes and i'll love you forever

the speakeasy fills with a thin veil of smoke, coating the room with an intoxicating mix of alcohol and nicotine. it’s a lewd place, full of degenerates and failed actresses like yourself, a crowd of people who don’t belong, but try their best to find a way to keep living. 

it’s a place where women pick up their clients, leading them to the hotel around the corner for a night they certainly won’t be paid enough for. it’s where people drown their miseries in alcohol and hope they won’t wake up in the morning. 

it is, regrettably, the only place you can afford. 

you sit alone at one of the tables, hands shaky from nerves as you smoke another cigarette, contributing just as much to the cloud that suffocates the small room. 

hoards of people make their way downtown for a sip of alcohol, the drink that has so ridiculously been banned, but you are no exception, no angel amongst the sinful devils. 

someone plays a saxophone at the front of the bar, spinning into a graceful melody of jazz that sings out to you, lulls you into an embrace that warms your core. it soothes the anxiety that has lingered with you throughout the day, the reminder that your life is tailspinning. 

you’d failed at landing yet another role, and the acting career you’d packed your bags and moved out for was plummeting. who would accept you now, now that your hopes and dreams had been for naught, now that you’d created a shameful woman of yourself and your family?

the answer was clear; but you were too stubborn too accept it, too desperate to believe that you could be up in the glimmering lights, the brightest silver star the world had ever seen. 

you lean back in your chair, stamping out the cigarette with a sigh as you stand to collect another drink. there’s not much left in your pockets, but you’ve made it work before, and you’ll keep making it work now, scrounging up coins for the relief that came with forgetting. 

the only consolation is the line of women that stand alongside you at the bar, as dejected and miserable as yourself. all of you have been labeled the failures of your families, the ones that bet on a shot in the dark. none of you expected that the road would be easy, certainly not with the way the industry is hasty to pick up only the most beautiful faces… but your ambitions had led you to believe that you, of all people, had had a chance. 

you know your beauty is endless, a sight to be admired, but even that had not been enough to secure your spot in the limelight. 

you thank the bartender as he hands you a drink, and slump back to your table, waiting for the effects of the alcohol to kick in. yet, when you stand at the edge of the table, peer at the chair you’d once been seated in, there is already a man there. 

he gazes at you with a crooked smile, eyes amused as he regards your beaten-down state.

you’ve seen him before—made every attempt not to see him again. you know what they say about him. he’s a wizard, he’s the devil, he’s a god that steals the body of a mortal, waiting to destroy the earth. all bad things, certainly, and with the way your life’s been going, you’d be a fool to get mixed up with someone like him.

still…you know of the things he’s done for people. that miracles have happened for those brave enough to ask for them. 

perhaps, you’re in need of a miracle. 

the dark-haired man leans forward, eyebrows raised as you gawk at him from the other side of the table. “no need to look so frightened,” he says, gesturing towards the other chair. “sit.” 

“i don’t want any company,” you say, straightening, pulling your drink closer to your chest. “i came here to be alone.”

his eyes flash, predatory, as if seeing down through the depths of your soul, to the very desire that lingers within. all of your dreams, your ambitions, and your loneliness are displayed to him, a flashing banner that alerts him easily of everything that’s ever been wrong with you. 

“is that so?” he asks, leaning forward, his voice deepening amongst the chaos of the speakeasy. “then, why have you been staring at me all evening?” 

you can’t help the flush that rushes to your cheek, the heat that covers your entire body. with the crowd of men and women alike that are constantly at his arm, you’d hardly thought he’d notice you.

and though you know what they say about him, he is undeniably beautiful; you’re drawn to him. there is a dark and heavenly beauty about him, something that you fear is too angelic to be of this world. his eyes glimmer almost like diamonds in the candlelit room, skin so flawless that it is nearly luminescent. 

it’s no wonder, really, that you haven’t been able to peel your eyes off of him.

you circle around his question, instead, and set your drink down on the table, lured in either by a false sense of safety, or the confidence of his grin. “i know what you are,” you say, swallowing back the fear that devils often prey on. 

he smiles, indulging you, a lifelong game he has surely played. “and what is that, my dear?” 

the mocking tone sends a cold wave down your spine, even though the sweet name seems to warm you. “i don’t believe i should say it out loud.” you’re not sure what kind of consequence that will bring you. perhaps you do not need to make a deal with him for your soul to be damned, straight to the fiery pits; maybe this conversation is enough, and already, you are on the long list of sinners that will be sent to burn.

“because you believe i am the devil? a demon sent to prey upon you and your soul, drag you down to hell once the contract you’ve made is over?” 

you say nothing, but your silence speaks loudly. 

he sighs, leans back in the chair and looks at you from under thick lashes. “i have no interest in the dealings of those fifty, lesser beings. i find that i can bargain for more enjoyable ventures.” two dark eyes trace over you, swallow you whole as he grazes your curves with his irises, the shape of your breasts under the tightness of your dress, the style shorter to match the current fashions. “so, i think we both may have something the other is interested in. please,” he gestures once more to the seat in front of him, addressing you by your first name—one you never even had to tell him. “sit.” 

nervous, you take the chair, wondering why you aren’t running away, screaming at everyone that there is a monster in your midst, a being that hunts the weak to lure them away from their misery. no wonder he has made himself a frequent customer at this place—there are people drowning in sorrows. one deal with him, and they will wake up in the morning, drowning in riches instead. 

“what do you want from me?” you ask, letting your hands fall to your sides. 

“so eager to get to the best part of my bargain, silly girl. have some patience.” he takes a sip of his own drink, pinning you with his gaze, even above the rim. you squirm under the intensity, but you, even now, can’t look away. “i know you’re struggling to find work. you’ve been here for years, and made pennies to live off of.” he reaches across the table, spins a lock of hair around his finger as he sighs dramatically. “such a shame, really. they must fear the power of your perfection if they refuse to let you shine brighter than the rest of the dull creatures that they call starlets.” 

your heart drops, stutters within the delicate bones of your skeleton before starting again, as you remember that this is how the devil would act, luring you in with sweetly poisoned words full of deceit. “they are talented—”

“they are nothing,” he snarls, banging his fist on the table so loudly that you jump, hands shaking against the beaded skirt of your dress. “you may claim to believe in your own talents, your appearance, but it is all a lie, a facade that you maintain to protect yourself. you are the one holding yourself back, and unless you let me help you, you’ll get nowhere.”

you feel tears burn. “you mean to lure me away from the path of god—”

his eyes narrow. “i mean to free the human race from the chains that religion has bound on them. there is nothing for you in the afterlife but an existence of slavery. one to a malicious devil who only wishes to torment, or one to a god who doesn’t love you.” 

it confuses you, the way he speaks of these beings as if he is not on the side of heaven or hell. as if there could be another option. it seems surreal, a secret that you should not have been told; since the day you were born, you have learned of the path of righteousness, the will of god. 

that is the only way you can obtain a life of peace… yet, there is a creature before you, claiming to offer you a third path, one that doesn’t have you bowing down for a god that won’t answer your prayers. 

it may be foolish, the work of the devil, but you are willing to listen. you are already lured in by this graceful creature with a charming smile and a quick tongue, and you don’t know if it will take much more for you to succumb to him completely. 

already, you have lost your way—you would do anything to escape your unhappiness.

“what is it you’re after, then?” you ask, your voice softer, weaker than you anticipated. 

he laughs, and lets his head tilt sideways, studies you before answering. “my father has cast me out of heaven; i plan to build my own religion of followers, tearing them away from that idiot of a being they call their god. because i am much stronger, much wiser, and the only way that they can find peace after their death is by trusting that i will give it to them.” 

you swallow, twining your fingers together, and think. “you’re… an angel?” 

he waves his hand. “a fallen one.”

there are things about the world that you do not understand, but you know that god has not once help you when you were drowning without a savior. he did not guide a helping a hand when you contemplated dragging a knife across your wrists, and yet, here is something, someone wanting to save you from just that. how is it that god can be more benevolent than those he casts out, when you have seen nothing but the opposite?

“you want me to join you, then?” you ask, drawing your eyebrows together. “if i join you, you’ll give me what i desire?”

“well… that is usually the bargain i offer. however,” he hums, eyes flashing as they scour your body. he looks at you hungrily, like he has never seen a being like yourself. “it has been a while since i’ve seen a human as beautiful as you.” 

you swallow, blinking at him with wide eyes as you grow hot all over. this would not be the first time you’ve sold your body for fame, but never has it been with a man as stunning as the angel before you. “you mean… if i fuck you, you’ll give me whatever i want?” 

he sniffs, repulsed by your suggestion. “always so lewd, you mortals.”

your eyebrows knit together. “but you said—”

“i don’t want you for one night. i want you forever. i want you to swear your body over to me for the rest of your life, let me use it as i wish, bear my children.” he traces your features, grazes a thumb over your jaw, your lip. his eyes are hard, and you swallow, wondering why your stomach flips. “you are meant to be mine.” he smiles, and though you can see the mischief within it, for some reason, there is also softness there as he crosses his arms over the counter. “but if you aren’t interested, then the deal is off the table. i have no need for someone who doesn’t want me in return.” 

you blink back at him, observing the seriousness of his expression, the softness lurking within the pools of his deep brown eyes. perhaps he is a vengeful angel… but he is offering you a life that is much more promising than the one you have now. would it really be so bad to give yourself to him, to spend the rest of your life in his arms, when he promises to give you everything you’ve ever wished for?

“i—” you hesitate, unsure how to even begin to answer the question, when you didn’t quite understand what it was that he needed from you.  

“i’ll give you some time to think about it. after all, it is a decision that will affect the rest of your life.” he stands to his feet, and it is then that you notice there are some eyes on you, the women he typically has hanging off of him watching your interaction with bated breath. “when you have an answer, just call for me. i’ll be there.” 

“wait,” you say, turning in your chair to face him. “i don’t even know your name.” 

“you can call me osamu.” he smiles and winks at you, tucking his jacket closer as he begins to walk away. “we’ll be in touch."

three weeks pass before you see him again. 

you’d decided quickly what you would say to him, and after two weeks worth of auditions that led to nothing, drinking without a friend in the world, alone to rot in your bedroom, you’d made up your mind.

osamu’s proposal, now, after everything you’d suffered, seemed too good to be true. how long had you wished for a companion, for money, for a steady job—and now, these were all things he promised to provide you, if only you’d stand by his side. 

you’d called to him at the start of the week, said a prayer to any angel named osamu that was out there—but no one came. 

night after night, you said the same prayer, wondering, if perhaps, you’d been made a fool of. that everything he had said was a lie, and you, truly, were doomed to live an unhappy life. maybe, he was mocking you for your misfortunes, for your weak heart. 

though, on the twenty-first day after your discussion, you awaken to a figure standing in the corner of your room, watching you with hawklike eyes, the shadow of a wingspan shaped out behind him. 

you gasp, nearly letting out a scream as you scramble to a seated position in your bed, bringing the sheets up to your chest. the man is nothing more than a silhouette, so dark in the moonlight, but you know, without seeing his face, that he is the one you’ve been searching for.

“osamu,” you say, trying to quell the fear that has made a home in your chest. you gawk at him as he uncrosses his arms, sauntering over like he owns the place, like he’s been here before, knows the shape of your body, even under the sheets you hide within. “you heard my prayers.” 

“i apologize for not coming faster,” he smiles in the darkness, teeth glimmering under beams of starlight. his face becomes visible then, and it steals your breath away—he is more stunning than you remember, skin nearly glowing, golden. “you were beginning to sound desperate.” osamu watches as your breathing evens out, your eyes flicking over his features. “is that still the case?” 

he is a sight to behold sitting before you, the very essence of power seeping off of him in waves. a creature crafted from the hands of god, shaped to be the very thing that would protect the weaker creations. 

osamu’s skin, his hair, every inch of him is without flaws, while you are but a sinful human girl who succumbs to each of her urges. 

“i want—” you stop, realizing that you’re not sure what you want. to be an actress, yes, a famous starlet that is cherished by the masses. but, when you look at osamu, the soft, plump shape of his lips, the lean limbs that hide under his tailored coat, you wonder if fame, security, comfort—perhaps, those aren’t the only things you desire from this exchange. “i accept—”

“you sound uncertain,” he interrupts, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. “you called me here, begged me to come steal you away, and now, you change your mind?”

“no!” you say, scrambling to grab his wrist as he starts to stand from the bed, his eyes flashing as you reach for him on all fours. “i’m not changing my mind. i want to be famous, i want to be yours.” you swallow, choking out the word as it turns your cheeks warm, the heat making its way up from your toes. 

it hit you harder that you anticipated, the taste of belonging to another. you aren’t sure if its because you’ve craved the connection for so long that it’s twisting your insides, turning you into something desperate, or if, already, you feel an invisible string tying you and this stranger together. 

“but?” osamu asks, still seeming like he’s about to flee, his eyes hard, blinking back at you. there is something about you that he wants, but he won’t take it, not unless you crave him just as much. it muddles your mind, confuses you—he could have anyone, could take anything. yet— 

“but why do you want me?” you ask, releasing him to curl your fingers around the blanket. “i don’t understand.” 

osamu balks, then laughs, his eyes crinkling as he regards you with some sort of gentleness. “perhaps i have always loved humans a little too much, much more than i should, at least.” he curls a piece of your hair around his finger, hums to himself. “innocent creatures that my father cursed with misery, blaming their own sinfulness against them.” osamu licks his lips, hungry as dark eyes cover your face. “but it’s not entirely your fault that you must bear the torment of generations. just as it is not my fault that i was born with a lust for something much more delicate than the creatures of heaven.” 

he strokes your cheek, fingers grazing you like you are nothing more than a piece of glass, that you might shatter under the force of his power. perhaps you would—with too much, he might break you, turn you into a pile of ash with a snap of his finger.  

“but there are millions of us to choose from,” you say, sweating under the blanket as your heart pounds in your chest. the breadth of his power becomes more obvious with every passing second, and yet, you crave  a taste of it. “what makes me so special?”

he wraps a large palm around your jaw, thumb pulling at your lower lip. the tip of it dips into your mouth as you watch him with wide eyes, frozen, but not from fear. “i was meant to be your guardian angel, to be the guide that leads you away from the devil until your dying breath.” he moves closer, dipping his head towards your lips, brown irises never leaving your own. “and yet, the moment i laid eyes on you, i had already broken the first rule.” 

you stumble over your syllables, whispering them breathlessly. “and what’s that?” 

osamu smiles, muttering the words against your mouth, his voice ghosting over your skin. “angels are wired to protect those that we are assigned to,” he says, swiping his tongue against your lip, just barely kissing you, the sounds low and breathy. “we’re not supposed to want to fuck them.” a finger drags slowly, sensuously up your arm, and you can’t move, can’t do anything but watch as he pushes you, sinks you slowly into the bed. “i have never wanted anything as badly as i want you.”

you breath, in and out, slow, as the heat settles in your stomach, a burning pool of need churning there. it’s been so long—so long—since anyone has touched you in a way that is kind, has wanted to please you, instead of steal from you. “all that, just for me?” you ask cheekily, though you’re still not sure that he is telling the truth. 

maybe he is the devil, but you no longer care. his voice is so sweet with praise and affirmation, bleeding into the softness of your heart. 

he shrugs. “perhaps i was always meant to fall.” your head hits the pillow. you aren’t sure when he got you pinned on the bed. osamu looms over you with wide, burning eyes, licking his lips with an ache he doesn’t bother to hide. 

“osamu,” you shudder, grabbing his bicep to steady yourself. it is too much, suddenly, all at once. you are filled with need for him, clawing at his skin as he commands complete control over you with nothing but his words. “i—”

your sentence is stolen away by a kiss, one that burns from your mouth all the way down to your toes. it twists something within you, turns you into a monstrous being that you had not realized you were, longing so recklessly to be touched. 

his hands roam over your body, touch featherlight as he removes your dress, drags it slowly off your body, eyes grazing over every inch of your skin like he wants to devour your whole.

he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, fingers lightly dipping down your chest, between the swell of your breast to your ribcage. “how cruel of our father to keep us from such divine creatures,” he says, leaning down to kiss up your stomach, lick the skin around your breasts. “perhaps we are the ones that are truly being punished.”

you writhe under him, hands curling in his hair as his own dips between your thighs. grabbing his scalp hard, you yank him back up to your lips, and your eyes meet, both dark and dangerous as you brush your nose against his own. “you are punishing me right now.” 

“is that so?” he laughs, eyes flashing with humor. “such a greedy, impatient little thing.” osamu slips out of his coat, his shirt, revealing the tent that has already grown in his slacks. they are the next to go, and his golden skin is revealed, the perfection of every line and angle of his body heavenly and refined. he leans down to whisper in your ear, breath ghosting the shell of it. “act like such a princess, but i know you want to be fucked until you can’t form a single thought, don’t you?” he says, and the coolness of his voice has you squeezing his shoulders, gasping out his name.

your skin burns, your chest burns, an ache gathering and settling deep in your stomach. your cunt throbs as you look at the angel before you, and he kisses down your neck, bites a hard bruise into your collarbone. 

you whimper, wondering why you ever questioned going with him, when he could make you feel this good from nothing more than his hands on your skin. 

“such pretty fucking tits.” he swirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, teasing the bud as you cry out loudly in the silent room. far too loudly for the thin walls, the cheap apartment. yet, you wonder if you care that your neighbors can hear the noises that come with your pleasure. 

“that’s it,” he purrs, kissing down your stomach before his lips reach your hipbone, smiling into the sensitive skin there. “so quiet before… thought i was doing something wrong.” 

“n-no,” you say, chest rising quickly as you watch him hover above your soaked cunt with anticipation. “feels good.” 

osamu smiles, spreads your legs farther, so your dripping, aching hole is on display, embarrassingly, every inch of you vulnerable to him. “look at you,” he says, eyes hazy as he holds you tight, digs his fingers in your skin. “so fucking perfect. bet you taste as good as you look.” 

there isn’t a moment for you to say a word—his head is already between your thighs, kissing your clit before sweeping his tongue through your folds, gathering up the wetness. a moan leaves his lips, and the vibration sends a wave of need through you as you squeeze his hair, force him back down on your cunt, nose dragging against your clit. “osamu, please.”

“ah, ah, ah,” he stops, licking his lips that are moist from your juices as his head lifts from between your thighs. a dark smile stretches across his features, calculating and cruel. “where are your manners, sweetheart? i don’t want you to cum too quickly.” 

you’re not sure what he means until you feel your hands pinned to the bed by an invisible force, the power of the angelic creature before you, finally obvious. you can’t move, can’t even writhe against him, even as you try to thrust your hips forward, gain any sort of relief from the position. 

he laughs at you, so pitiful at your desperation to be touched. “much better,” he says, and returns to lap at your cunt, tongue already stretching you as his fingers graze your thigh. 

“s-samu,” you say, feeling the heavy pressure build down in your stomach. “want,” your cheeks grow hot, and you’re tingling with a need to touch him, but you can’t move. his pace is too steady, too slow. you’ve never wanted to scream more. “want your fingers. please, please.” 

“please? such a good girl.” osamu grins against your pussy. the sound of his tongue slurping at your arousal is loud in the darkened space, and you clench around him, burning with need and shame. “you taste so good, too. better than any of the fucking shit in heaven. fuck.” he slips a finger in then, working at your clenching hole as his tongue curls around your clit, rubbing at the sensitive bud. 

your words leave you in a cry, every muscle in your body aching. “please, i want to move. let me touch you, i want to, i—”

“i’m not letting you go that easy,” osamu says, and he pulls his mouth away, his face glistening, soaked. his fingers curl into you and you squeeze your eyes tight as he reaches deeper, to the second knuckle. “you’re so fucking worked up. bet you could cum at the sound of my voice alone.” 

“i wanna, please, i’m so close—"

he laughs, looking up at you from under dark lashes. “already?” the sound is mocking, nothing about it soft as he kisses your inner thigh. he sees the desperation in your irises as you can do nothing but stare, unable to twitch a single muscle. “gonna cum all over my face?” he asks, and he’s back between your legs, tongue diving into you. “make a mess on me, sweetheart, wanna see that pretty face of yours when you cum.” 

you don’t think you’ve every felt like this before, basked in the moonlight as the angelic man soaks his face with your desire, smiling at the sight of you so sinful. your heart hammers in your chest as you remember what you’ve promised him—that you would be his forever and, perhaps, this is what forever entails. 

breathy moans leave you, and with each thrust of his tongue, you’re left with less words on your lips, less thoughts in your mind. “feels so good, you’re so good, osamu,” you babble, over and over. 

osamu reaches the deep spot inside of you, and you squeeze him, clenching as you come on his fingers, cry out in the space of black room, nothing but the stars to guide you. you’re not sure you’ve ever come this fast before, not without the help of your own hands, but osamu just continues to lap at your cunt, drinking the juices and making lewd noises of pleasure at the taste of you. “mm,” he hums, “so fucking perfect.”

he fists his cock, already hard as his tongue swirls inside of you, and you lose any train of thought, too focused on the way he’s making you feel. 

osamu is hard, leaking before he shifts onto his knees, rubbing his cock between your folds, gathering slick at the tip. “want my cock, baby? such a pretty thing deserves it, don’t you think?”

you nod, muttering syllables you don’t even understand. osamu teases you, drags his cock against your hole as he kisses your lips. 

“use your words, sweetheart,” he smiles. his soaked fingers leave patterns of your own slick on your stomach. 

you groan, eyelashes wet. “want your cock, ‘samu, please, wanna be stuffed so full,” you babble, and you can’t do anything but lay there, even though you want to touch him, want so badly to shift your hips into him. “please, osamu, please,” 

he makes a noise in the back of his throat, grinning as he plays with your nipple, lining himself against your dripping hole. “so fucking sweet for me, anyone would think you were the angel, wouldn’t they?” osamu asks, and then he sinks into you, slow, eyes careful as he searches for any pain in your features. 

you blink up at him, making a soft noise as you writhe under your skin. “b-big,” you say, feeling him stretch your walls as he sinks further. 

though his eyes are careful, he doesn’t bother to stop, each second dragging as he inches further into you. he laces his fingers with yours on the bed, grinning as dark hair falls into his eyes. “i think you can take it, can’t you? you’ve been sogood for me already.” 

sucked into the coolness of his gaze, you don’t realize that he’s released you from whatever spell you’ve been trapped under, kept helpless on the bed. you gasp as he sinks into you completely, aching from a mix of discomfort and the deep need with you. 

“too much,” you say, but he sinks further, deeper, and your walls clench around him, bringing a heavy groan out of both of you. “fuck, please, let me move, i—” 

“i’m not stopping you,” he kisses you hard, sloppy as his saliva drags across your lips. there’s a possessiveness in the way he fucks you, dragging his mouth across your own, claiming you as his. “you take it so fucking well, angel, slipping right into this soaked pussy.”

his words take a moment to reach your disoriented mind, and when you try to move, you can, your hands flying to his shoulders to bring him closer. your whimpers are loud in the hollow room, and osamu loves the sound of you, drinking each little whisper in like a heavenly elixir. 

“you’re so pretty,” he says, kissing across your forehead as you arch into him. “making you feel good, hm? so fucking innocent, and i’m ruining you.” 

“mmm,” you force the sound out as osamu thrusts into you, hard against the mattress, his hips moving in a steady, fast rhythm. hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his brown eyes even darker in the midnight hour. 

your fingers graze across his back, between his shoulder blades, and though your touch is featherlight, he freezes, stops immediately with a loud groan as he clamps his teeth down on your shoulder. 

you breath in sync, your chests rising and falling together. “osamu?” you ask, staring up at him, his eyes pinched together tightly as he grits his teeth. 

“sensitive,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “fuck, i’ll cum on the spot if you touch me there.” 

you blink, your haziness clearing as you let your hands fall to your sides. it takes you a moment to realize why he would curl away from your touch there, why he would—

“your wings?” you ask, and he drags his gaze back up to your’s, nodding, before dropping his head onto your collarbone. he exhales into your neck, resuming a slow, steady pace inside you. though, you place a hand on his chest, feel his erratic heartbeat. “can i see?” 

“you don’t want to.” 

you pinch your eyebrows together, but he shifts his hips, forces a cry out of you as you collapse back down against the mattress. “i do,” you argue, but he’s fucking you mercilessly, sensuous sounds echoing in the room as he attempts to distract you. “i want to.” 

he’s about to deny your request, but you let out another soft please, batting your eyelashes so sweetly. your cheeks are flushed from the heat in the room, and, for some reason, he relents, bowing his head in some sort of remorse. slowly, his wings span out across the room. 

you lose your breath for a moment as you stare at them, muddled from the feeling of him inside and the beautiful sight before you. the wings are thick, black and feathery, spanning the length of the room, casting a dark shadow over you. they’re strong and unwavering, with a sheen that could be seen only on a raven, the light turning the shades from a deep purple to green. 

“oh,” you can’t mutter anything else as he drags his tip against the sensitive spot inside you. “oh, they’re so beautiful. fuck, osamu, i can’t—”

you can’t stop yourself from touching them, dragging a gentle touch against one of the feathers. osamu cries out, groans into your mouth as your walls clench around him, sweat dripping between you as your chest presses against his own.

“shit,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “oh, i’m so close. gonna make me come, aren’t you, baby? squeezing me so fucking tight, touching me like that.” 

his eyes are hazy, and, somehow, for some reason, he’s let you have control of the situation. he kisses your face, treats you with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of, his lips so warm against your skin. 

the dark, heavy wings cage you in, falling over the two of you, and you run your fingers against them once more as you feel another orgasm creep upon you. your clit rubs against him, and your slick drips between the two of you, down your thighs as your breath catches in your throat. 

for a moment, you revel in the feeling of him deep inside you, and you close your eyes, his feathered wings so soft under your palm, letting your pleasure overtake you.

though that is short-lived as osamu pinches your jaw.

“hey,” he says gruffly, “look at me. want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you cum.” and though his eyes are soft, delicate from the way you’re stroking his wings, he sounds so mean, so possessive. “gonna fuck all my cum inside you, cause you’re mine now.”

your fingers curl around the feathers, hard as you tug him down towards you. osamu moans deep into your mouth when you clench around him, your orgasm rolling over you again as you scream his name into the blackness of the room. 

