#he found his jaw line!!!

[ohcaptains]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

pairing. simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader.

synopsis. simon comes home. he's too tired to fuck you right. eventually, he manages to find the energy.

warnings. 18+ this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy or use ai on my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving penetration, blonde simon lol, somnophilia, dry humping, pussy smacking, and crying during sex. i am not responsible for your media consumption.

an. :) life sucked so i found a new animated character to obsess over. please comment & reblog if u enjoyed !

When Simon comes back, he’s dog-tired.

As soon as his feet touch the welcome mat of your quaint little apartment, he feels all of his muscles relax – as if they’re unpinning themselves from his bones – and he has to give himself a pep talk to muster the energy to drag his hand up to ring the bell.

But he doesn’t have to, because you’re ripping the door open – shining like the sun – and pulling him into your body, rendering all 6,4 ft and 240 pounds of the super soldier to complete mush.

For five minutes, you don’t speak. Just hold him, as you gently rub the corner of his jaw, and brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair. He clutches you to him.

His fat, paw-like hands hold your upper back, and you hold him with the same vigour. His body – wrapped in his black compression shirt and army pants – is rock solid.

It’s a weaving of muscles that have been tensed for the last two months. It’s going to take a minute for them all to soften, but like he always does when he’s been away, Simon lets out a deep and resolute sigh.

The breath warms your neck, causing it to tingle, and you grasp him tighter, your body waking up.

It’s been a long two months.

He manages to push your intertwined bodies through the doorway, using his boot to kick the door shut. His house smells like home -- funny how you can’t smell it until you’ve been gone a while.

Vanilla and a citrus fruit, mixed with the savoury scent of his favourite meal. He hums again, and you scratch the back of his head, sending shivers down his locked spine.

He knows the route to your bedroom like the back of his hand, and he maneuvers the pair of you inside.

The curtains are closed and the bed is made. You know him. You know him so well.

You let him push you back onto the bed – a blur of familiar limbs and hair – and he settles lower, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Immediately, you drag your legs up and cross them over the curve of his ass.

You’re all warm and soft and pliable. Dressed in a pair of simple cotton shorts and a vest top, he wants to grab fistfuls of you and remind himself of how you feel in his palms. Wants to drag his lips over your skin, bully his way between your legs and remind himself of how you taste.

Fuck, he wants you, in a carnal, almost primal sort of way, and you the same. He can smell it. A sweet but sweaty longing that melts from you and causes his senses to wake.

But he’s so God damn tired.

You know. Know this routine. Know that he has to settle back in.

In the meantime, you’ll just have to wait.

You fiddle with his hair. “There’s dinner if you want it,” you whisper into the dark bedroom, looping the strands between your fingers, committing the soft feel to memory.

Simon shuffles just an inch on top of you, but still, the slight movement of his clothes and hard, clenched body against yours makes you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

It’ll be chewed raw by the time he has enough energy to take you. He grunts something into your skin, and after a second, you gather it’s, tired.

His scent clouds you.

When Simon comes back, he always smells the same.

The soap at the barracks is pine scented – shampoo a strict lemon.

But there’s always a leftover grit to him. A hidden layer the soap can’t clean off, and it makes you delirious. Makes you flex your ass up – just an inch, a sweet, gentle inch that has you feeling the hard lines of his thighs and the metal of his zipper, and Simon’s breathing hitches.

You freeze. With your hips pushed tight against his, you stare at the ceiling, hoping that your worn-out soldier hasn’t felt you move.

Simon stays quiet. His breathing settles. You go to apologise, but Simon doesn’t grumble or make a sly comment. Listening closer to his breathing, you gather that he’s asleep.

Jesus, you think, that’s a record. Barely in the door and he’s asleep, he must be burnt out. Figuring that you won’t be able to crawl from under his weight, you decide it’s your bedtime too.

Sleep comes fast.

Hours later, you blearily blink awake. Not much has changed – the room is still dark, Simon is still heavy on top of you, yet now, you’re sticking to him with sweat.

He’s usually a human furnace, but this is different.

Your skin prickles, vibrating at a frequency that has nothing to do with heat. No, this is…you feel a pulsating between your thighs, and wiggle, feeling your slick coating your underwear.

Fuck, why are you so wet? You clench, and the resulting ache forces you to hiss and push your head back against the pillows. What did you dream about? Thinking back, you come up short. Then why--

Simon shuffles on top of you. It’s a slight movement, but it continues, and all at once, your heart clenches.

Holy fuck, he’s—

“Simon?” you whisper, and your boyfriend whines into your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes, the words wet and desperate. The puzzle pieces lock into place.

He knocks his hips into your crotch once more, and you gasp, clenching, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Simon’s apology comes out again, except this time, it’s christened with a “s-shit – fuck.”

Blinking at the ceiling, you huff and try and glance down, and in the dark, you just about manage to see the outline of his burly body grinding into yours.

You take stock of the situation.

Feel his fat palm around your hip, and squinting, see that he’s got your shorts pulled down around your thighs, and has the band of your underwear looped around his fingers.

Jesus Christ. You fall back into the pillows. “How long have you?” you whisper. “Five – fuck – minutes,” Simon grunts, continuing to roll his thick hips against you. His bulge knocks the edge of your throbbing clit, causing you to gasp again. There’s been no build-up to your want, it’s just there, humming electric, and spread tight over your thighs.

Simon meshes his wet mouth against your chest. He’s tugged your vest top down, too, and his lips close around the skin of your breast. Jesus. He was undressing you as you slept.

“Thought about fuckin’ you, but couldn’t get my pants down, so – shit -- tired. Jus’ woke up and you were just so fuckin’ soft. And wet, Christ, felt you through my trousers.”

Your whole body goes numb. “You were gonna fuck me as I slept?” you whisper, belly flipping. You’d told him – ages ago – that he could, but he hasn’t been here. You’d forgotten.

The image of him pulling your underwear down as you slept streaks across your mind. Imagine waking up with him inside of you, so full and wet and just on the precipice of coming.

Simon grunts. He tugs at the band of your underwear, “I’ll fuck you right, at some point. Just –”

In your delirious state, you manage to finish his sentence, “Tired, I know – I know baby.”

You kiss the crown of his head and whimper into his hair. “Just use me until you’re ready.”

Simon groans out deep and loud. It rumbles against your chest. Echoes through your heart, and you’re so turned on that you begin fidgeting.

You try and squirm away from the stifling ache of your pussy, but Simon’s built like a brick shithouse, so you can’t run from it, just gotta take it and take it and take it, until you can’t anymore, and you break.

You’re so fucked that you don’t even announce that you’re coming, but Simon knows, shit, and as your pussy clenches up tight, he growls low and hard, mumbling, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it, until his movements go sloppy, and his breathing goes laboured, and he’s coming into his pants and mewling your name.

When he finally does manage to get inside of you, he doesn’t last long. No, he pushes all the way to the hilt, and you tighten up.

“Stay” you gasp, clenching your pussy around his shaft, and Simon grunts deep and long into your throat.

“S-Stay there,” you moan, then, in case he didn’t hear you, “Stay,” you whisper, and push the ball of your palm into his thick, scarred shoulder. 

You were teetering on a knives edge.

You’ve come once since Simon was home, and your second orgasm of his return was right there.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Simon groans into the shallow of your throat, “Did we do enough prep?” 

“Yes,” you immediately whisper, not wanting him to pull out. 

He’s thick and pulsing inside of you, hard and heavy on top, and God, he kisses at your throat — soft and gentle. You try to swallow down the ball that has swelled in your throat, but tears prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill. 

No no no no, you think. Not now. Not now not now. You try to stifle the tears, but you unconsciously sniff, and despite Simon being perfectly still, he still manages to freeze.

“Sweetheart?”

You inhale, “Yeah?” 

Simon looks up; and seeing tears on your cheeks, his face falls, “Did I hurt you?”

You furiously wipe the tears away, shaking your head.

“M’just overwhelmed,” you whisper, and he presses his forehead against yours, going to kiss you, but the movement causes his hips to flex against you, nudging his cock, and you whine, immediately gripping onto the back of his dirty blonde locks. 

Simon drops his face into your chest and lets out a pained rasp, “Tightening around me, kid.” 

You unclench, “m’sorry.” 

“Gonna come quick.” 

“S’okay.” 

“I’ll fuck you right, just gotta…” he trails off and grabs fist fulls of your hips.

“Fuck,” he huffs wistfully, “This pussy. Missed this fucking pussy.”

You go dizzy with need. Shake your head, and bend to kiss him, tasting his wet and swollen lips. Gently, you knock your hips up into his, and when he lets out a surprised grumble, you flex your hips higher, trying to stuff his cock deeper, further – till you can see it pressing into your belly.

Catching onto your plan, Simon grunts and pushes your hips with his fat palms, pinning your ass to the mattress. 

“Stop,” he orders, and the demand goes straight to your cunt. Jesus. He hasn’t been very dominant since his return, and that little instruction has you chomping on the bit.

“Want you, Si.”

“One stroke and I’ll be fucked.” 

“Just gotta practice.” 

He chokes on a laugh, muttering, “Practice.” 

You try another tactic. Clench around his cock and pout, “Want you to come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Simon cuts. You curl your legs back his back and push your foot into the dense muscle of his ass, at the same time rocking your hips up. Simon lets you. Let’s you try and fuck yourself on his cock. With wet lips, you push your mouth into the shell of his ear, shakily uttering his name.

“Gonna fill me up, Si?”

“Fuckin’ filthy, you know that?”

Simon pulls back, and your heart stutters.

You think he’s going to pull out, until he uses your hips to pull you tight against his cock -- your ass nearly sitting on his thighs. His thick, scarred chest is puffed up.

Cheeks red, and he’s got that animal glint in his pretty eyes.

It knocks you for six.

“Where you want it?” he asks, and you’re confused, until he presses the heel of his palm into the middle of your tummy.

“Shoot my load here, huh?”

Your body goes numb. Eyes white out. It happens so suddenly that it scares you, and you’re a mixture of turned on and frightened, but the fear turns you on even more.

All you can do is blearily look up at him as he slides his paw to the other side of your tummy, “or shoot it here. Fuck it so deep that you can taste it.”

He pretends to think about it. Even hums, before he drags his palm up and stuffs his thumb into your mouth. “Or just directly here, huh?” He snarls a smile, “know you like it when your mouth is full.”

You suck at his thumb, and tighten your cunt around his cock, causing his mouth to open, and eyes to flutter, and just like that, you’ve won.

He comes in record time.

But Simon keeps his promises.

A couple of days later – on the seventh day he’s back -- he fucks you so good, that when you wake up the next morning, you get shy just thinking about it. 

Lay in bed, staring at the ceiling – your boyfriend fast asleep on your chest -- remembering the debauchery you’d gotten up to the night before. 

The pair of you are a little tipsy, drunk on beer and wine, but all it’s done is heighten your senses, and made you fully aware of your desires, so much so, that they pulsate behind your eyelids like a migraine.

Simons got you face down, ass up, and as he pushes you face first into the mattress, he presses his thumb against the tight, fluttering hole of your pussy.  

“Gonna let me inside, baby?”

You sink into your thighs and spread yourself wider for him, humming into your crossed arms. Simon watches your pussy spread further, and he can’t help himself, he has to slide his thumb deeper.

He presses, just barely pushing the tip of his thumb into your wet hole, and you gasp, trying to chase the feeling by inching back against his fat palm.  He laughs at you. “Look at your pussy sucking my thumb in, baby. Wish you could see what I’m seeing. So fuckin’ sexy.”

You hum, the words making you wetter – dripping over his thumb.

“Been dreaming of fucking you right, gonna take you whenever I want.”

“Okay,” you whisper, so delirious that you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Simon raises a brow,

“Yeah?” he asks, tone breathless. Thought he’d get some pushback on that one, but for a second, he forgot that you said the nastiest shit with his dick inside of you.

You nod into your crossed arms, and Simon laughs again, “Free use pussy,” he sounds, then lightly smacks your sodden folds, causing you to flinch, bucking forward. 

“Oh fuck,” you choke, eyes rolling back. Heat ricochets through your crotch and swamps your belly, before settling back in your aching pussy. Once you manage to collect yourself – and it takes a second -- you huff. “Bein’ mean.”

Simon snorts, grabs your hips, then rams the underside of his cock against your pussy, grinning so big that his scars stretch, “don’t know the half of it, babe.” 

You sob, real tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Your desire is visceral, enough for you to taste it on your tongue. Simon pulls back, and your slick coats the length of his dick, earning yourself another light smack to your cunt.

“Soakin’ me,” he grunts, and you sob into the sheets. “Please,” you whisper, then, please please please, and Simon hears your breathing hitch. 

This time, instead of checking up on you, he chuckles, “Crying again, baby?”

You sniff and wipe your eyes on your wrist, face heating.

“No,” you mumble, and Simon sighs.

He reads you like a book. Always has. Always will.

“Lying to me,” he grumbles, then he steers the uncut head of his cock between your folds, whispering, “Lie to me again, and I’ll give you something to cry about,” before bottoming out in one thrust.

[nanaslutt]

Good boy

synopsis: Choso ditched you for his brother. His punishment? Getting tied up and watching you get off.

pairing: Choso x reader

cont: fem reader, established relationship, kinda sub!Choso, restraints, masturbation, cumming untouched, bed humping, oral(r!r), dirty talk, cum eating, praise

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Choso's strong arms pull against the rope that binds them, secured in a way that can even hold him down. He's sat on his knees with a pout on his face while a puddle of pre-cum grows on the floor underneath his twitching cock, a line of the slick connected to the tip of his dick. 

Choso has to remember to swallow every so often as he watches you piston your fingers in and out of your cunt, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. His face is all screwed in lust and need, his eyes glossed over and lips swollen and wet from how frequently he licks his tongue over them. 

The squelches emanating from your pussy only makes his cock throb even harder. "F-fuuuuck Choso-" You whine, spreading your legs further apart for him, letting him get a better view of the mess you were making between your legs. Your fingers were coated with your wetness and were only getting wetter and wetter with each thrust.

Choso's cock bobbed at the sound of his name leaving your lips. "It hurts, I- I wanna fuck you now," Choso begged, stuttering out his words. He felt like crying, his poor balls felt so heavy and he needed to feel something wrapping around his cock before he lost his mind. 

You shook your head, adding your other hand between your legs to start rubbing at your clit. Choso whined, watching astutely as your cunt squeezed around your fingers at the added stimulation. "D-did that feel good?" Choso asked, his eyebrows furrowing together tighter. "You got tighter when you touched yourself there." He explained.

You gasped, rubbing your clit faster while looking up at him, your eyes darting between his cock and his eyes which were focused on your hole. "Yeah, Cho, f-feels so good." You replied, your pace faltering for a moment as you rubbed your clit perfectly, making your mind go blank. 

Choso's breath picked up, he was panting loudly now, squirming on the floor. "I wanna lick it. I- I wanna lick your pussy." Choso cried, licking his lips. "Please, please give me something It hurts, my cock hurts." You almost started to feel bad, but each time your eyes found his desperate face, it was hard to. 

He looked so vulnerable, so needy, it was a good look on him. "No Choso, t-this is your punishment for ditching me for your brother." You said, staying adamant in your stance on not letting him fuck you. "I- I know I know I'm sorry, I don't have to put it inside just- please, please give me something." Choso cried, his shoulders flexing as he tried to wiggle out of his restraints.

Looking at him for a few seconds, you decided a little something couldn't hurt. Pulling your fingers out of your cunt, you sat up and crawled toward Choso who sat by the wall. He watched with hungry eyes as you slowly made your way closer to him, leaving your previous spot against the back of the bed.

"You wanna taste me?" You asked, tilting your head at him. You braced yourself on your knees and leaned forward, placing one of your hands on his upper thigh to steady yourself, dangerously close to his cock. Choso nodded hastily before you even finished speaking. "I'm not going to touch you, this is all you get." You told him, making him look into your eyes so you know he understood.

"Okay, thank you, thank you," Choso asked, his eyes dropping to your hand that had just been inside of you. "Open." You instructed, watching him with bated breath as his jaw fell open and his tongue fell out, his eyebrows furrowing together in need. "Good boy." And with that, you pressed your fingers against his tongue, letting him wrap his lips around them as he sucked off your juices, his tongue swirling around them.

A smile graced your features when his eyes rolled back in his head and a loud muffled moan vibrated your fingers. Your mouth fell open in a small o, the feeling of his tongue licking your fingers making you feel a new sense of need between your thighs. 

Suddenly, Choso bit down on your fingers, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to catch you off guard, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You watched Choso's body jerk repeatedly, his eyes fluttering in their sockets before you felt something warm and hot land on your thigh.

"Oh fuck..." You whispered to yourself as Choso whined around your fingers, his tongue still working adamantly around them, trying to prolong your taste as much as he could. Choso's cock bobbed heavily in the air, his balls throbbing as he released his seed all over you and the floor between you. 

Your fingers slipped out of his mouth when his chest fell forward, his head landing against your shoulder. "Oh my god Choso, fuck." You whined, your body feeling like it had been set on fire. Choso was cumming. Choso was cumming hands-free, just from tasting you.

You reached out to grab his hot cock at the end of his orgasm, slowly jerking him off, trying to milk every last drop out of him. "Oh- y-your hand-" Choso groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, wishing he could cling onto you with his arms right now. "F-feels good, feels so good keep touching me, please." He begged. 

You knew you weren't supposed to touch him, at least according to your own rules right now, but when he begged so sweetly it was hard to ignore him. Choso breathed heavily against the side of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. "You like my taste that much, baby?" You asked, running your freehand through his hair, still every so slowly jerking him off. 

He nodded right away, a soft "uh-huh" leaving his lips. "You're so cute Choso, so cute." You praised, dropping your eyes to his cock, noticing how his abs still clenched and twitched every so often. He made such a mess, his cum had drenched your thighs and the floor under him.

"You made such a mess though, Cho." You said, gripping his hair tightly between your fingers, pulling him out of the crook of your neck softly. "Look at all this, it's everywhere." You said, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs at the sight as you pretended to act annoyed.

"I- I'll clean it." Choso immediately offered, looking up at you like a puppy as he nodded at his own words. You let go of his cock and wiped your hand clean on your thigh before grabbing his soft face in both of your hands, which he leaned into, his eyes closing as he nuzzled against your palms. 

"How are you gonna clean it with your hands tied behind your back?" You asked, waiting for him to suggest a certain idea before you did. Choso was one step ahead of you as he answered, "My mouth, I'll use my mouth." He said confidently, his face staying serious even when you smiled, your eyes raising in surprise. 

"Yeah? You gonna lick up your own cum off my thighs?" You asked, a hint of teasing in your tone. Choso nodded right away, already trying to lean down to start when you slid one of your hands behind his head and gripped his scalp, tugging his hair sharply, making him groan as he was stopped in his tracks.

"I'm not gonna make you do it on this hard floor, come lay on the bed with me." You said, your thumb rubbing against his cheek. Choso followed you like a duckling as you grabbed his forearm and pulled him backward with you towards the bed. You helped Choso situate himself between your thighs, his arms stim bound behind his back.

Choso sighed in relief, in this position his cock was pressed firmly against the sheets, making his still prominent arousal get a little relief. Choso nuzzled his head against your thigh as you placed your legs around his shoulders, your hands gathering the stray hairs around his face, making sure his hair didn't get any cum on it.

"Good boy Choso." You praised, looking at him fondly as he licked his first fat stripe against your thigh, taking his tongue back into his mouth and swallowing quickly before he scrunched his nose and opened his mouth for more. His reaction made you giggle. "You don't like the way you taste?" You asked, feeling yourself throb the closer and closer Choso got to licking up the cum that was right next to your throbbing pussy on your inner thigh.

Choso shook his head before swallowing, his hot tongue making your thighs clench as it caressed your skin repeatedly. "I was just thinking I feel bad for you." You laughed at how cute he was beginning before you shook your head and ran your fingers through his hair to recollect it before you held it back again, out of his face.

"I like the way you taste Choso." You said, making his eyes shoot up at you, locking onto yours as he leaned forward and licked another stripe against your leg, the eye contact making you swallow hard. Choso blushed at your shameless words before he shut his eyes and continued cleaning you off.

Your breathing started to pick up when his licks became kisses and bites, and he became less and less focused on cleaning off his cum, the trail of his mouth getting dangerously close to your cunt. You were throbbing at this point, you almost wanted to beg him to touch you. "Choso." You said softly, about to warn him not to touch you per his punishment, but you were unable to do so, instead tightening your hand on his hair, hoping that would get something across to him because there is no way you had the will to tell him not to touch you right now.

Choso looked up at you with lidded eyes, all glossed over and fucked out as he shimmied closer to your cunt, licking the skin just under your pussy lips. The look on your face now was pure lust and unbridled need as you swallowed hard, watching Choso try and be sneaky. Keeping his eyes on you, he stuck his tongue out before he leaned forward and opened his mouth, his tongue falling out, making your breath pause before he closed his eyes and made contact with your cunt.

"Oh fuck Choso-" You whined breathlessly, your head immediately falling back against the sheets at the contact, your grip in his hair loosening as you held him against you using the nape of his neck.

Choso moaned softly, shaking his head back and forth against your pussy as he lapped at your folds, his tongue breaching the entrance of your pussy as he swallowed up your wetness, replacing the bitter taste of his cum with the sweet taste of yours. Because Choso's arms were bound behind his back, the only thing holding him up was your legs that caged him in, so his face was getting buried in your pussy, bringing you the most delicious pressure.

"M-mmmm-" Choso moaned into your cunt, his fat tongue stretching open your walls. "B-bad boy Choso, you're such a bad boy." You scolded, with no real malice behind your words. You were too horny, and his tongue felt too good to care about him breaking your rules. Choso hummed in response before his plush lips found your clit, wrapping around them.

"Oh god- right there Choso- Fuckkkk right there-" You moaned, gripping his hair and the nape of his neck ruthlessly, trying to ground yourself. Choso moaned against your clit, the sound vibrating your pussy, making your body jolt and jerk with the stimulation. 

You suddenly noticed how much the bed was shaking, which snapped you out of your own head a bit as you thought you were the one causing the commotion unconsciously. Peeking your head back up, you saw Choso's hips rutting quickly against the sheets, his eyes firmly shut as he ate you out, his tongue batting against your clit expertly.

You watched the way his hands clenched and unclenched in the restraints, the muscles of his back flexing every so often as he tried to fight them to no avail. "Does your cock feel needy again?" you asked, looking down at how sloppily he was working his tongue and lips against you. He nodded, his glossy eyes peeling open to find yours, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Are you gonna cum like that?" You questioned again, noticing how harshly he was fucking the bed, the frame squeaking underneath him. You blushed hard, from an outsider's perspective it sounded exactly like he was fucking you.

The man between your legs moaned as he nodded, his eyes staying locked on yours save for the occasional fluttering as he ate you out. His answer made your pussy clench around nothing. Choso was so shameless and desperate, you felt like you were gonna cum just from watching him hump the bed like some dog in heat.

"M-make me cum with you." You begged, feeling yourself on the verge of your orgasm. "I'm about t-to cum." Choso felt his balls tighten at your confession. The taste of you flooded his tongue, your smell invading all his senses as he flicked his tongue against your clit with twice the intensity, trying to make you cum before he did.

Suctioning his lips around you harder, your back arched against his face, which Choso followed with his head, not wanting to give you a second without pleasure. "Right there, right there, d-don't stop Choso, don't f-fucking stop-" You whined, your hips now humping against his mouth on their own volition, forcing him to nod his head with you to keep up, increasing the stimulation.

Choso was getting restless, he needed to touch you, needed to feel your body against his hands. He hated these damn restraints. Just before you felt yourself reach the edge, you heard an unintelligible 'snap' before you felt Choso's hands on you. Which is weird because you could've sworn you tied him up- but you couldn't think much about it as his tongue rubbing against you pushed you over the edge.

Choso gripped the fat of your thighs, keeping you flush against him as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue. Choso followed only moments after, his cock humping weakly against the sheets as he came for the second time, his cock rubbed raw from the comforter, but that didn't stop him from fucking it roughly, pretending he was releasing his seed inside of you as he came.

Moans of his name falling from between your lips as your thighs snapped around his head only made his orgasm feel that much more intense. You had to practically push him off of you when the shocks of your high died down, his tongue starting to push you into oversensitivity. Peeling your eyes open slowly, you looked down at Choso, who was gripping your thighs, then over to the very expensive red shibari rope, which had been snapped in two.

You opened your mouth to speak but the next thing you knew, Choso's lips were on yours, his softening cum covered cock pressing against your inner thigh as he crushed you with his body, his arms coming between your and the mattress to wrap around your body, keeping you flush against him. All you could do was moan in surprise and gasp into his mouth as he forced his tongue between your lips, your taste flooding your mouth.

After the rushed, needy kiss, Choso pulled away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you by your lips. His face was flushed and sweaty, and he was panting heavily, almost louder than you were. "I don't like that rope." Were the first words out of his mouth, making you giggle. You grabbed his face and pulled it against you, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"That rope was really expensive." You said, looking at him with raised eyebrows. Choso stared at you blankly before he squeezed his arms around you again and buried his face in the crook of your neck, his sweaty body overwhelming yours with heat. "Good. Don't buy another one I don't like it." He said pouting, his body relaxing into yours. 

"I won't as long as you don't ditch me for Yuuji anymore." You said, poking the tip of his nose. Choso crinkled it before he nodded and buried his head deeper. "Okay. Sorry." He replied, his breath tickling your collarbones as his breathing returned to normal. "Good boy, Choso. You're a good boy.

[augustinewrites]

it’s been…a while since you and satoru have gone on an assignment together.

having two young children at home made it difficult to take off on short notice and be away for days at a time. they needed stability and routine, so the two of you had decided that one person would stay home while the other was working.

for a while, that’d worked fine. but now that megumi and tsumiki were older, self-sufficient teens who loved nothing more than being left alone, satoru had seen this as an opportunity.

you’d still been a little hesitant, but it was a simple surveillance mission. easy, right?

“water. you need to stay hydrated.” you instruct when he gets back into the car. he takes the water bottle you’re holding out, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig.

“gakuganji isn’t even home yet,” he reports with a sigh. you hum, distracted as you check your phone. gojo reaches across your knees to pull open the glovebox, rifling through colourful snack wrappers.

“tsumiki hasn’t texted me back,” you mutter. “should i ask nanami to check in on them?”

“nah, i’m sure they’re just super busy trashing the apartment and racking up charges on the emergency credit card. ah– found it!” he pulls out a black silk sleep mask, slipping it on so it rests on his forehead.

“really?” you ask, unimpressed as he holds a second one out to you. “you’re taking a nap?”

“yeah, it’ll be easier to sneak around when it’s dark, why stay awake till then?”

“is that a good idea?” you ask, though you know there’s really no point in trying to argue with his logic.

“your fault for keeping me awake all night. late night laundry folding is no joke.”

“if you’d put it in the dryer when i’d asked—”

“can’t hear you,” he sing-songs, pulling the mask over his eyes. “you can take a nap too, you know. that old fart couldn’t get past us even while asleep.”

“i’ll pass on the nap. need to wait for tsumiki to text.”

he grumbles something incoherent that you’re sure is meant to be argumentative as he reclines his seat a little and lays back, getting comfortable and quiet.

…for about 45 seconds.

you watch out of the corner of your eye as he pulls the mask up a half inch, just enough for his right eye to observe you.

“what do you want now?” you ask.

then, with casualty akin to asking what you want for lunch, he clears his throat and asks, “do you want to have sex?”

“do i want to have what?” you ask, turning to stare at him incredulously, but your face is hot and for a split second, you’d considered agreeing.

“sex,” he repeats, patting his lap with a shit-eating grin. “we’re going to be here for a while, anyways. these seats recline way back—”

“i am not having sex in this car with you, satoru!”

he groans over-dramatically (as he tends to do). “will you at least cuddle with me then? i’m desperate and touch-starved and hopelessly in love with you!”

you make a note to figure out what cheesy rom com he stole that line from, but lean across the console to trail kisses up his shoulder, his neck. satoru does nothing to protect himself from your overly affectionate onslaught, he’s quick to catch your jaw, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

“wait. no, no, no!” he protests when you pull back, eyes suddenly trained on the house you’re meant to be watching. “you can’t just leave me high and dry—”

“he’s home!” you whisper, pressing a hand over his mouth (though he continues with muffled complaints). “pull the car a little further back before we get out.”

you’ve already summoned your shikigami as satoru maneuvers the car into the dense forestry, about to send them off when your phone vibrates in your lap.

“oh! megumi texted me,” you inform him. “he said…‘already made dinner. tsumiki is out on a date—’”

the car grinds to a halt and abruptly turns, the momentum causing your to slam into the side of the car as it peels out onto the dirt road. you curse loudly as your fiancé, devoid of all his playfulness from earlier, speeds through the forest.

“what the— satoru!”

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Parties were NOT Simon Riley's cup of tea. Not only did they drain his social battery, but he was the type of man that much preferred the comfort of a good book and his bed over that of social interaction.

But today was New Year’s Eve, and not only had Soap practically threatened him to come, you would be there. Seeing you would make attending the shitty party worth it. Seeing you always made anything worth it.

Simon walked into the mess hall, his heart racing slightly as he realized just how many people were here. All of the soldiers still on duty were gathered, eating, drinking, joking. Just the sheer amount of chaos that was ensuing made Simon want to run back to his room.

Until he saw you.

He found you watching TV, nursing on some concoction of drink, a languid smile on your lips as you saw him approach.

“Sergeant.” Simon nodded in your direction as he came to stand by you, thankful you couldn’t see the crimson forming in his cheeks.

“Lieutenant.” You smiled up at him, before letting your eyes fall back to the TV in front of you. "Surprised to see you here tonight."

Simon grunted in reply, his eyes scanning the crowded mess hall, finding his Scottish friend laughing with a group of recruits. "Johnny forced me. Plus, the company isn't so bad."

You turned your face slightly, a blush reaching your cheeks at his admission. "Glad to know my company is suitable for you."

You both stood watching the party for a while as a comfortable silence fell between the two of you. This was one of the things Simon adored about you. You never forced him to talk, which frankly, made him all the more eager to do so with you.

“Y/N-.” He began, but Johnny had cut him off with a tap of his glass.

"Alright everyone, begin the count down! It’s ten seconds to midnight!” Johnny called out, grabbing everyone's attention, prompting nearly everyone in the mess hall began to shout out the countdown.

"Ten!"

You couldn't help but look over at your lieutenant, your breath hitching slightly as you saw he was already looking at you, his soft brown eyes softening as they locked on you.

All of the noise in the background, the cheers, the conversations, the sound of the TV, all vanished in that moment. The only thing mattering to you was the way that Simon Riley was looking at you.

"Nine!"

Your many years alongside him began to swirl in your head, all the long missions, the close calls, all those times he risked his life for you, and you for him. All those times he'd let you in to see the man behind the mask, the man that was Simon Riley.

Your feelings for him had only grown in all the time you'd been alongside him, and you found yourself utterly and completely in love with your superior.

"Eight!"

Simon took a step closer to you, his eyes remaining as stoic as ever as they stayed locked on yours. You always hated how you could never tell what he was thinking, could never read what he was feeling by his looking in his eyes.

God, what you would give to be able to know what was going on in that gorgeous head of his right now.

If only you fucking knew.

"Seven!"

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as his he now stood almost chest to chest with you, his frame towering over yours as he looked down at you. You blinked a few times, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. "Hi."

"Hi." He replied, his tone quieter than usual. His hands began to shake slightly as he slowly began to move one of them toward the base of his balaclava.

"Six!"

You watched as he pulled his mask up, revealing a handsome jaw, lined with stubble. His lips were littered with scars, and you couldn't help but stare at them. From what little you could see of his face, you realized just how fucking pretty he was. As if there was any doubt.

"S-Simon." You breathed out, the intensity of his gaze sending a heat coursing throughout the entirety of your body. You couldn’t help yourself, you let your hand grip lightly at his arm, prompting him to chuckle softly.

"Five!"

Simon leaned toward you, his finger lightly touching your chin as he tilted your face up towards his. You found yourself leaning up toward him, your heels leaving the ground slightly.

His touch was so gentle against your chin despite the rough texture of his fingers, and it took everything in you not to moan at the tenderness of his touch.

"Four!"

“You want this?” He asked, his voice holding a nervousness you’d never been on the receiving end of before. “With me?”

All you could do was nod up at him, not trusting yourself to speak. You don't think you'd ever been this nervous in your life, your mouth running dry in anticipation.

"Three!"

This was it, wasn’t it? After all these years, after all those long nights, those deep talks, those longing glances… was this really about to happen?

"Two!"

Your heart was practically beating out of your chest as you felt his breath on your mouth, his lips being just a hair away from your own. You could hear him inhale sharply, and watched as his eyes darted toward your mouth.

"One!"

It was as if time stopped when his lips finally met yours. They slotted against yours so effortlessly, almost as if they were made to be kissed by you.

After years of loving Simon Riley, he was finally, finally kissing you. And it was everything you could ever have hoped it would be.

He pulled away a moment later, the smile on his lips now reaching his beautiful brown eyes. “Happy New Year, sergeant.”

A Happy New Year indeed.

[cordeliawhohung]

consider this short drabble a thank you gift for 1.5k followers!

mafia!141 masterlist

mafia!Simon x shy!fem!Reader: smut, oral (m receiving), brief p in v

"Can I suck your dick?"

Simon had just lined himself up at your entrance when those words left your mouth and he became as still as a statue when they registered in his mind. Positioned underneath him on the bed, you looked up at him with slightly wide eyes as if your request shocked even yourself. It was something you had thought about for quite some time; how Simon always seemed to give and yet rarely ask for anything in return, and you wanted to change that.

You just didn't think you'd blurt your thoughts out so suddenly like that.

Surprised, Simon leaned back to look at you while his hand still gripped his hardened cock. Shifting under his gaze, you propped yourself up on your elbows as you waited for his answer. You wished you hadn't said it so suddenly like you did, but the thought most likely would have never passed your lips if you had attempted to do it any other way.

"That what you want?" he asked.

Though he questioned you to ensure that was something you wanted of your own accord, you could see the dark glint of want in his eyes. Saw the way his tongue lightly wet his lips and how his hand squeezed the tip of his cock like he already imagined your mouth around him. Eagerly, you nodded as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, mind already racing about how you were supposed to do it properly.

"Yes... please."

After placing a short and heavy kiss on your lips, Simon slipped to the side, reversing your positions. He propped himself up on the plush pillows near the headboard while you sat between his legs where his thick and powerful thighs kept your corralled like an animal. With one hand still holding himself, Simon reached for your face with the other as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"Take your time, yeah?" he prompted. His dark eyes looked at you adoringly while his hips impatiently bucked under his own stimulation. "You can stop whenever you want."

Once again you nodded as you breathed out a simple confirmation before your hand replaced his. While you settled between his legs, you slowly stroked at him as you thumbed over the smooth jewelry of his piercings. Eventually your lips brushed against the warm tip of his cock, wetting your mouth with his precum.

As your mouth gently dropped open, you tried not to think too hard about everything. Simon always told you that type of stuff was supposed to come easy and natural, to not force it and just let your desires take control. So you did just that as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, mouth opening impossibly wide in order to accommodate the sheer girth of him.

He tasted salty, almost refreshingly so, and you couldn't help but swirl your tongue around his glands in an attempt to soak up more of that flavor. Simon's thighs tensed on either side of you, and his breathy sigh didn't go unnoticed by you. You wanted more, to draw out more of those pitchy moans, to make him feel just as good as he always made you, so you pressed forward to take more of him into your mouth. He brushed against your soft palate similar to how he always pressed against your cervix, and the unfamiliar feeling made you gag.

"Easy sweetheart," he warned as he gently pushed you back. "Go slower... yes, fuck just like that..."

Eventually you found your rhythm. Whatever you couldn't take in your mouth you used your hands to make up for as you bobbed your head along his length. Simon's breathing became strained like he had to hold himself back from fucking up into your mouth like a madman, but you noticed that every time your swirled your tongue around the piercings on his glands, it forced his hips to buck ever so slightly.

A tingling sensation settled over your lips the longer you worked at him and your jaw began to ache from the awkward position but you pushed forward. You felt his hand rest gently on the back of your head, carefully guiding you along him as he aided you in setting a pace that felt good but wasn't too much for you. His quieted moans eventually transformed into unrestrained grunts as you brought him closer to the edge. The warmth of your mouth and soft lips around him was enough to drive him to insanity, and just as his stomach tensed, just as he was about to spill into your mouth, he gently pulled you off of him.

Panting, you sat back on your haunches as you gave Simon a glazed yet confused look. A long stream of spit dribbled down your chin and you quickly wiped it away on the back of your hand as you tried to catch your breath in order to ask him what was wrong. His cock glistened with your saliva and it seemed to twitch in frustration at the sudden absence of pleasure.

"C'mere," he said, his voice dark and husky. His hands were already on your waist where he excitedly pulled you closer to him, forcing you to straddle his hips.

"But I wasn't done," you attempted to retort.

Simon chuckled at you as he once more lined his cock up against your heat, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. In an attempt to keep yourself steady, your hands came up to rest on his shoulders as he ever so slowly lowered you onto him, sliding into you with ease due to how well you slicked him up.

"You can suck me off properly another time, sweetheart," he said with a tight jaw. He hissed as your cunt began to swallow him, tight muscles pulling him into you like he never belonged anywhere else. "Did you really think you could make me feel that good and get nothin' in return?"

