#i need to drop this on the feed and then go take a shower

[strang3lov3]

Cup of Sugar

Dilf!neighbor!joel x fem reader (pre outbreak)

Summary: You often borrow from your neighbor, Joel. He catches you in his home, digging through his belongings for batteries when your vibrator dies.

WC: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut!! Dirty talk, smug joel, masturbation, blowies, vibrators, unprotected piv, joel is fully clothed and reader is butt ass naked! Soft!dom joel vibes

AN: Dedicated to all my faves, @notjustjavierpena, @macfrog, @gracieispunk, @toxicanonymity and @speckledemerald i love all y’all with my entire heart<3

Please comment/reblog if you enjoyed ❤️

The ceiling fan needs to be fixed. You’ve been meaning to get that taken care of. It’s the first thing you think of on Saturday morning, when you wake up in your bed to the sound of lawn mowers and weed whackers. A gentle breeze comes from your open window and ghosts over your skin, reminding you to get your ceiling fan fixed.

 Saturdays were often your busiest days. Between cleaning, grocery shopping, and getting ready to go out for drinks with your friends, you don’t have much time for just you. Which, arguably, is what weekends should be for. 

You get out of bed and start getting ready for the day. You shower, get dressed, do your hair and your makeup just how you like. You feed your pets and you’re out the door to take on this beautiful Saturday.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone waving good morning to you. It’s Joel, wearing nothing except for his grass stained jean cutoffs as he mows his lawn. His dark curls are damp and stuck to his forehead, his torso shimmers in the sunlight. You catch a glimpse of his soft tummy and the thin line of hair leading down from his navel. 

You nearly faint right then and there. Joel’s your ridiculously sexy dilf of a next door neighbor. You’ve been absolutely smitten with him for what feels like eternity, and his slutty lawn mowing outfits are not helping you one bit. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he calls to you after turning off his mower. “Big plans today?”

“Grocery shopping,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your cool. You don’t want to say much and trip over your words. God, he makes your knees buckle. “And chores. Then going out to drink with a few friends.”

He nods. “Stay outta trouble,” he tells you with a charming wink, and then he pulls the cord of his mower and begins working on his lawn again. You watch his back muscles twitch and shine in the hot sun, his plump ass filling his shorts just right. 

Fuuuck. You’re nearly salivating at the sight. He’s gonna be an issue again today. 

And an issue he was. 

At the grocery store, you walk past the lawn mowers and other yard work supplies. Joel. You scan your groceries and check out, and you just know you’re forgetting something.

At home, washing your bedding. You can’t help but wonder how his bedding looks, how it would smell and feel with your face pressed into the mattress as he pounds you from behind. Does he keep his bed neatly made? Messy?

At the bar, watching the drops of condensation slide down the glass. You’re thinking of the way Joel looks with beads of sweat dripping down his face, down the dip of his temple and the sharp curve of his jaw. Your friends are trying to talk to you, but your mind is elsewhere. The condensation pools at the table under the glass. 

As the night finally draws to a close, you drive yourself home. It’s late, most of the lights are off in the neighborhood, including Joel’s. You walk into your home, toss your keys on the end table by your door and make your way to your bedroom.

You’re aching between your thighs, your skin feels hot and your mind is focused on just one thing. You strip bare and flop on your bed, reaching for your hot pink bunny eared vibrator. Ol’ reliable. 

Usually, you like to take your time with your self-love. Tease yourself a little, build up that anticipation. Joel’s done that enough to you today, so you get right to business. With your legs spread wide, you turn the vibrator on and press the toy to your center, using it to spread your arousal up to your clit and back down again. 

Maybe two minutes in, just as you find the perfect spot and the perfect pace, and then the whine of the vibrator begins dying down. You let out an incoherent stream of obscenities as you realize what’s happening, then the vibrator’s buzzing finally comes to a heartbreaking stop. “Fuck,” you hiss. Batteries.

You’re irked. You fucking knew you were forgetting something at the store. And you’d think the way you were fantasizing of Joel all day, you would have remembered to pick up the fucking batteries for your vibrator. He is the object of your affection, after all.

You have extras stashed, don’t you? You open your bedside table drawer to check and…nothing. Maybe in the closet downstairs, where you keep your cleaning supplies and first aid stuff? You throw on your robe real quick and check. Nope. You slam the door, irate with frustration.

You’re getting desperate now, and out of the corner of your eye you notice a dim green light, flashing gently. The smoke alarm. That has to have batteries you can steal for a little while, right? It’s not like it’s preventing you from dying in a house fire or anything. You grab a stool and unscrew the alarm from the top of the ceiling and, and,

It has batteries. 

But they’re nine volts. Not even close to the triple A’s you require. 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You need to calm down. Women have fingers for a reason, after all. But god bless it, it’s not the fucking same!

In the dark of your kitchen, you get yourself a glass of water and stare out the window at Joel’s house. And as you take a sip of water, it hits you.

Joel probably has batteries. 

You slip on your flip flops and leave your house, heading over to Joel’s backdoor. 

Are you about to break and enter into his home? No, of course not. That would be absurd. You have a key, duh. 

It started with a cup of sugar. 

Once, you had knocked on Joel’s door asking to borrow a cup of sugar for the sheet cake you were making for the neighborhood barbecue. You, ever so forgetful, had failed to remember to pick up sugar on that particular grocery shopping trip. 

Joel left and returned moments later with a large container full of sugar, way more than a cup. You were expecting a baggie with a single cup of sugar inside, not the whole bin. Men, you thought. You thanked him and promised to give his sugar back soon. You never did. 

The next time, it was eggs. You knocked on Joel’s door, but were met with no answer. So you called him. 

“Hey, what’s up sugar?” Your heart swelled at the nickname. It’s what Joel teasingly called you when you never returned his bin full of sugar, not that he really minded.  “Just need a favor. Are you home?”

“Maybe,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Just like, three eggs for the cupcakes tomorrow,”

After trying your delicious sheet cake, Joel was hooked. He had asked you to make cupcakes for Sarah’s birthday, strawberry with vanilla frosting. You had all the ingredients except for a few eggs, and you didn’t feel like running all the way across town for them. 

Joel exaggerated a groan, faking annoyance. “Those are my last eggs, you know. Am I gonna have to starve at breakfast tomorrow morning?” You let out a giggle at his dramatics. “It’s your breakfast or your daughter’s cupcakes, Joel,” 

“Cupcakes,” he decided. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Take the eggs. S’all good, sugar. I’ll have toast.”

You were about to speak, but Joel interrupted. “Won’t be home for a while. Help yourself, just use the key I gave ya. Happy baking, sugar,”

Joel had given you a key long ago. If he was ever in a pinch working late, he’d call you and ask you to babysit Sarah for him. He gave you a key so you could help yourself inside to make her an after school snack or dinner before she got home. Not that Sarah really needed the help, being so self sufficient. But he liked knowing you were there to take care of her when he wasn’t.

“Bye, Joel,”

And that was your neighborly routine. Babysitting Sarah, borrowing different things from Joel. A flashlight or a screwdriver. Ice, when your freezer broke. Sarah and Joel would borrow from you too, a pair of scissors or a hot glue gun for school projects. Once, they had borrowed your printer late at night when Sarah forgot she had a history paper due the next morning. It’s what neighbors are for, after all.

At Joel’s door with his key in your hand, you jiggle it into the doorknob and quietly open the door, careful not to let it creak too loud. You don’t want to wake up Sarah or Joel. 

You tiptoe through his house, first to his living room. You check the drawer of one of his end tables, nothing. Then the entertainment center where he keeps his video game controllers and such, surely he would keep batteries there too? Nope. You close the doors of the entertainment center and make your way to the kitchen. As quietly as you can you open his junk drawer next to the sink and begin moving items around. There’s a phone book, notecards, pens and pencils. The scissors you lent to Sarah. But no fucking batt-

“What are you doin’ riflin’ through my shit at this ungodly hour?” You jump as a voice interrupts you. You stand up straight and turn your head to the source of the sound, and it’s Joel. His hair is messy and sticking up six ways from Sunday, his soft gray sweatpants hang low on his hips and his thin t-shirt hugs his biceps just so. He’s got one eyebrow cocked, half in amusement and half in annoyance. 

“I just need to borrow something. I'll be out in a second. Didn’t mean to wake you Joel, I’m sorry,” you apologize. You curse yourself for being so noisy, but you can’t help it. You’re frantic for these fucking batteries. 

Joel steps down the stairs. “What do you need so badly right now?”

“Just some batteries,” you mumble. 

“Batteries?” Joel asks. “The fuck do you need batteries so bad for it can’t wait til’ morning?”

You didn’t think this far ahead. You were expecting to find the batteries and just go, not be interrogated by Joel. But you know you’re not in a place to argue. 

“Uhh,” you start, “Flashlight. I need triple A’s.”

Joel just nods quietly, his eyes are droopy with sleepiness and he walks to a kitchen cabinet, the one containing different odds and ends. You see the box of batteries and he reaches to pull a few out for you, but then pauses before handing them to you. “Wait a minute. Thought you didn’t have one. S’why you’re always stealin’ my flashlight,”

“Yeah, sorry. I meant the remote,” Smooth. 

“Mmm,” Joel murmurs, rotating the batteries in his hand. He’s staring you down, taking you all in. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks are flushed, your hair is messy. You’re wearing just a robe, and he’s sure there’s nothing underneath. Your voice is shaking, your breathing is loud and unsteady. 

“Come on Joel, I’m missing my show. Please,” 

Joel doesn’t give you the batteries yet, he just keeps playing with them in his hand. It’s distracting, the way his fingers move so deftly. He bites his cheek and raises his eyebrows at you. He knows exactly why you’re so flustered, and he suspects it’s the same reason you need batteries at the fucking dead hour. 

“What show?”

“What?”

“I asked what show you’re watching tonight,” 

You swallow thickly, your brain is racing as you try to think up a lie. “X-Files,”

“Hm. Who’s your favorite character?”

Damn. Ask more questions, why don’t you? “Sully,” you reply with partial confidence, even though you’re not really sure if that character exists or you’re confusing them with something else.  

“He’s from Monsters Inc, hon. Try again,” You stammer. Maybe it was a bad idea to pick a show you don’t watch to lie about. Joel answers for you, “Did ya mean Scully?”

You nod. “Yeah. Him,”

Joel just smiles tightly, nodding slowly like he knows something you don’t. You’re so full of shit. “Guess what, sugar,”

“What?”

“X-Files ain’t on tonight,” he whispers with a lopsided grin. 

Busted. 

“And I can tell you don’t watch it,”   Joel takes a few imposing steps toward you, you take a few steps back as well. Your lower back hits the counter behind you, pinning you between itself and Joel. You hear the sound of him setting the batteries down next to you. “You think you’re slick, don’t ya? Lyin’ t’me like this.”

Your heart is racing out of our chest as he places his two hands on either side of you on the counter. “What?”

“Did your lil’ fuck toy die on you?” he taunts, his breath is hot on your face. Your eyes widen at the accusation. “It did, didn’t it?”

Your silence is the only answer he needs. 

“So that’s what you’re playin’ with when I hear you whimperin’ for me late at night, hm?” You can only look down at the floor in shame. You didn’t realize you were loud enough for Joel to hear through his own bedroom, which mirrors yours. “You really should keep that window closed, sweetheart.”

You’re not exactly sure where this is going, you’re nervous and excited. Is he mad? Turned on? You can’t tell. “The fan’s broken, it gets hot,” you try to explain while stammering.

 “I’d be happy to fix your fan for ya, but that’s not what we’re talkin’ about right now,”

Joel’s eyes are piercing, he never breaks eye contact as one of his hands leaves the counter. He pulls the fabric of your robe away from your chest a little more, and you look down to watch his next move. “Joel,” you gasp, surprised.

“Nothin’ under here, hm?” he croons as he begins playing with your nipple, hardened by your arousal and the cool air. You moan quietly when he teases it, pinching and twisting it slowly. He looks at you with big and concerned eyes as if to ask that this is okay. You nod in response, of course it’s okay. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long.

Joel’s hand slides down your body until his fingers find your dripping seam. He slides them through your slick folds teasingly, he cocks his eyebrow when he finds you’re soaked to the bone. “And you were right there, weren’t you?”

You don’t answer, you just keen into his touch a little more. 

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sugar,”

“Yeah,” you admit. 

“Shoot. You poor thing,”

It’s completely silent between you both. Deafening silence. Joel wears a smug grin on his face. He pulls his hand away from your center, reaching for the batteries he set on the counter. 

Before you can even process what you’re doing, you reach for his hand again. “Please,” you breathe. 

“Please what, sugar?”

You don’t have words right now. Not that you did before this moment, either. You put his hand back at your pussy, using your body to tell him what you want. That you want this to continue, that you’re begging him not to stop touching you. Fuck the batteries. 

“Ohhh,” he whispers, realizing. “Want me to get you off tonight, don’t ya?”

You nod with hungry and desperate eyes, thankful that this is going in the best direction it possibly could have. “Please, Joel, need you to touch me,”

It’s not a second before he grabs you by the hips, turns you around and shoves you down to your knees. “No,” he spits, one of his hands is tangled in your hair as the other is untying the knot at his pajama bottoms. He pulls his cock out before you, rock hard and angry. “Think you can just sneak into my house to steal batteries for your little toy?”

You’re at a loss for words, in disbelief that this is the position you’re in now.

“And now you want me to help ya rub one out. S’that right?” When you don’t answer he impatiently taps your cheek with the tip of his cock, smearing precum on your face. “Answer me.”

“Yes, please,”

Joel scoffs. “You’re unbelievable,” he remarks. “Think you’re pretty fuckin’ entitled, sugar. That’s not how this works.”

You feel your heartbeat in every inch of your body, blood rushing through your head. Your eyes dart between his face and his cock in front of you, not sure which part of him to focus your attention to. 

“Here’s how this’ll go,” he begins, pressing his cock against your plump lips. They part slightly at the intrusion, but he doesn’t yet push himself into your mouth. “You do what I say, when I say it. We clear?”

You nod. 

“Repeat it,” he demands. 

“I follow your rules,” you whisper against his member. You can just barely taste him, and you’re hungry for more.

“Attagirl,” Joel praises you, and he shoves himself unceremoniously into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you. 

He’s big. That’s the first thing you notice. He stretches your mouth out wide and fills you up entirely. Then you notice his tuft of slightly unkempt pubic hair that your nose is nudging. Your eyes flutter shut and you savor the way he tastes, tangy and slightly salty from the sweat. 

His voice interrupts your thoughts. “Take your robe off f’me, sug,”

You do as you’re told, untying and shimmying off the thin robe from around your shoulders as you bob your head on his dick. You hollow your cheeks around him, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, so soft and wet. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your head is gentle. He untangles his fingers from your hair and moves them to your cheek, caressing your skin gently. You can’t tell what the gesture means, if it’s supposed to be comforting or his way of letting you know he’s the one in charge.

You feel him twitch in your mouth every so often as you continue sucking his cock. You look up at him with wide eyes, he looks down at you through hooded lids. You wonder what he’s thinking. 

“I wanna watch you touch yourself,” he requests, but it’s more of a demand. His voice low and gravelly.

You spread your legs slightly and your hand finds your center, your fingers slip and slide through your dripping pussy. 

“Fuck yourself,” is his next command, “Deep as you can go. Come on now,”

You insert a single finger inside of yourself, using your body’s rocking motion to propel your finger deep inside you. But it’s not quite what you need. You pull your mouth off Joel’s cock, which garners you a look of irritation from him. “Need more,” you beg. 

“Yeah? Whatcha need?”

“You, Joel. Please,” 

“Awh,” Joel tilts his head and pouts at you mockingly. “Beggars can’t be choosers. You know that, silly girl.”

You open your mouth to plead for him, but he shuts you up by shoving his cock back into your mouth with a grunt. 

“Keep fuckin’ yourself real nice f’me,” he says. “Gonna watch you come all over those pretty fingers.”

You whine a little and shift on your knees, trying to find the right angle while still taking Joel down your throat. Eventually you do, and you add a second finger while grinding your clit down on your thumb. 

You and Joel find a steady pace, him fucking your mouth and you fucking yourself. You feel the beginning of an orgasm coming on and focus hard on that feeling, letting it build and wash over you. You moan and choke on Joel’s thick cock as you come, spit dribbling down your lips and your chin. 

“Good girl,” he praises you. “Good fuckin’ girl.” 

At this point, your lips and your jaw are sore. You wonder what’s next to come, Joel finishing down your throat or something else. It’s not long before you find out, he pulls away from you and brings you to your feet. 

“What was it you were wantin’ again, sugar? D’ya wanna come all over my cock?”

You try to hold back your excitement, slightly embarrassed by the effect he has on you. 

“Tell me, were you thinkin’ of me tonight? Before that lil’ fuck toy of yours died?”

“All day, Joel,” you whine. “Needed you all day.”

“All day,” he repeats, amused. He turns you around to face the counter,  pulls you back by your hips a bit and nudges your feet apart. “How ‘bout that. What were ya thinkin’ about me?” 

“Y-” you gasp, your words interrupted when you feel the thick head of his cock prodding your slit. He drags it up and down your folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“Go on, now,” His southern accent is thick like honey as he teases you.

“When you were mowing this morning-” you choked out. “You looked so handsome.”

“Handsome, hm? S’awful kind of ya,” Joel notches the tip of his dick inside you and sort of pulses inside you, ever so slightly moving in and out of your dripping entrance. “Got me blushin’, sugar.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he buries himself inside of you. You yelp at the sudden intrusion and without missing a beat, Joel wraps a hand around your mouth.

“Pipe down,” he growls. You nod frantically into his hand, which he promptly removes from your mouth and places on the back of your head. Firmly, but not so rough that he hurts you, he pushes your face down into the counter and holds you steady there by the back of your neck. His hand is warm on your neck, the pressure of his strength against you is both comforting and somewhat of a warning. Your guts churn as desire shoots through your veins like electricity. 

Joel finds a steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow. His cock hits you right where you need him. 

“Jesus, sugar. Feel good?”

“Fuck,” is all you can get out. You’re lost in him, your skin is on fire and all you can feel is Joel. His thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. One of his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You feel good, s’good.”

Joel lets out a strangled kind of noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan. You hear his sharp and unsteady breathing through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture it perfectly, his messy hair flopping with each of his thrusts and his brow furrowed, the little line between them more prominent than it usually is.

He fucks you at a devastating rhythm, both of you panting and moaning. Joel’s a little more vocal than you would have expected. You can tell he’s trying to keep as quiet as he can, but he lets out strangled moans here and there, as if he can’t help it at all. When he’s quiet, you wonder how he does it. Is his lip pinned under his teeth? Is he holding his breath?

He taps your cheek. “Look at yourself, baby,”

You open your eyes, and you see your reflection in his glass patio door. You’re stark naked and being mercilessly fucked and Joel’s behind you, still fully clothed. His plump ass peeks out from his gray sweats.

“You look real pretty with my cock in ya, sugar. Always knew you would,” he purrs. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, and you reach an arm behind you to hold onto his own, where he’s still gripping your hips. He holds you in a vice grip and you’re sure you’ll be a painting of bruises tomorrow, a picture of pure, unadulterated sex.

His hand on your neck finally leaves, and he wraps it around the front of your body until he finds your clit. You almost miss the way he pressed you into the cold countertop. 

“Alright, now,” he breathes, “Keep lookin at us when you come.”

You nod into the countertop. Even if he didn’t tell you what to do, you’d still be watching yourself and him in the reflection of the glass. You couldn’t peel your eyes away if you tried.

He expertly paints circles into your clit as his once calculated and steady thrusts turn frenzied and he loses his rhythm. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls clench and squeeze him. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Go on, let go f’me,” he pants. 

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud whine, and Joel pulls you up to cover your mouth with his hand once more. His arm is between your breasts and you’re not sure if the hot sweating on your back is from you or him. You don’t mind either way. 

He doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. Your moaning is muffled by his hand as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting milky white ropes of come on your insides. 

You groan at the loss as he pulls out of you and his spend is warm as it drips from your pussy and down your thighs. You turn around to face Joel, both of you panting as you catch your breath. His dominant demeanor is gone as he bends down to pick up your robe and holds it open for you, you turn around and slither your arms through the sleeves. Without words, he turns you around and ties it in the front, then you slide your flip flops back on your feet. The whole song and dance feels oddly domestic and sweet.

With his hand on the small of your back, he guides you out his door and walks you to your home.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he warns you teasingly, placing the two triple A batteries in your hand. “And close that window. I wanna be the only one to hear ya moanin’ all pretty like that.”

You nod with a shy smile, and Joel kisses your lips and then your forehead. The gentleness of the gesture feels odd, but not wrong. You’re suddenly feeling bashful, as if Joel just didn’t have you butt naked and bent over his kitchen counter. 

“I’ll be by to fix that fan for ya, sugar,” 

And then he walks away. And you go inside and back to your bedroom, first making sure to close your window. You watch the light in Joel’s bedroom turn off.

 You lay in bed and play with the triple A batteries in your hand, still feeling the tingle of his lips on yours, the dull ache of the bruises his fingers left on your hips. 

You never did end up replacing those batteries. Just like how you never gave back the sugar.

@swiftispunk @rosaliedepp @pedrotonin @kittenlittle24 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @brittmb115 @bigboiseason123 @laysmt @venusdemonroe @guiltgoreglory @aubreysylvain @leeeesahhh @oliveg95 @ifall4dilfs @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @harriedandharassed @vickie5546 @louisxosblog @southernbe @ravenouswild @luvrking @r02eg0ld @amythenortherner @walkintheprk @zpandaqueen @silkiers@angel-with-a-heart @kdogreads @boofy1998 @theoremrobin @ihatespoilers @2valentines @happy--birthday--kiddo @elissaaa @paleidiot @brie-annwyl @str84pedro @sesigsss @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @palomaluvsdilfs @kyloispunk @tiredbuthappy @yuk-for-president @jazzy-music-cat @anoverhwhelmingdin @dontatmethebeasts @venus122idkpleaze @nopealoupe @blackvelveteen1339 @monboudoir @darleneslane @bbyanarchist @spideysimpossiblegirl @speckledemerald

[gamermattsgf]

Sour diesel p.2 // dealer Chris

Warnings: shower sex / clitoral stimulation / praise kink / drug dealer Chris x reader / size kink / unprotected sex / vertical prone position (I literally have no idea what else to call this lol) / piercing kink / thoughts of exhibitionism / slight hair pulling

Summary: still feeling the strong effects of the diesel you had just previously smoked, chris now wants a taste, and doesn’t mind pulling you into the shower with him to do so...

Author’s notes: ew why did it take me so long to write this and decide what I actually wanted to do with it lmao. Just a quick disclaimer, if you can’t really remember what happened in the first one I recommend going back to re-read it because this is a continuation of what happens straight after the first one ends. Also lowkey- why does this one get so sappy and soft at the end lol? I should really start writing tooth rots soon too. So anyways… get out ya sour diesel playlists and enjoy ;).

“If you overthinkin’, I get high with you, if you ever sinkin’, I go down with you, all I need, my baby and a cigarette” - CIGARETTES, Amir Obe

. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹

‘shit that is strong stuff…’

You laugh at Chris’ throwaway comment, hyperaware of the way your whole entire body tingles itself into a horny hot-sweat. The thick smell of weed on both of your clothes and the redness of your eyes certainly don’t help in cementing the fact that you are both high out of your fucking minds right now.

Chris feeds his bottom lip into his mouth and tugs on the central silver lip ring he has hooked into his plump flesh.

The sight alone makes your toes curl. It’s as if every single move he makes drags you deeper into a violet haze of ecstasy until you’re so far away from clarity that you can barely see it anymore.

Chris’ soft chest rises and falls as his cock lies there in front of you two, bare, and needing a lot more attention.

Releasing his moist lip from his teeth, it recoils backwards slightly and you watch his lip ring glint hypnotically in the light of the ceiling fan above him.

They look dewy, a peachy pink cream colour… perfect for sucking on.

Your drug dealer’s frosty irises surround themselves with the bloodshot white of his eyes, and the redness almost exemplifies the popping blue colour of them.

His pupils dilate, and he seems to be deep in thought.

You shift uncomfortably on your knees, trying to press your aching heat down onto one of the balls of your feet to suppress its unbearable throb.

Suddenly Chris sighs.

His voice is deep and raspy, almost as if he’s just woken up from a deep slumber. You love it when you two link up to smoke weed together because his voice always drops down to this gorgeous register and it makes your folds slick beneath your underwear every single time.

Unbeknownst to Chris of course.

He’ll just sit there, knowing exactly what he’s doing, yet not knowing anything at all as he balances the blunt in his mouth, blowing out leisurely smoke rings and pumping his system full of relaxant narcotics. Perhaps sprawled out on his back across your bed if at your place or out on his deck in one of his chairs at his…

His voice always ends up the same though, gritty and an octave lower than usual.

‘Wanna take a shower with me, ma?’ He questions casually, as if saying something like this to you is rather a normal occurrence. It elicits a tight tension within your muscles, and you struggle to not grind yourself down onto the ball of your foot.

You swallow thickly at his request, and Chris’ lips twitch up into a little lop-sided smirk. He wants to see you naked. So fucking bad. And he’s not ashamed to admit it. He thinks about it a lot. More than he probably should.

He also just likes to think about you a lot.

Usually when he does his deals with other clients. He’ll always hand over his weed, or his bag of pills and then he’ll think about how much he misses your face.

Then when he’s stretching out his hand and expectantly raising his eyebrows for his money he’ll think about how much he hates letting you pay for your drugs.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he fucking loves spoiling you by giving you free rein of his most expensive strains.

Just a moment of your time is money enough for him.

And then whenever he slinks away from his deals with his black hood up, he leafes through his money and counts it… thinking about how much he can’t wait to see a text from you again.

Sometimes he purposely gives you smaller volumes of weed just so that you run out faster and have to come guiltily crawling back to see him again for more.

With that being said, he takes advantage of this moment, flicking his eyes down to the subtle rock of your hips that rut forward once and then retreat back to their original resting position.

You squirm about at the thought of his shower.

‘Um… yes please’ you clear your throat and mumble politely, your cheeks turning pink in embarrassment. And it’s almost unbelievable to think that you had the thickness of his cock stuffed all the way down your throat moments ago because of how you were looking at him now.

Chris snorts at this nervous reaction, a gruff and teasing giggle slipping past his lips whilst he tilts his head patronisingly. ‘What? You all shy now or somethin’?’.

You avert your eyes as he pokes fun at you, a hint of his Boston accent catching in the back of his throat as he smiles at your endearing behaviour.

You shake your head and muscle up the nerves to look up at him through your eyelashes. You sigh. ‘Sorry it’s just uhh… well- I’m just a little shocked at myself that’s all’.

Commenting on your previously greedy actions, it’s as if you can still feel the soft throbbing of Chris’ thickness stroking against the walls of your mouth. The taste of his cum haunts the base of your throat, and the memory of saliva seeping from your mouth to dribble around his pink head permeates your vision.

The look of the strings of spit connecting his tip to your lips as soon as you had pulled away from him almost become too much for you to bear.

Suddenly, you crack a laugh, and Chris is so fucking high that he finds it within himself to join in, even though what you had said wasn’t really that funny.

After recovering, Chris quickly silences and retreats back to looking at you lustily, his eyes glistening with that primal need to have you for himself, but equally to have you wailing and crying out his name with his windows cracked wide open.

Because he wants passing people to know, to know what’s going on in the bathroom of his apartment. And he wants them to be jealous. Jealous of the way that it’s him who’s pounding into you, him whose skin is slapping against yours, and him whose back is getting clawed at by your nails until it’s red raw.

‘I kinda wanna kiss you…’ he randomly muses to you. And you too, fall silent, and find yourself gravitating towards him naturally. He does the same, his eyes once or twice obsessively looking down to your lips. They hold a begging kind of gaze that almost has you rolling about the floor for mercy.

‘Do it then’ you breathe daringly, both of you two then coming in to bridge the gap. Chris presses his lips into yours, and then immediately you feel the artificial metal ring of his piercing against your own bare skin.

He squeezes his lips closed and traps your bottom one in between his two.

In one solid motion he makes you shiver by smoothly sliding his tongue across the skin of your lip, before wetly detaching himself and doing the exact same thing to your top one. He utters a breathy moan, the cold air on his prick making it throb and harden once again whilst you let him kiss you.

It’s not long before it escalates, and the taste of your saliva has Chris hooked. So much so that he lurches forward a little more to grab both sides of your face aggressively with his hands.

He keeps you held there, the large expanse of them moist with sweating arousal as your mouths drop open even further into the now very messy kiss.

Now it’s just your tongues flattening against each other’s and licking from side to side, spit whipping about and coating the corners of your mouths when sometimes each of you miss your mark.

‘Shower? Please?’ Chris breathlessly pants, his desperate tone almost making him seem like he’s transitioned into heat as his hands slide down your neck, then your tits, only to land on the fabric of your shirt. He boyishly twists it into his knuckles, and impatiently tugs you towards him.

‘O-okay… shower’ you acknowledge him, and then pull away.

Your wobbly feet rise to a stand from off of his scuffed green couch and only then do you realise just how wet you are after your thighs close and rub together.

Chris looks up at you with doe eyes, before grunting and standing up too, trying to pull his grey sweats and boxers up simultaneously.

He messily tries to tuck his weeping cock into his pants, but heaves an annoyed mumble when it takes longer than expected, before he is pushing himself back into you once he’s successful.

He leans in with his mouth already agape hungrily. The fever and determination he has only makes your horniness worse, still in an absolutely trance on your diesel high.

Your tongues sloppily lick each other’s, and Chris moans a quick ‘Mhh, so pretty baby’ into your lips with his eyes feathered closed in enjoyment.

He walks you backwards one or two steps, before humming again in thought and stopping. He then decides to not bother with trying to get you to walk to his bathroom, and so pulls away from your lips to kiss his teeth.

He shuffles back slightly and you eye him quizzically before he’s reaching his palms downwards and turning them up to his ceiling.

They twitch slightly when he purrs ‘up you come baby’, clearly wanting you to leap your thighs into the cups of them so that he can carry you.

You smile slightly at this, and smooth your hands over his shoulders for support before hopping into his hold. He groans a little at the force exerted upon his arms but then quickly flexes them and easily hitches your legs around his thick hips.

‘Atta girl’ he praises you softly before sponging a wet kiss onto the collarbone that sits right in front of the reach of his lips.

He then starts to walk you both through the corridor of his apartment to his bathroom.

On your way there he has to step over piles of his stuff that he’s lazily thrown onto his floor, like a heap of empty Pepsi cans and also his beloved pink North Face puffer jacket that he usually does his deals in.