“such a good girl f’me, fuck, i—” he doesn’t finish his sentence, already filling your soaked pussy with his cum. it seeps deep inside of you, coating your walls white until he pulls out, lets his seed drip between the two of you. 

osamu presses his fingers across your face, dragging the delicate touch around your jaw, your chin as you breath heavily, still awestruck by the creature before you. you’re exhausted, sleepy, eyes hazy as you regard him with stuttered breath. 

but he doesn’t let you go, kissing you over and over again with flushed lips. “i know you can give me one more,” he says in a low voice, humming against your throat. “my perfect mortal girl. just one more, and i’ll give you whatever you want, got it, pretty?” 

your body aches, sensitive and spent, but you don’t object when he slips another finger into, kissing you hard as he lets you touch his raven wingspan. 

you’d always wanted to be an actress, anyways. 

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

[allthekingssmut]

She's Rough And Coarse And Gets Everywhere

Jeon Heejin - Male Reader Word Count - 7.5k (2.2K) Tags: Rough Sex, Coarse Language and only trace amounts of sand... hopefully.

A/N: Welcome to Sandstorm 2: Electric Boogaloo, aka the reboot but not really since the original didn't happen. Which unfortunately means you're stuck with me. All joke's aside, this started as a anniversary present for Flint, which looking at the date... is pretty fucking late lol. Anyway, super big thanks to @nsfwflint for helping my rookie ass out and just being a cool dude all-round.

God, it is hot, a thought you trace as you find yourself nestled in the dark, dingy corner of Chalmun's Cantina. Even over the roar of crashing glasses and seedy elements, it always feels like your home away from home.

It helps that the music is decent.

Still, you can pick out a familiar guttural bark through the swells of liquor and hazy smoke.

"Shouldn't you be at work, kid?"

Chalmun.

His fingers flex and tug at his grey handlebar mustache... Can Wookiees even have mustaches? A lie pulls at the edge of your lips, tempting as it might be, but you know better.

"I-Uh, yeah," your teeth chew at the inside of your cheek. "Yeah, I should be."

"Do I need to remind you of the deal?"

You roll your eyes, something you hope he doesn't quite see or understand. "I get to freeload as much as I want as long as I help out Heejin."

"Which you are..."

"Not doing," a resigned sigh whispers past your lips. "I get it, I get it, it's just really hot in the garage."

Not a complete lie.

There's a flicker of an annoyed snarl that plays across his features, a hint of worry lingers in your gut. A deep inhale sets him at ease, a smile tickles across his lips.

"One would think you're not used to the twin suns of Tatooine," you feel his firm grip against your shoulder, raw and brutishly animalistic. "Odd, considering you've lived here your whole life."

A thumb bounces against his lip almost playfully in thought.

"Or perhaps something else is making it hard to focus and unbearably hot?"

He is right, there is no point doing it. Fight as you must, your brain lingers where it shouldn't. Her taut, sweat-soaked abs, the swell of her hips barely hidden by her jumpsuit.

You feel the greeting of cold glass against your skin, a bottle of liquor offered to your hand.

"Maybe this will help with the heat."

-

Despite your claims, the garage provides a welcome respite from familiar heats. The squelch of sand gives way to rigid metal.

"Is that you, Gogglehead?" Her voice echoes from deeper within, no doubt immersed in your work.

Pop the bottle, take a swig, cool off.

Focus up if you can.

The liquor saunters through every nerve, syrupy and sweet.

Kowakian rum. 

Maybe it will help, if only to make you regret your existence tomorrow.

"Yeah, stopped off at Chalmun's for a drink," your feet dot around a corner, seeking her familiar tortuous figure. "Do you want some?"

You catch the faintest outline of her voice, her feet dangling out of the chassis, a tangled mess of wires and cords, the wiggle of her ass taunts you with an enticing sway.

Her back arches back with the swivel of her gaze. A furrowed crease lingers on her brow.

"I can't seem to get the pod to start."

You press two firm fingers into your temple, as it seems you now have two reasons to drink today.

Your tongue tastes the edge of your teeth with a stinging annoyance. "That's because I removed the thrust coil."

There's a flare of annoyance dotting each step towards you, the dance of a scoff against her lips. "I thought I told you the thrust coil was fine."

Her pointed finger prods at your chest, still, it's hard to ignore the slight hint of cleavage in her tube top.

Wait, were those your goggles?

The briefest touch sparks in your brain with a subtle intoxication, a want for more.

Her voice lingers in the air, the low huskiness is captivating even in spite of her irritated parlance.

A slow release of air is all you can manage.

Focus.

"Yeah, technically. Except it wasn't fitted properly for the cooling pump."

All this talk of thrusts and pumps isn't helping.

"Which, as you know, would make the engine blow."

A stressed huff is all that escapes her lips, fingers dancing across her temples as her eyes crawl shut.

There's a slightly forced smile that splinters across her lips, "What were you asking about again?"

Her lips soften as her eyes adjust over you, reinforced with a proper smile.

The glass bottle almost seems foreign and forgotten at that moment, "Uh, Kowakian Rum."

Her nostrils flare ever so slightly, her lips roil and dance with the idea before an exasperated sigh joins the fray with knotted eyebrows like tangled cablework.

"I'd love some, but I can't."

Huh?

"Excuse me, what?" The words sound more surprised and scornful than you anticipated, dancing in the simmering heat. You offer an arched eyebrow as a consolation. "Could you repeat that?"

Her lips flatten, curving into the tiniest frown.

"I said I'd love to, but I can't."

She stresses the word once again, you catch the flash of an almost cringe-induced grimace.

There's an almost troubled weight to her brow. A far cry from the Heejin you knew with a liquor tab nine pages deep.

You take another swig, almost habitual as the bottle rests in your hand.

"Do I even want to know?"

There's the lingering whispers of embarrassment that echo through her body onto her features, a dejected huff.

"Well, the Boonta Eve Classic is soon."

Your eyebrows knit together in a handshake of confusion.

"Yeah, next week. What's that got to do with today?"

There's the briefest flicker of her tongue against her lips before her teeth bite taut.

Her fingers pinch at the bridge of her nose as she paces.

"It's dumb, but my old coach would make us cut out all our vices before a race."

You offer her an understanding nod before taking another swig.

More for you.

Sweet rum trickles through your lips as a question cradles at the edge of your brow, before placing the bottle against the ground.

"So, like boxers before a fight?"

It would explain why you've been able to find moments away from her at the cantina.

"Yeah, exactly the same."

It's habitual the way your hands work and coast through wires and machinery, a habit you picked up from your father.

"Is that why you've been a bit…" Your hands struggle through the mess wrought by Heejin's handiwork, locked seals and knotted wires.

"Of a bitch?" She scoffs, a scowl burns across her face.

"Not the words I would've used," your eyes dance across the sandy brown ceiling. "Passionate, maybe?"

You catch the edge of a laugh, hidden by the roll of her eyes. Her laughter ripples with a melodic spring that dances and bounces against the tension that once hung thick in the air.

Still, there's something else that crinkles against your skin, a scintillating static that teases thoughts best left unsaid.

They're unprofessional, to say the least.

Yet, your eyes linger against Heejin, leaving the task at hand forgotten and abandoned. You swear she feels it too, if only for a second.

"Passionate, huh?" There's a flash of amusement that twinkles in her eyes. It twists slowly under your gaze before her eyes narrow, her voice drops lower with its husky richness, almost tauntingly. "Chalmun said you had a mouth on you."

There's something about the way that word rolls off her tongue, the coy dance as she moves closer.

Yet, she says nothing of it, of the deeper insinuation that lingers against your brain. Instead, her hands move with practiced precision, deftly manipulating wires and connectors, untangling the mess she'd left you with.

It's a practice you're used to with other clients. Why should you undo their missteps? Yet, there's a sensual grace to her movements, a fluidity that reminds you that she isn't a slouch in the mechanic department.

Yet, your brain lingers on the other applications such grace could be used for.

She pauses, taken by a sudden thought. There's the flicker of a smirk as she turns to you. "Being a little rough, or even bold, is more my style."

You lean against the nearby workbench, watching her continue to work in silence for a moment. You quickly find the rum in your hand once again, the cool liquid soothes your parched throat, but it does nothing for the simmering heat that lingers in your mind.

Your eyes never leave her taunting sweat-soaked figure, the lingering taste of rum on your tongue only intensifies your imagination and longing.

The question bites at your lips before you can even stop it.

"So, cutting out vices, huh?" You finally respond, your voice rich and huskier than you intended, betraying the thoughts that lingered. "Does that mean no late-night  indulgences of any kind?"

Heejin looks up at you, her gaze meeting yours, a flicker of intrigue glimmering in her eyes. She pauses for a brief moment, as if weighing her response, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Well, let's just say that focus and discipline are essential before a race," she says, her voice lower, carrying a sensual edge that carves a shiver down your spine. "But let's just say all this talk of pumps and thrust isn't helping me with my frustrations."

The innuendo in her words hangs heavy in the air, weaving a web of temptation that becomes harder to resist. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the air between you charged with an undeniable chemistry.

Your gaze lingers on her as she continues working, her body moving with a seductive grace that seems to draw you in closer. The image of her sweat-soaked jumpsuit clings to her curves, amplifying the allure she exudes. The desire to reach out and touch her becomes almost overwhelming, but you fight to maintain composure.

As you approach her, your voice is laced with a mixture of desire and restraint. "Tell you what, when we win, I'll buy you as many drinks as you want."

Heejin's eyes darken slightly, her fingers pausing momentarily in their task. A smile plays at the edge of her lips, tossing and turning. She leans closer to you, her breath caressing your ear as she whispers, "Don't let your mouth write checks you can't cash, Gogglehead."

Her fingers play at your collar, a twinkling mischievous glint in her eye.

The suggestive implication hangs in the air, leaving your senses reeling. It takes all your self-control to keep your composure as the sexual tension between you and Heejin becomes nearly palpable.

With a knowing smile, you take a step back, forcing yourself to break away from the electrifying energy that crackles between you. "Let's focus up. We can't win if the pod isn't working in the first place."

Heejin's eyes follow your movement, a mix of longing and frustration flickering in her gaze. She bites her lip, as it falters, pushed back by the need for victory or perhaps something else?

A twitch of a smile lingers.

-

Tension hangs sticky and thick like the sweat that clings desperately to your overalls, there’s an anxious pace to your movements. Each wire, each connector, and every intricate detail weigh heavily on your mind and body, with ache and strain.

One small misstep spells defeat... or perhaps even worse.

As soon as the pod leaves the garage, it’s out of your hand. Heejin is no slouch, unless something catastrophically wrong happens... She can handle it. 

Something you need to remind yourself of.

Yet, even as the days quickly blur together, there is a... weird nonchalance to her. That isn't the right word.

Calm and collected. 

Unnerving. 

At least compared to the itchy stressed friction you have grown accustomed to, though perhaps it is just her storied experience kicking in. 

Even if she has been out of the saddle for a bit. 

Still, it does nothing to settle your own worries.

“You know someone would think you’re the one racing Gogglehead,” her voice dances with a teasing playfulness. Even as you scan over the engine for the umpteenth time, you can practically see the smirk that plays on her soft lips—

Focus up.

“I-” How do you say you worry? That maybe it’s not so bad working with someone who isn’t useless an- “I just don’t want you blaming me if you lose.”

It's cocky the way her teeth flare, as her eyes look you up and down. A scoff echoes from her lips, the thought simply unimaginable. "And here I was thinking you were worrying about me."

Her fingers play at the collar of your jumpsuit, and it's hard to ignore the heat that builds  with her touch. The way electricity hums under your skin as she steps closer, pushing into your space with an ease she only knows.

"Plus..." she whispers, and you feel each syllable brush against your skin, it’s light yet tempting all the same, pushing you with coaxing waves towards the edge.

The worry is almost an afterthought as her hand crests your hip. Her voice dips to a sultry, soft, husky whisper. "I have something of a good luck charm with me."

It creeps in your chest, the sparks that dance with her touch. You know better, as her lips peak with a smile, taunting and teasing. Still, it's hard to ignore the magic hidden in a magician devious yet charismatic trickery.

You hate the part of your brain that accepts she might be referring to you. Her taunts and jabs, a way to ease the tension that builds under her skin without indulgence.

It stings, as you bite your tongue, fighting the pull she has. You roll your eyes, step back, hand grasping a cloth to wipe away sweat and grease that mar your skin.

It's easier to breathe without her held in your gaze, your mind clears against her temptation. Still, you can't help but feel the heat that lingers thick in the air with her mere presence.

"Yeah, and what's this good luck charm?" you bite the bait, it's unwitting and against your character as your eyes stray back towards her plunging back into the thick heat.

Her lips brighten with that beautiful smile that pulls you deep and tugs at your core. 

You almost miss when she is insufferable in a different way.

Still, there's a weird softness that flickers briefly on her lips, burning into her eyes for haunting microseconds. Your brain begs to understand what it means, if there is more under the surface. 

But it quickly fades, a nameless speck of sand lost in an ocean.

She pulls out a familiar object, your eyebrows knit together—when did she?

"Really? My goggles?"

Your keepsake, your namesake, has been an afterthought against the heated hours in the garage. Too focused on the pod as a way to ignore the temptations that linger on the horizon.

She cocks her head to the side, the flare of her teeth with a scrunch of her nose tells you everything. Your reaction is priceless to her. To be fair, you completely forget about them in the ebb and flow of your conversation last week.

Still, there's a flit of actual happiness that plays on her lips, curving into a brief yet genuine smile.

You remember the hazy conversations from weeks long past, held in the drunken allure of the Cantina. A confession of vulnerability on your part, held together with liquor and a rare interest in you.

Your father's goggles.

Your good luck charm.

Yet, it means nothing to her, should mean nothing to her. The contradictions to your thoughts and assumptions linger on the sparks that twinkle in her eyes.

Her words are fuel to the fire.

"Of course~" her voice saunters with a teasing edge., flickering against the embers of something more. "A reminder of all the free drinks you'll owe me."

Her words poke and prod, flecked with a flirtatious taunt. Yet there's something that hums deep at the base of her voice, it twists with words unspoken. 

Perhaps you're putting too much value on yourself in her eyes? 

Yet it bounces and lodges in your brain, her own hushed worry.

The idea that you'd be with her, at least in spirit or a reminder of who to win for.

You catch the hitch of a smirk that scatters across her lips, the wind-up for another remark or jab.

"Plus, I can't wait to see all your winnings disappear on my tab."

A groan leaves your lips before you can stave it off, perhaps you are just her mechanic. A damn good one, mind you. Hell, you'd dare to say one of the best.

At least on Tatooine.

"Yeah, yeah." Your hands are already smoothing out the last details with the Pod, closing hatches and double-checking connectors. Your hands stray and drift, placing your goggles on her head. "Just make sure to bring those back, okay?"

Again, there's that flare of softness that beckons at the edge of her eyes as she looks up at you.

A weird tenderness clings in the air, it's vapid and calming. An entirely different beast to the charged and heated air you often share.

"I'd hate to come up with a different nickname for you after all."

-

The aftermath is a storm of its own kind, a mess of sweltering heat in Mos Espa's Grand Arena, charged with tense excitement.

It's violent and sudden, like a crash of thunder to the chest. Your human eyes aren't able to keep up with the sudden burst of sand that trails through the arena.

The roar of the crowd, akin to a gunshot breaking through the air, is the only evidence the race is over.

There's a hum of worry that lingers in your lungs, shoulders tense with an anxious weight. Your hand grips at Chalmun's shoulder, his fur jitters underneath your touch.

A roar tears through the air, a simple guttural howl, animalistic and excited.

Heejin would've probably asked you what he said.

A cheer of excitement, elation... but also smugness? You watch as his eyes dart towards the Hutt Clan's private box, the lavish adornments are lost on you as you catch a pained, scorned look echo across the Hutt's face.

You don't need to know Huttese to know someone is going to get fired.

Chalmun's energy is infectious as he grips your shoulders, lost in the throes of victory he shakes you violently.

Pain twitches through you as the world becomes a blur, yet even with the pain, your brain is focused only on her, the small speck in the distance putting on a show.

Flared waves of sand make it all the harder to pick her out through her victory laps.

Still, you can imagine her smile all the same.

-

It's unnerving, the chill bustle of the night air that saunters through Mos Eisley. Even through the thick haze of laughter, celebrations, and intoxication.

Chalmun's is your home away from home, normally you'd be in the thick of merriment, a sly attempt at free drinks. But something is missing... and you're hesitant to acknowledge it.

Have you been so caught up in the insinuation, the allure of her words that you've actually fallen for them?

...No, you're just tired.

Probably.

Still, you owe yourself a drink at the very least, a chance to join the revelry. After all, it is a rare thing for the Cantina to be filled with fewer of the more rambunctious and unsavory types you've known all your life.

You wave at Ackmena, two fingers a signal for your usual. She smiles, moving with a comforting warmth. If only she could work day shifts instead of Wuher.

Your drink slides over, punctuated with a wink.

"Thank-" the drink is gone in a flash, snapped up in a blur and returned with a slam.

Empty.

Some of the more usual behavior you're used to. A scowl licks at your teeth, your fist clenches tensed with an eagerness to make amends.

"You mind telling me why?" You ask, twisting around prepared to deck the dumbas-

Heejin or at the very least a beautiful woman in her shape and mannerism. The flare of teeth that takes pleasure in your reaction gives it away.

But fuck is she breath-taking, you mean no slight towards her usual appearance. If anything, there is a unique allure to the messy sweat-soaked and grease-smattered appearance that you've grown used to.

Replaced, draped in a luxurious fur coat that almost mocks Chalmun's usual patrons if it didn't enhance her already enrapturing allure. Her black crop top taunts you with the flare of her abs and soft curves aided by her black shorts and leather boots.

Her skin is no longer a teasing insinuation in your unfocused moments, rather a full-fledged suggestion for desire to latch on to, tooth and claw.

A girl out on the prowl through Coruscant's tempestuous nightlife, if you didn't know any better.

Her grin creases into a smirk, because oh god, you're staring and she knows.

It's hard not to, even with the flare of obnoxious confidence that glitters in her eyes.

Any words you have die in your throat, assailed by her charm.

Her tongue flits across her lips with a seductive grace, how would it feel against you in every sense of the word?

"If I'm not mistaken, someone promised me drinks." It's tantalizing the way she pulls herself close to you, lips hovering against your ear. "I intend to get my fill."

It's paradoxical the way you feel underdressed and yet overdressed for your desires. Heat prickles at the nape of your neck, your body's insinuation for how much you stick out, your jumpsuit mere rags in her company.

You knew you didn't, hoped you didn't. Yet it's hard to focus on logic when she lingers so close to you, her short hair tickling your skin.

Her proximity teeters on the edge of electric and intoxicating.

You're thankful your mind lingers on a memory, brief and fluttering, a passing conversation to ease the heat that settles in your core.

"Why the short hair?" An attempt at idle chit-chat before liquor loosened you up to conversation.

"My coach suggested it, said it'd get in the way." An oddly straightforward answer for the racer, you didn't know better back then.

You still remember the touch of her fingers as she leant closer, eyes focused, her voice dropping low to that tauntingly low husky whisper. "When fighting, racing, or fucking."

The grip of her hand pulls you back, calloused yet soft. You can feel the whisper of a smile, her breath tickling your cheek.

"Show me how you do it," her voice saunters like honey dripping with seductive sweetness, you cling to her words against the overwhelming bustle of a busy cantina. "Teach me."

It's hard to ignore the heat that builds, you know she's talking about slipping an order to Ackmena. But you can't help stiffen under the insinuation that haunts and tempts you.

You can practically see the pleasure that would quiver across her lips, tempting her to aid you.

A dry swallow is all you can manage to fight off the thought, a temporary fix.

She follows your guiding touch, moving with an almost uncharacteristic soft tentativeness. "Just like that?"

You swear you catch her breath hitch when your hand clasps against hers, pushing her fingers into place with unintended roughness.

A rare moment of catching her flat-footed, yet the moment drifts away like sand between your fingers before you can pounce.

A firm hand binds your wrists together.

Tork, Chalmun's bouncer.

"Boss needs the both of you in his office, pronto," his voice booms, despite his overwhelming stature and size, a small dumb animalistic fleck of your brain is tempted with the idea of a brawl.

Thankfully, Heejin moves first, slipping her hand out of his grip with spry ease. "We'll be there right away."

She smiles, the soft disarming smile you almost don't see anymore. Earning her a soft nod from the pale blue bouncer.

She shuffles slightly, straightening out her clothes.

"Wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly good day for him."

Tork only grunts in response before guiding you both through labyrinthine sandstone backrooms, the rooms twist and turn with each step before you find yourself in front of familiar doors.

Familiar is a generous term, only having seen them once when you were a kid. Your heart prickles with anxiety at the thought.

You're surprised when the door opens softly, his familiar brown fur gesturing for you to come inside.

You inch forward, your blood thrumming in your veins. You take in the dimly lit office, a timeless recreation from your youth. Your gaze falls upon the wall of blasters and you can feel their powerful presence.

You can still practically taste the freshly heated air, cooked with blaster fire. A fragment that haunts you from years long since past.

Still you push through, nudging Heejin away from the small inviting coffee table opposite his desk, the plush decorative rug stained with years old coffee hints at its sinister nature.

You didn’t want to see another victim, let alone Heejin of all people.

She falls in line with your touch, trusting your guidance. As Chalmun moves with a frenetic pace, a giddiness that keeps him moving.

Though you doubt Heejin could see the nuances when it comes to the Wookie.

"I wish I'd been alerted to your presence sooner," he smiles through his guttural barks. "My friends should only drink the finest liquor."

He rummages through cabinets and containers with a rough ferocity.

You roll your eyes, a smile twists across your lips. "Here I was thinking it was something bad. You can't get Tork to tell us you want to reward us?"

You catch a sigh of relief from Heejin at your words.

"Please, boy, where is the fun in that?" He beams a well-placed smile as he produces two familiar bottles. "I deserve some fun despite your efforts."

"I doubt you brought us here just for two bottles of Kowakian rum... even for a little bit of fun on your end."

"Of course not, make yourself at home, away from the riff-raff and her adoring fans." Mischief dances in his eyes as he steps closer, twisting the flare of a smirk against his lips. "I have a Sabacc game to get to, an attempt by the slugs to regain their honor."

"Alright, boss." Your eyebrows twitch, unsure of what he's playing at or for. He moves with confidence, shuffling past you towards the door.

There's a moment of hesitance as he turns back to you for the briefest second. "Just don't make too much of a mess."

"What was that about?" She asks, head tilting to the side with less than subtle curiosity. The Wookie becomes nothing but an afterthought, a fading ember in your isolated presence with Heejin.

"Oh," you turn to her, biting your lip. "He just wanted us to make ourselves comfortable and enjoy his private stock."

Even in the dim light born from the single illumination panel behind the desk, you can pick out the way her eyes narrow. Her lips purse, teasing on the edge of a question. "What about that last thing? It seemed pointed at you."

Her voice hums with something foreign, at least to your interactions.

Worry?... No, that doesn't seem right. Her nature, her confidence forbids the very idea. No, it's something else that dances tauntingly at the tip of your tongue.

"Relax, it was nothing, Heej," the nickname rolls off your tongue before you can even stop it, you watch as it lingers in the air, moving with a sauntering slowness. Your brain jostles with awkward apologies that die in your thoughts before finally it lands.

Square in her chest, judging from the swell of her smile.

"You don't have to call me that, you know?" there's a warmth that's strange on her lips, a flicker of softness as her eyes linger on you. "It's nice, though."

Her feet shuffle, shifting under the weight of vulnerability. She develops a sudden interest in everything, except for you. Unable to build up the courage to look you in the eye.

To speak plainly too, apparently. A rare silence fills the void in conversation.

A smile bubbles to your lips, you should cut her some slack, offer her a life ring. "We were gonna drink, weren't we?"

Your words cobble together the version of Heejin you're used to, fluttering eyelashes and teasing smirks.

She preens under your gaze with a sultry swipe of her tongue across her lips. Each movement is enticing, weighed heavy with calculated seduction.

The sway of her ass buzzes with a tantalizing edge, pushing into your space with a graceful twirl. "Yes, we were."

Your baser instincts beg for permission, to indulge her in her attempts. To feel your hands carve into her taut, firm ass as you take her. 

It's hard to ignore the stiffening desire that stirs in your loins, her hand traces your chest pushing you back into the hardwood desk.

A smirk blooms across her lips, dancing with the often-times obnoxious confidence you'd grown to love to hate. It's hard to resist the tug, the control she has over you. 

The only defense, the only respite you can manage is found in a bottle of Kowakian rum. 

Syrupy sweet indulgence.

Her hand brushes over your bottle-held grasp, coaxing it out of your grasp into the embrace of her lips. She's less than subtle, as the liquor spills from her lips, trickling in enticing rivulets down her chin.

A knowing wink, pulls you deeper as she continues to imbibe; desperate to get her fill. Awe and admiration bubbles underneath your skin as she throws back the bottle and all of its contents.

The bottle slams against the desk, a devilish grin burns across her lips. She looks up at you, cheeks flushed with liquor that lingers on her every breath.

Her tongue plays against her lips, her eyes sparkle with a flash of insight, a realization.

Her teeth tense against her bottom lip, as the air cackles with tension, heavy and sweltering.

A flash of resignation, as words leave her lips.

"So," her voice drips with a hungry, ravenous need that you didn't need to hear, you could already feel it. The soft ministration of her hand against your clothed cock. "Are we gonna fuck or what?"

Gone is the pretense, replaced with a desperate gnawing need for her fill. It's intoxicating the way her lips quiver and crack against raw primal hunger.

Your hands crest her hair, soft and delicate as a wry smirk bounces across her lips. Her eyes settle on yours, beaming with anticipation and an unmistakable craving that eagerly awaits your command.

Her head tilts back, her silky locks spilling around her face in waves of delight.

A gasp shatters with a moan as your calloused hand tugs her hair, pulling her closer into your embrace. Her breath hitches and floats on the edge of another moan as you press against her contours.

You take your time savoring each sensation, the heat searing through the air as though it were tangible. Your mouth burns against her neck, leaving bruises that smolder in your wake. Each cinder pushes a smile against her, each ember pulls a purr into her throat.

Your cock is an afterthought against the hazy pleasure that twists and churns in the back of your skull. It aches and yearns, an animalistic need to consume her in your roaring flames, reduce her to an ash that knows only your name.

It's instinctual, the way your hands wander and rove over her body, teasing and taunting in equal measure as you whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

"You weren't kidding," a smirk hangs on your lips between flame-licked bruises. You lock your fingers through her hair, hungrily drawing her tight, clawing a soft whimper from her throat. Your hand trickles down her back with playful fingertips, haunting the edge of her hip before finally carving into her ass with a voracious slap. "Rough is definitely your style."