Your head fell forward and into his shoulder with a soft gasp as he bottomed out, filling you with ease and to the brim. As he began to gently move you up and down, his hips bucked up to meet you halfway where he kissed your cervix with each thrust.

"Fuck... no, no. I reward my girl for bein' good, yeah?"

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[c0eu4]

Charles speaking dirty in french🤭🤭🤭🤭

CL16 | Dirty boy ♡

Summary: Y/n keeps bothering her boyfriend until he gives in and shows her how to be a good girl.

Warning: dirty talk, smut, no protect sex, dom!Charles, sub!reader, mean!Charles, handcuffs, a bit of hitting (soft)

A/N: enjoy<3

Translation: mon amour= my love | Chéri.e= darling

MASTERLIST requests are open

She sits on his lap, her hand passing through his brown hair. ''Mon amour, I'm trying to work.'' If there are two things that the young woman loves, it's annoying her boyfriend when he's trying to work and his horribly sexy French accent.

She kisses his cheek, her other hand running over his abs through his t-shirt. He feels a shiver down his spine, but doesn't give in to temptation. ''Chérie, please.''

She doesn't listen to him and kiss the crook of his neck, nibbing it softly. His hand found its way to her waist, rubbing it softly. ''Don't you want to take a break?'' She let her hand go under his t-shirt, using her fingerstip to touch his abs.

He sighs, from pleasure? Annoying? She does not know but she doesn't care. Her hand under his t-shirt keeps going up, her mouth continuing to stimulate his neck by leaving a few red marks and lovebites.

He didn't push her away, trying to focus on the computer screen in front of him. He begins to feel tight in his pants, her ass wiggling against him and her fingertips tracing the vertical line of his abs.

His hand which was on her waist goes down to caress her ass, squeezing it softly. ''T'as envie que je te baise hein?'' you want me to fuck you, huh?

She doesn't understand what he said but can't help and moan softly against his soft skin. He grabs her jaw and forces her head up to kiss her. She moans into the kiss and Charles takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, caressing the inside of her cheeks.

She removes his headphone and places it on the desk, running her hand through his hair. He picks her up and moves her into the bedroom, dropping her on the bed. ''Qu'est ce que je vais faire de toi?'' What am I going to do with you?

She feels the excitement build even more in her body, his accent completely turning her brain. ''Tu es si irrésistible..'' You're so irresistible.

He removes his t-shirt, finally revealing his abs that she loves to caress so much. ''Take off all of your clothes.'' His voice was firm yet sweet. She listens to him and takes off her clothes, revealing her underwear to him. ''I said all of your clothes.'' She can't help but blush, even though Charles has seen her naked so many times.

She takes off her last clothes and watches him rummage through the drawer of his nightstand.

''Is it ok if I tie your wrist to the bed?'' She bit her lower lips. ''Yes. You can do whatever you want with me, my love.''

Charles smirks, taking off two handcuffs from the drawer, deftly tying one end around one of her wrist, securing it to the headboard. He repeated this process with her other wrist, leaving her bound and vulnerable in front of him.

He takes his time to take off his pants and joins her in bed, getting on top of her and one of his hands already trailing between her thighs. ''Je parie que tu es toute mouillée, mh?'' I bet you're soaking, mh?

She whines, wanting him to touch her. ''Please.. Charlie..'' He chuckles, his cold hand touching her inner thighs. She can't help but move her hips to try and show him her impatience. His fingers move up slowly and he slides one finger between her wet folds. ''Toute mouillée et rien que pour moi.'' All wet and only for me.

She closes her eyes, trying to move her hands but can't. Her head fell back against the pillow with a long moan of his name when she felt his lips against her bundle of nerves.

She can't help but squirm with pleasure as he continues to stimulate her with his tongue. And just as she was about to cum, Charles suddenly stopped and moved his kisses back to her stomach.

''What the hell Charles!'' she shouted, frustrated. He laughs, kissing her ribs. His laugh is deep and dark, almost frightening.

He rubs himself against her wet fold, making her moan deeply. He can feel the wet through his boxer and it turns him so much on. ''Putain Y/n tu vas me faire jouir juste parce que t'es autant mouillée.'' Damn Y/n you're gonna make me cum just because of your wetness.

''Charles..I need you!'' She whines, shaking violently under him. He doesn't wait longer and takes off his boxer and thrust roughly into her tight and wet cunt.

''Merde.. t'es si serré..'' shit.. you're so tight..

He doesn't wait any longer to almost pull out and go back in roughly.

''Tu la prends si bien.'' You take it so well.

If he keeps talking like that, she'll probably cum faster than expected.

''Oh oui, t'es si bonne.. ma pute..'' Oh yes, you're so good.. my whore..

''Ch-Charles!'' She moaned loudly before cumming hardly around his cock. Charles takes it upon himself and holds back from cumming as he feels her walls tightening around his cock. He speeds up his movements, his hips hitting hers with a sensual sound of flesh smacking and a wet sound.

His hand hits the side of her thigh. ''Dit moi que tu m'appartient.'' Tell me you're mine.

She doesn't understand what he says and moans loudly, not having time to recover from her orgasm.

Charles hit her thigh a second time, this time leaving a red mark of his hand. ''Dit moi que you're mine!''

Her back arches a second time, her eyes filling with tears. ''I-I'm yours !'' He moaned loudly, but kept holding himself. ''En Français.'' in French.

The feeling is almost unbreathable and she can barely find her breath. ''Je..J-je appartiens.'' She managed to moan, with her sensual English accent.

''Putain oui..Bonne fille.. Mon jouet baisable préféré..'' Fuck yes.. good girl.. my favorite fucktoy..

Charles redoubles his efforts, showing his breathing and dumbbell physique in his thrusts. The room is filled with their moans. One of Charles' hands finds its way between her legs, playing with her clit.

She doesn't wait any longer to come brutally a second time, tears leave her eyes to roll down her cheeks.

''Oh oui.. serre moi fort..'' Oh yes.. tight me hard..

Charles continues to thrust inside her until he reaches his own climax, his hot seed feeling her up perfectly.

''Ah! Putain! Y/n! T'es trop bonne!'' Ah! Fuck! Y/n! You're too good!

He crashes into her, still being careful not to hurt her. After a few minutes of catching their breath, he pulls out of her with a wet noise and one last moan leaves her lips.

He unties her hands, massaging her wrist to relieve it. ''Ça va, mon chat?'' All good, my cat?

She turns around and hugs him tightly, nuzzling her head into his neck. ''That was great. As usual.''

He can't help but smirk, his hands rubbing her back. ''Je sais que t'aime bien quand je suis méchant avec toi..'' I know you like it when I'm mean with you..

One of his hand goes lower and gently strokes her red thigh. She kisses his neck, already nibbing on it again.

''Ready for round two?''

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, obsessive behaviour/thoughts, implied stalking, manipulation

gn reader

Thinking about those yanderes who play the good guy – those yanderes who play it slow and safe – who take their sweet time gaining their your trust…

That calculative yandere who views you as not something to own but to earn – like a sweet-deserved prize he can taste on his tongue right before barreling over the finish line – all eager thrill and heart-blown triumph and such sweet bliss once he's crossed it, out of breath and forgetting everything else in the world.

Oh, and he's been so good – so fucking perfect these last months – the best – all according to plan – and now he’s finally going to get a taste, that victorious taste – allowed to bask in it, to roll it around his tongue, run it through his teeth – finally feel it between his hands, rake and dig his fingers into it and never let it go. 

He’s been sweet and soft and kind – so well-behaved – so boyfriendly – acting like the two of you were slowly getting to know each other even when he already knows you better than you know yourself. You’re so cute – every single squishy detail about you is just so cute.

He can barely hold it together, nearly shaking in vigor as you position yourself on his lap when the credits to the movie you’d been watching started rolling – soft music playing sweetly in the background – black screen throwing the room into an intimate dark, one that calls for certain things you do in the night, and hopefully dark enough to hide what positively red rouge tinted his cheeks as he felt you press down on where something was sleeping beneath the layers of his clothes.

He was beyond ready, beyond starving – hands so very frigid yet still with a practiced touch remained steady and deceptively calm as he placed them on your hips, grabbing onto the ample soft skin found at your waist – suppressing the urge to squeeze and settling for slowly messaging in careful meandering strokes instead. 

Even though he felt like attacking – like pouncing and trapping, like ripping clothes off – he knew that wasn't the way to win. No, he couldn’t let the mask slip – needs to keep playing the role.

His hand stirred again, ascending, perhaps too wantonly – but you didn't seem to mind as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear – feeling his labored finger-pads trace your jaw, swiping over your lips, cupping your chin, pressing into the plump squishy flesh of your cheeks, making you pout. 

He couldn't hold back the impulse that sent his tongue to swipe over his lips but quickly found a way to save himself. Asking, “Are you ready?” as though actually giving you a choice – voice as calm as he could muster, trying to withhold the strained timber of hormones that fought so badly to be satiated.

“I’m ready.” You say weakly – head bowed to look at him with eyes big and glorious.

He tilted his head to the side, pulling you in with a gracious touch when leaning forward to kill the space between your lips – smoothly brushing his stiff lips against your pillowy-soft ones – slightly parting to receive another greeting, and again and again with more and more pressure for every meeting, quite like the increasing drumming of your pulse. 

He pulled away to search your eyes, suddenly realizing his hand had slipped to wrap around your neck – but all that stared back at him were eyes full of trust – a look he couldn't help but want to devour. You’re so cute, so cute, so cute, cute, cute…

He pushed his lips back onto yours, kissing you more earnestly and desperately than before. 

The arm kept around your waist moved, also in favor of rising to head level, gently cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Letting out a rugged groan when prying your mouth open.

You leaned away from the sudden boyish hunger, but his tongue slipped inside your mouth and tangled with yours anyway – making you go still as a statue until you let slip a tiny meager whimper. 

He gently rubbed your cheek at the sound – still holding you close with his words hotly purred on your lips, “Shh, Pumpkin – I won’t bite.” 

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize – pooling with a predatory heat that caused a surprisingly pleasant shiver to slide up your spine, though not withholding the squeal of panic as he spun the two of you around and dropping you carefully on your back.

Now looming above you, with tenfold more control of what he had earlier.

His index finger stroked your chin before raising it for you to look up at him... or maybe for him to look down at you – enjoying the sight of you in all your flushed and bashful glory. 

It’s a different feeling than seeing you smile and laugh, different from looking at you in the hope you’d look back at him – no longer chasing but having his prey caught, ready to sink his teeth in. 

His other hand stroked a wisp of hair behind your ear as the locks had gone wild in the tumble, yet again groping your face as he leaned in closer. 

He pressed his lips against yours again – and though surprised and with a heart beating like a hummingbird, you slid your own hand around his waist, the other tangled in the short hairs at the back of his neck, legs climbing up his back, hooking over his hips and pulling him closer.

You felt his lips curl up into a smirk – before he drew his mouth from yours in favor of kissing a trail of pecks down your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, drooling with such suppressed lust, he groaned into the dip between your shoulder and neck – unsure if he could hold back once he started feeling the blood rush and pump, causing something to fatten in his slacks – unsure if you were ready to take all that he wanted to give you – unsure if you were willing to give all he wanted to take.

BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shinso, Dabi, Hawks

JJK – Geto, Gojo, Choso, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta

HQ – Tsukishima, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

[xxsabitoxx]

Where JJK Men Are Sensitive

Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Yuta, Yuji, Megumi

Warnings: all characters are 18+, this is a smut headcanon post with various levels of lewd-content lol, proceed with caution... or not, I don't judge. I mean I'm the one who wrote it so...

A/N: tried a different style than how I did this with the Hashira lol. Thank you all for blowing up my "How JJK Men Eat Pussy 2.0" post! I was and still am absolutely floored with how quickly y'all blew it up!

Satoru Gojo

Satoru doesn’t tell you where he is sensitive because he wants you to figure it out through “exploration”. Given the fact that he is the Satoru Gojo, you jump on the offer to spend hours learning every inch of his body. You make a whole day out of it really, and it goes without saying that your endeavor was very, very successful. Sensitive and ticklish run a very thin line for Satoru and it is a line that is very easily blurred. Your first discovery was that he has a very sensitive neck. Something as small as your hands cupping the back of it was enough to have Satoru shivering in your embrace, whining a little into the kiss. You learned very quickly that one of his greatest weaknesses is your lips on his pulse, leaving faint bruises where you sucked. As your exploration continued, you found that Satoru was very reactive when you touched his chest. More specifically, you hadn’t expected him to moan the way he did when your tongue ran across his nipple by mistake. The noise that escaped him, paired with the visible twitch of his dick was enough for you to take the other between your thumb and pointer finger and pinch. The third discovery was that Satoru has particularly sensitive balls. Yep, that’s right, his fucking balls. You had given him head before, but you had never dared to touch him there since you weren’t sure how he would react. Since this was a “free-for-all” as Satoru put it, you gingerly cupped him and watched the way his jaw clenched. Your eyes were glued to his face as you massaged them, alternating your pressure to see how far you could take it before pleasure pushed the line and turned into pain. Turns out, they are sensitive but durable and well… he doesn’t mind if you’re a bit rough with him from time to time (all the time). 

Suguru Geto

Suguru refuses to let you figure out where he is sensitive until you catch him off guard one night and bind his wrists. Of course he can easily get out of them but he’s interested in indulging you because you look too damn cute when you think you’ve won. You’re pretty upfront with him about what you intend to do, which only makes him a little antsy as your fingers nimbly undo the rest of his clothing while you remain in nothing but his t-shirt. Suguru isn’t quite used to the roles being reversed but he’ll give it a try for you. The first sensitive point on his body that you discover is his ears, and it’s not because of his gauges. You actually avoid his earlobes all together, instead catching him by surprise as you sink your teeth into the shell of his ear. This earns a reaction neither of you expected, a low groan that vibrates his chest as you alternate the pressure of your nibbling before pulling away. Suguru’s cheeks are red now as you continue to explore various points on him, his dick painfully hard and sitting proudly against his abdomen as you work. The next spot is actually his sides, your fingernails scraping them has his body shivering in response. It seems some of Suguru’s sensitivity resides in the most random places, because you didn’t quite envision yourself laughing as you grazed your teeth down his side before biting softly and watching his back arch. By the time you reach his waist, Suguru is red in the face and panting, precum oozing steadily out of his tip and resting on his abdomen. He’s looking at you with blown out pupils, quietly begging you to touch him where it really “matters”, to which you shake your head. Suguru’s thighs are his other weakness, which you kind of figured since he always gets very fidgety when you sit on his lap or grind on it.

Kento Nanami

Nanami is a tough man to break down, but over the years you have located a few of his weak points. One of Nanami’s major weaknesses is his jaw/neck, more specifically when you’re kissing and sucking and biting there. There is something about the sensual drag of your teeth on his skin that has his composure dissolving. You know this of course, so you use it to get your way when Nanami is being a little too stubborn for his own good. This neck sensitivity goes a little further though, something as simple as adjusting his tie or fixing his collar will have Nanami shivering from your touch. You found another weak spot by mistake, turns out Nanami is rather ticklish when it comes to his Stomach. You had been riding him, initially placing your hands behind you on his legs to hold yourself as your hips rose and fell. But your back was getting sore and the angle was starting to get tiring, so you slowed and pushed yourself forward rather than leaning back. The moment your hands made contact with Nanami’s abs, he was gritting his teeth and throwing his head back. You initially thought you had hurt him by pressing down on him, but that worried thought disappeared the moment he gasped out for you to “not move” when you started to pull your hands away. You started paying a little more attention to his stomach shortly after that, just because you enjoyed the way he squirmed and fell apart. Unknown to you still is the fact that Nanami’s nipples are very sensitive. He keeps it hidden because he is utterly mortified by how turned on he gets from it. Even if your hand ghosts over them, even if he’s still fully dressed, the feeling has his face turning a deep shade of red. He knows if you figure this out, you’ll go out of your way to touch him there regardless of where you both are, and he just knows he won’t be able to stop the heat from flooding his face. 

Toji Fushiguro

Toji is pretty damn adamant that he has no “weak spots”. That’s up until your hand rests on the back of his slutty ass, tiny waist and he’s crumbling at the feeling. Something about your fingers on his skin has Toji losing his train of thought, he’ll stop mid-sentence if he feels your hands on his waist. Maybe it’s because of how intimate that one touch is, especially when you’re the one grabbing his waist and he’s not the one grabbing yours. Shiu likes to give Toji a funny look if you do this while in his presence, it’s typically one Toji ignores. To continue this “men with sensitive nipples” agenda I got going on, Toji will be putty in your hands the moment your lips wrap around one of his nipples. He’s utterly shameless when you start sucking and biting his chest, moaning and groaning while his hips buck into the air. You are mindful of how you straddle him solely because you don’t want to give him any sort of relief when you toy with him, hence his restless hips meeting empty air rather than your own. Toji’s rather embarrassed by how sensitive the head of his dick is, especially when you’re giving him head. Even the smallest of touches, the quickest tug, even the gentlest lick, will have his jaw going slack. You’re just as cruel as he is sometimes, deciding to focus all of your attention on the tip of his cock just to watch him struggle to clench his slack-jaw to try and hide his noises. You’ll have him coming in no time at all, making sure to be relentless in your teasing after the fact because he can be just as relentless with you when roles are reversed. A bonus spot is his balls, because why the fuck wouldn’t they be. He’s desperate to keep that one a secret but you are too damn observant to get anything by.

Sukuna Ryomen

Sukuna, sensitive? Nah, no fucking way. He is the only man on this list that can confidently say he doesn’t have a single point on his body that will have him crumbling if you touch it. The thing with Sukuna is that he will not let you have enough freedom to roam his body. You are his, but he is not yours. That’s not to say he’ll turn you down if you start sucking and kissing his jaw and neck, the gentle scrape of your teeth certainly do something to ease the tension in his shoulders. But that definitely doesn’t mean those spots are sensitive, nope, not even a little. Sukuna’s hips definitely don’t falter when you grind against his pubic bone while he has you stuffed to the brim with his cock. Oh and he absolutely can’t stand it when your nails rake his shoulders, specifically between his shoulder blades. The king of curses himself has NO weak points, I mean really he doesn’t. There is nothing you can do to get the curse to submit to you, and that’s just the facts. Sukuna definitely doesn’t groan when you do any of these things, he definitely doesn’t utter your name in a deep, warning rumble as you try and fuck with him. And he most definitely does not enjoy when you litter his skin with your own bite marks… just warning ya~

Yuta Okkotsu

Where isn’t this man sensitive? Yuta is pretty embarrassed about how easily he can fall apart under your touch, especially when you are holding his hips while you kiss him. Something about the way your fingers dig into his skin, as if trying to keep him close while he has his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Like he’ll disappear if you let him go, fuck it just get’s him going. Depending on where you are, Yuta will likely have you pinned to the wall the moment he feels your hands desperately clawing at his hips. You found out pretty quickly that Yuta’s hip sensitivity spreads down to his thighs. The moment your back hits the wall, Yuta is shamelessly shoving his leg between your thighs, spreading them for him as his knee hits the wall and his thigh is slotted snuggle against your heat. Yuta’s noises are relentless as your hips grind down on his thigh, the muscles tensing under your movements and only adding to the shared pleasure of it. You realize pretty fast that Yuta enjoys marking you, but that he also enjoys being marked. That goes hand in hand with his numerous sensitive spots. One time you actually bit his shoulder and he swore he could have come, completely untouched, right then and there. You’ll have his eyes nearly crossing if you rake your nails along his back, the stimulation your sex offers him paired with the ticklish/scratchy stimulation of your nails on his skin is enough to have him sobbing. Yuta will absolutely lose his mind if you bite his neck too, he gets off to being covered in your love bites. That being said, Yuta’s dick is just as sensitive, if not more sensitive than the rest of his body. When you first started having sex, you would tease him by saying you need to fuck more often so he can build his tolerance. Not that you mind having multiple short rounds, especially since he makes sure you cum Every. Single. Time. 

Yuji Itadori

Bless this man, he’s so touch starved that it’s impossible for him to not get the chills whenever you touch him. Yuji’s beyond sensitive, especially when it comes to your touch. Some of his most sensitive spots are actually pretty random and sometimes very specific. For example, just below his ear, that spot on your head where your jaw ends and your ear lobe nearly meet. You kissed him there once, a kiss placed among many, but that was the one spot that had him breathing out, begging you to do it again. So you did, kissing intently and sucking a bruise there until Yuji’s fingers were nearly bruising your waist. You learned his body pretty fast, finding that his chest was pretty sensitive as well, earning you pretty noises every time you so much as ran a finger down his sternum. He doesn’t particularly enjoy his nipples being toyed with roughly, that’s one area that’s more painful-sensitive rather than pleasurable-sensitive. But he doesn’t mind if you kiss them or lick them gently. He’s all for massages, especially when you have him on his stomach, your hands kneading the muscular flesh of his back until he’s shamelessly groaning as you work out the tense knots. But nothing could have prepared him for the pleasure your hands brought him when you began massaging the small of his back. It was enough to turn his groans into moans, goosebumps erupting over his flesh as he shivered uncontrollably. You listened to him, following the instructions he cried out for you to not stop, noticing the way he was grinding his hips into the mattress below you. The sight had been so lewd that you couldn’t make yourself stop even if you tried, dying to see how it all played out, dying to see if he’d make himself cum. Yuji adores it when you run your hands all over him, the feathery light, ticklish touches are enough to make his lips buck, cock twitching violently as he waits for you to do more to him. 

Megumi Fushiguro

Oh Megumi…Megumi Megumi Megumi. He takes after his fathers, not willing to admit he has any weak spots but also willing to let you try and find them. Contradictory but either way, you’re eager to know how to make the typically stoic man crumble. It came as a shock when you figured out one of his sensitive points within thirty seconds of climbing into his lap. Megumi’s thighs are very sensitive, even from something as simple as your weight settling on them. It also helps that the heat from your covered sex can be felt through the material of his clothes, your closeness only making it more apparent. You’ll use this information against him later on, especially on nights where you just want to get him worked up. Turns out Megumi’s neck is pretty ticklish, the mix of your soft lips and hair as well as your teeth gently grazing him is intoxicating. Megumi finds himself struggling to stifle his noises as you mark his neck up with as many love bites and bruises as you can before his self restraint runs thin and he gives up on this whole “locate the weak spots” endeavor. Did I mention he takes after his fathers, cause he does. Megumi is mortified by this fact, but his balls are pretty damn sensitive. After an hour of making out and letting you feel him up, you finally reward him for his patience and give him head. He’d rather your sex but he’s too damn worked up to care at the moment, and your mouth is fucking perfect anyways. So, given that he’s let you have more leeway in the last hour than he has during any other of your sexual encounters, you take the liberty of cupping his sac as you wrap your lips around his tip. You nearly choked when he almost immediately spilled into your mouth, the hour of teasing had worked him up more than either of you anticipated and he had no strength left to mentally prepare for you doing something as bold as that. 

[yeonzzzn]

stuck with me: park jongseong

pairing: jay x afab!reader word count: 26.2k

synopsis: in the middle of the apocalypse, you and jay find each other in a situation of life and death, using the protection of each other to get to the next safe zone. unfortunately for the both of you, things take a turn once secrets get revealed and the fight for survival becomes greater.

genre: enemies to lovers, zombie apocalypse!au, blonde jay, smuggler hyung line + smuggler txt, riize members + jungkook and namjoon make appearances, smut.

warnings: swearing, blood, weapons(guns and knives), drug mentions, make-out session, multiple unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f. rec), gun goes pew pew, mentions of d**th, MINORS DNI, lemme know if I missed anything ♡

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jay said, the barrel of his shotgun pointing straight ahead, his heart rate racing faster than just a second ago, index finger twitching as his whole hand shook. 

You stood across from him, pointing your pistol right back at him, aiming directly for the middle of his forehead. 

Unfortunately for you, you had three other shotguns pointing directly at you. 

Your glare didn’t relent as you eyed each of them. 

“You’d be wise to drop your weapon,” you darted to the one who spoke, his dark red dyed hair hung slightly over his eyes, a sure sign that he didn’t trust you. Which was fair. You didn’t trust them either. 

“Four against one,” one smirked, his natural fangs showing, “Be smart, girl.” 

“I was here first,” you snapped, eyes darting between the four of them, “Find another place to ransack.” 

Jay glanced to his left as Jake took a step ahead of him, “As if! Drop your fucking weapon!” he yelled at you. 

You scoffed, raising both hands up, slowly backing away. Vampire fangs was right, it was four against one. There was no scenario where you would win this fight. Not when four shotguns were being pointed at you with the low amount of ammo you had left. It was a loser situation. They slowly lowered their guns slightly, obviously still on edge. 

Jay watched you carefully as you backed away. Watching as your long-sleeved shirt forsaken you, revealing the white bandage wrapped around your forearm with blood soaking through. His heart raced faster, eyes widened. 

“She’s been fucking bit!!” the redhead snapped, all four of the boys' weapons locking back into place pointing at you. 

“Shit,” Jay hissed. 

You lowered your pistol back at the blonde, gritting your teeth. 

**5 HOURS BEFORE**

You stuffed your mouth with the extra shirt from your backpack, biting down as hard as your jaw let you, and rolled up your sleeve to your elbow, the bite mark on your forearm still looking as gross as ever. 

The bottle of medical alcohol you found at the hospital sat to your left on the counter as you dangled your bitten right arm over the hospital's sink. 

You grabbed the bottle and took a few massive deep breaths in before pouring the alcohol down onto the bite. 

Your grip on the shirt tightened as you hissed in pain, doing everything you could possible to keep your groans to a reasonably quiet level to not alert any living or undead beings that could be stalking the hospital to your current location. 

Once the last of the alcohol dripped from the bottle and onto your arm, you grabbed the paper towels and gently dabbed your skin then tossed the towels behind you. You then picked up the tube of ointment, spreading enough on your fingers to rub gently on the bite. Adding the finishing touch of wrapping the white bandages around the bite and securing it tight. 

You got lucky to have found all these supplies when you did or else you’d be dead soon due to infection and loss of blood. 

You quickly pulled your long-sleeve back down then tossed your extra shirt, along with your newfound medical supplies, into your backpack and threw it over your shoulders. 

In all honesty, besides just being lucky enough to have found these supplies, you were lucky to still even be breathing. 

It’s been three years since this hell started. Since the so-called “cure” for some wack-ass disease was created for treatment that ultimately backfired and turned anyone who took it into a man-eating monster. And as the world failed to contain the outbreak, if anyone who was affected by the treatment bit or even scratched someone else, it too turned them into man-eating monsters. Or zombies if you will. Maybe even runners, clickers, or bloaters if you played the famous “The Last of Us” video game before the world went to shit. The walking dead, walkers, lurkers, the infected. Basically, any term you can think of for zombies is literally what was happening. 

Before the world knew it, everyone was thrown into this universe of kill or be killed to survive. The strong-willed were the only ones who survived. Or unless you were lucky and packed up with others. Or even extremely lucky and live inside one of the safe zones and not have to worry about leaving it. 

Unfortunately for you, you were all the above, minus not getting to leave the comfort of the safe zone. 

The safe zone you lived in was small and quiet. Not a lot of people, maybe a little over three hundred. So when supplies ran low, teams were sent out to gather more. Your safe zone wasn’t lucky enough to have military aid, and even when the military did come by to give supplies, it never was enough. Guess they saw your safe zone as a waste of time. 

You’ve ventured out of the safe zone multiple times for supply runs, so when you were picked to be a part of the team to head out, you thought nothing of it. Thought of it as just another scouting and supply run…but it wasn’t. Clearly. 

Your luck had to run out at some point, and that day just so happened to be where the luck ended. 

Your team was stuck between a rock and a hard place, quite literally, actually. The rock technically being a wall and the hard place being the undead had your team surrounded with no chances of escaping. Two of your team members were already killed, one got bit and killed themselves to spare the pain of changing, leaving just you and four others. One got scratched on the leg and had no other chance of escaping. Bless that man because he used his last bit of flares and bullets to part the sea in a chance to let you and the others make a run for it. 

You held onto the hand of your best friend as you both booked it on the small clear path. And once the sea started to close, you knew it was over. Your friend was ripped from your hand, her screams filling your ears along with the others who were being torn apart. You wanted to give up. You should have given up. You were surrounded, and the smell of death from the unliving as they were only nearly inches away from you. But some spark of hope kept you moving forward. Some unrelenting force pushing you towards the window. Your best friend yelled at you to keep going. If you were honest, her voice wasn’t the only thing that gave that hope. Something else was drawing you to stay alive, and what could that have been? You didn’t know. But you wanted to find out. 

You guarded your neck and face with your arms as you jumped through the window, the sound of breaking glass being loud enough and the smell of your blood that now ran down your arms surely alerted any other zombies in the area. But you kept moving once your feet touched the ground and started sprinting. You kept moving even as the tears streamed down your face as you left your teammates behind. 

You were the lone survivor. 

It didn’t take you long to notice the bite on your forearm just above your wrist once you got to a water stream and soaked your cut and bruised arms from breaking the window. You thought you were done for. That everyone else’s sacrifices were all for nothing. You wouldn’t be accepted back at the safe zone if you even made it back to the safe zone. Once you’ve been bit or scratched it takes roughly twenty-four hours before you start turning. The safe zone was two days away. You wouldn’t make it. 

Except you did. 

It’s now been a month since you’ve been bitten and nothing about you has changed besides the fact you have a random ass zombie bite mark on your arm that is slowly, but surely, healing. It will be one hell of a scar. 

You knew returning back to the zone wouldn’t work. They’d kill you on the spot. Or if they let you back in and notice you’ve survived a bite mark…you’d just become an experiment. Just like in every zombie video game and movie. 

So you took to the life of being a lone wolf. Doing everything—and meaning everything—you needed to survive. 

You continued your search of the hospital, gathering more medical supplies and any food left behind. Along with more ammunition(even if it was just a few bullets) for your pistol and any other weapons to add to your arsenal. As you passed by a window, you noticed just how low the sun was setting, meaning you needed to either get to a safe place within the hospital or attempt to find a nearby building or house that was safer. 

Because let’s be honest, who knew who or what was in this hospital still. And you sure as fuck weren’t going to be sticking around long enough to find out. 

You lifted up your sleeve to check your bite, seeing a small amount of blood staining the bandage. You quietly cursed, knowing you had to leave as soon as possible before something detected your blood smell. The only thing that sucked about the bite being slow healing, is the fact it still bled and was still infected. You needed to get treated, but that came at a cost that wasn’t worth it. 

You quickly and quietly slipped out the same way you came in, darting into the overgrown nature the world was now, your pistol in hand and knife strapped at your thigh. 

**3 HOURS BEFORE**

“Are you being serious right now?” Jay scoffed, staring down at Heeseung as his hands, and parts of his face were stained red. 

Heeseung smirked as he looked up at his younger friend, “Obviously.” he chuckled, “We are in the zombie apocalypse, If I want to dye my hair red, I will dye my hair red.” 

Jay stared down at the hair supplies surrounding Heeseung on the floor, “Where the fuck did you even find all this?” 

Heeseung shrugged, “I found them a couple of months back the last time we left the zone. Only just now decided to put them to use.” 

Sunghoon let out a low laugh. He was sitting at the kitchen table with an old Polaroid camera in his hands. The old thing was broken, but that didn’t stop Sunghoon from wanting to fix it and use it, “You’d think being in the zombie apocalypse, dying your hair would be the last thing on your mind.” 

Jake agreed, “We should be stealing supplies that are needed.” 

“And this was needed!” Heeseung rolled his eyes, “Who says fashion had to die with the world?” 

Jay always loved how positive his older friend was. How unaffected he was by this fucked up world. But with the way his world came to an end, Heeseung kind of had no choice but to grin and bear it. To shove the past away and live in the now and for the future. Also being the oldest and taking up that mantle to be the sole source of happiness and good vibes for the group, he was better than the rest of the boys living in this cabin. 

Jay knelt down beside Heeseung on the floor, eyes wandering between all the supplies, “Damn you used up all the red.” 

Heeseung just smiled, “Want me to dye your hair?” 

Jay lifts his hand to run it through his black hair, debating if it even would be worth it. It would add some fun to his life. But ultimately he declined, “We are going out.” 

Jake groaned, and flopped himself down onto his bed, “Are we seriously sneaking out tonight?” 

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, draping his arm over the back, “What are we smuggling out?” 

Jay shook his head, “It’s what we are going to smuggle in.” 

Heeseung kept his eyes pointed at the small square mirror he had propped up against a bike of old books on the floor as he continued to run his red dye-stained hands through his hair, “What could we possibly be smuggling in?” 

“Drugs, obviously,” Jake said, rolling onto his stomach, “What else could we smuggle into the zone that isn’t allowed to be here?” 

Jay shrugged, “I got a tip that a building about an hour south from here, someone from a neighboring safe zone dropped the drugs off there. We smuggle that in and sell that shit, we’d have enough money to last us for months.” 

“And who the fuck tipped you off?” Sunghoon scoffed, hands going back to fiddling with his camera. 

“I swear to god if you say Yeonjun,” Heeseung said with a click of his tongue, “Man is higher than a kite half the damn time.” 

Jay just smiles, “Nah, it wasn’t from Yeonjun or his crew.” 

“Then who?” Jake asked with pure confusion on his face. 

“Probably Jungkook,” Sunghoon guessed, “He’s the only other person who would care enough about smuggling drugs into the zone. He probably got someone in the jail to run their mouths to even pass on this information.” 

Jungkook was one of the local police officers in this safe zone. He wasn’t a dirty cop or anything, he just understood that sometimes people need a getaway. That getaway is either hard-core drugs, or even the lesser ones. Ones that either get you fucked up, or higher than a kite like Yeonjun is half the time. Either way, Jungkook allowed these four to sneak in and out of the zone as they pleased as long as they didn't get caught or bitten. Because once they got caught, Jungkook would hold no power to protect them. 

Jay just nodded and stood up, “We leave in an hour. Like I said, it would take us an hour to get to where we need to go.” 

“Oh, good!” Heeseung cooed, “That gives us plenty of time to bleach your hair.” 

Jay scrunched his nose, looking at the box of hair bleach sitting beside Heeseung. 

“There’s a pretty cool blonde color you can use, I sure as hell won’t use it.” 

Jay rolled his eyes and sat down beside his friend, “Make it quick.” 

**10 MINUTES BEFORE**

Jay, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon all carefully walked into the small village that is said to have the drugs. 

Each of the boys kept their eyes open for the building that was described to them, guns locked and loaded and ready to fire in case of any trouble. 

The moonlight and the few shitty street lamps that still somehow worked were the only source of light they had to light the village. 

It was quiet, a bit too quiet for Jay’s liking but a blessing nevertheless. The last thing he needed was having to actually fire their weapons and alert any zombies their way. 

“Where the fuck is this building,” Jake softly snapped, “I do not like being out here.” 

“That makes two of us,” Heeseung agreed, “I don’t like the vibes here.” 

Most of the world has been overgrown with grass, plants, vines, etc etc etc. Each city or town or village outside the safe zones wouldn’t be well kept and taken care of. But this place? The grass was cut. Only a select few houses and buildings had vines covering them. Someone or a few people were taking care of this place. Jay could only imagine it was whoever dropped the drugs off here. Or so he hoped. 

You also found the small village, taking a mental note of how clean it was when it shouldn’t be. You didn’t like it, but you needed to eat, clean your bite, and sleep. This place would have to do until the sun comes up. 

Most of the houses or buildings were locked or covered in vines, and since the undead stalked around more freely at night, you didn’t want to risk breaking a door or window and settled for finding one that was already broken into. 

You found your way into a building where the door was barely holding onto its hinges. You walked in, seeing that it used to be an old convenience store that was yet to be raided. 

Your heart quickened at the sight, wasting no time to pile what food, medicines, and other supplies you could into your backpack. It was like you hit the jackpot, your luck showing off. 

Your luck brought you an old tin box sitting on a small shelf under the register (that unfortunately had zero money in it). You gently shook the box, hearing what sounded like a plastic bag shifting about. After opening the lid, your eyes widened at the contents.

Drugs. Hard ones. Ones that would knock you on your ass and get you high as fuck. You dug through the plastic bag, seeing some of the drugs were for pain in high dosages, which was perfect for your bitten arm. God damn were you lucky. 

You shoved the tin into your backpack, ready to find a place to sleep when a noise coming from the back of the store jolted you to a stop. Your heartbeat quickened and your breathing became unsteady. Your hand on your pistol tightened, shaking as you quietly walked towards the back. You prayed and prayed it was just some animal, or the wind blowing through the broken windows. 

You turned the corner towards the bathrooms, only to be met face-to-face with an undead monster. 

The thing hissed and groaned as it saw you, lunging forward, arms stretched out and drool dripping from its opened mouth. The smell of rotting flesh was enough to make you want to toss up everything you’d eaten that day. You only had enough time to take a few steps back before tripping over your own feet falling completely on your ass. 

You haven’t felt fear like this since you and your old team members got cornered. The flashbacks of watching your friends get eaten and torn about filled your brain. You started to panic, thinking this was it until that sparkle of hope filled you once again. You raised your pistol up, aiming at the zombie's head, and pulled the trigger twice. 

“Please tell me you all heard that too,” Heeseung whispered, the sounds of a gun being fired echoed across the village. 

“Yeah,” Jay took a deep breath in, “I heard it too.” 