It lays in a crumpled heap next to his mess of playing card. Presumably he must have had people round playing black jack earlier and just hasn’t cleaned them up yet.

After a bit of turning your head to the side and playfully biting the helix of his ear, he gets you to the door of his bathroom and victoriously kicks it open with his foot.

Twisting to the side, he squeezes both of you past the doorframe and looks up at you with lusting eyes before he is using his foot again to force the door shut behind him. It slams and traps you two into Chris damp-smelling bathroom, the scent of his cologne combatting the mould of the old walls and intoxicating your senses.

You forget how fucking good Chris smells underneath all of that weed.

He suddenly releases his grip on you, and you drop to the floor, your feet padding onto his white bathmat.

He pecks you on the lips once, before twisting around to turn his attention to the shower. He reaches into it and twists the dial which makes water come spurting out of the head. Whilst doing this you simultaneously take off your top and unbutton your jeans.

You slide them down your dewy legs as Chris reaches his palm in to test the temperature of the water before looking back at you, his stomach flipping in excitement at the sight of you standing there in your bra and underwear.

‘Is the shower ready?’ You speak up timidly, standing squished and self consciously with your arms folded over your stomach as you look at the man who has always been on your mind outside of deals, and not just because of the drugs.

He hums. ‘Hmm, not yet, wanna make it nice for you…’.

He turns back around and leans out of the shower.

Shaking his wet hand, a couple of droplets fall to the floor before he is taking off his zip up and letting it plonk to the bathmat. ‘Still feelin’ shy ma?’ He comments with a smirk on his face at the fact that you haven’t yet taken off your underwear.

You laugh and shake your head, his silly attitude managing to ease the tension. ‘Mhh, a little bit’.

Sometimes you get extra nervy when you’re high. It isn’t necessarily Chris’ fault that you feel this way, it’s just the kind of influence the drug has on you depending on what kind of strain you smoke.

His white shirt peels off next, before both of his sweats and his boxers come off.

‘That’s ok, I’d prefer to be the one taking off your underwear anyway…’ he rambles, the sentiment of his want travelling straight to your clothed core and making it burn with heat.

He stands there in his naked vulnerability and by now the shower has heated up enough to billow steam into the room and fog up the mirror in front of his sink.

‘Can I?’ He speaks gently and raises his eyebrows whilst gesturing to your white panties, decorated with a little brown teddy bear logo on the front of them. As if Chris couldn’t adore you more, your taste in panties makes him feel warm and fuzzy, the effects of the sour diesel only making his attraction to you worse.

You nod and Chris takes that as his chance to step forward and feed his thumbs into the soft cotton fabric bunched around your hips.

To distract you whilst he pulls them down, he starts to kiss you again, and you find yourself sucking on his lip ring whilst your panties drop to your ankles.

Chris’ arms then snake around your back, both pulling you towards him and enabling him to fumble around with the strap to your bra. After successfully unclipping it, he whimpers in victory before pulling away from you.

‘Ladies first’ he jokingly gestures and grasps onto one of your hands like a gentleman whilst he leads you into the shower.

He steps in after you and shuts the glass door, both of you getting soaked in the scalding water as it trickles from the shower head and onto your hair. Chris is quick to make sure that you’re directly under the stream of water so that you can absorb all of the warmth, and he looks at you through water droplet-stained eyelashes.

You smile and blush up at him whilst he gingerly trails his fingertip up the endless waterfalls of water slipping down your curves.

He then starts to draw aimless patterns on your skin, like an artist ravishing his muse.

He threads one of his hands through the thick sopping wet mop of your hair, strands clumping together as he drags his fingertips through it and looks at it in fascination.

Your lips crash against each others once more after a single look passed between you two.

Now it’s almost as if you literally can’t breathe without a constant taste of each other’s flesh.

A nicotine addiction, but for bodies.

After kissing slowly, for a while, Chris’ cock begins to ache.

He detaches himself, now the two of you fully soaking wet and the steam residing between your bodies making its way down your throats. The atmosphere is hot, choking, lustful.

Manoeuvring around you, your slickness throbs at the sight of his arm reaching up to unhook the shower head from its hold. Fat water droplet gather at the bottom of the strands of his long hair, and they drip down to the floor at every movement he makes.

‘Your turn baby…’ he lilts cheekily into your ear after using his other free arm to wrap around your front and pull you into his chest. Using the hand gripping the shower head, he teasingly turns the pressure up until the force of the water is hammering out.

He kisses your cheek, and you feel the grin on his face as you struggle not to crumple into his hold. Your knees feel like buckling, and the ache between your legs is almost strong enough to make you feel dizzy.

‘Chris I-’ you stutter quietly, but he doesn’t give you a chance to finish before he’s quickly moving the burst of water and concentrating it upon your clit.

Your throat echos a cry as you arch your back, your head falling into the crook of his shoulder as he licks his tongue over the tepid skin of your throat.

‘Yeah, you like that don’t you…’ he mumbles cockily against your flesh, the hold he has against the shower head unrelenting, even when trying to squirm away from it.

He keeps a firm lock over your body, and the waves of sensitivity it brings you almost makes you pass out. You whine and pant, slinging your arms behind your head and clawing at Chris’ neck.

You feed your shaking fingertips into his hair to yank on it, practically begging for mercy.

‘Feels so good’ you whimper, and Chris nudges your head to envelop your mouth into his once again. This way, he swallows your noises of extreme euphoria for himself.

Your wet bodies slide together, steaming rising from in between your legs as Chris starts to control the water’s flow against your core by moving the shower head in a circular motion.

‘Open up a bit wider for me baby’ he instructs you soothingly, and uses one of his kneecaps to knock into the back of yours, commanding you to spread your thighs a little farther.

You feverishly nod with an ‘o-ok’ before your wobbling legs are stepping further out and the vibrating pleasure is increasing the more Chris gains access to your clit.

You feel his hard cock brushing in between your ass, and it throbs wildly, Chris no doubt aching to bend you over… which he does, unexpectedly.

He presses your left cheek against the wall and your hands come flying up to slap against the cold tiles whilst he forces your back into an arch.

‘Fuck baby’ you mumble, drunk off of the feeling of Chris touching you in the best possible way.

‘Give it to me momma… wanna hear how good I fuck you… make it loud’.

Chris is smug when he presses his tip into your weepy hole, one of his hands coming up to also lean against the tiles above your head, which gives him the right kind of support. His other hand still works the shower head down at your core, and you let out a strangled moan after he fits himself inside of you.

He stretches you out from behind, and you whine a little in pain at his thickness. ‘Ahh Chris… l-little slower please’ you hiss as you suck your teeth, the rough skin of his cock throbbing inside of you and spreading your walls apart. Your mouth is dropped open and your focus is on breathing as soon as you say this, a line of drool accidentally falling from out of one side of your mouth.

It splatters heavily to the floor next to your foot.

Chris sees this slimy mess, and smirks at how much he’s fucking you up, his ego stroking itself as he slowly pushes his hips forward as per your request.

‘Fuck, look at you getting all hot and bothered… my cock really that big huh?’ He patronises you whilst watching your back rise and fall laboriously at having to take in deep stuttering breaths.

You moan a ‘yes’, feathering your eyes shut just for a second to regain your composure.

Chris grins devilishly, mumbling back a stern but simple ‘take it.’ In response.

So you do, and wait until he fully bottoms out to whine for him to move again.

Chris obeys, and his wet hips snap against your ass, causing a resounding clap sound to cacophony across the expanse of his bathroom with the water in his shower still running and its stream battering quickly against your heat.

Tears almost draw within your eyes as you fully soak in how well he’s treating you, fucking you up from both the front and behind.

He groans lowly in a humongous effort to try and hold off his orgasm, just so that you can have yours first, because he realises that you deserve it a lot more than he does after letting him thrust his cock up into your mouth.

‘That good baby? I feel nice?’ He questions, but of course he already knows you love it because of the way you’re almost pathetically crying for him to go faster.

‘Make me cum please- please make me cum’ your fucked-out voice drawls, your fingernails clawing at the tiles of his shower for traction as his fat tip nudges against the most sensitive part of your core with every thrust he makes.

With the shower head still firmly held against your clit, he helps you build up your organs and after a couple more thrusts, he finally finishes you off.

He drops the still running hose to the floor in favour of gripping onto you and making sure that you don’t fall, his hips continuously going but slowing their roll as he helps you calm down from your high.

After your cunt gets too sensitive to withstand anymore of his hard prick, you tap out, and Chris pulls out, panting in tiredness and stickily jerking himself the rest of the way to his own eventual orgasm.

He squirts his cum rapidly onto your back, and you shiver at the feeling of its warm consistency, twisting your body to try and get a look at it erotically dripping down your ass cheeks.

Both of you heave, trying to catch your breaths in the heat of the shower, which proves to be an even more difficult task as soon as Chris turns you back around to face him.

‘C’mere… want more kisses’ he babyishly mumbles, requesting for your lips softly on his once again with a pretty pout on his moony face.

He whimpers happily after you give in, laughing a little at his afterglow submissiveness before pressing small peppering kisses around the corners of his mouth.

You kiss each other once more, and this time instead of you biting against his piercing, he bites against your bottom lip, your tongues lazily twisting in the swelter of the shower.

You guess that the hot water probably washed away a good half of the drug, because you didn’t feel as high anymore.

You stay there, kissing for a while until Chris decides that he wants to rinse you off.

He passes the shower head that had once been firmly focused on stimulating your clit around your body to wash any cum and sweat away, before announcing that he also wanted to wash your hair for you.

You almost melt at the sentiment and patiently stand there whilst he massages a dollop of shampoo into the roots of your hair, sudsing it up and smiling whilst he combs his long fingers through your strands.

After gently whispering ‘okay, now lean back for me…’, he passes the stream of water over your hair and bites his lip in concentration, wanting to make sure that the experience is just as soothing for you as it is for him.

You almost forget that Chris is just your drug dealer as he helps you out of the shower and grabs one of his white towels from his radiated hand rail.

Wrapping you up in one, he makes sure that you’re warm and snuggly before tying a spare one around his own waist.

Water droplets still drip from his chest as he grabs a small hand towel to place on top of your head. He then gently rubs your hair and tries to dry it as much as he can.

You both giggle at how silly you look in the mirror with the towel messily strewn across your head, which is exemplified by Chris deciding to make you laugh even further by vigorously shaking his wet hair out like a dog.

After you’re dry, he helps you back into your clothes, before playfully patting your ass as you both exit his bathroom, Chris shutting the door behind you two.

You suddenly swallow nervously and get anxious once again.

You just had sex with your dealer… twice.

What the fuck does that mean for your relationship? Are you going to have to block him and never speak to him again? Are you going to have to pretend like none of this ever happened?

You sure hope not.

As all of these worrying thoughts swirl about your mind like a raging storm, Chris suddenly comes in like a ray of sunshine and scares the clouds away with a silly sounding ‘hey, wanna play video games with me? I got a really cool new one over the weekend’.

As if he hadn’t just railed the shit out of you moments earlier.

You feel like this is Chris’ own special way of telling you not to worry about it, you can both think about the consequences later… so you smile back at him, returning to the living room where his old green couch lies before plopping down onto it.

‘Turning down a chance to beat you in Mario Kart like I always do? Never… gimme a remote and you’re on!’

. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹

Author’s notes p.2: I want to make out with drug dealer!Chris to the song Percolator by SZA so bad. Bye- this is so specific but MUCH needed. Thank you all for waiting on the much anticipated arrival of Sour diesel part 2, I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did and likewise, I should be getting to work on cherry popper real soon! Ask, and request anything as always… until next time babies :)

Taglist: @luverboychris @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @stursweet @strniohoeee @strawberrysturniolo @thesturniolos @sturniolosreads @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @nicksmainbitch @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @1800chokedathoe @sturnsmadl @sturniolossmut @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattslolita @sturniolowhore @skadltmf @sturniolosstar @luvsturns @mattestrella @hearts4chriss @orangeypepsi

[sapphireneil]

Pillow Talks // OM! Brothers Aftercare hcs

Cw: none really, just fluff after a scene because aftercare is SO important, based on a convo i had with one of my bsfs (mentions of rough sex, bite marks and hickeys)

Gender neutral reader!

A/n: I'll work on the requests soon i swear!

- Lucifer -

Man is so so gentle with you after it (in contrast to just a few minutes earlier)

PRAISE !!!!

Would definitely clean the both of you up and give you one of his shirts to cuddle into

After making sure you're alright and doing well he would brew the both of you some tea

Asks you if you would like to listen to a specific record and if not, he'd just put on something calming

Definitely spends quite some time in bed with you, cuddling and talking about everything and nothing, only going back to his work when he's 100% sure you're mentally and physically alright

- Mammon -

Would not give a single fck about the mess the both of you made, you're immediately wrapped up in his strong arms

He'd definitely would shower you with innocent kisses all over

Naked cuddles!! I repeat, naked cuddles!!!

Would also make sure you have everything you need, not leaving your side for more than five seconds though

Cracked jokes about what just happened!!!

Would probably spend hours just lying in bed with you, the both of you just scrolling through Akuzon, voicing out your thoughts about certain items you stumble across (he takes mental note of everything you mention to be to you liking )

- Asmodeus -

Spa time!!! Bubble bath especially!!

Would totally rant about how beautiful you looked earlier

Cuddles in the bathtub, facemasks and candles

If you would be sore anywhere he would totally massage it

Washes your hair and body for you, he just wants you to relax

When he dries you off, he'll wrap you in the softest towels and carry you to bed after he sprayed you with his perfume just so you still smell like him

- Satan -

would definitely question if he was too rough on you

Totally kisses any marks or hickeys that he'd left and brush over them gently

Cleaning up kinda is teamwork, until you curl up next to him, scrolling through ur DDD a bit

A book in one hand, the other arm wrapped around you, keeping you close

Makes sure to wrap you up in a nice fuzzy blanket too, he doesn't want you to feel cold after all

You fall asleep before him, but he eventually gets tired too, the book is now on his face, you still cradled in his arm, your DDD dropped next to you

- Leviathan -

Asks you if you enjoyed it and if you felt good immediately

Admiring all the love marks hes left on you

Cleaning up and then he seats you in his lap in one of his hoodies

Also quite literally SHOWERS you in kisses, extremely flustered

It's your decision what you want to do, rather its just cuddling, watching anime or him playing a a game, or even playing something together

Man is clingy asf, he knows that the afterglow is a quite vulnerable state so he keeps you as close as possible

- Beelzebub -

No doubt, this man carries you to bed after he cleaned your up. Bridal style. No exeptions.

Tucks you in carefully and would feed you your favorite candy from the jar in his room

Keeps you in his arms until you are fast asleep, then quietly goes to clean up the kitchen

Would totally kiss the bite marks he left, probably even lick over them apologetically

He finishes that cake you had started only for you to wake up to an almost empty plate of it, and a very sorry Beel

- Belphegor -

It takes him a while before coming down from his high, so hes perhaps a bit quiet at first and just keeps his arms wrapped around you, processing in silence

Veeeeryyy sleepy afterwards, but also cold

Will probably get another fuzzy blanket after wiping the both of you down lazily

Naked cuddles part II

Gives a lot of small tired pecks and pulls the blanket over both of you

Hes not gonna let go of you this soon, but that's okay, the both of you will take a nap first anyway

Heya everyone, this is it for today (kinda short im sorry) these are actually my first hcs posted on here, enjoy!!!!

[saiidahyunie]

look here

myoui mina x f!reader 

synopsis: a late night gaming distraction makes it a challenging level to beat.

warnings: smut ; mina recieving ; reader giving ; eating out under the desk ; sachae mentioned ; written in one take ; rushed ; not proofread

a/n: thanks to @inluvwithnay for the thought and the writers guild for feeding into my sub mina motivation :D

your mouth is filled with toothpaste, dragging your toothbrush in, out, and around the inside of your mouth while you walk down the hallway to an open room filled with laughter. 

peering through from one side, you see mina behind three monitors, knees up on the chair while she finishes up her boba popsicle you handed her roughly about thirty minutes ago. crossing over to see a discord call with a strawberry and hamster pfp, you automatically knew that she has been gaming with chaeyoung and sana for a few hours now. 

mina pulls the popsicle stick out of her mouth with a pout in her eyes, but they immediately soften when she sees you give her a small wave while sitting on the armrest of her chair, she wraps her arm around your waist while you see the camera from mina’s end. 

“they’re saying hi to you.” mina says, nudging your waist to give a wave to the two girls, so you do. 

“aren’t you gonna get off now?” you ask, putting all of the toothpaste on one side of your mouth to speak more clearly. “it’s getting late.” 

“we’re gonna get off in about an hour or so.” she replies, hand now on the mouse scrolling through the texts and different programs of games figuring out what to play next. “here, i’ll put my mic on speaker so that sana and chae can talk to you.” 

while she was doing that, you grab one of the empty cups at mina’s desk, spitting the toothpaste before placing the cup down for a quick second before the sound rips through the calm ambience of the fan in the room.

“y/n!! hiiiiii!” one of the voices in a sweet tone calls you through the screen.

“hi sana!” you reply, waving back to the webcam as the screen shows her and chaeyoung with their cameras. “i thought jeongie was gonna come play with you guys?” 

“she’s backed up with work so we couldn’t play phasmophobia tonight.” chaeyoung replies, beaming a smile while you giggled, trying to help pick out a game for the girls to play. in a few short moments, sana brought up that she had to get some food and chaeyoung said that somi dropped by to drop something off to her. the both of them turned off their cameras and muted their mics, mina doing the same thing while stretching out from playing to hours on end. 

you sit on mina’s lap, her head nestling on your chest while she catches the whiffs of the coconut conditioner you used while showering, speaking of—

“i missed you in the shower earlier,” you mutter, kissing the top of mina’s head while she hums into your oversized shirt. “that’s twice now in a week.” 

“i know,” mina replies. “i’m sorry baby, it’s just that work has been so tough lately and i haven’t had time for myself.” she looks up at you, palming the side of her face and grazing her cheek with your thumb. you’re pouting along with her and you understood that mina needed to unwind. 

“well,” you start before leaning down, giving a loving kiss, pulling away just a bit. “i’m gonna go ahead and sleep first. don’t keep me waiting for too long now, okay?” 

mina hums, “mkay. i’ll see you there after.” 

“have fun baby.” 

“i will.” 

you give mina one more kiss before grabbing the empty cup with your toothbrush before mina called out for one last thing.

“can you turn off the lights on your way out?” 

you nod immediately, flicking the switch in the room to off while the hallway is filled with your fading steps.

—

mina didn’t even keep track of the time since you came into the room, but here she was playing minecraft with sana and chaeyoung, building up their treehouse when she glanced over to the clock on the bottom corner of her second monitor. 

2:10. pretty late as it is. 

the only thing that’s keeping mina awake was sana’s bubbly energy pooling through her headphones. that and the peach smoothie that you made for her before going to bed not long after. 

she’s trying to help sana come up with a name for her ocelot that she just found somewhere in the jungle, when she hears you come into the room again, rubbing your eyes while mina set her headset around her neck. 

“y/n, what are you doing here?” mina asks. 

“couldn’t sleep…” you mumble, yawning while you set yourself on mina’s lap again, adjusting her sitting position as she continues to move her character in the game to keep up with sana and chaeyoung. the faint sounds of their voices blaring quietly through the headset. 

mina catches the same whiff of coconut conditioner in your hair now added on with the lavender scent from the humidifier that was in the bedroom. she couldn’t help but take in the smell while you relaxed on top of mina’s lap. “you smell really good.” 

“hm, do i?” you ask, and mina looks up at you. there was something about her being so cozy in her oversized hoodie with a gamer headset. you would find it hard to believe that this woman was the same person who waltzed into your life effortlessly when you asked for her number at a restaurant, but here she was, in your arms. 

you lean down for a kiss, the tender feeling of her lips becoming instantly addicting the more you taste her. feeling her hand wrapped around your back while your hands are cupping your face, it’s impossible to stop once you start, and with mina, you never want things like these to end. 

pulling away, you have the rational thought of stopping yourself getting lost with mina’s lips and body, but at the same time, there was this need for her that was burning inside you—and the way she looked so hypnotizing with her glazed eyes and parted lips, you need more of her. 

“you should,” diving for another peck before retreating, “come to bed with me. right now.” 

mina ponders on this for a second, “i’m almost done baby, then we can have our fun after.” 

“i don’t think i made myself clear enough.” you sigh out, dismounting from mina’s lap and leaning across from her. “get off the game.” 

“or what?” she challenges. 

“or i do this.” 

your hands are quick to slip under mina’s oversized hoodie, feeling that she nothing under, giving you free access while your lips are working her face, pulling and sucking while mina stifled a groan that could’ve been picked up in the mic, but she kept herself composed while you let yourself have fun.

trailing from her neck, your fingers reach the elastic of her pink shorts, pulling them down while you keep your gaze on mina, biting your lip as mina feels the heat rise up to her cheeks, tossing away the shorts from the desk under. 

“y/n, fuck...” mina stutters, “w-what are you doing?” 

“don’t worry about it sweetheart, just focus on the game.” you reply while parting mina’s luscious legs, trailing kisses upwards from her inner thigh, inching towards her aching cunt. 

“but…t-the girls. they—” 

“let them hear you darling, i know they’ll like the sound of me going down on you.” 

mina’s fingers find the back of your head when you make that first contact of her pussy with your mouth, tongue laving and tasting the midnight snack you’ve been craving for a bit as mina tried to keep herself composed, putting back on the headset before continuing to play with sana and chaeyoung. 

"mina you here with us?" chaeyoung asks through the headset, mina putting them back on instnatly while you rolled your eyes giving her pussy another lick.

“i-i’m here guys. d-don’t worry.” 

“everything okay mina?” sana asks through the voice call, “we thought you left already.” 

“no, i-i just, fuck- had to do something real quick. that’s all.” mina pants out, moving the character with her left hand on the keyboard, the other on your head as you slipped a finger inside her cunt. 

mina hits the keybind that automatically mutes her mic for a second while she covers her mouth, the relentless assault of you eating her out from under her gaming setup, groaning out while she tries to press your face together with her legs, prolonging the sensation. 

“i can’t belie–god! fuck, y/n—shit, just like that.” 

pulling away for a bit, the bottom half of your face soaked while you licked your lips. “unmute your mic.” 

“w-what?” 

“unmute your mic. i wanna let them hear you cumming for me.” 

mina has to follow, her mind fogging up from the pleasure—she can’t even think straight when you dip to fingers inside combined with your mouth on her clit. she’s biting her lip while you go down on mina again, the pace unraveling her from within as you’re sucking and swiping and humming and–

“y/n, i-i’m–so fucking close…” 

“is the mic on?” 

“y-yes.” mina barely gets out. 

“good.” 

there’s a loud whine, airy moan as you groan out in the rewarding. feeling mina’s walls clamp around your fingers and her head falling all the way back into her seat. it takes quite a bit for the both of you to recover, the scent of sex now filling up the air as you’re cleaning yourself up from mina’s mess—mina tasting herself off your lips when you get up and kiss her again, straddling her and taking off your shirt in the process. 

“is that enough to convince you?” 

mina lands a few expectant kisses over your cheek and chin—an indication that she wants more, and you aren’t complaining. 

“forget turning off the game baby, let’s go.” you say, getting up from mina and pulling her by the hand into the bedroom. 

(while that was happening, here’s what the headphones pick up from the vc: 

“did y/n just fuck mina during the call?” - sana

“i think she did, and that was kinda hot for us to hear…” - chaeyoung)

[leebitofficial]

come to bed?

fluffy! hyunjin x reader,

2am, you quietly enter your home. it’s dark, it’s quiet, no sign of hyunjin.

the smell of freshly baked bread still lingers after hyunjin spent the evening trying to recreate his mother’s apple bread.

tiptoeing into the bedroom, you’re careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend.

dropping your bags, you hear shuffling coming from the bed.

“baby?” hyunjin peeks from under the covers.

“oh- i’m sorry! did i wake you?” you worry.

“no, no, i’ve been up for a while. come to bed?” he ushers you.

“i will, need to shower first though.” you reassure your impatient lover.

he whines in protest as you bend to give him a quick kiss on the forehead before you maliciously abandon him yet again.

you hurriedly shower, eager to finally get some time with hyunjin after your long night.

finally climbing into your comfortable bed, hyunjin turns around to wrap his arms around you and hold you impossibly close, placing a few very soft kisses along your crown.

“how was it? did you have fun?” he asks, brushing your hair through his fingers.

“i guess it was fun, missed you though. it’s just hard to have fun being away from-”

her.

there’s that familiar sound again.

“i got it, you’re tired, go to sleep.” he spoke before kissing your forehead and unbinding you from each other.

rolling over and grabbing the baby monitor from his bedside, hyunjin mutes it before hopping out of bed.

he’s already heading out the door of your bedroom before you could say a word.

he told you to stay but you can’t help it. you follow behind him quickly, a man on a mission, his long legs carrying faster than yours ever could this late into the night.

nearly out of breath, placing your hands on his hips, you peek from behind hyunjin.

normally he would jump at the sudden touch from behind, but he was far too focused on the issue at hand.

“aigoo~ why is my baby crying?” he coos as he gently picks her up from her crib. he holds her gently in his arms and begins to ever-so-lightly rock her.

almost immediately she stops crying.

all you can do is sit back and watch in awe.

hyunjin has always been the favorite between the two of you, but you don’t really mind. she’s still your baby and of course she still loves you with all the emotion she can process at six months old.

she’s such a daddy’s girl and it absolutely melts your heart.

you sit on the chair in the corner of the room, overwhelmed with drowsiness. through tired eyes, you watch your boyfriend sing a makeshift song to try and get your daughter back to sleep.

“i think she’s hungry” he says as he turns to you sitting behind him.

except you’re sound asleep.

so once he’s finished feeding your daughter and putting her back to sleep, he gently scoops you from the chair, careful not to wake you— though not successful— and takes you back to bed.

you let out a whine in protest of him disturbing your sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from ensuring you’re comfortable. he tucks you in before then tucking himself in, settling into your previous position with your limbs intertwined, and placing kisses on your temple with some incoherent whispers in between.

forget his career, he’d rather spend his life taking care of the two of you if it meant moments like this.

a/n: i literally wrote this months ago and never posted it but baby fever got the best of me 💔

[puck-bunnies]

all the time

luke hughes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex (p in v), shower sex, short blurb

word count: 879

when you��re just newly in a relationship, you can’t get your hands off of each other. wanting to fuck everywhere, all the time.

luke’s hands grip at my hips as he pins me against the shower wall, my back arching off the cold tiles as his fingers dig into me. his tongue takes up my mouth, our lips moving in hungry motions, always wanting more of each other. his lips bite down on my bottom one, pulling me, making me want more.

he pulls back, watching as his cock sits between my thighs, the tip lightly rubs against my clit. brushing against my folds as he moves his hips closer to me. the water runs down my body, hair drenched and pressed to my back, luke’s curls stick to his forehead as the water trickles down behind him.

i watch as he softly thrusts his hips slowly between my thighs, i can feel myself getting wetter above him, ready for him to slide into me. my pussy clenches, trying to get some type of satisfaction as my hole waits to be filled by him. i can’t take it anymore. “please luke.” my voice comes out in a whimper, showing how needy i am for him.

he smirks, dropping his head lower so our eyes are level. “you’re so needy huh? you just want to be fucked like the slut you are already?” he husks in my ear. my legs can’t help but shake, knees turning into jello as he tells me exactly what i want to hear.

i bite my bottom lip innocently, nodding my head to his words. he takes his cock in his hand, moving it up for the tip to slide against my needy pussy. “you’re soaked for me already?” he smirks. his other hand still grips my hip, hand marks digging into my sensitive skin. my breath is shaking, knees buckling and heart quickening.

luke finally guides the tip of his length to my clenching hole, swiftly sliding in, he lets me adjust to his size. stretching me out, he’s only half way in when i feel full, but he keeps going, he knows i can take it. my nails dig into his shoulders as he keeps going, eyes squinted shut as i wait for him to be fully in. “you going to take it for me like a good girl?” luke asks as he sees me in a pained manner.

“yeah, i just need to adjust. you’re so fucking big.” he can’t help but smirk when i praise him for his long thick cock. he’s finally all in, letting me get used to him.

both his hands go back to my hips, softly lifting me up so my legs are on either side of him and my back is still pressed against the wall. “you ready?” he asks me. even though luke likes to fuck me rough, he always makes sure i’m comfortable with it. i nod, giving him just what he needs to start his hips.

he starts slowly first, letting me get used to him being inside me again. he doesn’t stay for that for long, every stroke gets faster and deeper. my nails dig into his shoulders, eyes staring deep into his as my back arches off of the tiles. my moans fill the shower, bouncing back into luke’s ears to feed his pleasure.

his hands are underneath my thighs, his thick fingers gripping my soft skin leaving me moaning for more. “you like that baby?” he asks in my ear, pressing his lips against my neck, sucking at all the spots he knows are sensitive. “fuck you’re so tight, made to fit this cock.”

right under my jaw, he works it. lightly biting and sucking on my skin making me squirm. i can feel my stomach tightening up, my walls clenching around him again making him groan against my skin. i roll my head back against the wall, opening up more space for luke’s lips to adventure. “i’m almost there luke.” i moan out. luke’s hips don’t stop for a second, pumping back and forth against me constantly.

his tip presses against my g-spot making my moans get ten times louder. “i’m going to need you to wait baby, wait for me to cum in you.” i groan, the excruciating wait for him to finish. the warmth of my core making it so easy for him to catch up with me. he lets out a breathless, “okay baby.” as i let my stomach unclench, my lungs needing more air to breath in then what’s provided.

he slowed down, riding both of our highs but being careful not to hurt me. i fall onto his shoulder, resting my head in the crook of his neck. our chest heave in sync, he carefully pulls out of me, holding me for longer to let me regain myself.

as i finally come back to my senses he lets me down, i have to hold onto his hard bicep to keep my self from falling. luke wipes my hair off my sweaty and wet forehead, leading me back into the main stream of the shower.

[krashoutluv]

I support the virgin Jason agenda so how do you think Jay would react to receiving head for the first time 👀

OUUUUHHHHHHHFUFHFIFHDJ HES ACTUALLY GRIPPING ANYTHING HE CAN

tags: @millyhelp

AK!Jason Todd Gettin’ Head For The First Time

(NSFW EXPLICIT / DETAILED)

‘tis unda da cut!