A flash of shock sparks against her features, eyes wide and mouth jar before it shifts into a hungry, carnal smile as her eyes latch tight to yours. She had no escape, but you doubt she'd want to.

You catch the turn of gears, a witty comeback in the making. Yet, you're too focused on the way her supple, taut ass feels against your hand. Your fingers teeter on the edges of her hips, creeping along the divot of her abs, plucking at the button of her short with a teasing flare.

Her words are shaky, barely discernible against the soft moans that escape her lips, blooming into a whiney drawn out fuck, as your fingers snake through her shorts and past her underwear.

Holy fuck is she wet.

A desperate quiver ripples across her lips strengthened with each passionate caress, her throat hums begging for more as your fingers slide into her slick heat, a flooded river of anticipation.

Your mouth clashes with hers, hot and frenzied as the air sizzles with passion. Her tongue crashes against yours, a carnal dance that leaves you gasping for more.

A tug of her hair earns a breathy honeyed moan as a smile twists across her lips, cocky and headstrong. Slowly it fades shifting with the guidance of your pleasure soaked fingers bucking against her sweet spot.

Any thoughts, any words jumble and die in her throat, replaced with a whispered please. Ecstasy ignites like a wildfire across her face tightening into a low whine as you hold her just shy of the precipice.

Her hips buck with a desperate plea, begging for release in the hazy mist of pleasure.

Yet, something fights within her at the edge of her lips, a small defiant fragmented shard.

Her hand caresses your cock, no longer a forgotten afterthought in your pursuit. She purrs as she strokes at your clothed length.

"I think someone deserves some attention," her voice dripping with seduction, a husky warmth. A veiled attempt to regain some semblance of control. "Let's see if it was worth all the anticipation~"

Her movements are smooth and focused, still you notice the weak wobble of her knees as she peels away your jumpsuit by the zip. Her fingers dance with an electric spark-filled tension slowly creeping to your boxers.

It's intoxicating the way her tongue flits across her lips as she drops to her knees. Raw hunger bounces across her lips, quivering in anticipation.

Her hands tremble and shake, a small crack in her veneer of confidence.

Her eyes linger and smolder burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow you whole. Her lips part with the slightest breath, her teeth clench tight against her bottom lip, her gaze unflinching as she slowly and deliberately peels away your boxers.

It's delicious and succulent, the surprise that echoes across her features, punctuated with a gasp as your cock smacks against her soft, dewy lips like a thunderclap of passion. The shock sends ripples all the way across her face as it curves around the bridge of her nose and plunges off the edge of her forehead.

A warm hum blooms in her throat, cresting into a pleasure drunk giggle as she nuzzles against your shaft.

"Oh fuck," she whispers her eyes dance along your shaft, the glint of held back fantasies glimmer in her eyes. Her hand pumps and twists across your length, extraditing a moan from your lips with her eagerness. Her breath hitches with a hungry excitement, tickling your shaft in between lovingly pressed kisses. "You should've told me, you had such a... fat cock."

She continues, lost in her ministrations, slowly and tantalizingly drawing out your pleasure as you groan against her soft touch. Yet, you can pluck out the fine line edge she balances on, the sound of slick wetness indulged as she pants heavily slapping her face with your cock. "You could've had me anyway you wanted you know?"

It's a feverish, lavish dance of her tongue around your cock, strung together with a primal and wild urgency, as if she would die if she didn't taste you against her tongue. Her lathered spit slowly christens every inch of your shaft, marking it as her territory.

Her gaze is a siren’s call, inviting you to dive into her depths. Her lips akin to silk as they tease the head of your cock

Her hands guide your own cresting through her hair, a silent encouragement to ravage her without restraint.

The sensation is inescapable, as your throbbing cock slipping past her dewy soft lips, plunging into her depths. You can feel the hum of a depraved smile as she gags and chokes against the sheer length of your cock, unable to fully take you.

It's a sputtering cough that echoes from her lips, hazed with watery eyes as she clutches for air.

"Come on, I can take it," there's a flare of a scowl against her teeth. "Don't be a bitch."

She asked for it.

Your hands tighten in her hair as she sucks and pulls in surprise, sending waves of pleasure shooting to your core. She looks up at you through heavy lidded eyes, smoldering with desire. Her fingers grip tightly around your shaft as her muscles contract around you - a gentle reminder that she will never let you go.

You push further into her until you bottom out, her nose pressed to your navel.

You're fully engulfed in heat and wetness as she begins to moan around you - softly at first, but quickly growing louder with each stroke that bulges at her throat.

Her eyes water, brim and swell against the ravaging pressure. She hums, smiles under your assault as the cascade begins, her own twisted badge of pride.

The sensation is overwhelming; a perfect balance of tightness and wetness as she sucks and gags around you.

The echoing sound of ministrations against her own slick heated desire becomes your guiding rhythm, the tempo only increasing with each gag and choke.

Her knees quiver and tremble as you ravage her throat without restraint, a mere tool in the pursuit of your own pleasure.

It only takes one final thrust, deep and hard to send her careening over the edge into a carnal pleasure-filled abyss. She screams into your lap, her body twitching in clear pleasure as wave after wave of her orgasmic bliss crashes against your shaft.

It's a desperate fight to stay afloat, to ignore the call to unload deep within her throat against the crashing waves of her orgasm, but you're after a sweeter prize.

"Holy fuck," she gasps, a hazy smile etched into her lips, she swipes at the stray messy strands of spit. "That was hot as fuck."

You found it hard to disagree, "You're..."

"Kind of a slut?" she adds, a dulcet whisper against your ear. It's hard to ignore the brimming smile.

"I was gonna say intense."

It's a soft genuine chuckle that saunters through the air. "Thanks, I'll take it."

Her eyes drift over you, her warm gaze a caress. She licks her lips and smirks as she looks at your cock. "A shame you didn't cum, the thought of you plastering my face or swallowing all your cum was so fucking hot."

Her delicate fingers entwined around your cock, massaging it with a gentle rhythm as your heart pounded in anticipation. Her eyes roamed yours before she spoke, her voice husky and full of desire. "I can't wait to feel this inside me."

All it takes is one swift move, as you grip her waist pulling her so intoxicatingly close to you, pressing her hips against the edge of the desk. A surprised giggle bounces from her lips as you pull her shorts and panties down her legs. The air crackles with electricity, you catch her rugged eagerness, as her clothes flutter and splay around Chalmun's office.

She's barely able to pull herself up the edge of the Chalmun's desk as your thick cock brushes against her drenched folds. You can see the sparks of pleasure as her eyes flutter shut, arms snaking around you, pulling you closer into her electric gravity.

Her legs shudder and quake as you push deep into her, her breath frozen in her throat as you push harder and harder, deeper and deeper into her.

The desk creaks-you swear it splinters-as you feel her cunt finally take the full might of your cock. It's in her wordless, breathless moments as her eyes roll back with 

half-lidded desire, that you actually feel it, even through the torrential storm that is her she's-

"-So fucking tight."

Her fingers dig into your shoulders as her nails scrape against your skin, any words she has die, caught in clutched needy gasps. But you can see it in the flickering fire in her eyes, the twist of her devilish smile.

Make a mess, break the desk.

It's a feverish dance, the slow build to a crescendo that threatens to drown you in pure bliss. Each stroke punctuated with a resounding slap, a jiggle of her chest pushing against you as she moans in a guttural tone.

"Fuck me, fuck me," she chants softly, her eyes glued to your cock, a needy slut to your pleasure. Your hand grips tight against her locks pulling her into a messy torrid kiss.

She nuzzles into you, her lips are sloppy against yours as you plunge further and further. Her muscles clench tight against you, a fire burning with each pull, each thrust and soft moan. Her nails bite into your shoulders, drawing blood as she pants heavily against your lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants against your lips. 

A strangled moan escapes her throat, the intensity of your thrusts increasing as the pressure builds within you, threatening to burst forth. She cries out with each thrust, the sound of your cock diving into her depths, a melody to her ears.

Her lips part with the slightest of breaths, her tongue darts across her bottom lip, a silent invitation to dive deeper. The feeling is visceral as she clenches every inch of her muscles tight against you, a searing rapture that threatens to swallow you whole.

The feeling is overwhelming; a soft and wet embrace as you plunge deep into her. The tightness of her walls around you, as they pulse and constrict around you.

She's barely holding onto her consciousness, her eyes glued to the way her breasts shake and jiggle as you fuck her senseless.

You find it hard to resist the incessant call to cum, burning with an intensity that threatens to swallow your mind whole. Her moans fall into a steady rhythm as you plunge into her harder and harder.

"Cum," her voice a husky whisper, yet tinged with something more, a tempered unexpected softness. It's real and vibrant even in the haze of pleasure. "I want to feel you."

It's needy and desperate.

The feeling is inescapable, the sensation of her tight and wet around you. She screams in pleasure, a shrill moan that pierces the air around her.

The desperation in her eyes and on her lips as you're pressed together was unmistakable; a clash of teeth and tongue full of longing. You feel the urgent desire that emanates from her, radiating into your lungs with each clawed breath.

It was more than just sex at that moment, as her lips nip at yours and her legs clutch and locked around your waist. You can feel the raw emotion radiating off of her, a feral passion that throbs through your veins.

You can feel every part of her body tremble with pleasure as each kiss deepens further.

Your hands caress her neck, exploring every inch of her skin as she shudders beneath you. You feel like you're losing control, giving into the sensations coursing through both your bodies.

The sounds of pleasure that escape her lips become heavy and desperate as the sensation builds inside of you both, an explosion of heat that threatens to consume you.

She claws at your back, gasping for air between breaths as each thrust sends jolts of pleasure through both your bodies.

Her hips grind against yours, pushing herself further and further towards the brink of insanity. Her voice catches in her throat as she cries out for more, begging for release from the overwhelming sensation within.

"Cum for me," she whispers into your ear, her voice dripping with lust, tarnished by desperate and undeniable need.

It's all you need.

A crash of pleasure rocks your core, electric shocks race up and down your spine as you finish inside of her, launching rope after feverish rope into her depths. A moan catches in her throat, hitching with each decadent spurt as she truly gets her fill. 

"Wow," she opens her misty eyes, her lips curled into a hazy smile. "That was... intense."

The warm air around you is a heavy blanket that settles around you both, a contented and satiated silence that settles against her skin.

"Hey," she nudges you, languid in the afterglow. Still, you catch embers of a teasing smile. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Is this our first date?"

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

talk | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Your husband Min Yoongi declares that he needs to be more of a whore. Nyan?!

warnings: discussion about sex life; husband!Yoongi x wife!reader with their pet white cat Nyangnyang; heavy make-out session; domestic + fluffy; nyangnyang!au but can be read alone tbh it's just a husband and wife chatting about their sex life + the antics of their peanut gallery lol

--

You didn’t quite believe in soulmates or fate, but you were sure that Min Yoongi was the love of your life.

“I think I need to be more of a whore.”

Precisely why.

Wait, what?

You looked up from wiping down the coffee table and stared at him.

“What?”

“Nyan.”

Your husband was sitting on the sofa. An attempt to rest, except the furball you both affectionately called cutie had immediately rocketed into his lap and began rolling around, loudly demanding pets and leaving white fur all over your husband’s black sweatpants. Nyangnyang the cat had zero concept of personal space. Your husband had a problem with saying no to those he loved. Her head was in his large palm as the other rubbed her belly. White fur was getting everywhere. Loud purrs punctuated the silence.

“Do you think our sex life is boring?” was Yoongi’s follow-up on his previous declaration.

You folded up the polishing cloth and left it on the glass table, figuring this was going to be more than a yes-or-no conversation. Strands of black hair fell past his temples, framing his black metal glasses and sharp dark brown eyes. He looked at you with a calm expression as if he was talking about the weather and not about how he thought he needed to be more of a whore.

You paused. “I don’t think so, but I figured the slowdown was because you worked on that important album. You said it was very emotionally draining.” Your husband was a music producer. He wasn’t allowed to talk about what he was working on, which was why he told his wife everything. Hey, his primary loyalty was to his wife. That and you weren’t going to tell a soul anyway. That would require social interaction. Ew. “You’ve been sleeping a lot and watching TV all day even after you wrapped it up.”

Nyangnyang rolled around and covered Yoongi’s thighs with more snow-white cat hair. You used to keep a lint roller in the living room until Yoongi realized the cat had been knocking it down and licking the sticky paper like an adhesive heathen. Then you switched to other types of lint-and-fur collectors. The cat still licked the tacky parts. Sigh. Now they had to be kept in the closet. You and Yoongi just accepted that you both would be covered in cat hair twenty-four-seven.

Welp.

He accepted the fluffy tail smacking his stomach and scratched behind Nyangnyang’s ears while watching you carefully. At least his baggy t-shirt was white. You stayed kneeling on the floor, curiously tilting your head, positioned on the other side of the smoked glass and black marble coffee table.

Finally, Yoongi sighed. “I think I need to try harder. I’m feeling outdone by you lately.”

You frowned. “Sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

For some reason, the cat stood up, circling Yoongi’s lap again before flopping down. You noticed his pale hand hover over his nuts before Nyangnyang threw herself down again with a dramatic princess floof. You could relate.

Heh.

His eye twitched. “Watch it,” he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

The cat gave no fucks and shoved her pink nose into Yoongi’s palm.

“What about last night?” you continued. “You came four times. Your dick felt great.”

Your husband gave you the side-eye. “You know, there’s a person attached to this dick.”

You grinned.

He scoffed. “Just because you were into the dick doesn’t mean you were into me.”

Your grin disappeared. “What are you talking about? I only think about you during sex. There’s no one else I want to think about.”

But as soon as the words came out of your mouth, you could tell that wasn’t what Yoongi was getting at. He stuck his tongue into his cheek and his brows furrowed, glancing away for a moment to collect his thoughts. His hand on the cat’s belly stopped. Nyangnyang, being a little shit, kicked his wrist with her back paws. His hand started moving again without looking. The furball went back to purring up a storm. Your husband winced and tried not to show it. Despite his longer, lustrous hair and slender frame, Min Yoongi was a manly man at heart that enjoyed woodworking, basketball, and UFC as much as he enjoyed music, fashion, and picking out aesthetic living room pillows.

“I’ve been relying a little too much on you being sexy and leading everything without contributing myself,” he finally said, sounding a bit rueful in his deep and raspy voice.

You heavily restrained chiming in that all he needed to contribute was an open mouth and a hard dick. Good commentary, wrong timing. It was pretty clear what he was saying and it was pretty clear that you should shut up for now and listen.

Difficult for a smartass, but you’d manage.

“I don’t feel that you’re having the same experience I am. Just because you like being in charge doesn’t mean I should step back,” he went on, verbally working through his thought process and letting you in on it. You were a bit surprised hearing those words, as it was word-for-word something you mentioned before, although that was years ago when something similar happened. It had been you to bring it up then. He listens, huh. Yoongi ticked his head, his glasses reflecting light. “I feel I’ve gotten a little lazy. And, with it, been too in my head recently. I don’t like this feeling. I’m not performing well. I need to be more into it.”

It was a first for him to be so direct about this. Usually, you would bring it up for some reason or the other. He was always willing to talk about it, but, well. You had always had a more… intense… libido compared to Yoongi and, although some would argue it was a good problem to have, he often had to rise to the occasion (pun intended). Something he wanted to do and did so without hesitation, but that also meant that he was more sensitive to his own intrusive thoughts whereas you were too absorbed with fucking to notice any. Sex was when you were free, yet Yoongi had reasonable worries that interfered sometimes. You had sensed the tension last night and figured some fucking would help relax him. But it turned out the issue related to sex itself. Welp. Still, it was nice to hear him communicate with you.

“So… how would being a whore help?” you asked.

Another bombastic side-eye. “I meant being more actively involved into the sex. Acting like one.”

You raised an eyebrow with a straight face even though you were cackling inside. “Do you even know how to act like a whore? You’ve never been slutty in your entire life.” Added a little dismissive hand wave with your act. Just to be extra infuriating. “You think acting like a slut is so easy? Darling, being a whore is a way of life.”

Yoongi stared at you.

Blank expression.

“You’re so freaking annoying.”

The tip of your tongue grazed the edge of your smirk.

“Naow…”

Your husband rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Hot. Nyangnyang seemed to sense the kind of tension a cat wanted no part of and promptly abandoned Yoongi’s lap, marching off to laze somewhere else. Not that her parents noticed because they were too busy making googly eyes at each other.

“It’s the middle of the day,” Yoongi said quietly.

“Time of day never stopped a whore,” you countered.

His expression was a mix between pained and irritated. Perfect. Heavy sigh, halfway lifting himself off the couch before you started laughing, breaking the tension.

“I’m kidding,” you chuckled, flippant, standing up as well. “Have you gotten a little lazy? Hmm, maybe. But maybe I’ve been overbearing too, since all I think about is enjoying your dick until I’m worn out. I probably shouldn’t go that far, hah… Yoongi?”

He grabbed your wrist.

You paused, fixating your gaze on him. His direct stare. Dark eyes shadowed behind clear lenses. Gleaming porcelain skin. You were both in casual clothes for lounging at home. Your lavender sweatpants with a matching crop top weren’t exactly screaming sex. But, of course, you would confess that you always made sure to cress cutely for yourself.

You frowned. “We haven’t showered yet.”

He shrugged. He had reasonably broad shoulders for such a pretty face. Fucking sexy as hell. You were allowed to think that because you were his wife. “You don’t have to go down on me.” Then he let go of your wrist to reach behind your head and tilt it back, the base of your skull against the heel of his palm.

“What?”

Then you sucked in a tight breath as you felt the tip of his hot tongue slide up your neck.

His warm breath spread over your skin, sending a wave of chills throughout your chest.

“Didn’t you tell me sex is more than just the orgasm?” he murmured, heating the saliva clinging to your throat. “I completely agree.”

Under normal circumstances you would have had the smartass comment ready, was this the right situation to admit that the wife was always right, but you didn’t even have a chance to glance at him before his lips started feathering up the side of your neck, his deft hands in your hair, licking, kissing, his familiar scent invading your nose, his soft black hair against your cheek, every action tantalizing your senses.

It was then that you realized, yes, you did miss this.

As a married couple that lived together, you both had the luxury of skipping steps. You could get into the action any time and that was exciting in its own right. You also had the natural tendency to immediately get into it, using everything in your arsenal all at once. Speed, accuracy, precision, multiple sensations all over, forcing all of your past lovers to chase to keep up with you and not giving them time to react or prepare themselves. There wasn’t much time to pull on the leash, so to speak.

A whore always wanted to have sex, right?

So, acting like one meant…

Your hands slipped under his t-shirt and pulled him closer by the small of his back.

His teeth nicked the space under your ear and you shivered before moaning, feeling the tingling sensation of sucking skin and soft lips. It really was delightfully pleasant to be caught off guard by your favorite person.

“You… You’re saying I act like a whore…?” you gasped, still playing around.

His lips grazed your ear. Voice low, direct.

“You’d be one if I didn’t catch you and shackle you with a ring.”

Touché.

“What’s wrong with that?” you bit back.

He moved his head and you gazed at each other with one eye, lashes framing dark orbs that were the window to knowing each other far too well.

“Nothing. That’s why I’m trying to be more like you,” Yoongi purred.

Your lower halves collided. Layers of clothing and heated friction, his hardness pressing against your thighs, and then his lips caught yours in a fervent kiss. No different in the level of passion but you could tell he was different from last night. More mindful depth. Only focused on the moment. Tongue against tongue. His hands all over, sliding up into your hair and down your shoulder, gasping into your throat as your fingernails turned inward, scratching down his back mid lip-lock.

“Nyao!”

There was a flurry of wild flailing sounds and then a thud.

You both stopped kissing to stare into the bedroom. The door was open, as it usually was. A whizzing snow-white blur shot out of sight. The bed was partially visible from this angle. The right lower corner of the covers was messy and pulled out. You stared at it, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened, still clutching your husband in your death grasp.

You blinked slowly.

“Nyangnyang, did you…”

“… Fail to jump onto the bed?” Yoongi finished for you with just as much disbelief in his voice.

Absolute silence.

“Hasn’t she made that jump hundreds of times?” you wondered out loud.

Yoongi grumbled. You turned your head back. He shrugged.

“Maybe it’s a sign to move to the bed.”

Hmmmm. You didn’t miss the want in his otherwise bland tone. “Why rush?” You let go of him even though your husband’s eyes were narrowing to death glare status. “It’s the weekend. We have all day. Besides, the rice will be done soon, so we should eat lunch.” As a very devious wife, you could tell Yoongi did not want to play this game but he also wanted you to give in first. He kept a firm hand on your waist.

“Hm, you’re right.”

“Yup,” was your chipper reply.

He gave you this look.

You grinned. Waved your finger as you chided him. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you dessert is after your meal? You can’t spoil your appetite with suga beforehand.” You bared the brunt of a criminally offensive side-eye. Worth it.

Then, Yoongi smiled.

Uh oh.

You had been with Yoongi long enough to know that behind that simple smile was a lot of cunning.

“But of course, my love.”

Well, a lazy Saturday just got a lot more interesting.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[kaeddehara]

Hello, I just wanted to tell you that I absolutely LOVED your chainsaw man one shots. They were all sooo good and it left me wanting more. Sending this in as a request for more Aki and maybe some Kishibe if you want???

yes of course thank you for the request !!

i wrote for both aki and kishibe but a lot more heavy on aki so eat up

aki + kishibe nsfw

aki <3

[ exhibitionism, implied smoking kink, reader is desperate <333, breeding kink, oral sex, ]

i see aki as a very simple yet intimate kinda guy. he loves the easy, domestic parts of loving you while also making sure to know it’s about you. i see him as a service top for sure, always preferring to make you feel good above all else. though, aki is willing to take risks whether that be with or without your influence. so the times you get him worked up at his office and he locks the door to fuck you nice to hard in are with your influence. while the times he comes home and sees you cooking a nice meal for him and can’t help but to want to take you then and there on the kitchen counter to show how much he missed you.

has a big thing for you being desperate for him too. like sitting down after a long day as he takes deep drags of his cigarette. meanwhile you’re sitting pretty on your knees while you fumble with his belt, whining as it won’t come undone. he takes notice of your struggle and holds back the urge to make a comment on how desperate you seem. you whine out to him, “please aki i’ve waited for this all day.” and his mind snaps to you and only you. putting his cigarette out, he slides his hips down and begins undoing his belt buckle for you while you grip and paw at his thighs show how impatient you are. and with that, aki tears down his pants and practically forces your pretty mouth on his hard cock.

for aki, smoking became something that he frequently would find himself doing whenever he’d need a break from work or just his busy life in general. when he comes home from a mission all he wants to do is have a smoke and be in bed with you. this may lead to aki including this form of relief and being with you. often times hell find himself sitting on a comfortable spot on a couch in your shared apartment, still dressed in his uniform from work. tie loosely undo and white dress shirt wrinkled and messy. in between his lips is a lit cigarette and his dark blue eyes focused down on you, all on you. your pretty lips wrapped so sensually around his thick, reddened tip. with the feeling of the nicotine working itself into his body and the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him, aki couldn’t ask for more. except, he couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing what your skin would look like with a marking from his cigarette. even making you open your pretty mouth so he can tap the end of his cigarette off and watch the burnt excess on your pretty tongue. he’d praise you in return for it as well, making sure you knew he was grateful for everything you did for him <3.

for aki, starting a family of his own was never a priority. as a devil hunter, it’s a priority to protect the lives of innocent civilians, often times putting himself in extremely risky and dangerous situations. he knows that having a family of his own means he needs to be there, but while he continues devil hunting, it’s best to just wait. he’d worry he might disappear before he can take care of you and his child. but the feeling of your sweet pussy gripping him so tightly and sucking him in with every bounce made it so hard. not only that, but the way you’d beg for him to cum inside you, practically pleading for more after his first load had started to leak out of you. aki couldn’t resist. “what a mess…” he’d pant out, looking at all the smeared cum you pushed out as it dripped between your legs.

°°°°

kishibe <3

[ rough kishibe <33, light bondage, spanking, size kink, implied breeding kink ]

kishibe is a lot more rough around the edges not only when it comes to his relationship with you but how he fucks you too. his pacing his deep and rough but his voice is so soothing and brings you back to him. he could be fucking you at the most unimaginable pace while whispering in your ear how good your taking him.

playing into the roughness idea, imagine how into spanking and marking kishibe would be. like i just know this man can’t wait to punish you for doing one thing wrong. you decided to tease him while he was on a mission? be ready to get bent over his lap and spanked till your ass is bright red. hell even bother to soothe over your soft flesh with his callused hands and shush you down. maybe if he thought you were deserving of even more punishment, he’d take his belt off and tie your wrists with it, watching you squirm and try to break it off to no avail. he honestly loves watching you struggle cause it’s so cute seeing how desperate you get when you don’t get him immediately.

also you cannot convince me he doesn’t have a size kink. no matter your height, he’s going to find a way to make you feel small. whether that be by holding you against him or just pressing himself against you when he knows you’re busy.

humiliation is something i think kishibe would absolutely go crazy for and indulges you in his sick kink whenever he feels it’s opportune.

“yeah? what are you?”

“i’m yours kishibe..”

he’ll pull harder on you, repeating his first line in a more demanding and serious tone. watching you struggle beneath his strength as you still soon after.

“i’m your slut kishibe!”

“yeah that’s more like it, good girl”

he just loves using you as a little play thing. oh, and when he comes on tired or stressed out from the day, he’s gonna take it all out of your pretty pussy till you’re crying and leaking with his cum <3.

[misshoneyimhome]

Yin & Yan I Seth Jarvis 🖋️🌺

Requested: yes/no

Summary; for jarvy : he’s always cracking jokes and very unserious. but he gives me golden retriever energy. so maybe something with black cat gf + golden retriever bf.

Other notes; Well hello again my sweet Canes fan 🤍 I am back with another Jarvy fic, and though I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted this to play out, I hope I managed to catch your vibe anyway 😅 I must admit, the more I look at and listen to this guy, I'm growing a soft spot for him and emotionally getting swept off my feet 🥰

Tropes & Warnings; Seth Jarvis x reader; strangers to lovers; no warnings (except I mention they sleep together, but that's not really a surprise, is it 😂)

Word count; 2.6K

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50, @findapenny, @justwanderingbutneverlost, @cixrosie

_

Seth Jarvis was always the life and soul of the party, sporting the brightest smile and the heartiest laugh.