The boys quickly went in the direction of the sound, eyes glancing in every direction to keep watch of any trouble until they found the building they were looking for and found something they weren’t expecting to find—you.  

You barely got to your feet and turned around when the four men approached you, shotguns aiming directly at you. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

And that’s how you all ended up here, guns pointing at each other with every intent to kill. 

“She’s been fucking bit!!” Heeseung snapped, all four of the boys' weapons locking back into place pointing at you. 

“Shit,” Jay hissed. 

You lowered your pistol back at Jay, gritting your teeth, “It’s not what you think.” 

“Like hell it is!!” Sunghoon yelled, “I should put a few rounds into you right now!” 

Jay couldn’t explain it, but something felt off about this, about you. Your wrap was soaked in blood, but you can clearly see the blood has darkened in some areas of the wrap. Usually, a person who has been bitten turns within twenty-four hours. Your wound looks older than that. 

You whipped your weapon back to vampire fang, narrowing your eyes, “Shoot me and I’ll sure as hell make sure to get some rounds into you too.” 

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung sternly said, “Stand down.” 

Sunghoon locked his jaw and took a few steps back. Heeseung noticed it as well. The longer he stared at you, the more he could tell your bite looked too old. 

“Hoon, Jake,” Jay said, barely turning his head to look at the younger too, keeping his weapon pointed at you, “Go find what we came here for so we can leave, I don’t want to stick around long enough to find out if she has more friends here.” 

The younger too nodded, slowly backing away and then turning on their heels, running in different directions to find what they came here for. 

Heeseung and Jay kept their eyes on you. You knew once they got whatever they came for they would leave you here or kill you. 

You preferred the first option. 

“Fuck!” Jake yelled, finding the whole place empty, “Nothing is here!” 

Heeseung and Jay narrowed their eyes at you, you could read it all over their faces that they came here for what you found and shoved into your backpack. 

“Fucking bitch, plan to take those drugs to knock your ass out while you change? Maybe kill yourself in the process?” 

You showed your teeth, “What is it to you?” You snapped, “I found it first, fuck off!” 

Jay took a step closer to you, and you took two back, “We have a lot—and I mean a lot—of money riding on those drugs, hand them over before I kill you and take them myself.” 

“Might as well just kill her,” Heeseung scoffed, “It’ll be a blessing compared to what she’ll feel once the change takes over.” 

“It's not what you think!” you yelled again. 

Heeseung wasn’t listening, not really caring either. He’s had enough. They needed those drugs, needed that money to keep his brothers alive. So he stepped toward you quickly, sliding his shotgun tied to the strap behind his back, one hand gripping your wrists and the other at your backpack. 

He was too quick for you to process or make a move. It was obvious at the way your pistol left your hands and was kicked to the blonde, the way his knee bent into the back of yours buckling you to the ground, that his man had done this plenty of times. Has been in plenty of fights and probably killed multiple people. 

But you’d be damned if you were going to go down this easy. 

You slammed your weight to your back, to knock his hand off your backpack, then moved to the left, putting all your force into his side to push him off you. But his grip on your left wrist was unrelenting, his fingers held just above your wrap, slowly sliding it off. 

You managed to get him off you, sending him to his ass. You quickly stood to your feet, only to be met with your pistol touching your forehead, the blonde's eyes like fire burning into you. Jake and Sunghoon standing back behind him, pointing their guns at you again. 

“Heeseung,” Jay said, “You good buddy?” 

Your eyes darted to the redhead, watching as he stood up, eyes piercing. 

You looked back at the man in front of you, raising your hands back up, “Take the fucking drugs, this shit ain’t worth it.” It really wasn’t worth it. Even if you got away these four would chase you down until they got the box and killed you. You needed to survive for the sake of the friends you’ve lost. 

You kept your eyes locked with the blonde as Heeseung was now at your back, digging into it to pull out the tin box.  

Jay was about to pull away when his eyes darted back to your wrist, seeing the bite. Without thinking his free hand gripped your bitten wrist and pulled it forward, lowering the pistol to lift your sleep up higher. 

“Shit,” he hissed, “Guys, come look at this.” 

You were now surrounded by the four of them looking at your wound, every single one of their eyes widening. 

You also glanced down at your bite, it was obvious it was infected from it not being taken care of, but it was healing. And it was obvious that it was. 

“You’re immune?” The redhead said, his eyes now lifting to examine your face, “How is that possible?” 

Jay locked eyes with you again, then with his friends, “What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?” 

—

Sneaking out of the safe zone with four people is one thing. But sneaking back in with four people while SMUGGLING another life and illegal drugs is another. 

The safe zone might be one of the biggest in the world, but everyone knows who Jay, Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon are. So with you standing in the middle of the four as you all climbed up through a hole that leads into an abandoned broken-down home and the face of a military officer staring back at you, your heart sank. And the looks of the four boys around you were evidence enough that you all just got caught. 

“What the actual fuck is going on?!” the officer snapped, his eyes filled with such a fire that I made you want to duck under the boys and back down to the hole and escape into the free world. 

“Jungkook,” Heeseung said, raising his hands up, letting his shotgun dangle from his chest, “Listen, man, we didn’t plan this either.” 

“You know they keep count of every mother fucker in this safe zone!” Jungkook snapped

“We know!” Heeseung snapped back, “But you’re going to want to see this.” 

Heeseung whips around to you, reaching his hand out for you to take it, nodding his head to move closer to him, “Come here, YN.” 

You glare at him, shaking your head. You still didn’t trust these four boys, why would you willingly hand over your secret to a military officer? 

Jake nudged you forward, stumbling over your feet and reaching for Heeseung’s hand anyway. 

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest and it made your heart sink even more. The man was BUFF. His big strong arms flexed naturally and the tattoos that ran from his hand and up his right arm made him seem even more scary, like this man could snap your neck without breaking a sweat. 

Heeseung barely lifted your sleeve up to expose your bite and Jungkook was five steps back with his pistol drawn out towards you. 

What’s with everyone pointing guns at you today?

“You brought an INFECTED here?!” he yelled, the hell fire burning in his eyes raging more, “I should kill each of you right now for bringing her here.” 

Heeseung rolled his eyes and pulled your sleeve up further, “Fucking look!” 

Jungkook stared down at your arm, his gun slowly falling to the floor, “How can that be possible?” 

A question for you. 

You just looked down at the bite, shaking your head, “I don’t know.” 

Jungkook silently looked between you all, “Fuck!” 

He shoved his pistol back into the holster at his hip and paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair. 

“Get her back to the house, NOW!” he growled, pointing a finger at all four of them one by one, “Do not let anyone see her, you understand?” They all nodded, “Good, and make sure she fucking bathes and gets that wound cleaned up and wrapped. I’ll come by when I get my head straight.” 

You now walked even closer in between the four boys than what you were earlier, wandering your eyes to every person you walked passed, scared you’d be discovered. That feeling eased up a bit as they led you down an alleyway, then across another street before quickly shuffling you inside what you assumed was their home. 

Once the door was closed and deadbolted, you scanned their home. It was small, but big enough to house the four of them. 

There weren’t any rooms, so their four beds lined up against the west side of the house, with a couch across from it with a small table and a radio beside it. 

Their kitchen on the east side of the house was also small, fitting enough space for the normal kitchen essentials and a table for eating in the middle, a bathtub sitting in the corner. 

You were scared for a second about how these four use the bathroom but noticed outside the kitchen window an outhouse. 

“This used to be a storage house,” Jake said, dropping his body onto the couch, “The four of us fixed it up and made it our home. It’s not much, but it’s something.” 

It was definitely better than the places you’ve been sleeping in recently. 

Jay was now handing you a clean pair of clothes, “Wear these after you bathe, we’ll find you some that fit better tomorrow.” 

You thanked him and walked to the tub, dropping your backpack into a chair at the table. You stared at the tub with excitement. You’ve been without a proper bath since being bitten and the thought of getting a warm bath made your heart sink. 

You turned the hot water knob, watching as the clean water flowed into the tub. Most safe zones were lucky if they had clean running water and basically electricity. The bigger zones obviously are the luckier ones. Yours, on the other hand, had no electricity and water was so scarce there were designated days when people were allowed to bathe. 

Without another thought, your hands went to the hems of your shirt and slowly started lifting. 

“Woah woah what the fuck are you doing?!?” Sunghoon snapped, his heart racing at the sight of barely seeing your belly. 

“I’m fixing to bathe? I stink?” 

“And you are just going to strip in front of us?!?” Jake said, the clear blush settling in on his cheeks. 

You scoffed, letting out a laugh, “The world is ending as we know it and you’re worried about seeing a female naked? Shouldn’t you be glad to see it?” 

Jake sat in silence, his eyes now wandering to Heeseung and Jay, who kept their eyes on you, their reactions haven't changed since you first met them. 

“Well, I’m not about to be labeled as a pervert,” Sunghoon said, rushing back to the front door, “I’m going to sit outside.” 

“Yeah same here,” Jake jumped from the couch, following his best friend out. 

Heeseung finally looked at Jay, who was already staring back at him. 

You watched as their eyes communicated with each other in a silent language that you didn’t know. Then with a nod Heeseung turned and followed Jake out, closing the door behind him. 

Jay’s eyes were back on you, his facial expression still not changing. 

“What? Not going to follow your friends out?” 

He shrugged, “Someone has to make sure you don’t steal our shit and make a run for it.” 

You glared at him and scoffed, “I survived for months with less than what you have here, my safe zone didn’t have anything and I made it perfectly fine even after I was bit and couldn’t return back. I have no need for your stuff.” 

Which was true. You survived perfectly fine without the gifts the bigger safe zones had. And then with you having to hunt for your food and survive on less than your safe zone. You didn’t need his shit. You were perfectly fine. 

Jay just shrugged again, crossing his arms behind him as he kept his eyes on you. And you took it as a challenge. 

You slid your shirt from your body and let it hit the floor, keeping eye contact with him as your fingers went to your jeans, unbuttoning and dropping them to your ankles. 

Jay was completely unfazed as he looked at you with nothing but your sports bra and panties on. He was more focused on the scars that covered both your arms. 

“What are those from?” he asked. You already knew where his eyes were looking. 

“Happened the same day I was bitten,” you said, now looping your fingers into your sports bra and pulling it over your head, “I had to jump through a window before I got killed by our lovely undead friends outside the safe zone.” 

Jay wanted to ask about how you even got into the situation that led to getting bitten and jumping through a window. Shit had to have been rough. 

Jay continued looking over your body, eyes stopping at your breasts and then back up to your eyes. You smirked at him, “Not going to turn around?” 

He once again shrugged, “Like you said, I have bigger things to worry about than seeing a naked woman in front of me.” 

You quickly scanned him up and down, not seeing any signs that your almost completely naked body was affecting him, “Does it not bother you?” 

“It’s just skin, YN.” 

Fair enough. 

You dropped your panties to the floor and climbed into the tub, stinking your body in completely, letting the hot water fill you with warmth for a few seconds before turning the knob to stop the flow of water. 

Jay watched you relax, watched as your hands rubbed up and down your scarred arms. He wanted to press more about them, to ask how it was possible you even survived whatever happened, mostly with how your bite is clearly infected from not being taken care of properly. 

“Are you going to keep staring at me or what??” 

“Would you rather I sit down and whip my dick out?” he narrows his eyes at you. 

“Fucking prick,” you scowled. 

“Don’t ask stupid fucking questions then.” 

“We just met and you’ve already seen me naked and it had no effect on you yet you keep staring at me. I think I deserve to ask the “stupid” questions.” 

You just stared back at him, trying to read his face but getting nothing. 

To be honest, sex was the last thing on Jay’s mind. He’s been through way too much bullshit to let some random woman and her cunt affect him that easily. It’s not even that he was disinterested in sex, he had plenty of women around the safe zone that would drop to their knees so fast for him. Plenty of women he’s taken to his bed and pleasured them all night long. But sex wasn’t something he needed to survive like how so many other people in safe zones act like and turn to in a way to forget that the world went to shit. Jay couldn’t afford to let that happen with him. 

Plus Jay didn’t even know you and wasn’t some asshole to force you into sex with him all because you stripped in front of him. 

You eventually looked away from him, giving up on trying to read him, “Can I have a washcloth and soap?” 

Jay walked to one of the cabinets, pulled out a new bar of soap, a washcloth, and some old shampoo, and then handed them all to you, you mumbled out a thanks. 

You all of a sudden felt guilty, thinking maybe Jay possibly had a girlfriend or even a wife and you just bared yourself to him. But then wiped that thought off the table, there was no way. Because if he did he would be with them, not some smuggler. Then another thought came into your head and it was so simple: maybe he just didn’t find you attractive. 

You felt your self-esteem plummet and any confidence you had was out the window. You already figured you had a fair body, curvy hips, and busty breasts. The boy back home you used to fuck around with was always finding ways to bend you over. It boosted your ego, but maybe it boosted it too high if some random stranger’s dick didn’t get hard at the sight of you stripping in front of him. 

Jay read your expressions like a book, getting more confused than anything at why you’d let what he thinks affect you. You clearly were strong-willed and a survivor, already proving enough that you didn’t need the fancy things to keep surviving. So why let those small stupid thoughts affect you that way? 

Jay went to confront you, but the knocking at the door pulled him back, turning his head slightly to listen, “Jungkook is here,” Heeseung called from the other side of the door. 

Jay looked back at you, “You can go deal with whatever that is,” you said as you ran the washcloth over your arms, “I promise I won’t steal anything or go anywhere. Don’t know my way around this zone anyways.” 

Which was true, you were so focused on not being seen that you wouldn’t remember the way to sneak out. 

Jay just nodded, turning around and heading for the door, “Just so you know,” he said stopping at the door, “I might seem like a pervert for saying it, but you do have a sexy body, and don’t let anyone tell you differently or make you think differently. Don’t take it not affecting me personally, I truly have more important things to worry about than getting laid.”  

Then he slipped out the door, leaving you alone in the house. 

Jungkook stood on the grass with his hands on his hips, eyes wandering everywhere, making sure no one else was about to hear what he was fixing to speak about. 

“What’s up?” Jay asked, standing beside Heeseung. 

“Her bite mark,” Jungkook started, “It looks about a month old, ya?” 

All four men nodded, “It’s what she told us too, on the way here,” Jake said, “Don’t know how true that could be though.” 

“There’s been some rumors—strictly just rumors—that there’s been a few others that have been found immune,” Jungkook said barely above a whisper, his eyes continuing to dart around the area. 

“How is that possible?” Heeseung asked, “Three years and there has yet to be a cure to stop this madness and now you’re telling me there are others like her that are immune?” 

“There were others like her,” Jungkook sighed, “They either were killed before they got to the capital or killed themselves before being taken there. But again, it’s baseless rumors. No proof, until her.” 

Sunghoon scoffed, “Can we please get to the point of all this?” 

“Hoon,” Heeseung said with a warning. 

“I contacted the capital and told them we found an immune,” The four men stood in silence, staring at Jungkook, not knowing what to say or expect next, “So,” Jungkook was smirking now, “I have a job for you four.” 

Jake chuckled, “You’re fucking crazy, man.”

Jungkook shot him a warning look, a silent reminder of who he was and what his rank was, “At least hear my offer first before calling me crazy,” Jake crossed his arms and waited for Jungkook to continue, “One million. Each. If you drag her across the country to the capital.” 

One million. Each. That’s four million dollars. They would be fucking set, no longer having to worry about fighting for money to buy food and survive. No longer having to leave the safe zone to smuggle shit in and out for money. They would be safe to finally just live. But the problem lies in the trip. And that trip wasn’t worth it. 

“Nah,” Jake laughed, “You got me fucked up. I am a smuggler, not an escort. Make the government come pick her ass up. Not my circus, not my monkeys.” 

Everyone’s eyes were back on Jungkook. He shrugged, “They have other things to worry about besides making that trip to pick up one individual. Plus it would make a scene if they flew in here and just took her. It would make it obvious that there are immune in this world. It would cause a panic, give the people false hope for a cure.” 

Jay watched as each of his friends shook their heads, saying how it wasn’t worth it to drag a stranger across the fucking country to hand you over just for the possibility of a cure being found. 

They all talked over each other, Jungkook trying to convince them with all the money they would have, and the three others not accepting it. 

“Fucking hell, I’ll go alone,” Jay said without even realizing he was opening his mouth. 

“Jay, no!” Heeseung snapped, “That bitch ain’t worth it! We stick to our normal jobs!” 

Jay looks at Jungkook, “If I take her alone will we still get four million total?” Jungkook nodded, and that’s all Jay needed. 

“You’re fucking stupid, man!” Sunghoon hissed, “What are you thinking?!” 

“That we would be fucking set and not have to beg ever again for food or work our asses off in this stupid prison for money and food. To never have to worry about stepping foot outside this zone. To remain safe,” Jay didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he said that, taking a massive inhale in and clenching his fingers against his biceps, “When would we leave?” 

“Tomorrow night, It’ll give me enough time to let the capital know you accepted their offer and to gather enough weapons and materials for your journey.” 

Jay just nodded, “I am doing this, and you can’t stop me.” 

Heeseung gritted his teeth, “And what if they kill her the moment you hand her over?” 

Jay just shrugs, “Not my circus, not my monkeys. But at least we’ll have four million dollars.” 

—

You covered your hands over your ears, closing your eyes tightly. Your breathing was uneven as you heard your heartbeat in your ears, Jay’s voice was muffled and drowning out of the sound of your heartbeat and the screams of the undead surrounding the area. 

“YN!!” he said loud enough for you to hear him but quiet enough for the undead to not hear him, “YN, calm down!” 

You couldn’t hear him, you just knew he was speaking to you. The memories of being cornered in the building resurfaced. The sounds of your friends screaming, the smells of the dead, and the blood dripping from everyone. The visions of you feeling your best friend being ripped away from you. Everything was replying over and over. 

You started to hyperventilate, your every breath loud enough to draw the undead in your and Jay’s direction. 

Jay grabbed both of your wrists, trying to pull them from your ears, him repeating your name over and over again but nothing worked. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, taking a look around. The two of you were in a safe enough spot that the zombies wouldn’t be able to reach you, but once they found where you both were hiding…it was over. 

Jay placed his hands on top of yours, “YN, look at me.” But you didn’t respond, your breathing getting worse as the time ticked by. 

He was running out of ways to calm you down and get you to be quiet. His heart was racing faster as fear was overtaking him and his options running low. 

Jay slides his hands to your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands at your ears. Without another thought, he moved forward. 

**A WEEK BEFORE**

Jay forced you to get as much rest as possible to be awake enough for the start of the journey to the capital. 

Jungkook said it would be a five-month walk there if everything went smoothly and no hiccups on the road on the way there. Or ya know, the two of you don’t get killed. 

The moment Jungkook knocked on the door to the house, Heeseung quickly answered, swinging the door open to let him slip in before anyone could see. 

He carried two backpacks filled with food, medicine, and weapons and ammunition. 

“This should last you both the five-month journey,” He said, pushing his tongue into the side of his cheek, “That's if you ration the food and the ammunition. Just don’t put yourselves into situations to have to use too much.” 

Jay scoffed, sliding the backpack onto his shoulders, “Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” 

Jungkook chuckled, pulling him into a quick hug, “Safe travels.”

Jungkook didn’t say another word as he darted out of the house, Heeseung closing and locking the door behind him. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Jake said with a shake of his head, “There’s no need to do this. We’ve survived perfectly fine before.” 

Jay has been weighing out his options ever since agreeing to do this. Always leaning toward taking this trip. He didn’t want to watch his brothers suffer anymore. Yeah they all weren’t struggling, but they would be so much better off once that money was in his hands. 

The amount of food they would have to fill their bellies, not having to worry about rationing. Not having to shove money away just to save up for the food, more clothes, and the other bills this safe zone forced on the residents here. They wouldn’t have to smuggle ever again. Jungkook could get off their backs about certain jobs. They would be free. 

“I have to do this,” Jay breathes, “I want to do this.” 

And hey, who knows? Maybe giving her off to the capital will make a cure and the world could be saved. Maybe. 

Sunghoon pulls Jay’s shotgun from the hidden closet, “Just don’t do anything stupid, ya?” 

Jay chuckled, “I’ll leave the stupid here with you three.” 

Everyone laughed but you and Heeseung, who stood at the door still and leaning against the wall, arms crossed and his face filled with worry. 

You have only known these guys for a short time, but you can tell each of them rely on each other for everything. Whatever terrible things these four had to endure before the outbreak and even after…they became family. Inseparable. Bonded for the rest of their lives. 

Jay pulled the younger two into hugs, saying how he’ll be back within a year. 

Heeseung pushed himself off the wall, dropping his arms to pull Jay into a hug, the older locking his jaw when he looked at you, “You come back in one piece, got it!”

Jay rolled his eyes, “You know I will Hee.” 

Heeseung pulled away, finally looking away from you, “She better be worth all this fucking trouble,” he whispers, eyes quickly darting to you to see you adjusting your backpack on your shoulders, “What will you do if they actually kill her the moment you get there?” 

Jay just shrugs, “Not my problem once the money is in my hands.” 

Heeseung sighs, “She’s still a human being. I can only imagine how life has been since finding out she was immune.” 

Jay tilted his head back to look at you, to look at the wrap that barely stuck out of your long-sleeve shirt. “She probably has been through hell to keep it a secret.” 

You look back up at them, “Ready to go yet or are you two going to make out before we leave?” 

Heeseung rolled his eyes, “Good luck with that attitude man,” 

Jay sighed, “Yeah. I’ll need it.” 

It didn’t take the two of you long to leave the house and quickly and quietly make your way back to the same tunnels and escape route you used to get into the safe zone. 

Jay helped pull you out of the manhole then kicked the metal plate back over it and locked it tightly. 

He swung his shotgun from his back to his front, positioning his hands in the right places before walking ahead of you, “Come on, let’s get this over with Miss Immune.” 

You snarl at him but follow behind anyway. 

This was the last thing you wanted to happen. To be turned into the capital. To be used as some experiment and plaything for scientists to gock over. 

“Might as well just kill me and get it over with,” you scoffed, keeping your eyes on the ground, stepping over everything Jay was, “They will just kill me eventually.” 

Jay shrugged, “You’re worth four million to them, they can do whatever they want after they have you in their hands.” 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, “Did your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady?” 

He chuckles, “My manners went out the window the moment you pointed a gun at my head.” 

You glared at the back of his head, “Says the one that surrounded me with four shotguns and then pointed my pistol directly to my forehead.”

Jay said nothing in return and kept walking forward. Eventually slinging his gun back around his back, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Neither of you spoke for hours as the night pressed on. The woods were quiet, a bit too quiet for your liking and the only thing making you feel at ease was the fact Jay kept his gun resting on his back and hands shoved into his pockets. He obviously knew these woods better than you. He was a smuggler, after all. 

Even after all the sleep you received back at the house, drowsiness found you anyway. You yawned and rubbed your eyes, “Can we find somewhere to sleep?” 

Jay didn’t realize how tired he was either until after hearing your voice, a yawn escaping his lips as well, “There’s a small shed we’ve used when our smuggling routes take a couple of days, we can stop there to eat and sleep.”

“How far is it?” you asked, not knowing how much longer you could actually go. 

Jay looks at the surrounding area before he answers, “About another hour.” 

You groaned but accepted it. Soon enough the small shed came into view. It was overgrown with vines and weeds but still stood strong. 

Sleep hit you the minute you dropped into the dusty cot, not caring enough to clean it. Jay did the same. 

The moment the sun started to shine through the shed, Jay woke you up and started the journey again. 

The whole day passed in silence, only speaking when spoken to and only stopping for food, bathroom breaks, and to rest. 

A week has passed when the two of you approach an old factory building. A long chain-linked fence surrounded the area. 

“Shit,” Jay scoffed, “We’ll have to cut through.” 

“Can’t just, like you know, go around?” it was such a simple question, yet Jay looked at you as if you asked the stupidest question in the world, “Fine!” you snapped, holding your hands up in defense, “You’re the one who knows better, right?” 

“We’d waste time going around,” Jay locks his fingers around the holes of the fence, “Every second counts, plus this place might have materials we can gather.” 

And there he goes, climbing up and over the fence, carefully dropping himself back to the ground and turning to face you, “Well?” he raised a brow, “Get your ass moving.” 

You roll your eyes and attach your fingers and toes of your boots in the loops, lifting yourself up, crawling to the top, and swinging your leg over the top, “Catch me?” 

Jay narrowed his eyes, “You survived by yourself for god knows how long before meeting me, and now you’re acting like you need help?” 

“I’m scared of heights,” 

“You’re fucking joking.” 

You smile, clearly loving how he reacts to your teasing, “Yeah I’m fucking with you,” you dropped down to the ground, Jay’s hands quickly resting on your shoulders to keep you from losing balance, “Learn to live a little, okay?” 

His glare was unrelenting as you walked past him, “I lived plenty before the world ended.” 

You watched as he hurried past you, wanting to ask what he meant. To know some part of how he was before the world went to utter shit. You were stuck with him for five months, might as well get to actually know him, right? 

You opened your mouth to ask him, only to be met with his hands now on you. One covering your mouth and the other pulling you to his chest, backing the both of you up against a truck, “Keep quiet, we have company.” 

Your eyes wander to where he was looking, seeing the few undead friends that lurked around the entrance to the factory. 

You pulled his hand from your mouth, catching your breath and assessing what to do. 

“We need to find a way around without alerting them.” 

“I already know that, YN,” he whispers, “The question is how.” 

Jay searched the area, pinpointing every safe spot that led to the door. 

“Okay,” he released you from his grip, “Stay on my ass.” 

You followed on his heels, holding your breath the entire way until his hands touched the handle of the factory door and pushed it open. 

You glanced around at your undead friends who stalked around, their bodies bunched over as they slowly dragged their feet with each step they took, grunts leaving their mouths. 

Jay peaked into the factory, the only light showing was from the windows, barely giving off enough light for him to confirm the opening at least, was clear. 

He carefully and quickly slid between the doors, reaching back out to pull you in behind him, closing the door and locking it for extra protection. 

You both took in the factory. It was a complete mess. Tables, papers, machinery, torn clothes, and everything in between covered the floors. The smell of this place was disgusting. The mixture of oils, grease, blood, and dead things—probably both humans, zombie, and animals—filled the air. 

You tried to not throw up your lunch, covering your mouth with your hand, “I don’t like it here.” 

“That makes two of us,” Jay said softly, “Taking a flashlight from his backpack, “Let’s get moving, and keep quiet, we don’t know what’s in here.” 

You followed behind him at a distance, eyes wandering over everything possible, looking for any material that could aid you both. But so far, nothing. Everything was either broken or just couldn’t be used. Nothing of help or a service to either of you. 

Jay had a bad feeling about this place, like whatever happened here was a lot worse than the remnants of this place give off. It was way too quiet to just be abandoned. His gut feeling told him to look for anything—and everything—possible that would stick out. Things that shouldn’t be here. He swallowed hard, flashing his light down to the floor, seeing scratch marks going in every direction, dried blood staining the tile. 

Then it clicked in his head. Everything made sense. 

This whole factory was a trap. 

This place wasn’t abandoned. Not even close. It was purposely left like this to lure in survivors, making them think they found a safe place to hide. Whoever ran this factory obviously wasn’t here, or else something would have already gone wrong. “YN,” he whispers, “This place is a trap.” 

“I know,” you said with a shaky breath. Jay was alerted to the tone of your voice, whipping around to see the tears swelling your eyes. He traced his eyes down, seeing the cord you’ve stepped on, “Something clicked when I stepped on it,” you tried to hold back the tears, to look brave in front of him, to look like a survivor. But you failed, the fear washing over you too quickly, “Jay,” you cried. 

“Shhh, no, hey,” he quickly gets closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Calm down, let me figure out what to do.” 

You nodded, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. Jay lifted his hand and wiped away the tear, cupping your face and tracing his fingers along your jaw as he walked away from you, following where the cord led. It was plugged into one of the machines. He wandered his eyes back to the other end of the core, following it back to your feet, and then continued to where it was plugged into the wall. Jay wasn’t stupid, he knew if he just unplugged the cord it would make the machine react. He and Jake have rigged multiple machines to still set off if unplugged. The only way would be to cut the cord completely. 

Jay knelt to his knees, setting the flashlight to the floor and sliding a folded knife from his pocket, whipping it open. He took a deep breath, counting down from three before folding the cord and cutting it. 

You cry out and drop to your knees, covering your hands over your ears at the ringing alarm that Jay set off. 

“Fuck!” He screamed, quickly standing back to his knees and rushing to you, “We need to fucking go, NOW!” 

Whoever this bastard was that rigged that trap was a damned genius, an absolute asshole, but a genius. To rig a machine to set off an alarm when cut? The more Jay thought about it as he dragged you back up to your feet, the more he realized the alarm would have been set off either way. Cutting the power in either way would have set the alarm off. 

The two of you barely took a few steps when the sounds of the undead surrounded the factory outside, because, of course, it would. That damn alarm just alerted whatever was outside—and inside—this factory. He needed to get that alarm off, and now. 

Jay dragged you with him to what looked like the office of the building, not wasting time checking for a button or way to turn it off. He whipped the shotgun around and sent bullets into every control panel until the alarm went silent. 

But unfortunately, Jay letting some rounds into the panel only sent whatever dead friends that were in the building to their exact location. 

Jay grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the office, running as fast as he could and praying your legs could keep up with him. This wasn’t the first time he’s had to run from these monsters, or even hide from them. It wasn’t a skill he wanted to mark off his checklist of survival but had no nevertheless. You’ve only had to run from them the night your friends were killed while you fled. Your legs felt like they were led to the memory coming back. 

You started to lose your breath, the fear covering every inch of you as you tried to focus on Jay’s back, on the warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. It worked for a bit as he dragged you down every hallway to find an exit. Worked until you both ran past a door, that just so happened to have zombies crawling inside it, who watched the two of you run back. 

You heard the crack of the door first, Jay heard it the second time. His head whips around to see the wood of the door barely breaking and see them pile out of the room. 

Jay acted fast, shoving you into an office room he prayed was safe. His eyes worked their magic, scanning as quickly as he could and seeing the room was in fact, clear. His hands only left you for a few seconds to close the door carefully, praying they didn’t hear it. But obviously, and because why would they not, heard the shut of the door anyway, alerting them in this direction. 

They ran past, obviously not knowing which room you two snuck into, but their loud groans, hisses, and whales were loud enough to send every zombie on this side of the factory toward this hallway. 

Which is how you ended up here. Back pressed to the wall, hands to your ears as you hyperventilate. 

He was running out of ways to calm you down and get you to be quiet. His heart was racing faster as fear was overtaking him and his options running low. 

Jay slides his hands to your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing over the back of your hands at your ears. Without another thought, he moved forward. 

He connected his lips to yours, taking in every breath you let out. You opened your eyes quickly, seeing him staring back at you. You focused on the brown of his eyes, focused on the way his lips felt against yours. Your heart rate slowed, and the shaking of your hands stopped. It wasn’t even like he was kissing you kissing you, he just held his lips to yours, unmoving. 

You waited for him to pull away, to pull away and tease you for being a scary cat. But he didn’t. 

His eyes slowly closed, quickly removing his lips and connecting them again, pressing his lips harder to yours. You also closed your eyes, kissing him back. Your hands at your ears, slipped down to his wrists, squeezing them tightly as he shifted his hands to the edge of your jaw, fingers gripping the back of your head. 

Jay doesn’t know what came over him, he only planned to kiss you once and have it be long enough to steady out your breathing. But something drew him in and he couldn’t stop. 

Jay licks your bottom lip, waiting for your mouth to open and let him inside. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth as you sucked on the muscle, savoring the taste of him. 

His grip on your face tightens as he softly groans into your mouth, clearly losing himself. Knowing he needed to stop but not being able to. The feel of your lips being addicting. 

You need to stop, you need to stop, you need to stop. 

The sounds of the zombies outside the door faded, the world finally becoming quiet and it was enough to make him stop. 

Jay quickly pushed away from you, sliding himself across the floor and to the other side of the office, completely out of breath. He brought his knees to his chest in hopes of hiding the raging boner in his pants, dropping his face into his palms, then running them through his hair. 

You took a few deep breaths, not taking your eyes off him. 

“We will give it time before leaving, to make sure everything is clear to leave,” he said, doing everything he could to not look at you. 

You nodded as if he could see it anyway. And not another word was spoken. 

—

It’s been two months since he’s kissed you. Two months' worth of him doing everything to not look at you, to not touch you. He barely has been able to even speak to you. Reminding himself over and over again what his true mission was: to hand you over to the capital, get paid, and get his ass back home. Nothing else mattered. 

Nothing. 

You dropped to your knees, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Jay?” he ignored you and kept walking forwards, “Jay!” silence, “ASSHOLE!!!” 

Jay turned around, piercing holes into you with his eyes that were also on fire at you calling him an asshole. At least it finally got his attention. 

“I am tired,” you breathed, wiping the sweat that was already recollected on your forehead. 

“Okay, and?” he said calmly. If it weren’t for the fire burning in his eyes you would have thought he was actually calm. But Jay couldn’t afford to be nice to you, not when he’s fighting every demon within himself to not press his lips against yours again. Not when he has four million dollars waiting for him. 

You glared back at him, “I need rest? We’ve been walking for days straight and only took a couple of breaks to sleep for an hour.” 

“How the fuck did you survive alone for so long?” he questioned, starting to think maybe you just hid the entire time before they found you, “what happened to that attitude when we first met?” 

You stood back to your feet, quickly walking past him and shoving your middle finger in his face, barely grazing his nose, “Want my attitude? Here it is asshat.” 

Jay smirked as he watched you walk ahead of him, eyes without his permission moving from the back of your head down to your hips, watching the way they sway. Jay scoffed at himself, quickly dropping his eyes to the ground and rushing after you, “Smartass, you don’t even know where you are going.” 

You stopped walking, staring straight ahead. 

But Jay didn’t stop, and ran right into you, almost knocking you over completely, his hands quickly grabbing your shoulders. His rage settled in again, “What the fuck! Don’t just stop wa—“ 

“Long time no see, Jay Park.” 

He moved on autopilot, hands rushing to your waist and shoving your behind him in the same motion of wiping his gun from his back to front, finger itching to pull the trigger, “Same to you, Choi Soobin. What are you doing so far out from your zone?” 

The blonde smirked, “Was on a smuggle run, but shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Jay?” 

 A laugh from behind, “Yeah, aren’t you the one who is a little too far from your zone?”

You pulled your pistol from its holster, facing your back to Jay’s and pointing it at a blue-haired man. 

Jay narrowed his eyes, snaking one hand behind him to grab your shirt, pulling you closer to him, back to back, keeping his shotgun aimed at Soobin, “I am also on a smuggling run, Huening Kai, just passing through.” 

“You know,” a voice to his right, “This is our territory, there is just no passing through here.” 

Jay was barely able to glare to his right, seeing Beomgyu pointing a rifle at you and him. 

Then another laugh to the left of him, his eyes darting to see Taehyun walking closer, also pointing his rifle, “Jay, did you really think we wouldn’t have seen you two when you got close to our zone?” 

Jay just chuckled, not because of the fact they were even close to another zone, but because he let themselves get close to another zone. He was so caught up in trying to ignore you and push down his demons that he didn’t realize how close he pulled you both here. But he kept laughing, “What I think is Yeonjun is missing out, isn’t he? My feelings hurt that he isn’t here.” 

Soobin just smiled, “You think my brothers would just leave me behind?” Yeonjun said, finally making his appearance from behind Soobin, “That wounds me.” 

Jay just rolls his eyes, “Are we done here? I have important shit to do.” 

“Like what?” the blonde leader asked, his eyes darting behind Jay to look at you, “What are you smuggling, exactly?” 

You pressed your back harder against Jay’s, feeling his hand tighten at your shirt. 

Soobin just tilts his head, his smile growing wider, “Don’t tell me it’s the girl.” 

Your heart stopped and Jay kept quiet, not having a damn thing to say as a comeback. The only thing on his mind was to protect you, to keep you so close to him that he could fuse with you if possible. 

But Jay knew telling the truth, or well parts of it, was the only way to get around when it came to these five. Jay has dealt with them enough in the past to know how they work, “I’m taking her to the capital.” 

“Jay!” you snapped. 

“Shut up!” was his reply to you, “She’s important to the capital and I have been tasked to get her there. We honestly were just passing through, it’s my bad we got too close.” 

Soobin looked between the eyes of each of his brothers, each of them giving him nods and shrugs, “It’s getting late, don’t want you getting caught up with our…walking dead at night. Stay in our zone for the night.”

Jay wanted to say no, to say they were fine. But the death truth was they were running low on supplies. Needed clean clothes and showers. Your bite mark needed to be cleaned, which is why Jay thinks you’re been more out of it the last few days than normal. He knew you also needed some proper sleep and not being able to find any safe place in days to actually give you that rest killed him, “Fine. We leave at first light.” 

You wanted to protest, turning around completely to yell at him, to reject their offer for him. But all he did was grab your waist and pull you to his side, lowering his gun over to his shoulder and giving you the look of warning to keep your mouth shut. So you didn’t fight him. You needed to stay alive anyway, who knew what would happen to Jay, Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungkook if Jay failed to get you to the capital. And you didn’t want to think about it. So you clung to his side as everyone walked forward, Beomgyu and Taehyun standing at yours and Jay’s side as Kai stayed behind you, and Soobin and Yeonjun leading the way. 