LOVE-HATE relationship with getting head.

like it feels so good and the way he feels drives him insane

but also getting that close to him without being the dominant one makes him uncomfortable

its a little rare you give him head, its when he wants to be taken care of or hes super tired but horny

it definitely takes awhile for him to be okay with it still

but for the first time hes still horrendously whipped

the entire time hes going crazy

like as soon as your head gets close to his cock his mind is going blank

JASON sits in a chair in front of you, he just got home from his mission. The weariness in his eyes was very obvious when he barely got through your window, almost crashing that night on your floor; He had been tracking a gang that was dealing poison. Problem was, they put a lot of time into being hard to trace, he spent a good month tracking their warehouse. He spent way too much time running around Gotham for interrogations and not enough around you. Solution was, when he did find them this night, they focused a lot more on their secrecy and not enough on their own protection so it was a quick fight for him. Still, the mental drain had his feet dragging, and way too much steam in his pants; Nights like this he would’ve just jacked off in the shower and went to sleep. Would’ve. But, Jason comes home and you’re still up. You just finished some last-minute assignments from your professors, if he wasn’t so busy he would’ve gotten them done for you the day they were assigned. But here he is, slipping behind you, pecking kisses to your neck, you feel his hot breath on your neck, Oh, this poor guy… One pretty little question leaving his lips —and.

Oh. <3

Now, he’s sat up on your couch, pants just pulled down, you look up and ask him one more time.

“Are you sure?” His eyes already drawn on you.

“Please.”

He just barely chokes out, voice hoarsely struck an octave lower then his usual tone and slightly cracking towards the end; the sound pitch change flowing like honey from his lips.

Oh, this poor guy. You nod, keeping your eyes on his before moving down, pecking at his happy trail, drifting down to his inner thighs, softly sucking at his skin. His eyelashes fluttering as you trailed closer to the base of his cock. He was far from small. Definitely above average, 8 inches even , and thick, really fucking thick. (Shower not grower, feeding myself sorry).You move your hand to his dick, softly pumping his twitching cock up and down, pressing tender kisses on his tip before looking up into his eyes and lapping at the vein that travels from the base of his cock and up. Your eyes fell on him, staring down on you, both of his hands propped up on the pillows around him, taking deep breaths through his nose. Barely keeping it together. Barely. You then take as much of him into your mouth as you can, moving your other hand to his balls (HAHAHA BALLS sorry), and start sucking him, jerking off the parts you didn’t take. He dropped his head back and started open mouth panting, maybe if he wasn’t tired he would’ve been able to keep himself quiet. Maybe. But, Oh, this poor guy needed this sooo bad. He’s gripping those pillows like they’re the only thing keeping him down as you take your tongue to the slit of his tip.

“ughh—“ his hand shoots to his mouth, (insert that 1 arkham voice line from game IKYKIK) ,”—Mmmh” ‘s start slipping from his mouth instead. His mind is so foggy, all he can focus on is the wet warmth around his dick and the lewd sloppy noises you’re making. Jason’s strangled grunts made you whine out your own, the vibrations around him made his head shoot down to watch you. He’s losing his grip at the sight, he moved his hand from the pillow to your where your jaw and ear meet. Brushing his hand against your skin, “Keep going,,” he let out a soft exhale, drawing circles on your skin,”Just like that…” His voice was starting to crack . Watching your pretty face he couldn’t help bucking his hips into your mouth before pausing. Jason lifts your head with his hand that was on your jaw, Breathlessly he asks, “Is that alright… Sweetheart?” He’s trying to hold it together, really fucking trying to hold it together; but his voice is so cracky and whiney right now, and he needs to make sure you’re not being hurt. But, you nod to him sweetly, with those swollen lips and those teary eyes, ”Atta’ Doll.” Barely managing to deepen his voice before starting to pump his hips, making sure to keep his pace bearable for you. Jason husked out praises every chance he got. Every jolt of his hips had him seeing stars, he just couldn’t last long.

Jason felt the base of his cock and balls (HAHAH BALLS) tighten, he furrowed his brows and let out a string of strained curses. His hips got sloppy, breath hitched before he dropped his head back and his hips stopped entirely. His pelvis perked up and body tenses as he let out sputtered moans for every pulse of thick hot cum and pleasure that roll from his cock . His eyelashes fluttering and his eyes rolled to the back of his head throughout his orgasm. Jasons body slowly slacks, after a few seconds he reached up and brushed his hair out of his face.

He panted out treble, “Mh,” ‘s and, “Ah” ‘s while he settled from his high. He reached to his mouth to sloppily wipe the bit of drool that he prayed you didn’t see. Rolling his head forward to look at you, he took his cock out of your mouth then pressed a hot kiss to your lips. Jason brought his hand to the back of your neck and continued to peck at your face. He stopped and whispered airlessly,”Thank you.” You were close enough to feel his breath panting on your face and see his hair sticking to his skin from sweat. The pleasure and exhaustion in his pretty blue eyes making him look so needy. Oh, this poor guy! You need to get him asleep ASAP!!

literally he fell asleep open mouth drooling. snoring a little too!! literally my pillow princess !!

so many kisses while you two were falling asleep, legitimately had a hard time prying himself off you

so vulnerable this night inlove so bad

him fighting to come of dominant so bad but it feels so good and he wants to be taken cared of sooo bad

he was fighting to keep his voice at a normal tone BUT HIS DRAMA QUEEN ASS!! COULD NOT KEEP QUIET!! EXPECT NOISE COMPLAINTS!! ITS 4AM GTS !!

im so down bad for the way his va had him talking HHHHH

inbox is open if you wanna rq anything or just wanna yap!

[hockey-fics]

That Week in Vancouver ~ Quinn Hughes

(Pt. 2 of That Night in Michigan)

"You can just keep believing whatever you want to believe if it makes you feel better about the way you treated me."

Word count: ~11,800

Warnings: some toxic behaviours (primarily arguing), drinking, language, smut.

A/N: there is a small potential for a part three, I have an idea for it but it depends on how motivated I am to keep going with this as a series. It's already gotten much longer than I ever intended it to.

“Do you have time to talk?”

There’s a silence that falls over the line that makes your heart race, your hands growing clammy. He had answered the phone at the very least, you had to hold onto some hope that he would be willing to have a conversation. It wasn’t a big ask, you didn’t need all day. You just needed a few minutes, a few minutes that could determine the outcome of your entire relationship.

“Quinn?” you whisper, unable to sit in the silence for any longer. 

“I don’t really have time,” Quinn tells you, his voice distant and cold. 

“Oh,” you mumble, your eyes prickling with tears. “When, um…when would you have time?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn replies quickly. “Things are kind of busy right now.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you blink quickly, trying to stop the onslaught of tears coming to your eyes. “Quinn, please,” you plead. 

“Sorry,” Quinn mumbles. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he croaks, the first indication that this wasn’t as easy for him as he was making it seem. 

Before you have the chance to say anything else the call ends, your heart sinking with it. Pulling your knees to your chest you feel a few tears slip from your eyes. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. Wiping the tears from your face with your sleeve you struggle through a few deep breaths, your breath catching in your throat each time. Was this really how it was going to end? A lifetime of friendship. Years of feelings. All of that to end without so much as a conversation. 

You don’t know how long you sit there until eventually your body is so exhausted from crying that you climb off the couch, heading straight to bed. At least if you were asleep you could silence the never-ending stream of thoughts about you and Quinn. It doesn’t take long till you fall asleep that night, sleeping till late the next morning. 

When you finally pull yourself out of bed you take a shower, your body numb as you go about some sort of normal routine, unsure of what else to do. Standing in front of the coffee maker in your kitchen you stare at the drops of coffee splashing into the slowly filling pot. Your phone vibrates on the counter beside you and you glance over at it, opening the text message from Luke. 

‘if I get a dog would you look after it when we’re on the road?’

Sighing you read the message before locking your phone, setting it back down again to pour yourself a mug of coffee. As you’re stirring some cream into it you hear your phone vibrate again. 

‘at least turn your read receipts off if you’re going to ignore me’ 

Picking up your phone you quickly send him a message back. ‘sorry, just not having a great day’.

A second later your screen is filled with an incoming FaceTime call from Luke. Groaning quietly you slide to answer it as you walk into the living room. “Hi,” you say quietly, flopping down onto the couch. 

“What’s wrong?” Luke asks, skipping past a greeting. 

“Nothing,” you mumble, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket that was tossed over the back of your couch. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Alright,” Luke drawls, clearly not convinced. “So will you look after my dog?”

You can’t help but giggle, rolling your eyes. Luke was always there for you when things weren’t going well, even if he didn’t always know the appropriate responses to your emotions. “I don’t know if you’re even responsible enough to take care of a dog when you are home.”

“I am,” Luke defends quickly. “I just have to feed him and walk him.”

“And train him and brush him and take him to the vet and the dog groomer and make sure he’s getting enough exercise.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do all that,” Luke says with a shrug. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Sure,” you say with a quiet laugh. “I’ll look after him when you’re on the road if you get a dog.”

“Thank you,” Luke replies, smiling happily. “Now tell me why you’re so sad.”

Sighing loudly you toss your head back dramatically, staring up at the ceiling. “Quinn won’t talk to me,” you state quickly, knowing that if you didn’t just say it you wouldn’t be able to get the words out. “I called him last night, he won’t talk to me.”

“What did he say?”

“Literally nothing,” you mumble. “He said he didn’t have time to talk and he’s too busy to talk later.”

“He’s just upset about you and Holtzy,” Luke explains, as if you were completely in the dark as to why Quinn didn’t want to talk to you. 

“I know, Luke, I’m not an idiot,” you exclaim, eyes flooding with tears again. “Sorry…I just…I don’t know what to do. I miss him.” Reaching up you quickly wipe away the tears that had pooled under your eyes. 

“I know,” Luke mutters, nodding slowly. “Are you doing anything today?” 

“Not really,” you tell him honestly, shrugging it off quickly. 

“Get ready, I’m going to pick you up.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere, Luke,” you mutter, sighing quietly. 

“You just want to sit there and cry alone all day?”

“Oh my god,” you whine, shaking your head. “Leave me alone.”

“I’ll be there in like forty-five minutes,” Luke tells you, hanging up before you can argue against it. 

Sighing you pull yourself off the couch, finding an outfit for whatever this mysterious outing was. You busy yourself getting ready until Luke texts you, telling you he was there. Hurrying out of your apartment you find him idling on the street in front of your apartment building, hopping into his car. “Hi,” you greet, pulling your seatbelt on. 

“Hey,” Luke replies, waiting till you were situated in your seat before pulling back out onto the road. “Do you want like a coffee or something?”

“You’re trying really hard, aren’t you?” you tease, giggling quietly. 

“Yeah, I don’t want you to be sad,” Luke tells you. “But if you keep making fun of me I might stop.”

“No, please don’t,” you laugh. “Yeah, I’d love a coffee.” 

Luke takes you to your favourite coffee shop, after you gave him step by step instructions of how to get there. With a latte in hand you climb back into Luke’s car, still unsure of where he was planning to take you. 

“Where are we going?” you ask. 

“It’s a surprise,” Luke tells you with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m scared,” you joke, taking a sip of your coffee as you look out the window, trying to figure out where you could possibly be headed. 

Shortly after Luke pulls into the parking lot of a large building, your eyes focusing on the sign out front. “You’re unbelievable,” you laugh, looking at the animal shelter in front of you. 

“Come on, you know that seeing dogs is going to cheer you up.”

You follow Luke out of the car and towards the building. “We’re not leaving here with a dog, Luke,” you warn, stepping inside as Luke holds the door open for you. 

After talking briefly with the woman at the front counter she guides you through the building to the dog kennels. “Looking to expand the family?” she asks with a friendly smile.

“What?” Luke asks cluelessly. 

“No…we’re not, um, we’re-,” you begin. 

“Ew,” Luke mutters. 

Looking over at him you narrow your eyes, scoffing. “Well you don’t have to act like it would be disgusting,” you joke. “We’re just friends, he’s looking for a dog, I’m just the designated pet-sitter.”

“Well it’s always good to have a pet-sitter lined up,” she says uncertainly. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to take a look, let me know if you have any questions.”

Walking over to one of the kennels you look at the tag on the door, reading it over. “Muffins,” you gush, looking at the small dog in the kennel. “His name is Muffins,” you repeat. 

“Muffins is ugly,” Luke mutters from behind you, staring at the little dog with scraggly fur, bulging eyes, tear stains on his white fur. Reaching over you playfully whack Luke’s arm. “Don’t be mean to Muffins,” you scold. 

“Look at this one,” Luke says, drawing your attention away from Muffins and to the large lab in the next kennel over. 

“You’re so predictable,” you tease, reading the description of Dewey the lab. The two of you wander along the rows of kennels, fighting against falling in love with each and every one of the dogs. By the time you were leaving that afternoon you were covered in dog fur, no longer quite as sad as you had been when you woke up that morning. 

Sitting in the car with Luke he scrolls through the pictures that he had taken of the dogs, clearly wanting to go back in and adopt one right then and there. Leaning over you look through the pictures with him, stopping him when he gets to a picture he took of you and one of the puppies. “Can you send that to me?” 

“So you can post it on instagram?” Luke teases. 

“Shut up,” you wine, rolling your eyes. “Yes.”

Luke chuckles, sending you the picture before setting his phone down. “What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who dragged me out.” Saving the photo to your phone you open instagram, adding the picture to your story with the caption ‘puppies really do make bad days better’, tagging Luke in the corner. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Luke says, pulling out of the parking lot. “Are you still going to pretend you didn’t have fun?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “Thank you, Luke…I do feel a bit better.”

“Good.” Luke turns down another street, seemingly on the way back to your apartment. “Quinn’s just an idiot,” Luke says suddenly. “He’ll come around, I promise.”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, glancing over at Luke. “I think this is different.”

“Why?”

Shrugging you look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. “Because he’s never been like this before. He’s never been mean to me before, he’s never said things like…that.”

“What did he say?”

“He basically called me a whore…I mean, not directly, but it was easy enough to figure out what he meant. He said that I don’t think about anyone other than myself and that he’s done with me.”

Luke is quiet for a few seconds before looking over at you when he stops at a red light. “What?” he finally mutters. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, sniffling quietly. “Maybe it really is just time to move on. I just…I love him so much, I don’t know…it’s hard.”

“He’s an asshole,” Luke mutters under his breath. “I didn’t know that’s what he said to you,” Luke admits. 

“I didn’t really want to talk about it,” you tell him with a shrug. “I mean, I guess maybe he’s right, maybe I was flirting with everyone, I don’t know. I’d take it all back, it never even meant anything to me, I didn’t realize it was affecting him like that…I just…I just want him back. Maybe things will never be more than they were before, maybe we’re not meant to be together or anything but to lose him altogether, as a friend…I can’t handle that.” You hadn’t even realized how quick your breathing had grown, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping the tears from your face. 

“You’re fine,” Luke assures you, glancing over with a smile so full of pity that it makes you want to hurl yourself out of the car. “Can I, um, can I do anything to help?”

Choking out a breath of laughter between your shaky breaths you shake your head. “No, I don’t think anyone can do anything to help.”

Luke turns into the parking lot of your apartment building, pulling into one of the visitor spots. “Well can I at least come hang out for a bit?”

“I’m not going to say no,” you tell him, picking your purse up from the floor of his car. “But you really don’t have to stay just because I’m sad.”

“You know that I actually like spending time with you, right? I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m doing you a favour.”

“I just don’t think that I’m that fun to be around right now.” Climbing out of his car you fish your keys from your purse, guiding Luke into the building. 

“Remember when I had the flu and you spent like a week taking care of me?” Luke asks as he watches you press the button for the elevator. “Was I fun then?”

“I mean it was kinda funny,” you say with a playful smile. “I would never have expected a little flu to take you down so easily.”

“It was bad,” Luke defends, chuckling as he leans against the wall of the elevator. 

A few minutes later the doors slide open and you guide Luke to your apartment, kicking off your shoes and heading for the couch. Luke joins you a minute later, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “What do you want to watch?”

“You’re actually going to let me pick?” you ask in shock. 

“You’re the one who’s sad,” Luke reminds you, handing the remote to you. 

You pick your favourite show on Netflix, pulling your legs up onto the couch and curling up in the corner. You watch the show in silence for a few minutes before looking over at Luke, watching him type something on his phone. “Do you think he ever loved me?” you whisper, a feeling of shame washing over you for even asking the question, of wanting that reassurance. 

Luke is quiet for a minute, as if he wasn’t sure how he should reply, like you were a ticking time bomb waiting for the next thing to set you off. “Yes.”

Nodding slowly you turn your attention back to the tv, your vision blurry as you stare through a layer of tears. You didn’t know what else to say, didn’t want to talk about anything else yet you didn’t want to talk about it either. So you remained silent, watching episode after episode till you were beginning to drift to sleep. 

“Hey,” Luke whispers, gently shaking your shoulder. 

Inhaling sharply your eyes fly open, glancing around in a tired shock. “Hm?” you hum. “What time is it?…How long was I asleep?”

“A few hours,” Luke tells you with a shrug. “I’m going to go home now though, I have practice in the morning. Do you want to come? I’ll give you my bed again.”

Shaking your head you sit up, blinking tiredly. “No, no, that’s okay…thank you though.”

“Are you sure? Are you going to be okay alone?”

“Luke, I’m fine,” you assure him, swinging your legs off the edge of the couch. Standing up you pull him into a hug, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you for coming over today. Text me when you get home, okay?”

Luke waits for you to pull away first before saying goodbye, heading out to drive back to his place. After waking up a bit more you find something for dinner, calling your best friend to talk, needing to get out of your head. You end up talking with her for most of the evening before heading to bed rather early, the intense emotions of the last couple days catching up with you.

The next morning you wake up early, trying to keep yourself busy so that you didn’t fall into the same sadness that you felt the day before. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life wallowing. After having breakfast you take your coffee and grab your laptop, heading to the living room to sit on the couch. You pay a few bills before opening your email, your eyes narrowing in on one email from 1:46am. 

Flight Confirmation. 

Nervously clicking on it you scroll down, confusion building when you see that it was indeed a flight booked under your name. Then your eyes fall to the destination. Vancouver. Glancing at the date you realize it’s for next weekend, your heart racing. 

Picking up your phone you dial the number of the only person you thought would be buying you a flight to Vancouver. You listen to the dial tone for so long you begin to wonder if he wasn’t going to answer at all. 

“Hi?” Quinn mutters, his voice groggy and tired. 

Looking at the clock you realize how early it still was in Vancouver. “Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“It’s fine,” Quinn mumbles. “Did you get the email?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your eyes not leaving the screen of your laptop. “Why?”

“Because I’m sorry,” Quinn says quietly. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you, I shouldn’t have treated you like that and I want to see you. If the date doesn’t work I can change the flight, just let me know when, I figured you have weekends off so I thought it would be better to pick a weekend but I know the flight is Friday morning so if you can’t leave that day I can just-.”

“This weekend is perfect,” you interrupt. “I’m sorry too, Quinn, I never meant to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Quinn assures you. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you reply, not expecting your voice to grow shaky in the way it did. “I can let you get back to sleep now.”

“No, it’s okay, I was going to get up soon anyway.”

“Okay,” you whisper, still staring at the flight details on your laptop screen. “You didn’t need to buy me a first-class ticket, Quinn.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Quinn tells you quietly. “You’re going to let Luke get a dog?”

You can’t help but laugh at the question, pushing your laptop off your lap and curling up on the couch, staring out the window across the room. “I can’t really stop him…you’re his big brother though, maybe you should talk him out of it,” you tell him. “How long has he been talking about this?”

“Not long,” Quinn mumbles. “We talked yesterday.”

“Oh,” you whisper, wondering if wanting a dog was the only thing that Luke talked to Quinn about. “About a dog?”

Quinn is quiet for a little too long, your palms growing clammy, realizing that the answer probably wasn’t yes. “About you,” Quinn finally admits. “I um, I saw the Instagram story and called him. I just, uh…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And he told you I’m not?” you ask, though it was more of a statement than a question. 

“Not exactly,” Quinn replies. “He did make sure that I knew I was an asshole…not that I didn’t already know that.”

“If you already knew that why have you been refusing to talk to me, Quinn?”

Quinn sighs heavily, silence falling over the line. “Because I was hurt,” Quinn mumbles. “I was hurt and jealous and I don’t know…I just didn’t want to admit that. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to forgive him, wanted to tell him that it was okay. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay the way he treated you in Michigan, it wasn’t okay the way that the situation had played out since. Dismissing it, telling him it was fine, you knew that wasn’t going to help the situation. You needed to talk about it, to really discuss it. Maybe he was right in booking you the flight, maybe this just wasn’t a conversation that you could have over the phone. 

“What should I pack for Vancouver?” you whisper, doing your best to change the topic. 

Quinn hesitates a moment, clearly taken aback by the 180 degree change in the conversation. He tells you the plan for the weekend, primarily just that he had a game on Saturday, though he assured you that you didn’t need to go if you didn’t want to. You told him you did, making a mental note to add an outfit to wear to the game to your list. 

You talked on the phone for nearly an hour before Quinn had to go, not wanting to be late for practice. You spend the rest of the day preparing for the week ahead, grocery shopping, meal prepping, laundry, all the chores that kept your mind busy. 

The week went by slowly, each work day feeling never-ending. The closer you got to your 6am Friday flight the closer your anxiety gets to overtaking your excitement. Of course you wanted to see Quinn, wanted to make up for the months of not even speaking to each other. But you also knew that the point of this trip was to talk about what had happened, a conversation you were dreading having. 

Friday morning you wake up at 4am, collecting your luggage and climbing into an Uber half asleep. You’re not fully awake till you’re on the plane, the six hours ahead of you seeming like they were going to stretch on forever. 

By the time you landed in Vancouver your heart was hammering so heavily you were worried you might just drop dead of a heart attack right then and there. Your hands were shaky and clammy as you wiggled your carry-on out of the overhead compartment. You follow everyone off the plane, down the long hallway and to the arrivals area of the airport. 

Weaving your way through everyone around you stopping to greet their loved ones your eyes scan the crowd of people still waiting. When your eyes land on Quinn you nearly stop walking altogether, your heart stopping for a moment. Three months of not even talking to him made it feel like years of not seeing him. Hesitantly you force yourself closer, not knowing what to expect when you get to him. But as soon as you’re close enough Quinn has his arms around you, pulling you close against him. 

“Hi,” you whisper, fingers curling into the fabric of Quinn’s hoodie. 

“Hi,” Quinn replies, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “How was your flight?”

“Really good,” you reply. “I’ve never flown first-class before.”

“I’ll make sure you only ever fly first-class from now on.”

“Stop,” you giggle, shaking your head. “A seat on a flight is good enough for me…especially if it means I get to see you.”

“I love you,” Quinn whispers in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. You had been telling each other you loved each other since childhood. In the same way that you told Jack and Luke that you loved them. But your love for Quinn was so different and you weren’t sure what his admission of love entailed. “Should we go get your suitcase?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, nodding quickly, thankful that Quinn had said something to break you from your train of thoughts. Heading to the baggage carousel you wait till you see your suitcase, dragging it off the carousel. 

Quinn swoops in quickly, taking your bag from you. “Ready to go?” Quinn asks, gesturing towards the door. 

Nodding you follow Quinn through the airport and out into the cool air outside, rain drops hammering onto the sidewalk. “People weren’t lying about how much it rains here,” you comment. 

“You can wait here, I’ll bring the car around,” Quinn offers. 

Shaking your head you step closer to Quinn. “No, it’s just rain, I’ll survive.”

Quinn slides his jacket off quickly, wrapping it around your shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your eyes locking with his as he keeps his hands on the jacket wrapped around you. You slide your arms into the sleeves when you realize Quinn is not about to take the jacket back. “Thank you,” you tell him, pulling the fabric around your body. The jacket smells like Quinn, his body wash or cologne or maybe just his laundry detergent, but whatever it was it was it felt comforting, familiar. 

Quinn picks up your suitcase again and you follow him through the parking lot, quickly climbing into the dry car. Quinn is in the driver’s seat a moment later, starting the car before looking over at you. “Thanks for coming.”

“I just want to figure this out,” you say quietly, pulling your seatbelt on. Glancing over at Quinn for a moment before you turn your attention back to the drops of rain landing on the windshield. “I can’t lose you, Quinn.”

Quinn reaches over, his hand sliding into yours, squeezing it gently. “I know I fucked up, but I promise you that I’m not going anywhere.”

Sniffling quietly you nod slowly, not entirely sure you believed him. Sure, you were here with him now. But it seemed so easy for him just weeks ago, to tell you that he simply didn’t have any time to talk. 

“I’m sorry,” Quinn adds, squeezing your hand again before shifting the car into drive, pulling out of the parking spot. 

You remain silent through the entirety of the drive, your mind racing with thoughts that brought tears to your eyes. You knew what was coming. You knew you needed to have a real conversation about what had happened in Michigan, about what was going to happen now. But you didn’t know how it would go, didn’t know what Quinn would say about it, and you were scared that somehow, someway, it would only make things worse. 

When you get to Quinn’s apartment building you follow him inside, sliding his jacket off your body and hanging it in the closet by the door. You had never been to his apartment before, almost all of your time together was spent in Michigan. 

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat or drink?” Quinn asks, walking into the kitchen.

Shaking your head you rest your hands on the counter, looking over at him. “I think we should talk.”

Quinn nods, sighing quietly. “Yeah,” he mumbles, nodding towards the living room. “Should we go sit down?”

“Sure.” Turning around you walk to the living room, sitting on one end of the large couch. Lifting your legs onto the couch you pull them to your chest, wrapping your arms around them in an attempt to comfort yourself. “I don’t really know what to say,” you admit. 

“Me neither,” Quinn agrees, sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, eyes focusing on the living room floor. “I know it’s not an excuse but I was so drunk that night,” Quinn begins, glancing over at you. “And I see the way people look at you, the way everyone just falls for you, which I get, but, I don’t know…it’s hard. Seeing you with Alex that day, on the dock, I was jealous,” Quinn rambles.

Nodding slowly you dig your fingers into your legs, forcing deep breaths into your lungs. “But you didn’t have to be so mean to me, Quinn. We could have just talked about it.”

“I know,” Quinn replies quickly, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I don’t have an excuse, I was hurt and drunk.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you whisper, your eyes prickling with tears again. You had never cried so much in such a short period of time, had never expected to. “You know that, right?”

Quinn shrugs, his elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward to stare at the ground. “Yeah, I mean, I guess.”

“Quinn,” you croak. “What do you mean you guess? I promise the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you.”

“Then why did you do it?” Quinn snaps, turning his head to look over at you. 

“I-,” you begin, shaking your head. “I don’t know, I really didn’t mean to, nothing I said or did with them meant anything, it was just-.”

“No?” Quinn interrupts with a scoff. “Nothing you did with Alex meant anything?”

“It wasn’t-,” you begin before getting interrupted again. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Quinn interjects. “I’m not that fucking stupid. I saw your stories with him, I know when you were going out with Jack and Luke that Alex was there too. I know you went home with him after you guys went out drinking. If you’re going to sit there and tell me that none of that meant anything then maybe none of the stuff you said to me meant anything either.”

“That’s not true,” you plead, eyes glossy with tears. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quinn. I’m sorry, I really am. Yeah, Alex and I were hanging out but that doesn’t mean what I said to you wasn’t true.”

“If it was true you wouldn’t be fucking one of my friends,” Quinn mutters. 

Swallowing heavily you wipe away your tears, shaking your head. “You’re such an asshole,” you mumble under your breath. 

“I’m the asshole?” Quinn snaps. 

“Yes,” you exclaim, dropping your legs off the couch and standing up quickly. “You called me a whore, Quinn. You said such horrible things and now you have the audacity to get mad at me when I started spending time with someone who actually was nice to me after all that.”

“I did not call you a whore,” Quinn defends, staring up at you from where he was still sitting on the edge of the couch. "I would never say that."

“Maybe you didn’t use that word but how do you think I would take you telling me that I’m flirting with everyone, that I want the attention of every single man around? Do you know how bad that hurt, Quinn? You’re telling me that you’re not sure if you believe I didn’t mean to hurt you but you’re not acknowledging how much you hurt me.”

Quinn is quiet for a few seconds, his eyes falling back to the ground, not looking you in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Maybe you should have thought about someone other than yourself then,” you tell him, repeating his words from that night in Michigan back to him. Maybe you shouldn’t be so petty. Maybe you should have been the bigger person. Maybe you should have let it go. But your heart was racing, your hands clammy, your mind scattered in a million directions and a part of you selfishly wanted him to feel the way you felt that night. 

Quinn visibly flinches in response to your words, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry,” Quinn breathes out. 

You were already on your way towards his front door, body moving faster than your mind. Grabbing your purse you toss it onto your shoulder, yanking the same jacket Quinn had let you wear earlier off the hanger in the closet. 

“Where are you going?” Quinn asks, hopping up from the couch and hurrying over to you. 

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, spinning towards the front door. Your hand lands on the door handle just seconds before Quinn is wrapping his hand around your wrist. “Don’t,” you mumble, yanking your hand away from him. “And for the record, I didn’t sleep with Alex. I’ve never fucked any of your friends. But you can just keep believing whatever you want to believe if it makes you feel better about the way you treated me.” Yanking the door open you head out into the hallway, finding the stairs and hurrying down them. 

Outside the rain is still pouring heavily from the sky and you begin walking quickly, continuing till you find a coffee shop. Inside you pull the soaking jacket from your body, laying it over your arm and heading to the till. After ordering yourself a coffee you find a seat tucked away in the corner of the coffee shop, watching the cars passing, the rain drops bouncing off the sidewalk. 

You’re not there long before your phone begins vibrating. First with a call from Quinn. Then a text message. Then a couple more calls and a few more texts. Sure, you probably should have replied, but your mind was still racing a million miles an hour. All of your thoughts were so incredibly cloudy that you didn't even know what to say if you were to reply.

Eventually, long after your coffee cup is empty, your phone rings and this time it’s Jack. Sighing you slide to answer it, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hi,” you say quietly. 

“Hi,” Jack replies with an audible sigh. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him honestly, fiddling with the cardboard sleeve on your paper cup. 

“Where are you? What’s going on? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m in a coffee shop, Jack, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Quinn is freaking out,” Jack tells you. “Can you please just call him?”

“No,” you mumble, watching a man walking by with his dog, the dog’s hair plastered to their body with rain. “I want to come home, Jack.”

“Oh my god,” Jack groans. “You two are so fucking annoying.” 

“Fuck you,”  you whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody in the quiet coffee shop could hear you. “Why would you say that? I haven’t done anything.”

“Both of you need to get over what happened in Michigan,” Jack tells you. 

“Tell him that,” you mutter, rolling your eyes to nobody but yourself at that table. 