His demeanour was infectious, capable of brightening even the dullest of rooms, and it came as no surprise that he was often likened to having "golden retriever energy." His enthusiasm was tangible, emitting a warmth and loyalty that drew people to him. Seth’s passion for life simply meant he was always eager for the next big adventure, as he had a remarkable talent for making everyone feel valued and acknowledged, his cheerful nature illuminating any space he entered.

In contrast, you were his complete opposite. Reserved, with a fondness for sarcasm and a preference for solitude, you were often dubbed the "black cat" of your social circle. While Seth thrived in social gatherings, you found solace in quiet moments—whether immersing yourself in the pages of a captivating novel or strolling through the city streets beneath the tranquil night sky. Your wit was sharp, your humour dry, and you proudly wore your introversion like a badge of honour.

Yet despite your differences, you and Seth had an undeniable chemistry. It seemed as if his brightness balanced out your darkness, creating a perfect harmony. And though no one would have guessed that you two were such a great match, it turned out that opposites do indeed attract. 

Meeting Seth had been as surprising for you as it was for him. And whenever people asked about how it all began, Seth could never contain his excitement when telling the story, his eyes lighting up as he relived that fateful moment.

---

"Oh, fuck me…" you muttered under your breath as you strolled along the pavement in the streets of Raleigh. Following a trip to the grocery store, the bottom of your paper bag had split, spilling your groceries – and naturally, the sight of broken eggs spreading across the pavement was the cherry on top of an already dismal day. “Just my luck…”

It had simply been one of those days. And weeks. Perhaps even the entire month.

Your flatmate had been an absolute nightmare lately, with her boyfriend practically living over almost every day. They stayed up all night, their noisy sex accompanied by the blare of the television, and on weekends, she'd invite more friends over, filling the flat with thumping music, dense smoke, and the chaos of impromptu parties. Sometimes, the parties didn’t even stop at weekends.

You were nearing your breaking point, but the issue was you had nowhere else to turn. Sure, you’d been on the hunt for another place to live, but nothing affordable had come up. There had been one or two options maybe, but living with a male flatmate who made it clear he'd only offer reasonable rent if you gave him "a little sugar" three times a week wasn’t exactly your idea of a good deal.

You tried to maintain a positive outlook, really, you did. Even though you knew optimism wasn’t exactly your default setting, it often felt like the universe was working against you. “It's all part of your journey for personal growth,” your mother always said. But honestly, you didn’t feel like you needed much more ‘growth’ at this point. You were pretty content with where you were in life. Almost, anyway.

All you wished for was a little positive energy from the universe. Just every now and then.

So, as you stooped to gather your belongings, reminding yourself to think more optimistically and hope for some good vibes, it inevitably began to rain heavily. Big, fat drops splashed all around you, drenching your clothes and turning the situation into a soggy mess. “Seriously? Well, fuck you too,” you muttered aloud, perhaps a bit louder than you intended, your frustration resonating in the now empty street.

“Whoa, easy there, I’m innocent, I swear,” a male voice suddenly came from behind you, chuckling as he approached.

“What?”

Turning your head slightly to see the approaching figure, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. A cheeky remark from a stranger was the last thing you needed right now. However, as the person drew nearer, he then knelt down next to you and reached out for some of your groceries.

“Need a hand?” he simply asked in a much calmer tone, looking at you with warm honey-brown eyes and a wide smile that seemed to break through the gloom.

You found yourself rather bewildered, to say the least. Here you were, kneeling on the pavement in the pouring rain, and this stranger came along offering to help with your groceries scattered on the ground, including the broken eggs. And you had to admit, he seemed a bit charming and quite good-looking.

“Um,” you murmured softly, not quite sure what to say. “Um… I’m alright, but thanks.” You attempted to offer him a faint smile, though you felt it was futile.

And you were correct. The stranger simply stayed put, picking up the packets of Mentos and the lemons you had bought, as he once again flashed you a smile, seemingly unfazed by the rain. “Well, you do seem like someone who could use a hand,” he chuckled lightly. 

Damn, this guy was something else, you thought. Completely catching you off guard, he just started gathering your scattered items into his arms, still wearing that gentle grin.

You didn’t know what to say. On one hand, you wanted to be left alone, feeling embarrassed enough by the universe. On the other hand, it was rather nice to have someone lending you a hand. And you had just asked the universe for some positive energy, even a bit of luck to come your way, so maybe this was it. You might as well give it a try, you figured. It couldn’t get any worse. Right?

“Well, thank you,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” he merely replied, his tone genuine. “I’m Seth, by the way. But most folks just call me Jarvy.”

There was a brief moment where you and Seth remained crouched, exchanging looks. You truly felt thankful for his assistance, and as you retrieved the items from your shopping bag, Seth reached into his pocket and pulled out a fabric tote for you to use.

It felt almost like a scene from a romantic comedy. Two strangers meeting when one of the main characters is in a shitty situation and the other comes to their rescue. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more cinematic, the rain stopped.

“I’m Y/n.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Y/n,” Seth chuckled, holding your groceries close.

You couldn’t help but smile, thanking him once more for his help. There was something about his charming grin, the way his eyes sparkled despite the dark, grey clouds, and how happiness seemed to emanate from him like a shining aura. Seth was truly special, and perhaps he was the stroke of luck the universe had sent your way.

Well, at least until you both stood up and your jeans tore at the inner seam.

“Fucking hell!” you exclaimed, letting out a deep sigh.

Once again, Seth couldn’t help but chuckle. “Looks like you’re really having a day, huh?” He gazed at you with his warm brown eyes. “How about I buy you to a cup of coffee?”

Once more, you were taken aback. This guy didn’t even know you, yet here you were, still drenched, now with torn jeans, and he was just smiling and offering to buy you coffee? Who was this guy? Was it some sort of prank?

But no, it wasn’t. Despite your initial suspicions, Seth turned out to be nothing but a friendly guy who simply wanted to help out someone in need. He also happened to be a professional ice hockey player, playing for the Carolina Hurricanes, although he hailed from Winnipeg. All this you learned over your cups of coffee and even more so when he offered you a lift home.

Naturally, you had hesitated, unsure whether to trust a stranger on the street. However, for once in your life, you decided to push aside the anxious thoughts in the back of your mind and listen to your intuition, which urged you to trust the universe. And as you strolled with him to the nearest coffee spot, discreetly concealing your torn jeans, you felt nothing but grateful that you had done so.

_

Seth Jarvis simply turned out to be the best relationship you'd ever had. Even your mother took a liking to him – and if there was anyone more of a pessimist than you, it was her. And of course, Seth simply chuckled when he’d first met her, joking that now he knew where you inherited your lack of cheerful spirit from. Yet, he never made any negative remarks about it or you.

In fact, he found it intriguing and just smiled at the fact that you were more cautious and concerned about life than he was. You were a planner, always wanting to anticipate the unexpected and be prepared, whereas he was more spontaneous, going with the flow and keeping a cheerful outlook. And as it turned out, you complemented each other perfectly.

Whenever his energy soared a bit too high and led him off track, you were there to keep him grounded and calm. And when your negative thoughts and energy veered into a darker mood, dragging you into an emotional spiral, his positivity and optimistic mindset lifted you right back up.

But of course, no relationship was ever perfect. This truth became especially evident during your first hockey season with Seth while you were dating, spending most nights either at the PNC Arena or in front of the telly cheering him on. While you loved Seth and cherished your time together, the emotional rollercoaster of wins and losses took its toll on your budding relationship.

However, it was also during those low moments for Seth that you found yourself stepping up as the steady rock he needed, cheering him on and reassuring him that things would improve next time. To your own great surprise, you often found yourself embodying the positive spirit, a role you hadn't expected to play. And you couldn’t help but appreciate the positive energy Seth brought out in you, realising how much you were growing together.

Moreover, being with Seth provided a much-needed escape from your dreadful roommate. Though moving in with Seth may have seemed a bit spontaneous to some – classic Seth style – it certainly made your life a lot easier not having to deal with her. Finally, you could just focus on yourself, your work, and now your boyfriend, Seth Jarvis.

And having you around also had a positive impact on Seth. It grounded him and perhaps even added a touch of maturity, naturally noticed by his teammates. Though Seth never lost his playful demeanour, his teammates definitely observed how he became more composed and grounded in your presence. And they never missed the chance to tease him about it.

“Off home to the little missus, are we?” Jesperi would playfully tease.

“Yeah, making sure wifey’s got dinner on the table!” Necas would chime in.

Seth would just laugh it off, but there was a noticeable warmth in his eyes whenever they mentioned you, and he would often reply with a cheeky grin, “You’re just jealous you don’t have someone waiting for you at home with a warm dinner and a smile.”

Living together also brought moments of growth and adjustment. You learned to embrace Seth’s spontaneous nature, finding joy in unexpected adventures and impromptu plans. Meanwhile, Seth grew to appreciate the stability you brought into his life, enjoying the calm and predictability of the routines you established together.

“Ah, I’m sure Seth’s the one making dinner to spoil his favourite girl,” Teuvo teased, winking at you as you then entered the locker room after the game to greet your boyfriend.

“Sure, as if Seth could even locate the kitchen,” you fired back, walking over to him and planting a kiss on his cheek, eliciting laughter from the lads.

“Hey, I can cook!” Seth protested, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Just because I burn toast doesn’t mean I’m hopeless.”

“Oh of course, dear,” you teased back, patting his chest. “Let’s just stick to ordering takeout.”

Despite the playful banter, it was evident to everyone that you and Seth shared something special. His teammates admired the balance you brought to his life, even if they wouldn't admit it outright. And for you, seeing Seth’s bright smile after a long day, hearing his infectious laughter, and feeling his arms around you made every tough moment worth it.

You simply got each other. You never worried that your sharp energy might drive him away. And every day, he reminded you, in his own way, that no matter what, you were keeping him steady.

One night, after a particularly tough game, when Seth came home, flopped down on the sofa, and let out a dramatic sigh. “I need a pick-me-up,” he said, giving you those pleading puppy-dog eyes.

“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” you teased, taking a seat beside him.

“How about a massage?” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How about you help me with the dishes first?” you countered, nudging him playfully.

“Alright, alright. Slave driver,” he groaned, but he got up and followed you to the kitchen, a smile playing at his lips.

It was one of those nights when his career weighed heavily on him, which also meant it weighed heavily on you. Each time you felt his cheerfulness slowly wane, overshadowed by the darkness of a loss. And it would have been easy to let your own emotions sink with his, to let it all spiral down. But you didn’t; you couldn’t allow yourself to do that. All you wanted was for Seth to be happy, to be his cheerful self.

So, as the two of you shared giggles and inside jokes, moving around the kitchen as you finished up, Seth’s mood quickly returned to its usual buoyant self. His smile widened and his chuckles deepened as always.

“You know I love you, right?” he grinned as he held you close, leaning against the kitchen counter with you in his arms, your hands finding their way to his neck.

“I know – just as you know I love you,” you smiled back at him.

“And if I ever turn into a whiny little puppy again…”

“…I know you’re back to your usual self,” you flashed him a wink before pressing your lips against his.

It was a tender moment yet filled with chuckles and laughter, as always. Something only Seth could bring into your life. And as his hands then found their way to your buttocks, giving them a playful squeeze before lifting you up in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.

The love you made that night was smooth and intimate. The sensation of Seth’s body against yours, your skin tingling with heat, covered in sweat as he moved inside you, sent your mind spinning, endorphins flooding your system with a high only he could induce.

Your lives were entwined in a way that felt natural and right, as if you were always meant to find each other. The challenges you faced only strengthened your bond, proving that sometimes, the universe really does know what it’s doing. With Seth by your side, the ups and downs of life felt a little more manageable and a lot more joyful.

[sluttyslytherin]

•HIS LONGING FOR MY HUSBAND•

DRACO MALFOY + MATTHEO RIDDLE + HERMIONE GRANGER

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• ❥ Warnings: bisexual dom!Draco + bisexual sub!Mattheo, sub!Hermione, begging, facefucking, oral (male!&fem! receiving&giving), praise kink, riding, mindreading, creampie, threesome,

❥ Request?: I wrote this one on request from my Instagram a while ago (see msg above).

❥ Summary: Hermione finds out about Mattheo having feelings for Draco - and herself having feelings for both.

❥ Author‘s note: This one is like a small part of a dream coming true for me. I loved writing it. I‘m thinking about writing it in Draco+Mattheo+Y/N(?).

❥ Word count: ~4170

❥ I DO NOT ALLOW COPYING MY WORK, NOR POSTING IT SOMEWHERE ELSE. MY WORK IS ALREADY POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3.

SMUT UNDER THE CUT

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The first time Hermione had noticed Mattheo looking at Draco differently than it had been for years, was at a garden party at Mattheo's house.

Hermione and Draco were standing under one of the large white parasols which were set up in the garden. She was just sipping from Draco's wineglass, when she looked over his shoulder and caught Mattheo red-handed.

Mattheo was standing directly across from them, leaning against the wall of his house, smoking. His eyes gave way to his thoughts. If Draco had turned around that very moment and looked him in the eyes - only Merlin knew, what he would have found there.

But Hermione saw his gaze and while she couldn't read his mind like Draco could, she saw the lust that flashed in his very eyes as Draco turned and placed his glass on the table next to them. Mattheo eyed Draco so tensely that he didn't even realized that Pansy had come up to him and had started talking.

When Pansy tapped him on the shoulder for not responding, Mattheo looked away from Draco and accidentally looked straight into Hermione's eyes. He immediately realized she knew it.

She stared back and couldn't help but smile, knowing that Draco had always thought Mattheo was attractive - But neither of the boys wanted to admit that there were other things than just 'normal' monogamous relationships with one man and one woman.

Draco was talking about his work and some paperwork he was supposed to have done in four days, when Hermione saw Mattheo walking over to them. His steps were slow and his eyes almost pierced Draco's back. Hermione tried with all her strength to keep her thoughts to herself, wanting to see how the evening would turn out.

Mattheo greeted Draco by placing his hand on his shoulder and patting it gently. He was laughing and making a joke about Thestrals. To anyone else it would have seemed innocent but Hermione saw him bite his lip and his hand trailing down Draco's chest as he lifted it from his shoulder.

Her eyes wandered to her glass which she had now picked up from the table and she studied the red texture of the wine, shimmering in the dusk light. She listened to Draco and Mattheo innocently but an idea had already formed in her mind.

She wanted them both. She wanted to feel them, to fuck them, to own them. She wanted to hear Draco's name out of Mattheo's mouth and she wanted to see Draco indulge in a fantasy, he'd never had the opportunity to live until now.

She just didn't know how she could make it happen.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was already evening when Mattheo said goodbye to the last guests - the last ones except for Hermione and Draco.

Mattheo was just closing the front door with a slight movement of his hand when he noticed Hermione shamelessly lasciviously taking a seat on his large, black leather couch. Draco couldn't take his eyes off off of her, as she sat there in her dark green dress that was pulled up to her thighs. She had crossed her legs slightly with the one foot on the floor on tiptoes.

She looked as innocent as she definitely wasn‘t.

Her other foot tapped to the beat of the soft music coming from the radio that was placed on the antique wooden table next to the door to Mattheo's bedroom. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth slightly open and a soft sigh made it out of her mouth at that moment.

Draco stared at Hermione and didn't notice Mattheo stepping up behind him. Mattheo stopped a few inches behind Draco and inhaled his scent, his eyes never leaving Hermione. Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked around Draco and lightly elbowed him in the side.

“That was a good party, wasn't it?,“ he laughed mockly, more to get Draco's attention than for any other reason. Hermione opened her eyes and looked over at the two men - almost in surprise. They weren't standing far from her.

“Mattheo..,“ she said in a softly tone and in a voice that made both men immediately look back at her, “..you could visit us tomorrow. Draco has discovered that he seems to enjoy fumbling half-naked on his new motorcycle.“

After all, her expression was innocent, as were her movements, but Draco saw exactly where she was getting at.

He looked into his wife's beautiful eyes and by Merlin, he wished he could have taken her right here and now - right there on the couch. On Mattheo‘s couch. With Mattheo watching them.

Hermione gave him that kind of look which made her irresistible to him and he could feel how much it aroused him. It took him a lot of strengh not to run over to his wife and fuck her right on the spot.

“I don't know.. what are you thinking about it, Draco? The two of us, half-naked and tuning up a motorcycle?“ An innocent smile played around Mattheo's lips. It was in complete contrast to what his eyes were showing.

‚Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.‘

Draco could hear Mattheo's thoughts in his mind. It was the first time he had let him inside his head in ages.

‚Take me. Please.‘

Draco gulped. He tried not to show anything to Hermione. He was still standing there with his body turned towards Hermione and Mattheo beside him. Their shoulders were nearly touching. Draco would have loved to turn around to Mattheo.

‚You can have me. I'm your’s.‘

Mattheo's thoughts in Draco's head grew louder and louder. He couldn't concentrate on anything other anymore.

Hermione watched the scene intently. She could tell from the way Draco clenched his fingers in a fist and then stretched it out that he was bound by Mattheo. She knew that not much was missing for him to give in to him, but she also knew that this wouldn't happen this evening. She would have to talk to Draco first, because without her permission he would never get involved in anything else then only them two.

“See you tomorrow, Mattheo. Around 7pm?“

Hermione's voice literally cut through the air and tension between the two men. Mattheo cleared his throat. “Of course. See you tomorrow then.,“ he whispered. His voice was shaky. After a few seconds Mattheo turned around and escorted his last guests for the evening to the front door.

‚Tomorrow?‘

Draco heard Mattheo‘s question in his head, just as Mattheo slowly closed the door behind the two of them.

Hermione took his hand and as his fingers wrapped around hers, Hermione opened her mind to him. It wasn't a long walk home, so they walked. They spoke wordlessly, Hermione thinking and Draco reacting with his body language.

‚He wants you.,‘ Hermione thought. Draco squeezed her hand lightly as a sign he had heard her.

‚What's stopping you? I could see you struggling not to give in to him.‘ Draco sighed softly, almost silently. He shrugged his shoulders. He didn‘t know what to say.

‚I want to see it.‘ Hermione just thought it with no other words to not mislead the statement. ‚I want to feel you both.‘

Draco now stopped and turned to face Hermione. “Did I get that right?,“ he asked his wife. Hermione didn't even bat an eyelash when she said it out loud again.

“I want to feel you both. I want to see you fuck him.“

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

At 7 p.m. sharp there was a knock on the large glass front door that had separated the Malfoy's home from the rest of the world for several years already.

Hermione opened the door for Mattheo.

She had come up with an special idea for this warm summer evening. Draco had disappeared outside to the garden for over an hour ago already.

If Mattheo walked through the Manor and through the other glass door in the huge bay window which leads to the garden, he would spot Draco with nothing on but only wearing black sweatpants.

Hermione was wearing her long, red sundress which had a slit on one side, that started right at her waist and went down to the bottom. She was tired of looking innocent. Tonight, she wanted to be anything but that.

At least she hoped so.

“Good evening, Mattheo.,“ she whispered attractingly, as he stepped through the door into the Manor. He tried not to stare at her bare skin, but he noticed that she wasn't wearing any underwear. It was unmistakable - no matter where he placed his gaze on at her body. She looked amazing standing there, barefoot and with her long loose hair falling in curls over her big breasts.

“Hello, Hermione.“ Mattheo swallowed hard. In fact, he had never seen his friend's wife like this before. He couldn't help but wonder what lay underneath the thin layer of fabric which she used to hide her curves with from other people's eyes. Hermione smiled.

“Draco is outside in the garden. You surely want to see him first?,“ she asked him with an innocent expression on her face. Mattheo didn't take his eyes off her bare hips. „I wouldn't mind staying here a little longer..,“ he breathed.

„Would you like a drink?,“ Hermione asked him, leading the way towards the kitchen. „I've got a really good brandy in my cupboard..“

“Brandy sounds good.,“ Mattheo answered her, with more than desire for the drink in his voice. And Hermione.. she liked the feeling he gave her with it.

Slowly she opened the cupboard that hung over the kitchen counter. It was where Draco kept his most expensive brandy and whisky. “It‘s really good.. it‘ doesn‘t taste too tart.. and has a fruity note..,“ Hermione began to explain to Mattheo - But Mattheo was staring out of the window. Hermione followed his gaze.

He was staring at Draco.

Draco was kneeling next to his motorcycle, working on one of the wheels.

“I know what you want.,“ she said with a slight undertone in her voice that immediately drew Mattheo's attention back to her. “Your facial expression can't be mistaken. You‘re almost drooling, looking at him.“

She turned away without waiting for an answer and picked up one of the glasses on the wall cabinet to fill it with expensive brandy. Mattheo really didn't know what to say. He felt bad the night before after the two left. Mostly because he was afraid that his friends had felt completely different about the situation than he did. He may have misunderstood Hermione.

“Do you want me to leave?,“ Mattheo asked Hermione. But she just shook her head, causing her brown locks to fly slightly around her head. Then she laughed and handed the glass to him. “No, quite the opposite. I already told Draco..,“ she replied while reaching for another glass. “I can't wait.“

She didn't look at Mattheo as she was saying these words.

Mattheo‘s gaze lingered on her for a long time, before he did finally take a sip of his brandy and looked back at Draco in the garden. “What did he reply to that?,“ Mattheo demanded, his excitement evident in his voice and without taking his eyes off the man.

“He didn't need to say anything. Just seeing his breathing pick up speed when I told him I want to see you two fuck was enough.“

Hermione tapped on the kitchen window cautiously. The sound surprised her husband slightly, so that he looked over to the window, confused.

Noticing not only Hermione in the kitchen but also Mattheo, his expression changed immediately and he got up from the grass he had been kneeling on.

His muscles seemed to dance in the glare of the evening sun as he moved. Even Hermione wondered how she deserved him and his body. She called herself lucky every time she took Draco‘s clothes off or kissed him.

Her gaze rested on his hip. A moment later, as he stepped out in front of the bike, Hermione could see that he wasn’t thinking about the motorbike the whole time.

He definitely had indulged into more hotter thoughts.

Draco raised a hand in greeting and pointed to the right, where the door of the terrace was separating the garden from the house. He made his way there and with every step the bulge in his pants became more than obvious.

Hermione pulled Mattheo with her by the sleeve. “Come, go greet your host.,“ she laughed softly. Mattheo didn't need to be told twice. He was at the door before Hermione, right when Draco who had kicked off his shoes and was stepping into the living room. “Hello, Mattheo.,“ Draco greeted him and kissed Hermione passionately.

‚I want you to kiss me like that.‘

Mattheo pushed himself into Draco's head, causing him to flinch at his words. Draco's lips didn't break away from Hermione as he opened his eyes and stared at Mattheo, who had come up behind Hermione.

Draco looked at Mattheo's lips, and actually for a moment imagined what it would be like to kiss him. His grip on Hermione's waist tightened. How badly he wanted to kiss him too..

Mattheo was only a few inches away.

Hermione opened her eyes and caught the look her husband was giving his friend. She broke away from Draco. “Kiss him.,“ she breathed into Draco's ear, after slowly getting up on her tiptoes and bending towards him. Draco kissed her forehead slowly, not looking away from Mattheo.

A heartbeat later he bridged the space between them in only one step.

Mattheo's mouth was slightly open, his lips glossy, his breathing fast and shallow. His heart was beating like crazy. He had been waiting for this moment for years already. Even if he had never admitted it to himself: His desire for his friend grew more and more over time - until he could hardly bear it anymore. That‘s why he told Draco the evening before.

Draco looked Mattheo straight in the eyes as he ran his hand through his hair, pulling his head towards him. The room around them seemed to pulsate, so loud echoed their heartbeat in their ears.

Finally - after what felt like an eternity - their lips touched.

Hermione couldn't help, but admit that the sight of the two men drove her insane. They kissed with a passion Hermione had otherwise only experienced from Draco when he fucked her.

Hermione‘s hand, which she had used to brush her hair out of her face a second ago slowly wandered down her body. He didn’t take her eyes off her husband. She felt herself getting wetter and wetter the longer she watched them.

It was like being addicted. Hermione couldn't stop.

Draco's left hand had meanwhile travelled down Mattheo's back and was gripping his perfect ass. Mattheo moaned softly into Draco's mouth, which only made him harder..

Suddenly, Hermione stepped up to the two and put her hand on Draco's shoulder. Almost reluctantly he broke away from Mattheo and looked at her. A smile played around Hermione's lips. “I'm going upstairs.,“ she said softly. “Will you two be following?“

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hermione walked into her bedroom and immediately pulled the dress over her head, only to drop it on the floor. The wetness between her legs had become unbearable for her, and with a soft sigh, she sank down on her bed. She ran her fingers over her nipples which instantly stiffened and wondered when her husband would be coming upstairs with Mattheo.

Her thoughts kept turning to the scene of how passionate her husband had looked while kissing Mattheo. She could feel the heat only too well that this thought triggered in her midst. Lost in thought, she slipped her hand between her legs and moaned softly at her own touch.

The next moment the bedroom door opened.

Hermione turned her head slightly, still moaning, only to see her husband standing in the doorway, breathing heavily and dragging Mattheo behind him. He barely walked a few steps into the room when he pulled Mattheo to him and caught his eye.

“Get on your knees, love.,“ he breathed. Mattheo immediately did as Draco asked.

Draco slipped his pants off his hips and they fell to the floor without much effort. Out came his perfect cock, thick and veiny, and Hermione was almost a little jealous that she wasn't in Mattheo's place now. She was still lying on the bed, but now had her legs apart so that Draco could stare at her most intimate part. Her gaze met her husband's.

‚I'm almost losing control.‘

Draco parted his lips slightly in response to her question and licked his tongue across them. „Not now. I want you to cum on my cock, when I fuck you.“ His tone was assertive, just as Hermione was used to from him.

He turned back to his - now - lover. “Open your mouth, love.,“ Draco cooed with a lascivious grin to Mattheo, who was kneeling in front of him and looking up at him with a longingly expression on his face.

Draco grabbed his hair again when Mattheo finally opened his mouth and let Draco's full length slide down his throat. Draco groaned softly, as did Mattheo. His moans grew louder the more he ruthlessly fucked Mattheo's throat. They completely forgot everything around them for a minute..

“All you could think about since last night was 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me' and how you moan my name.,“ Draco said to Mattheo and his voice grew darker as he became more aroused.

Hermione pulled her fingers out of her slit and slowly got up from the bed. With a few steps she was beside them and kissed Draco passionately.