“Where are your three stooges at?” Yeonjun asked, barely turning his head around to smile at Jay, “Not used to seeing you as a lone wolf.” 

You tuned out their conversation, keeping your eyes locked off into the distance, biting your lip to keep from talking. You don't know how Jay knew these five or why they obviously seem to be on bad terms, the last thing you needed to do was open your mouth and make it all worse. 

Huening Kai kept eyeing you and Jay, looking for anything possible to tell him more about what was actually going on with the two of you. Jay isn’t ever by himself without the other three. And Jay isn’t the type of person to smuggle a human, drugs and weapons were more his and his friend's forte, so why did he have you attached to him as if they were going to rip you away from him? 

“Ahhh,” Kai giggled, there’s feelings involved. He kept his eyes wandering, barely glancing over to your arm and back up to your shoulder before tracing them quickly back down, seeing the bandage peeking out from your long sleeve, “Haha! Holy shit guys! She’s been bit.” 

Just as quick as the five of them turned to face the two of you, pointing their weapons, Jay was pulling you to his chest and snapping your pistol from its holster at your hip and pointing it straight ahead at Soobin and Yeonjun. 

“Holy shit is right, man,” Yeonjun laughed, “No fucking wonder you’re out here alone, Jay. Going to the capital, my ass.” 

Fucking Huening Kai.

The grip on your waist tightened, Jay snarling at each of them, “It’s not what you think it is.” 

“Oh? It’s not?” Soobin hissed, his friendly cute persona being replaced with his cool, hard, leader persona, “Give me a reason to not kill you both right fucking now.”

“Because she was hurt,” Jay said quickly, “We’ve been traveling for two months. We had to climb a fence and she got herself caught. That’s it.” 

You could hear how fast Jay’s heart was racing in his chest, how hard his body went the moment Kai opened his mouth. He pushed you even closer to him, leaving no room between the two of you. 

The rage Jay felt course through his body was scaring him. The thoughts he had in his head on the ways he would kill all five of them just by pointing a gun at you. It was scaring him at the things he was willing to do to protect you. Scaring him because he didn’t understand why. 

“What does the capitol want with her then?” Soobin asked, clearly not believing the story, “What’s so special?” 

Jay just shrugged, “Beats me. And nor do I care to know. All I know is I’m getting a fat paycheck for getting her there.” The hurt you felt at his words when his actions towards you right now were the opposite. You felt confused. First, he kisses you the way he did back at the factory, then turns completely cold and now he’s got you pressed to his chest, grip unrelenting as he points your gun at the threat in front of him. Maybe all he really did care about was the money. 

To Jay’s surprise, each of them lowered their weapons, “There’s the Jay I know,” Soobin teased, “Let’s just get back in the zone before the dead decide to get us to join them.” 

Everyone walked in silence the rest of the short walk to the safe zone and to your surprise, they didn’t sneak back into the zone, their military guards just…let them in? You looked up at Jay, him already answering you in a whisper without looking back at you, “This safe zone is full of smugglers and corrupted police, it’s how they survive here. The normal citizens and police don’t know how corrupt it is. They are very very sneaky. It’s one of the most dangerous zones right now.” 

You didn’t answer. Just put your eyes back in front of you as you all entered the zone. Jay pulled you closer to him again, his eyes darting to every person who looked his way, who looked your way. 

“We have one room available for you two to share,” Soobin said pointing at the small building to his left, “We will come by tomorrow to let you back out of the zone. Until then I suggest you stay inside, or at least keep her inside. There are clean clothes and some fruit in there too.” 

They still don’t trust us. 

Jay pulled you along with him, the other five watching as the two of you entered the building. 

“What are you thinking?” Soobin asked Kai, who had his arms wrapped tightly across his chest, blue hair blowing in the wind as he narrowed his eyes at the building. 

“If she wasn’t bitten, then what could be so special that Jay protected her like that? Besides the obvious attraction, he feels. But something is off. The caption doesn't want just anybody, not anyone from this side of the country at least,” Kai took his chin between two fingers and looked up at the dark sky. Picturing the way your bandage was wrapped around your wrist, there was no way you weren’t bitten. It was wrapped in a way to hide what was there, not to cover up some wounds…unless, “She is immune.” 

Jay let you bathe first, him keeping his eye pointed out the window as he popped a grape into his mouth. He didn’t trust the five boys either, not when they stood in a circle in the same exact place, clearly discussing what to do about the two of them, “If you keep staring at them you’ll just give them more reasons to not trust us, we just need to get through the night.” 

Jay looks over at you, seeing the way you dangle your arms over the bathtub, resting your chin on white porcelain, “Neither I nor them trust each other and you’re worth a shit ton of money, I’ll keep him eye on them if I want to,” without another word, he looks back out the window. You sigh and resume your bath then get out and quickly change, letting Jay now soak in the tub. 

You fell asleep faster than you thought and it pissed Jay off. How could you sleep so easily? But the more he looked at your sleeping body, eyes darting to your bite mark, the wound no longer continued to bleed or be filled with pus but now red and irritated. The longer he looked, the more he relaxed, realizing you’ve been through enough shit. You deserved some actual rest. 

Jay couldn’t afford to rest though. He left the room, breaking the doorknob once the door was shut, securing a way no one else could get in to hurt you. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he left the building in search of food and other materials to replenish what you and he had used over the last two months. 

He hated being here. Jay spent enough time over the last couple of years smuggling shit in and out of this place. It’s the main reason why Soobin and his dogs don’t like him and his friends. One major rule of smuggling in this world is to stay out of other smugglers' zones. But hey, if the money was good, Jay and his team did it. 

Jay was barely able to walk away from a stall selling canned food when he ran into Yeonjun, “Was wondering if I’d run into you,” he smiled, folding his hands behind his back, “Should have known you’d be out restocking your supplies.” 

Jay just rolls his eyes, “What do you want? I have sleep to catch.” 

“Hmm,” Yeonjun hummed, following behind Jay, “I want to ask you again about your girl.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Jay hissed, “Just someone I am taking to—“

“I know she’s immune.” 

Jay turned on his heels quickly, pointing a finger into Yeonjun’s face, “Shut the fuck up! Keep your fucking mouth shut!” 

But he only smirked, “So our suspensions are true?” 

“No!” Jay scoffed, dropping his hand, “You can’t just throw around the word immune without it causing chaos, you know this, you dumbass.” 

Yeonjun shrugs, “You’re willing to turn your girlfriend into the capital so easily? When she has a gift everyone would kill to have? She isn’t safe out there.” 

Jay narrowed his eyes, trying to read Yeonjun’s face for any hint of what he was trying to pull. But then it clicked with him. Soobin is the one who usually is the head of the battle. The first to step up and say or do anything. Yeonjun is also attached to Soobin as his second. But the fact Yeonjun is here right now…without Soobin…Jay’s heart nearly stopped. He slowly backed away. They were planning something and Yeonjun was being used as a distraction. 

“You know the capital will kill her, Jay!” he chuckles, “They will kill her the moment you hand her over. Your precious love will die.” 

Jay stopped listening as he made a full sprint back to the room. 

—

Jay didn’t continue breathing until he stepped foot into the room, seeing you sleeping peacefully. 

He took a couple of deep breathes, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself, giving him only a few seconds of deep breathing before pushing off the wall and packing up both backpacks, “YN,” he calls to you, his heart rate increasing with each second longer you stayed here, “YN!!” 

You jolted awake, slowly lifting yourself from the bed and seeing Jay rushing around the room in a hurry, “What?” you barely were able to get the words out without a yawn creeping out afterward. 

“We need to go. Like now.” 

You didn’t like the desperation in his voice, and you sure didn’t like the way he was rushing around to gather all your things into the backpacks. Something was wrong and it made your stomach drop, “Why? What happened?” 

Jay told you about the encounter with Yeonjun, and how he thinks they are planning something, explaining how Soobin and his team work. You didn’t understand it. 

“How are you so sure they are even planning anything?” You asked, now following him around the room as he paced to gather everything, “They let us stay here?” 

Jay stopped pacing, his hands immediately grabbing your face, “They know you’re immune. And they are smugglers, YN. I know how they think. They are going to keep you here and probably sell you to the highest bidder, the thing those people would do to you…” Jay didn’t even want to think about what those nasty people would do. The worst thing is to use you as experiments to find a cure on their own without the capital which will result in killing you, or them using you as their own plaything, forcing you to produce offspring in hopes of more people being born with the immunity. Either way, he wasn’t going to let it happen. 

He couldn’t let them take you from him. Couldn’t let them harm you in any way. He was going crazy just thinking about it all. He stepped away from you, “Get your boots on and quickly.” 

You did as you were told, slipping your feet into the boots and taking your backpack from him as he walked to the door, peeking out the windows before waving you to follow him. Jay already secured an escape route. He’s slipped in and out of this zone enough times to know every escape route possible. 

He kept you tugged tightly to him as you both left the building, quickly slipping into the alleyway. To say you were scared was an understatement. You still didn’t fully understand what was going on, mostly on Jay’s side. He seemed so ready to hand you over for the money, what difference would it make if he just left you here? Why go through the trouble of getting you out of this place? 

“Jay,” you called for him, but he ignored you. Just gripping your arm tighter as he led you in and out and around different buildings and alleyways. Stopping anytime someone walked by or got too close, Jay held his breath every single time as if it would help hide the two of you. But before he knew it, you both were approaching the fence, seeing the hole he and his team has used to get in and out was not patched up, “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. 

Jay ran his hands through his hair, then grabbed your arm again, pulling you down the fence line. Eyes searching for an opening. Every safe zone had one. A little door in the fence that would lead out in case of evacuation. You’d need a military card to get access for it to open, but Jay had ways to break it. 

You both finally reached that door, the keycard scanner blinking green, showing it was working. Jay dropped the backpack to the ground, pulling out some tools. 

“What are you doing??” You whispered, eyes darting to her surrounding area, “What if you set off an alarm like last time?” 

Jay chuckled, “I’ve done this before, the factory was rigged from the start.” It was the first time even talking about the factory. Jay used the screwdriver's flat end to pry open the lid, looking at the series of wires, “Time to get to work.” You watched as he cut wires and replaced them, the little flashing green light turning red, then flashing back to green and the door unlocked and slowly opened, “Magic.” 

You rolled your eyes, “We don’t have time for this.” 

Jay threw the tools back into the backpack, quickly standing up and reaching for your hand. The two of you were barely three steps out of the zone when five figures with tickets pointing directly at you two appeared. Jay flung you behind him, aiming his shotgun at Soobin. 

“Should have known you’d try to escape,” the blonde boy hissed, “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” 

“I’m NOT letting you keep her here,” Jay barked back. 

Taehyun chuckled, “Why does it matter to you what we would do with her here? Don’t you only care about the money she’s worth?” 

“I don’t see four million dollars in your hands, Kang,” Jay snapped, eyes burning holes into Taehyun’s chest but kept his gun aimed at Soobin, “And since I don’t see the fucking money, we’re leaving.” 

“Just think what the capital would do,” Yeonjun said, “Far worse than her staying safe here.” 

Jay gritted his teeth, “You wouldn’t keep her safe. You’d use her!” 

The smile on Soobin’s face told him everything he needed to know. They were going to use you in any way possible and you weren’t going to survive it and if you did, you wouldn’t be the same. 

The five of them took one step closer and Jay felt like he was about to combust, “Take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot!” He yelled, darting the barrel at each of them. 

“It’s five against one,” Kai teased, taking another few steps forward, “What the fuck are you going—“ 

One moment Kai was standing, the next he was on the ground, blood pooling from his thigh. His hands were quickly covered in his own blood as he put pressure on the wound, his blue hair sticking to his face from the sweat he had just broken out in. Teeth gritting and eyes that could kill were staring right back at Jay. 

Kai’s four friends rushed to him, each of them now looking at Jay as well, “I fucking told you to not take another step. I’ll kill you all if you so much as lay a finger or come near her!!” 

Soobin’s smile was gone and replaced with pure rage, “Get the fuck out of my safe zone before I blow your brains out and feed you to the zombies out there.” 

You locked your jaw, gripping the barrel of Jay’s gun and forcing him to drop it, “Let’s fucking go!!” You snapped at him, fingers gripping the sleeve of his shirt, and pulling him away. 

“You’re going to regret your choices, Jongseong Park!” Huening Kai yelled, his voice echoing into the woods, “ROT IN FUCKING HELL!!” 

Jay stopped listening as he was now the one gripping your waist and leading you into the dark dangerous woods, the sounds of Kai’s screams and yelps becoming a distant noise. 

Once Jay felt like it was safer, he removed his hand from your waist, and quickly walked ahead of you, “What the fuck was that, Jay?” You asked harshly, moving your legs to keep up at his pace. 

“I told them to not take another step, and he did. He’ll suffer for his actions.” Jay didn’t know what you wanted to tell you, he did what he had to to get you out of there and he didn’t care if you agreed or not. 

“You could have killed him!!” Jay just shrugs and keeps on walking. You clenched your fists at your side, digging your fingers into the fabric of your jeans. 

“This is life as a smuggler,” Jay finally said after a few moments of silence, “You sometimes have to pull the trigger to survive.”

“We could have just run out!!” 

“No,” he hissed, “They wouldn’t have allowed that! I did what I had to!” 

“And it was wrong!” 

Jay stopped to turn and face you, the clear desperation and anger still on his face, “I don’t regret doing what needed to be done in order to protect you. I wasn’t going to let those assholes hurt you.” 

You tried to read his face and look for any signs of the truth. There was more to this than him just protecting you for the money. You were filled with more confusion as you looked at him, trying to read his cold eyes, but still found nothing. Jay quickly turned away from you and continued walking. You tried multiple more times to get him to explain his actions, but he kept ignoring you. And you eventually gave up for the night. 

—

To say over the next few days you’ve wanted nothing more than to bash Jay’s skull into the next tree you see would be an understatement. His attitude towards you got worse. He started to ignore you even more and only spoke to you to ask and make sure you were okay, if you were hungry, tired, or needed any rest. Outside of that? It’s like you didn’t exist. 

You tried asking a few times about his actions at the previous safe zone, to see what even prompted him to make such a choice when you could have just run out. The gate was already open, so shooting Kai wasn’t needed to survive. There could have been another way. 

Jay tried to fight off every feeling he felt. Specifically towards you and the other five back at the zone. Half of him wanted to go back and kill them all for so much thinking about using you, the other half of him wished he didn’t have to pull that trigger. He struggled to understand his feelings for you, the protectiveness he felt, the need to hold you close to him and keep you in his eyesight the entire time, the want to kiss you again, to feel your warmth. Everything mixed so deeply within him and confused him. Where did the lines blur? And where did they not? Is he wanting to protect you for that fat paycheck he’ll receive? Or is it because he actually wants to protect you? Does he want to keep you close because he wants to close or because to make sure you’re safe and unharmed once you’re handed off to the capital? Does he want to kiss you again because he hasn’t felt that sort of affection in a while, or because he actually wants to? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Or maybe he just wanted to shove the feelings away. 

Jay was still deep in thought when something wet landed on his face. He stopped walking to glance up at the sky. You also looked up, a sigh leaving his lips, “Looks like it’s fixing to downpour.” 

“We need to get somewhere safe,” you said, looking back at the man in front of you, still trying to read his face. 

Jay just nods, then looks at the surrounding area, “There should be a cave around here. Let's go.” 

You wanted to ask him how he just knows that there is a cave nearby. It makes you question how many smuggling missions he’s gone on. How many times he risked his life out there time and time again? From his attitude and cold demeanor, it’s obvious he’s done this more times than he probably wanted to even count. 

You followed him nonetheless, followed alongside a mountain that eventually a tall chain-linked fence got attached to, leading to a gate that was already opened with vines and grass growing around it. 

“Was this a safe zone?” you asked, “it looks abandoned.” 

“Because it is,” Jay sighs, “It was a smaller one, could only fit a couple hundred. It’s a shame what happened to it.” 

You followed him past the gate and slowly to the hole in the mountain where a massive steel door stood at the entrance of the cave, “What happened?” 

There was a panel on the wall beside the door, showing that it needed a code for the door to open. You were about to lose hope, thinking you’d have to find another place, but Jay reached his hand to the panel, pressing 0428, and the door slowly opened. 

“How do you know the code?” 

“Used to make smuggling runs here when it was still an active zone,” he doesn’t so much even glance at you as he walks inside, “The people who aren’t a part of zones, who are against the government and zones altogether, a band of them came through here, tearing the place apart and left no survivors.” 

Your eyes dropped to the cave floor, “How could humans do such a thing.”

Jay sighs, “I wish I knew. I’m not any better, being a smuggler and doing my fair share of…anyways, what happened to these people, to this zone, it haunted other smaller zones, forcing them to leave and join the bigger ones or flee to the capital.” 

You watched as the cave floor turned from rough stone to polished stone, your eyes lifting back up to take in your sleeping stop for the night. Jay hovered to the right of the wall, finding the power box and flipping the switch. Small lanterns covered the walls and ceiling. Multiple areas of the cave held beds lined to the wall along with showers, tubs, toilets, and kitchen appliances. There were a few areas that were for the children, toys lying on the floor and tables, and some of the beds. 

Children were murdered here. 

You grasped your hand over your chest, feeling how your heart clenched at the sight. 

Jay turns back to look at you, his cold eyes softening, “It was terrible. Heeseung and I got here just in time to see the bandits leave. It took everything for us not to fight them ourselves,” the look in your eyes told him enough how badly this place affected you already.

You took more glances around, “Why does it not look like—“

“Like it was torn apart?” Jay finished for you, dropping his backpack to the floor in front of one of the beds lined to the wall and setting his weapons onto the bed, “Because my team came here and cleaned it up, hoping someday it can be lived in again. We come back every so often to make sure everything is fine and clean.” 

You watched as he sat on the bed, dropping his face into his palms. The rain finally touched down and thunder sounded, the lanterns flickering softly. Jay sighs and quickly stands back up, digging through a drawer to light a couple of candles in case the power does indeed go out. You continued to watch his every move. How can this person be so confusing? So cold and so selfless and full of love all at the same time. You could see it in his eyes how it hurt talking about what happened here. Jay was barely able to sit back down on the bed before you started talking. 

“Why did you shoot Kai?” 

Jay rolled his eyes, “Can you shut up about it? There’s that cold again. 

You shook your head, “No! I need to understand!” 

“What is there to understand, YN? I warned them what would happen if they took a step closer, and look what happened.” Pure rage filled his eyes once again, his jaw locking tight. 

“There had to have been another way! We could have just left!” You took a deep breath, clenching your fists, “You could have killed them!” 

Jay scoffed with a smirk, shaking his head, “I could have, should have.” 

Now you were pissed off, “Why? Huh? Explain that to me. I am NOT worth killing over!” 

Jay shot to his feet, pointing a finger at you, “Don’t you fucking say that! You’re worth—“

“Four million dollars, I fucking get it, Jay. All I am worth is that four million,” he swallowed, not saying a word and he flexed his fists at his sides. It was your turn to scoff and smirk, “Not worth anything more than just to get your damned money.” 

“STOP talking like that,” he snapped. 

“Why should I?” You scoff again, “You’ve done nothing—NOTHING—but tell me and everyone else how much money I am worth. All you fucking care about is the mon—“ 

Jay couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t think straight as his feet dashed to you, hands cupping your face and lips attaching to yours, slamming his body into yours with such force that it startled you. His lips moved quickly against yours, brows furrowing and eyes closed tightly as he was trying his damndest to slow his heart rate, to not take out every emotion he had into kissing you, but his body failed him as he stayed connected to you, your hands slowly reaching up to touch his wrists, and it was enough to send him over the edge. 

“You’re worth so, so, so much more,” he said between kisses, his hands dropping to your waist, “I can’t hold myself back when it comes to you, I want you near me all the time. It’s taken everything in me to not jump your bones every second of every single day.” 

You leaned more into him, accepting him and his truth that he was finally spilling to you after so long. 

“I don’t give a fucking shit about that money, the capital can fucking keep it. You’re worth everything to me and I am so fucking crazy about you.” Jay slid his mouth from yours and down to your neck, leaving small bites as he trailed down to your shoulder, his hands now under your shirt and quickly lifting it up and over your head. Your hands rushed to pull his shirt from him, needing to feel him skin-to-skin. 

You barely had his shirt on the floor when his chest connected to yours and lips back on yours, “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers, “I can’t stop feeling for you. I want you. All of you. Please give yourself to me.” 

Jay never was able to call someone his own. He’s had girlfriends and flings, yeah, but never someone that was actually his. Someone he could protect and love with every ounce he had. And it took kissing you in that factory for everything to make sense. He met you for a reason, whether that was some wack chance of fate or luck. He was meant to go through the hell he did to find you. And he wasn’t going to let you go now. 

“I’m yours,” you whispered back, “I am all yours.” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. That you longed to feel him kiss you again, to touch you, hold you, and everything in between. He’s driven you crazy since day one, you should have known how hard you would have fallen. 

Jay deepened the kiss even more, slowly pulling you back with him until reaching one of the beds against the wall, one hand reaching back up to your neck, then the other wrapping behind your back as he swiftly turned you around and laid you on your back, “Say it again,” he asked, his fingers tracing down your shoulders, pulling the straps of your bra down then sliding his hands underneath to unclasp it and toss it off to the floor, “say it again please.” 

You swallowed, staring up into his eyes. And for the first time, you were able to finally read him. He wanted you in every way, “I’m yours.” 

He slides his hands down to your jeans, unbuttoning them and looping his fingers between the fabric of both your jeans and panties and your skin and pulling them down, “Again.” 

You bit your button lip and smirked up at him, “Should I?” 

Jay stood on his knees, slowly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, “If you want this dick, I suggest you do.” 

You watch him with lust in your eyes as he slides out of his pants and boxers, his hand wrapping around his cock as he leaned back to hover over you, pumping himself slowly, “I said again.” 

“I am yours.” 

Jay tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, hands going to your thighs and lifting them up, wrapping them around his waist and lining his cock up with your cunt. 

“You’re mine?” he breathes. 

“Yours.” 

Jay slides his hands up your body, clasping his fingers around yours tightly, pushing his hips forward until his cock is buried deep within you, “Mine, all mine,” he whispers into your ear, slowly sliding out and pushing back in. 

His lips kissed down to your neck as he picked up his pace, using your hands pressed into the mattress as his leverage to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick, grinding into you hard. Your moans sent chills down his spine, edging him to fuck into you faster. God, you felt so good. He only dreamed what your pussy would feel like wrapped around him. It was as if your pussy was made for him, made to fit and take his cock so fucking good. His. All his. 

“Jay,” you moaned out his name, your hands now tangled in his dyed hair as one of his hands grasped your thigh, and the other on your face, “Are you mine, too?” 

“Oh, baby,” he groans into your neck, “I’ve been yours.” 

Thunder crashed outside, flickering the lights a couple of times before shutting them off completely. The candles are the only source of light. But it couldn’t have been more perfect. Yours and Jay’s moans mixed with the sound of the rain. His cock works against your sweet spot and nails dig into the plush of your thighs. He was going dizzy at the feeling of you, of the emotions you’ve made him feel. Your sex felt like heaven, you felt like heaven in this hell. 

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he kisses your neck, “Won’t let anyone touch you,” kisses your jawline, “I’d kill for you,” finally kissing your lips, “You’re mine. All mine.” 

You kissed him back harder, pulling him as close as possible to you as you reached your climax, squeezing your legs tighter around his waist. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, “I’m gonna cum too,” he pumped into you faster, “call me yours, say my name, f-fuck, please say I’m yours.” 

You tightened your legs around him, kissing from his lips to his ear, “Jay, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.” 

He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut as he cums, “Shit, baby,” he slowly lays on top of you gently, breathing in your scent, and wraps his arms underneath you to hold you against him. He took a couple of deep breaths and chuckled, “I am so glad you stole our drugs that day.” 

—

you lay in his arms as he traced his fingers up and down your bare back, the rain still crashing down to the earth, it being the only sound you could hear besides the beating of Jay’s heart in your ear from laying against his chest. 

Jay leaned against the wall the bed connected to, his eyes scanning the empty safe zone, trying to remember how much life was once held here. How life sits here now. Jay let his brain wonder about the different possibilities and outcomes of this zone, debating what to do and how to do it. His train of thought derailed when you shifted yourself up further, laying your head into his neck, “I thought you were asleep?” 

You gently shook your head, “I don’t want to sleep and miss out on this moment.” 

Jay chuckled and leaned his head against the top of yours, “You need some rest, I’m here and won’t leave you.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about, I just want to savor the moment for when you go back to being cold towards me once we leave here.” 

Jay chuckles again, “Baby, I won’t. I was cold to keep the lines from blurring and my heart from feeling, but look how that turned out?” 

You giggled when he slid his hands under the blanket you two shared and squeezed the fat of your ass, “Didn’t think you ever felt anything for me besides the money, you confused the hell out of me, Jay.” 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I am sorry.” You shivered, so he pulled the blanket up higher on your naked body, running his hands up and down your back to help warm you. 

Even though you’ve spent enough time with this man to know how he is, you still don’t know a lot about him besides the things he’s willingly shared with you. And since curiosity consumed you, mostly now that he’s accepted his feelings for you, maybe he’ll be more inclined to talk. Here goes nothing, “What did you do before the outbreak?” you softly asked while still treading on eggshells, “How was life for you before it?” 

Jay takes a deep inhale, holding his breath for a couple of seconds before letting it out and wrapping his arms tighter around you, “Heeseung and I were best friends before all this. Grew up together actually. His family lived across the street from mine, and being the only child, I attached myself to Heeseung fairly quickly.” 

You could see it. With how Heeseung and Jay relied on each other back in their home zone and even when they cornered you when you stole the drugs they were supposed to smuggle, the two of them stuck to each other. 

“He became like my older brother, and I am a younger one for him. When the outbreak first happened, Heeseung and I…” he took another deep breath in, and you felt how tense his body became under you. So you reached a hand up to his chest, feeling that tension loosen, “We were fucking around with a few other kids in our town, shooting hoops at the court while passing a blunt between each of us. I was actually supposed to be grounded, I smart-mouthed off to my parents. I stuck out my bedroom window and jumped into Heeseung’s car and we went off to the basketball court. We were there for roughly thirty minutes before the first bomb dropped to take out the infected.” 

You remembered the bombs very well. Remembered the sirens going off. People were going crazy to try and leave town to escape it. Only very few were lucky to get out. And since the two of you were lying here together, it was obvious you two were part of the lucky ones. 

Jay continued, “Heeseung and I never ran back home so fast, only to see our street was completely…gone. We lost our families, and if we didn’t sneak out…we wouldn’t be here right now. The only thing that kept me alive to this very day was Heeseung. If I didn’t have him…” 

“Jay,” you whispered, lifting yourself up to press the side of your face to his, “you have him, don’t think about what could have happened. You have him, and always will.” 

He took a couple of deep breaths, leaning more into you, “I know. I’m lucky to have him as a brother. Same to Jake and Sunghoon.”

“How did you meet those two?” 

Jay laughed, “We found them in an abandoned grocery store.” 

You tried to not giggle, but let it out anyway, “Are you serious?” 

“I am being so deadass,” he laughed more with you, you falling in love with how he smiles and the sound of his laugh. This Jay right here, this was his true self, “It was roughly about four months after the outbreak, so still before the safe zones. Heeseung and I were running low on food and we stumbled into a grocery store praying for food but finding Jake and Sunghoon with every food item possible shoved into the back corner of one of the offices hoarding it all for themselves.”

You just nodded, “Yeah from the small amount I know about them, that sounds about right.” 

Jay agrees, “It was a sight to see that’s for sure. It took them everything to not kill us. They were held up there for a couple of weeks before we found them. But eventually, we got them to share their food and they just…followed us out of the grocery store when we left a day later. The four of us have been together since then.” 

“Sounds like you guys found each other at the right times. They say you always find the people you need for your life at the right time regardless of the situation.” You slid back down, lying your head back on his neck, “Just like how you found me.”

Jay squeezed you tightly, “I have to agree with that statement. It’s like I am your god or something.” 

You playfully slapped his bicep, “Oh shut up! You needed me just as much as I needed you.” 

“I did, I needed you so bad and it took me meeting you to realize it.” Jay now slid down the bed, lying his head on the pillow and pulling you fully against him, resting his forehead against yours, “The four of us traveled for days to get to the safe zone we are at now. It was still newly built and just redeemed safe to let people in. Been there since, obviously, and eventually, we are where we are now. Being smugglers to keep our place and food in our bellies.” 

You looked into his eyes, seeing all the hurt and pain he’s been through and even put himself through to continue to survive. To keep breathing. Jay kept fighting to stay alive for his brothers and kept going for someday finding more of a reason to keep his heart beating. He found that reason the moment he saw you. Even though you were pointing a gun to his head. 

“You’ve fought long enough, Jay,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his, “Please take the money when you hand me over.” 

Jay scoffs, “YN—“

“No,” you interrupted, “Take it. It would help you and the others. You all don’t need to fight anymore.” 

Jay just looks back at you, wondering how the fuck could he just take that money and run. To leave you with the capital. He couldn’t do it. He won’t do it. 

“I’ll find a way to get the money and bring you back home,” it sunk your heart hearing him call his safe zone your home. You had a home again. With him, “That way we can be set and I don’t have to leave you.” 

You softly kissed him. Moving your lips so gently against his. His hands moved from your back to your waist and pressed your body against his. 

Jay was home. Jay IS home. And you’d take up his mantle of fighting to protect him now. To keep him safe. Jay deserves it more than anything. 

—

To both your and Jay’s surprise, the next three-month journey was actually really smooth. Jay didn’t know if he should be worried or relieved that everything had gone smoothly. He’s tried to keep a positive mind, to push out that smuggler mindset he’s been in for years, wanting to be a better man for you. But Jay knew even if he wanted to drop that life, he was going to have to keep up that fighter persona. That protectiveness. There’s no doubt Soobin and his dogs already ran their mouths about you being immune, spreading the word to anyone and everyone they could. Probably more than likely putting a bounty over Jay’s head because of him shooting Kai. Jay had to start thinking more clearly about his future, about yours, if he wanted to keep the both of you alive for that future. Because he can’t live without you now, and he refuses to let anyone take you from him. 

You walked ahead of him, your palms facing outwards, brushing your fingers over the flowers and grass that grew tall, loving the way it tickled your hands. To say you’re happier than before would be an understatement. Jay finally confessing his deep feelings flipped a switch within you, like you have something more to live for besides just simply surviving for your fallen friends. At the start of this journey, you refused to let the capital take you, to use you as a curse for everyone else. But after meeting and falling in love with Jay…knowing that if he somehow gets bitten one of these days…the cure that would come from you would save him. You didn’t care about saving everyone else, just as long as you could save him, that’s all that mattered. 

You glanced up ahead, and the building you assumed was the capital, came into view. It looked like an old hospital. Overgrown with vines and weeds. If you didn’t know what to look for, you would have assumed this was just like any other normal old abandoned building like the rest of the world. But Jay gave you details on what to look for. 

“Looks like we finally made it,” You said, turning to look at Jay. He looks at you, then at the building, giving a nod. You started to shake, the fear of going inside taking over. You didn’t know what to expect. How will they treat you? Would it be filled with old doctors or politicians who think they know what is best for the world? Many more questions rolled through you and it took Jay taking your hand into his for your train to derail. 

“It’s going to be okay, I won’t let them hurt you, I promise,” And Jay meant it. He will stand beside you every step of the way. Letting the capital take what was needed then getting the hell out of there and back home. 

Jay leads you to the entrance, staring up at the camera that hangs from the ceiling above the door. Jay waved a hand at the camera, “Hello?? How do you expect to get people in and out if there’s no way to fucking knock??” Glad to see Jay didn’t completely go soft on you. You giggled at his straightforwardness, squeezing his hand. 

The door sounded with a click and opened. Jay squeezed your hand back before taking a step in, leading you in behind him. The entrance was dimly lit halfway, completely colored gray with hospital signs hanging to the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would have figured this place was a disaster waiting to happen, that no soul would be living here. But that changed once the entrance expanded out into what looked to be the lobby of the hospital. The gray turned to white and bright lights filled the room. You didn’t have time to process the new brightness when seven men appeared in front of you and Jay. Not like magic or anything, your eyes just couldn’t adjust to the bright lights in time to see them approach. 

Jay gave each of them a nod, “Nice to see you again, Shotaro, Sungchan, Wonbin, Sohee, Seunghan, Eunseok, and Anton. Been awhile.” 

You followed Jay’s head movement to each of the seven of them, taking in their names and faces before looking over at Jay confused for a solid few seconds before remembering that Jay has been to the capital a few times in his life, of course he knew the people here. 

“Pleasure to see you, as always,” Shotaro said to him, giving a nod back, “See the trip here didn’t kill you.” 

Jay just chuckles, releasing his hand from yours, “It’s going to take a lot more than some zombies to take me down.” Jay knew joking with these people would be the best way to fit in and get things done. Shotaro and his crew were different from Soobin and his. Two different types of personalities here. 

“I am assuming this is the immune one?” Sungchan asked, tilting his head. His eyes scan your body up and down then stop at the bite mark on your wrist. You ditched the wrap and long-sleeve shirts back at the cave zone, the summer weather being too hot to keep up with it. Your bite was pretty much healed, no longer infected, and just looked like a normal wound in healing. 

“I have a name,” you growled at him, “I’m not just some “immune one” or whatever.”

All seven of them smirked at you, making you cling to Jay’s arm, “Feisty one, isn’t she?” Wonbin chuckled with a raise of his brow, “You sure know how to pick’em, Jay.” 

Jay just tried to give them his best smile, “This is YN. And yes she’s the one Jungkook called and talked to Namjoon about.” 

Namjoon?

“Joon is busy in a meeting,” Sohee sighs, “He told us to apologize on his behalf and welcome you into the capital.” 

Seunghan added, “He had to step in the moment you walked up to the door. He truly wants to meet you two here.” 

“We were expecting seven more of you though…” Shotaro said with his eyes scanning the two of you, “Where are your other six?” 

Jay shrugs, “They had other important matters to take care of, so I volunteered to make the trip myself.” 

“Ahhh,” Eunseok cooed, “I sometimes forget the seven of you are the best smugglers down in the southwest.” 

“Best of the best,” Jay awkwardly smiled, wanting to get this small talk over with, “Are we going to stand and wait for Namjoon to finish his meeting or???” 

Shotaro bowed a bit, “My apologies, you two must be exhausted from your long trip,” He stood back upright, “Anton, please take our friends to their rooms.” 

“We’ll share one, thanks for the thought though,” Jay was quick to say. 

Shotaro just looked back and forth between the two of you, and then the realization hit, “Ahh! You two are a pair. That’s…interesting considering Jay was a lone wolf when it came to mating.”

Jay just rolls his eyes at the comment, “People can change. You’d know if you left the capital more.” 

Shotaro just keeps his wide smile on display, “Anton.” 

Anton nods, waving the two of you towards him, “We saved the best rooms possible for you,” Jay leads first, dragging you close behind him, “We’ve also given you badges with access to every floor and room in the building. Given as a thanks for your sacrifice, YN. You’re doing the world a massive favor by coming here.” You just nod, confident that you’re only doing this for Jay to protect him, “We have a meeting set up for you to keep with one of the doctors later this evening, to kinda help ease your mind about all this.” 

You didn’t care and stopped listening to Anton explain everything. All you cared about was getting to the room to shower off the outside smell, dirt, and grime. To get in fresh clothing and get a much-needed nap before this place runs you left and right with tests. 

Anton finally let you into the room, handing off the badges to Jay, and with a nod, he left, closing the door behind him. The room was obviously small, being that it was an old hospital room. But it was still cozy, very bedroom-like. Paintings hung on the walls along with a medium-sized dresser with a mirror atop sat in the middle with the queen-sized bed right beside it and the bathroom sitting off to the left of the room. You made your way to the dresser, opening the first drawer to see plenty of clean undergarments for all genders, the second drawer was sleepwear, and the third and fourth drawer was filled with normal everyday shirts and jeans. You pulled pieces of clothing from each drawer and rushed to the entrance of the bathroom but stopped. 

“Can I shower first?” you asked, turning to look at Jay who was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding an envelope, “Jay? What’s that?” 

He looks up at you, “It was slipped under the door after we walked in. It’s the money they owe me for bringing you here.” 

You swallowed, watching as he opened the envelope and pulled out the cash. Jay felt like his heart nearly stopped at the amount of money he held in his hands, fingers slipping through each bill to make sure it was real and the actual amount they said they would give. And sure enough, it was. 

Jay looked at the cash and slowly put it back in the envelope. You could see the gears turning, “Don’t you even dare think about not taking it.” 

He looks at you, was he that obvious? “YN, baby, I can’t take it.” 

You quickly rushed to him, grabbing the envelope and shoving it deep into his backpack, “You came all this way for this, don’t back out of it now.” 

Jay stood to his feet and pulled you to him, “I don’t care about the money! I’ve told you before that you’re worth so much more than money.” 

You cupped his face, “You and the six back at home need this money, think about the life you can give them once we go back. Please don’t give it up.” Jay knew you were right. He made this trip in the first place all for his brothers and the money that would help give them a better life. So he nods, giving you a soft smile and picking you up into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. 

“We’re both stinky, let’s wash off, ya?” He said, placing kisses all over your face and kicking the bathroom door shut. 