“I did,” Jack exclaims. There’s a few seconds of silence after he says it, unable to think of anything to say. Because he was right, you both needed to be honest. You both did and said things you wished you hadn’t, both made mistakes. “Do you want me to book you a flight home?” Jack finally asks. 

“No, it’s okay…thank you though.”

“So are you going to go back to Quinn’s place or do you want me to book you a hotel room?”

“I could book my own hotel room if I wanted to,” you tell him with a quiet sigh.

“You’re always complaining that you’re broke,” Jack comments.

“I know how much money you make, Jack, I’m broke in comparison.”

“I’m never buying you drinks again,” Jack replies with a chuckle. 

“Please,” you say with a giggle. 

“If you go talk to Quinn and figure out whatever is going on with you two and leave me out it, then I’ll consider buying your drinks when we go out again.”

“Fine,” you whine playfully. “What do I even say to him?”

“I don’t know, just go talk to him. I’m sure you two will figure it out.”

“I’m scared,” you admit. 

“Why are you scared?” Jack asks, a sudden intensity in his tone.

“What if he never forgives me?”

“Just go talk to him,” Jack sighs. “He’s losing his mind right now, just go talk to him.”

“Fine, I’ll go back,” you groan. Standing up you pick up Quinn’s jacket from the back of the chair, pulling it on. “I’m sorry you had to get involved in this,” you tell Jack, picking up your empty coffee cup to toss it into the garbage on the way out the door. 

“It’s fine,” Jack assures you. “Just figure this out, okay?”

“Okay…we’ll try,” you tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck,” Jack says. 

“Thank you,” you say with a sigh, stepping outside. “Bye, Jack,” you say before hanging up. Hurrying through the rain you make your way back to Quinn’s apartment, stopping outside to text him to let him know you were back. 

Quinn is down in the lobby a second later, letting you inside. “I’m sorry,” Quinn says as a greeting, reaching over and pulling you into his arms. Your jacket is soaked, seeping into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Let’s just go upstairs,” you mumble, though if you were being honest the last thing you wanted to do was let go of him. 

Quinn pulls back, guiding you back into his apartment. You’re quiet as you pull off the jacket, kicking your shoes off a second later. Following Quinn back to the living room you slowly sit down, sighing quietly. “I talked to Jack.”

“I figured,” Quinn mumbles, sitting down across from you. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too,” you mumble, looking across the couch at him. “I-,” you begin, eyes filling with tears again. “I don’t know how to deal with this, Quinn, I can’t lose you. I love you so much. I don’t know…I don’t know what to do.”

Quinn slides closer to you, pulling you into his arms. “I love you too,” Quinn tells you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Nodding slowly you clutch at Quinn’s arms, holding him tight against you. “I’m sorry for everything I did, everything I said. I promise I’ll never talk to you like that again. I don’t expect you to forgive me right now, I know what I did was horrible.”

“I do,” you whisper, pulling back to look up at him. “I do forgive you, Quinn. I know you’re sorry, I really do. I just need you to stop holding me flirting with other people over me. We weren’t together. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize the way it was making you feel, I really am. But I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I wasn’t doing it to make you feel bad.”

Quinn reaches down, taking your hands in his, squeezing them gently. “I know we weren’t together, I know you weren’t doing anything wrong and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, reaching up to wipe away a few tears that had slipped from your eyes. You weren’t even sure why you were crying anymore. Relief, exhaustion, an overwhelming level of emotions. “What now?”

Quinn shrugs, glancing over at the TV. “Do you want to go somewhere? Or do you want to just stay here and hang-out?”

“Stay here,” you tell him laughing quietly. You didn’t need a mirror to know that your eyes were swollen and red, that your skin was splotchy from all the tears you had shed. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course,” Quinn assures you, reaching over and picking up the remote. He hands it to you before leaning back on the couch, watching as you turn the tv on. “We can order dinner too, just let me know when.”

Picking up your phone you look at the time. It had been a long day but you were still shocked to see that it was nearing 6pm already. You pick a show, watching an episode before the two of you order dinner. The rest of the evening goes by quickly, most of it spent in relative silence as you watch a few more episodes of the show you had put on. 

Eventually Quinn shows you to the guest room and you change into some pyjamas before settling into the bed. You fall asleep easily that night. Maybe it really was just because the bed was so comfortable, but you’re sure there was more to it than that. 

When you wake up the next morning Quinn is already gone for morning skate, a note on the kitchen counter letting you know he would be back that afternoon. The note also told you that there was coffee in the cupboard and to help yourself to anything else you wanted. You were almost certain he bought the coffee specifically for you, something you confirmed when you found it unopened in the cupboard. After making yourself a cup you head to the living room, watching TV while waiting for him to get home. 

The sound of the front door opening draws your attention just a little after 12pm. “Hey,” Quinn greets, walking over to sit on the couch next to you. “How was your morning? I didn’t want to wake you before I left.”

“It was good, I slept in, that bed is really comfortable,” you tell him, moving closer and wrapping your arms around him. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his arms circle around you, pulling you closer. 

“It’s not bad,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “My bed is better.”

“Are you bragging? Because I am your guest and that’s kind of rude,” you tease, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. 

“Maybe a bit…but I’m not stopping you from sleeping in it with me so I don't think it's that rude.”

“I don’t know, the last time I slept in a bed with you seemed like the beginning of the whole disaster,” you joke. 

“Too soon,” Quinn chuckles, shaking his head. He stands up and reaches down, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet. “Come on.”

“Where?” you ask, though you’re in his bedroom before he has the chance to answer you. You watch him lay down on one side of the bed, gesturing for you to take the other side. Walking over you lay down beside him, rolling onto your side to face him. “It is really comfy,” you admit. 

“I wasn’t lying,” he tells you with a chuckle. "I do need to have a nap before the game though."

"That's why you brought me in here? To break the new sthat you need to have a nap?"

"Kinda," Quinn admits. "And because I did actually want to brag about the bed."

Rolling your eyes playfully you sit up, looking down at him. "Okay, Grandpa. What 24-year-old gets this excited about a bed?"

"It was expensive," Quinn exclaims.

"I'm sure it was," you reply with a giggle. "Do you want me to tuck you in for your nap before I go or are you okay all by yourself?"

"Get outta here," Quinn jokes, shaking his head.

Giggling you climb off the bed, heading back to the living room to continue keeping yourself busy for the afternoon. It wasn't hard, after an episode of your favourite show you head to the bathroom, finding a towel and hopping into the shower. By the time you're out of the shower Quinn is already up, startling you as you step out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

"You scared me," you breathe out, clutching the towel to your naked body.

"It's my apartment," Quinn says with a chuckle. "Why are you not expecting me to be here?"

"I thought you'd still be napping. Must need a lot of beauty sleep to look that cute," you tease, stepping past him towards the bedroom.

"We can't all just be naturally cute like you," he comments before you disappear behind the closed door of the guest bedroom. It was such an insignificant comment but you couldn't stop your stomach from filling with butterflies regardless.

Later that afternoon you're in the bathroom, running your fingers through your hair, fixing it slightly. Your eyes shift over your shoulder, seeing Quinn appear in the mirror behind you. Your lips curl into a soft smile, eyes drifting up and down his body. Quinn was always attractive to you but you were more used to Quinn in a t-shirt and shorts at the lake than Quinn in a suit before a game. 

“You look good,” you tell him, turning around to look at him. Leaning back against the counter you watch Quinn walk closer. “Very handsome,” you add, running your fingers over the lapels of his suit jacket once he’s close enough to you. 

“You look good too,” Quinn mumbles, his hands landing on your hips. 

You feel your breath catch in your throat, swallowing heavily. “Can’t believe this is the first time I get to see you play in Vancouver.”

“Hopefully it won’t be the last,” Quinn replies, stepping close enough to cause your heart to hammer heavily in your chest. “You sure you’re going to be okay to get there alone tonight?”

“I’m positive,” you whisper, your eyes flicking down to his lips. Your heart was hammering so fast in your chest you were sure it was about to burst. “Good luck tonight,” you whisper. 

Quinn smiles softly, leaning in a little closer. “Thank you,” he mumbles, his lips nearly brushing against yours. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, your hands running up his chest, resting you arms over his shoulders. Just seconds before your lips touch his your phone rings loudly on the counter beside you, making you jump. 

Laughing you pull back, pressing your hand over your heart. “Oh my god,” you breathe out, reaching over to silence your phone. “Sorry,” you add with a sheepish smile. “Really ruined the moment there.”

Quinn chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead quickly. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You couldn’t deny the disappointment you were feeling that the moment really was ending this way. But you knew that Quinn said he was already running late and you weren’t about to make him any later. “Okay,” you whisper, watching him turn around and head out of the bathroom. 

You order yourself dinner after Quinn leaves, hanging out by yourself until you needed to head to the arena. The sky is dark already as you climb into the Uber outside Quinn’s apartment building, pulling your seatbelt on. 

“Going to the Canucks game?” you Uber driver asks you, looking at you through the mirror. 

“Yeah,” you tell him with a nod and a friendly smile. “First Canucks game here.”

“First game ever?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “No, I’ve been to a few before. Never in Vancouver though.”

“Oh, really? Who’d you see play before?”

“Mostly the Devils,” you tell him, realizing the more information you gave the more you would need to explain. “I’m just here visiting a friend.”

“You’re from New Jersey?”

“No, I live in New York now.”

You watch him glance back at you, clearly not following along. “Something against the Rangers?”

“I guess you could say that,” you tell him with a shrug. You’re at the arena shortly after, heading in and finding your seat.

The game passes quickly, your attention on Quinn throughout the entirety of the game. It was different than watching Jack and Luke play. It felt more intense, like the outcome of the game would somehow be an indicator of the outcome of this entire trip.

When the game ends and the Canucks win with a score of 4-2 you can't help but feel a mixture of relief and happiness. It really did feel like a good omen of sorts.

You wait around the arena after the game, doing your best to fill the time till Quinn was ready to leave. You scroll though Instagram, liking post after post till you hit the point of not having a single new thing to look at. Eventually Quinn finds you, pulling you into a tight hug. 

“Congratulations,” you whisper, not pulling back. “You’re even more impressive to watch in person.”

Quinn laughs at your comment, shaking his head. He had always been humble, refusing to accept your compliments. “Do you want to go out for a drink or something? I know it’s kind of late but you flew all the way up here, I don’t want you to just have to stay in my apartment the whole time.”

Giggling you lean up closer, your hands on his shoulders. “I’d be fine staying in your apartment with you the whole time.” You lean in a little closer, lips almost brushing against his. “Doing anything with you,” you whisper. 

“You coming out with us or what?” someone calls, making you jump back from Quinn, turning in the direction of the voice. 

Quinn places his hands on your hips, pulling your body back against him. “No, I think we’re just going to do our thing.”

The man in front of you chuckles, shooting Quinn a knowing look. “Sounds good, man, see you later,” he says before heading off in the other direction. 

Giggling you spin around, looking up at Quinn. “Well, where are we going for drinks?”

Quinn reaches his hand down, sliding it into yours. “It’s a surprise,” he tells you. Guiding you out of the arena and to his car Quinn opens the passenger door for you. You climb into the car, pulling on your seatbelt. A few minutes later you’re on your way, heading downtown. 

The lounge Quinn takes you to is small and intimate. The table you’re seated at is equally as intimate, tucked away in the back of the restaurant. Opening the menu your eyes scan over the options, more specifically the prices on that menu. Glancing over at Quinn you watch him look at the menu himself. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the money for the drinks, you just never would have picked a place so expensive yourself. You had also never seen this side of Quinn. You weren’t oblivious, you knew he had money. But you were so used to him with a bottle of some middle-of-the-road beer he picked up at the liquor store on the way to the lake house that you could barely picture him ordering a $25 cocktail.

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” Quinn asks before looking up from the menu, an uncertain smile on his face when he realizes that you're already looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head as you look back to the menu. “No, I’m not sure yet. What are you getting?”

“A sazerac, probably,” Quinn tells you with a shrug, the menu already closed letting you know it was most likely more than just probably. 

“What’s that?” you whisper, your eyes scanning the menu again.

“Whisky,” Quinn tells you with a quiet chuckle. “Kind of like an old fashioned.”

“Right,” you drawl, nodding slowly. You couldn’t say you were that familiar with the old fashioned either but at least you knew what it was. “I think I’ll try the clover club.”

A few minutes later you order your drinks and you lean back in your chair, gazing across the table at Quinn. Was this a date? You hadn’t even stopped long enough to consider that possibility. You had gone out so, so many times before that you didn’t think the suggestion to go out this time was anything different than that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Quinn asks uncertainly. 

“You,” you whisper, with a small shrug. “Us,” you add a moment later. 

“What are you thinking about us?” Quinn presses, leaning a little closer. 

“I don’t really know,” you admit, glancing down at the table for a second. “Do you think there’ll ever be an us to really think about?”

Quinn swallows heavily, silence falling between the two of you as he stares across the small table at you. His silence makes you nervous, shifting in your chair under the intensity of his gaze. “I hope so,” he eventually tells you. 

“I-,” you begin, your sentence getting cut short as your server returns with your drinks. She sets a coupe glass in front of you filled with a pink liquid, three perfect raspberries balanced across the top of the glass on a cocktail skewer. “It’s so cute.”

“It’s fitting,” Quinn says, picking up his glass and taking a drink of his own cocktail. 

You can’t hold back your smile at Quinn’s comment, rolling your eyes playfully. “Okay, Casanova,” you tease. 

“Am I not allowed to flirt with you now?” 

Giggling you shake your head, “of course you can,” you tell him before picking up your glass and taking a sip. It’s stronger than you expected, catching you off guard as you slowly set it back down. Maybe that’s why they were so expensive. “I asked for some time off work before I came out here,” you say suddenly, watching Quinn closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Of course it had been presumptuous of you to take the time off before discussing it, but you had the vacation days anyway and you had assumed two days probably wouldn’t feel like long enough. 

“Yeah?” Quinn says, reaching over and taking your hand, running his thumb across the back of it. “Does that mean you’re staying longer?”

Shrugging you stare down at your interlocked hands. “Depends if you want me to stay.”

“Of course…I don’t want you to leave yet,” Quinn tells you with a reassuring squeeze of your hand. 

“Good, because I don’t want to leave yet either,” you tell him. Picking up your glass you take another sip of your drink, the liquid going down a lot smoother now that you were expecting it. 

The two of you sit there at that table for hours, over multiple drinks and a couple appetizers. Your conversation is comfortable, the issues that had brought you to Vancouver in the first place no longer seeming so heavy or intense. Quinn pays the bill at the end of the night and your previous thoughts about the possibility of the evening being a date come flooding back into your mind. 

Walking back into Quinn’s apartment you kick off your shoes, sliding your jacket off. “Thank you for tonight,” you say as you hang your jacket in the coat closet. 

Quinn glances over at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Thanks for what?”

Shrugging you lean against the wall behind you. “I don’t know…taking me out, showing me a bit of Vancouver, paying for the bill.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Quinn assures you. “I wanted to.”

Reaching over you take Quinn’s hands in yours and pull him in front of you. “Just take the thank you, Quinn,” you whisper. 

“Okay, fine…you’re welcome,” Quinn mumbles, staring down at you. 

There’s an intensity in the moment, a heaviness in the air. Your heart was racing so fast, stomach filled with butterflies. The apartment is silent, so silent you begin to wonder if Quinn can hear it all. The shakiness in your breath, the hammering of your heart in your chest. The apartment is dim, lit by a single warm lightbulb a few feet away. Your eyes gravitate down to his lips and this time you don’t care how obvious it is. 

He begins to lean in and your patience quickly wears thing, fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to press your lips to his. His hands land on your hips, pulling them closer to him, your shoulder blades pressing back into the wall. Sliding your hand up you tangle your fingers in his hair, your tongue brushing against his. His grasp on your hips tightens, a quiet moan slipping from your lips. 

Your mind was hazy, your emotions overwhelming. Your body was begging for more, his hands on your body felt intoxicating. Sliding your arm over his shoulder you lean your body further into him, desperate to be as close to him as you could, desperate for more. When you pull away it’s to catch your breath, steady the racing of your heart. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips. 

“I love you too,” Quinn replies, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. He’s smiling when he pulls back, reaching down to take your hand. He guides you into the living room, sitting down and pulling you down beside him. He places his hand on your thigh, fingers just a little too high for your mind not to be filled with less-than-PG thoughts. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”

“I, um, y-yeah,” you stammer. Quinn knows what he’s doing and you can tell by the smirk on his lips as he hands you the remote. Taking it from him you put something on the TV, the very first movie you could find that seemed alright. 

You’re not watching the movie long before you feel Quinn’s fingers move on your thigh, a heavy breath escaping your lips. Your eyes flicker down to this hand, watching him brush his thumb on your leg. When you turn your attention to Quinn you see that he’s not watching the movie at all, his eyes are locked on you.

Pushing his hand off your thigh you swing your leg over his body, your hands resting on his shoulders as you lean down to kiss him. It’s fast and eager, your back arching as you roll your hips forward. 

“Fuck,” Quinn breathes out as he pulls back. “Baby, you’re…,” he begins, cutting himself off with a strangled moan. You didn’t need him to finish the sentence, you knew what you were doing when you felt him growing hard beneath you. 

His hands slide underneath your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin as he slides them up your waist. Pulling back you let him tug your shirt off, dropping it onto the ground beside you. Quinn leans closer, pressing his lips to yours as he unhooks your bra. You feel your bra come undone and you pull back. Your eyes lock with Quinn’s as you slowly slide the bra down your arms. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had seen you naked, but this time it was different. This time you were inviting him to do far more than just skinny dip with you. 

Setting the bra down Quinn places his hands on your waist, sliding further down towards the edge of the couch. Leaning in your lips lock with his again, your body begging for more. “Quinn,” you whimper against his lips. 

“Yes, baby?” he mumbles, his hands exploring your body, sliding to your hips as he tugs you in a little closer. 

“I need you…please,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t need you to say anything more, standing up and pulling you with him. He leads you into his bedroom, pushing you across the room till the backs of your thighs hit the mattress. Laying back on the bed you gasp in surprise as he lifts you further onto the bed, hovering over you as he unbuttons your jeans. “Quinn,” you gush. 

“What?” he asks with a smirk, pulling your jeans down your legs as you lift your hips to make it easier.  

“I just didn’t expect…this,” you tell him, sitting up as you push his shirt up his torso, letting him take over and toss it aside. 

“I can slow down,” he offers, running his hands down your thighs. 

“No,” you say quickly, giggling at your own eagerness. “Please, don’t,” you add. 

Quinn chuckles, nodding as he leans down, pressing his lips to your inner thigh. He moves further up your thigh, and each time his lips brush against your skin your body jolts with desire. Slowly he pulls your underwear down your legs, letting them drop onto the floor. Your breathing is heavy by the time his tongue brushes against the spot that you had been nearly begging for. 

“O-oh,” you gasp as he flicks his tongue over your clit. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but whatever it was you weren’t expecting it to feel this good. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, back arching as you moan loudly. “Fuck,” you breathe out, breathing heavily. His hands wrap around your thighs, your fingers curling into the fabric of the comforter on the bed, trying to keep yourself still as waves of pleasure rip through you. 

Your body flushes with warmth, desperate to reach your climax as your hips begin to squirm. Quinn presses his arm against your hips, stilling them as his tongue flicks against your clit. “Oh fuck,” you whine, moaning loudly. A second later your muscles are tensing, waves of pleasure ripping through your body. “O-oh my god,” you cry out, flinching away from his tongue when the sensation grows too intense. “Okay, okay,” you mumble, hands cradling his face as you tug him back to your lips. Pressing your lips to his you kiss him deeply, your legs wrapping around his torso. “Please,” you whimper.

“Please, what?” Quinn teases.

Your breath leaves your lips shakily, eyes locked with his. “Please…I want you inside of me,” you plead. 

Quinn leans in, kissing you gently before climbing off the bed. You watch him open the nightstand, grabbing a condom. You reach over, taking his hand and pulling him towards you, till he was standing in front of where you were sitting on the edge of the bed. Looking up at him you unbutton his pants, slowly pushing them down. 

“Fuck,” Quinn breathes out, his hand on the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. You slide his underwear off a second later, your hand wrapping around his erection. Leaning down you swirl your tongue around his tip, taking him into your mouth a second later. He lets out a shuttering groan, his fingers grasping at your hair. “Holy shit,” he mutters. 

You take him as far into your mouth as you can each time you bob your head up and down, suppressing your gags as your eyes well with tears from the sensation. You can feel the saliva building in your mouth, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, the saliva dripping down onto your fingers. Moving your free hand to Quinn’s thigh you readjust on your knees, the hardwood floor below you is not particularly comfortable, but the quiet groans he’s making make it worth it. 

A few minutes later Quinn pulls back and you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, staring up at him. “You’re so beautiful,” Quinn mutters, running his thumb along your bottom lip. He leans down to kiss you again, gentle and slow. 

Pulling back Quinn opens the condom, sliding it on quickly. Scooting back on the bed you reach up, grabbing his hand and pulling him down on top of you. He kisses you passionately as he slides his hand between your legs, fingers brushing over your entrance before slowly pushing one finger inside you. He moves slowly at first, brushing up slightly, sliding another finger inside you a minute later, your moans growing in volume. 

He pulls his hand back quickly, wrapping around his dick, sliding himself inside you. It’s slow at first, almost teasing as he watches you beneath him, moaning quietly. “Oh my god,” you whimper, your hands grasping onto his shoulders. “You feel so good inside me,” you whisper as he picks up the speed, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

Leaning up Quinn places his hands on the backs of your thighs, gently pushing your legs back further. Sliding your hand down you run your fingers over your clit, Quinn watching you for a moment as your moans grow in frequency. “Oh, fuck,” Quinn groans, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling. “I’m close.”

Your fingers pick up speed when you hear Quinn say he’s close, bringing yourself to the brink of orgasm just a moment later. As your body is overtaken by the familiar tensing of your muscles you cry out in pleasure, your free hand wrapping around Quinn’s bicep, fingers digging into his arm. 

Quinn finishes just a minute after you, groaning as his thrusts slow in pace, slowly pulling himself out of you. He leans down and kisses your forehead gently before pushing himself off the bed, heading towards the bathroom as he takes off the condom. 

Laying on the bed you stare at the ceiling, trying your best to catch your breath. It had been awhile since you had sex in general but a very long time since you had sex that felt that good. Your hand rests on your bare torso, rising and falling with each heavy breath. You turn your head to the side when Quinn returns, tugging on a pair of underwear before sitting on the bed beside you. “How are you feeling?” he asks. 

“Good,” you tell him with a giggle. “Really good.”

“Good,” Quinn echoes with a chuckle, leaning down to quickly peck your lips. “I’m going to get us some water, do you want anything else?”

Shaking your head you sit up, tugging your underwear back on. “No, just the water would be great.”

“I’ll be right back,” Quinn tells you, kissing your forehead again before leaving the bedroom. 

Pulling the blankets back you slide under them, realizing just how tired you really were. Quinn returns a minute later, setting a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. He joins you in bed, reaching over and pulling you closer. His fingers brush against your back, your arm resting on his chest. 

“Was tonight a date?” you whisper. 

A soft breath of laughter leaves Quinn’s lips as he tips his head up to look at you. “Well I thought it was but that’s kind of embarrassing if you didn’t.”

Giggling you lift your head, looking up at him. “I didn’t know but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to be.” Rolling over you slide one leg over his body, straddling him as you lean in, your lips hovering over his. “We can call it a date but I don’t usually kiss on the first date and look at where tonight went,” you joke. 

“Well I’m definitely looking forward to the second date then,” Quinn replies with a chuckle, his hands on your hips as he rolls you off of him to hover over you. “I’ll make sure you know it’s a date next time,” he says with a smirk, kissing you gently. “Get you some flowers or something.”

“Ooh,” you say with a giggle, running your fingers along his arm. “I love flowers.”

“I’ll get you all the flowers you ever want.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so romantic, Quinn,” you tease, leaning up to peck his cheek. 

Quinn shrugs, settling onto the bed beside you. “I’m not normally.”

Rolling your eyes playfully you shake your head. “Okay…whatever you say.”

“I’m being serious,” Quinn assures you with a quiet laugh. 

Turning your head your eyes meet with his and you realize he’s not joking. “Well please don’t stop, I like it.”

“I won’t,” Quinn promises, leaning over and kissing your forehead gently. 

Smiling softly you curl in closer to Quinn, letting your eyes fall shut as you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under your hand. It doesn’t take long for you fall asleep in his arms, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment that extends into your dreams, lulling you into a deep sleep.

Your eyes flutter open the next morning, rolling onto your side in the dim bedroom, the blinds blocking out the early morning light. “Good morning,” you whisper when you watch Quinn’s eyes open, turning on his side to face you. 

Quinn reaches over, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Morning,” he mumbles with a tired smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really good,” you whisper, unable to contain your own smile. “Did you sleep okay?” Rolling onto your stomach you move closer to him, resting your arm on his chest. 

“Yes,” Quinn replies, his hand sliding down to rest on your lower back. “Was last night okay?”

“More than okay,” you assure him, drawing imaginary shapes on his chest with your fingertips. “What do you want to do today?” you ask him, knowing it was one of very few days where he wasn’t doing something for hockey. 

Quinn shrugs, brushing his thumb along the skin of your lower back, sending a shiver of pleasure up your spine. “Anything as long as it’s with you.”

“What a coincidence…that’s also what I want to do today.”

You spend most of the morning in the apartment, not going more than a few minutes here and there without touching each other in some manner. Brief kisses here and there, a hand on your back, your arms wrapped around him. The afternoon brings you out of the apartment and into the streets of Vancouver, Quinn showing you around the rainy city. 

You spend the rest of the week at Quinn’s apartment. Watching movies on the couch, making dinners, going to another one of his games, afternoons spent at his kitchen table working through projects your laptop. You spent a night alone there when he had a road game, curled up on the couch in one of his t-shirts, watching the game on the TV in his living room. Everything felt so comfortable, so normal. Like this was the life you were supposed to be living. Just you and Quinn in an apartment together. 

But no matter how good it felt you knew it wasn’t going to last. You had to go home, had to get back to your job and the classes that you were barely keeping up with online. It didn’t matter how much you wanted to continue living in this blissful state with Quinn, it just wasn’t reasonable. 

Your time in Vancouver had to come to an end, the time slipping by so much faster than normal. Before you knew it you didn’t have another day or even another night together.  

You force a deep breath into your lungs, the lights in the airport feeling too bright, the air a little too cold, the bustling of people a little too loud. “Well,” you whisper, blinking quickly as you glance around, at anything and everything but Quinn. You were certain that if you looked at him a little too long you wouldn’t be able to keep it together. “I, um, I guess I should go…don’t want to miss my flight,” you mumble, though if you were being honest you wouldn’t be too upset if you did miss your flight. 

Quinn nods, reaching over and pulling you into him. The two of you stand there in silence, neither one wanting to pull back, not wanting the inevitable to happen. “I’m going to miss you.”

Sniffling quietly you curl your fingers into his hoodie. “Me too,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your hands still on his arms. “Don’t get too busy that you can’t talk to me when I call,” you joke, a sad breath of laughter following. Reaching up you wipe away your tears as you take a small step back. 

“Never,” Quinn assures you, a clear hesitation as he lets you go. “Have a good flight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, slowly turning around and heading towards the security line. You don’t look back, didn’t want him to see the stream of tears that you had been holding in all morning running down your cheeks. You fight through your emotions till you're through security, finding yourself a seat to hide away from the rest of the world as the sleeves of your hoodie grow damp with the tears you’re wiping from your face. 

Who would have thought that leaving on such great terms would be just as hard as leaving thinking you were never going to see him again. 

[jhuzen]

married life [m.reader]

this is me taking the first step in creating the househusband hcs of our tall hsr men for us gays and bi kings. happy pride ansismdkf (i mean to say that also in haitham’s post bUT OH WELL). anyway, i still hate luocha. otto trauma so true so real (honestly, his only saving grace in mhy games is ayato because he’s not blond). today, we have ourselves some househusbands.

𖦹 househusband hcs with gepard, sampo, jing yuan, blade, dan heng, caelus and old man welt, no luocha but i’m open to be convinced why i should start loving him, mostly fluff, domestic stuff, modern au though… aren’t they more modern if they can travel the space? huh. normal world au then. forgot to add that ceo reader is implied

GEPARD LANDAU

He’s a very reluctant househusband at first, actually. He’s one who firmly believes that relationships are a team effort (and they are and should be), and thinks that it wouldn’t hurt for the both of you to work together. Of course, you encourage him regardless, and with both of your career-oriented selves, you were basically the couple that could foster a ten or so children and still be financially sound.

Serval is the one who convinced Gepard to lay low a little in his job and relax for once. You’re making a decent income a month — enough for you to be the only one working and still have a comfortable life together.

You have to thank your sister-in-law and her craftiness. She wasn’t Gepard’s sister for nothing. She knew your husband more than anyone and knew that he was too down bad to even refuse in entertaining the thought of not taking care of you. All she had to do was do a little convincing.

“If I were [Name], I sure wouldn’t mind coming home to a nice meal like this every night,” she’d muse with a hum while she ate off of Gepard’s cooking. He came home early that one night and thought to surprise you. Of course, Serval just had to taste test since she’s looking out for you, her beloved brother-in-law. “Also wouldn’t mind being taken care of by my own spouse…”

Gepard quickly folded. What if his sister was right and you wanted that kind of life? But it’s not like he also wants to quit his job just like that. So he made a gradual decrease in work until he can finally have a schedule that can commit as a househusband and occasionally help when he’s needed at work as a consultant.

Your beloved husband is a bit mid from the start — basic in cooking, in chores, but it’s his perseverance that pushes him up to S-tier househusband status. He will really go out of his way to learn recipes that you suddenly brought up in the middle of a conversation and will execute it to the highest standards. He will become a lot more meticulous in his chores around the house.

If he can, he’s definitely the type to drop by and join you in lunch. He’s a lot more free now, and if there’s nothing else to do in the house, he’ll take some lunch and go to where you work and just eat lunch together. Everyone is looking at the windows of your own office in envy while they watched you get spoon fed by your cute husband (they don’t know how embarrassed Gepard is since you technically just coerced him to feed you so people can see you on purpose).

So very attentive to you. He wakes you up early (even earlier if you have meetings where you have to discuss things to be extra prepared) for work. Your lunch is just top tier, but the plating is too cute — with the slightly uneven shapes to create cute animals. He’s the kind to even put a note in your packed lunch every time without fail.

He knows how hard you work and only wants the best for you. And when you recognize his efforts, he’s quick to get flustered from your compliments. He will fold like a wet cardboard. He’s too weak.