“Oh fuck, Mattheo.,“ Draco moaned his name into her mouth. Hermione chuckled. “Look at him Princess, look how well he's taking me.“ He spoke with an effort and Hermione could see his longing for release in his eyes. “Do it.,“ she whispered in permission into Draco's ear.

Mattheo had his eyes half closed and was moaning with every thrust. “Fuck Mattheo, this feels so good.,“ Draco moaned again, his thighs shaking. “I want you to say my name.“ Mattheo groaned more and he said Draco's name, but the sound was muffled. Draco gripped his hair tighter. “Louder.,“ he commanded him.

“Draco!,“ Mattheo moaned again, as Draco pulled his cock out of his mouth for a second. 'You're my good boy.,“ Draco whispered, admiring the saliva dripping from Mattheo‘s chin and picking up where he left off. Hermione kissed him again and slid her hand up to his butt, to press him even tighter into Mattheo's mouth.

“I'm so close, wait until you can taste me, wait.. soon..,“ Draco tilted his head back, “I'll fill your throat and make you swallow all my pureblood cum.“ Draco moaned with lust as he took a few final thrusts down Mattheo's throat, filling his mouth completely. And the good boy Mattheo was, he swallowed it all.

Hermione thought, she would tear apart in lust.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. “Fuck me.,“ she whispered and pulled her husband to the bed with her. “Kneel down on the bed, princess. It's your turn now.,“ Draco said, pushing her forwards slightly. Hermione knelt down on the bed facing him. “Open up, wife.,“ he commanded, putting his cock to her lips. Hermione grinned and willingly opened her mouth.

Mattheo came into sight from behind Draco.

“My good girl.,“ Draco moaned softly as she started sucking him, “Suck me, make me hard again.“

Mattheo wrapped one hand around Draco's waist, to tease his nipples and used his other hand to slide Draco's cock even deeper into Hermione's mouth. He bowed his head and placed small kisses on Draco's throat and neck.

Draco moaned more and more loudly. “You both are so fucking addicting, oh fuck..“ He was momentarily overwhelmed with all the impressions, Hermione blowing him so well and Mattheo rubbing his hard cock against his back.

“Does this feel good, Princess? Moaning all over my hard Deatheater's cock, and taking it like the good little slut you are?“

Hermione felt dizzy with pleasure. She wanted to feel him. Deep in her, where he belonged. She forced words to the front of her mind, just for him to hear it.

‚Fuck my cunt now, finally..‘

Draco pulled his cock out of her mouth. 'Lie down.', he said to Mattheo, in a tone, that left no room for contradiction. Mattheo slowly lowered himself onto the bed, not taking his eyes off Draco. “Blow his cock.,“ Draco demanded of Hermione. She hesitated for a moment, but then lowered her lips over Mattheo's hard cock with a big grin. “Oh Merlin.,“ Mattheo groaned as Hermione started sucking him into her mouth, “Your wife is a goddess.“

Draco let out a soft laugh. “I'll fuck you, until you can't walk no more, Hermione, until everything you can say is my name.“ Hermione swallowed, Mattheo's cock still inside her mouth.

“Hermione,“ Mattheo groaned, “Hermione, this is so good, please don't stop.“

Draco climbed onto the bed behind her and placed his cock right in front of her entrance. “Today you are our fucktoy, Princess.,“ he said before shoving himself deep into her tight pussy. She tensed, about to come. “Draco,“ Hermione moaned, “Draco!“

“Yes, do it again, I want to feel you squeeze my cock with your tight pussy.“

Draco fucked her with hard thrusts, banging his cock against the walls of her pussy, but he didn't stop. He knew how much Hermione loved that feeling. “You're my fucktoy, my cock looks so perfect in your sweet cunt, I can't stop watching it.“

“Draco.,“ Mattheo suddenly whimpered, “I'm coming, I can't hold it any longer.“

As soon as he said those words, he came right into Hermione's mouth, who was moaning Draco's name so loudly, that Mattheo's cum ran out of the corners of her mouth back onto his dick.

“Oh fucking hell, I love how you scream my name, and he is looking so perfekt cumming for us, bloody Merlin, I'm going to pump all my pureblood seed into you too, Princess..“

Draco pulled her off Mattheo. “You want to be our little whore, don't you?,“ he breathed in Hermione's ear, „Come on my lap.,“ he said louder this time, his voice demanding and dark. She knew what this meant. Draco lay flat on the bed and pulled Hermione onto him. “Finally..,“ Hermione breathed as she lowered herself onto his cock. Draco leaned forward and kissed her greedily.

As she started riding him, her screams got louder and louder. He clawed his fingers into her ass and caressed her breasts which were bouncing up and down. “Faster, princess, come on, squeeze every drop of cum out of me with your tight pussy.,“ he whispered to her. Hermione was no longer paying attention to him. She rode herself to the climax, she finally wanted salvation, she couldn't wait any longer.

Draco glanced over at Mattheo, who was laying on the bed next to them, watching him jerking off his cock. He kept his eyes on him as he spoke to Hermione. “Tell me how much you love my cock, fucking you so hard, wife.“ “So much, Draco.“ Hermione could barely speak.

“Love, look at me, I want you to look at me, when you cum.,“ Draco demanded of Mattheo. Mattheo opened his mouth in a silent scream, spurred on by Draco's words and his eyes were still locked with Draco's when his load shot out of his cock, directly on the bed and over Draco's thighs, who smiled and let his thumb run over Mattheo's mouth. “Don't pause, Princess, keep going.,“ Draco demanded again, turning to Hermione.

“Are you coming, Princess?,“ he moaned in her ear, “Are you coming? Tell me how does it feel to know, that I'm gonna fuck you 'til you black out?“

Hermione sat up on his cock, his words making her feel unbelievably hot. “Not yet.,“ he commanded her. “Wait.“

She whispered his name over and over, almost like a prayer. “Draco..,“ she whined and kept urging, “please let me cum!“ Her screams grew louder, as he entered her without pausing and hit her in her sweetest spot. “Not yet, princess.,“ he moaned, trying to control himself.

She wanted him to lose control.

“I can't hold it anymore..,“ she almost yelled, as he squeezed her nipple lightly, making her see stars. He slid his hand to her neck, his thumb on one side of it and the other fingers on the opposite side, squeezing it tightly, leaving traces of his fingernails on her skin. She moaned, before losing control of her breathing, but tried anyway and realized how much it turned her on. She caught his gaze and when he finally looked at her, she opened her mouth in desire and he understood. “Now cum for me, Princess. Run all your delicious liquids down my dick.“

Hermione completely lost control. Her screams were so loud, that they rang in the two men's ears. „“Your cunt feels so amazing, I'm almost there Princess, keep going, I want to see your sweet ass bouncing up and down my cock.“

“I'm coming..,“ Hermione yelled. “Me too, Princess, come with me.,“ Draco replied, unable to breathe because all of his pleasure.

Mattheo slid over to them and started kissing her neck, biting and leaving marks of him on her skin too, and reached between her legs and began rubbing her most sensitive area.

And Hermione came. She came so hard, that she actually fell unconscious on top of Draco for a moment, after her high-pitched screams had penetrated the whole manor.

Draco kissed her forehead. When she regained consciousness after a few seconds, she saw him kissing Mattheo again.

“Next time I'll fuck you.,“ he said to Mattheo and moaned into his mouth.

Hermione couldn't help, but smile.

[undressmewithyoureyes]

Let There Be Light - Thirty Five

**Ghost’s POV**

               “Nik”

               Nikolai was our helicopter pilot and has assisted us on prior missions, but decided he wanted to lay low for a while and take the easy road. At this point, I didn’t care who the fuck they picked to go in there, as long as I could get my girl back. I was getting anxious and the rage that was fueled deep in me was getting harder to maintain. I look over to Soap who is looking at me with heavy eyes. I hate it for him. I know he wants to find Harley as much as I do, and I know that he wont stop until he does.

               Soap gives me a warm smile and I give a slight nod in return – reassuring him that I’m okay and that we will find her soon. Nobody knows anything about the relationship between me, Harley and Soap and Id like to keep it that way. My patience is thin enough, it would take some slick ass opinionated comment and I would send that person to meet whatever maker they came from.

               “Nik should be here within the next few hours,” Price addressed the whole unit.

               “Captain,” Gaz said, “You said they were hosting something tomorrow night. Wont it look a little suspicious that someone is trying to get in at the last minute?”

               He has a point. I look around the room to scan everyone to see their body language, “That’s how these things are done amigo,” Rudy says. His voice to me is like nails on a chalkboard now. I understand that it wasn’t entirely his fault, but the motherfucker could and should have said something. Regardless, a part of me still blames him.

               “Si,” Alejandro agreed. “They like for it to be last minute so that way there are no questions asked. So, this is actually perfect timing.”

               Perfect. Maybe everything is working out for the best since shit has gone south here lately.

               Price clears his throat, “So, Simon you will go in as a bidder and possible buyer. Nik will be on the inside as a guard looking around and giving us updates is he sees Harley. Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro, Soap and I will be outside surrounding the building. Laswell will be our eyes in the sky. Any questions?” he asked.

               Nobody said anything, “Good,” he proceeds, “Simon, once you’re inside, we need you to communicate what you see. If,” he pauses and sighs, “If you see her, you can not take lethal action.” I ball my fists tight and clench my jaw even harder, “If she is being bidded on, be the highest bidder.” Price takes note of my demeanor, “Son, I know its going to be hard, but there are other people, children even who don’t need to get hurt.”

               The fucked up side of me didn’t give a damn. Fuck them other people – I just want her back, but when I signed up for this job years ago, I knew there would be sacrifices that I would have to make. “I’ll do it,” I tell him, “But that doesn’t mean I like it.”

               Price grabs a cigar from his vest and lights it. The greyish white smoke lingering in the air with each puff, “That’s the spirit,” he says as he points the cigar at me. “Soap, cut the lights for me please,” Price asks. Soap gets up and cuts the lights off. For a partial second, we were all surrounded by darkness, the one thing I have always welcomed. Seconds later, the room lit up from the projector as a map appeared on the white wall behind Price.

               “This is the building where the trades will take place,” he says as he circles the building with his fingers holding the cigar. “Soap, you will be at the highest building over here keeping watch. Since Simon is going in, I need you on the sniper.” Soap nods his head. I’ve never minded Price calling me by my name. He was like the father I always wanted, but never had. Anyone else saying my true name never lived long enough to take credit for, except for one other – Harley fucking Traywick. Now when my name gets said, it’s like a shot in the heart.

               “Gaz and I will take this position on top of this building overlooking the entrance. Aejandro and Rudy, you will take your positions on the last two sides. Any movement of recognition of Harley is to be addressed immediately,” Price tells us. “And lastly, if shit goes south, we exfil here,” he says pointing to a wooded area that looks to be about five clicks west of the building. “Any questions?” he asks us.

               We shake our heads, “Good. Now get some rest. We leave tomorrow at 1800.”

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

               Nik finally arrived and was more that happy to help. He was like family and would do anything for us. Hes risked his life multiple times to get us out of sticky situations, and each time, he executed perfectly. I trust Nik and I trust that he will be able to get the job done. Price brought him and I into the briefing room before we left to go over the strategies and how this trade works.

               Price threw down Harley’s file and her picture was the first thing that popped up. I swear my heart stopped beating for a second as I looked at her photo.

               “Beautiful girl,” he says in his thick Russian accent looking over the photo. “You must be a lucky guy,” he says looking over at me.

               I look over at him confused on how he knew, “What? I know you Ghost. You never take your mask off, but you will for her,” he pauses, “In public of all places.” He had a point.

               “She’s per-,” I stop myself as the rest of the word wasn’t able to come out. Nik grips my shoulder and squeezes, “No need brother. I know,” he reassures me, “now lets go get her.”

               Nik was dressed in an all-black suit while I had on a black and white suite. I felt like a damn monkey in this thing, and I will never understand how people can wear them every day of the week. Nik left before any of us so he could get there and get into position. Laswell put in his application an hour before the website was shut down and he immediately got accepted. I figured since his background is impressive.

               The black SUV I was riding in came to a stop in front of this building. Tall Russian and German guards surrounded the place. My hands became a little sweaty from the anxiety swirling around inside me. I hope and pray to whoever will listen that she is in there. One of the guards opens my door and I get out. “Right this way Mr. Mercer,” he says to me. I almost didn’t make out what he was saying from his German accent.

               Luckily it was dark outside and from what Alejandro told us, it’s dark inside too. A plus for not too many people seeing my face. I follow this German guard to the entrance and hand the other guard at the door my ticket. Two other guards well over six feet tall start patting me down to make sure I’m not taking in any weapons. Luckily, I was able to strap a few to my thigh knowing no one will find them – also, Nik was told to bring two loaded pistols, so he would hand one off to me once I got in my “room”.

               The guards stopped patting me and nodded to the guard at the entrance. “Enjoy the show Mr. Mercer and happy bidding,” he tells me in a Russian accent. I wanted to knock the teeth down his throat, but immediately thought of my Harley and remained calm. The entrance guard ushered his hand out as I followed through the doors. Alejandro was right, it is dark. The only light you have is the small dimly lit wall lamps.

               “Right this way sir,” a Russian guard said as he came up to me. Nik. I followed him deeper into the building until he ushered me into my ‘room’. The inside was built in a circle. Small rooms with just a chair and a table sat in them and a huge glass window for you to look out of. The rooms came with doors, and I took note that all the knobs didn’t have locks. Easily accessible. I also noticed that the glass had tint on them. I could look out, but nobody could see inside.

               Nik shut the door behind me, and I took my seat in the leather chair. Nik taps me on my shoulder and hands me a piece of paper before exiting out of my room. ‘No sign of her yet. Rooms are tapped’. Fuck. Smart bastard thought of everything.

               “Ghost, you copy?” Soap chimes in through my earpiece. Fuck. A knock on my door sent the hairs on the back of my neck upward. The door slowly opened and a woman who was dressed in a short black dress and heels that she struggled to walk in approached me. I took note of her wrists and the bruising on them. He eyes were hollow and dark circles under her eyes told me she hadn’t slept. Her skin looked clammy, like Harleys did that day Soap brought her to me and I knew she was drugged.

               “Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” she asks.

               “Ghost, you copy?” Soap asks again through my earpiece.

               “Yes,” I reply to Soap, but I made it seem like I was answering this woman’s question.

               Her body swayed back and forth as she tried her best to hold her posture in the heels she was wearing, “What would you like sir?” her words coming out a bit slurred.

               “Scotch,” I told her as I gave her a warm smile. She turns and slowly walks out of the room. The door clicks as she shuts the door.

               “Scotch Lieutenant?” Gaz chimes in.

               “Mhm,” I hum out.

               My earpiece was silent for a few minutes before Price chimed in, “Bugged?”

               “Mhm,” I hum even lower trying to be as quiet as I could.

               Price sighed heavily, “Fuck! This just got a lot harder gentleman.”

               He was right, it did. I grip the ends of the armrest of the leather chair and squeeze. I knew it was going a little too smoothly. In this line of work, don’t ever expect shit to go smoothly – and if it is, expect the worst. A gentle knock from my door echoed again and the door opened up to the same woman who was in here moments later. The glass she was carrying with the amber colored liquid was shaking back and forth.

               She tried her best to set the glass down on the table beside me, but she spilled some of it from her shaky hands. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a whisper as tears filled her eyes. “Please, let me clean this up,” she begged.

               “It’s alright,” I reassure her.

               Tears leak out of her eyes and start rolling down her cheeks, “Are you sure?” she whispers out. I nod and give her a warm smile. She wipes her tears and struggles yet again to walk away. She shuts my doors and I look over at the glass. My stomach turns when I think of what will happen to her just from being drugged and clumsy – then my mind wanders to Harley and what they are doing to her.

               Just before my mind could wander any deeper into the horror of what may be, a light came on in the center of the room that illuminated all the glasses that surrounded the platform. A man dressed in all black walked out and to the end of the platform, “Thank you to everyone who showed up for tonight’s event. Tonight is a special occasion because we have a special person here tonight. She has fire in her spirit and an amazing military background. She’s a weapon to say the least,” he says as he laughs at his last statement.

               The fire in my chest burned bright from the girl he was referring to. My girl and I were here to take her away and make everything better.

               “So, without further ado, as your host Michael Gravely, let the bidding begin.” So that’s what the fucker looks like. He looks arrogant. I watch Michael exit off the platform as a girl dressed in a torn nightgown with a black bag over her head is ushered onto the platform. Her hands are tied behind her back, and she is struggling to walk. Her ankles are bruised from either chains or rope being around them.

               A loud voice boomed through my room from the speaker in the ceiling, “Lets start the night off right with our special guest,”. I grip the arms to my chair hard as my breathing picks up.

               The black bag over her head is lifted and my breathing stops.

               Its not her.

[talentforlying]

@normaltothemax: how about something angsty? something to do with failure or something idk

the ashen taste of failure. novelists love that shit. they'll sit in the dark of their rooms or the gaudy yellow lights of a coffee shop for hours trying to put it in their own words, rolling their tongues along the ridges of their teeth to stir up a taste more poetic than the acid of their own spit, to really feel what they say their protagonists do. prettying up misery to package and sell, because who the fuck would want to read it if they were to come right out and say "some seventy year old git who just boked in the station toilet has been riding a train with no destination for hours, and if you ask him, he's pretty sure he's been on that train his whole fucking life"?

( yeah. he wouldn't read it either. )

if there is someone writing his life, trying to feed 'failure' into the flavor grinder, they don't have to try hard to come up with the 'ashen' part. it clings to him like a lover, like a second skin, like film stretched over leftovers you've already forgotten about and won't find again until the stench of rot starts to leak out the gaps around the door of the fridge. ash on his fingers, on his tongue, on his coat. ash in his wake, a long, slithering trail — bridges and lives and bodies and rules. cigarette stubs in the windowsill. every car's a non-smoking car these days, but since when has that ever stopped a determined enough wheezing working man from lighting up? never stopped him. there's precious little that does.

and that's the fucking problem right there, isn't it? nothing stopping him. people too shit-scared to get in his way. plenty of high-and-mighty fuckers to tell him off after he's done, oh sure; parades of angry scoffs and disapproving looks, fingers stuck in his face and punches to be thrown. but not a single fucker to hold him back when the tide is rising and he's still charging down the beach to kick sand in someone else's face. no one who can change his mind once it's been made up. no one who wants to make the plan, break the rules, take the dive, push the big red button. to fail. fucking sycophants and cowards with 20/20 hindsight, dooming him to lose again and again and again.

( sure, make it about everyone else but you, constantine. make it anyone else's fault but yours.

pretend like the only reason you're still shoveling the shit is because the nasty mean world won't take the spade away from you, pretend like being the only one for the job isn't exactly what you fucking wanted all along.

congratulations, con job: you're special. now fucking live with it. )

the ashen taste of failure. does failure leave the taste behind, or does the ash come first? does fate rub his nose in it once they've learned he's shat the carpet, or does it sprinkle down across his shoulders like powdery snow as soon as he steps outside, marking him for an inevitable fuck-up?

would it be easier to know that there really is someone writing his life, and that every ounce of burning shame sent to sear the back of his throat with each new drag on that ashen taste serves a purpose, eventually? it's all in the plot, you didn't get another friend killed for nothing. just the plot, putting your family into early graves and sinking your mind like a stone down the throat of your own titanic ego, until it chokes on unreality and the new god penance ascends the throne. a mechanism to get you from point A to B with narrative swiftness so the audience won't get fucking bored, so you'll find that next convenient little nugget of resolve and grow up a bit just as you were meant to, just in time to pull yourself together for the next big event.

except, he doesn't know what point B looks like. skipped the briefing, missed the stop. left all the resolve behind. someone else can go pan for it, find him a reason to change, hoard it or sell it or turn it into something worth keeping, something that might change the text on his tombstone from THAT BASTARD CONSTANTINE into SOMEONE WHO HAD SOMETHING TO GIVE, but for now, there's nowhere to go: there's only the act of going. only him and this train, and the fact that inevitably, eventually, it will stop. it has to, right? he can't continue like this forever. like chewing gum, he can't maintain the taste.

( why not? nothing stopping him. )

pull the e-brake. let him off here. something's burning, and he's pretty sure it's his life: going up in smoke, like every good thing he's ever touched. like bridges, and bodies, and rules.

hey, writer up there. do you taste that, when you roll your tongue around, stinging where you cracked open that split lip? tastes like seventy years of salt, doesn't it? when you press your hands to your eyes, can you feel ridges and scars doing the same, squeezing vitreous fluid up against your optic nerve? when you breathe, does your heart beat so fucking fast, so fucking hungry for that stolen air, that it feels like dying? does it feel like you've been losing for decades, yourself and other people, hopes and compassion and desperate fucking dreams clawing up out of your lungs in bits and pieces, and you can never spare the time to pick any of them up because the next one's already on its way?

failure doesn't taste like ash. novelists love that shit because it's easy, pre-packaged. failure tastes like this: salt his pride won't name as tears, and acid spit, and the last gasp of a low-tar cigarette on a train to nowhere, in a life maintained on the knowledge that as sad and sorry as he feels for himself now, he is probably yet to do his worst.

. . . yeah. you're right. he doesn't fucking like that ending either.

( nothing stopping him from changing it. )

[ofskellingtcns]

FULL NAME: wesley ezekiel skellington. NICKNAMES: wes, weast, south. DOB: october 29. AGE: twenty-one OCCUPATION: comic book shop employee. ZODIAC: scorpio. ORIENTATION: bisexual. GENDER: male. PRONOUNS: he / him. PARENTS: jasper skellington & victoria everglot. FC: rudy pankow.

tw. bio has mentions of dismemberment and body horror. he’s a skellington u know how it goes.

- to keep in theme with jasper and victoria’s love for gothic and horror they named their son wesley after iconic horror director wes craven. it seemed on par with their son because he just loves making people scream. wesley and his twin cthulhu came to be with the aid of the dark arts. their mother was having trouble convincing so with a little bit of black magic the twins came to be. he was half skeleton monster which means while he could do all that his dad did it came with a price because of his human side. his body wasn’t fully made to withstand all that was needed so wesley could pop parts off but it left marks on his body - unlike his father. as for a full skeletal transformation? wesley attempted it once and the pain was too excruciating he had to stop. ironically, he was left with a broken arm.   

- wes was gifted the same brilliant mind his father had. he was a certified genius except he didn’t use his intelligence to its full potential. jasper had always sought out something more in life but wes was just content with where he was. he didn’t want to be grand or special, he was fine with slacking off and not giving people expectations. he didn’t want to live up to the skellington name which he was well aware was powerful in hallow falls. it was once besmirched but his father had fixed his reputation, leaving citizens to continue to grovel at their feet for forgiveness. he was the only son in a sea of girls and while jasper didn’t want to pressure his son he also wishes wes would see his potential. 

- he graduated the top of his class but never applied himself to do extracurricular activities or anything. wes had the grades but he let everything else slip. he would much rather be at the skatepark or smoking weed rather than doing bake sales or whatever the golden kids did. for lack of a better word he was fine with being a loser rather than being popular.  

- currently wes works at the comic shop in elias. if he’s not causing mayhem with the teague triplets, or annoying his sisters, he’s with his boyfriend, harry, minding his business, keeping his side of the street clean !!

- personality wise –  absolute fucking menace. very sarcastic and never takes anything seriously. he’s a little crude sometimes. is also known to be moody, chaotic and destructive. he has his moments of intelligence and being the voice of reason but it’s far and few. he plays dumb a good chunk of the time and finds it amusing when people realize that he has more than one brain cell. despite all the annoyance, he’s very loving, loyal and funny.

INSPIRATION: richie tozier from it ( 2019 ), mike wheeler from stranger things, donnie darko from donnie darko, teenage dirtbag by wheatus, charlie kelly from it’s always sunny in philadelphia, shane madej from buzzfeed unsolved, lip gallagher ( shameless ), steve clark ( disturbing behavior )

CONNECTIONS: can be found here.  THIS COULD BE YOU ! hit me up for connections.

[solardick]

Year one.

As to pluto and uranus seeming interchangeable, one always has residue from the other.

Prime seal.

… ugh. And i give up having any human connectiin to anyone. Its never going happen. Been trying for 40 years. It diesnt exists in hell.

I was just born for the sole purpose of being fucked. And never experiencing anythign other.

Yay, neptune is coming to aries. Time to soems the rest of my life in a delusion.

Well, guess i’ll if i survive another year. Its another eros/psyche conjunction this Christmas. A spyche/ Eros return for my birthday. With okuto square oluto. And saturn square/ opposition uranus. Everything is hapoening on the late. 26th ish degrees. Ass is still sensitive. Makes me want to die. Another year stolen by the enrourage pf people working me over these last few decades. And this rapist culture. They tild me 20 years ago that i may not survive this.

But they’re dumb and biased and have my motives all wrong. Doesnt matter im always im the wrong being wronged.

Moral of my life story, dint fight for what you beleive in.

All my dreams are dead. Theres no point being alive. In hust a villain framed by fucken villains.

Maybe if i live to see neptune in aroes in this scrit dedigned yo rape my life. Ill spend the rest of my “functionsl” yeRs veinb an alcoholic.

Freat my ass is going to keep me up all night again. Miss more work. Lose more life. Not like im

Not serrounded by there anyway. Its always been that way. Since birth.

Well, tarot’s dead. Now i no longer even have a hobby. I have nothing.

I din’t need a brain or personal development or to learn anything. Ill just be pure sex. Nothign else.

And ill nusy pretend i like the people im with. Bit i really do not give a shit. Thats too bad i was good at tarot. I can just go back to indiscriminately watching tv again. And ill just go back to fantasizing about sex all day. Cause thats all im good for.

Wonder what hating myself for the rets of kife is going to be like. I don’t need to produce or create anything. Im just here to satiate desires for others to stabd over me. Its been 40 years of it. Its not going to stop now. Do need life guard qualities either. Don’t need to help and try to fix others. Or take any position of assertion. Theres no point.

There’s only tei reasons to be alive. To reproduce or to produce. I cant have either. Im just here to consume whatver cock they through at me. Cayse i live in a hypersexed perverted, rapist civilization. That Just shits all over natural law. They’ve destroyed everything. I dont even childhood memeries.

Well huess im not dtaying at wirk todsy.

Go hime play video games by myséf. In the dark. While syill being open to

Abuse. And smoke dope. I dont need a brain. Or a life.