—

The rest of your day was filled with following around one of the seven boys to multiple different stops with Jay close on your heels. The first stop was the cafeteria for lunch, eating the best chicken sandwich you think you ever had. The second stop was to one of the labs for some doctors to draw your blood and give you some juice and five minutes of sitting before sending you on the way. The third stop was the meeting with the doctor who explained the procedure of the blood being drawn from the first stop and how taking from the bone marrow during the procedure and then talking about somehow mixing other things to create the cure? You were no scientist nor a doctor and you couldn’t remember how they find cures in all the horror and survival movies you’ve seen in your life to even get close to knowing how it would work. Jay looked just as confused as you did. At least you all were on the same page. Somewhat. The fourth stop was back at the room, where you and Jay cuddled and took a good hour nap before Sungchan knocked on the door saying it was time for dinner. 

You two ate with the seven boys, them explaining how Namjoon was once again tied up and couldn’t make it to the meal to greet us. Jay just waved it off. He didn’t care about any more meetings, he just wanted to eat and go back to the room. The day was tiring, the whole trip was tiring. Tomorrow would more than likely be another busy day and all you wanted to do was change into your pajamas and hit the sack. The seven of the boys talked a lot, made a lot of jokes, and continuously teased Jay for being in a relationship as if it was such a hard thing for their minds to process. You tried to laugh at everything, to understand the jokes. You weren’t sure if it was the nerves or your exhaustion making it hard to play along. Thankfully dinner finally ended and you found yourself back in the comfort of your temporary room. 

“There’s only silk lace gowns in here?” You sigh, digging through the whole drawer to find a pair of pajama pants and a shirt, “Why are there ONLY silk lace gowns???” 

Jay peeked over your shoulder, his hands reaching around you to pull an emerald green gown out of the drawer, “I mean this is the capital, everything here is probably fancy in some form.” 

You take the gown from his hands with a sigh, “It’ll have to do I suppose.” Jay just gives you a small smile and nods as he backs away and sits on the bed, untying the laces to his boots. 

You glanced back at the silk gown on your hands and up to Jay. Maybe you were reading a bit into it, but why did he choose this color? Out of all the pretty colors in that drawer, his eyes went to this one. You tried to push down the thoughts, remembering the time back at the safe zone when he said your naked body was just skin. How he didn’t have time to deal with these types of things. But he was also in a relationship with you now? The two of you never discussed what you were after sex that one night. He’s made love to you multiple times since then but still never once said what you both were. Maybe he was just bullshitting when he saw you naked the very first time, but then again he didn’t see you in that light before. Maybe again you were just overthinking it. He’s never seen you in such clothing, so maybe that’s why he chose this color, maybe he wanted to see you in it. 

You decided to stop thinking too much about it and slowly stripped out of your clothes, dropping them down to the floor with a thud, causing Jay’s eyes to lift up to you as he started on his second boot. You kept eye contact with him as you slid the straps of your bra down your shoulders and unclasped the back, holding the bra in place on your breast as you pulled your arms through the loops. Jay’s eyes left yours and went to your breasts, watching as you dropped the bra to the floor. His body tensed. You had him wrapped around your finger. His eyes shot back up to yours, his face still so calm and collected. You finally pulled the laced emerald silk gown over your head and onto your body, fitting strangely well to your frame and tight in the right places. 

You slowly crawled into the bed and laid down, his body shifted to face you as you got comfortable on the bed. Jay was losing his mind and was fighting his demons to keep from jumping you and ripping that pretty little gown off your body. His mind wanders to all the things he wants to do, where he wants his hands, and where he wants his mouth. He stood from the bed, sliding his feet out of his boots, and pulling his shirt from his body. You bit your lip at the sight of his torso, how his tan muscular skin moved as he reached for the button on his jeans, the tint in his pants was enough to tell you that you did affect him. That this color was chosen on purpose. 

Jay dropped the jeans to the floor then crawled onto the bed and hovered over you, “You look way too damn good in green, you should wear it more often, baby,” all you could do was nod and rub your thighs together. Jay glanced down at your legs, a smirk falling to his lips, “Want me so bad you can’t form a sentence?” 

“Jay,” you whispered, “Please.” 

He bent down and kissed you, his right hand already touching the ends of the gown, “You’re so sexy,” he breathed between kisses, “You know that?” You didn’t have time to respond as his lips left yours to trail down your neck and then to your shoulder, biting softly at your skin, loving the way you squirmed underneath him. His hand was now under the gown, slowly riding up your thigh. His moved down lower, leaving opened-mouth kisses down to your collarbone, between your breasts, and down your stomach, both his hands were now under the gown and sliding up and up, bunching the gown at your waist, “I’m craving dessert, and you look just like something I want to eat.” 

You gasp at his words, feeling your slick pool in your panties. Jay slid down to your heat, spreading your legs apart, clicking his tongue at the wet spot, “Already so wet for me? I haven’t even touched you yet.” It was driving him crazy seeing you already soaked for him. How much more perfect could you get?? He rubs his knuckle against your folds, pushing the lips apart as he digs his knuckle further in, “So wet for me, baby,” he coos, licking at his bottom lip. Jay didn’t think he could wait much longer, he needed your taste in his mouth. To devour you. To make you cum against his tongue. God, it’s all he wanted at this moment. Jay looped his fingers at the hems of your panties and you lifted your hips up as he slid them down and threw them to the floor to be completely forgotten about. 

Jay lifted your legs onto his shoulders as he settled back between your legs, using his index and ring fingers to spread your cunts lips, “fuccckk,” he groaned, loving how some of your slick was slowly dripping out of your cunt. Your hands flew to his hair when you felt his tongue press flat to your heat, licking up and stopping at your clit and wrapping his lips and tongue around the sensitive bud. 

“Shit, Jay!” you moaned, gripping his hair tight between your fingers. His hum of pleasure vibrated against you, making your toes curl into the sheets. With his other hand, he slid two fingers into your hole, pumping in and out of you slowly. Jay could get lost in your pussy, could stay here for hours if he didn’t need oxygen to continue breathing, licking up every ounce of your juices you could offer to him. You clenched around his fingers and gripped his hair even tighter, letting out soft moans at the feeling of him on your clit and cunt. 

“Be louder, baby, I want to hear you,” he breathes, taking a few deep breaths in before attaching himself back to your clit, sucking on it softly and pushing his fingers in and out faster, keeping your lips spread with his other fingers. You were getting dizzy at the sensation, brain clouding and his fingers and lips being the only thing you could focus on as you chanted out his name over and over. It was magic to his ears, truly. The best sound he’s ever heard next to your normal voice. 

He detached from your clit and replaced his fingers in your hole with his tongue, reaching so far into you that his nose was now rubbing your clit along with his middle finger. The knot of your climax was about to snap. You tried to hold on for as long as you could, waiting to savor this feeling but also wanting the sweet release it would give you. Jay wasn’t giving you much of a choice, not with how he worked his tongue in your cunt and his finger on your clit. His whole job here was making you cum on his tongue, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got what he desired. So you gave in, letting the knot snap in two and your body shuddered. Jay moaned against your cunt, licking up every last drop of your cum with his tongue, “Fuck you taste so good.” 

He left soft kisses on your heat and both your inner thighs before hovering back over you completely, “You’re such a good girl for me, my sweet, continue being good and take this cock, ya?” you quickly nodded, reaching for his boxers to slide them off him. He chuckled as he helped you remove the last bit of his clothing, “impatient are we?” 

“Jay, just please fuck me already, I need you.” 

He clicks his tongue, smirking at you, “Gotta give the lady what she wants, right?” 

Not another word was said as he slides into you, fucking you already so hard and fast it made your overstimulation way worse. But it was so—so—good. He kisses you, forcing his tongue down your throat, getting a taste of yourself as you sucked on his tongue, wrapping your muscle around him in a perfect dance. Jay wrapped your legs around him and pinned your hands above your head, squeezing them tightly as he continued to rock his hips against yours, kissing down from your lips to your ear, “You’re stuck with me, understand?” he breathes, his breath sending chills down your body, “I love you, YN. I am so in love with you.” 

Tears filled your eyes as you wrapped your legs and released your hands from his and wrapped your arms tightly around him, squeezing him so tight against your body, wanting to feel every inch of him against you, “I love you too. Oh god, I love you too.” 

Jay moved faster, “Say it again, tell me you love me again.” 

You did, you chanted how much you loved him over and over until he was spilling his seed deep within you. So out of breath but continued to kiss all over your face and slowly rock his hips against yours to chase out his high. If this is what it felt like to be in love with Jay and be loved by him, you didn’t need any other emotion ever again. 

—

Jay rolled over, stretching his arm out on your side of the bed, surprise took him when he didn’t feel you there, running his hand up and down the spot you should be in. He fluttered his eyes open, the early morning sunlight shining against the paintings on the wall and the gray wallpaper. Jay lifted himself on his forearms and elbows, the cool air sending chills down his bare back as the blanket slid down to his waist. He looked at the spot you slept in, tracing his hand back over it and realizing the sheets were cold. You’ve been gone for a while. 

“YN?” Jay calls, thinking maybe you were in the bathroom, seeing that the door was closed, “Baby?” 

No answer. Jay lets out an uneasy sigh, clearly not liking the silence of the room. He sits up and pushes himself to the edge of the bed, pulling his boxers off from the floor and stepping into them, and snapping them at his hips, “Baby?” He tried calling again, walking to the bathroom door and carefully knocking, “YN, this isn’t funny.” Jay quickly opened the door, seeing the bathroom was empty. 

Panic started to settle in. 

Jay tried to keep calm, hoping you were just at the other labs the doctors and other officials of the capital have said. But all the hope was gone when Jay turned around, barely catching his naked top half in the mirror, seeing the red and irritated skin at the edge of his back right under the shoulder, the small puncture wound still clear and visible. He was drugged. And you were taken. 

Jay quickly rushed back into the room, pulling his clothes onto his body and picking up his backpack from the floor, noticing yours was still sitting in the same spot. Jay felt the panic deep in his core. You wouldn’t have just walked out of the room without telling him or bringing him with you. Jay’s suspicions only got confirmed after seeing the weapons from your and his backpack was missing. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, looking in the corner to see his shotgun was also missing from where he placed it against the wall. Jay dumped out everything from the backpacks and drawers, trying to find any weapon possible that they might have overlooked. But everything was gone. The only thing he found was the snacks and other foods and water the two of you had been carrying the whole trip and the white envelope with the money in it. Jay wanted to tear the money into pieces, to burn this whole place down from them taking you from him. He was going crazy and needed to find you, and fast. He pulled everything back into the backpack, combining your stuff with his. Jay took one last look at the envelope and then shoved it into the backpack. 

It was one problem after the other when he tried to walk out of the room to find the door was locked from the outside, “FUCK!” he screamed, taking multiple steps back and rushing to the door, connecting his shoulder to the wood. Step back, ram the door, step back, ram the door. repeat. repeat. repeat. Jay shook out his hands and arms, giving it one last final shove and the door pushed open, the locks and doorknobs falling to the floor. 

The hallway was dark except for the sunlight peeking through the windows. Not a damn soul was around. It was so silent you could probably hear the tectonic plates shifting within the earth. Jay treaded lightly, locking his jaw and clenching his fists as he slowly walked down the hall. This hospital was so full of life just yesterday, and now it’s like everyone is gone. This place once again looked abandoned before the capital officials took over. Jay figured it was before everyone knew the minute he woke up and saw you gone, all hell would break loose. Jay should have known. Should have listened to everyone who told them what would happen once he got you here. They were going to kill you. And he needed to stop it. 

First, he needed his weapons back. Following the signs on the walls leading him to the armory. There were two guards on watch when he reached it, “Fucking typical,” he whispered to himself, “All for little ole me?” Jay knew Namjoon was more than likely on high alert, knowing what moves Jay would be making and how he’d make them. Jay and his team aren’t the best smugglers around for nothing. He crouches down, slowly inching himself to the guards, assessing them before making another move. They both had knives and pistols attached to their hips with rifles in hand. Jay didn’t have a lot of time to come up with a solid plan and acted quickly. All the years of surviving had led to this. All the years of killing before getting killed. Learning how to be sneaky and how to lie through his teeth as he stole and picked pocketed his enemies. The person he had to become because of this apocalypse. All led him here. Once Jay was close enough, he quickly stood and broke out into a sprint. The first guard didn’t know what was happening by the time Jay reached him. His hands wrapped around his head and twisted, his body going limp at the crack of his neck. Jay worked fast before the guard's body hit the floor, stealing his knife and shoving it into the other guard's side between his ribs. 

“Now you will give me the information I seek out, got it?” he hisses, “Or you will end up like your friend over there, ya?” 

The guard trembled in Jay’s hands, his eyes darting to his now-dead friend on the cold hospital floor, “What do you want?” he tried to snap back, but it was not having any effect on Jay whatsoever. 

“Where is she?” Jay growled against the man’s ear, “Where. Is. YN?” Silence. Jay pushed the knife in further, the guard gritting his teeth to not scream at the pain, “Where the fuck is my girlfriend?!” Jay was yelling now, no longer playing these games. 

“Second floor, last room on the right side,” the man grunted out, “But it’s too fucking late,” Jay’s heart stopped, “They already began the procedure before sunlight even came, busted in right after you two slept,” you’ve been gone a lot longer than he thought. His panic sank further, “They took from her blood until she passed out and drugged her to stay asleep,” the guard chuckled, “She was a walking cure factory.” 

Jay shoved the knife deeper, “Is she alive?” The man groans in pain, “I SAID IS SHE STILL ALIVE!?” 

“YES!” he hissed, “But not for long. Her blood was only doing so much. They are going to go for her bone marrow now. Going to use every last drop she can give until she’s no longer breathing.” 

The man started to chuckle, but those chuckles changed into gurgles and he gasped for air before tipping over to the floor. Jay’s hands were trembling as he looked down at them, seeing the dark red tint staining his skin and the pool of it now covering the floor where Jay shoved the knife into the side of his neck. Jay swallowed and released a few deep breaths, recollecting himself and noticing his clothes now stained red. Jay sized up the first guard, thank god he looked to be about the same size as him. 

Jay was quick at changing into the guard's uniform, stealing his pistol, knife, rifle, and keycards. Always take the keycards, you never know when you’ll need them. He rushes into the armory, finding your pistol, his shotgun, and both your knives, shoving the smaller items into the backpack, and sliding his shotgun over his shoulder. Before Jay realized, he was stepping over the two dead guards and was up the stairs, making his way to the second floor. His legs shook all the way down into his boots. Trying to push out the images of the two lives he just ended. Jay has killed before during smuggling runs, but it never will get easier or something he’d get used to. This world created all this chaos and turned everyone into monsters. No one had a spot in heaven. Hell was the only final destination. 

The jitters left once both feet touched the second floor, and the rifle pointed upwards. The only thing on his mind now was you and praying he wasn’t too late. The floor was silent until he reached the corner of the building, where four guards were stationed outside the room. This was it. You were just behind those doors, hopefully still breathing. Jay didn’t want to think about what would happen if he went in there and saw you dead. The things he’d do…

You barely blinked in and out of consciousness, the bright lights shining on you from the ceiling were blinding, only being able to see white and the blue of the two doctors' lab coats. They talked between each other, not being able to make out any of the words they spoke. Your body hurts. Your head spun. Were you fixing to die? Where was Jay? Why did you feel so cold? Why did they take you from him the way they did? So many questions piled up in your brain. Jay is the main source of the questions. The main one was that he was safe. That he takes the money and runs so far away from here. That you died for this fucking cure in hopes if anything happened to him he wouldn’t turn into the undead outside. He could survive and have a better life than before. Your thought process was interrupted when both doctors looked down at you and asked a question. You didn’t know if you answered them or not, or couldn’t remember if you did. There was a poke on your wrist, and everything went fuzzy and your eyes closed. 

“She’s asleep again,” one said, setting the syringe down on the table behind him and checking your vital signs on the monitor, “Vitals are normal and steady, we can—“ the doctor stopped speaking, whipping his head to the entrance of the room. 

The other doctor looked at the one across from him, then turned to look at the door, then back to him, “What's wrong?” 

“You didn’t hear that?” he asked, his eyes widening. 

“I think you’re being paranoid, let’s continue.” 

He didn’t take his eyes off the door. Nor did he even have time to think about what happened next as Jay kicked the door open, his rifling pointing directly ahead. The doctor barely had time to see the dead bodies as the door closed behind Jay. Blood coated Jay’s face, hair, and clothes. 

“Joon said he’d be out the whole fucking day!” the doctor closer to Jay shouts, reaching for the surgical knife on the small tray table. 

“Don’t fucking move!” Jay snapped, “Back away from her!” 

The two doctors moved, their hands raised above their heads. Jay looked at you. Your skin was pale and your lips purple. Bruises covered your arms and bare legs, proof enough that you didn’t go down without a fight. You were hooked up to multiple different types of IVs. Jay tried to find any sign that you were breathing, eyes whipping to the monitor, watching as your vitals dropped. All Jay saw then was red. You were dying. He was losing you by the second. He couldn’t waste any more time. So he pulled the trigger. Their screams and voices were muffled out by the buzzing in his ears from the anger and the fear of losing you. He can’t lose you. 

He dropped the rifle to the floor once the room stopped spinning, his legs dragging him to your side, hands immediately grabbing for you. Your skin was cold to the touch. He hissed out from the pain in his chest, the pain of his heart clenching thinking you already were between the lines of life and death. Praying you weren’t. 

“Baby,” he whimpered, tears swelling his eyes, “Come on, YN, please wake up.” Jay softly shook you, placing his ear over your mouth, feeling your breath push out. It was weak. So, so very weak. “Baby don’t leave me, please.” Both his hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “I can’t live without you, please.” Jay searched the room, removing himself from you to pull open all the cabinets and drawers in search of some drug to get your heart pumping normally again. Anything to get your vitals back up. He found what he needed and rushed back to you, with an empty syringe, “Forgive me, please,” he begged, pulling out the drug with the syringe needle, and filling it up, “Forgive me for bringing you here. For gambling your life like this. I am so so so sorry.” With shaky hands, he finds a vein in your wrist, “I love you,” and gently pushes it into your skin, injecting the clear liquid into your body. Jay whips his head to the monitor, watching your heart rate pick up and your vitals start to normalize. He drops the syringe and falls to his knees, running his crusted red-stained hands through his blonde hair. 

He doesn’t know how long he sat there like that. It wasn’t until you shifted on the table that he jumped back to his feet, coming back to reality and needing to get you out of there. Jay removed the IVs from your arms, bandaging them up and brushing your hair from your face, “Baby?” you fluttered your eyes, still too out of it to really open them. You knew Jay was finally with you, or that you were dreaming. Or even dead. You felt the warmth of his touch, heard his voice, and were barely able to make out his face. But he was here, nevertheless. Jay pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Let’s get you out of here.” Jay found your clothes and redressed you with them, tossing the hospital gown across the room. Jay took a final look at the room, seeing the vials filled with your blood and other chemicals. There were at least thirty of them. All were marked with tape that said “cure”. “Those bastards.” he hissed in his brain. But the longer he stared at them, the angrier he got. 

He carried you in his arms, rushing down to the ground level of the hospital, looking for a quick and easy way out. It was easy. A bit too easy. It was unsettling for Jay, something was off. It shouldn’t be this easy. 

“Jay?” you softly whisper, feeling his strong arms squeeze you tighter. Finally becoming more aware of the drugs slowly wearing off. 

“Shhh, It’s okay baby, I’m right here,” he whispers back, eyes darting in every direction, waiting for something to happen. And then it did. 

“Leaving without so much as a goodbye?” 

Jay stopped walking, his jaw clenching. You both were almost to the door, so close to leaving. But he turned anyway, seeing Namjoon standing there with his dimpled smile and hand folded behind his back. Shotaro, Eunseok, Sungchan, Seunghan, Wonbin, Sohee, and Anton standing directly behind him with guns pointing at Jay and you. Jay gritted his teeth, “Nice to see you finally made your appearance.” 

Namjoon chuckled, “I am a busy man, what can I say? Being the leader of this operation is very time-consuming. My apologies for not being there sooner.” Jay just stared at him, holding you tighter to his chest, “I believe you have something of mine,” Namjoon said with a sigh, stepping forward, “Give it back, please.” 

Jay barked out a laugh, “She doesn’t belong to you. Or anyone for that matter. And we’re leaving.” 

Namjoon inhaled, held his breath for a few seconds, and then released it, “You don’t understand what’s going on here, Jay.” 

“Oh like the fuck I don’t!” Jay yelled, taking a few steps back, “You’re killing her!!” 

“A sacrifice that I am willing to make,” Jay hated the straight face Joon was making. Hated how he seemed to be okay with ending your life, “She is special, Jay. She is so important to finding a cure.” 

“Then go find someone else that’s immune!” Jay snapped, “Leave her out of it!” 

Namjoon smiles, “She can save so many lives. Think about the people we can save, at her sacrifice. Think how the world can and will heal because of the sacrifice. Everything can go back to normal and she will be so worth it.” 

Jay clenched you tighter, “The world can fucking burn. She’s worth more than whatever righteousness you think you have by doing this to someone innocent.” 

“We aren’t innocent,” Joon sighs again, “This world made us into hunters, killers, and survivors. No one is innocent.” Jay didn’t want to hear it anymore. He wanted out, now. So he took more steps back, giving his glare locked on Namjoon and the seven guys behind him, “You’re making a mistake,” Joon said, following Jay, “Just give her back…” 

Jay quickly shifted your body to his side, pulling out the pistol at his hip, “Take one more step and I’ll fucking kill you.” 

“Like you did to my guards?” 

Jay said nothing, his fingers going numb from the grin he had on your belt loop to keep you pressed against him. You whimpered, the pain finally settling into you as the drugs wore off more. You clenched your arms around his neck and wrapped your legs around his leg, trying to hold yourself up against his hold, “I’ll kill who I have to to keep her safe.” 

Namjoon could see the desperation on Jay’s face, and just gave him another smile, “Go then. Just know you’re a wanted man the minute you walk out of those doors.” 

“Joon!” Shotaro quickly said, earning Namjoon to hold his hand up to silence him, then waving Jay to go forward. He slowly took the steps back, waiting until his back touched against the doors, and pushed it open, the pistol still pointing directly forward. Namjoon continues smiling even after Jay closes the door, leaving them in the lobby alone. Namjoon had enough samples of your blood to create copies. He also knew Jay would be heading back to his safe zone quickly. Namjoon will get you back. But this time by force. 

—

Jay slid the open window carefully, using his strength to push and pull himself up through the kitchen window, carefully climbing his way into the house. Jay barely touched his feet to the floor and turned around to see Heeseung pointing a gun in his direction, “What the fuck! It’s just me!” he whispers, “Watch where you point that thing!” 

Heeseung groans, “Why the fuck are you climbing through the window!!” He snaps, pointing to the front door, “You know how to use that right!!” 

Jay just looks at his brother up and down, being able to tell he’s lost weight since he’s been gone. The three of them all probably lost weight. Heeseung’s red hair was now completely washed out, leaving some patches of a soft pink color and some blonde streaks. Cuts and bruises covered Heeseung’s arms. He looked rough, and Jay could only imagine how the other two looked, “You’ve been struggling, haven’t you?” 

Heeseung scoffed, “Yeah, no thanks to you, Mr. Wanted man,” Jay raised a brow and Heeseung just sighed, “We know what happened at the capitol. I’m sorry for what they did to YN. We all should have gone with you.” 

Jay just shakes his head, “No. I almost lost her. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost her AND you three.” Jay didn’t want to think about what could have happened. He was back home and was safe and that’s all that matters. Jay asked Heeseung how they found out. Namjoon apparently wasted no time in radioing to Jungkook. Which Jay already figured, hint why he climbed through the window. But Jungkook was furious. The whole safe zone went on lockdown for a few months, but when Jay didn’t return directly after five months, everyone assumed he was either dead or not coming back. Jungkook limited the access Hee, Hoon, and Jake got to outside the zone. Not giving them many smuggler missions and even halving their paydown. The three of them struggled all in terms of punishing Jay. 

Heeseung sat at the table and Jay sat across from him, “Where is YN?” 

Jay took in a breath, “At the caved safe zone.” 

“That’s where you’ve been for half a year?” Heeseung didn’t mean to add the venom that came out when he snapped at Jay, “You settled down with your girlfriend and decided we weren’t worth it?” 

Jay slapped his hands on the table, “That’s NOT what happened!” Jay looks over to Sunghoon and Jake’s bed, seeing them still sleeping, and relaxed in his chair, “I knew they’d be coming for me. And I needed to protect her. Needed to give it time before leaving to come back to get you three.” 

“Get us?” Heeseung asked, folding his arms over his chest. 

Jay nods, “I already figured this place would be on a tougher lockdown. Had to find our other secret way that even JK doesn’t know about. Mostly after I saw our main hole was drilled shut,” he sat back, “I kept the money they gave me to take her there. And I stole all the vials they filled with her blood for the cure. I have plans, but I need you guys with me. Those two months in that cave were only to help YN recover better. The three months of getting her to that cave were hell on her. After what they did.” 

Heeseung nodded, only being able to imagine what you went through, “So you want us to leave and go back to the cave with you?” Jay nodded, “Why did you even leave her alone?! What if Namjoon finds her?” 

“She knows how to use a gun,” Jay quickly said, “We both know that. I showed her all the exits and safe places to run to just in case. It was a bigger risk bringing her with me than leaving her.” 

Heeseung thinned his lips in a line, staring at the table and weighing out the options, “What’s this plan?” 

“We sell her cure blood to those in need. Sell all we have and keep our refuge in the abandoned zone a secret. We use the money we have from the capital and from selling her blood to use for goods, clothing, weapons, and whatever we need. We find another zone to smuggle for, probably with Soobin and his team, and just survive.” 

“Just like we always have,” Heeseung softly says, looking at Jay, taking a few more seconds to think it over, “When are we leaving?” 

“Right now,” Sunghoon said, dropping his backpack to the table, “You guys really don’t know how to fucking whisper.” 

Jay chuckles, seeing Jake right behind him with his backpack, “About time we spread our wings from this hellhole,” Jake joked. 

You stood outside the metal door, rocking back and forth on your feet, it’s been months, they should have arrived already. You walked in circles, then went back inside just to walk in more circles around the cave. You cleaned up a bit and laid down to take a nap, just to barely close your eyes but not fully being able to sleep. 

You stood back up with a sigh and walked back outside. Standing there for what feels like forever until you see them. You couldn’t hold back the smile as Jay, Heeseung, Sunghoon, and Jake walked past the gate. You broke out into a sprint. Jay dropped his weapons and backpack to the ground, bending his knees and spreading his arms out, catching you as you jumped onto him. His arms squeeze you tightly and his lips connect to yours. 

The smile his brothers gave you two makes your heart feel warm. Jay sets you down and pulls his three friends into a big hug before snapping orders for everyone to get inside. 

These people were your home now. Your family. Jay gives you a smile as he tangles his fingers with yours, after everything you two have been through, he was worth it and more. It was just your luck that you stumbled into his world. 

—tags: @alvojake @simpjaes @itachisloverlol @minseongsworld @heeseungshim @allysluvsworld @nyxtwixx @jjaeyunist @in-somnias-world @zeeloveshee @sunpov @xiaoderrrr @butterflywonie @sundoie @cmoundiamante @jentlecoeur @reign-reads @parksunghoonsgf @sparklovespink @wannieepisod @crimnalseung @ilikekpop-c @capri-cuntz @jwnghyuns @kimsunoops @blackhairandbangs @jjongswannabebae @lazy-miya @m3chigo @en-happiness @wonniethepoo @ikeuverse @woninluv @desistay @erehkinnie30 @peachystels @jinspinkflipphone @abysofsteel @randommmmmmvheusbs @minjaexvz @soobywiththebooty @wonryllis @shinrjj @star4rin @iheartjayke @0ctav1asstuff @jakeswifey @hanjisunginc @jinspinkflipphone @jungwonsbabygirl

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

[yeyinde]

dangle on the leash | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

The flimsy sarcophagus housing all his wants, his desires, cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant. Ghost cocks his head in consideration. Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger. But he's a rabid dog burning with the urge to bite. No one should really be surprised when he finally decides to sink his teeth into you. Unfortunately, that hail mary Price sent into the aether never reached you.

(your bird is too big for a cage— —but maybe a collar would do.)

this is a babytrapping fic lmao but please read the tags carefully. a companion piece to this (Price + babytrapping).

DEAD DOVE. SMUT. 18+

HARD WARNINGS—coercion. dependency. intentional alienation. unsafe, unprotected sex. this very much toes the line of noncon (that is still very dubcon even when consent is given) in many ways, notably: somnophilia, and condom/contraceptive tampering. intrusive, violent thoughts. mentions of violence. manipulation; slight gaslighting. implied kidnapping. references to past abuse (Ghost), brief mention of drugging/threats of drugging (ambiguous as to if it was ever followed through on or not, mostly just Ghost's internal monologue unfiltered). ADDITIONAL TAGS—smut. rough sex. unsafe sex. dom!Ghost. mean, obsessive, unhinged!Ghost. spit kink. dacryphilia.

he's feral, but he's yours. too bad for you, no one is really sure if that's a good thing or not.

One of the things Price often tells new recruits is to shove their old life into a box. 

“There's home,” he huffs, fingers twitching as if he's subconsciously flexing around the hilt of a lit cigar. “And then there's work. Whatever box you decide to put this, or your family, your personal life, into is your choice. But for fuck’s sake. Keep them separate.” 

Most of the new recruits are fresh off selection, shaded sickly chartreuse, and take his words as a literal gospel. Work, this; home, them. They don't start to unravel the second part of his gruff speech until much later. Until they can't wash the blood from their hands, and the scent of their mum’s eucalyptus hand soap is nauseating. Unfamiliar. When being in civvies feels like wearing skin that doesn't fit, and everyone around you is alien, foreign. They don't know. They'll never know. 

It's only when they find themselves gazing at the clock on the wall of their family home, counting down the minutes until their mandatory leave is over do they realise that home is the barracks. 

That's something Ghost has always understood. Maybe it was because his home life was already in ruins, tatters. Beer soaking into the knock-off Persian rug a cousin nicked from a flea market when he was nine. No fine china in the cupboards because it'll end up in shards on the floor. Plastic plates and forks and cups. Always. Howling in his head. Screaming from down the hall in his mum's room. His bedroom door creaking open at night. The anger, the curdling fear (shameful—be a man; punch him back, hit him before he hits you, you useless prick—), of not knowing whether or not it was his dad, high as hell and itching for a fight after busting their mum’s lip wide open, or Tommy sneaking into his bed at night because his is soaked in piss and he can’t sleep when they scream at each other like this.  

(Funny that, he always found; neither of them could ever sleep when it was silent, either.)

Blood on the linoleum. Trying to eat burnt toast and overcooked beans with a busted lip and a twinge in his jaw—

(Fractured, they'll say later, years later, during his mandatory medical checkup when he's first recruited. Healed all wrong. Son, didn't anyone take you to hospital?) 

He understands the separation between home and work—even if the former lost all relevancy nearly a decade ago. Back when he buried them all. Was buried himself—

What Ghost never really understood was the box. 

Shove it into a box. 

When he asks over cheap whisky somewhere in Siberia, Price tightens his fingers around his glass before bringing it up to his head. His index finger juts out. He knocks the tip of that bruised, scabbed knuckle against his temple. Once, thrice. Levels Simon with a pointed look he both can’t understand and somehow knows all too well. 

“Up here."

“Paid nearly fifty quid for that,” he grouses, shaking his head. “Think I've been ripped-off, Price.” 

Price scoffs, places the glass down with a hollow thud. “Don't be a fuckin’ muppet, Simon—” his real name makes his shoulders tense. Around the barracks, they know him only as the Ghost. “You put it away somewhere. Hide it. I don't fuckin’ know. But if it keeps you goin’, keeps you sane, and doesn't become a mess I gotta clean up, well—”

The implication is stark. Heavy. 

Price was always good at chiselling through layers of accumulated indifference to get to the madness within, but considering Ghost’s past and his mile-long rap sheet, the warning digging into his words like a dull blade isn't unwarranted. 

Old dogs, he'd called the pair of them when they first met. There was a sharp keenness in his eye when he lifted his hand, waved his cigar toward the tangled mess of scar tissue crisscrossing his face (made with a dull, rusted knife, one that gouged out deep pocks of skin, ugly fuck, looks like the badlands, don't he? like a postcard from the Grand Canyon, sweetheart. not so cute anymore, are ya, pretty boy—), and said, “well, you're fuckin’ rabid, ain't you? Better put a muzzle on that before it becomes a problem, mm.”

His problem, specifically. 

And Ghost gets it. Thinks Price might understand that particular brand of madness—despite growing up on literal opposite sides of the track, his Manchester to the others Liverpool; poverty and prestige—if only just. Because Price seems to be able to curb those baser impulses in a way Ghost hadn't yet mastered (and won't for quite some time yet). He's put together. Sort of. Respected. Normal.

The men in the barracks don't look at him and flinch. 

But he sees the way the man's eyes linger in the crowd, shrewd and careless, before falling on the pretty bartender in the back. The one with roses in her eyes and a smile full of dandelions. Soft, like butterscotch. It's here when they darken. When he reaches, almost angrily, for his whisky. Pats his chest with a heavy fist searching for his cigar. 

She's a sweet thing, he reckons. All pretty and trusting. Birds like her make his head itch—

“Don't even think about it, Simon,” Price grumbles, and it feels like territorial posturing, a challenge he almost raises to meet with his chin, if only to make Price fluster, but it's hollow. Empty. He denies himself, too. The prick. 

“How'd you do it?” He asks, and doesn't specify. Doesn't think he needs to. 

When Price swallows, it looks like a grimace. “Years of practice.” 

He considers the weight of it, his eyes straying back to the woman behind the bar. She's tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wrist delicate like bone china, the kind they could never afford, and for a moment, the intrusive thoughts, the ones he gets sometimes about wanting to tear things to bloody pieces, rears—

It's stamped down in a swig of flat lager You stupid fuckin’ mutt, Price would say tomorrow morning, shaking his head. You always think with your prick? 

Simon cranks his head sharply to the side instead. The resounding crack seems to echo through the empty pub. 

Price just shakes his head. “Christ. No one ever house break you, yet?” 

“Yeah, they did,” he rasps, staring at the bartender who gazes back at him now. Skittish, unsure. Not so sweet after all. She looks away, cowed. Her hands tremble. He leans back, and hums. “And now I piss outside, like a good ‘ol boy.” “Ain't nothin’ good about you, Simon. Fuckin' Christ—”

And he's not wrong. 

The Ghost has a reputation of being a cold-hearted bastard. A Frankensteinian beast cobbled together with spare parts robbed from a jailhouse graveyard. Worst of the worst. An arm from a mass murder. The leg from a spree killer. Heart a patchwork mess of ichor and sulphur. Sutured together with barbed wire. 

It's all sort of macabre. Rather trite, too. 

The rumour mill in the barracks is insatiable.

But sometimes, he wakes up and he's still buried. Still dead. Dirt in his throat, lodged in his nose. He breathes in and feels pebbles scraping his lungs. Feels worms in his ears. Maggots in his head. 

They crawl through his grey matter. Leeches burrowing into his thoughts, sucking the good in him dry. 

Or, whatever's left of it, anyway. 

He thinks with his teeth because it's easier that way. Cold, calculative instinct. Just barely boxed into a neat package slapped on the desk of Price's higher-ups. 

A good man, they say, and turn him loose on the streets. One of the best we have, as he breaks jaws, and tears through jugulars. A force to be reckoned with. 

They hand him a gun, a rifle, when the bloodied footprints leading back to camp become too much of a hassle to clean. Shoot from a distance. He takes to it like the bulk of metal was made for his scarred hands. Scythe to a Reaper. 

It feels like bloodletting. Draining him of his anger, his fury, until a cold, gnarled indifference curls in the basin left behind. Icy, frigid. Down to the bone. 

Sometimes, he doesn't remember what it felt like to be warm, even buried under a thick balaclava and layers of military fatigues. 

Frankenstein’s monster. Patched together from the rotten remains of horrible men. 

And as he stares in the mirror at the patchwork ruins of his face, his body, he wonders if there's some truth to it, after all. He's pretty sure if someone cracked his skull open—again—they’d find rot. Tumulus. Infested with maggots and worms. Cobwebs behind his eyes. In his nose. His brain perfectly preserved: a zombified tombstone. And oh, how it hungers. 

Wants. 

But in a box it goes. One shaped like a coffin. Placed pretty in the back of his broken head. 

He stares in the mirror and thinks he sees something moving under his eye. Wriggling around. The temptation to claw it out rears, but the shredded tissue on his thighs reminds him of what happens when he listens to that insidious hiss in the back of his head (some amalgamation of his old man, and that bastard—) and goes searching for gold in bone marrow. 

He huffs. Fingers curling around the porcelain. His head is rotten. Putrefied. He can feel the decomposing sludge press against his temples. It grows teeth sharp like a razor blade and hacks away at jaundiced bone. Ghost lifts his hand, digs his fingers into his temple. Down boy—

(Simon doesn't even want to consider what his heart must look like, then.)

Cold-hearted, sure—

But he likes sweet things. 

The kind that will undoubtedly give him cavities. A spillover, perhaps, when candy bars were too expensive, and the only dessert he was given was a toffee by the neighbour when she wasn't moaning to his old man about all the shit he and Tommy got up to. 

(Bruises came afterwards, the colour of liquorice. Sour cherries.)