“Dear, please,” you could only laugh at your beloved’s winsome attitude. Currently pressed against the marbled counter of the kitchen, you can only shower him in a plethora of love-filled kisses as you expressed your unending gratitude. Your lips left tiny pecks from his cheeks down to his neck, only serving to fluster him even more.

You pulled back but not before leaving another quick kiss on his nose, “What’s got you all knotted up, love? No one’s watching.” You cooed, leaving your poor husband whining at the thought of earlier — when you so cruelly asked him to feed you in front of your subordinates while you busily ‘worked’ on your projects.

But somehow even with the unbridled embarrassment that you brought to him, Gepard couldn’t help but feel the elation engulf his entirety at the prospect of you showing him off in your own mischievous ways. Even with your busy schedule, you were more than willing to let him come inside your work and take the time off just to let him join you for lunch. He’d already heard enough drama around the neighborhood to be grateful that you can still balance your work with your marriage.

He was grateful to have you as his partner for life. And even then, he wouldn’t mind having to visit you just to feed you. It was certainly a rare thing that he’s heard partners would suggest, so to be given a privilege as seeing you everyday at work was something he would cherish more than ever.

A kiss on his temple knocked his fleeting thoughts off the rail and pulled him back to reality, blinking at your curious smile, “…Shield for your thoughts?” You inquired with a gentle tone, eager to pry just what has got your husband so spacey all of a sudden.

He only grinned before pulling you in for a proper kiss and murmured against your lips, “Just thanking my lucky stars for having you as my husband.”

Now it was your turn to be flustered.

𐂂

SAMPO KOSKI

Your friends still think you’re a legend for even managing to wife up the untamable Sampo. But somehow, you pulled him in and he was more than willing to be a househusband. For more reasons than one.

But let’s get out the pinnacle of his reasons out of the way — it being, him living so comfortably? Financially supported by a handsome guy like you? Sign him up. He’s more than willing to take care of you while you take care of him. He’s a sleazy guy, after all. Wouldn’t wanna get married to a broke man. Kidding.

Anyway, he mostly sells the story of getting married just for benefits for laughs. But really, you’ve somehow managed to actually trap him as a prisoner of love. He’s a huge simp for you and actually considers your high-end job a bonus. A really good bonus. But other than that, you’ve got Sampo completely wrapped around your finger. And he’s a very eager househusband.

A surprisingly good househusband. He’s meticulous in his work and can cook. But what really sells him is how well he can budget and actively get discounts just by smooth talking the vendors in the market. You once went with him, telling him to go nuts and buy everything that he needs, and you came home with only just a good half of your money spent. He was scarily good and from then on, you made an oath to take notes from your husband’s amazing haggling skills.

He’s a very resourceful man. If you need anything, he’s there to lend a hand. He’s always there to fix equipments that break down. Really, you rarely get issues with the things at home, because the moment he senses that there’s something wrong, he’s already on the case. Your husband is a jack of all trades.

All he requires is a small fee of some attention and loving from you. Seriously, he will mope around and will let you know that he’s upset that you forgot to give him a goodbye kiss earlier when you left for work.

You wake up much earlier than he does, but please wake him up. He wants to cook you breakfast and see you off like a loving househusband that he is. He will sulk if you so much as even think of leaving him without waking him up. He’s a big drama queen and unless you make up for it once you get home, he will continue to walk around the house with a pout on his face.

The only way to make this man completely crumble underneath you is to spoil him. He’s working so hard with the upkeep of your shared home! If you take him out on surprise date nights, he will melt. Shower him with lavish gifts from all the money you saved up, courtesy of Sampo’s extreme bargaining. He will latch onto your arm the entire night like your pretty little arm candy (even if he’s taller than you).

Oh, right. You will get sudden visits from Natasha or even Seele and Oleg, just to check up on your married life. They’re mostly just there to whack some sense into Sampo if he’s being difficult to you. Suffice to say, they’re always surprised when they come visit your homely abode that’s clean and has a refreshing atmosphere. Seele plugs her ears every time you say it’s all because of Sampo that your house is even remotely presentable. She’s in denial.

It was a grueling day, leaving you completely vulnerable to the throes of exhaustion. You ought to take some vacation days, maybe go on a different country with your husband for a treat. Surely, he’d like that. You noticed he’s been working just as hard as you at home. Speaking of which — the reason for your home’s unfamiliar silence was in fact the lack of singing from your lively husband. You were so used to hearing his voice that the silence felt incredibly deafening when you were alone.

“Love? You home?” You called out, glancing at the shoe rack by the door to see his outdoor shoes in the same place and the indoor shoes missing. He’s here. You pursed your lips, brushing off the peculiarity and headed to the joint dining room and kitchen, seeing a nice still hot meal sitting on a nice plate. But it was the only thing on the table, no other plates or even a husband waiting on you with a smile. You peered at the food to see a card beside the plate, scribbled with a sad face.

“…What.” You sat the card back down before finally poking your head in the living room, seeing your husband watching another sad show while screwing in some panel from what you can only guess a part of your heater. You sauntered up from behind him, before grabbing his face and tilting his head up to meet your gaze.

He made no noise and had it not been for his evident pout, you would’ve only been left wondering what you did to make him so sulky again. You sighed before leaning to press a kiss against your lips. You could feel him finally smile against the kiss.

“So you still love me?” He asked, insinuating that you felt otherwise for not even giving him a kiss goodbye earlier.

“Not like I have a choice,” was your only cheeky response.

“Wha— Hey!”

𐂂

JING YUAN

Out of everyone, he is probably the most eager one to be a househusband. He is so ready to retire. He’s been moaning about it at work constantly, about how he’s just ready to settle in somewhere nice and be taken care of. And when you decided to finally tie the knot with him, you didn’t even have to ask twice, that man is already turning in his resignation and is already making your shared home even cozier than ever.

He’s a very languid man, but that does not mean he’s going to flake out on chores. He can do them all efficiently just for the sake of getting them out of the way so he can keep relaxing after. That, and of course making sure that you come home to a clean home. Aeons know how stressful it is to come home from work and seeing your own home completely cluttered. Jing Yuan has suffered the same thing before he met you.

Jing Yuan loves you through his cooking other than sleeping in with you. He creates the greatest dishes for you. Often are you eating your lunch with so much pride. Your subordinates would come inside your office during lunchtime to pass some papers and they would see you just completely enjoying life with your husband’s cooking.

He likes to greet you with a nice warm meal after your work. And he’d just watch you eat his meals with a fond smile while you continue to talk about each of your days with each other. Of course, occasionally, he’d open his mouth and you would have to feed him as well. Yanqing would sometimes come home to such a sight and never has he seen a more domestic scene than before.

Another one of his much favored ways to show his love is through after work massages. You’d come home and be completely smothered with love just by his touches. Sometimes he’d give you a nice neck and shoulder massage while you’re eating and talking about your day. Or you could both be lounging on the sofa and he would absentmindedly massage your overworked hands.

However his most favored time spent with you is when you’re on a day off and that he would successfully persuade you into staying a little bit longer in bed with him. Just sleep until the afternoon, with limbs tangled against one another. He loves spooning his husband that takes care of him so dearly. Just feeling your back pressed against his chest while he’s nuzzling his nose into the nape of your neck. Bliss. Utter bliss.

The two of you scream old married couple. Just two old geezers enjoying their lives. It’s really such a relaxing relationship. Being married to Jing Yuan is like a vacation from your problems and him being married to you is an adventure without the nauseating exhaustion.

Yanqing is inadvertently your child the moment you got married to your husband. And suffice to say, you were far more content in your life than you could ever imagine. Never have you felt the genuine happiness swell within you the moment you came home to the two of them cooking together. You still have a slightly motion blurred picture in your phone and neither of them know about it.

Overall the most chill househusband. But even in his passivity, you can feel the radiating warmth of love for you. He just… loves you so much that he’s more than willing to take care of you and the little family that you and him have created. He will wait for you by the door with his half-lidded gaze completely fixated on you with so much adoration. He’s lucky to have you.

You were used to the hectic mornings you often faced upon waking up. It was always a rush job in the morning, speeding through all your morning routine before finally leaving for work. But today was not that day. You could tell from the way the sunlight hit your eyelids. You always left just before the sun could even come up, but right now, you had other plans.

You wanted to prepare a nice breakfast for your husband. He had been working so hard all the time, taking care of you and Yanqing with no days off unlike you. You figured you could get the day started and surprise the both of them with some of your cooking prowess. Suddenly filled with the motivation, you sat up, ready to face the first hour of your time off work for a few days.

However, your plans were soon foiled when a strong arm hooked around your waist and immediately pulled you back down on the bed without even breaking a sweat. You sighed, looking off to the side to see one golden eye peering at you sleepily. Lips turning up into a smile, you shifted to fully face him.

“Can’t even let me make you some breakfast in bed, huh?” You teased with the same fondness as the very first day you and him got married.

A quiet grunt was all your lover gave, only to follow it up with his own gruff response a minute later, “While that sounds nice, I believe I can also reap benefits just from canoodling with my husband for let’s say… until the afternoon.”

Your hands were tied at that point, and with one last charming smile from your dozing husband, you dove into his arms, letting him press some kisses on your face before falling asleep, with you following after.

𐂂

BLADE

No one in this world knows how you managed to charm and marry Blade in the first place. Even his family considers you a miracle worker for bagging the hard to get man. You could only reminisce of the times he would give you the cold shoulder when you tried to ask him out. You were cringe but Blade somehow liked it.

Regardless, he’s one of the reluctant househusbands at first. Blade doesn’t like the feeling of not going out and making money like you. He believes that as long as he can, he will contribute to this relationship. It’s really adorable. And you were supportive of what he wants, but when he realized no one can take care of you while you’re busy being the breadwinner, he decided that he’ll take one for the team and take care of everything in the house instead.

He is meticulous in cleaning. Your house is always sparkling clean the moment you arrive at home. He’s constantly on the hunt for any dust that could taint your shared humble abode. He once read that an unclean house can cause sickness to the occupants, and he has never let a single dust touch a furniture ever since then. Your health is his priority and he will do everything in his power to keep you healthy.

You know what? Screw it, he wears his apron without a care too. He goes out of the house in a pink frilly apron you gifted him as a silly little joke and he’s not ashamed of it. Even Kafka’s incessant teasing isn’t enough to deter him from wearing it. You gave it to him and he loves it. That’s all that matters.

Surprisingly loved by your neighbors. In contrast to his gloomy disposition, he’s always seen around the market and with people’s tendency to draw closer to mysterious handsome men like him, let’s just say he’s managed to unintentionally charm your neighbors. Everyone calls you lucky for getting him, everyone calls him lucky for having a good husband that provides.

Really, he cares so little about the money you make. All he needs is your love and attention. It is imperative that you give him calls on certain times of the day, let him know that you’re still alive at the very least. It’s not like you can’t make do on such a promise either, you loved calling him just to take a break from work for a little while. Even just hearing his quiet grunts of agreement while you gossiped about your subordinates was enough.

He wakes you up… like really early. Super early. Like at least a few hours before you call in for work. His reason? To get enough time with you before you go to work. It’s adorable. You two could be just lounging at the balcony, sipping coffee or tea while you both watch the sunrise.

Speaking of which, with him comes a package. His aforementioned family. Kafka and Silver Wolf’s visits are a must. They are a part of him and now they are a part of you. Kafka could be dropping by just to chat and gossip with you (somehow both of you know a lot about people’s own businesses) or Silver Wolf would just barge in and hog all your game systems (she says no one plays them since you’re both old men so she gets the privilege). Either way you’re already used to it, and one guest room is always at the ready.

Getting married to Blade is honestly the best thing you’ve ever done in your life. You still don’t know how you pulled him, but with him resting on you while the both of you watched shows, showing you his vulnerability tells you that doing so is not an accident or a mistake.

“…Would it kill you to step back a little? It’s hard to cook.”

“But you’re so warm. So soft… so…”

Quite possibly out of all the forms of affections that you’ve expressed towards him, Blade finds your nosy hands cupping around his chest from under his clothes the least practical. Especially when you’re doing it while he’s cooking your breakfast before you’re off for work.

He flipped the omelet with ease despite his claims of difficulty just seconds ago. Of course, it wasn’t as hard when he’s standing still. But on times where he had to go get some things, you in your sleepy daze had to trudge behind him like a shadow just to persistently warm your incredibly cold hands.

Regardless, other than the difficulty in moving, Blade finds it even harder not to burn the kitchen down as his concentration dwindled with every kiss you pressed against his neck, unrelenting and incredibly soft, so filled with love in every individual peck that met his skin. His face turned a rather dark shade of scarlet while you busied yourself with him.

“Keep this up and you’re going to be late.”

“At least it’s extra time with you~” you cooed.

Blade only sighed before leaning against your back, using his free hand to softly knock into the side of your head as his form of half-assed discipline.

Well. Maybe he wouldn’t mind that extra time too.

𐂂

DAN HENG

He’s not so much as a reluctant househusband. In fact, he relishes in the idea of just staying home and doing his work there. He likes the comfort of being able to sit things out for once after having to look after his two gremlins for friends. However, he does want to make sure that you’re always safe when you’re working.

After a lot of reassurances, he finally decides that you can handle your own. He will compensate for it by taking an extremely good care of you and your shared home. And this man does not play around. He’s sort of like Blade, excelling at everything that needs to be done not just because, but it’s to keep you safe. He cooks you healthy meals and scrubs any dirt off the face of the world.

Easily one of the greatest househusbands in the list. Dan Heng has the right temperament and while he’s often aloof to most people, when it comes to you, you could already feel how he seems more lenient, a little softer on you.

He does all his work efficiently to get them over with as fast and as best as he can so he can have time to visit you in your work. If he knows he has time, count on your beloved husband to come and bring you some freshly cooked lunch in your office. Almost everyone in your company already knows who he is. He’s the elusive husband of the big boss, coming in just to bring you some lunch.

Speaking of which, might wanna keep your subordinates in check. Dan Heng is a looker, and the fact that he’s just as considerate, combined with his mysterious nature, people are bound to be more attracted to him. Though honestly, none of their little admiration could measure up to Dan Heng’s love for you.

In his eyes, you are the only one important, right next to his own family with Himeko and the rest. And he will do all that he can to make sure that you’re alright in any aspect of your life. However even with that dedication, it’s also your job to keep him intact. He focuses so much on you that he sometimes forgets to wind down.

Taking him out on something with a serene atmosphere usually does the trick. Bring tons of books to entertain yourselves, and if the stories get too old, you chat about things you have yet to tell each other. Dan Heng really appreciates the effort you put in, investing your time in him despite the fact that you’re running a conglomerate, but even then just a little gesture from you is enough for him to know how grateful you are for his own efforts as well.

Old married couple 2.0. March said so herself when she decided to barge into your home to show you her pictures from her recent travels. She and the raccoon are tied at the tally of visits. Often they just crash just to make sure Dan Heng hasn’t driven you insane yet with his very… unromantic nature. Safe to say March still couldn’t believe that dear old Dan Heng was the first to pop the question in tying the knot.

Speaking of unromantic, your husband does come off as one, often giving you practical solutions than giving you any words of comfort when you’re stressed. And perhaps it’s because you understood that’s his way of romancing you that you and him ended up married in the first place.

Exhaustion was more of a friend than a foe after having to bury yourself in the tower stacks of paperwork. It’s times like these that you had to wonder if running the family company is even worth it.

“I’m too tired to driiiiive,” you whined, looking at the spreadsheets in exasperation.

And as if he had a sixth sense, a knock on your door was heard and you gave the green light with little regard for the person behind the door. You then looked up and almost cried at the sight of your beautiful husband, with two coffees in hand.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” it was all he had to say to prompt what little motivation you had left in your system, letting your sluggish self spring back to life. You bound to him with a grateful smile on your face and greeted him with an embrace.

You took one cup from him and graced him with a kiss on his cheek, “Hang on, let me get some take home work. I need to at least finish a good third of this.”

Your poor husband was a lot more worried than he could let on with his stoic face — seeing you on the ropes, completely hard at work and barely functioning at the sheer exhaustion was almost enough to tempt him into stopping you from bringing home your work. Alas, he supported you regardless and only thought to compensate for your extra work with an even better dinner.

“Anything you want for tonight?” He asked, thoughtful as always.

“Mmm… chicken fried rice?”

“Chicken fried rice it is.”

𐂂

CAELUS

Not a single soul expected for this man to get married. Everyone thought he’d just end up on the streets willingly, constantly rummaging through trash can after trash can, falling in love with one and settling down with it in his own odd way. Surprise surprise, he is now a househusband that digs through the high end trash cans placed inside your shared home.

Quite frankly, if Caelus was being honest, he also did not expect to trip into you and quite literally fall in love. And for you to reciprocate it. He always thought you two were just the best of friends, with you supporting his hobbies with little to no judgment. So imagine his surprise that he keeps feeling every time he wakes up right next to you (and right next to his five foot pillow of a trashcan, but it’s a separate affair on its own).

Moving aside your husband’s very odd addiction of living the life of a trash panda, Caelus is actually a pretty decent househusband. His specialities are mostly the meals he makes for you. They’re always so delicious and is often the highlight of your day even without him around.

He’s very active around the neighborhood and is always armed with the latest news around town. The other stay at home spouses love him. And you were quite surprised to find out that he’s far more connected in the very place you both live in than you could ever be. When you’re free, you’d sometimes accompany him to the market and somehow end up staying very late because a lot of people recognize him and seem to want to chat with him.

Caelus parades you around as his beloved husband and people are just dropping jaws when they realize you have definitely been interviewed in one of those famous magazines about businesses and all that jazz.

Surprisingly, just like Sampo, Caelus is your man when it comes to spending wisely and learning how to haggle. He knows his way around almost everything and even you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself of fishing out such a dashing man that is wise in finances. Good man, honestly.

One fact about him that you like are his skills in caring for children. There’s something so wonderfully domestic whenever you would come home early and see him playing with the children — Hook and Clara, if you can recall. He’s mostly just babysitting for them on days that he’s not completely hammered to death with housework.

His favorite thing to do with you is grocery shopping at night. Just the two of you cruising around every aisle, more often than not, you’d push the cart with him in it getting gradually buried by every item you decided to purchase. It’s a good way to spend some time together while getting something productive done. And perhaps coax you into buying a little more food than you and him intended in the first place. Dan Heng always advices you not to be too swayed by your husband antics… but it’s clearly not working.

Caelus is a silly little man, with his weird eccentric jokes and his equally strange fascination for all things related to trash cans. But it’s probably because of this that you found yourself enamored. He is your respite in the suffocating world of your workforce. He pushes you in situations you never thought would be fun unless he was with you.

“If you loved me, you would’ve gotten ten more boxes of cookies.”

“And if you loved me, you wouldn’t be willingly burying yourself in that cart instead of helping me pick between chocolate or strawberry milk.” You quipped back with a snarky grin, not even bothering to look at your childish husband who continued to be sprawled out in the cart at ten in the evening while you shopped.

Caelus pouted, you always did make good points. It’s why he could never win an argument against you. Or maybe he could… if he wasn’t so completely smitten at the sight of you. You were always seen as the dignified boss of your company, dressed in three piece suits that could suffocate anyone and their wallet.

But here you were, dressed in a loose shirt (likely one of his just judging from the fit) and some pair of joggers that you haphazardly threw on.

Absolutely breathtaking.

He lent out a hand to reach for the carton of flavored milk that you finally chose, adding it onto the pile. He waited until you were at the end of the cart, getting ready to muscle your way through pushing an incredibly heavy cart, courtesy of your husband.

Caelus looked up at you, “Don’t I at least get a kiss for helping out?”

“Cae, I’m dying from pushing you. How ‘bout we entertain that incentive once you got out of the cart and started helping me, hm?”

Maybe he’s just a simp, but how could he deny his demanding husband’s whims?

𐂂

WELT YANG

This old man is the definition of a reluctant retiree. Well, it’s not actually a retirement for him. He still gets to be the voice of reason, only that he won’t actually personally animating. Who’s to blame? You. To be accurate, this old man officially decided to step down from his hands-on job as an animator so he can be a househusband. You’re a priority after all, and only the heavens know how bad you need to be taken care of.

Welt joins the ranks of a godly househusband. He knows his way around almost every single thing that needs to get fixed. His cooking? Top tier. His housework game? Absolute perfection. Floors are swept, counters are wiped and dusted, sheets and clothes are washed and pressed. He is perfect.

And on top of that, he still manages to balance his work from home as the consultant for any new anime that is about to be produced and can still care for you without even breaking a sweat. Old man Welt is always pulling through.

So let’s get this out of the way — actual old married couple. Not just vibes. You two are old men who look at the screen with squinted eyes. Well, only Welt does that while you laugh at him and then proceed to forget where you placed your own phone despite being on it just a few minutes ago.

Regardless, you live a much more balanced life, just two husbands cruising through life with little worries. You live on a good neighborhood, living comfortably and get a lot of visits from yours and Welt’s friends/family. Most of which are from the trio and Himeko. You and Welt always host these family dinners on weekends where everyone is free. Life is good.

However despite all the glamour of living a comfortable life in this marriage, there is one glaring difference between you and Welt — mostly it’s the fact that you have worse time management than he does and often gets the short end of the stick, always pummeled to death with your paperwork that could leave anyone in a fit of raw despair. Welt looked at your work the one time you left to answer a phone call from office and shuddered at the heavy load.

Welt is essentially your clock when it’s time to unwind from work. You have a tendency to overwork at times and it’s something that Welt always makes sure to keep an eye out for. He just wants what’s best for you, and oftentimes, what’s best is for you is to finally get some shuteye after suffering through another overnight that you pulled.

Also, there is an unspoken rule of not letting any man with long blonde hair inside your home. It’s just a house rule. The top of all other house rules in fact, as it takes the most priority in fulfilling.

Regardless, Welt is so… househusband-shaped. He knows what to do as one and does a damn good execution of it all. Maybe it’s because of his compassionate self that you were quick to fall for the old man. He didn’t even have to try and show off, all he had to do was be himself and you’d still give him the world with every penny you’ve earned from your job.

A taut frown tugged onto Welt’s lips as he squinted on the labels from the spices that Himeko sent from her recent overseas trip. Not that he didn’t trust his good friend’s tastes in any form of flavor, it’s only that he wanted to make sure none of it had any ingredient that could probably send you into an anaphylactic shock. Yes, he is this meticulous when it comes to you.

Alas, his cautiousness grants no extra clear sight in viewing the labels and he struggled, holding them in different proximities. Are the characters really that small intentionally or are they so incoherent because they manufacturers made an error in the sizing the font before printing it on the packaging.

Fortunately for him, you came into the rescue as you plucked the packaging from his hands. Welt didn’t need to look up to see the same smug smile plastered on your face whenever you’d catch him doing the same thing to his phone. Well, he loved looking at you so he did it nonetheless.

“Having trouble again, old man?” You teased and Welt only had to sigh in response. “Is this from Himeko’s package?”

Your endeared husband nodded, “Of course. I had to see what else she gave us. And I’m looking over the ingredients so I can keep you out of the hospital as best as I can.” He turned to the stove and lowered the heat. “Now kindly read it for me, dear.”

You only nodded, flipping over the packet, “Sure thing.”

There was a silence that followed, with Welt expecting you to run your mouth about the ingredients already. He looked back to you…

…And saw you squinting at the same bundle of text that he’s been staring at.

Welt scoffed, playful and light in nature, “And you call me old.”

“It’s the manufacturer’s fault…!!”

[marypsue]

There’ve been a few responses to/reblogs with tags on my post about DIY clothing embellishments that basically boil down to ‘I’d love to do this but I’m scared it’ll turn out bad/I’m not a good enough artist’. And I get it, I really do! I also want my art things to turn out nicely. But also...making it badly is sort of the point of punk DIY. 

Listen. We live in a world that would dearly love to charge you a subscription fee for breathing. The bastards are doing everything they possibly can to figure out how to turn art - stories, visual art, music, textile/fibre art, sculpture, crafts and creations of every kind - into a neat, discrete, packageable commodity, a product they can chop up into little pieces and stick behind a paywall so they can charge you for every drop of it you want to have in your life. 

The whole sneering idea that ‘everybody wants to be some kind of creator now’ and anything less than absolute mastery right out the gate is somehow shameful and embarrassing is a tool those bastards are using. It’s a way to reinforce the idea that only a set group of people can create and control art, and everybody else has to buy it. 

But art isn’t a product. Art is a fundamental human impulse. Nobody is entitled to a specific piece of art (which is where this message gets skewed into pitting people who love art against the artists who make it, while the bastards screw us all and run away with the money). But making art belongs to everybody. We make up songs and dances and stories, and paint things, and make clothes, and embellish them, and carve flowers into our furniture and our lintels and our doorframes, and make windows out of tiny pieces of coloured glass, and decorate our homes and our bodies and our lives with things we make and make up, simply for the love of beauty and of the act of creation. Grave goods from tens of thousands of years ago show that ancient hominids gave their dead wreaths of ceramic flowers, tattooed their bodies, beaded their shoes. Making things for the sake of beauty and enjoyment is one of the most ancient and human things we can do. 

The idea that we can’t, that we have to buy shit instead, because art is a product and you have to have the bestest prettiest most perfect product, is the enemy of joy. It’s the death of culture. And it means that, instead of whatever it is that you cherish and enjoy and value, you get whatever inoffensive (and to whom is it inoffensive?) bland meaningless samey-samey crap that the bastards want you to be allowed to have. What are you missing and what are you missing out on, if you don’t make or modify or decorate anything for yourself, if you don’t think you can because the product at the end won’t be polished or perfect or marketable enough? What do you lose? What do we lose? 

It is a desperately vital and necessary thing for you to make shit. For you to know that you can make shit, that you don’t have to just lie back and take whatever pablum the bastards want to force-feed you (and charge you through the nose for). That the bastards need you more than you need them. 

Become ungovernable. Be your own weirdly-endearing punk little freak. Paint on a t-shirt. Sing off-key in the shower or at karaoke night or at open mic night. Make up a story where you get to meet your favourite fictional character and you guys hug or fuck or punch each other in the face. Make art. Do it badly. Do it frequently. Do it enthusiastically. Do it for love and joy and creativity and fun and the spiteful joy of thumbing your nose at some smug motherfucker with a Swiss bank account who wants to track your heartbeat and location for the rest of your life in order to automatically pump AI-generated beats matched to your mood into your earbuds for a small monthly subscription fee of $24.99/month. It is literally the only way we are ever going to have even a chance to save art and our own lives from the bastards. 

So. Paint that t-shirt. 

(Also support artists where you can, and buy your music from Bandcamp.)

[withleeknow]

the nut graph.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, college au, fluff <3; oc is a journalism student (there's just a couple references in here, and the title lol) bc i am once again being hella self-indulgent 🤪 word count: 0.8k note: how ironic that as i was writing this, there was a thunderstorm outside but i didn't have a hyunjin to cuddle up with. tragic :/ anywhomst onigiri 🍙 this is for you and our shared hyune brainrot. i hope u'll tolerate like this one 🥹 <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

"it's raining."

the voice comes from beside you, where hyunjin has been sitting for the past couple of hours while you work on your respective assignments, sharing headphones and feeding each other gummy worms and almond pepero's every once in a while, your head softly nodding along to the music from his lo-fi playlist.

when you glance out the window, it's too dark to watch the sky, but you do catch a glimpse of the downpour thanks to the light from the streetlamp below.

you hum in agreement without much enthusiasm, turning to peck his cheek quickly before diverting your attention back to your laptop.

hyunjin huffs out a griping noise, shrugs off his earpod and scooches closer on his chair to rest his head on you. "hey, let's call it a night," he says, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and your shoulder, pressing his full lips against you, over the material of his hoodie that you've stolen borrowed.

"are you done with your paper?" you ask.

"no, but it's raining."

your boyfriend loves the rain; there's something so charmingly idyllic about the rain and he's nothing if not a romantic. he loves it even more when he gets to spend the moment with you, with the two of you nicely tucked together in bed or on the couch as you listen to the sound of the shower outside pattering against your window.

you only chuckle, kissing his forehead to appease him for now. "i'm not done with my article," you say. "you go to bed first. i'll be there in a second."

"let's go to bed now," hyunjin whines, drawing out the last word like an overgrown child. two bargaining hands slide around your body until they're clasped together on the other side of your waist. "it's the perfect time to cuddle."

"fifteen minutes and i'll be done. i just need to finish the nut graph and i'll be right there, okay?"

"nut graph," he echoes, giggling to himself as if it's the first time he's ever heard of the term. then he clears his throat, like he suddenly remembers that there's something much larger at stake here. "that's not a second. what if it stops raining?"

"then it stops raining." you shrug, reaching for a pepero stick to munch on while you keep your gaze on the laptop screen again. "it won't kill you, y'know."

"you don't know that." another pathetic mewl escapes his mouth. "come onnn, i need my cuddles."

"well, we're kind of cuddling right now."

though if you're being honest, your train of thought kind of kicked you off and left the station the second hyunjin started slotting himself against your side. you're just doing this for kicks, because sometimes it's entertaining to tease your boyfriend and watch him be dramatic for a minute. it's endearing, how he whines about not being able to snuggle with you like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to him. it's a bit of an ego boost as well, to know that this godlike man would turn into a puddle every time he's needy for your attention.

"this is not cuddling," he says, his arms tightening around you and for a second there, you wonder if he would actually carry you over his shoulder like a potato sack and take you to the bedroom himself. "come on, let's go to bed. this is your tax."

"this is my what?"

"your tax," he repeats, pinching the material of your (his) hoodie between two fingers. "for wearing my clothes. pay up."

rolling your eyes in playful disbelief, you open your mouth to shoot back a retort but you're promptly cut off after the first syllable makes it out when hyunjin does exactly what you were picturing a minute ago - he fucking picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, in true potato sack fashion, while you squeal in shock.

"hyunjin! the nut graph!"

he only pats your butt in response to your helpless wiggling. "it'll still be there tomorrow."

his long strides carry you to the adjoining room in no time. before you know it, you're already gently laid on the bed while hyunjin settles on top of you, his arms encircling your frame as he throws one of his legs over both of yours. he sighs, clearly content with himself, the soft puff of air escaping his lips to tickle the skin of your neck.

you have no choice but to concede; you're already here anyway. you turn in his hold until you're hugging him back comfortably, carding your fingers through his soft hair to keep his head close to you.

"needy little monster," you complain, no bite.

hyunjin doesn't care about witty comebacks. he won, he got what he wanted. so he just pushes himself up the bed, crossing the few inches it takes to reach your lips. "love you," he giggles, showcasing a grin that makes his eyes turn into adorable crescent moons before he's kissing you tenderly. oh, so delicately.

outside your window, the rain only falls harder.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 03.06.2024]

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is too lazy to shower and you’re too weak to resist each other.