Fuck tour shadow work and fuck yoyr byllshiy

My own family, took pleasure in being superior over me. Since my first memory own. Well except that short while i got to be a big brother and look out for them from all the negative influences on impressionable youth. Or dumb old people. Why wouldn’t the rest of the world too. If your own famuly did it. It doubles extra for the rest of the world.

So my suicide is still on the horizon. As with this fucken horrorscope is to year one.

Whilw this entire fucken entourage micro manages my fycken spyche, mirroring reality. If i do anything remotly masculime or hetero theyd put and leave signs around. That correspoded to ehat i was foing.

Doing everything in their power witj their homo nazi manifesto. Being totalitarians

Suppose to be happy right now with a wife and three year kid but whaéve r

I feel so wrkng and unatural i fucken hate this. Fucken kill me. My father is fucken laughing at me.

How many more years i am going to be tortured by assholes.

Im quitting my day rape job and hanging myselg.

Everyone including my family are forcing me to kill myaelf how do you think i feel. 40 fucken years of this shit.

Yeah ok, sure. All rainbows and sunshine abd mental bs. With no sleep, and a vagina that never goes dry.

And wveryone thinks im sonething im not.

Fuck your horrorscope and fuck uranus.

Fuck you all for dtanding by watching and reading and not helping me be rid of those fucken assholes being abusive fuckers. And for joining in on keeping mw envlosed in this bs. Perpetuaying the disorder and then raping me for it. Your entire way of oives deserve to burn.

A real himan bwing wouldvhave killed me instead of torture. What the fuck is wrong woth this picture. It aint me.

It dirsnt fucjen matter im being murdered ians im not hping to be alive much longer. So cheerios to a world populated by dipshits and rapists. Worse than whst russia gets flaked for.

Fucken woodpeckers.

Put that up on the list of sexual derogatories. It has the word pecker in it.

And eating chivken makes uou gay.

Finger livking good. Now im going to go buy some chocolat bars named after various cocks.

And good fortune. Saturn is the good guy. Keeping the fucks above at bay from crowsing its fucken boraders. And raping existance.

Pretty french girl with a daughter. She needed love. And to be noticed. So i watched a bit. She was trying to be inconspicous about noticing me. I smiled. Whether she saw. Im not sure maybe. My periphery iwas being used into somethign else. But, she came back aftwr she left. And whenni was walkign out the door she came back. Had her cart stuck in the door. I moved it. And like a ghost. She said something to me. That she has to go over there. An di had to move out of the way. For her to have the room to do so. I gave her the love she needed. If only in a small part that leaves her memory by tomorow.

Too bad im being murdered.

This os another part of me im teying to protect. But the world doesn twamt it.

I shouldnt show this side of me though. Unlike the sickness and bs. Its never been supported.

But their “therapy” is working.

And ill

Live out all the worset parts of me for the rest of days. And cry over never knwoing what love received feels like. Giving in to every craving, losing the conscience. Being envoloped by darkness and retard clowns.

Always filling a need or a desire over everything else. Over life itself. And the bodies it inhabits. Thats ehat the eorld wants.

I dont want to be slive anymore. Why cant i judg kill myself.

I dont need to be able to focus on anything. Or even sleep.

And i dont need to self -develop at all. In any posotive capacity. I have othets to do that for me. Save that they dont care.

I coukd be a normal person going through a divirce settlement at moment. But no.

Be on pills for the rest if my life. That restrict me from driving.

I aont taking anti depressants. That shit fucked me up. Made me unstable. And imbalanced. Even after 2-3 years of “covid” or emasculation. Same thing. I still firgot my mask everyday. It was the same with the pills. Then i got beat up again and family members ayanding over by body on the ground. Lecturing me. Then i quit the pills and got raped by the world.

One homo or drunk or drug addiilct after the bext fucken abusing me. Year after year. Place after place. While being in this entrapement of shadow assholes guiding me to everything negative experience. To force me into being a sissy slut.

[pixijelly]

a rejected substack article

So there's this story that I wrote around June. It was completely stereotypical and useless, never to be seen by another unless ur name was [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED], and my priv twt. Around that time, I was applying to internships and parading myself around as someone fully capable. I don't really know when it started to sound good, but at some point SOME POINT!!! i thought “Yeah, holy shit, that’s it!”

I finally found the script I could tell people about!

lasted about two seconds until I wanted to melt onto the screen again. [Suicidal ideation, much? How 2014]

Back into the workshop .. *sigh*

I so dangerously call myself a writer. I burrow myself inside once it gets a little cold. I smoke a cigarette after every class.

These are all things I think writers do.

I wouldn’t introduce myself as a writer, but when people ask me about my major, I say, “Blah, Blah, Blegh, * Writing.” The implications are there, and people understand to some degree that I have dedicated myself to collecting words and experiences in order to call them a story. It’s verryyyyyy pretentious.

I started calling myself a writer around my 12th birthday when I posted my very first fanfic on wattpad. WATTPAD! It was a HTTYD fanfic where the characters all attended self-help group therapy LMAO. I was going to group therapy. Anyway, people commented, people liked it, whatever.

Fanfiction was a very integral part of my self-discovery as a writer. I was 15 talking to 30 year olds about their creative work. I did beta work, or editing, and I felt like I finally met people who understood what it was like to post on AO3, tumblr, fanfiction. net! Thank God!

Am I really a writer if I started on the internet?

This article has taken a lighter tone… I need to reassess.

The internet is a place I frequent. Chronically Online. I have been since middle school, and it’s shaped most of my lingo, tastes, and personality. It sounds strange if you are a middle-aged corporate worker or Normal young person. I’m very different, I was living vicariously through the internet! It looks like I crawled out of the cyber gutters! *gag*

Now, I can usually tell when someone else is *also* chronically online. Kpop was a very stan twt THING (even though sometimes I’m not so sure nowadays). Do you rapid fire say words like AJKDFHJDHFJDSKFJDGHOGNJAENJGNIEURNVJKDFNVKJNFGJFGNFDKJGHRWTEYUIFOVUYADSGNVHOUYVNFIJDOASLKNGHUFBGIUVAJSFDNVJBOUGIERUAOJNVJDFKVAIUERGJOIEQ9-347THUFJEVBIE.

It’s cool to be on the internet. It usually means You Know What’s Up. Allegedly.

If you were on the internet around 2014, you understood the Indie Sleaze Revival. If you were on the internet around 2016, you understood After. Phan, Lolita, Anorexia, 2018 Dark Harry Styles Fanfic, Magcon, Red Scare, Hello Kitty, Diet Coke, Red Sunglasses, Oil, Ripped Black Skinny Jeans, Matty Healy, Skins UK, Skam, Tommy February 6, American Apparel, Wong Kar-wai, Male Manipulator Music, Female Manipulator Music, Harajuku Fashion, NGE, Faye Wong, Ai Yazawa, The Love Witch, whimsigoth. Tumblr Stuff like that.

I will let you in on a secret. The internet does not give you a personality, but it gives you a great starting point to be a cool, trendy, multi-dimensional person! You can pretend to be so Effy Stonem from Skins UK. You can loudly profess your eating disorders (I shoved a toothbrush down my throat this morning hahahaha)! You can like weird things! There will be people there to see you, share thingsss, expose you, love you. But you already know that. It’s 2022, of course YOUUUU understand the internet.

At 20 years old, NEARLY 21, I am afraid to confess that I still love tumblr. I’m afraid to confess that I feel really fucking old already.

There are no other secrets I can share with you.

Except maybe that script I wrote back in June… And maybe some creative writing I tried to write.

I feel like I can only share my writing on the internet because on here… you have no idea who I am, or you do, but I love you enough to trust you with my corny dialogue lines. Because I can act like a SERIOUS WRITER, a GOOD writer, someone who knows what they’re doing…

In actuality, I feel like the distance I’ve created from calling myself is rooted in some deep twisted imposter syndrome. People can do hard things! Like go to therapy, and not talk about their eating disorder on air like that. Chuu from the Kpop group Loona nearly made me cry. Bulimic girls need to stick together!

Which is whyyy I say everyone should watch the Crown s4. I’m obsessed with British Royalty when they’re depicted as fictional, not real people. Kinda like what fanfic writers do to Larry Stylinson LOL.

I want to become so indistinguishable, fake, raw, and unreal that you are able to see me as a fictional character. I’m not real, but I am?? Real enough so you can find enjoyment in my writing.

When people ask me who I write for, I usually say for the girls. But I guess what I mean is, I write for myself, a lonely, hating bitch. What’s coolerrrr than that!

_________

Time to get into the nitty gritty pretentiousness!

For about a year now, I have come to terms in being a film girl. I like to watch movies, and I watch a lot of movies (shitty and criterion). It wasn’t until one Thursday evening, Mahayla said, “We need to find something good for the film student to watch,” or something along those lines. AT THAT MOMENT, I grappled with my major, my interests, and my overall vibe.

I’m not a film student, but I have taken classes to survey films. If asked, I could vomit some terminology and critique a Film. Capital F. I guess that makes me a film student.

But it was something about the way my friends were keeping me in mind while looking for something to watch. I’m not really used to that. I kind of like to keep my mouth shut in fear of saying some movie *nobody* wants to watch. Is it wrong to be afraid of my own taste? Perhaps it’s some form of gatekeeping. I’m sure it’s insecurity.

I like to joke that I gatekeep my personality. It means I have no personality. I have yet to know the difference. If you’ve met me before, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if I was interesting … JUST KIDDING1!

I know I’m a person with feelings, likes, and a personality.

Anyway, I watched A Special Day for the first time this weekend, and it made me cry. Maybe it was because I was really emotional from the brownie I ate. I was probably anticipating my incoming burnout. It was a shit movie. Not really sure. I’m still figuring out how to categorize my emotions.

[meadowscarlet]

swimming pools ━━━ steve harrington.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader.

summary: being alone in the swimming pool with steve harrington in the serene, dark night brought up intense feelings that blossomed into a steamy and passionate night.

warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, nipple play, praise kink, cursing, brief teasing, dirty talk if you squint, innocence kink, heavy making out, pet names like “baby” and “angel”, no specific timeline in st, mentions of sex, drinking and smoking.

author’s note: don’t judge me, this is my first time writing these kinds of fics and honestly it was a scary experience 😭 do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

With the exception of the moonlight reflected off the pool, the night was peaceful and tranquil and wholly empty. Teenagers were partying, drinking, making out, and swimming in the pool only a moment ago, creating a wild and amusing atmosphere that smelled of booze, smoke, and sex and setting the scene for a fierce night that went very smoothly.

Steve was currently having a euphoric high. The taste of alcohol still lingered on his tongue, reminding him of the ecstasy he had only a moment earlier, and he felt elated and fucking wasted from all the beers he had recently consumed. It had been awhile since he had great times with everything going on. He thought the crazy party was worth it, but he had a bleary feeling that the night hadn't ended yet.

When he turned around and looked, he found that you were the only person left in the area. Steve's mouth started to become dry. He remembered not letting his attention stray from you and your body while he was drinking and having a good time at the party because you were so distracting: your dress was tight, perfectly fitting to your curves as you moved your hips to the music with your friends. It would be an understatement to say that Steve was drooling at that.

You had always been the beloved and well-known pretty girl in Hawkins who was popular among the guys. There was one rumor where you were vindictive and spoiled and all the nasty shit people would throw at a girl living her teenage life but Steve knew it was all nonsense. Despite your notoriety as being popular, rich, and attractive, you were truly an actual angel and something sweet that made Steve eager to devour you. You were the one dream girl that everyone desired.

One thing he was pleased with, was that while you two were not close, you were also not complete strangers. Steve would reminisce how you'd pass by him in the school hallway with a delicate and divine grin that made him weak in the knees. Since you were always with your friends, your conversations together were short and simple. If not by your friends, Steve would observe how guys would approach you and ask you out on dates. To his greatest surprise, but mostly amusement, you never went out with any of them.

Steve had it bad, to put it mildly, with those ephemeral interactions and his eyes following you everywhere. Like everyone else, Steve Harrington was attracted to you, but he also felt a rush of feelings when your eyes, not for the first time in the night, locked with his. The night suddenly felt overbearingly dark, but when you smiled at him, fuck, he knew he was done for.

“Hi, Steve,” you giggled as you saw him openly staring at you.

Your eyes were bright and wide as you watched him. Steve knew he didn’t have to hide it anymore; so he let his gaze wandered around you, from your goddess of a face to your breathtaking body which was barely covered with the hot two piece you wore; your body completely exposed and Steve realized that it was only then you removed your cover up, when there was many people, you wore that dress and didn’t swim but now, you and him just alone, his gaze trailing every inch of you and you just let him.

You were studying him with bright, wide eyes. Steve realized he didn't need to hide it anymore, so he let his gaze observe you as it moved from your goddess-like face to your stunning body, which was barely covered by the two-piece bikini you were wearing. Steve realised that it was only then that you took off your cover-up dress; earlier, when there were many people present, you wore the dress and resisted to swim, but now, with just the two of you, he let his gaze follow every inch of you and you just let him.

Steve was going insane.

“Hey, angel,” he replied, voice husky. Then he suddenly frowned. “You’re not going home yet?” not that he wanted you to leave, it was just odd how all your friends went home and you were here.

Your eyes glinted with amusement. “You're not gonna let me join you?”

When Steve looked down, water was there to greet him. He didn't realize how long he had been in the pool until he was going on about you and staring at you. The words coming from your mouth were seductive and sweet, luring him. Before he could ponder how he managed to forget that he was actually in a pool, he instead concentrated on what you said. The night was cold and perhaps you could provide him some warmth.

After feeling a desire emerge within him, Steve didn't hesitate. “C’mere then,”

As you approached him, you sat on the edge of the pool and dipped your flawlessly gorgeous legs into the water rather than joining him in the pool as he had anticipated. Steve approached you when you were playing in the water with your legs, swimming so close that his chest was only an inch over your knees and he looked hypnotized. His pulse began to race as soon as he heard you take a tense breath since this was the closest he had ever been near you and you smelt like something he never wanted to forget.

“I thought you’re gonna join me,” Steve said almost breathlessly.

“Is it deep?”

“Wait, what?“

You laughed shakily. “The water. Is it deep?”

Steve placed a wet hand on your leg without thinking about it, and he nearly groaned as he felt you shiver, either from the water or his hand, but your chest was rising quickly, which can be very distracting.

“No, no, it’s not deep,” he responded, trailing his fingers along your legs, and you shuddered even more. Steve could see how your eyes were clouded by a phantom of want and he has no doubt his eyes darkened it too. “Enjoyed the party, did we, angel?”

When Steve's fingertips traced the insides of your thighs, you whimpered quietly, but your response was breathy and heavenly. “Kinda… my friends ditched me for their boyfriends.”

“People who would ditch you are out of their minds,” Steve muttered. “I can’t even imagine doing that.”

“Well, it’s just us,” you said quietly.

“Us,” Steve said, tasting the word in his mouth and it felt good saying it. “What do you think your friends and their boyfriends are doing now?”

You suddenly looked bashful; god you were adorable. “Having their own… fun.”

“And you’re not?” Steve murmured, now fiddling with the straps of your bikini underwear. “Seems unfair, doesn’t it, angel?”

You stuttered, “S–steve,”

“You like that, yeah?” Steve fought the impulse to totally grasp you and bring you close to him in the water. “Calling you angel?”

“I do,” you gasped.

“Well, what about, baby?” Steve’s eyes darkened with lust once he saw how you clamped your thighs together.

“God, Steve,” you breathed, Steve could practically hear your heart racing, mirroring his own.

Steve has both of his hands on your supple thighs at this point. “I haven’t even touched you properly, baby,” he whispered, he adored the way you shuddered with the name he called you. “A fun you deserve.”

You’re breathing hard now. “Then touch me, Steve.”

“Are you sure?”

You only nodded.

“Words, angel.” he whispered.

“Yes.” you replied breathlessly and that was all it took for Steve to finally taste you.

He kisses your lips hungrily, and his cock hardens hearing your muffled moan in his mouth. This was it; your taste was more divine than anything else, your lips were soft, and you fulfilled all of his fantasies. Your lower lip was bit by his teeth as he enjoyed how your chest crushed against his, sending both of your hearts racing.

Steve wanted to taste your lips more but your neck was beckoning for him so he moved to kiss your neck, placing his hands on your waist, pulling you to him as you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist. His tongue was licking your earlobe, whispering praises and assurances in your ear while you grow suddenly needy, moving against him, pressing your body impossibly closer together.

You clenched your teeth and whimpered softly as he bit and sucked the sweet spot on your neck. He pulled you deeper into the water, making you tighten your legs around his waist. “Steve!” you cried. “I'm wet.”

“Are you really?” he teased and suddenly his hand was cupping your clothed pussy, trailing his fingers on the clothed slit, his eyes never left your closed eyes and your pretty face.

“God, Steve,” you moaned, wanting him to end his teasing already.

“God’s not here, baby,” When his fingers finally made it to your clit, Steve sighed, pushing your bikini underwear down onto your thighs while still his finger trailed the slit, loving the way you moaned heavenly. “It’s just you and me, remember?”

“Have you ever done this?” he then asked as he paused before inserting a finger into your cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, holding onto him tightly. “Not t—to anyone.”

“So, this hasn't been touched yet?” Steve groaned and swirled his finger deeper into your clit. You began to follow the insert of his finger and grind against it.

You moaned as he inserted another finger. “I have,”

Steve gave you a vociferous kiss on the neck and throat, leaving lovebites on your immaculate skin as the moonlight shone on you, leaving him speechless at your beauty. “Fuck, baby,” he said breathlessly. “I’m the first and I will be the last.”

Steve didn't even realize as his other hand, which wasn't inside you, moved to your back to untie your bra, which promptly fell into the water and left you now bare before him. Fuck, you were so exquisite. You grinded on his fingers in desperation, whimpering when he added a third one, and his back was scratched by your nails.

His lips moved to kiss your chest right away, then he licked his way to your right nipple; sucking and licking before doing the same with your left nipple. He was having a wonderful time with you as his fingers worked inside of you, and he was loving the way you were clenching against him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Steve said, gently biting your nipple as his pace with his fingers inside your pussy was moving quick. “So good baby… you feel so good.”

As your climax approached, Steve paced his finger in and out of your pussy while you began to whine from your lovely lips, that tasted incredibly wonderful. Steve imagined how his dick would be instead of his fingers inside you, imagining it made him scorchingly desire you, but this isn't about pleasing him; it's about you, and he wasn't going to rush you. He felt like he was on cloud nine as he felt you tighten and clench all around his finger, urging you to come with just his fingers.

As soon as you came on his fingers, you shuddered, but the moan you let out was smothered when Steve gave you a full mouth kiss while his other finger pinched and stroked your nipples. You pulled him in closer with your arms around his neck and a passionate kiss that ignited your combined passion.

Steve slightly pivoted and gave you a look that was filled with admiration as he kissed you again on the forehead, the nose, and then the lips then moved the stray wet hairs away from your face. “Did you have fun, angel?” he whispered against your lips.

You responded, panting and beaming, “I did,” and when you added, “Only with I'm with you,” Steve's heart flipped.

[cough-ii]

Foxes and friends as out of context quotes my lads and i have collected

"Ugh, I really want to put my fist in something" - dan on a bad day / neil everyday

“Life is a terminal disease” - andrew

“Stella what FUCK, you look like a noodle 😭” - kevin to neil

“This is gonna sound a bit chaotic… I have this ball of string” - matt

“The goal is to create chaos” - neil

“drugalicious” - nicky

“I feel uncomfortable christening a bag full of babies” - wymack

“girls stop touching each other” - wymack

“Math is a lifestyle” - neil post dead-arc

“Nhu put the guns away” - renee to andrew

“How DARE you crash my party” - allison

“I was pumped full of drugs” - literally all of the foxes

“People who go hard for their cottages” - allison about renee

“Do you wanna be emos and work in the dark?” - kevin studying with andrew and neil

“Where is my brain” - aaron

“We need to talk about what is going on in the bathrooms” - matt to andrew and neil

“Oh you little emos” - renee or dan to everyone else

“Europeans LOVE getting naked, walk around in June, July, August, whatever, they just love stripping down. Even in slavic countries […] That's just what they do, they love taking their clothes off” - kevin staring at Jean

“Sex and drugs and blah blah blah” - andrew

“Recycling children” - wymack

“I’m not sure if you know this but every person has a naked body” - the foxes when they finally see neil shirtless

“Oh dead people, awesome lets go” - andrew

“Does that mean you have no friends?” - neil to riko

“Keep hands a safe distance away from the stripper to avoid injuries” - allison to matt about dan

“That’s how uncrackable I am” - dan

“All I need is Mary Jane and a vibrator” - allison

“I’m a glorified thug” - andrew

“No stabbing in the classroom please. I don’t want to do all the paperwork,” - WYMACK

“I’m actually a huge fan of bulge” - nicky

“Wanna makeout?” - allison

“Are we holding hands?” - neil    “No, you’re holding mine” - andrew

“My ego’s not that big. It’s big, but not that big.” - kevin or aaron

“I’m a chick magnet” - nicky

“If they have hot dogs imma get a boner” - nicky

“God could be he, she or gay” - renee

“Why are you laughing, because I have a senior moment?” - matt

“I wanted to chat :( “ - matt to neil who starts to leave for night practise

“You’re not doing drugs?” “Why are you not doing drugs?” - nicky and aaron to andrew ab cracker dust

“I didn’t say bash them I said throw a chair at them” - allison

“He was putting glue on my shirt, so I asked him politely and he kept doing it so I cut his laptop in half” - dan

“or just be the bully, it is more fun that way” - neil

“I only smoke life, happiness” - matt

“Sorry it took so long to get my ass over here”- andrew to kevin at night practise

“Have a fun trippy time doing maths” - matt to neil doing homework

“Remember when we stole the VCR and took it to cash converters” - aaron to andrew

“Hurry up girls or I’m gonna get the whip out” - dan

‘That’s just the millennial in me”  - wymack

“Everything tastes better hard” - nicky

“who wakes up this early to kayak” - matt to neil about running

“Yep just let me die, oh wait I’m arrested” - neil / andrew

“If anything goes wrong blame it on the British” - all of the foxes except neil

“I’m sure boys wouldn’t mind doing CPR on your boob” - abby

“They are open for oral” - allison

“The dick of despair” - nicky

“Cleanse your eyes with bleach and holy water” - aaron

+

andrew: i dont care enough about it to hate it.

neil: you care about me?

andrew: (looks around)

neil: what are you trying to find?

andrew: my last fuck.

aaron: (looks around) where’s my will to live…

[sor-vette]

#15.5 134340 (slowed)

“It’s a refurbished student housing,” you explain as they trail after you like ducks in a row. Even if they don’t understand what you’re saying, they seem to be clinging to every word. Wherever you look there’s always at least one pair of doe eyes staring expectantly back at you a.k.a. what do you do when you open your doors and find a certain retired boyband for some reason wants to move in

• type: ot7 x fem! reader (poly) • w/c: 10.6k • rating: explicit

• c/w: *cracks knuckles* passive & active suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt (drowning) & mention of previous attempts, depression, homophobia, internalized heterosexism, toxic family dynamics, parental issues, use of f slur, infidelity (not really but idk how to describe it), alcohol consumption & its abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, a relationship falling apart, (your beloathed) lack of communication, self - hate, arguments, sort of breakup, crying, pining, struggling with one's sexuality, mentions of depersonalization, so much crying like a ton, angst + smut!! oral (f receiving), spanking, use of a vibrator, light choking (it's...yeah.. hands... the ones who get it, get it), overstimulation, body worship, praise, light marking, just a dash of (healthy!) possessiveness as a treat, implied voyeurism, reader is insecure

• series’ masterlist • other works

• a/n: SMUT IS AT THE END SO IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ IT FEEL FREE TO SKIP :) In this chapter, the relationship between the boys is messy, like just pure angst. At this point in the timeline, they've understood that the nature of their relationship is not only "friends" but they're really struggling with it because 1) there's a lot of them, 2) some of them are insecure with their sexualities 3) all of them are stressed and overworked this year as it was in real life. No one has made it official, so they're all kind of struggling to understand what is this, some want to breach the next step, some are too afraid to commit. No one's the designated bad guy during this, everyone has their reasons, everyone has their hurt, which is I guess, the whole point of this fic. It mostly takes place from early 2018 to early 2019, with the exception of time skip to present day at the very end. In the endnotes, you'll find some trivia about this year and what's released when in this universe. Also, forgive me for the smut, idk how to write it lmao

There's no point in time that Yoongi could name as a schism, as a reason why he felt different to everyone else. There was a boy named Min Yoongi, born on March 9, 1993, and he reckoned that he lived like other kids did.

Yes, the point of darkness was overwhelming yet also invisible. One day a boy, next day a man on a brink of suicide. It wasn't like he wanted it all the time - to die. Maybe once or twice had he gone to the level of planning it out, of doing it, half-heartedly, of course, if not he wouldn't be here to lament on that fact. It was just a never-ending morbid curiosity, like a shock wire that zapped him intermittently over the years. It was just always there - unshakeable, unmendable, a deep need to just rest, disappear, become once again nothing from which he was brought out into life.

It was hardly a new experience, more of an old wound, a scab but he knew not how to treat it. Maybe he should just adjust that this was him, a fundamental part of his existence - to hate it.

Namjoon stormed into his studio, face chafed red from the wind and eyes dead to the world. He walked without speaking a word, dropped a stack of torn pages on top of Yoongi's desk and left just as mutely as he came in. It had become a routine occurrence. Their hatred towards each other had snuck up just as invisible. Or it was not hatred... Yoongi's hand reflexively sank into the pages. Hoseok... No perhaps not hatred, but whatever it was hurt enough to cause unceasing bitterness. Shaking his head, Yoongi purged any stray thoughts - of Hoseok, of Jimin, everyone. Fuck them, he was too tired.

Lazily, he raised the pages to his eyes, trying to decipher the erratic, jumping lines. The ink was smudged in some places and if he would brush them, the words would fade even more as faint moisture still clung to the paper. He glanced outside. The weather was beautiful, with not a single rain cloud in sight.

He drew a big, exhausted sigh but made no attempt to follow Namjoon, it would not be welcome anyway. Rather, he fished out a nearby pen and traced the lyrics.