Unfortunately for him, sweet things don't like him much—a shame, really. Simon has always had a sweet tooth. 

His rough edges are too sharp for their liking, and Simon's—

Intense. Like a dog with a bone, he doesn't know when to let go. When to unhinge his jaw from the morsel between his teeth. He bites hard. Shakes his head. Tears into the things he wants until it's bloodied meat pinched in his incisors. 

And so, they keep their distance. Like they can smell the rot on him. The funeral dirt. The stench of an unearthed sarcophagi. 

Sometimes, though, the wiley ones will inch closer, looking to get messed up badly by a bad man, and it makes something inside his head howl when he turns them down. Following Price’s creed. Can't give in to the pretty ones, he'd said. Nothin’ but trouble. 

Trouble, like a pair of shackles. A noose. Trouble, like gentle, clean hands and fragile bones. Fine china. Fine powder. The marshmallow soft kind of trouble that will melt in the acid that leaks from his pores. Aqua regia. Attacking anything that gets close. 

(Breakable, is what Price means. Pretty chew toys that are beyond repair once he's finished with them.

He must think Ghost is some sort of psychopath—)

But still. He stays away. It's easier on base, in safe houses, too far out from the general public to have to worry about doe eyes and soft touches. He doesn't need it, anyway—

Then comes you. 

And the forfeiture of his self-control. 

You're trouble of a different kind. 

Trouble, like the end of a sledgehammer. Trouble, like the grill of a car. The barrel of a gun. 

In the shape of a battering ram, one strong enough to dislodge the madness in the back of his head. Where the corrosive acid should ruin you, eat you alive, it doesn't. Not with your tantalum skin. 

But oh, do you pack a punch—

At first, you think he's homeless. 

Some scruffed-up man sleeping on a park bench outside of your apartment. 

In another life, he might have been. He isn't a stranger to bad habits, and had the military not been his only choice in life for some semblance of good (laughable, considering what he does for a living), he could see the threads of his life leading him here. Drugs. Manchester is good for it, this he knows all too well. Especially the shithole neighbourhood he's from. 

He doesn't clue into this, though, until you glance at him, warily, and then shuffle into the cafè he’s holed outside of, the place where his current target gorges himself on steeped tea and crumpets. 

(Price's dry text sits, open, on his burner phone: and don't fuck this up—)

It feels a bit like an omen. Made worse when you meet his gaze through the glass, and—

Well. Shit. 

The impact is a collision. Hitting a pole at top speed. Metal bent around concrete. 

His teeth ache (so, so bad—).

You emerge from the small building a few minutes later—the faded eggshell with chocolate trim is nauseatingly sweet against your pastel yellow raincoat—holding a takeaway bag, and balancing a tray of coffees in your hand. 

He tenses. It's instinctual. There's nothing about you that's an immediate threat to his person—unless you plan on adding to his scars with the tip of your umbrella, the scalding coffee in your hand—but it's odd, isn’t it? No one approaches him. Not unless they have a reason to. 

And no one, in his experience, ever has a good one. 

“Hi,” you chirp, disarmingly sweet, as you come to stand in front of him. His jaw aches. Even sprawled across a bench, you're barely looking down at him. Sticky, cold fingers tap a strange rhythm down his spine. “I, um, hope this isn't weird, but I saw you sitting here, and—well. I got this—”

You wiggle the bag. He smells something greasy. A breakfast sandwich, he's sure.

It's an unusual assassination attempt. Price will be livid. 

“What for?” He rumbles, sitting up in the seat. The shift of his bulk seems to make you nervous. You take a step back, and he fights the urge to follow. To back you into a corner. No escape. 

You regain your footing, even if the smile on your face wobbles. Weakens under his flat stare. Some people can smell the rot on him. 

He wonders if you can, too. 

(Pity that. You're a pretty bird, ain't you?)

And the way you take him in lacks a distinct thrum of hesitation, fear that’s normally there. It occurs to him, then, that you see him as just another man. Just another person. 

(“deader than a doorknob, this one. such a goddamn waste, boss. he was a fun one, wasn’t he? should we burn ‘em?” 

nah. bury him out back—)

It's laughable, really. A joke. He has the urge to crack one—sick and awful enough to make that little smile on your face wilt. Wither away. Almost does, too, but it get tangled in his throat when he feels the weight of your stare on him. 

The easy sweep of your eyes is barely discrete, but it's clinical. Pitying. But the softened edges of that empathy dissolve as your pretty head adds up all the numbers on him, coming to a standstill. Your eyes linger on his wrist. The gold of his wristwatch peeks out beneath the black sleeve of his hoodie. An intricate web of complex timekeeping that only he's privy to. A little luxury he picked up in Italy when the cash he'd been given was getting too tiresome to carry around. 

Dead men, after all, don't need bank accounts. 

And then—

You fluster. “Sorry, I just thought—”

It clicks, then. The pity. The soft words. The goddamn coffee— 

His gums itch. He has the sudden urge to be mean about it. Pick you apart in this street until nothing but embarrassment and humiliation remains. 

“That I was homeless? ‘nd you brought me, what? A coffee? ‘ow sweet of you. Some breakfast, too. Well, aren't you a lovely girl?” 

You are embarrassed. It blisters across your expression. Has your hands trembling around the cardboard tray, spilling droplets of coffee down the side. Your head is bowed, cowed in shame. It reminds him of that bartender some years prior. Pulling away when the bad dog growls—

But there's a thin sheen of intrigue in your eyes, burrowing holes into the shoes in front of you; a tangled knot of want coiling in the heat of your embarrassment over this blunder. Over offending him. 

Well—

That's new. 

Some get off on it. On humiliation. Specifically, of the public variety. He didn't take you as the type. The way you twist, squirming in place, is odd, though. It doesn't fit as well as he originally thought. No. It's not the public shame, but—

Him. 

Ah. 

Sweet, sweet girl. 

(So naïve.)

He reckons he could get you to do just about anything to make it up to him. You would, too. You're soft enough to be submissive, to bow your head in contrition, but there's a flicker of defiance in the jut of your chin when you lift your head. 

This is a blunder and you're sweetly embarrassed, sure, but it isn't enough to break you. 

And now Simon just wants to ruin you. Teach you a lesson about bad, vile men—

(Something you'd welcome with open arms, wouldn't you?)

“Didn’t know Manchester was so charitable,” he rasps. His throat is dry. Parched. He reaches for the coffee—black, with extra creamer and sugar on the side, tucked neatly in a little bag; fuckin’ hell. Ain't you just adorable—and places it on the spot beside him. “I’ll be takin’ this. Will need it for later.” 

You look like you want to protest. Fight back. His hackles rise, ready for it—eager. Something anticipatory, dark, bleeds through the moulted mess of his head. Sickly. Terrible. He thinks about what you'd look like sprawled under him, shaking and begging for more, for him to stop—

Fuck. Birds usually make his head itch, but you make his fucking skin crawl. 

In the end, you just huff. Roll your eyes. He wants to chew them out of your head. Pop them between his teeth. He bet you'd taste divine. 

You walk away from him before he can. You don't look back once. 

Pity, he thinks. Someone's gonna snatch you clean off the streets like that—

Hours later, he sends Price a text message with the coordinates for where to pick up the package Ghost left. 

He considers it a blessing when the man sends him back, good job, now get a pint from me as a little reward. Can't say I don't treat my team well. 

A reward, huh? 

Well. With your stature in comparison to his own, Ghost easily can see you being considered a pint. 

So, he follows you home, and tallies this one as being on Price. 

It's easy. Too easy. He slips deftly behind you, tucked away from view, and masks his footsteps under the echo of yours until he's standing in the shadows outside of your house. This, too, feels like a blessing. It's a duplex. He waits for one of the lights to flicker on, and—

The window brightens. Room number two. 

He hums, and palms his pockets for the pack of smokes he nicked off the man. Needing something to take the edge off. To quell the urge to bite. 

It's even easier to engineer meetings. Random run-ins. All blamed on happenstance, chance. Of course. This towering mountain of a man with his thick manc twang—the sort of gallows humour that can only be found in the blue-collar streets of Salford from the nasty old men squatting on the corners—must have better things to do than stalk you. Surely. You're not special enough to be hunted, right? 

Still. You're a touch wary of him. Distrustful. You keep your distance—six inches for Jesus Christ, aren’t you a peach?—and try to skirt the line between neutrally polite to the strange man loitering outside of the shops you frequent (your schedule burned to his memory, naturally) and that fascinating skittish intrigue from before. All simmering heat. Blunt want. The kind wrapped up in silk threads. 

It's interesting to watch it play out when he steps closer and all those long-forgotten instincts in the back of your head flare up. The shaky step you take back. The inward frown of confusion when you're not sure why your body craves space, acting almost on its own. And then the sweet defiance that breaks over you. The intentional step closer. The feigned warmth in your tone as you talk to him.

It's easy to pocket the uglier aspects of his personality. The coldness. The indifference. The flat, droll insincerity that leaks into his tone. All of it shelved, locked away, and he's not sure if Price would be happy that he listened to what he said, followed his example, or furious that he's bastardising it to lure this pretty fish in.

)The latter, undoubtedly. But Simon gets a sick kick from it all.)

Especially when it brings you closer to him. Thaws you as you rationalise his reaction during the first meeting, gears spinning. Kicking up excuses. 

Anyone would be angry, offended. It's natural. He's alright now—

It makes you look at him differently as you forcefully fight the urge to flee. 

Silly bird. 

Wary eyes rake over his massive bulk. Brows furrow at the series of black medical masks he wears in public. Always. That, in addition to the heavy black of his wardrobe—black jacket, black hoodie, black leather gloves—sometimes makes you glance at him with a touch of worry. Fear. Probably wondering if you brought home a delinquent. 

But it changes when he rolls up his sleeves one day after you've been moaning about your broken beach cruiser (the, I don't know, chain—or something—keeps catching—), and crouches down to fix it. 

There's a hitch in your breath. A distinct swallow. A guilty tinge of something shy, deliciously so, shading your eyes ruby-red when you look down at him. 

And ah—

Sweet little treat snagged on the line. Ain't he a lucky lad? 

It's all the better when you do the work for him. Reeling yourself in, practically throwing yourself in his cooler when you ask about his tattoos, carefully—considerately—nudging the topic away from his ugly scars. 

He guts you clean as he tells you he's in the military. Top secret, pet. Don't ask because I'd hate to ‘ave to hurt a pretty face like yours—

You preen under it. Pet. Pretty. You don't even notice when he slides his knife over your scales, dices you up on his chopping board. 

You're the picture of sweetness when he unkinks the chain in your bike, and sets it straight. All happiness. Smiles. Appreciative glances. You flutter your pretty eyes at him as you say—

“Thank you—”

You're waiting for a name. His belly rumbles. He could eat, he thinks, and licks his teeth. 

“Simon. Simon Riley.” 

The risk-reward ratio is balanced when you breathe it out between plump lips, chasing the end of it with your tongue. He wants to eat it out of your mouth. Swallow it down. 

You touch his arm, hand warm, soft. “If there's anything I can do to pay you back—”

He takes you out for a kebab later on. Nudges you out of the way when you open your wallet to pay. Draft girl. Naïve, too, because he can feel the heat in your cheeks from where he stands, reaching over to snatch the bag from the man with a grunt. 

You must think him quite the gentleman. So trusting. 

Doesn't matter. He lets it take root. Especially when you shyly invite him back to yours to eat. 

He makes a feast of it, and fucks you on your mint green chaisse after he's finished. 

(Not on birth control, you say, and hand him a box of condoms, suddenly shy. It's unopened. He hums, and burns that to memory.) 

He keeps his distance—an easy feat when he's halfway around the world, and you're stuck in the gloom of Manchester. 

It's purposeful, of course. He made a promise to Price not to give him a reason to worry, but fuck—

You're proving hard to quit. He's never had anyone cuff him upside the head on his bullshit. Not anymore, anyway. Not as the Ghost. He likes the thrill of it, of this chase. 

You don't let him steamroll you when he's in a mood to fight. You punch back, hitting him right in the mess of his guts, and fuck. Fuck. He's a little bit obsessed with it. With you. This wily little fish that acts so shy when he's got three fingers buried in your cunt, but rides him after like you're starving for it. Clawing at his chest. Scratching his arms. It's raw. Primal. He wants to break you—this fiery little kitten that bites his fingers until they bleed, and then purrs in his lap as he drives a pickaxe through your head, shredding logic into pieces. Rummaging around until he nicks the optic nerve that lets you see red. 

You’re everywhere. In everything. In the back of his head, under the howling that hadn't stopped since you trailed your finger down the jagged topography of his bare chest, digging your nail into the crude x across his heart, and whispered, soft and sweet: you're all kinds of fucked up, aren't you? 

A bludgeon to his self-control—

He resists. Has to. Is mean about it, too. Doesn't tell you where he's going (it's need to know), or what he's doing (would ‘ave to bash your pretty ‘ead in if I told you), but keeps you strung on the line (keep thinkin’ about that pretty cunt of yours; can't wait to come ‘ome and ‘ave you sit on my ugly mug—). 

It's dangerous, this game of his. Thrilling for all the wrong reasons. 

But he’s a good mutt. Good—

Until the text. 

The one you send to him when you're out with friends. A picture. You're in a pub somewhere in Moss Side, a drink in hand. A gaggle of nobodies crowded around you. It makes sense, he supposes. There's that old idiom—you’ll trap more flies with honey—and he doesn't know anyone nearly as sweet as you. 

His sweet girl.

(you fuckin’ mutt—)

Ghost stares at you for a moment, teeth aching. The little ensemble—a crop top and jeans—is a vision, he reckons. But it's spoiled when he catches more eyes on you than pointed at the camera. Practically spilling out of your top, aren't you? 

He breathes heavily through his nose. Tastes guncotton in his throat. 

Ghost commits every face to memory, and then calls you. 

You're drunk. Too drunk to remember it tomorrow. Stuck in a pub on what's supposedly a bad part of town. Chatting away about going to your friend’s house. He gets the address, and something sour twits in his stomach. Shit council houses. 

“That safe?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. He's already chubbed up in his slacks at the slur in your voice. “And dressed like that? Didn't take you for a slag—”

It makes you sputter on the line. “I'm—I’m not—”

You're so quick to placate him. So hasty to make him happy. Please don't be angry with me, Simon. I'm just having some fun—

The claws and fangs are tucked away when you're drunk. He shoves the information in the cache, eyes burning. Head aching. He's feverish. Hot under the collar.

Odd considering he's dead—

“Sounds like you will be.”

“It's not like that—”

“‘ow would you know? Might meet a nice fellow. Might take him home.”

“I don’t—I wouldn't—”

The sniffle makes him throb. Fuck. “Yeah? Well, ain't none of my business, I reckon—”

“It is.”

“Oh? How's tha’?”

“I—I like you, Simon—” he can taste your embarrassment through the phone. He didn't even need to bring you flowers and you're already boxing him into monogamy, confessing to him. So sweet. So tender. If he were a better man, he might have told you to sober up. To talk about this tomorrow. 

Too bad for you, he isn't. And what’s worse is that he’s a loyal bastard, too. 

But that's later, and right now—

He's halfway across the world, and you're vulnerable. In the den of hungry mutts. 

It’s charr in his throat. Anger in his veins. “You like me? An’ you go out dressed like that?”

“There's nothing wrong with how I'm dressed—”

He sucks his teeth. “Dunno ‘bout tha’, pet. You look like you're achin’ to get fucked.”

You take a shuddering breath. “I just want you—”

“Yeah?” It's a growl. His cock spits prespend in his trousers. “Then be my good girl. Go home and wait for me.”

It's quiet on the line. He catches the hitch in your throat, the sharp exhale, like you can't really be sure if he's serious or not. He says nothing. Waits. 

Where there would have been a fight—fists and teeth and snarling words—you quieten in the silence. Docile. Submissive. It's in you, he knows. He saw the glimpses back when you first met, when he'd bent down and fixed the bike he broke. All it needs is a little—

“Jus’ worried about my sweet girl, is all.” 

And you relent. 

Corrosive oil spills out of the necrosed holes in his head. It curls over his thoughts, liquid sin. He takes himself in his hand, blood pulsing in his veins, white-hot, damning, and bares his teeth at the urge to come to you, to push you down on the floor, and mount you like a snarling beast—

“Good girl,” he growls when you tell him you'll call a taxi, that you'll go home and have some wine with your friend instead.

Friend. Friends. 

He'll have to do something about that. 

(The thing about deprivation is that it bleeds into a vicious sense of possession when it's finally obtained. Greed. His wants have wants, have wants—

A perfect ouroboros. One you feed into almost destructively.)

Because the thing is—

Simon wants to tie you to his bed. Keep you locked up in the safe house he has in Manchester. Chained, shackled. A prisoner with him as your iron guard. 

It isn't just fantasy, either. 

The flies that congregate around you are an annoying, incessant buzzing in his ears. Remora clinging to the biggest fish. 

But they're easy to scatter when he waves his hand. 

(Waves off. Threatens with bodily harm, with physical aggression—

Same thing.)

The sting in his knuckles and the blood on his shoes are worth it in the end when your tantalum skin cracks. An aggregate of beautiful lines, pretty in their fragility, their brokenness. He wedges his fingers between the splints, widening the chasm to pet at the sticky-soft centre hiding beneath all that rough rock. Sweet girl. Hard candy enclosing taffy-softness. 

His coos melt you to the consistency of mercury. Liquid silver pebbles along your lash line, spilling over in a dizzying display of raw vulnerability. 

It makes every predatory instinct inside of him bristle. Locking onto the sweet lines of crystalline sadness that run down your cheeks. It has his heart racing. Eager, anticipatory. The thrill of the chase, of running you down into the ground until you're fine powder under him. 

And it’s there, it's in his arms—the maw of a beast—where you seek comfort, lamenting the loss of your friends, your coworkers. No one wants to hang out with you anymore. They don't return your calls or answer your texts. 

What did I do? You sniffle, throat bared. Belly turned up. 

Flooded with tears. The lachrymal face that peers up at him makes his teeth ache. He rolls his head back, feels himself thicken in his pants. 

Simon loves it when you cry.

“Fuck ‘em,” he rasps, words sticking to his dry throat. “If they can't see what a catch you are, then they don't even deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

It makes you cry harder, makes you mumble into his chest about how lucky you are to have someone like him. Someone who cares. 

His breath hitches. Warm floods his veins, fever-hot. 

“Thank you, Simon—”

And then you, smooth silver and wickedly sweet, cradle him in your palms as if you could hold all the broken pieces of him together. 

He thinks it's cute. 

Doesn't really have the heart to tell you it's a lost cause.

“Anytime, pet.”

And you're perfect, too.

You take this mangy mutt into your house, and let it eat your food, sleep in your bed. You let him fuck you stupid, and listen so prettily when he convinces you to let him spoil you. Let him pay your rent, your bills. Let Simon dote on you the only way he knows how—mercilessly possessive, and a touch cruel, mean—but you roll over, showing your belly. Submissive and sweet. 

It's even better when you try to lash out at him with a collar in the shape of his teeth branding your neck, spitting and hissing like a feral cat who doesn't know yet that's claws have been clipped. Only to then curl up in his lap, purring as he strokes your fur, and carves out a place for himself in your life. 

He wants to sink his teeth into you, and you think he's a big dog. Undomesticated. One who comes and goes as he pleases. A stray. A mutt. 

It's said fondly. Full of love—

His mouth is full of cavities. His teeth ache. His gums bleed. 

(do you know he's rabid? that the faded name on his dog tags once read cujo—)

Everything about you makes that sludge flood behind his eyes, pounding rotten fists against his temple. take, take, take; mine, mine—

The howling doesn't stop. It tells him to press you into the mattress and fuck you stupid. Tie you to the bedposts and never let you go—

He throws fists in the dark, trying to hit the madness in his head. Ends up with bloody knuckles and laughter in his ears. 

(a voice of reason says, your bird is too big for a cage—)

He clings to it. 

You're warm beside him. Burning hot. He syphons it from your veins when you're asleep, pulling you close just to feel something on his skin other than dirt. Other than blood. 

It's easy to pretend he's fine with these little nips. Leaving teeth marks in your neck. Bloody rings snaking up your thighs. 

He wraps one hand around both of your wrists, holds them high above your head, and tells himself it's enough. Shackled by him, under him, as he takes you apart, pulling at your sense of independence like the gnarled fingers of winter bringing defoliation to summer's bloom, but even with this, all of it, he still aches. Still wants. Needs—

Stupid fuckin’ mutt. 

Then you bring his hands up to your throat, letting him wrap his bearish paws around your delicate neck, and he knows these little bites will never satiate the hunger in his guts. 

He wakes up the next morning feeling warm. Full. Edges softened, if only just, by the sticky sweetness of your breath ghosting over his chest. 

Simon curls his arm around you, holding tight.  He won't let go. Won't—

Hide it. Put it away. 

Ghost does neither of those things. He buries it, instead.  

But in doing so, you find cracks in the foundation. Ones that are just big enough for your willfulness to slip through. To hand him back the cash he gave with a scoff, and a, i work, too, you know? i don't need your money, Simon. that's not why i’m with you—

(All he hears is, I don't need you.)

And then you send him a text. I'm going out with friends from work tonight. We're going drinking. I'll talk to you tomorrow! 

In the zombified remains of his head, a new howling starts. The hisses tell him you're pulling away, running from him—

It's a big world out there. It'll eat you whole—

Like Tommy.

The thing about want is that sometimes it grows teeth, hands. Claws. Without a body of its own, it tends to mould itself after its maker because that's all it knows how to do: devour, consume. Yearn. 

He shouldn't be too surprised to find that this need of his has dug itself out of the grave he buried it in. 

(he did, too—)

The flimsy sarcophagus cracks open when Price announces that his missus is pregnant.

The howling in the back of his head stops abruptly. The pulsing ache in his temple abates. It's heavy, this weight. This absolute, utter emptiness—

No. It's not hollow. The chasm isn't drained, it's—

(In the silence, something growls. Feral. Possessed.)

—full. Perfect equilibrium. All of the patchwork parts of himself, the ones that don't quite fit, suddenly find synergy. 

Communion. 

Ghost cocks his head in consideration.

(your bird is too big for a cage—

—but maybe a collar would do.)

—after all, could you ever leave him with his name etched into your womb—

In leaving the key under the mat for him to come and go as he pleases, you've left yourself vulnerable. But—

Not anymore. 

He has a safehouse he'll take you to. You'll let him, too, because it'll be the best choice for you. The three of you.

He's never entertained any ideas of family, not when the closest approximation he has is drenched in gun oil and smells of smoke from artillery fire, but the howling in his head quietens at the idea of it. He can't shackle you to the bed—stupid fucking mutt—but he can tie you down all the same. Make you his. Wholly. Always. 

And the thing is—despite a pickaxe making figure-eights out of his grey matter; lead poisoning and rust giving him these sour, awful thoughts about locking you up in his house, leaving you a needy mess, dependent only on him—Simon supposes he knows right from wrong. 

Intentionally knocking you up is amoral. Probably illegal. Somehow, even more dastardly when the reason for it is simply selfishness. Want. Greed. Hunger. 

But in carving himself a place in your life, he failed to realise that the walls behind him closed in. No way out. And so, his only option is to go forward. To keep moving.

He'll be crucified for this, but that's fine. 

He doesn't intend for you to find out, anyway. It'll be an accident. He came home early, and found you drunk. Drank with you. Your drunken idiocy merged, creating a terrible, noxious cocktail of awful, bad choices. Permanent ones. Irreversible. 

(You're so sweet, so docile when you're drunk—)

It'll be easy to convince you. To play the part of a stoic man suddenly in turmoil. You'll offer to get rid of it, a suggestion that he'll flinch at—a cornered dog, a hand raising in the air. You'll whimper. Shake in his arms as you tentatively smooth over the wrinkles in his brow, murmuring out your options in a stilted breath.

You'll be a Riley before the end of your term. It's only proper, he'll mutter, stiff and uncomfortable, and you'll melt. Liquid tantalum in his palm. The fruits of his labour laid bare, seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tucked tight between his teeth. Mercury he can swallow down, keep in the bracket of his rotten ribs. Safekeeping from this world that just takes. Devours. 

But not if he eats you first. 

The mere notion alone serves as an anchor, locking him to the seafloor. The tumult in his head calmed at the promise of owning. Biting to claim. To have. Greedy for it. For you, and the strange sense of quiet your proximity brings him. The warmth, too. 

He's a rabid dog. This he knows—has known—for quite some time. Indisputable. It pools in his mouth. Liquid sin. Makes him ache for just a sip. Unquenchable, though, because he's wary of water. Hydrophobia, but only for how it washes his efforts away. Cleanses. 

The urge inside of him to bite, to infect, quietens when he gets closer to you. 

(a rabid mutt licking at the window you're on the opposite side of, dreaming of just a taste—)

A byproduct of that maddening virus in his veins, the one he must have picked up six feet in the ground. Bite, bitebite—

—and give you a collar in the shape of his teeth.

He finds you in bed. A bottle of wine on the end table beside you, courtesy of your friend. The one lingering remora he couldn't snap at—one who sends you messages about how you are being manipulated. Taken advantage of. Fuck that loser, the latest one says when he picks up your phone, scrolling through the dwindling conversations housed within. Just him now, and them. 

It preaches about empowerment. About how you shouldn't let a man pay your bills (textbook manipulation. he's putting you in a position of dependency. making you feel obligated to stay. it's all on Google, babes. like, fucking get a clue!!!!), or how it's moving so quickly (maybe you should come stay with me in Durham for a bit, hun. get away for a weekend. i worry about ya, is all). He hums, thumbing through the old chats. 

You told her to fuck off about the manipulation, but it came after a lot of, oh, yeah. well, he's just. you know. he's different, and you haven't declined the invitation. i’ll think about it, is what you write. 

It simmers under his skin. That independence he plans on stomping out under his heel. With his kin. 

(sick, sick sick, wrong—)

It's desperation, this. Clawing at the walls—the dirt—until his nails are torn off his fingers. Until his skin splits, peels. Broken under rock and rubble. That animalistic need for air. To breathe. Basic training tells him not to save the person drowning unless he's sure they won't kill him in their struggle to live. But what's he supposed to do when that person is his rotting body, sinking down to unfathomable depths? When all he has is you to cling to—

Damnation built by his own hands. 

You'll die together, he reckons, and tosses your phone on the hamper in the corner of the room. 

Ghost can't remember the last time someone made him feel anything at all other than impartiality. Indifference. Casual apathy. 

Price is the exception to this on the grounds of being consanguineous to him.

And you—

An outlier. 

One he intends on sinking as deep as he can with. Anchored, maybe, by this little plan that beats and pulses in the back of his head. That clogs his throat with a want so thick, he can already taste the brine from the ocean. Water in his nose. Down his esophagus—

Better than dirt, he supposes. And it spurns him forward.

You're malleable like this. Tensile. He bends you easily with just a touch until you're flat on your back, a pillow shoved beneath your tailbone, and stripped. The loose shirt you wear to sleep is hiked up under your neck. Panties are pulled off until your sweet, bare cunt is revealed to him. All pretty and soft, and his. Untouched, he notes, and gives an appreciative stroke over your clit with his thumb. 

It was something you were whining about the other day, panting in his ear as if he wasn't a continent away. Pleading with him on the phone to please, please let you come. 

Simon likes the way you cling to him when it's been a while since something has wrecked you as thoroughly as his cock. When your spoiled pussy was neglected for a few days, weeks, and starved for attention. You were so sweet to him then, cooing in his ear how good you've been, how much you want him and only him, need him. Begging so prettily for it. 

He's almost sad to spoil himself in your cunt when you can't weep for it. Can't bully him closer. Try to claw his eyes out. That delicious push-pull where you hiss at him for pulling away, but whine when he gets too close. 

Sad, but—

Not enough to stop himself. 

You're not wet enough for him to slide inside unprepared—his cock too big, something that makes his bones tremble—and he rectifies it by leaning down, letting saliva pool between his teeth and lips. He holds it there for a moment as he spreads your folds apart with his thumb and forefinger. 

And then he spits on your bare cunt. 

It hits your clit, the thick glob siding down your slit. He reaches between your thighs, pawing at you. Slides his fingers through the slick mess he made, teases around your tight rim. 

Simon usually likes to take his time with you. Lapping at your pussy for hours until you're a weeping, snot-nosed mess whining in the sheets. Spoiled rotten. Begging him to fuck you already, Simon, you can't take it anymore—

He's mean. Cruel. Edges you for hours until your legs shake, trembling around his ears. He never lets you reach that peak—doesn’t let you come until he's buried inside of you. 

Coming on his tongue, his fingers, is rarely a privilege you ever earn. Too much of a spitfire, a spiteful little kitten, to give in and do what he demands. So he keeps you on the precipice until he's ready to fuck you, ignoring your bribes, your bargains. Simon doesn't give in even when you beg, when you relent and tell him you'll finally be good. 

You never are. 

Spoiled, he always huffs. Down to the fuckin’ bone. 

Like now. Pulling away from him. Him, the only person in your life who stuck around. A little bullying (bones breaking, splintering under his fists; the wet, hot smear of blood on his hands, skulls smacking against the pavement—an’ if you tell anyone, he cracks his battered fists and it sounds like a snarl, a gunshot, your parents will be cryin’ over an empty grave—) shooed the gnats away. He took a more clandestine approach to others. Birds that kept circling you tight. Protective, shrill. They made his head ache, but—

(don't want to start nothin’, but i don't want to be alone wit’ ‘er. tried to kiss me, is all. ain't like that, pet—)

It was a test. And they all failed. All but him. 

Yet—

come to Durham. 

i’ll think about it. 

Ungrateful. It's his fault, though. Simon doted on you too much, cosseted by his affection, when he should have clipped your wings from the beginning. 

Ah, well—

Lesson learned. 

You're wet enough now. He pushes in two fingers, scissoring them apart. You'd be yowling at him, kicking up a fuss if you'd been awake. But you're not. It thrums through him. Thick, heady. He likes you like this—probably more than he should. The heat simmering in his veins bubbles. Pops. Sap on charring wood. It clogs his throat with his smoke until it burns, a dry forest fire. 

He needs you. Needs to be in you. He's tired of waiting. Impatience burrows into him like a maelstrom. 

Simon adjusts his hold on your leg, fingers curling behind your kneecap. Steadying himself. His fingers slip out of your cunt with a sloppy squelch that ghosts across his spine. Anticipatory. A touch anxious. He wants you. Wants you bad—

He takes himself in his hand, and slides the weeping tip over your slit. Taps it once, thrice on your clit. And then guides it to your centre. Your warmth bleeds into him. Eager, he shuffles forward. Feeds you his cock. Eyes drilling into the place where his head slips in, swallowed by your sloppy, wet hole. The glands make you stretch around him. Rim pulled taut. 

The sight alone must have been crafted by some Luciferian dream, dangled before him in the shade of nirvana. 

take a bite, it urges. and then take more—

Like this, passed out with your legs hitched over his shoulders, drooling into the pillow unawares, you're just a doll. 

Made for him, and—

“Fuckin’ hell—” He presses into you—cock splitting tight, warm heat—and tries not to lose himself to the sensation of being bare, raw, inside of you. 

—“A perfect fit.”

It's always been condoms. You're not on birth control. Ink blots in his eyes. He goes a little feral with it. Instincts unleashed. Unfettered. 

Simon bullies his fat cock into you until his hips tap the back of your thighs, buried as deep as he can go. It's molten heat cocooning him—a warm embrace. For the first time, ever, he thinks he understands the meaning of home. Sliding home, in particular. 

(Welcome home. Home. Home. He'll make a house out of your body. Sleep inside the brackets of your thighs, head pillowed on your chest—)

As good as you feel around him—slick, wet, and tight—and as much as he wants to saviour the sight of you, passed out on the pillow, cunt split by his cock, he has a goal, a mission, to see through. 

His hand falls, slick and tacky, to your lower belly. Palm pressing against the subtle bulge in your abdomen, the outline of his cock. You always whine and hiss that he's too big for you. That you can't take him to the root. 

Hurts, you complain, hand against your naval. Fingers knotting over the place that aches. 

He presses his fingers there instead, feeling himself under your skin. Changing your anatomy to make room for him to fit—

It lights him in fire. Spurns him on. He bucks into you, pace sloppy, clumsy. Selfish. He's unrelenting as he splits you apart, drilling the full length of himself into your supine body, supple flesh relaxed under him, practically melting into the sheets. 

The thread keeping his resolve, his self-control, sprung up tight begins to quiver. Each piston into you has delicate fingers drumming across the strings of a harpsichord. It reverberates through him, echoing in the stifling, suffocating, silence of the bedroom, overtaking it. Clouding it with the musk of his desire, his devotion to you, to this dream blooming in the prison of his mind. 

Everything narrows into a needlepoint. 

There's just your burning flesh beneath him, softer than it's ever been; pillowy. Welcoming. And the sounds of him fucking into you—lewd squelches, slick and wet; the sound of his cock finding home in the basin of your spread thighs; his heavy breaths, his groans and growls that seem to rattle the bed. The noise breaks, an incomplete requiem of sin in his head, and he loses himself in the lulling notes, dragged under in the bestial beat of taking what his—

A sudden noise shatters through the room. Beneath him, you stir, gasping wetly. The sound mangled in your throat. 

There's confusion in your sleepy, hazy gaze when you peer up at him, lashes clumping together. You moan, whimpering, as you struggle to latch on to the threads of cognisance that he's content to fuck out of you. Your hand lifts, falls to his wrist still pressed against your lower belly. The grip is lax, loose. You’re not pushing him away, but clinging to him. Centring yourself. 

It makes his blood thicken. Has him burning red-hot. 

“Wha’s a’matter, pet?” He taunts, grinding his cock into you hard enough to make your dazed eyes water. Your hand tightens around him, holding steady. “Don't like it? Not fuckin’ you hard enough?”

“Simon—”

His name tapers off into a keen when he angles hips, and starts pistoning into you with a mean, merciless fury. The desperate noises that spill, unhindered, from your slack mouth is the perfect accompaniment to the lewd sound of him fucking your sopping cunt; the piece he was missing when this started. His requiem, complete. 

It's a serrated blade to his self-control, already frayed and threadbare as it is. The pressure makes it snap.

“C'mon, sweet thing. Thought you wanted this?” 

There's a place in hell just for him. It's sealed when you blink your tired, sleepy eyes up at him, mind a slurry of lingering somnolence and the heady alcohol on your breath, and offer a shuddering whimper. Always so soft for him, so agreeable when you’re drunk. 

“So’ry, Simon—”

You can barely string words together. Poor, pitiful you—vulnerable under him. Breakable. Malleable. Anyone else could have tricked you into this same position when he was away. Got you beneath them like this, compliant and unawares, and took what belongs to him. 

(The only thing in this destitute existence he claims for himself—)

Not anymore. Not ever again. 

It's almost callous when he grinds into you. Hateful. Brutish. Furious. And dazed as you are, you barely even flinch at the snarls that spill, unfettered, from the back of his throat. The low groans of him making promises with devils unknown; constructing shackles from brass, iron. 

Entrenching his future in motion, cupped protectively between the parentheses your thighs make around his hips. It's almost a vicious sort of poetry, one laid bare in the odious ruins of that broken thing he calls a heart. Etched into his rotten pericardium. Necrosed devotion. He'll see it through—however noxious, and putrid, you might find the miasmal stench of it spun tight in his web. 

It's for your own good.

And as if you agree, you answer him in perfect euphony, moaning sweetly as you tilt your hips up for more. 

Ghost groans low in his throat, bestial and spinning rapidly out of his control. He feels everything spinning, slipping; the trudge to the finish line narrows into a pinprink. He needs something to cling to, to hold on to with broken hands—

The only purchase he finds is in your demise. 

His hand lifts, shaking yours loose. He reaches up, fingers dig into your chin, forcing your pouty mouth open. You blink at him, sluggish, but he catches the thin gossamer of awareness spooling thin cobwebs over darkened crevasses, covering the canyons in your eyes with cognisance. It makes him leer. 

“Stick your tongue out, pretty girl,” he rasps, words sticking together, muffled under the mask. Crushed aggregate stone under the weight of his own desire. “Tha’s it. Open up nice and wide—”

He lets spit gather again, pooling on his tongue. It's degrading, you always say. Gross. But you swallow it down like a good girl, anyway. Always. You come at him with fangs and claws, but somehow, you always merge in a perfectly dizzying polyphony. 

Ghost spits on your tongue. Lets it land right in the middle of fleshy pink. A sick, twisted pleasure thrums in his veins at the sight. 

There's checking the boxes of an established kink, and this. Horrifically proprietary. Ownership that ignites a fire in his marrow, setting him alight from the inside out. Turns bone into blackened char, cinder. He can almost taste it on his tongue. 

It's made worse, turned frenzied, when you—sweet, perfect, you—bracket it protectively in the curve of your tongue. Completely dazed, head filled with a heady slurry of somnolence and alcohol, but still aware enough to know, even if only through muscle memory, what you're meant to do when he spits in your mouth. 

If anything, you're more obedient like this. Little doll. Coddling it lovingly, this little piece of him that he gives you. 

And it might be the madness speaking—these fraying thoughts take on a vitriolic edge, corrosive aqua regia pooling in his throat—but Christ. He's been stabbed in the guts, repeatedly, and it somehow packed less of a punch than this. 