> est. relationship, fluff, v brief smut bc aftercare, some angst / wc: 4.7k

> warnings: subby!jk, implied edg♡ng and or♡l (and mention of f. receiving), brief h♡ndj♡b, c♡m eat♡ng, oc lowkey possessive oop, jungkook cries bc he is so full of love then i cried too </3 oc washes jk in the bathtub <3

> in which masterlist!

note: oc is stepping up what else can i say 🤷 and yea it’s jk at the ck event for the second part <3 this is… the sexiest time u’ll get from me i just felt the need to establish exactly how jk is smitten for oc. like i need u to understand!!!! before the next drabble bcoz 🥲 as alwaysss i love hearing your thoughts thru comments/reblog/asks !! <3

—

jungkook’s rhythmic knocking prompts you to blindly fumble for the handle with a slippery hand, sliding the glass door open to get rid of the barrier separating the two of you.

“what?” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut as you spread the shampoo in your hair.

your boyfriend gingerly wipes away the bubbles posing threat to your vision, allowing you to finally open your eyes and bask in his breathtaking beauty this fine morning. he stands by the door wearing only his black boxers, untamed hair and starry eyes softening the edges of your sharp temper. you will never not hate waking up early.

his voice is muffled by the pink toothbrush hanging from his lips as he beseeches you, deliberately using the charm of his pleading doe eyes.

“will you wash me, too…? i’m so tired, baby. i barely slept.”

“okay, babe.” you let out a sigh as you turn on the shower again. “but don’t get frisky. i can’t be late for work again.”

your approval makes his face light up as bright as a clear, sunny sky. why is he acting as if this is the very first time he will be standing underneath the shower with you? you fail to keep an endeared smile at bay.

“wait for me, okay?! i’ll just feed song and ppaeng real fast.”

he carefully closes the glass door, and then you hear it — his heavy feet stomping on the floor as he runs out of the bathroom as if he’s being chased by the hands of the clocks in the apartment.

“so annoying.” you snicker humorously, burying your face in your hands as you allow the water to wash away the thick foam from your hair.

—

“so annoying!” you exclaim as you turn off the shower for the final time, wholeheartedly meaning it this time around. you even took your time washing the conditioner off your hair and cleaning your body, but your patience has thinned and disintegrated into dust.

you reach for your towel, and in that moment, jungkook finally barges in the room.

“you’re finished?!”

your piercing glare meets his ingenuous doe eyes, and he winces guiltily.

“i got distracted with chores. sorry.” he bravely takes several steps closer, stealing a quick peck from your lips. “but i packed up your lunch so you’re ready to go.”

as of recent, your boyfriend has added cooking your lunch to his daily routine so you can spend your midday break at the park instead of a busy and stuffy restaurant. and although you’re dreading the exhausting day that awaits once you step foot outside the house, your heart melts when you think about the hour reserved for you to savor the food he cooked with love from his heart. it’s so easy to feel isolated in this world, but if you think about how the food that you eat requires effort and care to be made beyond fuel to live, doesn’t it make you feel a little lucky to be here?

“i guess i have some time to wash your hair.”

“i’ll take it!” he almost cuts you off, jumping at the offer before another precious millisecond is wasted.

you chuckle at his ardent display of eagerness. “will you fetch my robe then?”

—

jungkook comfortably settles in the far left of the drop-in bathtub where the showerhead is attached to the wall. meanwhile, you’re by his side facing him, sitting on the second step of the low white chair stool you both agreed to buy specifically for this type of situation.

with the heel of his palm, he wipes away the lone tear that trickles down his cheek as he lets go of another irrepressible yawn. he thought that the iced americano he was leisurely drinking in the kitchen already woke him up, yet here he is being lulled to sleep once more.

it was wrong of him to expect you to simply drizzle products on his hair and wash them off in a hurry. so wrong. you refuse to live your life halfheartedly, and that bleeds into your daily actions, he realizes.

you didn’t forget to comb his hair, untangling the knots painstakingly, before instructing him to sit under the shower. and once you were finished with generously applying the shampoo to cover his head, your artful fingers weave into his long hair to massage his scalp in small, circular movements. it’s not much, but you’re hoping that even with only five minutes of this small gesture, you can bring him some sort of comfort after having a bad night’s sleep.

“ah- this feels so nice. you’re healing me.” he sighs in relief, instinctively leaning into your affectionate touches.

you swoop in to plant a quick kiss on his lips before you take a peek at his phone. he has been diligently protecting it from the water, along with his hands.

“so, you’re buying a new polaroid camera?”

he nods, round eyes anchored in the screen as he reviews the product description displayed. “i couldn’t sleep so i started checking them out last night. i don’t really know what i’m looking for this time… i just want it to be black.”

“what made you think of it so suddenly?” you curiously inquire, ignoring the growing soreness in your arms as your fingers travel their way down to the lower half of his hair, consistent with the light pressure to release his tension.

“i want to do that thing.”

“what thing?”

“you know… tha-that thing, putting a photo of your favorite person on the back of your phone.” he stutters, lips curving into a sheepish smile. “you do it, too. sometimes.”

you snort, cracking up in laughter as you’re reminded of a running gag in your relationship. every time they have a new album release, he goes out of his way to ask for his photocards so he can jokingly present them to you as gifts since he’s your ‘favorite idol’. you do own quite a lot of phone cases, including a transparent that you use every and now then. the last one you put in the back of it was a random from his photofolio, the one in which he was doing a kissy face. how many people out there can say that their boyfriend was a vampire once?

“don’t laugh!” he whines grumpily. “you need to pose for them cutely, okay?”

“i’ll dress myself up prettier so you’ll look at me longer than the screen.”

a brand new camera always means having jungkook follow you around like a lost puppy, devoted to learning how to use it as an expert photographer and filmographer.

“but you better be sure not to burn my eyes with the flash again.”

it’s an honest mistake he’s done one too many times, even with his phone.

he scrunches his nose in shame, cackling. “it will never happen again. never. i really, really, really mean it this time.”

“sure, i should trust you.” you grimace, picking up the scalp brush on your lap before standing up to grab the shower head. “put your phone away now.”

swift to obey, he stands up to cross the distance between him and the highest floating shelf where you store the essential oils and small towels, leaving the device in between them for meantime. when he returns to his previous position, you begin rinsing his hair.

“wait- you hold this instead.” you hand him the shower, which he accepts unwittingly, moving it back and forth so he’s covering the entire area.

while he does that, you use his purple brush to be certain that the chemicals will be removed and washed away from his scalp, gentle fingers combing portions of his silky hair aside to reach every spot.

he cheesily smiles to himself under the stream of refreshingly cold water. as someone who goes out like a light when his hair is played with, jungkook is living his best life.

until he’s not.

“shit, shit, shit- i have to get dressed up.” you panic as your phone in the bedroom wildly blares the alarm sound that serves as your final warning. “oh well, i’m done anyway.”

abandoning the brush on the edge of the tub, you regain possession of the shower and run your fingers through his hair one last time for good measure, turning it off straight after.

“drive safe today. i love you. i love you. i love you.” you cage his wet face in your hands to kiss him repeatedly, tasting the coffee on his lips.

jungkook is left alone in the bathroom as you get yourself ready for work.

he side-eyes the bottle of conditioner with disgust. “guess it’s just you and me now.”

—

“i really need to shower but i don’t want to… aish, i wish i had someone to help me.” jungkook sighs dramatically as he rubs his stinging eyes. he expectantly looks over at your figure lying on the sofa, stroking your bare shins propped up by his thighs.

but you pretend that you don’t hear a single word he says, too engrossed in the anime ‘cells at work’ playing on the television to spare your boyfriend a glance. a sad frown appears on his face. he’s yearning for you after long hours of being apart.

he drops down to rest his weary body over yours, hugging your hips and face nuzzling the side of your chest. this impels you to wrap an arm around him, his half ponytail caught between your middle and ring fingers, but your hand remains idle on the back of his head.

he pitifully sobs as he whines, squeezing you tightly. “why am i like this? i don’t want to do anything… i’m too lazy… it’s seriously getting annoying now. what do i doooo?”

his speech is slightly slurred because his cheek is squished against your side. you can feel his warm breath fanning your skin, and your tickled laughter mixes in with the laughter brought by a funny scene. a minute later, the outro rolls in, which is your cue to wiggle out of his snuggling.

with his elbow anchored in the couch, jungkook watches you with disappointment swimming in his eyes as you pause the next episode and begin walking away.

“where are you going?”

you stop on your tracks, turning a little to the side to innocently flutter your lashes. “taking a shower so i can go to bed.”

your answer lights the fuse inside of jungkook, to put it lightly. still dressed in the all-black outfit he wore to an event today, minus the button-up and the stompers, he staggers on his feet. he hastily pulls out the hem of his t-shirt from being neatly tucked into his pants before bringing it over his head. he throws it aside without care, and there he stands with a sparkling silver chain dangling over his bare chest, looking like a walking daydream.

your droopy eyes widen as you’re taken aback by the rather alluring view. it seems that neither of you is making this game easy. “excuse me, mister? what are you doing?”

“well, what does it look like?” he shoots you a smirk, bangs falling over his eyes when he looks down to unbuckle his belt with practiced ease.

and you think that if you just play your cards right, he might wear them around your wrists next. oh no- no, no, no. the only restraint you should be thinking of right now is self-restraint, damn it.

“no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am.”

“no-”

“yes.”

your heart violently races when he begins wrapping the belt around his large palm, raising an eyebrow at you. but still, you stand your ground with a sweet, sarcastic smile.

“you’re not a baby. you’re 27 years old. i’m pretty sure you can shower on your own by now.”

and with that, you sprint to the bathroom before your hot boyfriend can strip off his pants, because you know it would be impossible to resist his charms then.

jungkook collapses on the couch, eyes turning into little crescent moons as uncontrollable giggles rack his body. at last, it dawns on him why you’ve been acting a certain way.

he may or may not have unintentionally snapped at his mother over the phone last night, rudely spitting out the two sentences you just used against him. despite witnessing him call and apologize not long after, you still have your own playful way of scolding him, it seems.

“what a brat.” he snorts as he chucks the belt on the table, having a feeling he will have another use for it later.

he sets his hair free from the ponytail and wears the hair tie around his wrist, running his fingers through the locks to tame the unruly mess. he shakes his head as another airy laugh is invoked from him by sheer amusement, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he huffs.

“____ is really setting me straight like this…? ah, i’m angry!”

since he’s already half-naked anyway, he decides to remove his accessories, too. he starts with the silver bracelet around each of his wrists, tilting his head to the side as he reads the subtitle of the frozen frame on the television screen.

In the human body, there are roughly 37.2 trillion cells…

“i think i met the right person.” he nods to himself.

—

the air around him is sweltering and he doesn’t know how to breathe anymore.

“ohh fuck, fuck! i’m so— i’m so close, if you d-don’t stop-” jungkook cries out in desperation, losing any semblance of control he has over his body as he writhes on the mattress. “please, please… it feels too good, please. i’ve been behaving.”

“hm, go on, my love. want to taste you.”

your merciless hand pumps his length and your sinful lips scatter sloppy kisses along the tense muscles of his thighs. lewd, unrestrained moans escape his cerise lips as sparks of electricity burn beneath his eyelids, hips frantically rutting forward to chase his high. driven by lust in his dazed state, he holds himself up by his elbows to watch you reward his tip with languid licks of your tongue, sultry eyes staring back at him, and his head tips back into the pillows as he completely falls apart.

he lies absolutely boneless in the aftermath, mind and body floating in the abyss as he attempts to get back in touch with reality and recall his godforsaken name. his white-knuckled fist’s grip loosens, allowing his slender fingers to slip away from your hair when you remove yourself from between his legs. he covers his eyes with his tattooed arm as his chest heaves, catching his breath.

but then he is pulled out from the darkness by the sound of your giggles, bubbly and achingly familiar, coaxing his damp eyelashes to part from his flushed cheeks. with a blurry vision, he watches you scoop up some of the come that landed all over his chiseled abdomen. you push your middle and ring fingers past your lips, evidently debauched and delighted as you hum. your glasses hang loosely over your nosebridge, and he’s clueless how it managed to be clean while staying on your face.

all over again, the filthy scene pricks his skin with desire and coils the heat in his stomach… it looks reminiscent of your first kiss. but after being edged for what felt like an eternity, he’s afraid of what would become of him if he feels another ounce of pleasure.

“baby, you’re so fucking mean.” he croaks out, voice low and hoarse from choked sobs and begs. it cracks, sounding as though he doesn’t even have a voice left.

you’re more straightforward when you crave to be touched, whimpering a simple ‘i need you’ or ‘please take care of me’ with a pleading face as you play with his fingers. however, on the rare occasion that you get into a very… particular mood… you sigh and say ‘i’m bored’ before looking at him with faux innocence in your blown-out pupils… and because you’re just too damn enticing to resist, he ends up in this position — completely exposed while you’re cozily dressed in a t-shirt over your slip-on night dress, the one he was wearing before.

consequently, it has been making his life difficult. he instantly becomes turned on when you utter the commonly used words, even when there’s obviously no other meaning behind them. like when you’re in public. especially when you’re in public. he can foresee this moment flashing in his mind when he finds himself in the same predicament again. at this point, all he can say is heavens help him, he is so fucked. the angel they sent is well-versed in driving him wild.

“i love you.” he follows up, and your smile grows when you meet his hazy eyes.

“i love you more.” you reply in a sing-song voice, also raspy after having him down your throat. you bend down to plant a featherlight kiss on his pelvis, but he wants it somewhere else.

with his remaining shred of strength, he tugs at your arm to pull you in for a hungry kiss, his hand cupping your nape and his thumb rubbing your cheek. your tongue ghosts over the metal ring piercing his bottom lip, and he shakily breathes out a quiet moan.

you’re the first one to break away, pampering his lips with chaste pecks as you mumble, “my boyfriend is so pretty. mine. mine. mine. love you better than anyone could.”

jungkook’s heart does somersaults, the butterflies inside of him multiplying by the thousands with your every declaration.

you pout as you lovingly brush away the locks of hair sticking to his honey skin, glistening with sweat. “oh? are these sweat or tears? you cried again this time?”

with watering eyes, he can’t help but to dumbly stare at your glossy and swollen lips as you coo.

“but you took it so, so well. you were so perfect, baby boy. thank you.”

“don’t act so innocent.” he mutters, tattooed arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, longing for your weight on top of his. “you know what you did.”

you chuckle as you drag the blanket over his body, concerned he might freeze from the blasted airconditioner now that the ecstasy is ebbing away. “but it felt good, right? did i do anything you didn’t like?”

he gets a sinking feeling when you look at him, asking for confirmation as if you didn’t reduce him into this incoherent puddle of beyond satiated appetite. holy shit, he’s the luckiest man on earth.

“mhm-mhm. more than good… always. you’re too good to be true.”

he sighs in contentment when you offer your arm as his pillow, embracing him tightly. his eyelids flutter shut as he feels the soreness of his muscles taking reign. oddly enough, he doesn’t mind the pain at all. he revels in it, almost. gradually, his heartbeat returns at its normal rate.

he doesn’t flinch when he feels a metal straw nudging his lips, instead he sips heartily to soothe his throat. you have pink hearts for irises as you adore his face, falling in love with your lover all over again.

“i love you. you’re so cute.” you giggle, tucking his hair behind his ears as you hold the water tumbler for him. “you’re so red- especially your ears- it’s so cute.”

this makes him smile sheepishly, bunny teeth biting the straw. he pops it out of his mouth to bury his face in the crook of your neck, laughing breathily.

“well if you point it out, i’ll turn redder!”

“is that so bad? then you’ll be cuter.” you squeeze his cheeks together to tilt his head towards you. “come on. how do you feel…? maybe a bit better? let’s get cleaned up so you can rest.”

he frowns. “i want to taste you, too.”

want to get his payback, more like.

“later, my lov-”

he doesn’t waste time in ducking down, hooking a finger around the waistband of your underwear while he sucks a bruise on your inner thigh.

“jungkook!” you giggle, dragging him off you by his hair. “no! stop! i just wanted to play and make you feel good.”

he refuses to relent, stubborn in his defiance, chasing and chasing until his puckered lips touch your soft skin again, peppering sweet kisses. pulling his hair only spurs him on, it looks like, so you end up using both hands to guide his face inches from yours.

“your busy bee needs to go back to work.” you give his pout an apologetic kiss, knowing full well that you’ll be in bed for much, much longer if you indulge him.

you still need to finish the due project you abandoned in your laptop because you would rather do this. or him? for a lack of better term.

“you can do it however long you want if you wait.”

he beams upon hearing your saccharine promise, eagerly nodding in agreement. and with a naughty smile, he pushes his luck. “then will you wash me now?”

and when you take more than three seconds to answer, he rushes to defend himself with- “i deserve it this time!”

—

jungkook is still and silent as he sits across you in the bathtub, extremely drowsy after you gave him another one of your soothing scalp massages when you washed his hair. the scented candle melting over the sink mixes with the drops of lavender oil you added into the water, and not far from it is his phone playing mellow music.

however, that changes when he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“you’re too gentle. are you sure i’m being cleaned?”

an irritated expression is drawn on your face as you grab his wrist, forcefully making him hold the soapy wash cloth you just started using. “then you do it yourself so i can focus on me instead.”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding!” he winces when you make a move to stand up. he reflexively seizes your arm to stop you, lisp discernible as he grumbles. “babe, i can’t do it. i have no energy left and it’s your fault!”

you roll your eyes, reclaiming the cloth from his hand. you add a little more pressure to address his concern as you move on to lathering his tattooed arm, a coat of small bubbles decorating the diverse colors of ink covering his skin. you make a game out of neatly smoothing down his body hair.

“you know you have sensitive skin but you’re too rough when you do it. what’s the point of using a mild body wash?”

his brain fails to process your scolding, still weak and fuzzy like cotton, overcome by fragmented thoughts. the beckoning sound of your voice. the intoxicating scent of your newest perfume, strawberry clinging to your skin until now. your cleverness paired with seduction equals his blissful doom. your tenderness while you were making him cry. after making him cry. even when he’s not crying at all.

“____,”

your eyes flicker up to him in confusion. why is that you feel a little more real when he says your name?

“what?” you squeak out.

“you’re so beautiful.” he thinks out loud, ‘lovestruck’ written all over his softened features. “i wish there’s a better word for it. ehh, uhh, there probably is but…”

his forehead creases as he exerts mental power to flip through his dictionary, eyeballs pointing in different directions as if he will read the word somewhere on the walls.

“but i can’t think of one right now… my brain isn’t working.”

the compliment told dreamily makes your fragile heart beat louder inside your ribcage. concealing a flattered smile, you shake your head in disbelief.

“you think changing the topic like this will work?”

the water sloshes around as you inch closer, running the cloth over his shoulders and across his collarbones.

“i mean it.” he replies firmly, hands sneaking in to caress the sides of your waist, fingertips grazing your skin to trace amorphous drawings. “i didn’t always get the chance to look at you… like take my time and, really look at you. i hate that.”

you reach for the tallest bottle on the corner of the bathtub. as you spritz more body wash on the cloth, you give him a fleeting glance. “you’re doing it right now. that’s what matters.”

“i am.” he nods timidly.

his vision is fixated where your gentle scrubbing travels down to his chest. he sharply inhales, and exhales, choosing to pour every ounce of his attention on you. his tattooed hand slides up your body, gliding across your skin until he reaches your face. and as if he’s doubtful that you’re truly tangible and not a figment of his imagination, the back of his fingers tentatively brushes your cheek.

it rises under his touch as you sneakily steal glances of him getting lost in a trance. with droplets of water dripping from his wet hair, he blinks sleepily. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the lump in his throat, suppressing the new wave of salty tears threatening to leak from his eyes.

he doesn’t want to roam the roads of the past too much but — years after he broke your heart, has he become a man worthy of soaking in a bathtub with you? it’s an honor. it’s a joy. everything is clear. you’re not here to fill in a gap but to consume space. his body is permanently stained by the colors of your soul. he is loved.

considering that he still looks gorgeously wrecked from earlier, you only take it as a sign that he’s still not entirely present in this sphere. you want to give him more water, but neither of you feels the need to speak. wave to earth’s ‘evening glow’ is more than enough to fill the evening’s restful silence.

as he painfully yearns to do so, he takes his time, and you spread the body wash on the curves of his waist slower than you normally would.

his calloused thumb traces your jaw, and your breath hitches when he pauses at your bottom lip. he applies just enough pressure to memorize the softness of the flesh under his touch, slightly separating it from your upper lip. he fails to take notice of his own lips unconsciously mirroring yours. and he swears on his life, all the clocks in the world have stopped ticking to let him live in this moment forever.

on the other hand, you also fail to shut out your own impulses. your lips pucker to kiss the pad of his thumb with a smooching sound. he breaks out into a toothy grin, the long dimples running down his lower cheeks popping out.

he delicately holds your face steady in one hand, pointer finger digging in one cheek and his thumb on the other, before he draws in to grant you a proper kiss. his nose bumps against yours when it breaks.

“need to sit on your lap so i can reach your back.”

“i’m all yours.” he whispers while he guides you into position, softly squeezing at your hips.

with you straddling him, he can embrace you as he likes, his chest pressed against yours. he happily tucks his chin over the shoulder of your unbusy arm, and he’s on top of the world. he hums and sings along to johnny stimson’s ‘honeymoon’, harmoniously swaying in the limited space as you knead his back. he is undoubtedly, thoroughly drunk. the 80- to 90-proof bottles of whiskey gathered in the kitchen cabinet got nothing on you.

he sniffles quietly, using his wrist to pat his tear-stained eyes and cheeks dry. he plants a small kiss on the soft flesh under your ear before succumbing to the heaviness weighing on his eyelids.

jungkook’s adorable snoring contests with his phone’s high-quality speakers. almost, almost too identical to the sound of the candle wick burning.

“oh, for fuck’s sake.” you curse under your breath, splashing water on the expanse of your boyfriend’s back to wash away the bubbles.

“…it’s 9pm. did i seriously tire him out that much?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[midnightcinderella]

People who would suffer at NRC

Each dorm has at least one of these students and god help them. This is very self-indulgent and each trait applies to me. If you relate, then rip to the both of us.

No proof-reading, we rawdog this shit. Word count: ~1300 Notes: no gendered pronouns for reader. mentions of ADHD, depression, and anxiety. mentions of illness. no romantic relationships

Heartslabyul

People with ADHD. Rip to us fr.

You'd forget at least a handful of rules a day, but it's really not your fault. Riddle better get off your case istg.

The ones who are more devoted to remaining productive make big colorful signs all over the damn place.

In their own rooms would be stuff like a box that says "keys and wallet go here" or a sign by the door with a checklist of what they need before they go, like homework or textbooks.

There are signs in common areas, too. They'll say stuff like curfew times or reminders of jobs that need to be done around the dorm.

There's always backlash if Riddle tries to take them down for being an eyesore because not only do they help ADHD students remember what needs to be done but students without ADHD, too. No sane person is gonna be thinking about feeding flamingos 24/7.

Savanaclaw

People with asthma. Place is dusty as shit. And hot. And humid at times.

I'm surprised the beastman students haven't taken any measure to seal off the inside of the dorm to prevent and from getting in. Guess everyone doesn't mind inhaling dust straight into their lungs.

Not to mention regular exercise is a dorm-wide tradition. Shoutout to my fellow mile walkers <3

If you have asthma and a dander/dust allergy, I'd just drop out tbh.

People who easily overheat/sweat. Double rip to us.

Get ready to go back and forth with your dormmates about smelling bad after sweating. It's a common occurrence. Someone sasses you, you sass back, and you're friends again 3 minutes later.

Everyone will think you're dying when you're dripping sweat after some stretches outside. No, you're not tired, you're just hot.

Octavinelle

People who are bad at math/bad with money. Listen.

The dorm isn't full of people who are as business minded as Azul, but there are students that offer accounting help for a fee. Negotiate that fee for the love of god.

Thankfully, you won't be scammed out of house and home because:

(1) it's generally frowned upon to scam people within Octavinelle; you don't hurt one of your own. It's about loyalty.

(2) someone is likely to take pity on you and will throw you a bone, telling you about a huge sale or where to find good job opportunities.

People who are gullible. Once again, double rip.

And once again, thank the lucky stars that loyalty is such a big thing here so you might be tricked into doing someone's job for them like mopping the Lounge, but nothing that would hurt you too badly.

If a study partner tries to feed you false information for shiggles, that'll get shut down real quick by another student. If your grades go down, then the whole dorm goes with you.

Good thing that doesn't happen often, and Azul offers his study guides for a highly discounted price to his own.

Scarabia

People who don't do well with sudden changes in temperature. Man, listen.

Hellishly hot during the day and even more hellishly cold at night. Dante would be thrilled.

God forbid you have any athletic activities close to sunset because you'll have to shower off that sweat quick before you freeze to death.

If anyone has a problem with the sound of the hairdryer after sundown, they're just gonna have to deal with it or risk catching your inevitable cold.

Speaking of, if sudden changes in temperature make you sick, double rip. I know your pain.

Kalim may not be able to come see you in person, but if he finds out you're sick, he'll send meds and some warm food. If that food was made by Jamil, then you owe him one.

You don't wanna owe him one.

If you need to leave your room after sundown, you're going to do it wrapped up with a blanket over your head. If someone mistakes you for a ghoul, that's their own problem.

Pomefiore

People with depression. Listen. Someone without depression could find it hard to keep such a strict regimen day in and day out; do not expect too much out of us.

If you think that means you're getting out of it, though, you'd be wrong.

Group accountability is a thing here. If you need help sticking to your routine, you're getting it. You can't refuse.

You're all going to be beautiful together, goddammit.

If that chronic fatigue be hittin ya, you might get a pass for a few steps of your routine. But if a particularly caring dormmate decides you have to do the full routine and straight up does it for you, lol.

Depending on how you view that sort of help, it might be really nice. Or maybe a little humiliating.

The dorm kitchen is only going to have healthy ready-made snacks. So if it's a day where you can't cook or go all the way to the cafeteria, that is what you're working with. Either that or you crawl your way over the the Shop for a candy bar.

Ignihyde

People who struggle with technology. Yes there are young people who aren't great with technology. We exist. Mind your business.

No matter how many classes you take teaching you how to use MagExcel, it never sticks for long. Even if you pass the exams, all your knowledge leaves to go buy milk by the time the week is over.

You're gonna need to interrupt people's gaming sessions to ask for help. It may annoy them, but you're doing it anyway because you refuse the reinvent the wheel 12 times.

People who prefer paper over screens. Call me old fashioned but staring at screens all day Hurts My Eyes.

You'd get physical copies of your textbooks if you could, but those free pdfs your classmates pass around are too tempting to pass up. They're free, for god's sake.

You also might be limited to board games on game nights. They're not bad, but there's not a whole lot you can do with them. You're a wiz at Cards Against Reality tho.

Every so often Ignihyde has a dorm-wide game night where everyone sits around in the common room with their headphones in, playing their own games. Together.

Though the board game players are in the next room. Oddly enough, they're the rowdiest of the bunch, and it sounds like they have the most fun by the way they're yelling and cheering.

You have seen some nerd fights start over a game of Ichi.

Diasomnia

People who have anxiety. One, Lilia is a menace. Two, your housewarden is the Malleus Draconia. Meep.

Whether it's Lilia or Malleus you run into, it feels like your heart will explode at any time.

Not to mention it's so dark in and outside of the building for no good reason. What's a fella gotta do to get some fucking sunlight in here? You're sick of worrying about what could be behind every corner.

You once wondered if Malleus needed a UV/heat lamp, but knew better than to ask. That doesn't mean you're not curious, though.

People who dislike loud sounds. I don't think I have to explain this one.

At first you thought that staying near Silver meant that you'd be staying away from Sebek, but that wasn't the case and you were at a loss as to what to do.

Then you tried going in the other direction whenever you saw Malleus, but all that did was send Sebek after you personally, asking very loudly why you did not want to be around Lord Malleus.

At one point, you got sick of his shit and muzzled him via magic. Then Malleus showed up and you were all oh shit. But then all he did was chuckle about how you were getting along so well. You took that to mean he wouldn't ever stop you from muzzling Sebek.

You were right.

[bandgie]

Hiya I just read some of your work and I love it, do you think you could do a Yandre perv Seungmin, only if you can. Have a good day 🥰

a/n: thank you so much! and yes on it!

synopsis: You start to notice little things when Seungmin first moves in with you. Maybe your underwear goes missing and you swear he's starting to use your perfume. Weird, but not necessarily bad. Well, not yet anyway, you still haven't found the camera he's set up.

warnings: nasty Seungmin lol

872 words

Your eyes scanned the floor of your bedroom, confused. You swear you left your clothes out on the bed when you got out of the shower, but it was missing. More specifically, your underwear. Maybe I didn't pull them out, you think.

Even then, this isn't the first time it's happened. You've noticed a huge decrease in the amount of panties you own. Things tend to go missing in the house, that's always been a thing. But why your thongs?

You change into your shirt, wrapping a towel over your middle and lower section before leaving the room.

"Seungmin?"

He hears you call him from behind his bedroom door. Your pretty black undies are pressed against his nose. Granted, they're clean, so the smell isn't as strong. But it does the job. The faint scent of your smell is enough to get him hard, tugging pitifully at his cock.

He shoves the underwear underneath his pillow and sits up. Seungmin shoves his dick in his sweatpants, ignoring how uncomfortable it is to feel the sensitive skin rub against the fabric. He only pokes his head out when he answers. 

No bra, as usual. Your hardened nipples peek through the thin shirt which is slightly wet from your dripping hair. You smell nice, and judging from the towel around your waist, you just took a shower. 

"What's up?" 

You shift weight from one leg to the other, "Weird question, but have you seen my clothes around? I can't find anything to wear."

That's because I have most of them, he thinks to himself. "Uh no? Do you need some pajamas?"

Nodding, you answer. "Please. Just some bottoms."

Seungmin complies and closes the door, telling you that he just needs a minute. Which is half true, it won't take a long time to cum now. Not with the image of you naked in the shower, letting the soap and water drip down your body.

He drops back down on the end and grabs your underwear. He inhales your panties deeply, poking his tongue out to taste just a smidge of you. Seungmin much prefers when they're used. The smell is strong that way, and they're sometimes even warm. He didn't have time to dig through your dirty clothes this time.

Seungmin tears his jogger off and trails the panties down his body until it catches onto his hard cock. He wraps it around his length and slowly pumps himself. Quickly, he reaches for his phone and open his most used app. He's connected the feed to the hidden camera in your room. 

It's wrong of him, so horribly criminal of him to use your obliviousness like this. 

Even then, he can't help the twinge of excitement that courses through him as he views you through his screen. You're in your room, towel abandoned onto your bed. He watches as you continue to look for your undergarments. 

You bend and kneel, giving Seungmin a perfect view of your pussy. It's not aroused, not dripping the slick as it normally would when you played with yourself late into the late. In a way, Seungmin finds it better like this. 

Your complete blindness to what Seungmin's doing turns him on more. Here he is jerking himself off and getting your panties soaked with precum while you remain unknowing. 

Seungmin finds himself bringing the phone to his lips, tongue peeking out to lick the digital version of you. Fuck, he wishes it was you. Your pretty cunt drooling as he'd eat you out. How you'd pull him closer by the hair, suffocating him in you. 

The thought being Seungmin closer to the edge. Maybe you'd let him put his cock in. He would stretch you out so nicely, your perfect walls hugging him. Seungmin can't imagine how warm you'd be, how beautiful your moans would sound. 

The dildo you fuck yourself on isn't enough, it can't be. Whenever he watches you through the phone, he can see how restless you get. There you were, doing all the work just to cum. You'd rather lie down and take it, at the will of the person fucking you.

Maybe Seungmin should play with you while you sleep. Cum inside you so you'd wake up feeling satisfied, complete. It's always been a dream of his. To imagine you waking up to the drag of his cock. Shh, he'd say. It's just a dream.

He's cumming before he knows it. Thinking of perverted thoughts about you always makes him finish.

He's thankful your underwear catches most of the spurts, the rest dripping down his balls. Seungmin stares are your pixelated pussy, watching how you wrap the towel back around your waist once you give up looking for something to wear.

It's then that he remembers how he promised you some bottoms.

Looking through his drawers, Seungmin finds a pair of sweatpants that are too small for him. He takes your cum stained underwear and uses his finger to collect small amounts of the white substance. He smears it into the joggers, making sure to blend it perfectly into the crotch area.

Seungmin only finds it fair to have you walk around with his cum on you. He always does it with yours.

a/n: perv? yes. yandere? maybe not so much. seungmin strikes me as the yandere type to think about you and only you all the time, not necessarily action based hope you liked it! edit: part two here

[hughes86-43]

“You look really good in my clothes” | N. Hischier

note - two anons sent in the same request so I just made it into this!

warnings - none! maybe some grammar errors!

You walked into your apartment, immediately closing the door and dropping your keys on the table nearby. You walked down the hallway and placed your several bags onto the dining table. You were so glad to be home from work, and you needed to get out of your work clothes as soon as possible.

You take a shower to get all the days work off of you, but you also just needed to get warm from how cold it was on your walk from work. You hop out of the shower and put on your robe and make your way to the walk-in closet you share with your boyfriend, Nico. However, you go to his side of the closet rather than yours.

You pick out one of your favorite hoodies of his, a cozy New Jersey devils one, and you grab a pair of sweatpants, they’re a bit loose on you but nothing a little tying up can’t fix. You place your robe back into the bathroom, finish getting ready for the night, and make your way to the kitchen to get dinner ready. Nico would be home soon enough from hanging out with some of his teammates.

Thirty minutes later, you’re standing facing the stove making some spaghetti, when you hear the front door open and close. Soon enough, you hear footsteps coming down the hallway. “Schatzi? Are you home?”

“In the kitchen, Neeks!” You call out to him.

You turn your attention back to the food on the stove and wait for him to come find you. After about two minutes, you feel a gaze on you, so you turn around. Nico is leaning against the doorway, running his eyes up and down your body. You know he has noticed that you’re wearing his clothes, even though you know he doesn’t mind, you turn a bit shy at his gaze.

“Schatzi, you look really good in my clothes,” he says, never once taking his eyes off of you.

“I know right? I might just keep taking them!” You laugh out as he comes walking closer to you.

He pulls you closer to him by the waistband of your his sweatpants, tugging them a bit since they’re too loose on you. You laugh as he pulls them up on you. He says, “I don’t mind if you do, but they may just fall down a bit!” You give him a peck on the lips and squeeze him tighter before turning around back to the stove before the food you’re making burns.

“I’m making spaghetti, we don’t have much else, so I hope that’s okay,” you say turning your head to see him already eating a piece of bread. “Hey! Dinner isn’t done, yet! No taking food!”

“I’m hungry! The guys didn’t feed me because they all seemed to eat before we went to hang out, so I starved the whole time.” He gives you puppy dog eyes so that you’ll let him get another piece of bread.

“Fine, one piece and that’s it until food is done!” When he turns around, you playfully smack his butt with the spatula. He twirls around so fast with a grin on his face.

Pointing his finger at you, he says, “Watch it, or you’ll never get to wear my clothes again!”

You put the spatula behind your back, and nod your head playfully. “Fine, fine! But we both know you wouldn’t do that, you love seeing me in your clothes so much!”

Nico laughs, “Yeah, you’re right I wouldn’t, I do love seeing you in my clothes a lot.”

[colormepurplex2]

Bump In The Night | MYG

▻ Bump In The Night ↳ Bogeyman!Yoongi x f.Reader ⤜ Horror/Thriller/Demon, Nyctophobia ⤜ Monster Under The Bed AU | angst, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 12,395 ⤜ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it. ⚠️ Crass language, fear, inciting fright, playing on emotions, teasing, kissing, fingering, biting/marking, dom tones, begging, choking, panic, unprotected v. sex, feeding on fear, dark thoughts, revealed dark intentions, predator/prey tones, chasing, claiming, serpentine tongue, oral f.receiving, monster cock/sex, metamorphosis

Written for the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween collab for @minisugakoobies A/N: Sunny, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. Happy belated birthday and hope you have a pleasant spooky holiday full of Bogeyman Yoongi delight!

A special thank you to @star-my @hisunshiine and @downbad4yoongi for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Beg For It

Nyctophobia [ nik-tuh-foh-bee-uh ] - noun Psychiatry: extreme or irrational fear of the night or of darkness.

One…

Two…

Three…

Breathe. Another few seconds, that’s all you want; just precious moments to prove yourself.

Four…

Five…

Six…

Cold chills slither down your spine despite the hot water beating against your back. Your fingers work vigorously against your cheeks and along your forehead. What feels like a thousand pounds settles along your lashes, even though you know it’s nothing more than marshmallowy-light foam.

Seven…

Eight…

Nin—

You spin around, nearly losing your footing in the shower as you angle your face under the spray from the showerhead. The heels of your palms press against your lids as you try to rid them of the foamy facial cleanser.

Air wheezes into your lungs, stray drops of water sucking between your parted lips as you try to breathe against the panic building in your chest. Jerking back from the spray, you open your eyes, wincing at the sting from the water-mixed-with-cleanser that drips from your lashes and floods the corners.

Nothing. There’s nothing there. All you see is the steam-filled space of your shower, water pelting down at your feet, a smattering of bottles arranged on the lip of the tub, and the inside of your plain shower curtain.

You sigh, irritation itching in your chest. Not even nine seconds. You were trying for at least ten. It never fails to leave a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you can’t seem to get a grip on yourself. It’s just the dark. Hell, it’s not even really the dark. It’s just having your eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights of your bathroom; a pseudo-darkness.

The unease in your stomach refuses to dissipate as you turn off the shower, step out, wrap yourself in a towel, and go through the routine of brushing your teeth and massaging moisturizer into your skin. You hang up your damp towel, quickly pulling on the oversized t-shirt and shorts you intend to sleep in.

Steam clouds the mirror. You don’t typically care to wipe it away, not anymore. It’s one of your small, personal victories—one you intentionally remind yourself of now after your panicked stint in the shower. It used to be that you couldn’t stand not being able to see the space behind you through the reflective surface. Knowing if something lurked outside your line of sight, it couldn’t hide from being exposed through the mirror. Being able to see behind you was all that mattered. Now, you take pride in not needing to see…yet, the niggling in the back of your head won’t cease. So, you swipe a hand, collecting tiny beads of moisture on your palm as you go.

You’re unsure why the act makes your heart beat a little harder. It’s supposed to elicit the calm you so desperately need. But, once you’ve slashed a clear path across the mirror, your brow furrows as you lean in closer to it. Cold dread thunders through your veins as you jerk back, spinning on your heel to make sure what you saw through the mirror wasn’t just your mind playing a trick on you.

Nope, not a trick or even a figment of your imagination…unfortunately.

You stare in paranoid disbelief at the slender gap along the bottom of the bathroom door. The door that leads into your bedroom where you are absolutely, without a doubt, positive you left your bedside lamp on. The gap is dark, like a void threatening to suck you right into an endless nightmare of unrelenting terror. All that’s missing is a gaunt, skeletal hand sliding its too-long fingers under the door.

Shoving away those intrusive thoughts before they can take root and further fester like a dirty wound on your sanity, you try to think logically. It’s possible the bulb in your lamp could have blown, but you know you replaced it just last month. It’s far too soon for it to blow on its own, and surely, it’s not a faulty bulb. So, why is it out? Were you careless and, in truth, didn’t turn it on? A manic laugh gets caught in your throat as you silently berate yourself. That must be it. You simply forgot. So careless.

Fear is an acrid taste on your tongue as you slowly approach the door. You hate this feeling. Even though you tell yourself there’s nothing out there lurking in the dark to harm you, you simply forgot to leave the light on. The distress doesn’t subside—and it won’t. At least, not until you open the door and prove the dark to harbor no ill intent toward you.

Squaring your shoulders and taking what is supposed to be a calming and fortifying breath, though it feels more like sand slipping into your lungs, you wrap your fingers firmly around the brushed nickel handle. The metal is warm, slightly wet from the condensation formed during your shower, against your palm as you twist it.

You lick your trembling lips, taking one more moment to center yourself. Your eyes slide closed as you mentally recall the layout of your room, calculating how many steps there are to get to the nearest light switch. Your bed is angled so the foot faces the bathroom door, and the closet door to the left near the two windows you know are closed tight with the curtains drawn. The bedroom door is easily the furthest from the bathroom, leaving the overhead light out of the question. You knew, before you even began to analyze, that the bedside lamp you recall yourself leaving on is going to be the closest light source. Still, you needed to go through the motion of solidifying that information in your mind.

As you haltingly push it open, the quiet creak of the door, which sounds deafening in the silence of the bathroom, causes chills to pop up along your arms and the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Darkness ebbs as the light from the bathroom bleeds across the hardwood of your bedroom floor, slowly revealing the interior of your room.

Your heart lurches, and a scream rips from your chest when you see a dark figure sitting at the end of your bed come into focus as the bathroom door swings further open, the handle barely held in your now numb fingers. Panic barrels through you. Your muscles react instinctively, fingers tightening around the knob as you jerk back, the door closing with a harsh bang as you backpedal across the bathroom.

“Babe,” calls a playful voice from just on the other side of the door. You can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Nausea threatens to double you over, even as relief floods your system—such conflicting emotions that you feel suddenly off-kilter. 

There is a fine sheen of cold sweat clinging to your neck. Your hands fist into the front of your shirt as the door eases open to reveal your boyfriend standing at the threshold. His dark ensemble makes it seem like the bathroom's light bends around his form, not daring to touch him.

You’ve never liked it when someone intentionally scares you, claiming it’s a joke. It always seems more like a cruel prank than a laughing matter. Though, you note, no one is laughing right now either way. He doesn’t look smug or self-satisfied for having scared you, just simply mildly amused.

“You scared me, Yoongi,” you state flatly, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he picks up on your discomfort.

The corners of his lips turn down, and his brow furrows as he gives you an exaggerated pout. Even with your pounding heart and the upside down in your belly, you can’t help but appreciate how cute he is when he does that. “I know. I just didn’t see the point in wasting the power if you weren’t going to be in there.” He gestures vaguely behind him to your room, which is barely lit by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to remind him that even though you weren’t in there, he was. Though, for some reason, Yoongi sitting in the dark doesn’t strike you as out of place. In the five years you’ve been together, you’ve learned to love his odd quirks just as much as any other part of him. He’s genuine, a caring person who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable—a far cry from anyone else you’ve ever given your time to.

“How was work?” you ask, aiming to get back on track with some semblance of normalcy—anything to not dwell on the lingering discomfort that’s still beating away in your chest.

His shoulders hitch up in a nonchalant manner. “Same as always. There’s been a big break in the Hunt case. Director Park thinks we’ll have the code cracked in a few more days. I say by tomorrow night, tops, just in time for our date. It’ll be a reward for my hard work,” his eyes twinkle with mirth. “After all, I think Samhain is a pretty fitting day for dealing with evil, huh?”

You make a noncommittal sound at that last part. Yoongi might enjoy that thought, but to you, tomorrow is more so just a day…simply October 31st and is more about plastic pumpkins, like the ones you have sitting on your front porch, than dealing with evil like that. The fact that Yoongi has convinced you to go to a festival tomorrow night is so wild you’ve been forcing yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I’d put my money on you over Director Park any day,” you say instead, giving him a soft, knowing smile. Yoongi has a penchant for estimations. If he thinks it’ll only take another day to crack a code that’s been wreaking havoc on Interpol for the better part of a year, then you believe him. You don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of what he does; just know he’s really good with computers and helps whichever government agency needs it most or something like that.

Yoongi gives you a lazy smile in return. “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear. Your confidence in me is like kindling for my fervor,” he croons, wrapping you up in his arms. It feels good to relax in his embrace, the last vestiges of your earlier panic melting away as you soak in his warmth and familiarity. “Sorry I scared you,” he murmurs into your damp hair. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, laughing softly when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and teasingly caress your sides—the touch is light, making your skin tighten and prickle in response.

A rumbling groan vibrates through Yoongi’s chest as he playfully nips along your jaw before planting his lips firmly over yours in a dizzying and claiming way. “We’ll start with kissing,” the words are whispered between plucks of his mouth against yours, tongue swiping sensually across your bottom lip.

“Kissing is good,” you agree, smiling against his mouth before melting into another heated tangle of tongues and stilted breaths. That fist around your heart eases, letting your chest expand fully for the first time since before you showered.

“Biting,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in your neck. The light pressure of his teeth pressing against your skin has your toes curling against the cold tile floor and your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt.

Yoongi plants his mouth right over your pulse point, his tongue flicking over your throbbing vein as his teeth clamp down gently. You swallow hard against the sensation, your heart shifting gears to thud fast in your chest for a different reason. It’s not necessarily fear that drives your senses higher now so much as it is anticipation and an increase in adrenaline—terror adjacent, something you prefer much more to the former.

You shudder against him, knees going weak as he moans, the sound sending pulsing shocks of vibrations down your spine with how his mouth fits against your neck. His fingers ghost along your shorts before finally pushing past the elastic band. The palms of his hands are warm as they slide around and grip handfuls of your ass.

Using his hold on you, Yoongi lifts you up onto the counter beside the sink. As his hands retreat, they tug your shorts with them, working them around the curve of your ass until they’re caught at your knees. You let him push them further until they slacken and fall to catch around your ankles, then onto the floor. Wincing slightly at how cold the counter is against your bare skin, you urge him to fill the space between your thighs, seeking his warmth flush against you once again.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as he slides a hand between your bodies and presses the flat of his fingers against your pussy. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know his teeth have left an impression on your neck. He leans back and licks his lips in a show of appreciation, lidded eyes full of mischief and barely veiled lust. “Please.” It comes out warbled as he teases his middle finger between your lower lips.

“Beg for it,” he says. “Show me how much you want me to make you forget about the darkness.” His voice has an edge, like he’s teasing at something, but it’s lost on you to piece together what it might be.

Sucking in a deep breath, you repeat your plea, “Please.”

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and you can feel your erratic heartbeat pounding between your legs and under the sensitive skin of your neck that Yoongi ravaged with his teeth. Lightheadedness kisses the edges of your clarity, daring you to get lost in the delirium that Yoongi is offering.

“You can do better than that,” Yoongi taunts, his laugh low and husky as he pulls away, leaving you bereft of his touch where you want it most. “Beg. For. It.” The words are clipped, punctuated with staccato taps of his middle finger against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck—Yoongi, please! Please, I need you!”

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi smiles wickedly. Two slender fingers sliding into your wet heat are your reward. “You’re so wet already. Look at how your body is pulling me in. Fuck, that’s nice.” He angles himself so you can both look down and watch his fingers slowly pull out, glistening with your arousal before sinking back in.

Your body squeezes around his fingers, walls fluttering in anticipation and building pleasure. “Need you,” you mumble, grabbing at the button on the front of his dark wash jeans with one hand and tugging at the bottom of his black t-shirt with the other. “Fuck me, Yoongi, please. Please, fuck me. I need you to make me forget.”

A flurry of motion accompanies his answering growl of approval as he helps you strip him out of his clothes and the rest of your own. You barely feel the absence of his fingers in your cunt before he pulls your ass to the edge of the counter and shoves his cock inside with a guttural moan that echoes in the small space.

The fit of him inside your body is deliciously perfect, like he was made to please you. Your fingers press dents into his shoulders as you grip him tightly. One of his hands squeezes your hip to keep you from slipping off the counter while the other finds its way to having a light grip on your throat.

His forehead rests against yours, the back of your head pressed against the mirror behind you. The angle makes his thrusts shallow, forcing the crown of his cock to rock against a sensitive spot deep inside that has you seeing spots behind your closed lids.

Yoongi has always been a contrasting lover, hot and cold, in a way that always leaves you breathless and assuaged. The look on his face says he’s fucking you, but the sensual roll of his hips says he’s making love to you—the hand on your throat says he just wants to control you. Regardless of how he fucks, it always consumes you. From the first time to now, he wholly and utterly devours your sanity and spits it back at you two-fold. He brings you palpable lucidity while also destroying all sense of right and wrong. Some call it morally grey; you call it just another titillating facet of who he is.

Pleasure builds fast, and you know you’re about to tip over the edge when the pressure of his hand on your throat increases. It’s an infinitesimal change, but it feels like the tightening of a vice all the same.

The erratic beat of your heart stutters further, swallowing you down into a thick-headed spiral of trepidation. You know Yoongi won’t hurt you. It’s not that—not quite. It’s the idea and knowledge that he could. It’s a taboo feeling, craving that helpless flutter deep in your belly that dares you to indulge in the darkness instead of running from it.

Yoongi’s hips continue to roll against you, your body pinned in place by his hand on your throat. Your eyes flutter open just to fall shut again as the hand on your hip moves until his thumb presses against your clit, making your body jerk and hurtle back toward the precipice of pleasure from before.

With his thumb pressed against one throbbing artery in your neck and the pads of his fingers against the twin on the other side, he has complete and utter control over you. All it takes is another barely-there squeeze to have you changing your grip from his shoulders to his forearm.

The bitter taste of cowardice laces together with the cloyingly sweet, carnal flavor of lust that’s coating your insides. Yoongi rumbles, a moan low in his chest. The rhythm of his hips kicks up until they’re hammering against yours to the point that measures of pain mix with the terror, forming into a rapture of exhilaration. His thumb coaxes your orgasm through precise flicks over your swollen clit.

You can’t help the sound that rips from your throat, squeezing past his grip in a ragged mockery of a moan—bright colors spiderweb across the backs of your closed lids as you sip from his chalice of wickedness. White noise joins the rush of blood in your ears as somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, alarm begins to bleed into the hazy euphoria clouding your head. “Yes!” Yoongi groans. “That’s it, fuck!”

“Y-yoon—“ you try to choke out his name, fingers trembling from their tight grip on his forearm. Just as you’re about to try and shove him away to get a reprieve, his hand loosens its hold on your throat, and the instant rush of oxygen to your brain washes away all other thoughts as your body surrenders once again to his dominion. The orgasm tears through you, sweeping you out in a hedonistic riptide. Your walls clamp around his cock so hard he snarls and shudders with the trigger of his own release.

You must have blacked out from the overwhelming cascade that besieged your senses because the next thing you’re aware of is Yoongi tucking you into bed beside him. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a welcome lull of relief. He presses into your sated body, chest against your back and arm possessively curling over your hip. “Get some sleep, my queen,” he murmurs. “I’ll hold the darkness back.”

The room is dark, just as it was earlier when you panicked. But, just as always, when Yoongi is around, it’s less frightening…seemingly somehow less dark and foreboding. He might have darker desires when it comes to pleasure, but right now, he’s the light that chases away your other demons.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

The taste of your fear still lingers in the back of Yoongi’s throat as he pretends to sleep curled around you. He knew turning off your bedroom light would scare you. It’s why he did it. The peckish feeling that rumbled in the pit of his stomach drove him to want to play with you. Your fear instantly sated his hunger, and it made his dick hard when you screamed. You scream so prettily he just can’t help that natural, primal response. 

That is, after all, precisely why he chose you. Everything about you speaks to his needs, promising sweet and succulent fruit that’s always ripe for plucking.

He learned early on that if he could elevate your heart rate and incite a sliver of fear in you while fucking you…well, his full belly is testament enough to how much he loves that. You call it a kink, he calls it dessert. It wasn’t his intention to fuck you after he frightened you, but the irritating erection grating along his zipper had other plans. 

His mortal form isn’t his favorite. It’s far too small and has far too many baser needs and limitations. Though he does enjoy the feel of your soft, pliant flesh under his—especially when you’re ripe with the sweet smell of terror—it makes it worth the discomfort this inferior mode has.

It’s not lost on Yoongi that he could have ruined you from the start by taking too much from you. But he’s been careful over the years, molding and training your body to be the perfect vessel for him to feed from. The fact you were already experiencing high anxiety and an innate fear of the dark prior to him coming into your life helped tremendously. Nyctophobia is such a beautiful thing.

You claim he’s helped you, for the most part, get over your fears. However, he knows this is just a lie you tell him and yourself to make yourself feel and seem braver. He knows the truth, though. There is no getting over your fear, not when it lives with you…sleeps next to you, touches you, fucks you. He’s everything you’re scared of, everything you think is creeping around in the dark, waiting to pounce. He’s your worst nightmare…literally as much as figuratively—and you have absolutely no inkling of that truth. All you see is what he lets you see: just a sweet guy with a penchant for darker tastes behind closed doors.

To you, he’s just Yoongi. But he has had many names over the centuries: Demon, Baba Yaga, El Coco, Butzemann, Tikoloshe, Bogeyman, and so on. All of them are generally the same, but none are quite right. He is all these things, and yet none of these things—he’s so much more.

It’s a common misconception that he only targets people who do misdeeds. That’s not it at all, for the sweetest fruit is the unwary, the innocent, the vulnerable, and the scared. That is the pinnacle of his desire, the unctuous delight that feeds his depravity and gives him power over the darkness—darkness that calls to him now.

Being careful not to wake you, Yoongi slips out from around your soft, lush body. Feeding on your fear in the bathroom drained some of your vitality, lowering your constitution, and the best recovery for that is a good, uninterrupted eight hours. So, he’ll leave you to replenish so that he may feast once again—one last time before he executes his final, ultimate plan; the whole reason he chose you to begin with and has been periodically parading around in this limited meat suit for years.

The maw of darkness under your bed beckons him to shake off the mortal form and take his rightful place as King among the shadows. Yoongi catches his reflection in the standing mirror across the room. The only thing distinct is the brilliant red eyes staring back at him. It feels good to stretch and dissolve into his proper form, shadows snaking along his limbs and filling his every breath.

You fidget on the bed, brow furrowing as your body reacts to the nearness of his proper form. He likes watching you twitch and shift, soft mewls of fright sounding low in your chest. If he wanted, he could swallow you whole, and you’d never be the wiser, one moment existing in your nightmare and the next slithering into the ether of what comes after. But, it’s not time…not yet.

Letting one of his long, spindly shadow fingers draw back in and reform into the echo of human flesh, he presses the blunt tip against your temple. You instantly quell your movements, and the pitiful cry in your chest subsides. Yoongi can feel the subtle tremble of your body, the vibrations skittering through your flesh as your body recognizes his hellish touch. Your subconscious is as familiar with his umbral form as your conscious is with the lies he’s used to frame how you see him with your eyes.

Digging through the screen of your nightmare, he pulls back the darkness and lets in just enough light to lull you into a false sense of security—something he does nearly every night after he’s fed from you so he doesn’t accidentally drain you dry. By the time he returns, the light will have faded from your dreams, and there will be just enough unfettered distress permeating the air of your bedroom to give him a top off of delicious fear, his own personal cup of pick-me-up.

Yoongi slides under the bed and into the darkness, leaving you to your deep, lambent dreams. He melts through the barrier between your world and his. Euphoria buzzes through him as his depth of power increases. That’s the biggest downfall of walking the mortal plane. There aren’t quite enough shadows or stinking fear to fill the neverending void inside him. But here, in the Realm of Darkness, the taste of terror is thick and nectarous. It lingers in the air and is as permanent as the oxygen you breathe in your world.

Yoongi drifts through the firmament of his domain, letting the worries and stress of what’s to come fade. For a being with endless power and control, he never thought he might have the need to be concerned over something seemingly so trivial. But, the ceremony and ritual he has planned for tomorrow night is easily the most critical thing he’s ever dared to accomplish.

The Realm of Darkness might be sufficiently filled with succulent fodder for him, but there are other limitations he encounters. Constraints that involve the worlds beyond his Kingdom. He doesn’t want just to be able to thrive here on his own turf. He has aspirations of letting his darkness seep into the outer realms—including yours—and if he has his way, you will help him do just that. The barriers will crumble, and he’ll be free to bathe the distant realms in his thick ichor of destruction.

Finally feeling more like himself, he aims for the Shadow Spire, where waits the Throne of the Damned—his throne. All it takes is a simple thought, and he’s standing in the sprawling cavern of the throne room. It stretches wide in all directions, having no end or beginning, just existing as his will needs.

Pillars of malachite soar into the air at equal intervals, disappearing into the glittering cosmos expanse above his head. Silvery flecks of light cast the whole room in a mockery of the night sky of your world, something he’s grown to admire over the years spent there. Yoongi takes a deep breath, soaking in the tangy, bitter stench of brimstone and copper. Soon, he hopes, your delectable perfume of fear will join them.

“Sire,” a gruff voice says in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you back until the ritual. Welcome, is there anything we can do for you?”

Yoongi settles his shadowy form on the monstrous broken stone pillar at the top of the dais that rises from the rocky floor. His court, ever vigilant in their duty to him, wait for him to respond. “Is everything prepared for the ceremony?” he asks, eyes finally landing on the six figures seated on the smaller stone plinths arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him—the Shadow Court once again complete with his return. Hopefully, he won’t have to leave the comfort of his court but one more time. Once the ritual is done, he shouldn’t have to so much as lift a finger to reach into the overworld.

“All is well and ready, Sire.” Wicked smiles spread like wildfire across the court. They’re just as excited as Yoongi is to be finally moving forward with the plan. None of them have tasted the kind of fear that Yoongi has feasted on from you—the fresh terror of the mortal realm—but if they had more corporeal forms, he knows they’d be salivating. Soon, so very soon.

Looking around at his companions, he can’t help but think how humorous it is that you so readily believed his deceptions about working for the human government. He remembers the day he finally stepped from the shadows and made himself known to you. You were immediately drawn to him and couldn't stop yourself from indulging in your curiosities like a moth drawn to a flame.

Yoongi had already come up with an elaborate backstory and characterization for the human he wanted to portray. He knew all of your deep, dark fantasies and brought them to life. Your eyes got round with awe and reverence when he first revealed his supposed job, confirming how gullible and under his spell you were. He can’t deny it’s worked in his favor.

He’s allowed to keep odd hours and disappear as needed. When he returns to your bed before the sun rises, he’ll leave you a note on your pillow about being pulled away for work. You’ll read it and sigh a dreamy sigh as you have every other time he’s done that. You never bother to seek further explanation—your trust in him is so wholly concrete.

There is satisfaction in the freedom you’ve granted him to embrace a darker side. It’s how he can get away with fucking you so callously that your brain warps it into some deranged form of love. You’ve chalked every depraved thing he’s done to you up to him needing an outlet after dealing with such heinous stuff for work. He only had to mention a few well-known acronyms, like FBI and CIA, and you accepted it. As scared as you are of the dark, he’s aware of the collection of slasher and horror novels you keep stuffed away under your bed and that you listen with rapt attention to those silly crime shows and podcasts that tell you he’s not the one you should be scared of. Soon, he won’t have to worry about any of that, though—no more silly backstory, no more hiding, no more stuffy mortal form, no more holding back. Tomorrow signifies a change, a new beginning. It’s the time when the veil between the worlds will be thin enough that he can drag you down without it sucking your life away. Some call it Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Mischief Night, Halloween—it holds nearly as many names as Yoongi himself does—but for him, it will be the night he calls triumph. The night his shadows will lay a claim to you wholly; the night you stop fearing what goes bump in the night and instead stand by its side and let it consume you.

Wicked Delight

Consciousness comes in fits and spurts of clarity. There is a moment where you’re asleep but aware. With this awareness, you can discern and feel the potent darkness webbing across your subconscious. You’ve seen it before, the myriad of inky tendrils that zig-zag through the light like fissures over a dried river bed. It scares you but also fills you with intrigue so rich it nearly eclipses the fear.

You know that if you could just hang on to that in-between space, the feeling of teetering on the edge of a knife, you could examine the darkness further and figure out what it is and where it comes from. But your body has other plans, sucking you away from your inspection and pushing you toward uneasy wakefulness.

Shifting under the blankets, a crinkling noise draws your eyes open to land on a rumple of white paper lying beside you on the empty side of the bed. With fumbling fingers, you grab the ripped leaf of creamy parchment and turn it so you can see the blue scrawl of words.

Got some darkness to take care of. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t forget; 11 pm sharp, beginning of the corn maze. X

There is no name signed to the note, just an X, but you know who left it, regardless. You roll over, holding the thin paper above you so you can see the faded, faint print under his ink. A smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s a corner ripped from Kinder und Hausmärchen, one of Yoongi’s favorite books. He has an original first edition that he’s let you moon over a few times. The first time you found a note and saw what it was written on, you nearly crawled out of your skin to berate him for ruining such a prize. He gently chided you for your reaction and assured you it was just a copy, scanned and printed for the whimsy of it.

Looking closer, you see the corner is from a page of the Cat and Mouse in Partnership tale. Your smile fades, turning into a mild frown as an odd feeling ghosts beneath your skin, eliciting goosebumps to pop up along your arms. Sighing, you shake your head and pull the blanket up high under your chin, chalking the sensation up to being cold. Your eyes rove around the room, taking in the early morning light filtering in through your thin curtains, showing you just enough of the inside of your room to be comfortable with not having a light on.

Finally deciding there’s no point in dallying in bed further, you toss back the covers and brace yourself against the chill in your room. Only, it’s not as cold as you were anticipating. Opening the small drawer on your nightstand to deposit the message in with the dozens of others Yoongi has left you over the years, you can help but smile. They’re sweet, little pieces of him that affirm to you why it’s okay he disappears the way he does. The reminder comforts you, especially on this day.

Halloween has never been your favorite. Well, that’s not true, exactly. You do like Halloween—just the modern and more mainstream version with candy, pumpkins, and warm, spiced drinks. Fall colors are also something you enjoy. The cooler air is nice. You’re partial to cozy sweaters and boots, too.

All in all, you enjoy this time of the year. You just don’t necessarily like the darker parts, the scarier parts. Haunted houses and scary movies are things you could do without unless it’s under very specific circumstances. Such as having Yoongi there. Which is the only reason you’ve agreed to meet him at the festival tonight. You haven’t been since you were a teen and got so scared by the fright actors that you swore never to return.

Except, now, you are returning. It’s been on the tip of your tongue for the last week to cancel on Yoongi, feigning a head or stomach ache. But, the sheer excitement in his gaze when you agreed, has been enough to make you bite your tongue every time a protest bubbles up. You can—and will—do this.

With an entire day to go before your date with Yoongi, you busy yourself with mundane tasks. A bit of cleaning, some light reading, and lastly, dumping a few bags of assorted and prepackaged candies into a bright orange bowl with a goofy jack-o-lantern face printed on the side.

You’re usually a porchlight-off kind of person. Still, this year, considering your own venture outside your proverbial Halloween box, you decided why not go the extra mile for others, too? Even if one kid dumps the entire bowl into their treat bag, you’ll at least feel somewhat accomplished in your attempt.

Setting the bowl on your doorstep, you stand back and survey it. The yellow-tinged porch light illuminates the candy and the plastic pumpkins you have arranged on either side of your door. You contemplate adding a ‘please take only one’ sign for the bowl but decide a paper warning isn’t much of a deterrent. Leaving the candy to its fate, you head back inside to finish getting ready.

Time flows in a weird, out-of-body kind of way. You’re aware of pulling on your coat and walking into your garage through the kitchen—even the process of driving to the festival registers in your mind. But, you’re genuinely not cognisant of what you’re doing until you’re staring at the large flashing sign for the festival. You have to practically put on blinders to make it through the ticketing process, ignoring the scare actors as you wait in line.

The corn maze is at the center of it all, meaning you keep your eyes glued to the ground as you skirt the edges of the food stalls and game stands until you reach it. There, you wait, standing at the start of the corn maze and stare at your watch, counting the seconds as they tick by with the small hand.

The air is cool, the crisp scent of fall heavy around you. Laughter and faint screams carry to you from the festival surrounding the maze. The giant corn labyrinth is the center of the entire two-week-long event. Thousands of people flock from near and far to venture within the husked, cream-colored stalks.

If you make it through the maze without assistance from the scare actors, then you get an entire bucket of caramel popcorn drizzled with chocolate. That’s never been enough of a reward for you to try. Even the last time you were here, you never stepped foot into the clustered embrace of the maze.

The festival is lit enough with all the twinkling lights and fair games lining the thoroughfares and the midway. Food trucks and stalls litter through the vendors with stuffed animals and cackling clowns. You try to ignore the bodies that sway and shamble through the crowd—the scare actors. They’re just people dressed up in costume and makeup, but they still elicit that flighty feeling in your belly, that little trickle of fear.

At the ticket booths, there were neon green necklaces you could purchase. You used them as a distraction while you waited in line. They’re ‘no scare’ necklaces, big bright indicators that you’re a sensitive little bitch that doesn’t want to be scared. At least, that’s how you felt looking at them, considering buying one. You know they’re an extremely valid item, a protective emblem that many people need, and that it’s perfectly fine—in fact, it’s encouraged for people to use them if they need to.

As you fingered the green nylon of the lanyard, you couldn’t help chewing your bottom lip, worrying at it until it cracked under your teeth and the coppery tang of blood danced across your tongue. You almost bought it…maybe you should have. However, the fact that you’re half-hidden by the corn maze sign and doing everything in your power not to draw unwanted attention to yourself seems to be keeping you from attracting the actors your way.

The tiny hand on your watch ticks away, drawing closer to turning over the minute, which'll turn over the hour to 11 PM. Sharp. Yoongi’s insistence. Just as the hands come together on your watch, you feel that telltale tingling feeling of eyes on you. It’s a familiar sensation, one you often associate with Yoongi. Daring to step out from behind the sign to the corn maze, you spin in a slow circle, trying to catch sight of him.

“Looking for someone?”

You have to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the shriek that rips from your chest as those words drift in from right behind you. So close that it’s impossible to imagine you hadn’t noticed him approaching you as you looked around.

“Yoongi,” you sigh, dropping your hand.

He's enveloping you from behind before you can turn around and give him a pouty yet stern look. His familiar musk and warmth ease your heart back from its hammering gallop. “You’re good enough to eat,” he gruffly murmurs, pressing his nose into the fabric of your coat at the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You can feel more than hear his deep inhalation, as if he’s drawing in the scent of your very soul and branding it throughout his olfactory system.

“The maze closes in an hour. Are you sure we can make it to the center before then?” you ask, voice light and airy as relief infused with drips of serotonin weaken your knees and your resolve to be upset with him for frightening you. You turn in his arms, keen to look upon his face for another kick of comfort, but it sours in your belly when you take in his pulled-up hood and the thick black gaiter covering the bottom half of his face. “What’s that for?”

Yoongi shrugs, shoulders lifting in his typical nonchalant manner. “It’s Halloween. Consider me dressed for the occasion.” He winks at you, but it does nothing to quell the unease still rolling around just beneath your surface. Feigning that stomachache is starting to sound more and more appealing, Yoongi’s excitement be damned.

“You look like a burglar.”

You can’t see his smile, but you can tell it’s there by how his eyes crinkle and lids lower mischievously. “And you look ripe for the burgling.”

“You’re insufferable,” you gripe teasingly, finally letting a smile grace your face despite the lingering anxiety. It’s easy to forget your fears and worries when you’re looking into his umber-colored gaze.

“Come on, let’s go.” Yoongi offers you his elbow, and you tuck your hand into the crook of it, leaning your shoulder against his arm.

The fleece-lined leggings you chose to wear keep you warm enough, paired with the knit sweater and thick tweed coat covering your top half. Your chunky boots are comfortable and practical for the slightly uneven terrain of the cornfield-turned-maze. Yoongi is far more casual in just jeans, the hoodie, and a pair of dusty and worn sneakers.

You study his face the best you can past the edge of his hood and out of the corner of your eye. He’s just as handsome as always. Even the black fabric covering the bottom half of his face doesn’t detract from his allure, which seems to be intensified by the deepening darkness around you as he leads you through the maze entrance.

A festival worker stands off to the side in full-on farmer-gore. Their overalls are covered in faux viscera, and there is a bloodied sling blade dangling from their off-hand as they beckon you and Yoongi forward with their other.

“Tonight's savior phrase is ‘Pumpkin Guts’, yell it out if you need assistance navigating the maze, and a helper will assist you,” he offers before turning to the next patron approaching a few feet behind you and Yoongi and giving them the same information.

“Pumpkin Guts,” Yoongi scoffs with a quiet laugh. “Surely they could have come up with something far more fitting than that.”

“I find it kind of nice. The childish charm of it helps make a situation like getting lost in the maze less scary, don’t you think?”

His eyes look more onyx now that you’re within the maze, the only illumination coming from tiny, sparse fairy lights. They catch your gaze, and you see a smile tilt up the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “That’s adorable.”

“What?” you laugh, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks.

Yoongi shakes his head, his smile growing. “You always find the good in everything. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

All the residual anxiety from earlier bleeds away with just that singular statement. You press in closer to Yoongi and angle your face up in silent request, to which he immediately obliges. He hooks a finger in the lip of his gaiter and pulls it down so he can slant his mouth over yours. His lips are warmer than usual, his breath carrying faint hints of bourbon as he teasingly slips his tongue through the seam of your lips. All too soon, he’s pulling away, leaving you with just that small taste of him. The gaiter slides back into place, and he nods ahead of you. “The quicker we make it to the center, the quicker you get the surprise I have waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” you ask, thoroughly intrigued. 

His affirming hum in response turns into a soft chuckle as you eagerly quicken your steps, tugging him along beside you. As someone who isn’t partial to being shocked or scared, it’s perhaps a bit ironic that you love surprises of the unknown. They just have to be the right kind—like one from Yoongi; er, well, at least the ones that don’t involve him sitting on your bed in the dark as you open the bathroom door or so you tell yourself—but you digress.

Though, perhaps there is a bit of enjoyment from those kinds of surprises, too. In a twisted, semi-fucked up way, the surge of adrenaline is like a counterweight to the dopamine response from your amygdala that follows any time you get frightened. The perfect balance of emotions. The fight or flight reflex makes your body feel like it’s keyed up with extra energy, leaving you feeling like you’ve just run a mile or fucked for an hour. It’s maybe a little unhinged to salivate over those small sips of terror secretly. Does that make you a masochist?

You’d almost think Yoongi picks up on your inner thoughts with the way he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat and gives you a sidelong, knowing look. Something tingles beneath your skin, an electric feeling akin to loose ambitions. It seems tonight won’t be so bad after all.

The crunch of dried corn husks and hay accompanies the occasional scream or laugh echoing from various points in the maze. You’ve only led Yoongi to a dead-end a handful of times so far, but the anxiety at not having found the center of the maze yet is starting to mount.

“I can feel your stress in the tension in your hand,” Yoongi muses softly. “Relax, you’ll get your surprise.”

“What if they close the maze before we make it to the center, though?”

“They won’t.”

You cut a quick glance at him. He looks smug. “You seem so sure, but from my count,” you shift your attention to your watch, “we only have fifteen minutes before the festival closes, and I’d guess we’re nowhere near the center yet.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I may have paid the vendor to let us stay as long as we need.”

“You did what?”

“Tonight’s special,” Yoongi tugs you to a stop, his hands engulfing yours, and gives you a pointed look. “Very special.” The thumb of his right hand grazes over the expanse of skin above the knuckle on your left ring finger. “Now, let’s go find the center…and your surprise.”

A new sensation trickles in–excitement. Your heart patters faster as you turn and haul Yoongi on with renewed vigor. Gone is any trepidation; in its place, nothing but giddy and barely veiled anticipation. And to think, you’d almost been silly and canceled on him.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

Yoongi wasn’t exaggerating when he said you look good enough to eat tonight. If only you knew how close to an accurate statement that was. He’s had a constant flow of moisture seeping into his mouth since he laid eyes on you standing behind the wooden sign for the maze. He had just finished setting up the surprise for you in the center, utilizing his natural form in order to move quickly without being seen.

All the implements he needs await him at the maze's center. The theatrics of it all are only for fun. He could have simply taken you without them. But he’s always been partial to playing with his food before devouring it. The pungency of your anxiety as you waited was a delightful appetizer to what is sure to be a satiating main course.

Every time you make a wrong turn in the maze, Yoongi can feel the tension in your muscles and the momentary disappointment that flavors your scent. It’s amusing watching you shuffle your feet and grumble under your breath before turning and backtracking.

It’s not lost to him the amount of uncertainty you’ve had ever since he asked you to go with him tonight. Not that he would have given you a choice in the end; he’d have taken you by force if needed. But he’s a passive creature at best, so the less work he has to do, the better.

Using the ruse of there being a surprise waiting for you isn’t entirely untrue. Though, the treat he’s confident that he’s planted the idea of in your head is far different from what’s actually going to happen. He’s spent enough time in the mortal realm to know what you’d have interpreted from him stroking that particular finger with the right look in his eye. Your heart had gone into a frenzy of thick, heavy beats, and your eyes had lit up with wonder.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s driving your feet to move as quickly as they are now. It’ll just make the disappointment taste that much sweeter. Over the five years he’s been administering to you, molding you into the perfect vessel, he’s learned the small nuances that make you tick. Whether it’s for eliciting fear or excitement, desire or anguish, he knows exactly how to produce the results he wants.

“Ugh,” you grumble for the dozenth time when you turn a corner and come to another dead end. “This is impossible. How can you find enjoyment in these things?”

Yoongi smirks. “It’s quite analytical if you really want me to answer that.” The way your nose wrinkles when he says that is positively adorable. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

You gleefully cede the lead, letting him guide you back and toward a different direction entirely. You’re still excited, bubbling with positive anticipation, even though you’re no longer playing the game, per se. It’s interesting how you so quickly relinquish the hunt—he’d never.

The noise of the festival and maze has long since fizzled away. He didn’t actually pay the attendant. He’s just using some of his ability to mask your presence from anyone who might get in the way. Some of the lights from the midway are still going, and a few rides are lit up. However, the deeper Yoongi leads you into the labyrinth, the darker it becomes. He’s confident you’re so wound up that you don’t even notice how his shadows grow and stretch along the narrow walkway around you.

“Oh, look!” You excitedly point at the opening that comes into view at the end of the row. “I can smell the popcorn. Did that bribe include a bucket waiting for us, too?”

Yoongi has no idea if there is popcorn waiting, but he imagines you’re only smelling the lingering scent. He can’t detect anyone else within a hundred-meter radius around the maze. If the prospect of popcorn makes you happy, then sure. “Of course it did. We’ll need a snack once I’m done with you.” Which mostly isn’t true, though he can’t be sure. Yoongi has never shadow-turned a human before, much less taken a mate in the process. You might be ravenous by the time he’s done; though, he’d bet it won’t be popcorn you’ll be craving.

There is a distinct moment where Yoongi can feel the shift in your demeanor. Your excitement dips into confusion as you take in the finish line area that’s deserted of anyone and anything other than the large 10 ft square structure he erected in the middle. The raw malachite plinths are so dark the lindworm-colored stone seems to absorb the illuminance around them, turning the gateway into a giant pit of darkness that devours the faint twinkling lights. Shadows bleed from the open space between the pillars, reaching for their master.

Yoongi’s blood sings with desire as fear trickles in with the confusion. “Yoongi,” you whisper his name, and it warbles from your lips oh so beautifully. “What’s that?”

“That’s your future, my love.” He untangles himself from your grip, circling you like a predator. “Now, run!” he snarls from right behind you.

You don’t even scream when he shoves you forward, your arms windmilling and boots tripping over the scatter of dried corn husks before you topple headlong between the pillars. The last thing he sees before the waiting shadows swallow you is the whites of your eyes as you throw a panicked look over your shoulder at him.

It’s mildly disappointing that you didn’t even so much as grunt or give him any sort of satisfaction that you’re petrified other than the cloying perfume of your terror that settles on his tongue when he huffs in irritation. Hopefully, when he follows you through the gateway, you’ll already be on the run because he’s in the mood to play a while longer before he shatters the world as you know it.

Yoongi wants you to recognize him, so he only casts off some of his mortal form, choosing to keep his face and most of his body intact. What changes is his size; he grows larger, arms and legs longer, fingers more like talons, and eyes the dark red of fresh blood.

He knows he looks monstrous, even more so with the cloth still covering the lower half of his face and the hoodie now ripped and hanging from his physique. As soon as he slides through the barrier of the gateway, he’s met with that euphoric sound he hoped for earlier. Your scream rends through the thick, stale air of the Realm of Darkness, music to his ears.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi crows, his voice gravelly and distorted by his natural form. He inhales deeply, sucking in your dismay's succulent and divine fragrance. “Fuck.”

You scream again as he steps toward you, which spurs you into gaining your feet, not even caring to look at the soot-like substance caking your hands and knees. Yoongi can only imagine the thoughts warring inside your pretty little head right now. Wild fear makes your eyes flick frantically around before you choose a direction and sprint at breakneck speed between the skeletal trees surrounding this side of the gateway.

He chose the Forest of Decay specifically because it provides the perfect environment for a chase. It allows him to easily keep up with you while giving the illusion of protection. There’s also not a single nook or cranny Yoongi isn’t intimately familiar with; after all, he can’t have you finding some unknown hole to burrow into.

The flash and flicker of your coat draws his attention as it zigs and zags through the petrified sentinels of the forest. Their long, gnarled branches reach far, entwining overhead like a macabre endless bird's nest. It creates a dim atmosphere, with the faintest hint of light bleeding through the limbs. Each tree is about a foot wide and twenty feet high, the ground covered in sooty ash; it’s an ideal playground.

“Leave me alone!” you sob when Yoongi lets you catch another glimpse of him.

Yoongi shudders as a fresh, new wave of terror undulates from you and washes over him. “No can do, my queen.”

The thrill of the chase adds kindling to Yoongi’s need to consume you whole. Every step you take is reckless. You throw yourself around trees so fast you nearly hit the next. The spacing between the trees is relatively narrow, just a few feet at most. Still, with the way you’re barreling through them, you’ve already accumulated a few scratches and minor lacerations from the dried bark, feet kicking up small puffs of ash with every frantic step. The tangy, sweet scent of your blood makes him salivate. The thick, viscous drool coating his tongue will make it all that easier to fuck you with it once he catches you.

Lumbering on behind you, Yoongi intentionally stomps and makes as much noise as possible. Every crack and thump he makes has a whimper shivering from your throat. The thick appendage between his monstrous thighs swells with each terrified sound you make. Fucking you in his proper form will be such a treat. Surely, it’ll be far better than any sex he’s had with the limits of his human body, even if he does love the way your softness compliments his.

But there is nothing soft about Yoongi now—not when he has such a tasty morsel running and screaming so prettily for him. He’s all hard edges and thick muscle. A manic chuckle bubbles in his chest as he leaps ahead, hounding your heels.

It’s comical, ironic even, when he watches your foot catch on a high root hidden by a pile of ash, and you go sprawling on the ground before him. He’s seen enough of those cheesy horror films so fervently worshiped in your world to know how funny this is.

“Please, no! Leave me alone!” you beg through ragged breaths. Your face and hair are marked with scratches, flecks of dried bark, and the pewter-colored ash covering the ground.

An appreciative moan works its way free of Yoongi as he stands over you, swaying like he’s drunk. Which, maybe he is. There is a faint buzzing in his ears, and if he opens his eyes too wide, your image doubles. Two of you; he grins wickedly at the prospect. Now, that would be a definite treat.

As it is, there’s only you; that will be sufficient for what Yoongi has planned. He looms over you, and the backward-bending joints of his knees give slightly as he towers across your prone form. Your eyes pan over his arched body, perhaps for the first time, taking it in with true clarity. Yoongi lets his skin ripple between human and proper form, coalescing and whirling with shadows.

With a flex of darkness, he rends the remnants of his clothes. The ripping of the seams and subsequent soft plop of the ruined fabrics echo through the suddenly silent space. You’re barely even breathing as you take him in, eyes landing on the swinging cock that nearly brushes your belly as he places a gnarled hand beside your head in the ash.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, though it comes out more like sand in a grinder. Lowering further, Yoongi nudges your chin with his nose, guiding your head sideways to give him unfettered access to your throat. Pressing into the crook of your neck, he huffs hot breath over your skin, rejoicing in the instinctive reaction. Your skin prickles and flushes with goosebumps, and a thick cloud of potent fear wafts up as your pulse hammers away beneath his lips.

“P-please,” you whimper through trembling lips. Tears stream down your cheek and drip off the bridge of your nose. Their salty tang mixes with the sweetness of terror pervading the air.

That word, spoken in that way…it does something to Yoongi. He groans, nipping at the skin of your neck with his blunted teeth before letting them elongate so he can adequately graze your papery-thin flesh. You cry out when they slice through, leaving behind thin blood trickles and shallow scratches.

Your blood is laced with fear, blooming on his tongue like an ambrosia of the gods. “You’ve always begged so prettily, my queen. You’re a treasure, and I’m so glad I found you all those years ago, so innocent and unsuspecting—my perfect mate.”

The next scream that leaves your lips is guttural, full of panic and delirium as Yoongi takes his first pull from your body. Thin wisps of black shadow thread from his lips to yours. They pulse with every drag he takes. He’s fed from you thousands of times, but never like this—never so profoundly.

Fear, terror, horror, fright…it’s all the same, and yet Yoongi is almost sure he can taste the distinction. Like a fine wine, you have tasting notes that vary with every sip. By the fifth breath, your body has grown slack, your eyes wide and glassy. Tears still stream down your face but in silence.

Yoongi watches your pallor grow sickly, waxy as sweat pearls along your hairline and temples. Draining you is a delicate affair, something he’s both dreaded and looked forward to for so long. Watching the fire that he loves so much bleed from your eyes and the vigor leech from your skin pangs him with a foreign sensation, something akin to mourning? He realizes now he will mourn the loss of your human form, even if it’s far inferior to what he will turn you into.

With one final shuddering gasp, the darkest, thickest tendril of shadow snakes its way between your parted lips. Your fingers and limbs spasm as the inky darkness roots in deep, tethering itself to you like the strings of a marionette. It pulls tight in Yoongi’s own chest, cementing his essence to yours. As a barbed ring of shadow settles on the ring finger of your left hand, the bond snaps into place, and chaos ensues.

🖤🖤🖤

You’ve never experienced such visceral fear before. It’s consumed every fiber of your being. You’re no longer who you once were and will never be the same again. You are simply fear incarnate.

A boiling starts beneath your skin, beginning at the tips of your fingers and toes before rolling through to the center of your chest, where it pops and sizzles like dry ice in tepid water, so cold it burns.

It’s like flipping a coin. One minute, you are experiencing insurmountable terror, and the next, you exude it. Nothing can scare you now, not even the monster sitting a few feet away watching you with calculated eyes—familiar eyes, eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you can count.

They’re not as cold as they were a moment ago. You distinctly remember how those red eyes softened right before you felt yourself float away. It’s Yoongi, you know this, but it’s also not. He’s different, and it’s not even the deformed, gangly shadow form that makes up his body, either. There’s something more, something that draws you in, like an anchor dragging you into his deepest, darkest depths. He’s a vast ocean, and you’re pretty sure what he just did was akin to drowning you—killing you.

Only you don’t feel dead.

Quite the opposite, in fact. For the first time in your existence, you feel truly alive; and not in the living sense but in the eternal sense. You have no ending or beginning; you exist as you will yourself to be.

With that thought, your body urges you to change, to morph into a far more comfortable form. Darkness seeps from your pores, cascading out of your skin until it becomes a mockery of its former self, and it feels good—so good.

“What have you done to me?” Your voice sounds different, soft yet sultry. It reminds you of black silk and lace, devious and coy, with the perfect mix of husk and drawl.

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, the sound like dry leaves crackling. “Made you mine.”

“What…what are we?”

The soft ash sifts between your now exposed toes, the boots you once wore laying in peeled strips along with tattered remnants of your clothes. Nudity has never been an issue for you, but it’s as if you have no inhibitions at all now. The shadows around your body contort to form curves and perfect swells.

“We have many names. Demons, bogeymen…it’s all very fitting, yet doesn’t quite capture the truth. What I am—what we are—is darkness, fear, terror, and shadow. We are infinite, endless, and everything all at once.”

“Why me?” you whisper. That tether inside of you pulses, pulling tight as you shift and try to put distance between yourself and Yoongi. It’s like a rope around your throat, pulling you up short.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. “This is the Realm of Darkness—my domain,” he gestures broadly with a clawed hand, “and it was all I had access to until I found a way to enter yours. Once I tasted the sweet nectar of fear it provided and the power it allowed me access to, I couldn’t stop my curiosity and need for more. Then I found you, and I knew you would be the perfect compliment to my aspirations, just the thing I needed to break the barriers completely.”

He straightens up, and the way his body catches your attention has a heat flaring somewhere deep in your being. Your eyes lock on the dark sinews and plump muscles that stretch and contract as Yoongi moves to crouch in front of you. The ribbed and notched cock swaying between his thighs dribbles a thick, viscous line of lavender-colored arousal.

Tearing your eyes from the sight of it, you force yourself to look into his feral, red eyes. His explanation is both confusing and clear at the same time. You understand it, but know that you should be railing against it because it’s morally incomprehensible. You’ve essentially been kidnapped and forced into what this is. Yet…yet—“I feel…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Powerful,” Yoongi offers with a knowing, pointed-tooth grin.

“Powerful,” you repeat, letting the word roll around your tongue before nodding. Perhaps that’s why you are shrugging off your cares and the moral compass that has seemingly forgotten how to point north.

The subtle smell of burnt wood and sulfur hits you as Yoongi raises a hand to fit across the front of your throat. Those too-long fingers engulf it, sending a shiver down your new body. Instead of your belly filling up with fear, it fills with desire and need. You no longer need to battle the terror, letting it drip away from you instead.

“Look at you. You’re so perfect. You don’t feel scared, but that’s only because this realm leeches it away and devours it before it can poison your mind, leaving behind nothing but how you truly feel.”

You know there has always been a darkness inside you, something that even you feared to face head-on. After all, it must take some kind of crazy to be both scared of the dark and want to embrace it. It’s not just the way Yoongi plied your body and made you forget to care about being proper and good. Is this what you were made for—all the fright and terror you’ve experienced and secretly sought out leading you to this very moment here?

All it takes is one look at Yoongi to know the truth.

You were created for this, crafted to be precisely what Yoongi needed, just as he said.

With that moment of clarity and acceptance, a new sensation slithers down your spine. A lasciviousness that has you moaning in surprise. 

“Fuck,” you grind out between clenched teeth.

“Gladly,” Yoongi chuckles, his red eyes taking on a lecherous gleam. “Let’s unleash your darkness on the realms, my queen.”

Between one breath and the next, your knees are splayed wide, and Yoongi has his face buried between your thighs. All it takes is one languid swipe of his long, broad tongue to have you cursing again. Caustic words fall from your mouth, laced with vitriol as it’s unfair how good it feels. It’s like every inch of contact between your body and his writes itself across what was once your soul.

“Mmmph,” you moan incoherently as the beginning of an orgasm lashes against your insides. Yoongi greedily sucks and licks, tongue laving over your throbbing clit before sliding between your contracting walls.

A tsunami of darkness crashes out from within you, blanketing the surrounding forest in shadow. Wisps of clarity ebb and flow, drifting along with the gloom until Yoongi grounds you with an exceptionally sharp pinch to one of your nipples.

“Almost there,” he announces gleefully, licking his lips before launching forward and forcing you onto your back.

Yoongi feels like fire against you, his body scorching everywhere it touches. You expect to feel the soft ash against your back but the only sensation that ebbs in is a cool aeration against the exposed skin between your shoulder blades.

Monstrous arms wrap around you as Yoongi slots his too-big mouth over yours, invading you with his slick, serpentine tongue. Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of a pewter sky beyond the scraggy branches that are suddenly closer overhead.

You try to pull away from his devouring kiss to alert him to the jagged web of dry wood about to scrape his back, but he growls and renews his effort to shove his tongue as far into your mouth as possible. Snaps and cracks fill the air, and wood explodes around you.

Realization dawns as more should-be-fear-turned-lust pours through your body and expands beyond it, filling the sky around you with a murky darkness. The power of that emotion propels you further, sending you and Yoongi far above the landscape to suspend over the entirety of the Realm of Darkness, leaving a streamer of smoke-like essence in your wake.

Yoongi throws his head back, finally relenting from the kiss. His broad chest heaves against yours, and his red eyes are wild as they roll manically before landing on you. “How is this possible?” you pant, hands gripping the muscles of his shoulders tightly.

“Anything is possible here,” he whispers fervently before spinning you so fast your vision blurs. The horizon spans as far as you can see around you. You and Yoongi are hundreds of feet higher than even the tallest mountain peak. Everything is a monochrome grey, black, or in-between. A jagged line of mountains rear to your right while inky streams and rivers zig zag to your left. It’s a hideously beautiful display that contradicts all scenic views you’ve ever seen, yet is better than all of them combined.

“Oh, God,” you whimper when Yoongi forces your legs wide and slots his hips between them from behind. Shadows billow around you, charged with energy that crackles and sizzles, barely restrained from being unleashed to wreak untold havoc.

Thin fingers slide around to cup the front of your throat, giving a none too gentle squeeze. Yoongi snarls, “There is no God here. We are the gods!” His declaration is punctuated by the head of his cock prodding against your sopping cunt. This new body is already eager to pleasure Yoongi and receive pleasure in kind.

His hips kick forward, and you feel every delicious ridge and ripple along his thick shaft. It feels like he invades the pit of your stomach, filling you to the brink. It’s a rush of wicked delight, pure erotic rapture.

You moan again, this time invoking the only name left on your tongue, “Yoongi!”

“I’ve been looking forward to fucking you like this for five years,” he grunts, emphasizing the words with his hips pumping against your ass in brutal strokes. “Claiming you wholly, decorating the world with our combined shadows. Look how they writhe for you, waiting for you to command them. Let go.”

Your eyes roll from side to side, taking in the dark, undulating forms stretching wide around you. With each prick of pleasure Yoongi insights in your body, they branch and roil further out, creating the foundation for your own personal bedlam. 

Like a bounty won at the end of a hunt, Yoongi ravishes your body with his. He’s brutal, unrelenting and wanton. The hand on your throat tugs with every slam of his hips, bowing your back and forcing you to peer out at the Kingdom begging for your rule. Darkness beseeches you, screaming for your glory and power as it pours out and blankets the sky.

Your world narrows to one pin point of coherency. Yoongi. He is nothing and everything all at once. He is the beginning and the end—fear, loathing, lust, and madness…through it all, he is infinite. And he’s yours.

With one final, shuddering breath you let go; welcoming the darkness once and for all.

“Yes.” The word, whispered from your parted lips, is sucked away with the maelstrom that detonates around and within you.

You barely hear the guttural, primal roar that emits from Yoongi as he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with his terrible darkness. You shatter into a multitude of shards, a glittering storm that dances through the ether, sparking and catching on the thin membrane that stretches between the realms. All it takes is one weak point, a small breach in the barrier, and everything falls apart.

It’s glorious, feeling yourself everywhere all at once. Your body is still fluttering around Yoongi, sucking and welcoming his release into your soul. But, your consciousness is spread wide, bleeding through the nexus of this realm and the one you once called home.

The mortal realm bows to your will. You can feel the beings of the Realm of Darkness funneling toward the broken gateways, pouring through to consume and conquer with the whisper of your glory on their tongues. Fear reigns supreme, consuming everything in its path as you expand your hold on the darkness.

“My Queen of Darkness,” the ephemeral coo caresses your ear, phantom lips brushing along your shadows. Yoongi’s darkness blends with yours, adding to the pulse that seeps to all corners of existence. “No longer will you fear, as you are fear itself…glorious, neverending fear.”

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