If only I could, I wanted to ask you Why did you do that back then? Why did you kick me out? Without a name to myself, I still revolve around you Our goodbye is colourless, that unchanging colour

He stood frozen with flowers in hand like a complete fool, stuck mid-step. What he wanted, was to run to fly, no, to evaporate, perhaps never to be born. She was really pretty and nice, blushing timidly she adjusted Hoseok's shirt around her bare thighs and Yoongi turned away to not make her uncomfortable. He wanted to hate her, to scream and curse at her but it would be unfair and he was not in the habit of ever insulting women. As Hoseok padded out of his room, he froze as well, momentarily glancing down at the flowers. The ones Yoongi knew he knew were meant for and for a brief, passing moment Hoseok's face fell dour, even something akin to guilt coloured his cheeks but then it passed and if there ever was a sound to heartbreak it would be the one Yoongi heard right now.

"Hi, you're Suga, right? Hoseok's friend?" the girl asked awkwardly, trying to ease the surging tension.

"No," he croaked.

Hoseok was staring at the wall. How do you tell your sneaky link that Yoongi was not only "that friend" but also soulmate, a lover, a hole of fucking dirt it seemed that deserved no explanation, not a single word of clarity. Her eyes flitted between the two men as tension was rising to a nearly unbearable degree.

"I'll go freshen up," she at last squeaks and was quick to scurry away. Yoongi wanted to do much the same.

"What's her name?" Yoongi asked, tone deep and expressionless as he watched her disappear. His head simply refused to turn towards Hoseok and maybe that was for the better.

"It's...uh... Do-Yun, yeah."

"Do-Yun is blonde."

Hoseok fell silent, dropping his hands by the side. Yoongi didn't know which one was worse if Hoseok would start actually loving them or remain like this. Either way, he was tired of hearing how he was Hoseok's happiness, how he set him free, how he could be the only one Hoseok didn't have to pretend with, only to be met every other morning with this - a new starstruck fancy and his own heart in tatters. He was done.

"Hey...Yoongi," Hoseok began, perhaps telling from Yoongi's expression that this time was different but he didn't want to listen to anything anymore. Definitely no more lies.

Without replying, he took a step back when Hoseok reached out and tossed the bouquet into the trash without looking back.

The most aggravating thing, of course, whether they believed it or not, was that they were all connected. More like flies in the same spider web but connected nonetheless. So when Yoongi wanted to leave, he couldn't. There were still remaining five members with who,m the relationship was no easier nowadays. They didn't know what exactly was the catalyst but the situation was stifling. They tolerated each other only due to the sheer force of managers manifesting itself as being physically pulled by their hair to be in the same room, it was just that nauseating.

Yoongi breezed past Jin, not acknowledging his presence in the lobby. To be fair neither did he as Jin's gaze remained firmly focused on the ground. From one of the rooms, raised, furious voices were travelling down the hall, inciting piqued and also nervous attention. The door was ripped open and Jungkook ran out, cheeks covered in tears. He pushed past everyone, blind and deaf to Jimin's calls after him. Wasn't that a familiar scene. Jimin stood in the doorway, frowning. On his neck Yoongi spotted a hickey and though faint there was a perfume lingering in the air that distinctly didn't belong to any of them. It was sickening and yet by now familiar.

"What do you want?" he snapped at Yoongi watching him.

"Nothing from you."

Jimin turned around and slammed the doors shut so hard they made a loud creak of protest. Numbly Yoongi trekked on, ignoring everyone's inquisitive glances. But the day proved itself in desperate need to screw him over because in front of his studio lo' and behold sat Hoseok. Unkempt and sleepless, he was perched on the ground, seemingly gone to the trouble of being here the whole night - waiting. Where once this gesture would make Yoongi's heartbeat out of his chest, now it left behind a sour taste. He just wanted to be alone. They didn't want him anyway so why the display?

Noticing Yoongi's slumped shuffling, Hoseok sprung up, eyes wide in panic.

"Hey," he stammered but Yoongi didn't respond.

Walking straight ahead he typed in the code and would have run into the safety of the four walls if not for the hand grabbing his elbow.

"I'm... Listen... I can be better-"

"No, stop. Stop spewing the usual routine! I don't care anymore."

With some sick satisfaction, he watched Hoseok recoil. When he spoke his voice was thin and watery.

"You don't?"

"No," Yoongi lied, "I don't. Did you think I was going to wait for you forever? Like a dog? Am I your pet?"

Hoseok took a step back, shaking his head, mortified.

"No! Of course not! It's just..."

Yoongi narrowed his eyes.

"Just - what?" he asked venom dripping from his tone.

"You know...It's not... you!" Hoseok shrunk in on himself. "You're confident about it. You...you say who you are and you don't care what people think! I can't...you know I struggle."

"So does Namjoon," Yoongi snarled. "But he at least respects me."

"I do respect y-"

"No, no. I'm done, Hoseok, I'm just done."

And so the conversation ended with a similar door slam.

There’s no name allowed for me I, too, used to be your star You must feel nice to be the light All I did was to receive you

Yoongi sat fiddling with the water glass, his hands clammy and his heart trembling to the point he had half the mind to worry whether it was an early stroke. The pleasant music of the restaurant did nothing to soothe his nerves.

"Hello, son," his mother cooed all the from the entrance across the floor. He got up and was instantly welcomed in her arms. Her grip was so strong he began to choke. His father trailed behind and the only greeting between them was a brisk nod. While the attempts to remain civil and conversational were made, they quickly fell through and they were left ticking slowly away. The dam burst with a seemingly innocuous albeit difficult question.

"Are you still living with those boys?" his father asked, tense and glaring at the steak.

"They're in dorms, honey, of course, they would live together," his mother laughed, glancing anxiously at Yoongi. Her eyes pleaded to not say anything but as the night progressed, so were his nerves stretched thinner. He was just so very, very tired.

"Still, when you're on a break shouldn't a healthy young man live on his own? What if you want to bring a girl home?"

Yoongi's jaw tightened.

"I don't bring girls home," he quietly amended.

His father's lips thinned.

"What do you mean by healthy?"

The whole table stopped breathing and his mother drew a big sigh, preemptively hiding her face away.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Yoongi hummed, "but please explain anyway."

He didn't, instead, simply kept glaring but Yoongi being now not a 15-year-old kid but a seasoned man well versed in all manners of hate, responded in earnest.

"Oh, did you mean if I would bring men home? Would I be sick then?"

"It's not natural."

Yoongi fixed him with a cold glare.

"You know what's not natural? For a father to ignore his family, for him to gamble away all day when his children and wife work themselves to death to eat."

"I WILL NOT HAVE A FAG FOR A SON!" his father smacked the table so loud, the wine glass tipped over and spilt all over the white linen cloth.

"Then I will not be your son," Yoongi calmly concluded, raising to stand. He bowed to his mother, expressing that he was glad to see her and left the restaurant.

Driving back home, he bought bottle after bottle,, so much so the cashier was worried he'd drink himself to death. Yoongi wanted to smirk and crack a joke that indeed that was the plan but deciding against traumatising a stranger he settled on an impassive shrug. He drank until laughter rose from his chest. Though when inevitably it stopped, he felt somehow even worse. His phone kept buzzing, and his father's words kept ringing into his ears, and the numerous arguments and disappointments kept replaying in front of his eyes and he just wanted for it to stop. Stumbling his way to the bathroom he looked at the clear water of the running bath. Then without much thinking, acting on a split second straying thought he stuck his head in and kept it there. He forced his head down as his lungs began to burn as it started to hurt, oh God, it hurt so much but stubbornly he kept his head underwater, feeling with every passing second like he was going to explode. Namjoon should have a fun time trying to get a call back if he was dead. But still, when the moment came, his body slung back, deprived of all strength and miserably Yooongi was still very much alive, only hacking up water and clawing at the bathroom tiles.

After that, he took a sick leave and was happy to not see anything but the wall for three days straight.

What meaning is left of the fallen planet’s remaining life I’ll receive it til' I die, your stifling stare I still orbit you, and nothing’s changed If love has no name, everything has changed

Yoongi was sitting the furthest away from everyone when in the meeting room they weighed on the idea of disbandment. Bang Si-hyuk and Sejin were sweating bullets, rightfully so, but there was nothing they could do to stop the golden geese from leaving if they wanted to. And by the looks of it - they wanted to. No one did so much as a glimpse at each other maybe for Taehyung and Jungkook but one glance at absolutely homicidal Jimin and Jungkook, at least outwardly so, cast away any regrets.

"Boys, boys, I'm sure you can patch thing up!" Sejin tried to appease. Namjoon opened his mouth but was quickly interrupted by Yoongi.

"I don't want to patch thing up."

To say that Bang Si-hyuk felt sick would be an understatement. If Yoongi wanted out there was little chance the rest could be dissuaded.

"I'm done being your doll and I'm done with everyone in this room," he sneered and walked out, trying to not even catch a peek of the heartbroken expressions.

He kept working still, too scared that if he would go home, the incident would occur again but when his head hit the edge of the desk and his shoulder hurt too much from lounging on the sofa, begrudgingly Yoongi dragged himself out. It was 3 in the morning and so Bighit was emptier though not entirely vacant.

He walked with head hung long, sight occasionally blurring. Another body slammed into his and Yoongi was just about to apologize when he recognized that it was Jimin. So he said nothing. The fights had been too many to count and so brutal Yoongi didn't even recall what he should despise Jimin exactly for but he did his best to keep the flame going

"Does your shoulder hurt?" it was said exceptionally wry and with a hard scowl.

"Yes," Yoongi grimaced as well.

"Take some pain medication."

"I will."

A beat of silence passed between them.

"You know what I hate most about you?" Jimin asked and Yoongi's fists bunched up as if to physically protect him from the heartbreak.

"What?"

Jimin lunged forwards and as he did there was perhaps a briefly humorous flash of "that gremlin is going to beat me up!" but instead of a punch, Jimin landed a hug.

He clung around Yoongi's waist like a lifeline and when his nose made impact with his neck, it became wet.

"I can't hate you, I try and I can't!" he cried. " I don't hate you or anyone or even her, I just..." his breath became a mess of incoherent sobs. " I just really hate myself."

Hearing the sharp desperation in his voice. Yoongi wrapped his arms around Jimin's waist in return. He was shaking so bad it was a miracle he was still standing.

"Tell me how to not hate myself. Tell me, Yoongi, please!"

And with a sad, hollow feeling that rises when such a realization takes place, Yoongi recognised he didn't know.

Could it be really that you’ve found Eris Tell me, how am I not as good as that moon Us is the plural form of U Maybe I wasn’t there from the start

They agreed to at least stay amicable if the worst is about to happen. And it was about to happen. Yoongi felt much like he was strapped to a maglev train, rapidly breezing past everything towards an unforgiving and cruel cliff face. There was nothing he could do to stop the collision, nothing to save them from the painful demise, bounding without a care for their well being. Of course, the arrangement to at least call once a year is only made with Jimin. He was the only one Yoongi had spoken a single word on his own wish. But he was getting worse each day. They all were. When cameras turned away all smiles and cheer fled, leaving only soulless shells, lingering around like ghosts. The disbandment was largely now an undisputed fact. Preparations were made to say the final words and dance the final stage. It felt surreal to quit right at the height of their career but if anything that strained them only to new lows. No longer having their trusted supported system, everyone sought comfort wherever they could. Yoongi and Jimin drank regularly, Jin spent thousands if not millions on food or locked himself in the room all day, similarly to Jungkook. No one knew exactly what Taehyung was doing but since his other friends haven't heard from him either, the general understanding was that he did it alone. Namjoon busied himself into work, nearly all hours of the day could light be seen in his studio. But it was Hoseok who took to it the hardest. He reeked of cigarettes, sometimes came to work dreadfully hangover and spoke only in single sentences with long periods of silence between. It was hard for Yoongi to insist that he didn't care when watching them all just...fade. It did become easier when he recalled previous strings of lovers some amassed all while telling Yoogni that they were in love with him. Yes, then it became easier. But not by a lot. In many ways, time was ticking to an end for Yoongi's career, his friends and maybe his life too. He just wasn't sure of anything these days.

Someday, you’ll also understand my words My seasons were always you My cold heart is 248 degrees below zero It stopped the day you erased me Damn

"What do you mean you're in Rome?"

"It means that I'm here," Yoongi replied dryly.

"You are supposed to be in Paris!"

"I'm well aware."

If feasible, Namjoon would scream right into the phone but being a good leader he just relayed the information to Sejin who did scream. There was this little tiny detail that in twelve hours, he was supposed to be in concert in Paris but he was, extraordinarily and without his understanding, standing in Rome.

Yoongi was rather certain he had taken the right plane but the point stood that against all logic he wounded up many kilometres away from where he needed to be, without a manager or a bodyguard in sight. He was for the first time in a long time, longer than he could recall, free. With only a backpack to his name, he blended well into his surroundings with none the wiser of his identity. That actuality washed over him, making his head swim as though intoxicated. There was a great deal of chatter behind the phone, compromised security, postponement and such but it all brushed past him. He kept blinking at the airport announcement board with a newfound sense of amazement, wondering time and time again - what if he just kept being normal? Kept having the privilege of enjoying simple things?

All he gathered, in the end, was to not wander off. They shall send him security and managers. Jugnkook even advised to lock himself in the bathroom but Yoongi did no such thing. He got a coffee, a sandwich, plus some kind of sweet thing that he did not know the name of and while swaying his legs back and forth enjoyed this small reverie. It was somehow easier to breathe and his shoulder despite still aching, hurt a lot less than usual. If Yoongi didn't know better, he would almost think there was something magical at play this particular day. As he looked over the crowd of rushing people his eyes naturally lingered on one. He didn't know why he kept staring at the stranger but deep inside he had this gnawing like a distant suspicion. Intently following their journey, from the sleep-deprived stumble into the doors to the breakage of the suitcase. A suitcase whose colour made his blood run cold. Suddenly, he's taken years back, rain bouncing like bullets underneath the tarp of the 24/7 store. Him, tucked by Hoseok's side and someone, that someone, you, standing further away, red suitcase in tow and watching them back from the dark.

The longer he looked at, the less he could reign in the horrifying reckoning that her and well, her, were, somehow, the same person. He knew that red, he knew that shade. It was such a little detail but he remembered it so well. That red is the same red they kept mentioning in their songs, that red - the same red Jimin loathed so, that red - the same one which he saw behind his eyes, wondering how life would be if they'd done things differently.

She raised her head and met Yoongi's gaze. And he couldn't look away no more and he couldn't think of anything else. Did she understand? Did you understand who sat before you? Did you understand the things unravelling outside your reach?

No, you must not, because you fixed your suitcase, beat the fallen off handle in its place and walked away. Yoongi sprung from his seat. There are muffled complaints coming around - his coffee cup had fallen on the floor - but he didn't think of them. Didn't spend a single second on anything else. In frenzy one he didn't quite fully understand, he rushed after her. The only thing in his vision was the stupid red of her stupid suitcase which he chased like a moth does a flame. This is wrong, he told himself, it's wrong but he couldn't stop. He wanted to cry on her shoulder and tell her all the things that were or could be and most of all he wanted to know whether she had this space as well. Like a missing tooth or a piece of misplaced furniture, an awkward gap in Yoongi's heart that reminded him ever so often of what was not where it should be.

He finally found her right at the exit of the airport standing unsurely by the revolving doorway. The beautiful city of Rome was in front of her and the slight wind ruffled her hair. She should be excited but she was far from so. In fact, Yoongi had not yet seen eyes so lifelessly vacant. He thought to himself that she did feel as terribly lonely as he did.

He took a cautious step forward, ripping the skin off his fingers, not quite knowing what to do. But if she was as abandoned as he, maybe the story of having soulmates will bring some comfort, no matter how delirious. That there was someone, well, seven someone's meant to care for her. But then he recalled Hoseok, staring off into the wall as the next girl escapes their apartment, the endless arguments, the brushed off affections, crying, screaming, panic attacks in the corners, diets and his head below the waterline, hoping that this time will be the one he would be successful. That made him pause mid-step and gaze sadly on. What love did they have, could they give?

"I just really hate myself," Jimin's words rung crystal clear back into his ears. They had none for themselves where else to another person. Whatever dread she was feeling passed and after drawing a deep breath she stepped outside the airport. Outside this small miraculous bubble of impossibility that brought them together across the wide world. And as Yoongi watched her leave, the red suitcase trailing behind, he wished only the best.

The Paris show started as planned. It went so well, momentarily everyone forgot the circumstances around each other, animatedly chattering backstage. Jimin was lounging across Jungkook and Taehyung, Jin and Namjoon laughed heartily on the side, Hoseok hugged Yoongi and he did not push the man away. It seemed for an insane moment that the bad times will pass, that this hurt will heal on its own so that they could just enjoy each other's presence like they used to. But it doesn't. The second that rush died down, the hurt settled back like an oozing scab and one by one they realized what they were doing. And to everyone's chagrin, the playful atmosphere dissipated. And Yoongi, now brushed away, thought against mentioning that he'd seen her. Selfishly, he kept this memory to himself.

I’m just orbiting you (I missed you, I lost you) I’m just going in circles (You erased me, you forgot me)

I once belonged in a world under the sun (The song paused, the song stopped) A smoky layer of mist in the heart of the stars (You erased me, you forgot me)

It’s not much different from yesterday ay Same old days, except you’re not here We were together just up until yesterday ay But it’s to the point where it’s scary, same days but no you

This was it. The tour was coming to an end, ominous December 18th looming on the calendar. The last days. Yoongi had not seen anyone else for some time now. The only contact was Jungkook's text sent some time ago.

Even despite it all, I don't regret meeting you.

And that was it.

Eight years down the drain. Any day now Bighit will publish the disbandment announcement whilst furiously trying to arrange schedules, decline meetings snd generally ease them back into obscurity. They queued up their last songs, their final messages and prepared to promptly disappear from everyone's and especially each other's lives. Soulmates?

What a bunch fucking bullshit.

He heard a ring by the door, frowning at it from his nest of blankets on the bed. Around him there lay documents and chunks of scratched lyrics. Namjoon's song which he had worked all the way from March was yet unfinished and Yoongi feared it never will be. It was too much...too much of him had bled into it, leaving behind spots of ink pooling like blood around the paper. Sneering at the fallen papers when Yoongi at last rustled to climb out the bed, waddling his way to the door. Warily glancing through the peephole, he was surprised to see Hoseok on the other side. He was gnawing on his lip, pacing around with flowers in his hand. It had been nearly a year since meeting not-Do-Yun nevertheless he was hit with a wave of deja vu. His hair was unwashed and he was so tired, he couldn't even stand straight. For some unknown reason, his heart beat sickly in his chest, too faint and too strong at the same time. Should he just leave Hoseok, just never open the doors? He wanted to. It would be a safe action. But then he looked back onto the big bold letters of December 18th on the calendar. They didn't have much time left. Who knew maybe this was the last time he would ever see Hoseok face to face like friends, like... whatever the hell they were to each other.

Oddly self-conscious, he popped the door open and Hoseok jumped, clearly not anticipating that he would be listened to. When he saw the opening doors, his face was briefly illuminated by the brightest smile Yoongi had yet seen on him this year, and he tried not to think at all how it stirred something in his gut.

"Hey," Hoseok swayed on his feet, waving awkwardly. "T-these are for you."

He thrust a bouquet of colourful tulips into Yoongi's arms before he even could say anything. He held them close, not quite certain what to do anymore.

"Thanks," he wheezed. Hoseok looked him over.

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

Yoongi hoped that the bandage on his arm was not noticeable at this angle or the shards of glass from when he smashed the bottle of whiskey yesterday.

"Adequate enough."

It was obviously a lie but one Hoseok did not call him out on.

"I just wanted to say that they pulled out our appearance SBS’ Gayo Daejeon year-end show as well as KBS’ Gayo Daechukje year-end show."

Yoongi nodded along, gazing at the flowers. They smelt nice and the petals were in pristine condition.

"Jimin will release his solo track "Promise" on December 31 and then -"

"That's it," he concluded emptily and Hoseok's eyes began to get suspiciously damp.

"That's it," he echoed, trying to subtly wipe at his face. Yoongi shifted from one foot to another but nothing alleviated the lump rising in his throat. That train had picked up speed and he was breaths away from hitting the wall.

"Have you heard it?" he asked Hoseok lowly receiving a jittery shake of the head in response. He was on the verge of tears.

"N-no, h-he...we h-haven't made up," he gasped for air. "I-I've on-only seen Namjoon."

Yoongi remained standing in the doorway, wrenched apart by guilt and discomfort and pity and the need to protect and the need to curl up into a ball and just die. This was not how it was meant to be. They were okay with the world tearing them apart, expecting it anyway but not each other to do so. Why had the arguments become too much to be settled, since when was pride too important to listen to the other? When had they gone so wrong?

That point of darkness remained invisible still.

"I-I came here to say, th-that I don't regret meeting you. I regret hurting you, I regret lying but not meeting you," Hoseok cried in his sleeve, muffling most of his voice so that the tears would at least not be so audible. Yoongi heard it nonetheless.

"Take care of yourself. You deserve more. I'm sorry for everything. I love you, I'm sorry," and then he simply ran off.

Yoongi was yet again left standing alone and numb.

I’ll be honest, even up until one year without you I was fine, I didn’t have any feelings left The last day I had forgotten I don’t even remember your scent But wait, I’ve smelled this perfume somewhere, ay Just when my memory was about to come back I turned my head around and saw you You’re smiling brightly, but beside you there’s

I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry.

He glimpsed back onto the apartment. It was messy and trashed. He didn't have the strength to cook, to clean, to do anything but spiral, deeper and deeper. He knew, he knew it in his bones, that if he stayed he would do something to himself and that it was no little chance that his luck would finally wear out.

"What the hell are you sorry for, bastard?" he muttered to himself, stomping through the streets. Large, wet snowflakes were falling from the sky, dusting the world in a faint white layer that inevitably melted into a sludge of grey and brown. People and cars rushed past him but he nor heard, nor saw any of them.

I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry.

It became too much. The words pressed on his head, creating a neverending noise looping round and round and round. All that was said, what should be said what won't be said. It was getting hard to breathe.

He won't see them ever again. They will remain too stubborn, then too scared to reach out. They will never see each other again. It will be over. He had met his cliff face and it destroyed him. Splatters of yellow, white and red painted the snow. It was the tulips. Yoongi had been holding them all this time and as he struggled to breathe, unknowingly he had broken the blooms from the stems when he had clutched them too hard.

With a sharp gasp, he kneeled down, trying to gather them up once again but the damage was irreparable. The flowers were broken.

"Are you okay, mister?" a pleasant voice asked and a swishing end of a bright red coat entered his vision. He raised his gaze, desperate for it to be her, he thinks she would understand him, but it was not. Snow fell into Yoongi's face and he didn't know whether that made his face wet or was he crying just like Hoseok. It was not her.

"No," he replied.

"I don't think those flowers can be repaired."

"I know."

Yoongi made no attempt to get himself off the cold ground. He wanted to melt into it, into serenity and stop all of this.

"You can pick up the blooms though. My mom used to do that. Just the blooms and then put them in a shallow bowl of water. They'll keep living at least for a few days."

Obeying her command, Yoongi picked up the blooms and bowed to her in gratitude though he spoke no more. As he walked further along the streets, holding tightly onto what he could salvage, he didn't see how the woman looked after him. When he turned the corner she shook her head.

"Idiots," she whispered to herself and walked away.

Yoongi moved without much understanding or even recognition of what reality was. The lights blended in one, all the sounds, all the people, everything was a mass that enveloped all around but he could not make sense of.

He will lose, he had lost everything.

Namjoon, his number one supporter, Jin, his number one entertainer, Hoseok, his ray of sun, Taehyung, his unexpected but devoted idiot, Jimin, both the angel and the devil on his shoulder and Jungkook, who looked at Yoongi like he was the star. Like he was someone special. They all looked like he was someone to be adored, someone to be loved.

He stopped walking when he tripped over something and fell flat on his back. The tulips he managed to keep close to his chest this time. And for some reason his coat smelt of Hoseok.

"Yoongi, are you okay?" he heard Jungkook's voice and not a second later was yanked upwards. He blinked wearily through the snow and saw the once familiar 24/7 shop, the tarp, the seats, the tight voices of everyone around. He had found his far way into Daehang-no.

How are you? I’m doing okay Unlike my heart, that feels like it’ll explode The temperature right now is -248 degrees

"I hate you more!"

"No, I hate you!"

"You had no right to say it!"

"You had no right to do it!"

"Do you want us to part?! Do you want to get away?!"

"No, I don't want to! Do you?!"

"No, I can't stand the thought!"

They screamed their throats raw and once they did that they talked, and drank, but mostly talked. Yoongi said little as usual, merely looking on. Jungkook placed his head on Yoongi's shoulder as neither had the strength left to put up the front that they didn't care. They cared so much, perhaps too much. Maybe that's what caused the drift in its core. Not the hate, but the care that had been left unspoken and unmentioned for too long.

"I can't stop thinking of her," he muttered to Jungkook, brushing the petals of the red tulip. "I can't stop thinking of what her day is like, what she's doing, how she's feeling."

Jungkook reached to touch his chest.

"She's fine today," he answered as if he knew.

"You don't know that."

"I know. I have... a talent."

Yoongi put his head atop of Jungkook's and pestered him no longer. If he said he did, maybe he did. The world was so strange, far stranger than Yoongi had given it credit for.

"I don't want to leave," Taehyung cried onto the table, the warm tears melting away the small remnants of snow that managed to stick to the plastic. "I don't want to leave! What am I supposed to do without you?"

"Don't cry, Taehyung," Jimin insisted wiping away his friend's cheeks even if he was the one that bawled the most.

"Fuck this, let's just stay together," Jin called out. "Who cares what we are? What we call each other? Do you care?" he looked onto Namjoon who shook his head furiously, turning briefly green as the motion sickness took over.

"Do you care?" Jin asked Yoongi and nuzzling into his padded coat, Yoongi shook his head as well. He did not.

"Then what, pardon my language, the fuck are we doing? Are we idiots or something?"

"Undoubtedly," Hoseok murmured.

After a few more drinks, Namjoon fell flat on his ass and announced in horror that Sejin was releasing a statement of their disbandment. Rushing, tripping and yelling over each other they rushed to BigHit and upon seeing Sejin tackled him to the ground.

"We changed our mind!"

"Cancel the disbandment!"

"We're not leaving!"

Sejin was getting purple in Jungkook's chokehold. And Yoongi who kept the tulips in his hand, standing by the side, laughed and laughed until his stomach hurt.

I’m just orbiting you (Beyond the fog, I watch you as you continue to smile Without you or anything There’s no meaning to my irregular orbit)

Jungkook and Jimin finished singing the chorus and Yoongi gave a thumbs up. Namjoon and Jin were sleeping behind him on the small of the couch, Hoseok sat next to him, chiming in occasionally on what sounded better what not and Taehyung was designated on the coffee duty.