He wants, wants—

Family never crossed his mind, was never even on the table or something to be considered, but with you it brims. Blooms in rot. Roots in tenebrous. 

He has this insatiable urge to devour you whole so you'll always be with him. The waves of his desire are monstrous. The waters below are rapacious. A gaping maw eager to eat you up—

Pity it’s not an option. 

But he’ll make do. Buy a ring tomorrow. Something pretty that matches your eyes. The curve of your smile. Sanctioned ownership. A collar in gemstones and gold, glimmering and shining bright enough that should any light fade from your gaze, it’ll illuminate in the gloom; twilight made in sorrow. The prettiest blues—

Said eyes water. Ghost’s hold on your face relaxes when you give a muffled keen, cheeks bubbling up against the pressure. Tongue still stuck out even as he takes his pleasure from your supine flesh. Suspended in motion, stasis. Such a good girl for him—

He swallows. Tastes poison, rot, on his tongue. “Swallow.” 

You're a little sluggish, a little slow, but you follow his command all the same. He knows, then, that it could only ever be you. 

No one gets under his skin like this. No one makes him itch, want, crave, as much as you do—

You make a face, twisted up in some amalgamation of pleasure and confusion. It nudges the ruins of his chest and feels almost like a heartbeat when it pulses in his flesh. 

“Simon, Simon—”

His name is all you can say, and he's not sure if you're begging for mercy, or muttering it out into the scant air between your heaving breaths like an obsecration, an orison, but he eats it all the same. Bites down on your pleas, your cries, your prayers, and chews them up between fangled teeth. Takes them down into the swirling pits of his belly where they're eaten alive by what grows in the decay.

(belly full of dirt:

he heaves, and heaves, but nothing comes out even though he can taste humus in his throat, feel worms using his organs like a playground—)

“Somethin’ you want, pet?” He taunts, and shifts his hips back just enough to drag a few inches of his cock out of your drenched cunt. A tease—cruel and mean. He’d get lobbed upside the head for this had you been in your right mind. A tap to his temple, shaking the cobwebs loose. He would have bent down, and sunk broken teeth into your jugular. Merging violence with love until bloody knuckles feel like a kiss. “All you ‘ave to do is ask. Use your words, pretty thing—”

You whine, low and drawn out. A lazy whimper in the back of your throat. “Pl’se—”

You can barely speak. Tongue too thick. Sleep too heavy in your veins. Alcohol, too. A lesson, perhaps, for his willful little pet come the morning when you struggle to measure just how deep into his gullet you’ve let yourself fall. 

He can’t help rubbing salt into the shallow cuts, if only because he likes the way you pout. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can do better’n that.”

And damn him—damn you—you do. Your hand curls over his wrist, pulling it close to your mouth where you place a kiss against his palm. Tender. Chaste. Midnight blooms in your eyes, casts shadows under pale moonlight. His breath stutters in his chest when you lean your head back, letting his hand fall to your bared neck. 

Your heavy, lidded eyes gaze back at him, cutting through the shade of night that sews the air like satin. Etched in the file silk is threads of trust in stark white. The kind that bleeds for him; hungers. One that aches, always tender like a bruise. The throb of it echoes between mouldering ribs. Booms between his ears. 

Ghost doesn’t fall into pieces. Doesn’t shatter. No. Something in the splintered remains shifts. Settles. He wraps his fingers around the thick of your throat, thumb notched tight against your pulse, and he feels complete. Whole. Remade from the ruins. 

Your breath hitches. The sound is a gunshot in his ears. He squeezes down, a gentle press. Just enough to make the air spill out of your lungs, to let your eyes water. Lachrymose, eager. It does something to him when you cry. He feels tipped upside down, torn inside out. Left all askew, asunder. He wants to drown in the pebbling river growing against your lashline. Wants to drink it down until it quenches his neverending thirst. Wants, wants—

He feels his name spill from your lips. Brassy and broken, trembling against his palm. A plea—

More.

And he gives it to you. 

Simon hitches your ankle on his shoulder. Adjusts the grip he has on your throat. He settles over your body, blanketing you under his bulk. Stygian beast devouring the maiden whole. The thought amuses him even as it knocks the air from his lungs. 

He anchors himself into the mattress with his knees, steadying himself, curls his other hand around the iron ring of the headboard. All the while, you look up at him—glossy eyes burning coals in the dark, in the gloom. Wanting, hungry. Mouth held open as if you’re waiting for his scraps—

And then he bucks into you, the leverage giving his thrust a savage edge. 

The whines are snuffed out under his palm. Your eyes widen, tears now spilling down your temple, soaking the pillow below your head. 

He groans, head rolling back. “Fuckin’ hell—ain’t you a pretty sight?”

Tucked under him, throat swallowed by his palm. Split on his cock, slick and wet. The tears streaming down your face makes him feel wicked, foul; but the spit running down your slackened jaw quells any doubt. The hand on his wrist holds him tight, tighter still, to your flesh. 

You want this. His spoiled rotten bird.

So, he gives it to you.

Simon’s almost ruthless when he snaps his hips into yours, cooing viciously into your ear about how you feel, how you look, how you sound—so pretty wrapped around him, under him; his little doll—

“S’where you belong, pet—” guttural words spill, flintlike and savage, from his mangled throat. Reinforced with the hateful way he blugeons his cock into you. Times it perfectly with the firm squeezes against your jugular, never letting you catch your breath. Your eyes roll back, legs trembling. Shaking. But you don’t move, don’t struggle. The hand on his wrist is a shackle, and it makes him smirk, scars pulling up in a gnarled mess of mirth; ugly and mean. “Right where you belong. Ain’t tha’ right?”

He leans down, babbles nonsense into your temple. Promises you the heads of gods, the ichor they bleed. Swears he’ll build a shrine for you in Durham.

But for as mocking as these words he murmurs into your ear are, they’re tremulous. Raw. A current roars beneath; a steady stream, a plea, all full of need: stay, stay staystay—

(please)

He buries his nose into your hairline to stem the ravening ache in his guts, breathes in the heady scent of you—of sex, and wine, and sweat. Drags it into his lungs in harsh, angry gasps to stain his skin with the smell of you. Of him. 

It goes right to his head in a heavy rush until he’s dizzy, almost sick, with the swell of it flooding in. An animal, he thinks, drunk on merging pheromones that make him mindless. Unfettered. 

It’s as if he’s driven on instinct alone; his frenzied pace ebbs, grows sloppy. The air around him feels thick. Syrupy. Stifling. The balmy breath in his chest is nearly as unbearable as it is addicting. Sickeningly sweet. Still—

His chest expands, taking as much of the potent miasma into his lungs as he can, filling them up, up, until he feels the edges threaten to brust. It’s only then, when ink moults across his vision, that he lifts his head just enough to shove his mouth against yours, a broken snarl ripping free from his throat as he forces the infectious air into your mouth, down to your lungs. Polluting you with the same sickness. The same rot. 

Little hiccups tumble past your lips as you swallow it down, taking everything he gives you, and he catches them on his tongue. Plays with them between his teeth, basking in the salty tang of you—brine, loam; peatsalt. Ashes, guncotton. Molasses. He’s not sure if he wants to drown you in him, or crawl into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth that pulses around his tongue like a heartbeat. 

Both, maybe. Everything. All of it. 

Always—

But he’s chasing pleasure on fumes. Trying to run with broken legs. There’s nothing refined about this. About the way he cudgels the head of his cock into the places that make your mouth twist away from his greedy lips in a silent scream. His weight is crushing you, he’s sure, but you cling to him harder, holding him tighter. Almost afraid to let go. And fuck—the notion alone is a kick to the chest, harsh and heavy. He nearly gags on the litany of broken moans spiling out of his mouth, landing on your tongue. 

Driven mad, maybe (or pussy-drunk, and high off of his own poison); but in that madness, he discovers this:

Nirvana exists between your thighs. 

Home, too. 

(well—

not yet.)

Pleasure fissions down his spine. The paroxysm taking him deeper into the battle-worn depths of his demise until the walls narrow, closing in. Crushing. No escape. But—

He won’t climb out of his hole he dug. Not until he makes a bed from your flesh; shelter out of your bones. He wants to ingrain himself as deep within you as he can, arsenic subsumed down to your marrow. Poisoned with the fill of him, too sick to let go. 

(Bone nausea. 

A death sentence.)

It metastasises inside of him, filling the barren spaces up until it leaks from his pores. 

He wants it: this dream so tantalisingly close. 

Simon lifts his hand from your throat, and reaches out, grasps at it with a shaking paw—

All it takes is a few crass, careless swipes of his calloused thumb across your clit, cock angled toward that spot that makes you rake your broken nails down his back, yowling in his ear for more, there, please, Simon, please—

You clench like a vice around him. A pretty bow tied up at the base of his cock. He bows over you, grunts spilling from his chest as he sinks his teeth into your nape, splitting skin btween his teeth. The warm, ozonous tang of your blood flooding his tongue is euphoric, eclipsing his mind in a haze of pleasure that crackles and burns at the base of his spine, spitting smoke up his body and into his skull. 

The harsh whine you let out—all prey, all animal; wounded, stuck under his muzzle—has some part of him, basal and inborn, rearing up. Roaring in his ears, ripping talons across the jagged remains of his head. 

(mine, mine, mine—)

He answers your scream with a growl, one caught in the smoke clogging his throat. It sounds inhuman when its wrenched out of his mouth—more animal than man: the devastating howl of a forest on fire—but the feel of it vibrating between his teeth is connatural. Innate. It belongs between his incisors; fits like a puzzle piece in his broken muzzle. Unleashed now. Finally free from this ill-fitting cage he housed it, this goddamn box—

Cobbled together from palm ash and brimstone, ichor and salt. Sewed up with copper sutures in the shape of a man for a perfect fit. 

Every cell in his body screams that he was made for this. To be over you, in you. Maw filled with your blood. Pussy stuffed full of his cock. 

He might not have clawed out of the dirt for you, but this mossy, gnarled lump in his chest beats now only for you. Apodictic. Ironclad. His teeth in your jugular, your life pulsing wetly on his tongue. 

It’s his apotheosis. His end. 

His hips stutter. White noise in his head. It drowns out the shrill screams, the hisses. Everything is just—static. Pleasure of a silent kind, humming, buzzing, and molten. Ghost buries himself inside of you as deep as he can, until his cock is fit snug against the plug of your womb, and lays his claim by branding it with the potency of his name. 

Tidally locked, you’re dragged down the summit with him, tumbling to your demise. Too dazed, too wound tight in his arms, his embrace, to see the jagged rock at the bottom of the hungry chasm thirsting for your blood, you just cling to him. Refusing to let go. 

(silly girl—

His pretty little perigee.)

His body aches in ways that cruelly remind him of his age. Joints stiff, stomach quivering. His knuckles sting when he unfurls it from the headboard, skin pink and raw from the tight hold he had around the metal. 

It’s made worse when he heaves a harsh breath, and pulls away from you with a long, drawn out groan. He settles back on his haunches, eyes searing into the space between your thighs. Messy with his spend. It dribbles down your slit, your ass, pools on the sheets below. 

Your chest shudders, legs splayed out how he left you. He thinks, viciously, of gazelles, and wonders if the blood he feels drying on his mouth looks anything like the muddied mane of a lion after eating its fill. 

“Fuckin’ hell—”

He should clean you up, hide his crime, but he burns the image of you into his head (another tattoo over scar tissue), and drops to a heap beside you. The moment his back hits the mattress and all thoughts of moving are erased in silk, in smoke and clover. 

Chest heaving, slick with sweat, he feels the thrum of his victory in his veins. The high of the chase abates, and he nearly purrs with contentment. Hangs his pride on a pedestal, and doesn’t think about the absence of any guilt. Doesn’t even entertain the thought, not when victory dries between your thighs. When you roll over with a huff, reaching out for him. 

It's as if you're trying to bury yourself inside of him, crawl into the safety of his ribs. 

Ghost grunts, feels his sensitive, spent cock give a feeble twitch on his sticky thigh. The idea of you, blissfully unaware, seeking comfort from the man who writ your body with his virile spend, irrevocably changing your life and entwining it so deeply and so messily with his own that to severe either of you from each other is nearly impossible, floods him with satisfaction so deep, euphorically heady, that his chest seems to shudder. Resounding with some amalgamation of a purr, a grow, so utterly primal, that he sounds more beast than man. 

His roots run deep within you, now, and every misaligned piece of his patchwork body seems to sag and shiver in an almost perfect parallelism. Congruence ascertained with the cupping of you between its mismatched maw. Shackled in a baleen prison. Nestled, safe and sound, between white teeth. 

Ghost pulls you close, holding tight, and hums. As you drool on his shoulder, dripping with his spend, he knows he'll keep you there forever, until you're nothing but bones. 

There's a cloud of confusion hanging over you the next morning, a twinge of uncertainty gnarling across the gaps in your memory. The pieces of a puzzle that belong to a different set. He watches you scramble through them, filling in blanks. Oscillating so deliciously between wariness and discontent. 

“‘morning,” he greets, as if his spend hasn’t dried on your thigh last night. Tucked up nice and tight against your fertile, unprotected womb. As if he couldn't taste brimstone in the back of his throat when you wince as you walk, achy and battle-worn from the weight of his desire crushing you all night. 

“Morning,” it's a sticky rasp in your throat. He wonders if you taste him on your tongue. “When did you get in?”

“Las’ night.”

You nod, but it's absent. Flickering through the timeline of events that aren’t drenched in black, shaded over like a heavy bruise. Your expression is fractured. Raw. Pensive. Something untouchable, unchartable, and yet he reads you as plainly as the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup. 

You don’t remember. Don’t know what to make of this chasm, this fissure, that looms, icy and deep, before you. There’s no anger, though. You don’t demand recompense for what he stole, what he took. The lashings he deserves are tucked quietly between your teeth. Hidden under layers of normalcy to prevent yourself from seeing him as is: a beast. 

“Well, um. Some homecoming, huh?” You joke, but it's hollow. Flat. Fragile like fine glass. You're digging for more. Rooting around to connect these vague, absent dots that linger, lost in the vacancy of your memory. 

He almost purrs. 

He wants to chew you up. Spit you in the palm of his hand. Maybe tuck you in his breast pocket, nestled against the lump in his chest—the one those silly enough to dream might call a heart. Keep you there forever. Hidden in the barrel of his loaded gun. 

“Bit rowdy.” 

It’s horrifically vague, but you cling to the prevacation he proffers to you; a lifeline in the turbulent sea, letting it overwrite the absence, the itching in your skull that must be clanging on the walls, begging for you to run. 

“Sorry,” it's sheepish. He knows the ferality in which you sometimes come at him when he's buried deep inside you is something that makes you twinge with embarrassment. Little kitten clawing at the old dog trying to get it to play. Rolling over immediately when it growls. Docile, sickeningly sweet.

But even naive kittens know to watch out for the frothing, foaming maw. 

“Did you use a—?”

He dips his chin. “I might ‘ave.”

And you take it as gospel. As truth. Why would Simon have any reason to lie to you about this? 

Relief shudders over your shoulders. You relax, inching toward the seat across from him. Gazelle making a home for itself in the lion’s den. 

The spell of unease is broken, now, and you quickly fill the chasm with chatter about your day. Your plans. Asking him how he’s been. 

You shove at the warning signs until they’re hidden away, and ignore the bones of your brethren scattered around you. All because you trust him. 

He aches with the urge to crush it between his teeth. 

And he will one day soon, he’s sure, because it’s just as easy to enact his plan as it was to get you to open the door. 

It starts with him convincing you to drink with him after dinner. Jus’ a glass. Got this fancy bottle. Reckon we should ‘ave some. 

But—

Can’t drink forever—no matter what his dogshit dad thought. 

So, he pokes holes in the condoms you hide in the bedside table, a little wary now. A touch fretful about your contraceptives in a way that makes him preen. You have good instincts, but rarely do you listen to them. Your head must be filled with sirens, but it's futile, he supposes. He's already stuffed cotton into your ears. 

It only feeds into that gaping chasm that bellows up from the depths that this world is not good for you. That it will tear you into pieces, into shreds. You need him. Need the Ghost to protect you. 

Case in point:

You’re needy beneath him, panting and mewling into the sheets as he teases your clit with his thumb. So wet, it almost feels like hot oil on his skin. Syrupy thick. 

In your desperation, you cling to him, throat bared. Fragile fine china. Belly up. Vulnerable. 

You barely notice when he pulls off the condom, crumpling it up into a ball and shoving it in the pocket of his slacks.. Don’t even react when he shoves his bare, raw cock into you. 

You don't even notice. 

(or when he slurs in your ear about how badly he wants to knock you up—breed his pretty girl until she’s stuffed full of him, making life with what he offers. salvation in the form of creation. ain’ tha’ a thought? he huffs into your ear, humid mirth curling over your skin. a stain. and the way it unfetters you—tightening around him, gushing slick—he finds his answer, one reinforced in the rolling of your eyes as your common sense, independence, trickle out of your ears and down your slackened jaw—)

And when that fails, he just slips you a sleeping pill. There's always an easier way to the finish line, he finds. 

(stupid fuckin’ mutt—)

Nothing bleeds from the cracks he wrought, or slinks from the shadows cast by his machinations until weeks later. 

Life just goes back to what it once was—Simon coming and going, letting himself into your home with the door you leave unlocked. You go to work, and chatter aimlessly about this vision you have about a home in the countryside, near the ocean. Saving up—uselessly—for sheep and goats, and the sought-after Highland cows. Chickens and ducks first, you say, and barely notice when his gaze drops, drilling holes into your stomach. Watchful. Leering. 

He can almost scent the change on you. Nose pressed to your skin; bloodhound sniffing the ground. 

Ghost keeps time in the slow, susurrus drawl of your voice sifting through the cotton in his ears, waiting for those precious decibels to catch on, to tilt up at the end as your eyes skim the calendar he keeps scratching x’s across in red, almost delicate, innocent even though it's from his sanguinary hand. A countdown to something you haven’t yet caught on to. 

And it’s all so sweet. 

—the waiting game, the subtle changes, the desperate way you cling to normalcy—

Sweet, like the way you carve this life out for yourself, filled with stuffed animals full of idealism. So much so, that it's almost bitter. Acrid. He watches the light glow in your eyes as your plans take shape, moulding putty between your hands, and like a pit viper, he coils in on himself. Frenzied. Fearful—

But only just. 

The excitation has run its course. He’s drifting, languid, into his scheme. Content. The notion of you slipping from his fingers is a thought that rarely crosses his mind these days, especially when that house on the prairie grows from an occupant of one to two—

“And, you know… when you're not out saving the world—” your eye roll and air quotes make his lips twitch, tugging at the scar tissue, the acid burns, splashed across his mouth. An ugly fucking Pollock. “—maybe you can come visit.”

“Never fancied myself a rancher,” he drawls, just to watch you squirm. Brow furrowing into a deep ravine as you struggle to make your intentions known without actually giving them sound. Skirting around the issue of wanting him there, of planning a home with him. 

(Too much, maybe? Or too soon—? 

if only you knew—)

He finds it charming, really. 

Still—

“It's just a thought,” you mutter, downcast. He wants to choke on your misery. Your sadness. Drown himself in your anger. Float in your happiness. 

Fuckin' Christ—

All this playing daddy in his head has thrown him off his rocker. Made him soft. Sentimental. It's probably why he yields to you. Offers a lazy shrug and another smarmy twitch of his lips. 

“Sounds like a plan,” and the way you brighten is a dagger to his chest. 

And the thing is. It does. It sounds like a dream, a perfect vision. Just—

Maybe not in the way you'd want. 

He's been looking into places unmarred by human hands. Ghost towns, uncharted territories. His home here isn't perfect for it, not like the vast geography of Mexico. The uninhabited wilderness of Canada, places so remote that it's almost untethered to modern civilisation. Islands of forest, mountains, all on their own. 

Vast corners and crevasses where someone can disappear and never be found. 

But those won't work in tandem with his flighty lifestyle. While he plans on keeping you barefoot and pregnant (common sense in the back of his head screams that he's foul, vile, monstrous—), he will continue to work. Has to, really, to avoid suspicion. 

So—

Home it is. 

But he gets inspiration from the Highland cows you coo on about and purchases a plot of land in the Western Isles. Gives this whim of his—yours, really—a concrete foundation made of the abstract. The filament provided by his newly christened Sergeant—an overeager mutt that bleeds warning signs from his pores. 

(don’t get close, reactive dog. will bite—

the little mutt is a great pyrenees, ain’t he?)

But bless Johnny’s bleedin’ heart, he thought as the man prattled on about this cabin he owns. A place of solitude. Could fire a gun and no one would even peek out the curtains. Beautiful, the way all of Scotland is. The highlands, he breathes in that shade of catholic madness only the dutiful soldiers of god's right-handed wrath can be, is where he keeps his home. A place chiselled from stone, surrounded by wilderness that eats tourists alive. 

(he didn’t ask at the time why Johnny was so keen on finding these places scattered around Scotland, ones with little traffic and a nearly negligible amount of souls within the vicinity, but he finds its best not to get too close to mutts crossbred with wolves.)

But Simon is nothing if not devoted, and so. 

You’ll get your fantasy ranch in the middle of nowhere. Your highland cows, your billy goats, your chicken, sheep, and ducks. A baby in your arms, too. One that shows its hand the next morning, dashing all your carefully laid plans. These paths of independence of yours run parallel to his whims but never converge. There’s the potential in this for these fraying threads to split, and diverge. Separate. 

(But it’s all put to rest at the sound of you heaving in the adjoining washroom. His path eats yours until it’s overtaken. Consumed. 

The evasive, unfettered little bird trammelled, caught. Wing-clipped, and all his.) 

Any misgivings the part of his gyri not buried under the frothing mess of his polluted grey matter might have is vitiated by the unwavering certitude that, despite his own gains in this, it really is in your best interest. 

And maybe it's something that should have come earlier in your relationship—however threadbare that word is in conjunction with the unhinged desire blooming in the pit of his chest; madness masquerading as love or some obsessive, desperate facsimile of it. Maybe a proper man, a better one, might have dug down and fully laid out the reality of intertwining your life with the living dead. That the idea of danger, death, and revenge are all everpresent threats scratching at the walls of this sickeningly sweet fantasy you wrap around yourself. 

He’s a dangerous man. A creature of devastation—manmade, bent into, or congenital is yet to be unearthed—which, in itself, brings about a certain lifestyle. One with fewer people around, and always shrouded in secrecy. Friends, family—none of that matters when death curdles gnarled fingers around his jugular. 

You’ll get used to it. Eventually. The only other choice is to let you, his now flightless bird, go. Released back into the wild vulnerable and reeking of his stench. 

You’ll be devoured before daylight, ripped into pieces—only if they’re feeling generous, that is. 

Simon has his own twisted remora. Ones with claws and fangs and a hunger that runs deep. Insatiable. Any scraps that fall from his mouth are devoured before they can touch the sea floor. They’ll crush you in their maw and dangle your mangled body from the gaps between their teeth. 

You’re not made for the wild. Not anymore. You’re meant to be protected. You—this fragile, delicate thing. He’ll hold you close, keep you secure and safe in a mausoleum of your own making. 

This little glass jar domicile. 

A billet in the mountains. 

He’ll fill it with the finest things—silk linens, fine china; mahogany and teak, pink ivory; a bed of soft, downy feathers, sherpa, Egyptian cotton; (sticks and stones and grass and moss). Buy you whatever you need. Chickens and ducks. Sheep and goats. 

They’ll keep you company when he’s away. 

(and if that fails, he can always plan playdates for you with whatever dirty secret Johnny’s been keeping tucked away in the woods.)

He draws an x in the empty, white box of the calendar, the tip of his red marker gliding silkily across the glossy surface. Something unfurls in his guts. Blossoms in his bones. There’s an almost indescribable sense of satisfaction—primal and animalistic—that grows from the upturned dirt in his head. Life composted from rot. 

Ghost hums to himself when he turns, the sound nearly a purr—bestial as it is, suffocated under sulphur. It reverberates through his chest, trembling across the brackets of his ribs that expand with his deep, heavy inhale—breathing in the sight that greets him like a lover’s kiss

The kebab he ordered lays untouched on the table across from the television—some trashy reality show playing in the background while you tried to eat; a dating show, you’d said when he merely shrugged, having other things on his mind over what to watch while you ate. It all seems to be preserved in time. Frozen in on the exact moment when you’d sniffed the döner kebab he got for you—the same thing you order each time—and then promptly wrenched yourself back, gagging. The sandwich was flung back in the takeaway box before you slapped your hand over your mouth, rushing into the washroom. 

If his phone wasn’t in the other room, he might have taken a picture. A little memento to remember this moment. Framed it in iron and perched it on the desk they gave him back in Hereford, the one just down the hall from Price. 

(ah, speaking of—he’ll have to send that caustic bastard a fruit basket, or something, won’t he? maybe some pretty flowers for his lady.)

His reverie is shaken when the door to the washroom creaks open slowly, and you emerge through the gap with sweat on your brow, knots across your forehead, and a shaking hand resting over your churning stomach. 

Shame, he thinks. He really should have brought his phone—

You lean against the wall, taking in deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself, confusion and worry knitting over you like a thundercloud. It tastes of ozone when he inhales. An approaching storm. In the blue gloom of the living room, illuminated only by the light flooding out from the washroom behind you and the static glow of the television, you look etiolated. A wilting flower. 

His budding rose. 

He coos. “You alright?”

You glance sideways at the kebab on the table, mouth pinching into a grimace as if to stem the nausea still rippling through you. You stare at it for a long moment, seemingly trying to make sense of the reality sitting in front of you on scratched, old pine; confusion runs laps over the dawn cresting in your eyes. This puzzle is too unfathomable for you to piece together; the keys and slots all askew. 

The air around him grows still. Silent. Anticipatory. A tiger crouched low in the tussock. A little fawn roaming too close. 

There’s a heaviness in your eyes when they flicker back to the wall where he stands, drilling holes into the x. Something implacable frissons over your threadbare expression, fracturing across sallow cheeks. 

The air is electric. It pulses across his bare flesh, irritating scar tissue, acid burns, and scorch marks. His skin prickles at its whisper. 

“Feelin’ sick, pet?” He ponders, playing pretend. He’s viciously, deeply amused at the desperate denial splashing across your cheeks. The thin shade of askance that unfurls like the leaves of a flytrap when you look at him. “Mus’t’a been the kebab. Bad meat, I reckon?”

You offer a weak nod in response, pinching your lips tight together. The matter seemingly concluded, brushed aside. Pocketed for later. 

And you say nothing else for the rest of the night—gaze unseeing, turned inward; pensive—but he purrs in contentment as if everything was alright, sprawled across the couch with his head pillowed against your churning stomach as if he could hear the whisper of another heartbeat from within. 

In the saturated blue light, he catches your eyes listing toward the calendar every so often. Wary. Nervous. He thinks you might say something, might ask, but you don’t. It’s caught on a stilted breath. A harsh swallow. 

All you do is bring your hand to his shorn head, and raze the stumps of your clipped claws against his scalp. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soothe the madness from within. Scratching that itch deep inside until it goes away. Gentle hands play pretend and dress up as a panacea. Affection to scrape the illness away. 

He thinks you should know better than that, even as he leans into it with a soft exhale, more relaxed than he'd ever been his entire life. Content. Unassailable in his conquest. 

Simon has always been more scar tissue than man, and no place is damaged more than the upturned tumulus inside his head. 

But oh. How you try—

His sweet, sweet girl. 

The look you give him the next evening is, in parts, brumous. 

A polynya of dread, worry, guilt, fear that frissons across the deep valleys in your eyes, shaded in plumes of darkness, filled in deliciously with the weight of your beleaguered uncertainty. It yawns out before him, this heavy gloom. 

So close he catch the embers in his hand. 

“Simon… We should—talk. I, uh—”

You hold up a little rectangle, dismay, misery, etched in the blue tinge spreading across your face. It seems to steal the words from your throat, turn them into ash. What else are you meant to say, he supposes, when you look out at the world now from the gape in his maw? 

But there’s a veil of wonderment that hides below the tidal wave; this precious, deadly, undercurrent that rents the air, splits his chest in two.

The happiness, however meagre, thin, it is right now (just a sunken boat on the seafloor), is there. Ripe for salvage, and he sees that it’s handled with care. Cupped between his palms, nurtured by his own conviction to do what’s right, an’—fuck, pet—know this ain’t what we planned, but—

but:

The howling quiets, turns to a low growl, and then a susurrus hum, when you shakily utter the words he was waiting for. 

“Yes, Simon—”

You shudder when his fist closes over your wrist, pulling you into his purring chest. Shaking like a prey animal in the jowls of a beast, bested and ensnared. It has a profound, almost predatory, sense of satisfaction curling over his bones. He knows this was the right choice, and is sure, in time, you'll come to realise that, too. You’re in the early stages, he knows. Prodromal. You need to be handled with care to curb the lacrimation, the hyperesthesia. 

And there’s no one better than him to guide you through the throes of it. To lead you to the unequivocal end. 

He leans down, and whispers in your crown—

“Good girl—”

—and the sound of his voice is gravel encased in sticky, sweet honey. Dark, smokey molasses. The very same cadence as a key sliding inside of a lock; metal grazing metal. Turning—

“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Tommy.”

Click. 

(he gives you that ring he promised when he takes you to the mountains. you smile wide, and tell him it fits like a gyve.)

Simon stops shovelling his want under the cold dirt and starts burying it inside you instead. Makes a domicile from your flesh; a place where he can rest his aching head every night until the howling scraping down fractured bone stops— (paralytic)

[rafeysdoll]

thank you @hewwokitti for helping me out!

“i need you to talk to me, okay? use your words.” rafe stresses, hand scratching his forehead, a vein popped out. “just.. just calm down and take a deep breath—” “don’t tell me to calm down!” you interrupt, snatching away your hand that rafe tried to caress.

the oldest cameron takes a deep and long breath himself, tongue prodding at his cheek as he practically feels the already little patience he has leaving his body. he lifts his hand, taking a step back. “stop shutting me out. you need to listen to me, i’m only trying to help you.” he prompts, staring at your figure. “i’m on your side, okay?”

“i want you to explain to me why you’re freaking out on me,” he persists, trying to piece together any little puzzle piece to why he found you sitting on the edge of his bed with your arms crossed and refusing to let him even touch you.

but you only turn your head to the side, ignoring him. ever the stubborn girl you were sometimes. usually you were a good girl, thanks to the tight leash rafe always had you tied to as well as his strong and firm hand that pushed you back in shape — but he had been fairly busy these past two weeks. running around and doing business he swore you couldn’t join him in. it was only natural for your attitude to grow sour, at least you thought so.

rafe grits his teeth, the sound of him fiddling with his belt filling the silence. a tactful move to, in his words, remind you who’s boss and what he could do. “hey, hey. i’m fucking talking to you, don’t forget your manners. my.. my patience is already up here.” he states, even talking slower than usual in hopes it would really absorb into your brain. lifting his hand and leveling it above his head, a makeshift scale.

you grumble, stomping your foot as you feel the fight in you crumble. “yeah, yeah. that’s what i thought. you gonna tell me?” he emphasizes, nose flaring.

your vision grows blurry, tears quickly collecting in your lash line as you whimper, face twisting to a deep frown and furrowed eyebrows — shoulders deflating. the sadness quickly entered just as fast as your anger left you.

“oh, oh come on baby.” your boyfriend strains, taking swift steps to approach and sit besides you. “none of that. none of that.” he urges, gripping your jaw and making you look at him, quickly wiping away the tears that fall.

“it’s just.. well i just missed you.. and-and,” a sob cuts through your sentence. “.. it’s been so lonely!” you continue, looking up at him through wispy lashes that now stick together.

rafe sighs, kissing your forehead. “let it out,” he mumbles against your skin. “i’m right here now aren’t i?” he tried to reassure, licking his lips. “yeah… but, what about tomorrow?” you sniff, bottom lip trembling. “don’t worry about it, always take care of you one way or another, don’t i?”

and it’s true! he follows through with his word, spending the following day letting you cling by his side without break — making up for the time he wasn’t available. but of course, everyday can’t be like that. so he surprises you with a small kitten in the end of the night to keep company when he can’t.

[screampied]

Needy reader x Sukuna? Where she's been being bratty cause he's been busy, and he needs to put her in her place? Orgasm denial until he felt the reader learned her lesson? I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD BE SO HOT

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ TEASE ME, PLEASE ME ! ’﹒⺡— SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

☰ warnings. fem! reader, modern au, brat taming, unprotected, ōrgasm denial/edging, doggy, dirty talk, praise, dumbification, mdni.

an. yes

you were annoyed, to say the least.

all you knew was that you wanted more, more of sukuna. yet you had to be a good girl and wait. it irritated you, the simple fact that he was on the phone. as he’s talking, holding the phone right up against his ear, you drag your feet towards him, propping yourself down right on his lap.

“tch,” he mutters, cutting off from his words before pulling you close towards him. you lean into his touch. falling back against his chest, a hand then grabs onto your thigh. “sit still,” he says, almost reading your mind. knowing you, you’d do the entire opposite, which you certainly end up doing. sukuna lowly grunts, feeling you jerk your hip right up against his sweats, specifically against his bulge.

he’s been on the phone for how many hours—you lost count. but you were aroused, just his smell was enough to get you off. to have your panties coated in nothing but your own pathetic wetness.

“yeah, ‘m listenin' yeah,” sukuna rasps, tilting his head towards the right, trying to focus back on the topic. due to you messing with him, his mind was anywhere but the current discussion at hand. knowing that made you smile, giggle aloud and all. albeit, sukuna overheard and he’s sending you straight daggers near the back of your skull. he breaks away, lowering his tone before retorting, “glad ya think this is funny. jus’ wait ‘till ‘m done with this call, little girl.”

his voice only makes you more excited between your legs, you were indeed a brat. never taking him serious…

one of the many things he found annoying about you. how you were always giving him sass and back talk, yet he also found that trait about you partially amusing.

mainly due to the fact in how he’d always be able to put you right back into your place. like today.

he clenches his jaw, feeling you grind up your ass against him. sukuna groans, getting hard from something as facile as this. he tells you one thing, and you just do the exact opposite.

“get off the phone, ‘kuna,” you’d moan, pitching your voice a tad bit - purposely making your voice loud for whoever on the other end of the line to hear. “i want you.”

“i told ya to wait,” he snarls, and you let off a gasp once he starts to bounce his thigh. propped up on his right thigh, your moans started to get a bit whiney, nails digging right into his pants leg. leaning back against his chest, you teasingly try to reach into his sweats before he smacks your hand. “don’t try me. be a good girl ‘n wait.”

“you t-take so longgg,” you’d babble, practically grinding on his leg by now. the sheer fabric ghosting against your panties felt good, but it wasn’t enough. you wanted more, you needed more. to be stretched out, stuffed entirely full, it was all you ever wanted. “fuck me, ‘kuna.”

sukuna clicks his tongue, you were already testing his patience.

speaking of patience, it was running thin. very.

“sorry, sorry. i’m here,” he grumbles, and the bouncing of his thigh only gets more intense. you moaned, feeling yourself throb before hiding your face into his neck. it felt good, but the stimulation wasn’t enough. you wanted more and he knew it too. the way your breathing patterns gradually changed. “yeah, my uh .. pet’s bothering me. keep talking.”

it seemed like his phone call lasted forever, yet that’s when you ended up cumming right on sukuna’s thigh. your legs shook violently as it was so unexpected.

it made you spasm, and you were quite loud too. it was apparent whoever was on the other line heard you. sukuna’s jaw clenched, and you throbbed once you slowly look up to see him glaring straight down at you.

“fuckin’ brat,” he grouses, and he hangs up the phone, mindlessly tossing it elsewhere. you have a near smug grin spreading on your face, but it all changes once sukuna shoves you off his lap to instead bend you flat over his desk. “spoiled little girl. told you to wait ‘n you can’t even do that?”

“s-sorry, ‘kun—”

“girl shut the fuck up ‘n bend over for me.”

you grow quiet, not even asking questions.

he found it pathetic how you were so quick to arch your back. so willing, you moaned — feeling a rough hand kiss against your ass, the sting…

it made you bite down on your lip before you hear a bit of shuffling from his sweats. right after giving your rear with a spank, he caresses it lovingly to make you feel each individual nerve.

“this what you really want, huh? for me to be mean ‘n bend you over like this, princess?” he rasps. you let off a soft moan, feeling sukuna’s sharp nails softly run against your skin.

“y-yesss.”

“dumb girl, ya weren’t supposed to answer.”

whilst you were bent over the desk, sukuna doesn’t waste any time to make his way inside of you. you wanted him so bad.

you wanted far more than just his boring thigh. just imagining his thick cock easing its way inside of you, it had your head spinning.

he had so much girth, you’re salivating at the pure image of feeling him stretch you out like he always does. holding your hips up so he could bounce you on his cock — all until you’re just stupid fit him. eyes rolled back, tongue lolled out, his ultimate favorite descriptors.

“such lazy posture, can’t even bend for me right, tch.” and he’s clearly mocking you.

mocking you with how you tried to sit up a bit but he makes you lean down further. your breathing hitched once sukuna brings his tip towards your slick, puckering entrance. he groans, watching the way how you’re trying to quickly swallow him.

it amuses him, you amuse him.

you swallow thickly, feeling him grab both of your wrists back. he holds onto them with one hand, another gripped around his length. “s-sukuuu,” you slurred out, feeling his plump tip brush up against your slit. the strings of your own mess voluntarily coating his dick just from a few love taps, it makes him insanely feral.

sukuna likes studying you like this, from behind more specifically. the way your muscles would retract. the perfect position to see your ass go back against him, the recoil.

he loved the recoil.

“want attention, i’ll give you attention, girl.”

you’re completely speechless the moment he gradually goes inside, showing somewhat of a decent courtesy at helping you adjust to him. yet once you’re all good. and …oh, he’s vigorous.

drilling his hips into you with such power, babbles run out of your mouth and your head’s nearly being shoved against the multiple scatted papers on his desk.

“mhm,” he grunts, gifting your ass with another rude spank. you were so warm from the inside, one of his favorite things to feel.

the way you gripped down on him, clamping and clamping. a cluster of nerves made your body feel like it was on cloud nine. his thrusts had you were making the most stupidest sounds, over and over. “shame. all it takes to shut ya up is to bend you over.”

“s-shut uppp, sukuna.” you whined, still having a bit of brat left within you.

he rolls his eyes, and with a sharp smack against his hips. it makes you eat your words. “never know when to quit, huh? bet me bein' this deep in you makes you soaked,” and he leans up close to you—your ass was pressed right up against him and he’s buried all the way in. a hand wraps around your neck softly, a thumb stroking the passageway of your throat before he whispers lowly into your ear. “soaked for me like some slut.”

“i’d be more wet if you knew how to f-fuck me right, suku—”

he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence, you definitely struck a nerve. although, all sukuna does is snicker. he admires your . . brattiness.

“can’t stand that nasty fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he grunts, and his pace quickens. his dick reaches everywhere to have you spasm.

you’re whimpering out his name repeatedly as if it’s some sort of mantra. until it’s the only word your brain could comprehend.

he’s ruthlessly driving his hips into you so good, it leaves your maw hanging, a bit of drool running past your lips.

it was a sight, you were a bit filthy. actually, a bit was probably nothing more than a pure understatement though.

you were practically being rammed against the wooden desk, the constant jerks and screeches the furniture sang in harmony rang throughout your ears.

“f-fuckkk, ‘kuna,” you’d whimper, feeling his cock tap right against that particular spot. it sent a bunch of nerves to coarse all throughout your veins. you were nearly limp, feeling yourself start to grow warm all over your body. “think ‘m close, ‘m gonna c-cum, sukuna.”

“i don’t let brats cum on me, little girl,” sukuna replies in a husky tone. it makes you pulse — it was pathetic, him muttering a few words in that deep voice was enough to have you soaked. “besides, ya don’t even deserve it anyway.”

the biggest pout goes against your lips, and you furrow your eyebrows as you feel his hips pivot deeper into you. the angle he’s got, it’s got you sent into a complete frenzy. his rounded tip kisses against your sweet spot numerous times before you let off a soft squeak. “y-yes, yes i do. please.”

“oh, you think you do? after the little shit you pulled?” and he sounds amused more than anything. the sudden rasp in his tone makes you wet, you’re casually bent over with the most cutest arch possible. “i beg to differ, baby. you interrupted my phone call just so i can fuck you.”

completely ignoring his comment, you whimper out a sweet, “s-sukuna, please. wanna c-cum, please.”

“awww,” he purrs, and he starts to jackhammer his cock into you. it leaves you dumbfounded, your mouth open and you’re struggling on what to register in your empty little brain. your pussy squelched as a response, squelch after squelch it started to sound more like a harmony. a lewd harmony. “you wanna c-cum?”

he mocks your stutter and you pout for probably the umpteenth time. sukuna purposely butches your voice, and with the way he rolls his hips into you—you’re captured in a trance.

his cock was so thick, dragging all throughout your walls to where you’re a babbling mess. “yes, wanna cum. please ‘kuna. ‘m c-cumming.”

“no, you’re not.” he huffs out, and you let off a whine once he prods again and against your most sensitive spots. his cock roamed everywhere, he knew just the right areas to reach, to torment, to toy with.

your mouth suddenly grew dry, being denied like that — it had your heart racing. “what you’re gonna do is, you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n wait some more.”

“but s-sukuna.”

“but- but, yeahhh,” he snickers, chuckling at the way he mimicked your whiney state. he was so mean, yet it never failed to make you drenched between your thighs nonetheless. you were hungry for more, panting and heaving all throughout. although, sukuna ends up pulling out abruptly.

you’re still catching your breath, laid flat over the desk, wriggling your ass in confusion as to why he suddenly pulled his shaft out of you. you frowned, now clenching over nothing.

“w-what happened?”

“i’ll tell ya what happened,” sukuna mutters, and he gets right up close towards you. he gets behind your ear, and you let off a moan once he brings a hand between your legs, softly stroking near your swollen pulsating entrance. “i’m finished.”

you furrow your eyebrows, yet moan once he starts to slip a finger inside of your folds — softly giving you a few sweet strokes. “h-huhh? but you didn’t-”

“i’m done,” he repeats, and the curse kisses the side of your forehead. “no brat’s gonna disrespect me. but hey, you can always be a big girl ‘n finish yourself off.”

you whined, definitely not wanting to do that at all when he was right here. you moan, uttering out a needy, “but sukuna…” only for him to turn your head towards him — leaving a sweet and sloppy kiss planted right on your lips. the second he pulls away, he smacks your ass before leaving.

“no buts, finish yourself off. come call me when you’re done being a brat, princess.”

[gelus-ugs]

Hi !! I don’t know if you’re taking requests rn, sorry in advance if you aren’t ^_^

Could you do hcs of Hashiras if you try to flirt with them, but you’re an awkward, shy type of person? (+they like you back)

When you try to flirt with the Hashira

———————————————————————

Shy/Awkward reader

Prompt: You had been crushing on ___ the moment you became a Hashira, the feeling only growing deeper the more you got to know them. A friend you had met through the Demon Slayer Corps caught onto this and encouraged you to say something, giving you countless ideas. You eventually gave in, deciding to go with a pickup line they recommended. Why? Hell if you knew, but it was worth a try..right?

———————————————————————

Gyomei Himejima

“You must be a hell of a thief, because you managed to steal my heart the moment I met you”

Gyomei blinked in utter confusion

Were you flirting with him?

Gyomei turned to you - and although he couldn’t see, he could practically feel the embarrassment and regret coming from you

Gyomei smiled, taking your hand and kissing the back of it

“Well, I have no intentions of giving it back”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“I was wondering if you’re an artist because you’re so good at drawing me in”

Sanemi froze, turning to face you in disbelief

There’s no way someone like you was openly flirting

You immediately apologized, quickly turning on your heel and leaving

You got two steps in before Sanemi grabbed your wrist, turning you around and pulling you back

The two of you were suddenly close, Sanemi’s breath fanning over your neck

“Where are you going? I haven’t signed my artwork yet”

Obanai Iguro

“Do you have a map? I just got lost in your eyes”

Obanai turned to face you with wide eyes

Due to their difference in color, Obanai’s eyes were an insecurity of his

His face began to turn red as he hid behind his hand

“Thank you…your eyes are beautiful, too”

Mitsuri Kanroji

“When I look in your eyes, I see a very kind soul”

Mitsuri squealed

She knew that it was out of your nature to flirt, and she saw how you were a tad bit uncomfortable, so she found you downright adorable

Mitsuri immediately pulled you into a hug, continuously squealing about how cute you were

You won over her heart

Kyōjurō Rengoku

“No wonder the sky is gray, all the color is in your eyes”

Rengoku stared at you with wide eyes, surprised that you were openly flirting

Being his usual self - Rengoku began to laugh

You took it the wrong way and immediately began to regret what you said, wishing that the ground would swallow you whole

Rengoku noticed your shift in mood and paused his laughter, placing his hand on your shoulder

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I wasn’t making fun of you, I was laughing because you were so adorable”

Rengoku gently kissed your cheek, pulling away and smiling at you,

“I’m afraid that you’re the one with the color in your eyes”

Muichiro Tokito

“There must be something wrong with my eyes - I can’t seem to take them off of you”

Muichiro blankly stared at you, trying to process what you had said

You began to fidget with your fingers, feeling as if Muichiro didn’t like what you said

After a moment of silence, Muichiro grabbed your hand and smiled,

“Who says you have to take them off of me?”

Shinobu Kocho

“Do you happen to have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knees falling for you”

Shinobu automatically began to reach for a band-aid before she paused, realizing that you were flirting with her

She turned to face you, gently smiling

“Well then, looks like we’re going to have to kiss those scrapes better, huh?”

Tengen Uzui

“So, aside from taking my breath away, what do you do for a living?”

Tengen immediately turned to face you, his jaw agape

“Are you flirting with me?!”

Intimidated by his loudness, you slowly nodded as you avoided eye contact

Tengen placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head up,

“I like it, how flashy. And, to answer your question…”

Tengen leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear,

“It looks like I’m doing you for a living”

Giyu Tomioka

“Your eyes are like the ocean; I could swim in them all day”

Giyu blinked in confusion as he stared at you for a few minutes

“Were you…flirting with me?”

You began to feel embarrassed as you shyly nodded

“Well, if it were you…”

Giyu paused, kissing your forehead,

“I’d let you swim in my eyes forever”

[oceantornadoo]

sleepy morning (simon riley x f!reader)

part 4 of the two lieutenants series...HORNINESS LEVEL 1000

tw: wet and messyyyyyyyyy MDNI

--

that had to have been the best sleep of your life.

no seriously. extra strength melatonin could not compare to sleeping with simon THEE “ghost” riley. you had never had such a broad, thick man on top of you. and you liked it.

now, however, you found yourself in a much more compromising position.

the sleep had started innocent enough, you both insisting it was a platonic arrangement, a cheap version of getting a weighted blanket. but you had shuffled in your sleep, and now your bodies were tangled. simon's head lay on your collabone, his mouth hovering over your clothed breast, emitting small sighs in his sleep. your nipples were aching at the prolonged stimulation, his breath changing the temperature and making them harden. his hands grasped you beneath your arms, thumbs brushing the sides of your tits. you didn't think it was on purpose, but you had been on the edge for hours.

simon nuzzled closer into you, feigning sleep as long as possible. his left thigh wedged between your legs, his right bracketing the outside of yours to keep you right there. his morning wood, clothed by his thin sweats, laid heavy against your thigh. he could almost smell the wetness between your thighs, the way you tried humping him when you were asleep. little, uncontrolled movements of your hips, up and down, chasing friction. he tried to stop his teeth from sinking into your clothed tit, the softness of it so tempting. you were right there, almost his, yet so far it felt like foreign territory. somewhere he's been plenty of times, unwelcome. he had to tread carefully. then of course, soap had the gall to knock.

"l.t.? yer on recruit training, started a couple minutes ago." simon groaned against you, providing even more friction to your tit. guess he couldn't pretend to be asleep anymore. "'m sick. cancel it." a pause, soap was unbelieving. when simon was sick, if anything, he coached the recruits with even more vengeance than usual. "yer sure?" simon propped himself up on his forearms, squishing you in between them even more. you looked up at him, a dream with your tired eyes and a bit of drool at the corner of your mouth. he laid a small kiss to your forehead, so small you must still be dreaming. "cancel it. 'm bedridden today." his gravelly morning voice must have been enough for soap, who he could virtually hear straightening up after leaning against simon's doorframe. "got it, l.t."

simon breathed a sigh of relief. finally, finally, he acknowledged you. "mornin' dovie. sleep well?" sleep well?! you had slept like the dead. "best sleep of my life, simon. might have to make this a regular thing." you joked, still unsure of the lines that had been erased last night. and that forehead kiss. "available whenever ya need, love." you were still tangled together, his cock still against your cunt. you bucked against him again involuntarily, the whisper of friction too light for you. you both looked down together at where you were almost touching, separated by two layers of fabric. "simon i-"

another loud knock. "what." simon gritted out. "seen the better lieutenant, ghost? we're supposed to run drills today an' i can't find her." it was gaz and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. simon looked down at you questioningly and you shook your head vehemently. "she's sick. contagious." gaz was choking back a laugh. he must have talked to soap before this. "alrigh', i'll tell price. get better, you two." fuck.

"shit, si, i'm sorry. should have slept at my own place i-" another forehead kiss this time, a bit longer than the first. he trailed his mouth to your nose, small pecks here and there. turning his head down, he nosed your jaw, inhaling the smell of your mixed scents. like you were two of the same. one.

"can i?" you were so far gone it took a bit for his question to register. you had tilted your head back to give him more access, a willing prey to your domestic predator. "can- can you what?" he moved down a bit more, cock moving away from your cunt. you unwillingly let out a whine at the loss of contact and he chuckled into your skin. "suck your tits, baby." oh. oh.

"yes, yes. please"

he laughed again, the sensation vibrating through your skin. his mouth finally made contact with your tit, mouthing at it over your t-shirt. thankfully, it was thin, so you can feel the slight suck and the ghost of a bite. he alternated between your breasts, hands rolling the other nipple he wasn't sucking. your shirt was wet, sticking to your skin, drenched in saliva. "simon, can you- please." the last part was a moan as he gave you a bigger bite. "use your words, lieutenant." he was rutting into the bed, cock chasing much needed friction. he didn't want to scare you but his need for you was bubbling over, a pot on the stove too long. "my shirt, ah, my shirt off."

he freed you from your shirt, the fabric drenched in his saliva, sticking to your skin as he peeled it off. your tits were wet and slightly bruised from his minstrations. marked.

"you like my marks on you?" you looked down, not caring about the unsexy double chin as you took in what he had done to you. keeping it platonic was done and dead, and you were going to take advantage of it.

"more."

a willing soldier, he dove back in, licking and sucking like he had been made for it. his right hand went lower, palm pressing against your wet pussy for some much-needed attention to your clit. you had never come from nipple stimulation alone, but you had been edged for hours while you were sleeping. the pressure on your clit was perfect, the wetness seeping through your sleep shirts onto his callused hand. he let go of your nipple with a loud smack, a string of saliva dripping from his chin. "think you can come like this, dove?" you nodded furiously, his desperate little dove. simon went back down to your abandoned tits and you gasped at the feeling of his bite. he pressed his palm harder against your aching cunt, virtually feeling the flutter of your wanting pussy, pleading for him. he rubbed it in circles, up and down, listening to your sounds to find a pattern you liked.

and suddenly he had it, your back arching as you felt that telltale spark at the base of your spine. simon felt it, your desperation increasing tremendously as you bucked into his hand, thrusting out your tits like a bitch in heat. "right there, baby. come fer' me, hm?" you nodded as he gave your tit one last long suck and pressed his palm right where you needed it, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. he lightly tongued your breasts as you came down, cleaning up his mess. "feel better?" you groaned, the reality of how desperate you had acted finally hitting you.

"they all know, simon. the whole base knows by now." he moved up until you two were face to face. so what if the whole base knew? you had been his since that first handshake.

"so what?"

--

guys this was so horny wowwwwwwwww ovulation hitting me fr

part one part two part three part four

[atrwriting]

games and other fun — rafe cameron x reader

HAPPY NYE FUCKERS HERES A TOXIC MAN THAT SHOULD DEFINITELY BE LEFT IN 2024 BUT NOT ON THIS BLOG HAHA

this is the hottest rafe scene and if you disagree i think ur silly

as always, warnings: smut, daddy kink, choking, slapping, dom!rafe, alcohol consumption, p in v sex, unprotected sex (please for the love of god wrap it), talk of drugs

anyways… here’s games and other fun:

…

the summer you got hot was coincidentally the same summer you moved to the outerbanks.

the climate was hotter than back hot, but… so were the men.

you and your friends had moved for the new adventure, and thankfully you had found a job in your field pretty quickly. while your friends looked for jobs in their field, they acquired jobs at some of the restaurants, bars, and catering gigs in town.

that was how your best friend met topper.

when she first told you the story, the blush on her cheeks had never been brighter. him and his buddies had been out that night — at the bar she worked at. almost immediately, topper started flirting with her. she claims she played it cool, but from her giggling you can tell that she was excited to talk to him as he was to talk to her. you were so, so happy for her.

…until she mentioned how he had a friend.

“absolutely not,” you stated, shaking your head,

“why not?!” she demanded. “the friend said you were cute!”

you raised an eyebrow at her. “you showed him my picture?”

she nodded. “he was cute! i swear!”

you sighed. “what’s his name?”

“kelce.” a mischievous smile began to play at her lips. “him and topper want to meet us at a party their other friend is throwing this weekend.”

“did you meet that friend?” you asked. “do you think he’d be cool with us coming?”

she dismissed you with a playful wave of her hand. “rafe’s a kook. they wouldn’t be kooks if they didn’t show off their wealth to the whole island.”

you laughed. “okay, fine — i’ll go, but who the fuck names their kid rafe?”

only the richest man on the entire fucking island did, apparently.

you were excited to meet kelce, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to who exactly rafe cameron was. your friend didn’t meet him, neither of you looked him up, but then again — there was a double date to prepare for.

your best friend had gotten ready together after the work day. bikins under levi cutoff shorts, crop tops, and sandals were sported, but the main event was how somehow you both mastered the beachy blowout and natural makeup look in this humidity. once you were done, you both caught an uber and headed straight for the cameron residence.

it was fucking massive.

there was no other word.

and, honestly… it was like something out of project x.

strobe lights, music blasting, and loud laughter and screams. your best friend was more of the partier, so she didn’t look too phased — but you? you were fucking bright-eyed. you hadn’t experienced anything like this before, and even if the date didn’t work out… at least there would be other things to occupy you.

once the uber had parked in front, you spotted a man waiting on the front stoop with his phone in his hands. your friend typed a quick text, hit sent, and through the window you watch the man on the front stoop smile.

place your bets now, you thought. that’s definitely topper.

and that he was.

when you both had met him on the front stoop, he engulfed your friend in a cute hug. afterwards, he extended a smile and his hand to you, and you shook his hand appreciatively.

a man that knew boundaries and manners… fuck yes, bestie.

he led you both inside and you had to stop your jaw from dropping. the party looked crazy from the outside, but nothing could compare to the absolute mayhem that was occurring inside. pong, lines being cut on a few tables, people jumping into the pool from the roof… you name it.

“this is awesome,” you spoke absentmindedly to no one in particular.

“i know,” topped laughed. “kelce’s around here somewhere... drinks?”

he led you both to the kitchen. if you were being honest, you knew that topper and your friend would hit it off pretty quickly and you didn’t want to cock-block them. you were hoping that kelce would find his way to you so you both could have your own fun, and leave your friends to their own devices.

…that was until topper started trying to call kelce over. topper, a bit drunk at this point, didn’t really get the memo from his friend that was turned around, basically back into the corner… that kelce did not want to be disturbed. in fact, when kelce finally got the message, he ripped away from whatever had caught his attention, and turned towards topper’s voice angrily. when he turned away… there was a petite woman pushed into the corner. she seemed very pissed off that kelce had broken their kiss.

who could blame her? he was hot.

no one could blame you for being a little upset, but you wouldn’t tell anyone that.

topper was at a loss for words. you almost felt bad.

letting the liquor provide comic relief, you spoke, “she’s hot. can’t blame him.”

topper laughed and then stuttered, trying to find the words to fight the embarrassment of the situation. even drunk, his manners were impeccable. his and your friend’s eyes revealed a mixture of guilty and sympathy, and you couldn’t deal with how uncomfortable it made you feel. your first instinct was to pretend it didn’t bother you… and if other people ignored your pain, you could too. it gnawed at you in the back of your throat — a rock lodged in your esophagus. your voice was tight, your cheeks were hot, and frustrated and embarrassed tears were pickling at your eyes.

“guys, don’t worry about it,” you laughed, trying to brush it off. “top, where’s the bathroom?”

maybe you couldn’t save yourself from embarrassment, but you could save them from secondhand embarrassment. once he directed you, you gave them both a smile and set off.

if you were being honest… it did hurt that had happened. it was fucking embarrassing. nothing horrible, but combined with having drank in a while, and you were already tipsy? you were feeling emotional, and that wasn’t a good luck. you needed a few minutes in the bathroom to cool off.

you texted your friend that you were going to find the pool after and that she shouldn’t wait up for you — you wanted her to have fun with topper.

you were barely in the bathroom for a few minutes when you heard banging on the door.

“hurry up!” a gruff voice from the other side of the door called.

you shut the water off and brushed away the loose tear. your eyes were red, and your face was a bit puffy, but you figured you’d be fine. you’d probably never see the guy on the other side of the door anyway.

as you opened the door, he went to bang on it again. with his weight forward, he accidentally stumbled into the bathroom while you were still in it.

“sorry, dude, uh —“ he rasped, standing before you and staring awkwardly down at you.

“you’re good…” you spoke, before trying to brush past him.

he caught your upper arm.

“woah, dude,” you laughed hesitantly, trying to step away from him. “i’m leaving, don’t worry.”

“sorry —“ he let go of your arm, still peering down at you. “you’re crying.”

“what? no,” you faked a laugh. “heat got to me s’all. needed some air.”

he eyed you. “never seen you before. not from around here?”

“no,” you shook your head. “my friend and i were invited.”

“by who?” he asked, raising a brow.

you took a step back, not particularly enjoying the third degree in a small space. “this guy she likes… topper.”

his eyes widened, almost in realization. “yeah, yeah… he told me about that. said there was another girl… for kelce.”

you laughed, but with a slight scoff in your voice. “he’s a bit… preoccupied at the moment. with someone else. i was going to go play pong after i… saw.”

“knew he had a pretty girl coming, and did that? guy’s a dick.”

you laughed, and shook your head — brushing off his comment. “‘m sure he’s fine. i don’t know who his friends are — not really in the mood to talk shit about someone i don’t know.”

“sweetheart, he’s one of my best friends — guy’s a dick.”

a smile played at your lips as you raised an eyebrow at the man. “and who are you?”

“the owner of this house,” he replied. “i’m rafe.”

you smiled, and introduced yourself as well. “i’ll, um — leave you to it, then. see you around.”

you turned to leave, when you heard him say your name. while peering down at you, he spoke, “nah… let’s mess with him.”

you shouldn’t have been excited… but you couldn’t deny that you were.

rafe led you back into the kitchen and you smiled at your friend. topper turned to look at you, and his eyes immediately perked up when he saw rafe walking directly behind you.

you greeted them both, but barely before rafe had picked you up by the hips and placed you on the counter next to your friend. you bit back a squeal at the motion, but rafe had leaned against your side as he cracked a beer.

topper turned to you. “i don’t know how you found him, or how you got him out of the woodwork… but the man barely comes to his own parties. nice job.”

you laughed, and let topper and your friend continue their fun.

“so…” you began, turning to rafe. “if you don’t come to your own parties, how do you have fun at things like this?”

a smirk played at the corner of his lips. “they’ve been kind of boring for me, lately, i don’t know… i’m usually in the corner somewhere, smoking.”

sarcastically, with a grin, you asked, “are you telling me i can’t convince you to be my pong partner?”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you could convince me to do a shot with you.”

mischief danced in your eyes. rafe was quick to notice, and the look in his eyes matched yours.

he immediately went for glasses and liquor.

“and you got him to lay off the snow?” asked topper, mouth wide. he looked back to your best friend, grinning. “you’re both coming to the next one.”

rafe poured four shots and handed them off to topper and your best friend. they smiled and laughed to themselves before linking arms, and taking their shots.

“i like to take mine a different way,” rafe rasped, eyes peering down at your lips. “especially since my boy kelce has been staring us down since i put you on this counter.”

a smirk was beginning to form on your lips. in a sultry voice, you asked, “are you suggesting we give your friend a show, rafe?”

you stared into his piercing eyes before he spoke. his lips were parted, and he almost looked hungry. the heat was getting to the both of you making a shiny sheen of sweat glow because of the strobe lights. his eyes were focused on you, and really on you. it threw you off how rafe could have so many things going on around him, barely knowing you — and you were the apple of his eye. the next words rolled off his tongue like sugar, “that’s exactly what i’m suggesting, sweetheart.”

your teeth sank into your bottom lip as a blush rose across your cheeks. with a boldness you were a stranger to, you lifted your shirt above your head to reveal your string black bikini that barely hid your chest.

you figured rafe was lying about kelce — but that was until you saw him and the girl separate, and were now closer to where you and rafe stood. kelce had thrown a few glances your way every now and then, but now? now he was blatantly ignoring the girl next to him as he stared at your rack and rafe.

you threw back your shot, bending your chest towards rafe. you looked back to him with a smile on your face, and plucked his shot from his hands. holding your beasts together and placing the glass in your cleavage, you threw him a wink. rafe’s gaze darkened — and you knew you were in for it.

rafe rested a hand on your waist before he dipped his head lower. his lips wrapped around the circumference of the glass, and threw his head back with ease. your eyes drifted downwards to his broad shoulders, the thickness of his neck, and the muscles in his arms….

oh… you were in for it, alright.

before you knew it, rafe placed his glass down and connected his lips with yours. a whine of surprise rose and died in your throat after rafe placed both of his large hands on the warm skin of your waist. you held rafe’s strong jaw in both of your hands as you kissed him back, letting your tongue dance at his bottom lip.

“you’ve been too sweet to me tonight,” you whispered against his lips. “when are you going to let me be sweet to you?”

“fuck…” he rasped, stealing another kiss. “as soon as i know kelce knows what he missed out on.”

you laughed. “he’s been staring, rafe, come on…”

rafe had wrapped his arms under your ass and hoisted you against his chest. your hair cascaded down around you both, shielding the rest of the party goers for how your lips couldn’t leave his.

“if my dick wasn’t so hard right now — i’d shove it in his face more,” rafe spat. “teach that prick a lesson about how he should treat a beautiful woman.”

you giggled against his lips. “another time — please, rafe. i need you.”

a deep growl went off in his chest, and he let you swallow it whole. rafe kissed you once more before he swung you over his shoulder, one hand firmly planted on your ass to keep you steady, and began walking towards the upstairs.

laughing, you raised your heard to wave goodbye to topper and your best friend — who were laughing and happy for you as they waved back.

with each step towards an empty room, you giggled at rafe as he was cursing at people who got in his way. he kicked a couple of people out of the room before he let you fall onto your back on the bed. your giggles died within you as he began to crawl over you.

“what if i wanted to ride you, baby?” you whispered, running a thumb along his cheek as you bit your lip.

he kissed the inside of your hand as his eyes never left yours. “no, sweetheart — never had such a sexy woman below me. i’m taking my fuckin’ time.”

“taking your time?” you asked. “you’re the host of the party.”

“fuck ‘em,” he spat, capturing your lips once more.

rafe’s movements were much more dominant than in the kitchen. the privacy of the four walls and closed door allowed him to cage your body in and wedge the front of his hips against yours. you hooked your ankles behind his lower back, pulling him into you with a grinding motion. little whimpers left your lips as the friction from your jeans hit your clit in the perfect motion, making you shiver in rafe’s arms.

“want those pants off, daddy,” you rasped. “don’t make me wait.”

“call me that again and i’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart,” he spoke, his hands immediately darting for his belt buckle.

you tore off your and rafe’s pants and rafe made quick work of taking that skimpy bikini off your breasts.

“i almost told you no when you asked to go upstairs,” he spoke, his hands slowly sliding up your stomach. “i wanted to make kelce so fucking jealous…” the palms of rafe’s hands rested on the swell of your breasts, thumbs drawing circles on your nipples. “wanted him to realize that the chick next to him had nothin’ on you… that i was the one to have you… wanted to see the realization in his eyes….” his thumbs and pointer fingers began rolling your sensitive buds in between each other, drawing sharp breaths from between your lips. “but i think you were right, sweetheart. don’t want anyone to see what’s mine.”

“yours?” you let the pads of your fingertips slide down the length of his chest and stomach. you kept your eyes locked on his, provoking him. “no man’s ever been able to make me cum before. what makes you think you’re different?”

he raised an eyebrow, darkness covering his irises. he was silent for a moment, studying you. you kept your baiting look on your face, but inside you grew worried.

rafe’s hand held your jaw in his, thumb prodding at your plump bottom lip. “gonna be a brat for me, that it?”

you shouldn’t have — but you did anyway. “and what’re you gonna do about it?”

an evil smile crept up on rafe’s perfect face. he let go of your chin and got off of you. you were curious as to what his goal was, but that was until he got himself between your legs. you laid back against the bed, and when you looked up — you realized there was a mirror on the ceiling.

you gasped at the sight. your hair was as crazy as your skin was flush. your eyes were as wild as rafe’s, and he stared back at you with darkness and lust all wrapped into one.

“you see that, sweetheart?” he asked, staring back at you. “sight that almost made me take you right there in the kitchen. you gonna be good for daddy, and let me show you how i’m better than all of those little boys?”

your teeth sank into your bottom lip as your cheeks blushed. “yes, daddy, please.”

“so polite,” he rasps, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. a whine brews in your throat at the affection. “open your legs. let me see that pretty pussy.”

on command, you parted your legs for him. rafe slid one large hand down from your knee to the beginning of your tanned thigh. you watch as his hand cups your mound, and you shiver at the feeling.

“oh… just so soft for me…”

his voice was like caramel as it rolled of his tongue. smooth and sweet. he looked at your pussy like he fucking adored it, there was no other way to put it. when his head finally dipped and his tongue nudged itself at your clit, you leaned your head back against the pillows.

“you like to hide, huh?” he spoke, eyes wide at you as his tongue dripped in between your folds. “not tonight, darlin’. you’re watching me.”

you lifted your head up and watched as his tongue slid into your entrance, and rafe began to nudge your clit with his nose. you gasped at the feeling — completely unaware that was even a thing someone could do, let alone be good at.

“fuck…” you quietly gasped, folding your lips over each other.

rafe replaced his tongue with two fingers — sliding them in and out and curling at the top. a low hum began to build as you fought to keep your eyes on him. the hum was deep and warm, filling your rib cage. you didn’t want to scream, afraid of being too loud or too much for rafe… but keeping your eyes open was enough of a fight. when his perfect, plump lips made contact with your clit… you couldn’t help it. you let out a loud sigh as your vision began to glaze over.

“i wanna do everything i can to this pussy,” rafe bit, sucking at your clit. “smack it, lick it, fuck it, anything i want… just so warm and sweet.”

“…fuck…” while only one word, your voice had never broken so much. rafe’s words were so sensual and mind numbing it was hard not to lose yourself in the moment, free to completely enjoy the sight and feeling of one of the hottest men you had ever seen put you on a pedestal and fucking worship you. his tongue, velvet, was working its way around your clit like it wanted your thighs to clench and wrap around his head. “i’m so close, rafe…”

“that’s it, baby, yeah.” the slurping sounds from below you were pornographic. your hips were jutting up and down to meet his lips and fingers as he plunged inside of you. your hands had found the sides of his head, sad there wasn’t any hair to hold back. “you wanted to be a brat before, now what? blame all of those little boys? now look at you — too fucked out to care. dirty fuckin’ girl.”

he was right. your boldness had left you with your sanity. the low hum had now spread throughout your body until it was everywhere. a soft, quiet vibration could be felt in every one of your limbs until you sure you were shaking. a cocky bastard like rafe — you should’ve wanted to deny him your orgasm, the metaphorical trophy. however, every fiber in your being was telling you he deserved it. his tongue, his lips, his nose, his fingers, his eyes — they wanted you to finish all over his face, and they deserved it. every last drop. every bit of it. every. fucking. bit.

“you scared, baby? don’t get shy on me now.” he had now raised his face where now only his hand was on your pussy. with a concerned, focused look on his face, he dipped two fingers into your entrance as his rough palm was working your clit. “you want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

you shut your eyes for a little longer than you should’ve, but opened them back up for tears to collect in the corners of your eyes. the approach of an orgasm was like a current in water, sucking you under. there was no fight and there was no giving in. it was heavy, fast, and hard — drowning where you head had no chance of staying above water. your body was being pulled every which way as your brain fought to remain present, in control. through your glazed over eyes, you could see rafe smirk.

“oh — i don’t think my girl’s listening to me, is she?” his taunting voice was sending you up a wall. the rat bastard — making you feel so good and then demanding that you respond as if your mind wasn’t mush. he moved himself so he was now hovering over your body, balanced on one arm. “i know you can hear me. come on, baby — you wanna cry? do it. fuckin’ cry for me, darlin’.”

you weren’t sure why you needed permission — but something in your insecurity snapped that allowed you to let out one singular strangled moan in your sand paper throat. it was whiny, and soft, and most of all — fucking pathetic. you could see in rafe’s eyes he loved it.

“been so good for me, letting me play with you,” he whispered against your lips as he continued with his hand. “seeing this little body give in — wanna see how far i can go. can’t wait to split you on my cock.”

“let me cum on your cock, rafe, please…” you spoke through your tears. “need it so badly. please let me…”

“can’t cum without a cock inside of you?” he asked, immediately sitting up and undoing his pants. “finally allowed yourself to be a whore and ask for what you want… lettin’ me use that pussy…”

you were nodding furiously, tugging at him to come lay on top of you once more. he batted your hands away, confusing you.

“nah, lay back,” he spoke. “…because i know you want me to use that pussy, don’t you?”

“yes, yes,” you cried, voice breaking. “just want you to use me — fuck, please, rafe…”

there was that smirk again — before he dove in.

rafe had pushed your legs against your chest and held you there as his cock slid easily inside you. since you were denied a very close orgasm — your pussy had never been wetter. it was like your slick was causing him to slide further and further inside so he could be buried in there. with every thrust, your pussy tightened around him — and rafe let you know.

you stared up at the mirror on the ceiling as you watched rafe’s muscles flex. his shoulders and back — holding you down, making you take every thrust. watching his glutes tighten and release with every thrust sent shivers up and down your spine. however, nothing, not one single thing, could compare to the way rafe’s arms flexed around your head and body — holding you in place.

“fucking love your cock, daddy,” you whimpered in his ear. “so, so deep. feels so good it hurts.”

he groaned against your ear, straining to fight against the pleasure. his thrusts began to pick up strength and speed, refusing to give in before you do.

“can tell it hurts, baby — pussy sucking me in like she’s never cum before,” he gasped, his own voice threatening to break. “just needed someone that knew how to work you, huh? give you what you needed? fuck you like the slut you are?”

you dug your face into the crook of his neck, feeling lost in his words and embrace. “slut for your cock, daddy — fuck, just like that. just like that — right there!”

one of his hands reached up to grab a fistful of your hair, and yanked you back. with parted lips and gritted teeth, rafe forced himself against your throat and began to suck on the soft skin. the strain of the position took away what last bit of control you had. you were completely at rafe’s mercy — and you didn’t mind. the head of his cock was pounding against that spot inside of you. your brain and the lower half of your body were working in tandem — acting like they had never had an orgasm before, but that wasn’t the case. no — they had just never had an orgasm like this before. the kind where you are completely out of control, unable to get it back, and under the hands of a man who took such good care of you. maybe you should’ve been scared because you barely knew him, but you weren’t. he wanted your orgasm as much as you did — and you let your naivety get the best of you.

“never wanted to breed a pussy so fuckin’ badly,” he spat against the skin of your throat. “she wants my cum so badly, doesn’t she? sucking me in — what else?”

incoherent. that’s all you were. rafe’s hips smacking against yours, cock hitting just right — there was nothing that allowed you to stay present and sensible in that situation. you were all his, under his control.

“be mean,” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut. “be mean to me — and i’ll cum. fucking christ — please.”

“pussy like this, dirty as you are —“ he spoke, trying to fight his own orgasm. “no one should touch you but me. i own this pussy. me. no one can fuck you like me, that right?”

it was like music to your ears. your pussy was being split open and fucked raw — so dirty, so naughty, so wrong. yet, you were both grasping onto each other like there’s was nothing else in the world. rafe was working his cock into your pussy like your orgasm was his, and his alone. he —

he got tired of waiting for a response. he lightly smacked your cheek, and wrapped a hand around your throat.

you couldn’t be surprised — because your pussy only got wetter.

“you’re gonna fucking cum for me,” he spat against your eyes. “that’s mine. all mine.”

you caught a glance of what you looked like in the mirror above — a mess. a fucking mess. your face was covered in sweat, spit, and tears. your hair was everywhere, just like there was a flush all over your body. you saw the way rafe’s veins in his neck and forehead tightened and protruded as he spat dirty words against the side of your face.

“give it to me,” he spat through gritted teeth.

your eyes couldn’t leave the mirror. it shoved you farther and farther into your trance that you couldn’t look away. couldn’t move. couldn’t think about anything else.

“it’s yours, it’s yours…” you cried, throwing your head back.

your hands immediately came up to dig your nails into his back. your back, arched, pushed your tits into rafe’s face. his face, in awe, couldn’t help but suck a nipple into his mouth as he watched your body fucking shake. there was no more low vibration — your body, every limb, had fully succumbed to shaking and crying.

“pussy so tight,” he gasped. “fuck, fuck, fuck…”

through the mirror, you watch both of your orgasms hit you at the exact same time. with one snap of rafe’s hips, the muscles of his ass tightened where his pelvis locked with yours. his back and shoulder muscles went taut, rippling with the bout of adrenaline running through his veins. with rafe’s body holding yours down, he stopped your body from spasming. your skin was prickly to the touch as your blood was pumping, pumping, pumping. the walls of your pussy squeezed around his cock as strangled gasps pushed past your lips, and were swallowed by rafe.

against your lips, he whispered, “never letting you go now, princess.”

you giggled softly, shivering. “is that so?”

“yeah,” he mumbled, kissing you. “you’re fucked.”

- - -

happy nye here’s some smut HAHA love yall

-L xoxox