It was April 2019 and there had been no disbandment. The tour was quickly gathered up, extension dates added and the single 134340 was set to be released soon, more than a year after Namjoon had dropped the initial lyrics onto Yoongi's desk.

It had not been easy after that, arguments still rose, insecurities still persisted but they did not allow them to escape their control. And when Yoongi told them of the "incident"... they accepted him as he was, while helping the best they could. It was, for now at least, easier to not settle onto any terms, they were as they had been and had no intention of parting and whatever relationship they had going on, that was its groundwork.

"I really like your part," Hoseok remarked, bumping Yoongi's healthy shoulder.

"Thanks," he replied, blushing faintly.

"You sure you want to keep Adora in the song?"

"Yeah, if it's a song about us, she deserves a spot in, even if it's actually Adora's voice."

"Yeah," Hoseok drawled as the door was kicked open and Namjoon fell on the floor, somehow yanking the lamp with him from the shock. Taehyung without batting an eye stepped over, beaming wide and with numerous coffees.

"I got cookies as well," he announced. "They started to sell those giant ones downstairs."

Yoongi's phone rang and so he left right when they began to squabble over who would get the chocolate chip one. It was his brother for some reason.

"Hello?"

But there was no one on the other end. At least, not directly so. There were voices, arguing and loud voices fighting in the distance.

"I will not lose my son!" his mother yelled. Yoongi had not heard her this angry...perhaps forever.

"But he's..."

"I DON'T CARE WHO HE IS OTHER THAN HE IS MY SON! HE'S BEEN WORKING HARDER THAN ANYONE IN THIS FAMILY! HE'S THE REASON WE HAVE A STURDY ROOF OVER OUR HEADS AND NOT YOU! DAMNIT, YOU STUPID MAN, YOU WILL EITHER ACCEPT HIM AS HE IS OR YOU'LL SEE NONE OF US EVER AGAIN!"

And there was a hard smack of doors behind her, most likely the front. Then only silence.

"So you got that, right?" his brother suddenly spoke, nearly sending Yoongi into a shock state.

"Yeah, I got it."

Then he dared to breathe.

"Why did you show me that?"

"I don't know," his brother replied, shrugging almost audibly. "They've been going at this for a while now and I just thought that maybe you might feel...I don't know...unloved, forgotten? ...So don't think that you are... I don't know."

Neither of his mother's sons had the gift of talking easy what they felt, oftentimes, it was easier to just settle on cut fruits, tokens of apologies but not actual words so to hear his brother reach out, no matter how awkwardly, was... it stirred something unexpected when it came to his family.

"Do you care?"

"Not really. I mean, no offence, but you didn't really hide that you're gay even back home."

"I'm not gay."

There was a pause of silence.

"Ok, do you...have you...I don't know, do you identify with something or is it more like "whatever" type of thing."

"I'm pansexual."

Surprisingly, his brother didn't linger anymore.

"Ok, noted. Congratulations?"

"This sort of thing is not congratulated."

They both snickered on each side.

"Ok, noted that as well."

"How...how is he?" Yoongi tapped at the wall while he spoke. His therapist had recently begun working him through on the habit of ruining his fingers be it biting or nibbling, tapping was supposed to help. So he hoped.

"He's...different. It's not that he doesn't...don't think that he hates you...he's just...yeah."

His brother truly had not been gifted with conversational skills, yet Yoongi understood what he meant.

"Hmm."

"Do you wish he would accept you without mom threatening to leave him?

Yoongi laughed dryly.

"Wouldn't that be a perfect world?"

"Yeah," his brother sighed. "Shame though. Listen, I know you're probably busy these days, but...maybe you want to...you know..."

"Meet?"

"Yeah, it'd be cool to catch up."

"Sure. I'll free the schedule. Next week?"

"Alright, next week then. Bye, take care."

"You too."

Still unsure that the call ever happened, Yoongi lowered the phone and a new message popped up. It was from his father.

You are my son.

It took him five whole minutes to send the following text, but Yoongi had kept staring at his phone, so he didn't miss it.

If you want to be.

That was a very good question. A complicated, hard question he didn't know the answer to. Still, he gathered enough courtesy to reply.

Give it some time.

Drawing a deep breath, he tucked the phone away and re-entered the studio. Taehyung was brandishing the chocolate chip cookie.

"My king," he bowed deeply with a lopsided smirk, presenting Yoongi the treat like a crown.

"Knock it off," he scowled playfully, feeling his face grow hot and rushing back into the chair. "What did I do to earn this luxury?"

Namjoon yawned, nearly splitting his jaw in two.

"You've worked on this song harder than any of us. You deserve it."

"Do you think she would like it?" Jimin asked, staring at his cup of coffee. Lately, all his questions were about her but no one could fault him for that. Now, that everyone had stopped arguing, they were left wondering, wondering and dreaming of possibilities far away.

"I like it," you finally gave in as Jimin had gripped your face in his palms and refused to let go. "Of course, I like it. What do you want me to do, say no when you're here to strangle me?!"

It was Friday evening and years had already passed since the creation of 134340. Looking around Yoongi could hardly believe that things could have ever gone so wrong. Sitting in the small sofa, with word games and cards scattered around, squeezed amid the various take out boxes it felt so far away - the bad days, though Yoongi was not naive enough to assume they were out of reach. The arrival of Mark to him felt ominous and your mother even more so. He had somewhat patched things up with his father, not completely but enough to stay in touch, mostly for the sake of his own mother's well being. But he would rather have you not be strained into something like that.

While you and Jimin kept squabbling, he crossed eyes with Hoseok who was watching you intently from the sidelines. He hadn't let you out of his sight ever since the meeting with Mark. Sometimes Yoongi pondered had he looked at Hoseok the same way - reverent but so scared, scared to hurt, to be hurt. As they glanced at each other, they bloomed into knowing, bittersweet smiles. Everything still hung in balance but they had pulled themselves out of a more hopeless ditch so maybe, despite their shared idiocy, everything would fall in its rightful place.

He rather not think of an alternative. The "incident" was not entirely forgotten.

"Yoongi, there's literally a seat over there," Namjoon pointed out, peeking over his glasses as he leisurely munched on a fry, simultaneously obliterating Jungkook at Pictionary.

"So take it then," he tossed back, snuggling deeper into your lap.

"Dear God, it hurts," you whined as he pressed you deeper into the sofa.

"Life is pain, baby, you just have to bear it."

And so he continued to practically purr in your lap while Jungkook was breaths away from tearing into Namjoon. It felt nice having everyone around. Felt like a dream, to be honest.

When the house had quieted down and they retreated for the night, he lingered back to stare through the kitchen window. It still threw him out the loop to find somewhat unfamiliar sights staring back at him. But he didn't regret it. How could he?

When he heard someone padding into the kitchen, he turned around, expectant.

"What are you doing sitting in the dark, weirdo?" you accused him walking to get a cup of water. A habit of yours, one he hadn't at all anticipated this night.

"Waiting for you. Big bad wolf and all that."

"Get the garb, wolf, you're supposed to look like a grandma," you smirked back.

He glimpsed you all over, darting his tongue to wet the drying lips. Your bare legs, your shoulder from which that small piece of fabric you dared to call a nightgown had slipped away from. There was nothing really seductive per se and yet also it was everything. No wonder, Jin had gotten a nosebleed when you started wearing this thing.

"Come with me," he reached his hand out, standing upright. You eyed his hand dubiously.

"Why? It's 1 in the morning and again - why?"

"Do you have to ask so many questions?" he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, because you have this zoned-out look in your eye."

"I do not!"

He perhaps had a very vivid dream three days ago. One he, up to this point, thought had hidden rather well.

"Yes you do and if the Red Riding Hood had asked more questions maybe she would not be eaten."

"What if she wanted to be eaten?"

Even in the dark of the kitchen where the only source of light was the streetlamp outside, he could not miss how you squeezed your thighs closer. He licked his lips once more.

"No one wants to be eaten," you grumbled, peering anywhere but him.

"Get your ass over," Yoongi grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. You began to stare at the ceiling.

"I want to show you something."

Not even a bomb could distract him from the fact that your eyes peered downward, for a millisecond but they did.

"Not that, you pervert," he snickered.

To say that it was mind-boggling to sit in between Yoongi's legs was an understatement. Everywhere you turn, you look or smell, he's just there, like a wall. A very sturdy, warm wall. Or perhaps a blanket. He had wrenched you in between his legs as you both sat and listened to his new tracks. The mystery of his daily appearances had been solved, he was still working, renting out a small space, three streets away and creating his own private little studio. You try to listen, you really do but his arms were flexing right beside you and his fingers were gently but skillfully gliding over the keyboard. And he had interrupted the now daily pleasuring session. It put you to sleep and it eased the nerves that gathered during the day. You may have gotten used to their presence, but not to them always fondling you, especially Jimin and even more so Yoongi. He'd gotten brazen, ever since Jae first appeared. In your own private dreams, you had the delusion to think that maybe he was flirting with you. More often than not he would just stare at you, sometimes looking away when caught, blushing and giggling shyly to himself, other times meeting your gaze full-on with a fuckboy-ish smile.

It was just weird.

"Hey, are you listening?" he nudged your shoulder with his nose, still typing and adjusting something on the equalizer. You had about the same gathering they did when you talked about cornice.

"Uh uh," you were intently following his middle finger stroking down the edge of the laptop.

"I could have sworn you were instead thinking of all those fun times you have with yourself here," his voice dropped down by an octave, not even really sounding like himself while your stomach lurched.

Mortified, you pretend to not understand what he was talking about, trying to not at all weigh on the fact that his arms, shockingly muscular arms, were squeezing you tighter. Or that his breath was in your nape. Or that he was in fact real. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe you were having a dream too good.

"And what would those be?" you snapped but your voice was breathless.

"You should really invest in a quieter vibrator if you want to keep it subtle."

He laughs, not exactly mocking but it does make you shiver.

"Every night as well! Me and the boys can hardly get any sleep."

It should gross you out but it doesn't that they had been listening. The embarrassment of it all of course tells you to toss yourself off the bridge, how were you supposed to look them in the eyes afterwards, but the more frivolous part of yourself is over the moon. These remarks make you feel something you never thought was possible - desired.

"Oh, shut up," you grumble, adjusting the silky nightgown.

It had been an impulse purchase, something to remind yourself once in a while that you were not a formless, putrid blob. Your mind was so loud it was hard to connect it to your body. It was perhaps silly and juvenile to do such a thing through sleepwear but now basking in someone's touch and attention it was more than successful. You felt like you were about to erupt, every touch and every graze reeled you in and out of reality.

"Why? Can't wait to get back to it?"

Yoongi toyed with the strap of your gown and you can barely remember how to breathe.

"Why are you doing that for?" you squeaked.

"Because I want you," he replied like it's easy, like it doesn't just cause your brain to explode. "Do you want me?"

You keep quiet, eyes somewhat squeezed shut. It's not horrifying but it is scary. What are you supposed to say? You hope Yoongi after all this time is not the type to lead you on as a joke, or just because you could but you never met someone who didn't do that. Most of the time you weren't even an option, let alone second or the third or the tenth and it had not bothered you because you hadn't wanted anyone. Before them, at least.

And it was them not just Yoongi.

Images of Hoseok pinning you to the wall, kissing you like he's starved, like was going crazy about not kissing you invade your mind. You well remember the heartache it caused and also the conversation. About asking. Was this Yoongi...asking?

He gently spins you around and you come face to face with his sombre expression. Fuck, he was asking. But you still don't know what to say. Hoseok said that you wouldn't be thinking, really thinking, what it meant being with them. And you weren't. It was hard to think when it all felt like a fever dream.

"Do you want me, baby? The same way I want you?"

You lick your lips and his eyes instantaneously focus there. He even seemed to be shaking, his hands on your shoulders definitely were.

"Don't overthink it, but be certain. If you don't want me, I'll go."

You skim him over. He's good looking of course but that's a little factor, a mere footnote, he was just...comfort. Even now, wearing an oversized shirt and sweats, he looks cosy, like he belongs here, there's no gap of him, the star and the idol and you, the mere mortal with your own mountain of trobles.

"I do want you," you say, squeezing your eyes shut. It was easier to say these things in the dark. "But I don't know how you want me..."

He throws his head back and lets a deep, throaty laugh, hands coming up to squeeze your sides. You shudder violently.

"Is it really not that obvious? Have we been not fawning over you enough?"

He gently noses at your neck and you lean back allowing the small space where he can lay a series of gentle pecks against your thrumming pulse.

Everything of you was rapidly going into overdrive.

Holy shit, holy shit, this is real, you're not dreaming this is real! Wait, you hadn't shaved! Wait, maybe your breath stinks! You still have that rough patch of skin around your knees! You need to shower, you need to shave, you need to get ready! Does he have a condom? Will he fit? Does your vagina even look like how it should?

Yoongi sensing your tensed shoulder leans back, gently massaging them.

"You're overthinking," he mutters, "don't."

"I have anxiety, this is the only thinking I do," you growl back at him and immediately feel a harsh slap on your ass.

Your eyes shot open and you find a mischievously giggling Yoongi staring back at you, smile so wide, his gums show.

"Did you...did you just spank me?" you ask, stunned.

Still snickering, he dares to shrug.

"It'll distract you."

Half joking, you wrap your hand around his neck. Feeling how his heart is threatening to rip out of his system. He blushes bright red but otherwise seems happy.

"You don't know how to choke someone."

"Maybe the intent is not sexual," you threaten.

Quickly he grabs your fingers into his, holding them still and wraps his free hand around your neck. His long fingers wrapping around with ease, noticeable but not overbearing. You stop moving, struggling to breathe from the excitement. Thoughts form and pass by without the capability to stick because - holy shit!

You sit in his lap, the faint sound of his newest tracks still playing in the background, forgotten for now and the room settles with a newfound intimacy of just being close to each, taking in the actuality of the scene.

"If you want to stop, if you feel uncomfortable, say so or tap my shoulder, clonk me on the head, okay? This is about you and what you want."

"That seems slightly unfair," you murmur, caressing his hand absent-mindedly. He shivers.

"I just want to make you feel good. We all want to."

It's the sincerity in his words that makes your shoulders slump back. You relax as best as you could.

"That's a nice start, you're doing very good," he purrs and begins to leave a series of warm kisses against the column of your throat, occasionally biting on the skin, though his palm stays wrapped around your throat. It makes you tremble.

"I thought hickeys are..." your breath hitches, "are...a teenager thing."

"Don't care," he whispers, running his teeth against the soft flesh, "he marked you purple, so will I."

It seems like no passage of time will make them less salty about Jae.

Once he's satisfied meaning your neck looks like you've been chewed by a pack of boars, Yoongi tugs you upward, hands still kneading any knots of your shoulders, releasing any lingering tension.

You might just black out from pure anticipation alone.

As you lean back on the bed, shivering in the cold air, Yoongi stands over you, eyes as dark as the night, seemingly content to just keep watching.

"Stop staring," you murmur, self-consciously, covering your chest with your arms. Your skin feels feverish and you have to squeeze your thighs to lessen the rampaging need for someone to do something. Anything.

"How can I?" he retorts, quickly crawling on top of you. "When you look like a fucking dream."

Oh, he was a menace.

"Quit saying such things," you hide your face in the pillow.

"What that you are gorgeous?" he repeats innocently, kissing your collarbone while his fingers flutter across your inner thigh. "That you're a dream come true? That if I would have my way, you'd be in this bed for days?"

His finger lightly teases your entrance.

"You're so smart, baby, so, so smart but in some areas, you're really not getting some things."

He begins to kiss down your stomach, and even with the nightgown in the way, you can feel everything. You were having a fever, he was putting you in medical condition from all of this.

"So we're just going to make you do some affirmations, alright?"

His hands reached to grab around your ankles as he pushed your thighs open. You stare at the ceiling, unable to breathe or think, just wondering somewhere in a distant brain cortex whether one could die from teasing.

Kissing up each of your thighs, lingering a tad longer on the stretch marks and imperfections, he finally breached the pregnant silence with a guttural growl.

"Question time, baby. What do I love about you?"

"I-I don't know."

He smacks your thigh, the flesh jiggling from the impact.

"My legs!"

"Correct. What else?"

Your mind is coming up blank when his breath ghosts over your cunt.

Giving another hint, his arm reaches to squeeze your nipple.

"My breasts!"

"Correct. What do I want more than anything right now?"

He dives in with a bold lick, teasing your clit.

Your blood reaches a new boiling point.

"Me," you gasp and he hums in agreement. All of which you can feel. It's not long before your thighs begin to shake and attempt to close and the familiar coil begins to wind up in the pit of your stomach. He keeps them open, fingers digging into your flesh while he eats you out like there wasn't anything on heaven or earth that could compare.

Tears begin to collect in the corners of your eyes as you start to shiver violently all while trying not to make a sound.

If they all liked you, which both Yoongi and Hoseok had implied, wouldn't they feel betrayed?

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Yoongi briefly retreats for a breath.

"Keep singing, baby," he insists, smacking your thigh again. "So that everyone can hear you. Namjoon, those stupid neighbours in 38."

Apartment 38 and Yoongi had been having beef for some time now. Something about wrong mail in the wrong mailbox. You couldn't give less of a shit.

"Why Namjoon sp-specifically?" you tug at his hair and he grunts appreciatively.

"He's probably suffering right now, all blue-balled. He's been the horniest out of us all."

That...honestly wasn't as surprising.

Something digs in your back and you whine in pain. Yoongi is quick to look up, sobering slightly at the sound.

"You want to stop? Everything alright?"

Trying to ignore the embarrassing feeling of him just seeing you bare, you dig for the offending object. To your neverending mortification, it is your purple rabbit vibrator.

Yoongi laughs loudly when seeing it.

"Hello, nemesis. I've been wanting to see this thing for quite the while."

He grabs it out of your hand and to your horror, turns it on. The sound is indeed loud.

"It's like a whole truck," he giggles. "And it matches your hair as well!"

"Would you shut the fuck up," you hiss fake crying and then jolt upright as without warning Yoongi pushes it up against your clit. The sound alone had ramped up your nerves to a thousand and you feel that damning sensation of needing something in you as your pussy clenches around nothing.

"You got so wet," he remarks continuing to greedily eat you out, circling the vibrator around your clit. Your back arches and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop making sound. Moaning, whimpering, begging to stop or to continue, it's getting harder to tell.

"Another question, baby," he growls, turning the vibrator to the highest setting. You scream louder, trashing around, all mind and worry escaping.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You! Please don't stop!"

"Say that again."

"I'm yours! Just, please -"

"And who am I?"

You frown in confusion but after a quick slap on the thigh, you dare to say the unimaginable.

"You're mine," you gasp, one stray tear rolling past your temple. "You're mine."

"That's right and don't you forget it."

If Yoongi feels any pain from your attempts to rip the hair out of his head, he doesn't voice it and for a moment all world disappears as that coil in the pit of your stomach rips open. When you come from your high, Yoongi softly pecks at your thighs, casting the vibrator aside.

There's a suspicious bang coming from the other side of the wall and you remember that Jin was sleeping just there. He must have heard, there's was no way he couldn't have but still shivering from the pleasure, it's hard to care for it.

"You did so well, baby, so, so well," he praises crawling away from your lower half and wiping the stray tear. "Do you want to continue?"

You nod mutely, nuzzling already boneless into his arm.

There's no way no one is unaware of what's happening, definitely not when Yoongi has to reach up to the headboard to get the proper angle and it pounds repeatedly against the wall. Or when he hoisted you on top of him, laying his sweaty forehead in the crook of your neck and muttering incoherently how much he adored you, while he palmed your breasts and when subsequently the bed broke and you both rolled onto the floor. It didn't deter anyone. In between sloppy kisses, thrusting so deep you could swear you could feel him in your throat, he opened his mouth to say something, something important, to say that, but you smacked a hand over his lips.

"Don't-don't say it, I'm-I'm not ready for that."

His eyes briefly widened but he understood and nodded along.

When you both came, sticky and covered in sweat, panting and shivering, he whispered in your ear.

"Still, you know that I do. We all do."

You sniffled lightly, overstimulated and emotional. No matter how hard you tried that simple truth was rather hard to grasp. He moved to lay next to you, trembling from the cold seeping off the floor.

"When...when did you start?"

Yoongi sighed with all the weariness in the world.

"Longer than you think. Before we met, really."

You peeked up to his relaxed face, while he leisurely carded his fingers through your hair.

"How is that possible? You can't love someone you've never met."

"Sure you can. If they're your soulmate. Now shut up and go to sleep."

previous ⟷ next

me, dropping this beast of a mess after a long ass time

so, the promised trivia about this universe:

1. 134340 was released as a single in 2019 and not in LY album

2. ARMY was convinced that the boys will disband in 2018 bc it was really apparent how bad their relationship was this year. 2019 started really messy because they were supposed to disband but instead they picked up the tour where they left it off starting with Japan in January 12, 2019

3. Because of the whole situation with Yoongi, Hoseok is so hesitant with MC, he once saw how bad he could mess things up so he's scared that it'll happen again

4. Namjoon saw MC in UN on September 24th and Yoongi saw her in FCO Airport in Rome on October 18th, 2018. She was just accepted late into the interior design program hence why they met. As for how did Yoongi even ended up there, let's just say fate lol

5. I know that irl Yoongi didn't solely create 134340 but in this AU the lyrics really fit with his storyline (and it's one of my faves), so here it is more of his song

6. Yes, literally everyone but MC has gone to therapy lmao

© sor-vette, 2022

[mlmxreader]

Coffee and Cake | Corinthian x nb!reader

Anonymous asked: Corinthain x Enby Reader

"I'm stressed, and I'm cold, and I'm wet because I had to walk through the fucking rain"

where reader meets him while they are walking home from class and it's dark and raining and they seek shelter in an old 50s themed diner that he happens to be in as well. and cause its bum fuck middle of the night it's just the two of them the waitress and cook

summary: it's raining, it's dark, there's a fifties diner that's almost empty... except for a very handsome American who's got charm for days

tws: swearing, mentions of smoking

It was dark, the rain in tap steadily but harshly as you trudged home from your university classes, knowing that you would need to find somewhere to wait the rain out for a while or else risk getting soaked; sure, you didn't live that far from campus, a short hour walk, but you couldn't walk home in such conditions. In the distance, however, you could see a little diner that made you breathe out a sigh of relief, and you headed over; there was no one inside, except for a friendly waitress who greeted you with a warm smile and a soft voice, and the cook in the back, who waved and grinned at you.

The diner itself was nice, styled after the fifties although the only music that played came from the kitchen, and was modern heavy metal that you recognised well and that made you relax a little more as you allowed the waitress to show you to a booth; but that's when you saw him. Blonde, tall, handsome, sipping on a cup of coffee as he kept his gaze hidden behind dark and thick rimmed glasses; he wasn't wearing anything particularly special, just a greenish brown shirt with a zip and an off-white coat, but something about him caught your attention, and after ordering yourself a coffee and a bit of cake, you felt your breath leave you.

He cleared his throat, and gestured to the seat opposite you. "Is this one taken?"

You shook your head, staring at him with wide eyes. "N-no... please."

Hecleared his throat as he sat down opposite you, the cup he brought over clinking softly against the table; he smiled, and you could have sworn that you lost all of your breath. The rain started to hammer down. "Y'know, not many people come to places like this so late at night... unless they're waiting for someone."

"I'm not," you replied quietly, "well, I'm waiting for the rain to calm down or to stop but... that's it."

"You don't have someone who could pick you up?"

"No," you sighed. "What about you? You waiting on someone?"

He shook his head, a couple of strands of blonde coming loose. "No. I just wanted a cup of coffee... but I wouldn't mind some decent conversation with someone as good looking as yourself."

"Look, you seem nice but I'm stressed, and I'm cold, and I'm wet because I had to walk through the fucking rain, and I... am exhausted," you laughed softly. "I don't think I'd be a good conversation partner."

You looked at your cake for a second before deciding fuck it, and eating it as quickly as you could; you had not had a thing since dinnertime and you were famished. If the handsome stranger wanted to complain, he could try walking a mile in your worn out Vans. But he didn't, he just sat there, drinking his coffee and keeping his gaze on you; leaned back a little and his head slightly tilted to the side. Blonde strands were smoothed back into place when he ran his hand through his hair, even daring to lean his head back enough to expose his throat.

"Do you want another slice? I'll get you one," he offered. "Or I can get you an actual meal."

"I'm good," you shook your head. "Thanks, though..." you swallowed down the last bite and cleared your throat. "I don't think I said earlier, but uhm, I'm (y/n)."

"Corinthian," he replied with a nod, "pleasure."

You nodded, and rummaged through your pockets to find your cigarettes and lighter, when the pronoun pin and the nonbinary flag pin that you used in work fell onto the table with a clatter; your heart raced when he picked one of them up and examined it.

"This is the nonbinary flag, right?" He asked. You nodded. "I thought so... y'know, if you want them to stay put in your pocket, clip them onto the lining."

Gently, Corinthian handed your pins back, and you nodded slowly, stuttering out your thanks; but then, he didn't ask anything further. He didn't pry and he didn't want to know everything about your personal life, and you couldn't help but to sigh. You always dreaded when people saw them when you didn't want them to, but he didn't seem to care.

"You're not... you're not gonna say anything?"

"No," Corinthian shook his head. "We're strangers, it's not my business. You don't owe me an explanation, or anything like that... just tell me: do you like being called puppy?"

The way he said it with that American accent made your heart thunder as you swallowed thickly and tugged at the collar of your hoodie. "Yeah..."

"Good," he mused. "So, puppy, if you don't mind... would you wanna come over to my place after you've finished that coffee? We can talk properly there."

"Why ask now?" You laughed softly, a little nervous and really, really hoping that he wasn't the type who would want you just because you were nonbinary without actually respecting that.

Corinthian shrugged. "Because my car doesn't have a roof, and the rain's finally stopped."

You dared to look outside, and he was right; it was just drizzling, now, and when you turned back to him, you thought about it for a second. "What, like a date? Fuck... alright, sure."

Maybe you were being stupid and reckless and he couldn't be trusted, but something about the Corinthian made you feel safe, and the way he licked his lips made you shiver and, fuck, if you didn't want to know him better. You really wanted to get to know him; you just hoped it wouldn't rain when you were in the car with him, you weren't sure if you could stomach getting any more soggy from the head down.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG