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clockwayswrites · 2 days ago

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Like a damn bird of paradise Part 40

masterpost (pls no editing or concrit, I'm full of steroids)

“Well, you’re not my drafting paper,” Danny said with a little smile as he learned against the door frame of his apartment. The collar of his well worn sweater slipped down his shoulder, making him look wonderfully relaxed.

Bruce cleared his throat and help up the takeout bag. “Just a lunch offer, I’m afraid.”

“Lucky for you I’m starving, both for food and company,” Danny said. He stepped back and let Bruce enter. “I didn’t realize how much I would miss being in my office. There are dozens of little interactions I have every day that I don’t get while I’m locked away here like Rapunzel in her tower.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you have the hair for Rapunzel,” Bruce pointed out as he made his way to the table to set down the food.

Danny laughed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up the locks. “No? Not here to be my prince in well tailored armor then?”

Bruce stepped forward to straight them back out. His hand drifted down to Danny’s cheek and he ran his thumb across the faint scattering of freckles. “If it’s a rescue you want, you only have to say the word. Or even just a vacation. My kids are always trying to get me to take one. I could ensure complete discretion somewhere private.”

“I just got home a few days ago,” Danny pointed out.

“That’s not a no,” Bruce replied.

“It’s not a no,” Danny said with a small, amused smile. He leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Bruce’s lips and then too quickly pulled away. “What did you bring for lunch?”

“There’s an good Algerian place near enough to work, I stopped there on the way,” Bruce said as he made himself break apart and move over to the bag of food. “I got a selection of things.”

“Oh, I’ve never had Algerian before, I don’t think, that sounds great,” Danny said. He went to his kitchen, which was small but felt bigger due to the open layout. “What would you like to drink? I’ve got ice tea, ginger ale, and milk. I’ve also teas and coffee I could make up quick enough.”

“Ice tea is fine if it’s not too sweet, otherwise a ginger ale,” Bruce answered as he methodically set out the take out containers.

“I’m not southern enough for sweet tea,” Danny said with a soft chuckle.

“Where are you from originally?” Bruce asked. He had gamely resisted looking Danny up. He was trying to do this the right way. Besides, anything concerning Lucius would have found before even starting to consider introducing Danny to the Bats as an engineer.

“Ohio. I was in Chicago for undergrad, SoCal for grad, and MIT for my doctorate, and Austin for my first job, so I’ve made the rounds,” Danny said. He set two glasses of tea down on the table, followed by two plates, some napkins, and silverware.

“And now Gotham, of all places,” Bruce said as he pulled out a chair for Danny.

Danny gave another soft laugh, but took the offered chair and let Bruce push it in for him. “Not of all places, WE was always my end game. Well, my end game as soon as I got myself back on track. High school was rough with the accident and it took me awhile to get things back together. I had to start at a community college.”

“Hardly anything wrong with that,” Bruce assured Danny. “You’ve gotten far further with your education than I ever did.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Danny asked as he poked curiously at one of the dishes.

“Sometimes,” Bruce said honestly. “But I think being a doctor would have been horrible for my mental health. I’ve never been good at accepting that I can save everyone. I still can’t, but at least leading WE I can help a lot more people at once, even if that is hugely thanks to the efforts of everyone else.”

“The mastermind rather than the master,” Danny said with a little nod, as if he really got it. He chewed on a potato, humming happily at the flavor, before he said. “That’s actually why WE was my end game. You’ve set up a really good environment there with diversity and pay equality and living wages. Also, if I could get high enough, which I have, I knew I’d be able to work on independent projects. It gives me a chance to do some real good too.”

“Your water filters are going to save lives,” Bruce agreed. “I’m not sure if Lucius has spoken to you about it, but we’re looking to make sure that every household in Gotham that wants one can get one. Not only will they be vital if a Rogue gets something in the water supply again, but until the reform of the water system is finished it will help the lower income areas that still have old pipe systems.”

“Really?” Danny asked, scoop of couscous forgotten halfway to his plate.

“Really. I’ve already started laying the seeds with the board. If nothing else, I’ll have them with how much good PR it will bring in for us.”

“You are a fiend,” Danny said with a little shake of his head. “A very benevolent fiend, but a fiend.”

“I just know how to work a board,” Bruce said, perhaps just a little smugly. “I might as well use growing up rich to do some good.”

“I think you’re just good at working people, that’s your mastery,” Danny said.

Bruce laughed, he couldn’t help it. “My children would strongly refute that. The more I care for someone, the worse I am at it. Things with logic or helping others, that’s easy for me to rally behind. Making sure that a loved one understands that the what and the why I’m doing something is because I care for them? Miserable. I’ve always struggled with showing those deeper connections, maybe because it’s always been so easy to act in public.”

Danny reached over and squeezed Bruce’s hand. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you’ve learned that and are trying to fix it? That means so much. I’m sure it does to your family too.”

“I hope so. I nearly lost some of them when I was younger and stupider, and I could never stand to again. Losing Jason for a time… he ran off because we had a fight. I was trying to protect him, make sure he didn’t make mistakes he would regret forever… I didn’t explain myself at the time and if I had…” Bruce shook his head and put on a smile. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’m making things dark. The important bit of this is that we will see your filters through out Gotham, I promise.”

Danny surprised Bruce by leaning in and giving him a soft peck on the cheek. “I don’t mind your shadows, Bruce. I’m well aware that we all have them.”

Bruce cleared his throat and squeezed Danny’s hand. His smile dropped into something smaller, but all the more real. “Thank you.”

Danny squeezed his hand back. “Now, tell me about these vacation options you’re concocting? As Lucius will tell you, it’s been too long since I’ve taken one that wasn’t for health or to see family.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart then,” Bruce said as he mentally ran through options for them. “To start with, sand or no sand?”

“With feathers? I’d be cleaning the sand out of my wings for hours,” Danny said. It was good to hear him mention his wings with more ease.

“Come now, half a hour tops, I’d gladly helped.”

“Why Mr. Wayne, I’m starting to suspect that you are fond of my wings.”

Bruce just shrugged. “When did I ever say that I wasn’t? They’re a lovely part of a lovely man.”

“Ancients,” Danny near whispered and hid his flushed face in his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out flirted. Eat. Eat and convince me of this vacation.”

“If that’s what you want,” Bruce said, unable to help be proud of the reaction from Danny. He had to wonder if they did go on vacation, just how much he could make Danny blush like that.

He expected quite a bit.

#i fear this is super rough #but have it anyways #cause that is the way of birb #dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #danny/bruce #birdritch

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 hours ago

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DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Not My Business

Danny Fenton develops a unique set of skills throughout his life. He knew how to disarm a bomb when he was seven, thanks to his Dad making minebombs in the front yard as a ghost defense. (They only covered humans in ecto-goo, but it was the same concept of not wanting to have it explode on him)

He knew how to fight with a bo-staff only because he had to fight off the meals his parents brought back to life with a broom. He knew how to balance a checkbook, file tax forms, and properly build credit by the time he was ten, thanks to the years his parents ran a business at the kitchen table.

His sister taught him how to charm rude customers with a smile, how to lie without flinching, and how to complete all his assignments on time, despite having only a few hours to do so. She spent a lot of time volunteering, often dragging him along, which allowed Danny to build up his resume with both soft and hard skills he likely would never have thought there was a name for.

Problem-solving, teamwork, communication, time management, adaptability, data analysis, cybersecurity, data entry, and copywriting were the skills that Jazz focused on the most. She all but beat them into his head.

Along with cooking, sewing, basic plumbing, basic mechanics, and budgeting. Jazz was the one who looked for practical abilities.

That left time for his mom and dad to teach him things like forging, combat training, reprogramming everyday objects into weaponry, defending his position before a board for grant money, turning everyday household liquids into knock-out gas, and how to talk his way out of traffic tickets.

Not to mention everything he learn as Phantom.

Danny knew how to verify jewels and gold due to the years spent in the ghost zone fighting off pirates and treasure hunters. Phantom's reputation made him a target for many ghosts who wanted to add his rarity to their collections.

How to command a room, then a town, and finally an army. Diplomatic missions increased in number as he began meeting with the leaders of various sectors within the Ghost Zones.

Really, Danny didn't make a whole lot of sense, if anyone bothered to ask him how he came to this set of skills. The thing was, unlike the rest of his family, Danny was far too reserved to show them off. He edged the line of shyness from a young age, which sometimes bled into reclusive tendencies.

He didn't get anxious from social interactions; he just didn't feel like seeking them out. Sam and Tucker felt a similar way, as they were always willing to talk to a stranger, but they tried to branch out of their safe little bubble to make friends rather than acquaintances. Then the summer between sophomore and junior year happened.

Sam, Danny, and Tucker left tenth grade as plain losers only to arrive in junior with a splash.

The trio noticed that people were staring at them more intensely than they had been before. That they were used to, what they weren't used to was that the stares were not mocking or dismissive.

It was odd, but it didn't click on why that was until winter break, and more specifically, Star's Holiday party.

Ever since the fourth grade, Star hosted the biggest party of their generation. Her parents owned the local fun center, which featured indoor kart racing, laser tag, arcade games, paintball, and virtual reality pods. Everyone tripped over themselves to be given an invitation as she offered a full day and night of free entertainment at the center.

It always ended with wild stories of teenage fun that Danny always wanted to see in person, rather than hearing about in the hallways the next day. Not that everyone in their grade went. The invitation list was super selective (Star's parents did lose a lot of profit for letting their daughter do that)

You either received an invitation from the party girl herself, or you were asked to be a plus one, which was just as much of an honor as it was a symbol of social status among the teenage population of Amity Park.

The trio was never invited, which is why they were already making their way to the student parking lot when Star stood in the courtyard, holding up the scarred envelopes. Inside them was the bracelet that one had to scan at the door of her center to let people in. It was how her father ensured only the agreed-upon guests stayed at that number.

In the middle of making plans for hot chocolate at Sam's favorite poetry slam cafe, Star had run at Tucker's car, practically falling over to knock on his window. Danny had never been so confused in his life as his friend rolled down his window to arch a brow at the girl.

She stuttered her way through a pathetic request for fashion advice that Tucker easily answered in two sentences. Sam snickered as Star seemed unsure what to do with Tucker's lack of interest in her or her popularity.

Ever since Tucker started focusing more on his self-confidence and joined the fashion community, he hadn't been so girl-crazy nor as desperate to get one's attention.

Just as Danny reminded Tucker that other cars were waiting for them to clear the road, Star had pushed three envelopes into the driver's hand and run off with a red face.

Tucker stared at the envelopes in his hands with a wild look that both Sam and Danny shared. They slowly kicked their brains back into gear when an angry honk from the car behind them sounded, and they ended up silently driving the cafe, still in a daze.

Jazz laughed herself silly when they rang her up to ask if she thought it was a trick (Sam was sure they were going to be Carrie-ed), a mistake (Danny insisted Star had gone to the wrong car, but due to the tinting, didn't realize until it was too late). Or a genuine invitation (Tcuker had always been the most optimistic of the three).

"Haven't you three ever wondered why Spectra used emotion-based ectoplasm for her appearance?" She giggled, "It makes people hot. And you guys literally spend all summer in the Ghost Zone during your internships, feeling human emotions while being exposed to natural ectoplasm. You three came back looking good."

That was a shock.

The summer apprenticeships had been a compromise between Sam and her parents. They were growing tired of her not growing out of her "phase" and were threatening to send her to a military camp to straighten her out.

Thankfully, Jazz had stepped in, brilliantly changing their minds into allowing the college student to match Sam up with a well-known friend as a mentor. She even threw Danny and Tucker into her "program" to further show that it was just what Sam needed to stop her from being a troubled teen.

Since only Maddie and Jack knew about Phantom, it took some effort among all of them to create fake websites and legitimate-looking summer programs before Sam, Tucker, and Danny arrived in the Ghost Zone in different vehicles to spend their summers. It helped that Ghostwriter owed them a favor, and he brought the programs to life.

Danny was learning medical practices of various species with Frostbite. Sam was with Princess Dorathea, learning how to govern and manage a large estate. Tucker had taken Wulf up on his offer to join him through the Ghost Zone's wildness, allowing Tucker to experience life off-screen and learn more about animals.

Jazz had said she placed them out of their comfort zones, but with trusted ghosts that could help them build well-rounded characters. At first, it wasn't for them, but the trio found themselves falling in love with their activities.

By the time they came back, they had many stories and exceptional skills to share with their parents. Sam's parents weren't happy she was still a goth, but they did appreciate her newfound determination to connect with them and her interest in running companies like the family business.

Tucker's parents were amazed by the muscles he gained and how he started to limit his screen time. He still loves his tech, but now he was branching out into fashion, helping out around the house, and appreciating animals and nature like never before.

Maddie and Jack watched as Danny grew more empathic while becoming more sure of what to do in stressful situations. Confidence that their son desperately needed had been gifted to him over the summer. He no longer lowered his eyes or slouched, even if his awkwardness lingered a bit.

That apparently made them hot? Yes, it did.

At Star's party, even though the three kept to themselves, laughing and hanging out as normal, people were constantly attempting to talk to them or simply flushing whenever they made eye contact. Danny, Sam, and Tucker all agreed that they no longer wanted to be popular.

They stay firmly behind unbreakable walls even as the party skyrocketed them to the same level of popularity as the A-listers (they refused to join the club). The three were more excited to return to their summer internships the following summer.

By the time graduation rolled around, Danny, Sam, and Tucker had been voted the most attractive and the most likely to succeed. They were a new type of untouchable royalty walking the halls of Casper High.

It came as no surprise that their resumes and internships got them offers from various colleges, not to mention their looks. Jazz, by that point, was still working on her degree at Gotham U, so the three chose to go there.

Danny was studying to become a doctor, Sam was in business, and Tucker chose computer sciences. They had moved into a house that Sam's parents bought for them, allowing Jazz to move out of the dorms into the spare room. Things were going great for a while, living in the big city and being adults on their own for the first time.

Then Danny applied for an internship at Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital in the administrative area- Sam convinced him it would be a good way to get a foot in the door when he applied to medical school. He needed someone to write him rec letters.- And one night, when he was working late on data entry, he happened to see Batman's maskless fall out of a portal produced by a trenchcoat man.

The trenchcoat man carried Batman to the abandoned operating room that had been left behind when they remodeled the place and converted it into offices, followed by the rest of the Bats. Their faces were covered entirely, but it did not hide their worry as they rushed to catch up with the pair.

A woman wearing scrubs pushed through the portal and the group of masked heroes, barking out orders to prepare the room.

There was a magic spell wrapped around the group that typically would have made them invisible, and erase their importance in the mind of whoever looked at them, as if they were from a forgotten dream. Still, Danny's ecto contamination made him immune to the spell, so he witnessed the whole thing.

Huh. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Neat.

Danny figured it wasn't his business and turned back to his two monitors to finish the Excel spreadsheet he was working on. He later left after saving his work, ignoring the fact that he now knew why the operating room had been left untouched, despite having all that technology on standby.

He would get home, mention it over a plate of reheated pizza, while Tucker would be working on an essay due at midnight. His best friend would shrug, claiming his own ectoplasim had made him immune to Poison Ivy's plants- they were shockingly similar to some of the plants Wulf and he encountered in the Ghost Zone- and had seen Red Robin's face after the man had been sprayed in the face and some of the powder lingered on his mask.

Apparently, Tucker's midnight essay writing had given him a familiar, dazed college look of exhaustion. Still, since he wasn't freaking out at the man eating plants, Red Robin had thought him too gone on whatever Posion Ivy how dosed the crowd of hostages with, to worry about his bare face. He had merely moved Tucker somewhere safe, stabbed him in the thigh with a needle, which had been rude according to Tucker, and run off to fight Ivy.

Red Robin was Tim Drake. Neat.

The two changed the subject to a TV show, but eventually Tucker had to focus on his essay, and they fell silent.

The following morning, Sam reported that she, too, had figured out a Gotham Hero's identity by accident. Her ectoplasim contamination had made her an attractive goth, who was approached by a blushing Damian Wayne to ask her to model her alternative style for his art club.

At the offer of a bit of pocket change, Sam had agreed to follow the art club president to a park where a group of teenagers were setting up canvases and easels. They asked her to sit on the park fountain for a few hours while they tried to capture her likeness in charcoal.

During the session, she noticed a change in Damian's movement as he grew more relaxed and his old habits began to shine through. Princess Dorathea had taught her the dangers of the court and how to notice little changes in body language that could keep her safe.

She thought it was odd that Damian moved like an assassin, reaching for a small knife in the same way he wielded his charcoal. It made sense later when she was rescued by Robin on her walk home from a would-be mugging and noticed the same little habits.

Robin was Damian Wayne. Neat.

If three of the many Bats were Waynes or connected to the famous family, it only logically makes sense that the rest were all Waynes too. Double neat.

The only one who was sincerely shocked by this reveal was Jazz, who had not even a hint of suspicion that Bruce Wayne was Batman.

"This is huge!" Jazz gasps, "Don't you guys realize how crazy this is!?"

"I mean, sure," Tucker slowly responded, sharing a confused glance with Sam and Danny. "But it's not really our business, is it? It's not like Danny is in the hero scene anymore."

"Well, yes but come on it's Batman!"

"I don't think Batman even cares about us, much less his Bruce persona. As someone from the bottom of the first class, trust me, the top of the first class doesn't even notice us taking up space. " Sam laughs, shaking her head. Danny hesitates to mention that Bruce Wayne has stopped by his office multiple times to bring coffee for all his coworkers, but figures the man must do that for all his employees.

Miles and miles away in Wayne Manor, Bruce narrows his eyes at the three screens displaying three newly graduated teens covered in paranormal residue. It's possible that they were all haunted and just didn't know it, which was a common thing, according to the Justice League Dark.

After some digging into their background, he found that companies, summer camps, and internships had all been fabricated by an incredible hacker who provided an oddly convincing cover-up for the various skills the trio possessed. Again, the Justice League Dark also stated that it was common, as that was a tactic the Otherworlders frequently used on humans to leech onto them.

Like a gas station in the middle of nowhere that was there and then it wasn't a few days later.

The three weren't experiencing any negative emotions, which meant whatever was haunting them would soon pass, and it wasn't necessary to intervene. Zatanna promised Bruce that everything was fine.

He had some doubts.

So far, the three have been doing everyday things that first-year college students typically do, and yet, Bruce's children have reported seeing the three often in their civilian lives.

Foley worked out at the same gym Dick did and was often at the ramen shop Jason just helped one of his friends open. Manson began spending time at Cass's favorite café and attended Duke's poetry nights as an observer. Fenton, the male one, was literally working a few floors below Tim.

A coincidence?

Or was it something nefarious at play?

Bruce decided to wait and see what happens.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Not My Business #Part 1 #The trio are just a guy in Gotham but very not JUST a guy vibes #They new in town #they hot #And they know how to mind their business #Yes Damian has a crush on Sam #Not Everlasting trio #Just good friends #With a dash of codependce #Jazz is thier wine aunt #Bruce thinks the three are sus but can't prove why

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lieslab · 3 days ago

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Don't be afraid of me

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: Your ex refuses to let you go without putting up a fight and terrorizing you.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 5k

Trigger warning: Stalking, paranoia, and an unhealthy/obsessive ex.

A/N: Requestee, your request was vague. You never came back to clarify exactly what you wanted, so I wrote it as a 9th member AU and made sure the reader interacts with every single person. This is up far later than usual because I kept freaking myself out slightly aha whoops🫠 (stalkers are so scary, please call the cops if you have a freak on the loose near you)

_ _ _

It was a love pulled from the movies. Every kiss felt right. Hands touched, they pulled, and the body craved more. Magnetic forces aligned and everything remained right, until it all crumbled. A love story turned into a real life horror movie.

The moment things became too much, you put a stop to it. Your lover’s little moments of love became obsessive. Too clingy, too much, too suffocating. You couldn’t breathe. The moment you dumped them, you thought it’d lead to bigger and better things.

You shut the door to that chapter of your life, but you forgot to lock the window.

~ ~ ~

You sat in the cafe across from the JYP building drinking your favorite drink. You were released for lunch twenty-five minutes ago. Instead of heading down to the canteen, you walked across the street, down the block, and into the opening arms of fresh pastries.

Sweetened dough, french vanilla coffee, and pastries formed with love. Tea bags filled with dried herbs to soothe the soul. Enough espresso to awaken the dead, the hustle and bustle of an afternoon rush, and you. You in the wooden chair, scrolling on your phone with one hand, and sipping your preferred beverage with another.

Minutes rolled by and you scrolled. Glancing at local news, the front pages of social media, and you responded to two unread text messages. You stood up, about to head back to the company building when your phone vibrated with a new message from an unknown number.

I see you :)

The moment you read the message, fear spiraled down your spine. You slowly tipped your head up and glanced at the customers around you. None of them seemed out of place. A mother trying to console two young kids in the line with a few elderly folks behind her.

Notebooks sat scattered all over one table. A college kid with headphones in, he typed frantically at his laptop, probably writing an essay. Further in the back, two friends sat laughing. One gestured to the other’s face where a coffee mustache sat. They laughed and wiped it off with a napkin.

Another table housed a middle aged man with a book. In front of him, a half-eaten croissant sat on a piece of parchment paper. Salt and peppered hair, wrinkles creased in the center of his forehead, and golden-rimmed glasses on the perch of his nose. His eyes scanned the words, but he didn’t glance in your direction.

You didn’t have to ask. Your eyes shifted outside, but nobody seemed to be around. Another two people came through the glass door. A bell jingled, but nobody else followed. Wrapped up in their own conversation, they didn’t look at you, either.

You already knew who the message came from. When you left, they vowed you’d regret it. They couldn’t bear to be without you. A life without you would be a fate worse than hell. You thought you were bettering yourself by leaving, but the floodgates opened. Demons don’t play by the rules and neither does the primal madness sitting locked inside some humans.

You opened up Pandora’s box and you weren’t sure how to shut it.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, you tried to forget about it, but the paranoia grew. It ballooned in your stomach and eyes felt like they were everywhere. Even walking the halls in your familiar company building, you didn’t feel alone. As if someone lurked around the corner, an invisible being breathed down the back of your neck.

You couldn’t prove it, but you could feel it. They tip toed behind you, moving closer and closer, until you whipped around. They disappeared, morphing into the shadows and slipping just out of sight. That single text kept you on edge.

You were headed towards the dance practice room when Chan jokingly nudged your shoulder. You shrieked and nearly jumped ten feet in the air. Jerking around with wide eyes, your fists flew up to defend yourself.

“Woah, it’s just me! Don’t deck me, mate!” He held up his hands innocently and grinned. “I didn’t know you were that out of it.”

“What the hell, Chan?” You snapped angrily. “Oh my god, you practically scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry. What’s got you so worked up? Did you watch another horror movie last night? Let me guess. Was it the one with that smiling demon? Hereditary? A classic like Nightmare on Elm Street?”

Your head shook and you sighed. “No, I didn’t watch anything. It wasn’t like that.”

“Right,” he teased. He leaned over, letting his hand run through your hair. “Come on, let’s get into the dance practice room. The rest of the guys are waiting for us.”

You let him wrap an arm around your shoulders, but not before looking back behind you to make sure the two of you were alone.

~ ~ ~

Hello, baby. I miss you. I’ll be waiting for you when you get home :)

A batch of your favorite flowers sat beside Han and Changbin with the attached note. You came in to record your parts of a song. You weren’t expecting the flowers, let alone the note. The fear crept back up again.

“These are pretty flowers, but I thought you dumped your-”

“I did,” you cut Han off. “I did. Is this a joke?” You narrowed your eyes at him and then Changbin. “Because if this is a joke, it’s not fucking funny.”

Changbin glanced over from the director’s seat. “Woah, easy there. Why would this be a joke? The receptionist just sent up one of the assistants with them a few minutes ago. He said they were given to the receptionist and they were specifically for you.”

“From who?”

“From the flower guy. He was given to them by-”

“Shut up!” You snapped again. Tears filled your eyes and you blinked rapidly. You grabbed the flowers, walked over to the trash can and shoved them in the bag without another word.

“What was that for?” Han asked.

“Because ever since I broke up with that asshole, weird things have been happening and it’s freaking me the fuck out. The other day, I got a text message from them and now these flowers and I-”

“What text message?”

“I deleted it, but it said ‘I see you’ and it had a smiley face. I got it alone when I was at the cafe having lunch. It freaked me out and now these stupid flowers are appearing with a similar face.”

Han and Changbin shared a look. An unsettling feeling fell over the room. Changbin spun around in his chair and faced you. “Listen, if this is something that’s escalating, we should call the cops.”

“No,” you shook your head, “it’ll make it worse. I just hope they’re done fucking with me. I left them because they’re shitty. I’m done with it. I’m done with all of it and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

You wiped your eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and tried to focus on the work before you. You held your head high and walked towards the empty recording booth. “Let’s just get started and forget about all of it.”

Han and Changbin wanted to say more, but they didn’t want to cause more distress, so they stayed silent.

~ ~ ~

On the way home, you laughed in the back of Changbin’s car. He sang along to the radio in a high-pitched voice. Beside him, Hyunjin fist-pumped the air to the beat. Their voices collided, leading you into a further fit of giggles.

The pair were supposed to drop you off at your own apartment. You were on your own until the weekend. The guys promised to help you move back into Hyunjin and Changbin’s dorm when they all had free time. You had been shuffling between living with your significant other and your own place for a few months, at least until things fell apart.

Changbin’s worries from earlier still lingered. They lingered so much, he insisted he needed to be the person to drive you home. He tried not to scare you as he stepped into your path earlier. Without much of a word, he hauled you over his shoulder with a fit of giggles. He’d do anything to distract you from the flower basket.

As he pulled into your driveway and the song cut to advertisements, Hyunjin turned off the radio. You shifted in your seat, reaching down to grab your bag when he called your name. “Hey, did you leave your apartment unlocked this morning?”

“No,” your head popped up, “why?” Your question was answered when you looked up at your front door. The wooden door sat wide open, silently beckoning you inside. Your face fell and the excitement to get home and comfortable melted away. “Changbin?” You weakly uttered.

“I know.”

“What?” Hyunjin looked between the two of you. “What is it? Why do both of you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

You cracked, forcing yourself to explain the situation to Hyunjin. The moment you finished, he reached out for his cell phone. “We need to call the cops.”

“Save it,” Changbin uttered. He jerked off his seatbelt and shoved open his door. “Get the authorities on speed dial and you might want to get an ambulance when I’m finished with them.”

He slammed the car door shut. You scrambled out of the car and Hyunjin followed. “Changbin, wait!” You cried out. As he climbed the steps, you followed. “Hyunjin is right. We should just call the cops and wait, so they can-”

He made it a handful of steps into your apartment when he stopped. “Hyunjin, call the goddamn cops.”

You peered around the corner of the door and your eyes widened. Your items were strewn everywhere. Couch cushions left the couch. Something heavy had shattered the TV screen. The glass coffee table laid in thousands of glass shards.

You tried to push past him, but Changbin’s arm shot out, stopping you. “Stay here until I clear things.” He stepped forward, heading deeper into the apartment.

As Hyunjin rang the authorities, his eyes ran along the door frame. He expected to find signs of breaking and entering, but the door frame didn’t contain cracking. The door knob was perfectly intact, as if someone slipped in the key and walked in like they owned the place.

You followed behind Changbin, in too much shock to stop yourself. In the kitchen, glasses and plates sat shattered on the floor. Your refrigerator door hung wide open and the fridge alarm beeped, signaling your fridge had been open for too long.

Empty condiment bottles littered parts of the floor. The acidic scent of ketchup made your stomach churn. Bright yellow mustard oozed down the fridge. Globs of mayo speckled open cabinets.

Fresh kimich squashed beneath Changbin’s feet. He cursed and stepped back. What you planned on having as a dinner side sat ruined. Everything was ruined. In the bedroom, your clothes had been tossed from the dresser. Your bed had been stripped from the usual comforter set.

Posters ripped to shreds. Jewelry littered the bathroom. The scent of your shampoo and conditioner soaked the tub. Your favorite book sat in the toilet. Everything was all wrong.

Noticing your closed closet, Changbin ripped open the door fuming. You flinched and tensed up, but nothing was there. All the boxes and items had been tugged out. Changbin flicked on the light and you screamed at the top of your lungs.

The only thing waiting for you was that sinister goddamn smiley face spray painted and covering the back of the closet wall.

~ ~ ~

You explained the situation to the cops a week ago. The unknown number. The flowers. The smiley faces. The paranoia. All of it. The messy breakup and the threats made to you when you left. They were so sure you’d come crawling back.

The cops dubbed it a crime of passion. Whoever trashed your apartment, it was a personal vendetta. Nothing was stolen, but everything was destroyed. When they cleared the scene, you tried to go back for your clothes, but they’d been cut.

Someone spent so long going through every clothing item you owned and they cut it in two. Over and over and over and over again. They cut and cut and cut and cut, with your own fucking scissors. The cops found them beneath a stack of clothes and took them in for fingerprinting.

Your ex became a person of interest, but they couldn’t find them. Hunkered down in Hyunjin and Changbin’s dorm, you grew more and more terrified as the days passed by. Little things made you jump. You no longer felt safe.

In fact, the paranoia grew worse. Even at work, it lingered. Singing and dancing used to bring you happiness, but now you dreaded going out. You performed once at an award’s show and the moment it was over, you fell apart backstage. Tearing up and shaking, you couldn’t stop. They could be in the crowd watching your every move.

Wondering.

Waiting.

Observing.

Planning.

Changbin and Hyunjin weren’t safe. The rest of the guys weren’t safe. Nobody was safe and if anyone ended up hurt because of your obsessive ex, you’d never forgive yourself. You used to think you were brave for getting through your trainee years and debuting, but this broke you.

Your sleep grew less and the restlessness grew more. The group worried about you. Changbin and Hyunjin would awaken and find you sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee. You were tense with purple bags under your eyes. On the defense, you’d never be caught off guard again.

You’d do whatever you could to keep yourself and the guys safe. You looked out for your group. You looked out for your fans. As the paranoia grew, your ex didn’t have to do anything else.

Too petrified of all the what-ifs, you brought yourself to your knees.

~ ~ ~

There was nothing to move on the weekend. Nothing in your apartment was salvageable. You and the guys entered with trash bags. Not once did you feel safe. You worked in silence, tossing all of your old clothes into a trash bag.

In the opposite room, Han and Felix whispered to one another. “I’m worried,” Felix uttered softly. “They’re barely sleeping. I haven’t seen them eat anything since Thursday. Even then, it was only a single banana. This is destroying them.”

“The cops are still looking for their ex. They have to find them. They’re going to find them.” Han carefully placed another shard of glass into the black bag. “They have to find them. This can’t keep happening. Things will go back to normal, I believe it.”

“This just sucks. They didn’t do anything to deserve all this.” Felix glanced around your destroyed living room with a frown. You hadn’t once spoken about your things since the home invasion occurred.

In your room, it took nearly an hour for you, Jeongin, and Chan to clean up all of your items. Jeongin offered you some of the necklaces and rings, pointing out that they were still okay, but you refused. You didn’t want anything your ex touched. Everything tarnished with their touch.

The person you once knew, they were dead. They died in the breakup. Something monstrous woke up and took over. You didn’t understand why it happened, or what it did. There were signs in your relationship before you left.

They begged you to leave your group. Insisting and pleading, you could live with them and they’d provide for you. You objected, reminding them it made you happy and you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in a contract and you couldn’t break it without legal trouble following you.

They scowled when it happened. Shooting you a glare, mumbling curse words, and slamming their empty plastic cup down on the table. You should have known they weren’t normal. Something was off, but you didn’t understand it then. You thought they were upset over something silly. You didn’t think they were showing you their real form.

Beneath the soft kisses and the need for intimacy, something dark hid beneath their skin suit. With each item you shoved in a trash bag, you were reminded of it. Your fingers shook, but you endured because you always did. If you could endure this, you could endure anything.

~ ~ ~

You dubbed them dickhead one and dickhead two. Seungmin and Minho stood guard with similar crossed arms and narrowed eyes. Felix sat down on the floor beside his bed with his Nintendo Switch.

“You’re being assholes!” You complained. Sitting on the edge of Felix’s bed, your arms sat over your chest. You glared at the floor. You knew they meant well, but you were too stubborn to admit it.

“And you’re being a little bitch,” Seungmin countered. “You’re lucky Felix is being nice enough to offer you his bed. Get in it, get under the covers, and go to sleep.

“Jesus Christ, do you two kiss your mothers with those foul mouths?” Felix mumbled. His thumbs moved as he moved his character around his Animal Crossing island.

“Yongbok, sit there and stay out of it.”

“Hey,” Minho countered, “don’t talk to him like that. You either put your ass in that bed, or I’m going to invent chloroform and knock you out with it.”

You glared at him.

“Keep it up and I’ll hogtie you while I’m at it.”

“Asshole.”

“Cuntdracula, get beneath the covers and go to sleep, or so help me I-” Seungmin never finished his sentence.

Felix’s bedroom door flung open and you glanced up. Han strolled in and smiled when he saw you. “I heard someone couldn’t sleep very well.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes and jerked open the door. “Thank god. I’m clocking out and I’ll be in the living room if anyone needs me. Actually, I take it back. I’m going into the kitchen and finding a drink. This is fucking exhausting.”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it.” Han dropped beside you on the bed. He leaned over, placing his head on your shoulder. “We’re all worried about you. You’re practically sleep-walking as you speak. You can’t keep this up, you’ll collapse.”

“But I’m afraid,” you weakly admitted. You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “I’m afraid if I’ll go to sleep something will-”

“Nuh-uh. That’s not happening. Yongbok is going to kick your ex’s ass. Before they get to him, they gotta go through me and my airfryer,” Minho reminded you. I’ll stick a feral ferret and wild boar on their ass.”

“Boar?” Felix glanced up from the floor. “Do you mean Changbin?”

“Have you ever seen Changbin when he’s mad? Dwaekki after dark is a boar.” Minho shuddered and shook his head. “That’s the stuff of nightmares. We’ll hold down the fort, you just focus on getting some sleep and letting us handle it for now. I’m going to go wrangle the puppy.”

He left you alone, leaving you with Felix and Han. Han wrapped an arm around your body. “Please try to get some sleep. We can tackle this again when you wake up.”

“Yeah.” Felix got up and crawled onto your opposite side. “I’ll bash their head in with my Nintendo Switch. Bet they wouldn’t see that coming, would they?”

“You’re not that scary, Lix.”

“Clearly, someone hasn’t seen me when I lose a game I play passionately.” He huffed, leaned over, and laid across you and Han. “Maybe I should ask Innie to join us. Would it make you feel better if we all puppy-piled?”

“Maybe a little,” you finally admitted.

“Say no more. Han, take over and watch my house. Chan is on my island and my house is in danger. He’s been threatening to take my stuff.”

Han raised an eyebrow. “When did Chan get into Animal Crossing?”

“Right after I threatened to open his window on the plane and let it vacuum him into the sky. I was bored and didn’t want to play alone.”

He texted on his phone, as if his words were the most normal thing in the world.

~ ~ ~

The thirteen hours of sleep finally left you feeling somewhat refreshed. You were still paranoid and worried, but you felt better. You entered the JYP building with the guys and scattered in different directions. With Minho and Chan, you ventured into the dance practice room, so you could try and learn the dance moves you kept messing up.

The rest of the guys did their own things. For nearly an hour, you worked tirelessly. When you paused to take a break, you sucked in a deep breath and headed to the door. “I’m going to go find a drink. I’ll be right back.”

“You didn’t bring one?” Chan called after you.

“Nah, I forgot it because I was in a hurry this morning.”

Minho laughed at you and pointed, making sure to make a mockery of your actions. You rolled your eyes, flipped him off, and headed out to go find a drink. On your way down the hall, you paused when your manager called your name and waved you down.

“Felix is on his way back from one of the cafes with drinks. He wants to know if you can head downstairs and meet him outside. Apparently, he’s almost dropping the drinks. I’d go help him, but I’ve got a meeting with the uppers.”

A brief lapse of fear ran through you, but you pushed it aside, forcing yourself to smile. “Yeah, I’ll head down there now. Thanks for letting me know.” You found it strange that Felix didn’t call, but you didn’t have your phone with you. It was tucked in your bag in the dance practice room.

You headed in the direction of the stairs, trying to be mindful of all the trainees, idols, and spare employees. In the lobby, you walked through the tile floors, trying to ignore the dreading feeling building in your stomach. You told yourself the anxiety was pointless.

Your ex wasn’t in the area. Surely, they knew you’d put the pieces together. They’d know you knew it was them and they’d go far away, never bothering you again, right? At least, that’s what you wanted to happen.

At the set of glass doors, you pushed them open and headed outside. In the early hours of the morning, cars brushed past downtown. A distant horn honked and a plethora of people hurried past the building, eager to go somewhere. You sucked in a deep breath and turned in the direction you assumed Felix would be coming from.

Usually when you got drinks for one another, you came from the cafe you favored. It was your favorite for that reason. Everyone liked the drinks and pastries, it wasn’t just you. As you walked, your nerves short-circuited and your feet stopped.

In the distance, someone walked towards you with their hoodie hood pulled down. You tried to look around them, searching for Felix, but you couldn’t find him. You took a step back, focusing on the fear running through you.

“You’re being dramatic,” you mumbled beneath your breath. “It’s just a random person. It’s chilly outside and…” You trailed off as they picked up speed.

Their head tipped up and they jerked down their hood. Even from a distance, you could see the dead eyes. Something hid beneath the arm of their hoodie. It sat balled up and your stomach dropped. Your heart took off and so did you.

Footsteps stormed after you. Cars blurred as you rushed back to the building. Your heart hammered in your chest and you struggled to breathe. There was one thing you liked about the JYP building. You shoved your finger against the fingerprint reader and the doors clicked.

Right as you grabbed the door and jerked it shut behind you, their silhouette appeared. You tugged as hard as you could. They tried to pull, but the door sealed shut with a loud click. Locked inside, you were untouchable.

A phone rang behind you and someone picked it up. Footsteps. Your own heavy breathing. The dead eyes of your ex and that damn smile. The corners of their mouth upturned and you couldn’t breathe.

A flash of something silver appeared in their fist. They taunted, waving whatever the object was at you. Your fear grew and so did their grin. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Tears pricked in your eyes.

They reached over to the keypad, trying to use their own prints to get in and it snapped you out of it. You jerked around. “Help! Help! Call the cops! Help!” You didn’t recognize the shrillness in your voice, but Felix did.

He was on his way down to the canteen when he heard you yelling. A handful of people started to dial and Felix approached you. “Hey, what is-” He stopped when something banged against the door. “Call security now!”

He grabbed you and pulled you back from the door. You clutched onto him, shaking like a leaf. Words erupted from your ex, but you couldn’t hear them through the thick glass. You heard the excessive banging, but the words remained muted.

Hot tears filled your eyes. A group of similar dressed men in dark polos and dress pants rushed forward to stop the man. Cries were heard. Felix jerked you into his chest, so you didn’t see the chaos. Your ex screamed.

“We’ve got a sasaeng!” Another yelled.

“It’s not a sasaeng,” you spoke up, “that’s my ex.”

~ ~ ~

“The cops said a phone call came in to the new receptionist. When the person said they were Felix from Stray Kids and needed you, she didn’t recognize the voice. Too frazzled and unsure, she passed the message along to our manager.” Changbin sat at the end of the couch. “That’s how you were lured outside.”

In Jeongin and Chan’s dorm, you all gathered to try and understand what happened. After everything unraveled at the company building, shaken up after two security guards were stabbed, the company dismissed everyone from the building, so the cops could put the story together. You talked to the cops. Changbin talked to the cops. Felix talked to the cops.

You were left exhausted and in disbelief. The injured security guards were going to be okay, but you were still distressed. If you wouldn’t have slipped back into the building, if the doors wouldn’t have automatically locked, you weren’t sure you’d be with the guys right now. Your head felt fuzzy.

Your body strung across Felix, Hyunjin, and Seungmin. Despite your argument with Seungmin the other day, he played with your hair gently as your eyes drooped. You were still so exhausted from everything occurring over the past two weeks. This morning felt like a nightmare came to life. Every time your eyes shut, you remembered the way they grinned.

A slew of charges awaited them. Tomorrow, you planned on going to the police station with Chan and your manager. A restraining order would be put in place. Not only with you, but your manager wanted to discuss a restraining order being prepared for the entire group. They weren’t having any of it.

“I really thought it was Felix,” you mumbled sleepily. “I went out because I thought he needed help.”

“I was recording with Han and Hyunjin.” He gently patted your back. “I’m right here and we’re okay. That’s the most important thing.”

“I can’t believe security guards were stabbed.”

“They’ll be okay, they’re rough guys. One time, one of them threw me over his shoulder and took me down the stairs to prove a point.” Hyunjin playfully poked your calf. “He was short, so I insisted he couldn’t carry me. He proved me wrong.”

“Huh?”

“It was sometime last year.”

“Cheater,” Changbin grumbled.

“And you’re a cheater, cheater,” Felix added, shooting a glare at Changbin.

“I did no such thing.”

“I’m a victim,” Seungmin mumbled beneath his breath. “Stuck in a love triangle that I didn’t ask to be part of. I knew I shouldn’t have sat on the couch.”

“I think the most important thing is that the jackass is gone. They’re gone and we’re all safe. They’ll be locked away for a long time and we’re safe,” Hyunjin repeated.

“Nuh-uh,” Minho strolled into the room, “you’re all about to be a victim of me. I killed off Han, Chan, and Jeongin.”

Jeongin peeked around the living room corner. “Hyung, we’re literally just in the kitchen and eating ice cream. We’re not dead yet. You wouldn’t kill me anyway, I’m too cute to kill.”

Minho glared and then sighed. “Damn. You make a good point. You’re off the hook, but not the other two.”

“I’m literally like the love of your life,” Han cried out.

“Yeah,” Chan said, “plus, I’m your elder. You can’t kill me off, that’s ageist.”

Minho’s hands went up in the air in defeat.

“Hey look, they’re finally asleep.” Seungmin gently poked your cheek. With your face relaxed and your eyes shut, you breathed softly. “It’s about fucking time.”

“Poor thing is traumatized.”

“I don’t think they’re ever going to date again,” Felix frowned.

“Welp,” Minho shrugged, “I guess they’ll just have to date one of us.”

Han’s eyes widened. “Hyung! You can’t just say that!”

“I don’t see any of you trying to stop my ass grabbing.”

“Perverts in my catholic home,” Hyunjin shut his eyes. “I can’t believe this.” He leaned back against the couch.

“Hey, this isn’t even your house.” Jeongin appeared from the kitchen. “Leave Channie hyung and I’s dorm alone.”

“You heard the little man,” Minho added, “leave my ass grabbing alone, or you’re next Hwang.”

They didn’t know you weren’t asleep; you heard the entire thing, just grateful that the horror had finally passed and you all survived.

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reveriebae · 2 days ago

Text

Power Course [part 2]

pairing(s) : Jung Wooyoung x reader x Song Mingi

word count : 4898

summary : After days of silence, Wooyoung and Mingi show up uninvited at your house, unable to resist the temptation of your tight skirt, stockings, and glasses. The night spirals into a filthy, possessive, and addictively passionate threesome filled with jealousy, obsession, worship, and brutal pleasure—ending only after they completely ruin you on the bed with a series of intense, porn-level positions. Tender aftercare follows, showing just how truly theirs you're become.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Heavy smut / threesome, Hard dom!Mingi / Soft dom!Wooyoung, Obsession, possessiveness, and mild degradation, Stockings & glasses kink, breast worship, oral (f and m receiving), Fingering, deepthroating, throatfucking + choking, Double penetration, creampie, squirting, edging, overstimulation, Sex in multiple locations (couch, kitchen counter, bed) and multiple positions, Aftercare, praise, softness at the end. Let me know if I missed anything!

part 1

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

You were barely through the door.

Heels clicking across the floor, keys jingling in your hand, a sigh slipping from your lips after a long shift. Your skirt was riding up your thighs, the sheer black stockings hugging every curve, and your white shirt was clinging too tight from the humid night air.

You reached for the lamp.

And froze.

Two silhouettes were already inside.

One leaning on the kitchen counter. The other sitting lazily on your couch—legs spread, eyes locked on you like they’d been waiting.

You blinked.

“M-Mingi? Wooyoung? What the—how did you get in?”

Mingi smirked, head tilted. “You left a key under the fake rock. Real creative, kitten.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Wooyoung stood up slowly, his eyes raking down your body like he was peeling layers off with just a glance.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You were gonna keep this outfit to yourself?”

You looked down—then remembered.

The tight pencil skirt, just barely covering your ass. The thin blouse, a button undone too low. The stockings clinging to your thighs. The black glasses perched on your nose because you ran out of contacts this morning.

You crossed your arms, flustered. “What are you guys even doing here? I didn’t—”

“You didn’t invite us?” Mingi cut in, stepping closer. “And yet you look like this?”

“I just came home from work!”

Wooyoung tsked, walking behind you. You felt his fingers graze the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, brushing the sheer stocking.

“Mmh,” he whispered, “these are gonna drive me insane.”

“You like stockings that much?”

“I like them when you wear them.”

You turned to protest—but Mingi caught your jaw with two fingers, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his.

“And the glasses?” he murmured. “You really thought you’d walk in like that, looking like a naughty little office fucktoy, and we wouldn’t do anything?”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He chuckled.

“Oh kitten,” he purred. “We’re always watching.”

Your back hit the couch with a thud, legs still pressed together as if modesty could save you now.

Mingi stood in front of you, dragging two fingers down the center of your blouse with an infuriating calmness. His eyes were dark—wolf-like.

Wooyoung crouched between your legs, his breath already hot against your inner thigh.

“You gonna be good for us tonight?” Mingi asked, tilting your chin up, fingers grazing the arm of your glasses.

He didn’t take them off.

Didn’t even touch them.

He just smirked. “Leave these on. You look like you need to be ruined in them.”

You gasped when Wooyoung's hands slid up your skirt. He hummed, rubbing over the stocking-clad curve of your thighs with both palms, mouth hovering just above the skin where fabric met your hip.

"These drive me crazy," he whispered. “Fuck… I’ve been thinking about them since the moment we walked in.”

His fingers tugged gently at the top band. You thought he was teasing.

Then—ripppp.

You jolted.

"Woo—!"

He tore right through the stocking at your inner thigh with both hands, like he needed to see your skin, like the fabric offended him. His breath hitched as he exposed the smooth flesh beneath.

“You hear that sound, sweetheart?” he cooed.

He brought the torn edge up to his lips and bit it. “That’s how desperate I am for you.”

Mingi knelt down beside him, one hand gripping the back of your neck to keep you arched. “Don’t worry,” he growled, “we’ll buy you new ones—after we ruin these.”

The second leg was next. This time?

Ripped. Slow. On purpose.

The sound filled the room—filthy, violent, delicious.

“Your stockings are done, kitten,” Mingi murmured, “and you’re next.”

Your voice trembled. “You guys are insane.”

Wooyoung looked up, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Then what does that make you—huh?”

He licked a stripe up your thigh, now bare, wetting it just before Mingi pressed his fingers to your already dripping heat.

“You let two obsessed men break into your house, tear your stockings, and finger you on your living room couch,” Mingi chuckled, voice low and dark. “Don’t pretend you’re not soaked for it.”

You couldn’t keep still.

Your skirt was hiked up to your waist, your torn stockings hanging in shreds around your thighs, and Wooyoung’s fingers were pumping inside you at a relentless, wet rhythm—two knuckles deep, curling with every stroke like he was mapping the shape of your cunt by memory.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, eyes dark and blown wide. "You're sucking me in like you're starving."

Your back arched instinctively, hips grinding against his palm, helpless moans slipping past your bitten lip.

That’s when Mingi leaned over.

One palm flattened against your belly to hold you still while his mouth devoured your chest.

“Goddamn, kitten,” he breathed, voice raw against your skin. “You know what I love most about you?”

His tongue flicked over your nipple, slow and teasing before he took it into his mouth with a wet pop. He sucked, deep and possessive, while his other hand kneaded your other breast like it belonged to him.

“Look at these tits,” he muttered between kisses, “big, soft, real—”

He bit gently, then licked over the spot to soothe it. “I love my women like I love my diamonds,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours from below.

“Beauty in the core. No lab, no science.”

You whimpered, breath hitching as Wooyoung’s fingers sped up, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit while your slick coated his palm.

“She’s already clenching,” Wooyoung said with a grin, curling his fingers just right. “So fucking wet. You this desperate, baby?”

You nodded frantically, glasses slipping further down your nose. “F-Fuck, yes—please—don’t stop—”

Mingi growled, moving to your other breast, his tongue dragging circles before he sucked your nipple harder this time, pulling a cry from your throat.

“Kitten,” he said lowly, breath fanning your wet skin, “you taste better than I dreamed.”

“And you dream about this?” you gasped, legs shaking.

“Every fucking night.”

Wooyoung added a third finger, stretching you open as your hips lifted off the couch. “She’s gonna come just from this, hyung. Wanna bet?”

Mingi pulled back, eyes glinting. “Don’t let her. Not yet.”

Your moan turned into a plea as Wooyoung slowed the thrusts down to a cruel, shallow pace—still deep, still hitting the spot, but never fast enough to let you tip over.

“Not until we say so, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss your thigh again. “This body’s ours tonight.”

Your thighs were shaking.

Your hands clutched at the couch cushions, eyes wide behind fogged-up lenses, lips parted in a breathless moan. You looked wrecked already—skin flushed, chest gleaming with Mingi’s spit, legs twitching every time Wooyoung’s fingers hit that spot just right.

And then Mingi leaned in again, thumb brushing under your glasses to wipe the tear that slipped free.

“Tsk,” he smirked. “Fogged up already?”

He carefully slid the frames off your face, then pulled a silk handkerchief from his back pocket—like he planned this, like he waited for this. He wiped the lenses clean, slow and precise, like he was polishing something sacred.

Then he put them right back on your face.

“Much better,” he whispered, cupping your cheek. “Wanna see every second of how filthy you look when you break.”

Wooyoung chuckled, tongue trailing up your inner thigh again, lips brushing the curve of your folds. His fingers slid out with a soft, wet squelch, and he brought them to his mouth—sucking them clean one by one.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this taste.”

You whimpered, hips jerking up toward his mouth instinctively, already chasing the warmth of his tongue.

“Not yet,” he teased, blowing cool air against your wetness. “Patience, sweetheart. You look so pretty when you beg.”

Mingi kissed the side of your neck, one hand massaging your tit, his thumb stroking slow lazy circles over your peaked nipple. “Let her feel it now,” he murmured. “She’s soaking the fucking couch.”

Wooyoung didn’t hesitate.

He dove in—tongue flat, wide, filthy.

Licked one slow, deep stripe from base to clit, then sucked your clit into his mouth with a low groan that vibrated straight through you.

You screamed, hands flying to his hair, thighs clamping around his head.

But he didn’t stop.

He held your hips down with both hands, fingers digging into your plush thighs as he devoured you like a meal he’d been starving for. Moaning into your pussy, licking everywhere, tongue fucking you slow and deep then flicking cruelly fast over your clit.

Your body writhed.

“M-Mingi—fuck, I—he’s—please—”

Mingi sat beside you now, kissing the curve of your breast while one hand traced down your belly, watching every twitch and moan you made like he was addicted to the sight of you falling apart.

“You look so fucking pretty like this, kitten,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “But don’t you dare come yet.”

“I—can’t—” you cried.

Wooyoung pulled off just long enough to growl, “You will wait, sweetheart. Or we’ll start all over again.”

Then he was right back on you, tongue fucking into your clenching heat, moaning like he was the one losing his mind.

You were soaked. Trembling. Your legs threatened to collapse if he stopped holding you down. Your glasses fogged up again. Your lipstick smeared. And the room was filled with nothing but wet sounds, breathless moans, and possessive groans from the two men ruining you.

Your legs were barely working.

Your stockings were ripped to hell, panties bunched around one thigh, and your glasses were sliding down your nose. Mingi had to half-carry you, one big hand gripping your waist, the other cupping your tit under your stretched shirt.

“Almost there, kitten,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Be good for us.”

Wooyoung followed behind, smug as fuck, two fingers still glistening with you. “That pussy’s got a death grip. She came close, didn’t she?”

“She was about to fucking explode,” Mingi growled, “but she didn’t. That’s our good girl.”

You whined, stumbling when they turned the corner into the kitchen.

“Wait, wait, I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Wooyoung said darkly. “You’re gonna.”

And they bent you right over the kitchen counter.

The cold surface kissed your thighs. Your chest flattened against it. Mingi’s palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you there while Wooyoung knelt again behind you, spreading your legs wider with a gentle push of his palm.

“Still so wet,” he muttered. “Still fucking clenching.”

You gasped when Mingi tugged your shirt higher and gripped both your tits in his hands, thumbs rubbing the sensitive peaks. “God, look at you,” he groaned. “You know what I said earlier, kitten?”

You blinked up at him through foggy lenses. “W-What?”

“I love my women like I love my diamonds.” His hand came down, hard, smacking your ass. “Natural. Real. Fucking perfect. No lab, no science. Look at these tits, fuck—"

He pressed his cock, still clothed, against the curve of your ass. “Swear I could worship you for hours.”

Below, Wooyoung’s fingers hooked into the band of your panties and finally ripped them off. Just—tore them. The sound was delicious, and your body jolted.

Then he groaned. “God. Look at this hole.”

He leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe from your soaked folds to your ass. “Dripping for us, and we still haven’t let you come? That’s cruel, sweetheart.”

You sobbed, trembling, fists clenched on the counter.

“I need it—I can’t—please, please—”

But Mingi grabbed your jaw and turned your face to his. His voice dropped an octave.

“Not yet. Say it,” he growled. “Say: I’m a good girl who waits.”

You choked on a whimper. “I—I’m a good girl who waits—!”

“That’s right.”

Then Wooyoung spat on your pussy.

It dripped between your folds, mixing with your slick, and you screamed. Your legs almost gave out, and both of them growled like animals.

“She’s gonna break,” Mingi said.

“She’s ready,” Wooyoung replied.

And then—without warning—Wooyoung plunged two fingers back into your soaking cunt, curling exactly right, while Mingi pulled your bra down again and sucked one nipple into his mouth, moaning low and desperate against your skin.

“Fuck. I could live right here,” Mingi muttered, teeth grazing your nipple. “These tits were made for me.”

“I can feel her clenching,” Wooyoung groaned. “Her pussy’s fucking twitching. She’s gonna lose it—”

And just before you tipped over the edge—again—they pulled back. Again.

“NO—!” you sobbed, trying to grind back, chasing friction.

But they didn’t let you.

Your body was shaking, so close, but they held you still like wolves toying with their prey.

“Not until the bedroom,” Mingi whispered into your ear.

“Not until you beg us to ruin you properly,” Wooyoung added.

Your legs were jelly.

You could barely think, let alone walk, but that didn’t matter. Mingi leaned close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “Crawl, kitten.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “W-What?”

Wooyoung crouched in front of you, eyes dark, lips curled into a slow smirk. He ran his hand through your hair like you were his favorite pet.

“You wanna come, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, swallowing around a needy sound.

“Then be a good girl and get on all fours.”

That did it. Your pride crumbled. You dropped to your knees, fingers brushing the cold floor as you crawled forward—glass still askew, shirt riding up your waist, your ruined panties hanging from one ankle.

They followed you slowly, like hunters watching prey that’d already surrendered.

“Look at that ass,” Mingi muttered. “Still wearing that tight little skirt, fuck.”

“She’s leaking down her thighs,” Wooyoung added with a groan. “She’s gonna soak the sheets.”

When you reached the bedroom, they didn’t even give you a second to breathe. Mingi was the first to grab you, hoisting you up by your hips and tossing you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. You landed on your back, hair splayed out over the pillow, legs open.

Wooyoung’s hand slid up your thigh, brushing your stocking garter.

“These stay on,” he said. “Even if we tear the rest off.”

You could only nod—barely even human anymore, just trembling, aching want.

Then Mingi crawled up the bed and loomed over you. Still fully clothed, chest rising under that tight black shirt, he pressed his cock—still hard and straining beneath his pants—right between your thighs, rubbing it against your soaked center.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice low and dark. “Feel that?”

You nodded frantically, reaching for him—but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Uh-uh. Don’t grab unless we tell you.”

And then he leaned in, tongue sliding over your lips before he growled, “We’re gonna take turns, kitten. But you don’t get to come until we say so.”

Your entire body clenched.

And that’s when Wooyoung settled between your legs again, pushing Mingi’s hips back just enough so he could bury his tongue in your folds. No mercy this time.

He moaned loud against you, nose pressed right where you needed it, and your back arched off the bed.

Mingi leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth again. “God, you taste like addiction,” he murmured against your skin. “How the fuck are we supposed to stop?”

You moaned, twisting under them.

“I-I need—I need—”

“Not yet,” Wooyoung said between licks. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

And fuck—this was only the beginning.

You were shaking, wrists pinned above your head by Mingi’s big hand while Wooyoung licked you like he was trying to memorize every twitch of your pussy.

But then—suddenly—he pulled away with a loud slurp and stood up.

Mingi groaned, lips wet from your nipple. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because,” Wooyoung said, already undoing his belt, “we both want to fuck her, but only one of us is going first. So let’s settle this like men.”

“…What the fuck does that mean?”

Wooyoung glanced down at you, grinning. “Sweetheart, sit up.”

Still breathless, you blinked. “W-Why?”

“Because you’re gonna judge this competition.”

You didn’t even have time to ask—suddenly Mingi was pulling you up by the waist and Wooyoung was already shirtless, pants unzipped and—

Oh my god.

He was hard, flushed, cock resting against his abs and throbbing.

“Look at that vein,” he smirked, gripping the base. “It’s angry. She wants me.”

Mingi scoffed behind you. “Please.”

He shoved Wooyoung aside, dragging his own pants down just enough to reveal his cock—thicker, darker, twitching like it had a heartbeat.

“You see this? That’s a highway. Her pussy wants to ride this.”

You gasped, eyes wide—head spinning at the view of both of them, fully hard, both veiny and leaking, both arguing over who gets to ruin you first.

“Kitten,” Mingi said, voice gravel-low, “look closely. Which one of us is pulsing more?”

“Sweetheart,” Wooyoung cut in, “you want the one that curves just right. I’ll hit your spot every time.”

They moved closer, cocks in hand, standing at either side of the bed now, both thick and heavy, practically vibrating with need. The heat coming off their bodies made your thighs clench.

“I—I don’t know—” you whimpered, overwhelmed.

Wooyoung grabbed your chin. “Use your hand, baby. Pick. Winner gets to bury it in that pussy first.”

Mingi smirked. “And loser gets to fuck your throat while he watches.”

You sat there, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you reached forward with a trembling hand. Both cocks stood tall in front of you—hard, twitching, leaking, veins like roadmaps of pure filth.

Mingi’s was thicker, heavier, almost intimidating—the kind of cock that made your legs shake just thinking about it.

Wooyoung’s was a perfect curve, the vein bulging on the underside like it was begging to be sucked, flushed tip glistening with precum.

You touched them both—one in each hand.

Wooyoung hissed. “Fuck—your hands are shaking, sweetheart.”

Mingi grunted. “Pick already, kitten. You’re dripping all over the sheets.”

And you did.

Your fingers wrapped around Mingi’s, giving it one slow stroke as you looked up through your lashes. “This one… I want this one inside me first.”

Mingi growled like a wild animal.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice dark with hunger. “Ass up, kitten.”

Before you could blink, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, pushing your face into the pillows while dragging your hips back. Your soaked pussy clenched around nothing, begging—needy—aching.

“Still wearing your little skirt?” he said, breath hot against your ass. “Good. I wanna fuck you through it first.”

And he did.

He shoved the fabric up, no time to undress you, only to split you open on his cock, inch by inch. You gasped, crying into the mattress, already stretched beyond sense, already drooling into the pillow.

“F-Fuck, it’s too—”

“Take it, kitten. You chose this cock, remember?”

Behind you, Wooyoung groaned as he watched his hyung sink deep into your pussy. His pants were open, cock glistening with need.

“She’s so fucking loud,” he said, walking around to the front. “Let’s put that mouth to work.”

He grabbed your hair, pulling your face up off the bed. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

You obeyed—eyes wide, lips wet—and he slid his cock into your mouth, moaning loud when you wrapped your tongue around him.

And just like that—you were double stuffed.

Mingi was fucking into you from behind, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, his balls slapping your clit with every deep thrust.

Wooyoung was gripping your jaw, slowly rolling his hips as he face-fucked you, wiping tears and spit all over your cheeks.

“Look at this little whore,” Mingi growled. “So cockdrunk she doesn’t even know who to please first.”

“Fuck, she’s shaking,” Wooyoung gasped. “You gonna come already, baby? Just from getting used like this?”

You were.

So close—walls fluttering, throat clenching, drool leaking past your lips as your body bounced between them.

And they weren’t stopping.

“Breathe through your nose, sweetheart.”

Wooyoung’s voice was gentle—almost loving—as he held your throat in one hand and his cock in the other, slowly forcing it deeper into your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back.

Your throat flexed, gag reflex trembling as he stuffed your mouth full of him, soft “shhh” sounds dripping off his tongue while you struggled to stay still, drooling and twitching between both of them.

Behind you, Mingi was fucking brutal.

He didn’t care that your pussy was quivering, stretched open and leaking around his cock. Didn’t care that your skirt was still bunched around your waist, half-torn, or that your glasses were hanging off one ear.

He just gripped your hips, spreading your ass wider with both hands and plowed into you over and over, hips smacking against the fat of your cheeks, loud and wet and relentless.

“You’re fucking squelching, kitten,” he growled, voice ragged. “That tight little hole can’t take it, huh? She’s too fucking full.”

You tried to cry out—but Wooyoung just tightened his grip around your throat.

“Shh, shh, don’t panic, sweetheart.” His cock shoved deep into your throat until your vision went fuzzy. “Breathe through your nose. You can take it for me, can’t you?”

Your lashes fluttered—tears streaming down your cheeks as your whole body convulsed between them.

The air was thick, your own scent clinging to everything, and the sound—filthy.

Mingi groaned behind you. “Fuck, fuck—she’s close.”

Your pussy clenched, back arching from the overwhelming pressure inside you, like you were going to explode—

And then it hit.

You screamed around Wooyoung’s cock as your orgasm snapped like a whip—squirting hard around Mingi’s cock, thighs shaking violently while he kept slamming into you. Your cum sprayed across his hips and down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck yes,” Mingi hissed, “Look at this mess. I’m not stopping—gonna ruin this pussy until it can’t close again.”

Your legs almost gave out—but he caught you by the waist and kept going, pounding into your overstimulated cunt while Wooyoung pulled your head back.

“Swallow it, baby,” he whispered, fucking your mouth a little faster now. “Use that pretty throat like it’s mine.”

Your whole body burned—your mind gone, completely wrecked, spit leaking, ass red and sore from the endless slaps of Mingi’s hips.

You were crying, squirming, moaning—but they still weren’t done.

Not even close.

The room is still thick with the scent of sex.

Your thighs are trembling, your slick still sticky down to your knees, and the band of your ruined stockings clings to your legs like a badge of filth. Your shirt is wrinkled, your tight skirt bunched around your waist, and your glasses—somehow still on—are fogged, askew, cracked at the edge. You look wrecked, and they both look at you like you’re art.

“We’re gonna fuck you like it’s your debut scene, kitten.”

He kneels, grabbing your thighs and folding you in half.

Your knees are shoved against your chest. Your ass is lifted. Your glistening hole is on display. You whimper when you feel his cock slap between your folds—heavy, hot, veined.

“Look at you,” Wooyoung murmurs by your ear, kneeling beside your head. His hand caresses your cheek, gentle contrast to the way Mingi spreads your pussy lips with two thumbs.

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart. Wrecked and ready.”

You scream the second Mingi sinks in. One long, slow thrust—filling you to the brim, stretching you out until your walls clamp down hard.

“Goddamn,” Mingi groans. “Look at her stomach.”

Your lower belly rises, bulging from the sheer pressure. He palms it and presses lightly—your eyes roll back.

“She’s gripping me like a fuckin vice.”

“You’re shaking already, baby,” Wooyoung coos, tracing your nipple with the pad of his finger.

“You gonna cum from just this? From being stuffed like a toy?”

You moan, back arching, and Mingi starts moving. Slow thrusts at first, but each one hits deeper, harder. Your tits bounce, and Wooyoung leans down to suck one into his mouth, tongue circling as his fingers tease your clit in perfect rhythm.

“Kitten,” Mingi pants, “take it. Take all of it. This pussy’s mine.”

“She’s dripping,” Wooyoung mumbles around your nipple, “fucking addicted.”

The orgasm creeps up and crashes down hard—your whole body twitching, your thighs shaking, slick gushing around Mingi’s cock.

They flip you before you can even breathe.

Your cheek’s pressed to the mattress, one leg lifted and hooked over Mingi’s shoulder. You’re bare, splayed open, glistening. Mingi groans at the view.

“Tight again already?”

He slaps your ass hard—skin stinging. He grunts, massaging the mark he left.

He plunges back in, deep and brutal.

Mingi’s pace never slows—his balls slap your clit, his hand fisting your hair to arch your back more.

“She’s gonna squirt,” he grunts. “She’s clenching so fucking tight.”

And you do. It hits all at once—wet, violent, uncontrollable.

Your body trembles violently as you squirt down his thighs. He pulls out just to watch your tongue loll out, coated in spit, your eyes barely focused.

You’re whimpering—fucked dumb—but they don’t care.

They flip you again, spreading your legs into a perfect side split, one knee to your chest, the other pinned down.

You’re a limp, pliant mess on the mattress, mascara smeared, glasses barely hanging on.

Mingi lines up with your pussy. Wooyoung presses behind you—cockhead brushing against your ass.

“Ready for both?” Wooyoung whispers.

You can’t even speak. You just nod, eyes glazed.

“Good girl.”

They push in—together.

You scream, body clamping tight, both holes stuffed, filled to the hilt. It burns. It stretches. But it’s so fucking good.

“So tight,” Mingi hisses. “She’s losing it.”

“Say you want us both,” Wooyoung murmurs, pressing his chest to your back. “Say it while you cum.”

Your voice breaks as you sob out, “I want you, I want both, please—don’t stop—!”

They fuck you in perfect sync.

Your back arches. Your cunt spasms. Your ass twitches from every slap of their hips. Mingi kisses your ankle. Wooyoung bites your shoulder.

“You’re ours now, kitten.”

“Our precious sweetheart. Our dumb little fucktoy.”

You break again, louder than before—clenching around both cocks as your vision whites out. You sob their names, jerking through your orgasm, until your voice gives out.

They keep going. Slower. Deeper. Then fill you—together.

Your holes overflow, sticky cum dripping onto the sheets.

And you?

You lie there, twitching, legs still spread, pussy quivering, ass red and leaking.

Your body is twitching, bones jelly, soaked in cum and sweat and spit.

You can barely think. Every nerve is still buzzing, too sensitive to even move.

So they move for you.

“You good, kitten?”

Mingi’s voice is husky, low, but suddenly so fucking gentle. He brushes your sticky hair off your cheek, and you nod against the pillow, breathless.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, then leans down to press the softest kiss to your lips. “So fucking perfect.”

Behind you, Wooyoung is already wiping the mess from your thighs with a warm towel, careful and slow like he’s handling fine glass.

“Sweetheart,” he coos softly, “breathe with me, yeah?”

You do—shaky inhale, trembling exhale—while he gently cleans the mess dripping from both holes. “There you go, pretty baby. Just like that.”

Mingi helps you sit up, cradling you in his arms like he owns your exhaustion.

“Let us take care of you now,” he whispers, running big warm hands down your back. “You gave us everything. Let us give it back.”

They don’t stop touching you.

Wooyoung places soft kisses down your neck, rubbing lotion into your sore thighs.

Mingi massages your scalp with one hand and kisses your temple, whispering praise like a broken mantra:

“So good. So tight. So brave for us.”

“You took us both, kitten. You’re fucking incredible.”

“My perfect girl. No one else could do that.”

They carry you to the bathroom next—you don’t even have to walk. Mingi lifts you bridal style, Wooyoung trails behind with a fresh towel and a soft oversized shirt.

“Gonna run you a warm bath,” Wooyoung hums. “We’ll wash your hair and rub your legs, and then feed you, yeah?”

You don’t even respond—you’re too dazed. But you smile, eyes fluttering, heart so full.

Mingi kisses your cheek.

Wooyoung kisses your thigh.

And in that bathroom, full of steam and scent and warmth, they treat you like the most precious, delicate thing on earth—even if they just split you open on the bed like a damn porn star.

“You’re ours now,” Wooyoung says softly.

“We worship the ground you walk on,” Mingi adds, grinning.

“And the bed you fuck on,” they say together.

191 notes · View notes

dragonsondragons · 3 days ago

Text

Part 1 - That Look In Your Eye | You Should Probably Leave series

You make big, bad, Jack Abbot nervous in a way he really isn’t used to. He fumbles his first attempt to invite you to the party, so Dr. Ellis gives him a crash course in how to get the girl.

Word Count: 3.9k

Content: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, Jack on his #healingjourney, awkward abbot, unspecified age gap, named reader because I dont like using y/n (named her Nel, short for Eleanor. And yes Nel will be friends with Mel)

Read the Prologue! / Masterlist / Taglist

Author's Note: Sorry this took me sooo long to get together! I have the next few parts mapped out well and and mostly written tbh but was struggling so hard with how to introduce their interaction and dynamic in this part. Also, I would highly highly recommend reading the prologue before this part. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

In the Pitt, Jack was seen as a very confident man. He knows exactly what he’s capable of and precisely how to execute it most efficiently. It's one thing unshaken in all his years practicing medicine. No matter how low he’s felt– in war zones, in the pitt– he always stays steady under fire. Words and procedures are tools. He uses them to achieve a goal: keep the patient alive. Be calm, cool, concise.

It's something he learned in combat, that medics aren't just healers and fighters. They are a source of confidence for the whole platoon. They set the tone. A force multiplier. He was supposed to keep a level head and know what to do, no hesitating. If he stayed cool everyone else would follow suit.

He had to to seem confident on the outside, but never let himself feel it too much on the inside. If you feel too confident, you start to forget that there is just one critical moment, one mistake, standing between your patient and death.

Jack couldn't help but feel that way now, like he was one mistake from ruining his chances with you. Deep breath. No ones going to die, he repeats in his head. It's one of the constant reminders he’s had to give himself when anxiety spikes. Another deep breath.

He was supposed to be a confident guy. Asking out the girl you liked shouldn’t be so hard.

But there was a disconnect for him, between what was shown to the world– a self assured master of his craft– and what he felt on the inside. Analyzing every little mistake so that he can be better for next time. Never letting himself feel too secure, always striving for better. Battling between his desires and that loud voice inside, telling him to isolate.

Because of that voice his social confidence was a lot more shakey than his work persona. For the most part he can fake it till he makes it or keep enough distance from people that it doesn't matter. But then there was you, slowly drawing him out of his shell. Bit by bit so that he barely saw it coming until it hit him like a truck. He should have seen it a long time ago. But he likes you and there's no denying it now. He's decided he's gonna try and do something about it, and that requires some guts and smooth talking he’s not sure if he's capable of.

He pulls into his parking space in the hospital garage, yearning for you hard. He worked himself up all the way here and now that it's at the forefront of his brain he can’t resist the urge to be near you.

You’ve got the guts, he tells himself, willing it to be true. Just invite her to the party. Just be yourself? Is that who he wanted to show her? This fucked up guy who can barely work up the courage to ask her one simple phrase. There it goes again; his mind working against him.

He walked in through the ambulance bay, backpack slung over one shoulder. Immediately, he saw you. You were sitting at the hub checking the patient census that had just come into your inbox from the day shift and radiating something bright. Maybe it was just him who saw you as the sun.

Now or never. He walked towards the large central desk and slung his backpack under an inner counter. He leaned down on his elbows behind the computer you worked at, thrumming his fingers against the counter top. “Hey, You.”

His familiar greeting made your stomach flip and you couldn't help but smile. It had been a few days since your shifts had aligned. “Good evening, Dr Abbot,” you hum to him, eyes tearing away from your screen to look up into his hazel eyes.

Suddenly his pep talk to himself in the car flew out the window. With you sitting right before him, everything inside his mind was gone. You sure didn't mind gazing into Jack’s eyes, in fact you enjoyed it, but the silence was dragging on so you broke it.

“Missed you at lunch yesterday. I had to eat with Shen and he would not shut up about a big high pressure weather system moving in or something.” There was a pressure system building in Jack's chest. He wanted to respond but was caught up inside his mind. Missed you at lunch, echoed in his mind. She missed me? More pressure flared.

“Everything okay, Jack?” you asked, head tilting as you looked at him so caringly.

“Huh?”

“Seems like you’re somewhere else right now. And that look in your eyes, there’s something you’re not telling me.” She could always read him like a book.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Got a lot on my mind right now.” He was going to continue to deflect, as usual. But she was already onto him. This was his chance. Might as well just come out with it. “Actually I uh was wondering of yo–” Your pager screamed out through the ED and you looked down at it on your waistband. He deflated.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, dayshift always has them on the highest volume.” You read the message coming in and started gathering stuff from the desk around you. “I have to get going to see this patient before discharge. What was it you were wondering though?”

“Uh… I, um. I was just gonna ask if you, um. Brought your lunch today?” Fuck. He lost all his steam when that pager went off.

“You know I always do.” You were standing up from the swivel chair now. “Same time as usual? Just page me if you're not gonna be able to make it?” He gives you one of his awkward thumbs up with both hands and says “See you up there,” as you turn to go see the patient. You smile back over your shoulder at him.

He leaned down and put his head between his hands on the counter top while chastising himself for his failed attempt at asking you out.

He hadn’t registered Dr. Ellis off to the other side of the hub during this whole interaction, having been so focused on whatever it is between him and you that draws him in. A laugh burst out that snapped him out of his pity party. “What the hell was that, Abbot?” said Ellis, thoroughly amused at seeing a guy like Dr. Abbot who is so typically composure and competence fumble. “You can do a REBOA in your sleep but can’t flirt with a woman?”

He lifted his head slightly and glared. “Who said I was flirting?”

“Well, you certainly weren’t successfully flirting. But it would take a fool not to see that you like her.” He laid his head back down and groaned at that. Despite his current embarrassment, Jack liked working with Dr. Ellis more than most other people. He appreciated her no nonsense approach and deft skills. And the fact that she's not afraid of him. She will tell it to him like it is. He knew that interaction was bad, but if Ellis was confirming… then it was really terrible.

“I don't know, I just… panicked.” How can he stay so calm when someone’s bleeding to death but couldn't do this one thing when faced with you.

“Did you bring your lunch?!” she echoed him. “That was really what you came up with? What were you really trying to ask her?” He hesitated. But Ellis seemed to already know so much about this whole situation. Guess he wasn’t as close to the chest with his crush as he thought. Maybe he should let her give him some advice.

“I’m having a party at my place soon, and I was trying to ask her to come,” he admitted.

Ellis raised one eyebrow. “You're having a party?” She never thought she would hear that come out of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I'm having a party for everyone from work, you’re invited. That's not the point. Point is I had my chance and I chickened out.”

“Yeah, you did. You have absolutely no game, old timer.”

“I have game, just… not in that particular instance. I'm out of practice,” he tries to defend himself.

“Clearly. But I can help you with that.”

“She totally can,” Dr. Santos interjected. Santos had been trying out a rotation on the night shift and had just finished up with a patient in curtain 3 nearby. Always the eavesdropper, she tuned in to the conversation between Abbot and Ellis as she had approached the hub. “Dr. Ellis has got mad game, trust me.” Ellis rolls her eyes at the overzealous intern. “Wait–we’re talking about you getting nervous around Nel right?”

“Wha-No. I don't get nervous around Nel.” Both women scoff at him. Jack’s eyes widen and turns to Ellis for a sidebar. “How do you both know about this? I don't want to make this a thing. If she's not into me I don't want her to be uncomfortable at work.” He can't be careless about this, needs to do it right.

“Abbot, be so serious,” she deadpans. “She’s totally into you.”

“You don't know that,” Jack huffs. How do they know if you're into him? He barely let himself know he was into you until therapy earlier today. Santos and Ellis share a look. Santos butts in again, “Dude, it's so obvious. Her eyes literally twinkle when you're in the same room.”

“Don't dude me right now, Santos,” Jack snaps. Do they? Twinkle for him? He hopes so. But he doesn't want to get his hopes up. God, this whole thing is putting him so on edge.

Ellis sees how uncomfortable Jack’s getting and jumps in. “The grownups are talking here, Dr. Santos. Guy over in North 12 needs his bowel dismipacted, go.” As she reluctantly leaves to go handle the literal shit that's been assigned to her, Ellis tunes back into the conversation with Jack.

“She's right though, it's obvious you're both smitten. You’ve just gotta shoot your shot, man.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself at the thought. “What are you planning to say?”

He hesitates. Drums his thumbs against the counter top again. “How about I'm having a party. You can come, if you want.”

“God, this is why I date women. You're useless.”

“You said you would help!”

“Look–that's way too passive. Sounds like you don't care if she comes or not. Women like when you're sincere and confident. Usually that's your forte, but I guess not when you’re nervous about your crush. Try to tune in to that Abbot, ya know, direct and to the point.”

If I say what I actually mean, Jack thinks, it will be ‘I think you're smart and caring and beautiful, and I like spending time with you at work. And more than anything, I’d like to see you outside of this hell hole…preferably…all the time.’ He’s staring off into the abyss now.

“Oh my god, you're so in your head. Just be normal, be yourself! Say Hey, I'm having a party. I would really like it if you came.”

“Got it, yeah. Be normal.”

She huffs at his nervousness. “If you don't grow a spine and ask her out, I will,” Ellis jests, giving him a little incentive.

“C'mon, give me a chance here.”

“She's hot, kind. Seems like a really great person. So you better snatch her up before someone else does.”

—

It was just before 1am when your stomach started to grumble, queuing you that it was almost your normal “lunch” time. You finished up your case note you were working on, grabbed your food from the breakroom fridge, and headed up to the roof.

Lunch with Jack was always a highlight of your shift. No matter how shitty a patient had treated you or how many problems you had encountered that day, sitting with him for just a few minutes always made it feel like you were free of the hospital. Returning to your shift after those moments with him, the fluorescent lights turned softer and long hospital hallways less suffocating.

It happened by accident really, the two of you becoming lunch buddies. You brought your lunch box up to the roof to get some air while you took a break. He was already up there, leaning up against the railing staring out at the city beyond the hospital. He wasn't expecting a visitor, didn’t encounter many others up there, but suddenly there was you. An angel of the night.

When you pushed open the door of the stairwell to see him staring out at the skyline, you remember thinking that this man looked like a beacon high up above the rest of the city, standing steady and sending out a signal. Looking out over the whole city and asking who’s there? Free in the dark of night to admit that he was seeking connection.

From the very first moment, you read him eerily well. And you approached. Because you were seeking the same thing.

You struck up a conversation with him and offered him half of your sandwich. Kept doing so until he started bringing his own food too, usually whatever had the quickest doordash delivery time. He made you laugh with his dry and dark humor. Shared silence with you when you were both too tired to speak, or listened to you ramble about the book you were reading or some movie you had watched. Sometimes he had questions. ____

“Have you ever heard of the Four Agreements?” he asked one night. You picked through some of the Chinese food he had ordered from the 24 hour place down the street, while he took a bite out of the apple you had packed. You chuckle a little at his question.

“Why are you laughing at me?” he asks.

“Sorry– it's just. As someone who works in a mental health bubble, the Four Agreements is like… the bible of self help. And it's a little cliche.”

“You’re calling Linda cliche?”

“Who’s Linda?"

“My therapist. She recommended it."

“Look at you, doing therapy.”

He gave you a little shrug. “Thanks. So I shouldn’t read it? If it's cliche."

“No, no, It could still be useful. Give it a try.” ____

He also surprised you with these bursts of intense vulnerability, sparsed out between his usually more gruff or sarcastic responses.

Whenever he was about to reveal something to you, you could almost see it coming. He would always position himself next to you, leaning over on the railing and facing out over Pittsburg like he was that first night you found him up here. He wouldn’t look in your eyes like he usually did. Would just stand next to you there and focus on some point, far out on the horizon. He’d be quiet for a while, and you would just wait, just being there with him.

____

“That guy we both saw today, the boarder in North 7?”

“Yeah?” you encouraged him to continue.

“I know him. Well not him, really, but his brother. We served together. He lost his brother the same day I lost my leg.” He pulled up the hem of his scrub pants a bit to reveal a glimpse of his prosthetic.

“Oh…Jack. I’m so sorry. That must bring up a lot of old memories.”

“It was a long time ago. Can’t change it now.” He wants to pull away from the exposure he felt at saying this to you. But you draw out something in him. Sharing with you is easier sometimes, and he doesn't know why. It's because he’s falling in love with you and hasn't let himself admit it yet.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t still hurt.” You’re always trying to encourage him to feel.

“Yeah... still hurts like hell. Hurts more because I hadn’t thought about Eddie in months, maybe years. I forgot about him.”

You turn your head to face him, frowning. He maintains his gaze on some faraway spot. “You can’t blame yourself for that. If you remembered them all every second of every day you would drive yourself crazy.”

He took a shaky breath in and just nodded. That was as much opening up he could take for the moment. “I gotta go back down there, check on the patients,” he says, letting the voice telling him to run win, for now.

You pause for a beat, trying to replicate his own incessant gaze that would always get you break and look up at him. The trick doesn’t work on its own master. He continues to put that distance between you and stares out at the city beyond the roof, then down at his feet.

“Okay. But just be careful with yourself, Jack. And if you ever want to talk more, I’m here.” You jutted your hip out to bump his, trying to coax him out of his unease, show him that it was okay to open up to you. He stood fully up from the railing, giving you a double thumbs up. That was becoming his signature move with you when he didn't quite know what to say. He kept doing it because it always made you smile. ____

Sometimes his appearances on the roof were just as scattered as his ability to show vulnerability. After times where he opened up you might not see him for days. He would go brood and throw himself into the work to get his mind off the memories, or off of you, when the way you were making him feel scared him a little too much. He would chastise himself for letting his feelings slip out like that. Would convince himself that you didn't want to hear anything about it, no matter how supportive and kind you were whenever he did share.

Deep down he longed for connection, even though he actively pushed everyone away.

Once you found him on that roof, finally someone was pushing back. You would come and find him if he didn't show up on the roof, or send him a message as you were heading up, pestering him to come join you if you could.

And the way you responded to him showing how he felt, admitting what ate at him inside, it started to show him that it was okay to reveal himself. It didn’t make it any less uncomfortable, but still he kept coming back to have lunch with you.

Tonight would be just like any of those other nights, he told himself as he hiked up the stairs to the roof entry. Just be normal.

You were already up there waiting for him when he came through the stairwell door. The light midsummer night breeze blew your hair around your face and he sensed something heavy on your mind. Brooding on the roof was usually his forte.

As he approaches you barely register his presence. He places a hand on your shoulder, which makes you jump and turn to him. “You good?” he asks gently.

“Yeah–fine.” You shake your head and give him a little smile but he sees it's not the kind that you usually flash, the kind that's earnest. He doesn’t push.

“Well, if you weren’t good I would offer some crab rangoons as a pick me up.” He lifts his takeout bag up. “But if you’re fine then you don’t need em.”

“Gimme that,” you snatch the bag from him and dig out the rangoons.

“That’s what I thought.” the corner of his mouth twitches into an almost-there smirk.

You two dig into the combo of takeout and packed food spread out before you. All of his nervousness from earlier in the day had dissipated. Up here, in the dark, just the two of you, he was calm. As calm as Jack Abbot could be these days. He lets himself think about being with you like this in the daytime. Somewhere else, like having a picnic in a park where you would admire the spring flowers and he would admire you with the same reverence.

He had to ask his question, because failing would mean missing that chance.

“You’re looking at me like that again.” you said.

“Like what?” he keeps his gaze locked on yours like if he blinked you would disappear.

“I don’t know. I just recognize that look in your eye.” It's the look I get when I admire you, he thinks.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking if you go first.” You let out a huff of a breath. “Fine. I just… I guess I’m tired– getting really tired of all the roadblocks in my work. People always need more than I’m able to give them. Shelters are always full or the patient doesn’t meet some eligibility requirement and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“You’re doing everything you can with what you have, that’s more than most people. You rock it in there everyday,” Jack responds.

“I know that, in theory. It’s just been harder and harder to believe it lately.”

“Well, I’ll keep reminding you.”

“Okay, your turn.”

He scratched the back of his neck, then forced himself to look at you head on. “Uh, I’m going to have everyone from work over at my place for a barbeque. But I wanted to, uh, make sure that you would be there, with me. And…maybe it will help you decompress from work and everything.” It was as un-awkward as he could possibly make it.

You found his subtle bashfulness cute. It was endearing to bring the steady Jack Abbot to jumbling his words. “I would love to come.” The biggest smile you've ever seen on him spreads across Jack’s face.

“When’s the next Saturday you’re off?” he asks.

“Two weeks from now.”

“Then that's our party then.”

You giggle. “Our party, huh?”

“Well you’re the guest of honor, I decided.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.”

The banter slows, both of you feeling the tension of crossing a new line that you can't go back over. It's quiet for another beat, then Jack speaks again, quietly.

“Ellis is gonna be proud of me for this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me I had no game, earlier at the beginning of shift. I meant to ask you then but got too nervous. So she gave me some pointers.”

That made you blush. You had liked Jack Abbot for a while, but did not want to risk your friendship on making the first move. You didn’t want him to think that your support of him was conditional on him reciprocating feelings. You could see him deeply struggling and cared about him, just wanting to be there for him. So even though you had butterflies tingling in your stomach more and more after each encounter, you tried to keep the relationship as professional as possible. After this– him asking you to come to his party like that, admitting it made him nervous to do so. It finally showed you that you could want more with Jack. That he wanted it too.

It emboldened you, and you reached out to lace your fingers with his. “I like you the way you are Jack. It's okay to be nervous, but please just keep being you.”

He squeezed your hand and nodded his head. “I think I can do that sweetheart.”

#jack abbot fic #jack abbot x reader #jack abott #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot #the pitt fic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt hbo #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #dr abbot #doctor abbot #you should probably leave #the pitt #shawn hatosy

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alotofpockets · 2 days ago

Text

Different loss, same grief | Beth Mead x Reader & Renee Slegers x Platonic!Reader

5k celebration prompt: "I don’t need you to fix me, I just need you to hold me."

Warnings: talks of parental loss, and absent parent

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.4k

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You thought you had been good at hiding your emotions, only showing them when no one was around. It had worked at home, you didn’t think Beth had any idea of what was going on in your mind. But now you’re on the pitch, running your drills, and you can feel Renee’s eyes on you.

Not the regular way a coach would watch you, no she was watching you as a friend. A friend who knows your tells way too well for your liking. Renee used to be your roommate back when you both played for Linköping, so you knew each other quite well before she joined the coaching staff at Arsenal. She sends you a questioning look, but you quickly shook your head, silently asking her not to get into it right now.

After that short interaction with Renee, you focus back on your training. You hope no one caught on, because you were really not in the mood to share your feelings with the rest of the girls. You loved them dearly, but you just were not wanting to talk about it.

For the next drill, you were playing a little 1v1 drill. By pure chance, you were paired with your girlfriend, but you had a feeling that Renee had a say in the pairs. Everyone lined up, one of the duo on each side of the balls that were lined up in the middle. The game was simple, a version of the head, shoulders, knees, and toes game. The twist was that the ball would be amongst the body parts named, first to get the ball will win a point. Beth was properly excited and egging you on about being faster each time she got the ball first.

Once training on the pitch was done, everyone had their own individual plans. You didn’t have anything specific on your schedule, so you decided to go for a jog around the pitch. Usually running helped clear your mind, but today it only seemed to focus more on the parts you were trying to set aside.

That’s how you found yourself at Renee’s office. After training she always had her door open to any player who wanted to come talk to her, and you had taken her up on that quite a few times since she became head coach.

She’s focussed on her laptop, so you knock on the door softly. “Do you have a moment?” You ask when she looks up at you. She closed her laptop right away, “Of course, my door is always open.” She smiles as you step inside and close the door behind you. “Manager or friend?” Renee asks as you sit down on the sofa in the corner. “Friend, please.”

Renee walks over and sits on the other end of the sofa. “Alright, what’s on your mind?” You stay quiet for a moment and then take a deep breath.

“You remember the whole story of my dad walking out on us?” Renee nods, her face turning more serious. She remembered how much you used to struggle with it when it had still been recent, but she hadn’t heard you mention him recently.

“Last week I saw this video on TikTok about a girl saying ‘I don’t wanna be like my dad, but with anything football related, I become my dad’. I don’t know why it got to me so much, like my job has been playing football for a long time, yet somehow my brain went back to little me doing everything surrounding football with my dad.” Tears were welling in your eyes now, so you wiped them away quickly before continuing.

“And of course this is all around Father’s Day, where everywhere you go there is something about dad’s being great, amazing, or the best, and mine wasn’t. Mine isn’t. He left and started a new family without us, and I am stuck here with another Father’s Day approaching, without a father I am in contact with.”

Renee, who was quietly listening, put her hand on your shoulder to offer you some comfort. “I’m sorry that’s been going on in your mind. Have you talked to Beth about it?”

With a shake of your head, the tears finally start spilling. No more holding them in now. “I want to talk to her, I need her. But I can’t. I can’t tell her.”

Renee gives your shoulder a quick squeeze before she brings you in for a hug. For a moment you just cry in her arms, but when your sobs fade away, Renee asks you why.

“Because she lost her mom, like really lost her mom. I can’t be upset about losing a parent, because I chose to go no contact, to someone who had no choice in losing her parent.” You sit back up and lean against the back of the sofa.

“While you have experienced different kinds of losses, it doesn’t mean it’s not allowed to ache the same way. She might be one of the few people that truly understands the pain you’re feeling.” Renee said, and you let her words sink in. “Maybe you’re right.”

You sat with Renee for a while longer, just sitting on the sofa while she continued her work. Her words were wise, and convinced you that maybe talking to Beth about your feelings could actually be beneficial to you. Beth left training earlier than you because she had a session before practice, and you just wanted to go over how you wanted to tell her everything.

When you finally deemed yourself ready, Renee hugged you once more before telling you to go talk to your girlfriend, and get the comfort you need for her. You thank her again for being there for you, and make your way out of the building.

Once you opened the door to your home, you could smell a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Beth had started on dinner, and was quietly singing along to the music that was playing in your home.

You walked to the kitchen and took in the sight around the corner. Beth chopping up some vegetables, the sleeves of her hoodie bunched up at her elbows, and her hair up in a ponytail.

She smiled when she noticed you. “Hey babe.” She turned to you and her smile instantly fell. “Are you okay, darling?” Apparently you couldn’t hide it as well as you thought you could for the short time before you were going to tell her.

“I’m okay.” You said and walked closer to her. Beth quickly wipes her hands on the kitchen towel. “Are you sure?” You nod. “Did someone piss you off? Is your knee hurting again? Do I need to tell someone off?” Beth’s smile grows as she is trying to use humour to get you to open up.

“Come on, love, what can I fix?” She is standing right in front of you as she asks you, one of her hands reaching out to your arm. That’s when you break again, tears streaming down your face. "I don’t need you to fix me, I just need you to hold me." Beth takes less than half a second to pull you in for a hug. She holds you tight while she rubs her hand up and down your back.

“Dinner can wait, let’s sit down.” She walks you over to the sofa and pulls you down with her. You tell her what you told Renee as well, between sobs, hoping that Beth is able to puzzle it all together as one clear story.

Once you’re done saying it all, Beth is quiet for a moment to take it all in. Hearing that you weren’t sure if you could come to her, left her heart aching. “Oh baby, you know I will always be here to listen to you and to hold you. Our situations are different, but that doesn’t take away that your situation hurts you. You can always come to me, and I will always be there for you, no matter what.”

Her arms around you feel grounding. She presses a long kiss to the top of your head, you know that she meant every word of what she said. “You never have to carry anything alone, I promise.” You hug her a little tighter, a non-verbal way of thanking her.

-----

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strawberry-nugget · 22 hours ago

Text

You ask Katsuki to give you a massage and end up with him blowing your back out♡♡

Warnings: smut, 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, happy ending massage, p in v sex, fingering, (some light) anal fingering, oiled up sex yall #holyfuckingairball, slight!dirty talking, slow sex, biting, spitting, prone-bone position, unprotected sex, All characters are 20+

Katsuki’s hands are huge. Heavy. Warm like stones left out in the sun. His fingers are thick, bulky and chubby where his knuckles are, the pads of his thumbs are calloused and rough, freed from the texture of a print due to regular filing, and still, my god— do they feel good rubbing zig zag lines and uneven shaped circles against your sore back.

His hands settle over every curve of your back like they were made to be there. Broad palms that are quirk charged bracketing your waist, spreading heat through his thumbs over muscle and skin until you’re not sure where your body ends and his begins. The weight of them is grounding, like gravity doubled. Like exhaling for the first time in hours.

You have been sore for way too long. Debating on whether you should book an appointment for a massage or get doctor prescribed physios, but ultimately in your lack of time and indecisiveness, you’ve let the issue come to its boiling point, let your back feel sore and aching to even the touch of your nails when you scratch yourself.

You tell yourself it surely wasn’t an excuse to make Katsuki get his hands on you like this, but then again if you were asked, you couldn’t say the opposite. The feeling of his hands on your skin is scorching every cell of your existence at all times and now— now you’re enjoying this way too much.

Naturally, your breath starts to stutter. Just a little. Shallow at first—barely-there catches of air that stalls in your chest each time his thumbs roll in deep near your spine, right where it always hurts worst. Katsuki notices. Of course he does. His hands pause for half a beat, then glide lower, smoothing the ache with a gentler pass like he’s coaxing the tension out instead of breaking it.

“Too much?” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and heat and something else he doesn’t name. Something that lives between the cracks of his touch.

You shake your head into the pillow.

No. Not even close.

If anything, you feel as if you might as well melt.

The room is candlelit, filled with that slow bloom of lavender and something warmer—jasmine? Chamomile? It smells almost toasted from where his palms heat up the oil, seeping into the air like steam curling off summer pavement after rain. Soft music is playing in the background, drumming low with every single lyric the singer sings; Katsuki has gone out of his usual way to make you feel comfortable.

You’re already half-melted into the mattress by now, face buried in a pillow that still smells like his skin, the edge of your tank top pushed up to your ribs. You feel him behind you, quiet, deliberate, the bed dipping beneath his weight as his hands find the bottle of oil again.

When his hands leave your back, you’re back to feeling like hell, like all the alleviated pain just punched its way back into your rear.

To save you from this agony, Katsuki’s hands—those massive, brutish hands that have torn through half the villains in Japan, the hands that have been worked in excruciating and harsh conditions over the years—are moving over your back again like they’re made of sunlight and patience.

He presses again, harder this time. Not cruel, not rough. Just deliberate. One thumb working in a crooked elliptical circle beneath your shoulder blade while the heel of his other palm drags slow, wide strokes across your lower back. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern. Just instinct. Just him. And maybe that’s why it feels so good. Because it’s not technique, not some learned routine from a textbook. It’s just him and the way he cares about you. Cares enough to soften his rough edges, to make his hardened palms feel incredible and soothing on your back.

Katsuki settles on either side of your legs, sitting on his knees above you as his oily thumbs hook under your bunched up shirt, coaxing you to lift only ever just a little, so he can take the article of clothing off of you.

With only a small tag, the flimsy piece of clothing is over your head, discarded onto the edge of the bed and Katsuki moves over your legs again, this time sitting low, just over the back of your knees. Rough palms that drip of fresh lavender oil feel your tummy as you stay lifted up, running up, up, up, until they slide across your breasts, thumbs softly brushing your nipples.

You moan with a rasp, at the loss of the feeling, or maybe at how hot his palms are when they engulf your shoulders and give a pinching little rub.

You feel Katsuki press in with a slow, unyielding pressure that makes your breath hitch against the pillow. He knows exactly where to go—where you hold stress, where it bites. Right between your shoulder blades, far up on the back of your neck, low at the base of your spine, the outer edges of your hips. His thumbs circle there, digging in just enough to ache, then easing off like a tide pulling back from shore.

He tags at your pyjama shorts next, just the waistline at first, then the start of your panties, but his thumbs stain the fabric in lavender sweetness, tagging even further when he says “Off”

You lift your hips without a word. It’s not even a decision—it’s instinct. A quiet offering. A permission that’s already been granted a hundred times in your body before it ever reaches your lips.

The shorts slide down slow. The elastic tugs over the swell of your ass, catching just slightly at the curve of your thighs before easing off, guided by thumbs that are far too gentle for how rough they look. His hands are reverent, even now. Even with your bare skin revealed under the low flicker of candlelight, with the smell of lavender thick in the air, wrapping around you both like a silken ribbon.

There’s a pause. Not long. Just enough to make you breathe in, hold it. You feel the weight of his gaze on your back. Feel it like a touch. Like heat.

Then his hands are on you again, and it’s almost worse than before. Better. Unbearably better.

His thumbs drag low, slow, slick with oil as they part the dip of your spine. They don’t press too hard. Just smooth you open—figuratively, literally—with strokes that make your toes curl into the sheets. His fingers knead into the meat of your hips now, heavy and full, pressing into places that ache with tiredness, places that never get touched this way unless it’s under the guise of something much filthier.

“You wait too long,” he mutters. Voice rough, low, almost annoyed—but not really. Not at you. “Could feel the knots from the second I touched you.”

You hum, something low in your throat. Almost a laugh. Almost a whimper. “Didn’t have time.”

“Make time,” he snaps, but it’s soft. Almost affectionate. His hands say more than the words ever could. They dig in again, dragging slow zigzags along the base of your spine, making your back arch and your thighs twitch. He smooths them over your ass, dragging the oil agonisingly slow over you, until his thumbs brush over the lower crevices of your bottom.

“Just ask, I’ll rub your back”

You can’t tell if it’s the oil or your own sweat making your skin slick now. Can’t tell where the ache ends and the heat begins. Can’t tell where you end and his skilled fingers begin.

All you know is that Katsuki’s hands are still on you—huge and hot and unrelenting—and that you never want them to stop.

You’re starting to forget the ache.

Not because it’s gone, but because it’s changed, morphed into something else under his hands. It’s still there, but not sharp. Not angry. Just… full. Blooming warm in your chest and pooling low in your belly like syrup, like honey slowly melting down a spoon.

You breathe again. Really breathe. And it comes out shaky, lips parted against the pillow, lashes fluttering in the candlelight.

“Fuck,” you whisper. Not directed at him. Not even really a word. Just a sound of surrender.

Katsuki shifts behind you, and you feel it—his weight bearing down gently on the back of your thighs, his thighs bracketing yours now, his body closer than it was before. Still clothed. Still in control. But not distant.

Never distant.

You feel his breath brush across the back of your neck a second before his lips do.

A soft press. Nothing more. Just warmth. Just acknowledgement.

“I know you’re tired,” he murmurs, voice low, sticky with quiet tenderness and worn-down. “But you can’t let yourself get like this.”

You nod—barely—but he sees it. He always sees you. Even when you try not to be seen.

“I’m here,” he says. “You got a boyfriend to fix your back anytime”

It’s simple. Not romantic, not flowery. Just your usual Katsuki.

His palms flatten against your waist again, spreading out like wings, dragging slow and deliberate as they glide up your sides. They pass over the swells of your breasts without urgency this time, just pressure and heat and familiarity, before curling over your shoulders. His thumbs dip under your arms, into the softest parts of you, and rub gentle, grounding circles.

You lean into it. Into him.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur, voice hushed against the pillow. His hands still. Not gone. Just still.

You call out his name, almost sheepishly, sleep dragging a voice that’s ready to complain, in contrast to your previous statement. You pout even, “Don’t stop babe i'm sore”

Katsuki exhales through his nose, and it sounds like a laugh, except it’s lower. Thicker. Like he’s trying not to let on how fond he is of you when you get like this tired and whiny and melting beneath his hands like you were made to be touched and felt up by him.

“Yeah?” he mutters, and you hear the smirk even before you feel it. “Thought I didn’t gotta fix everything.”

You nuzzle your cheek deeper into the pillow, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

He hums. His thumbs move again, slow, small circles into the soft spot just below your shoulder blades. You sigh, finally loud and satisfied again—and he shakes his head like he’s trying to be annoyed, even as his hands keep coaxing little, blissed-out sounds from your throat.

“Back’s all locked up like you’re made of concrete. What the hell’ve you been carryin’ around?”

You shrug lazily, the motion barely registering. “Life?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Too much of it.”

He shifts again, the bed dipping as his weight adjusts. One arm slides beneath your stomach, anchoring you gently, while the other keeps working slow and steady down your spine. Every stroke is fixated to every dip of your back like he’s trying to draw something out of you. Not just the tension. The tired. The worry.

You make another soft, contented noise, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck again—no heat, no rush, just a quiet, grateful touch.

One moment you’re relaxed, open, muscles soft, the dull ache of being rubbed with such pressure weighing you down to complete relaxation and the next—Katsuki’s lips find the edge of your shoulder blade. Smooching once, twice over spots that are oiled up.

He can’t help himself.

The lavender scent. The way your ass is curved upwards, so perky. The oil makes your skin shine in the low light of the candles. The angelic way the music starts sounding as the notes hit your skin like the softest raindrops on flower leaves; He feels himself lean into the fondly softness of the moment, growing hotter by each second. His cock has already started giving him warning throbs inside his briefs.

It’s almost quite dangerous, what you do to him. The sight of you sprawling limp and sleepy and soft under just the touch of his hands. So in a bold movement he smooths his wonders once again over your ass, thumbs parting your legs from the inside of your thighs, just a little. When he pulls back to his original position, vermillion eyes flicker where your slit is, glistening softly, not throbbing quite yet.

The slow drag of his hands, smoothing lower, is parted only by a moment from the pause just above the dip of your ass, where his thumbs rest—hover—like he’s thinking something over. Like he’s holding himself back, the way he always does when he thinks this might be too much, too soon, too selfish of him.

But to assure him, it isn’t, you push your hips back, just a tiny bit. So eager for him as always, even in this vulnerable state.

“Katsuki,” you breathe through a moan slurred, not like a question, not a plea. Just his name. Like you’re granting him permission by calling it out.

It’s all he needs.

His hands firm at your waist again, grip tightening just slightly, a groan catching low in his chest as his body bows over yours. You feel the warm press of his mouth at the nape of your neck, open and slow and wet. Feel his breath, the way it shakes. The way it matches yours.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he mutters against your skin. “Lyin’ here like this. Soundin’ like that.”

You’d laugh, a soft breathy chuckle, but it comes out like a whimper when his thumbs knead into the meat of your thighs and spread you gently apart. Lavender clings to everything. Your skin, your breath, the air—but now it’s mixed with eerie desire, like it wouldn’t turn out exactly like this when you asked him to rub your back.

His hands don’t rush, like they usually do when his chest is so tight with desire, arousal. They drag over your hips, your waist, until his fingers slide down the sides of your belly and find the edge of your hips again. This time, when he tugs your love handles, doughing them into the pads of his palms, there’s no hesitation. Just soft skin and warm oil peeling away from your skin, pooling on the sheets behind you.

You’re bare. Completely. The candlelight flickers, catching the sheen of sweat and oil across your back, your thighs. Katsuki pours more oil on his palms. You feel it trickle down your spine, between your legs. You feel him there too, kneeling behind you, hovering over you like heat itself.

And when his hands return, when his fingers slide between your thighs and find you already wet, already open—his breath punches out in one low, reverent curse, like he doesn’t remember seeing the way you were glistening when he looked over a second ago.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands slowly opening your ass cheeks “Look at you.”

You press your face harder into the pillow, hips tilting, thighs spreading wider in a silent invitation you’ve never needed to say aloud with him.

He slides one thick finger through your slick and groans, low and guttural like it hurts. Like he’s the one unraveling.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says, voice rough, dazed, groaning out his words “fuckin’ dripping…”

The first push of his fingers is slow, deliberate—just one at first, thick and sure. Dragging the edge of the knuckle softly against your clit. Your back arches. Your mouth falls open. His other hand braces at your hip, grounding you, owning you.

Then another finger joins the first.

And god, his fingers are just as big as his hands, and you swear they’re made for this. Not gentle, but not rough either. Just pressure. Heat. Depth. The kind of stretch that makes your legs tremble, your body pulse with something deeper than need.

You sob into the pillow, and he shushes you softly—lips at your shoulder, tongue dragging the edge of your skin, teeth sinking in.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes in your ear. “Let me make you feel good.”

You shiver when the pads of his thumbs push on the outter lips of your pussy, spreading you wider for him with that same careful control he uses in a fight—like he knows exactly how much force to use, how far to take it before it ruins you. And maybe you want to be ruined a little.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Katsuki murmurs, voice nearly gone, wrecked from how hard he’s breathing. His thumbs hold you open while his fingers curl slow, deep—dragging against that spot, under the hood of your clit that makes your thighs jolt, makes your chest squeeze tight. He watches you clench around him, watches the oil and slick mix and drip down to the crease of your thighs. Watches everything with that starved kind of look on his face, biting his lips and scrunching his nose, eyes blown wide like he’s being allowed to witness something sacred.

And he can’t help himself, once again, not to drag his left thumb over your entrance, circling softly, to gather some slick before his finger taps at your other puckered hole, rubbing once, twice, before slowly sinking in.

At the same time, almost, his right pointer finger enters your pussy, the thumb never leaving your clit, always circling it lazily, elliptical.

You both hiss, you at the feeling of both of your holes being entered, him at the feeling of how tightly you clamp around just his fingers.

His cock is furious inside his pants now. Angry at the top and leaking over the spot the tip has settled at.

“Fuuuuck,” he whispers again, this time quieter. Like it’s just for himself. Like he can’t believe how good you feel, how warm and wet and tight you are, clenching down on both fingers like your body’s trying to drag him in deeper.

And he feels like he might as well go insane.

Because it’s not just the way your body reacts to him, not just the way you sob and tremble and push back against his hand like you can’t get enough, though all of that drives him crazy. It’s that you let him see it. Let him touch you here, like this, in this kind of quiet, candlelit intimacy where everything is soft and raw and slow.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

It’s too much and at the same time, not enough.

His left hand, still slick and strong, adjusts where it holds you open. That finger still lazily and slowly pumping —almost still of movement— in the hole of your ass, teasing in slow, subtle pushes that make your whole spine tense, makes your toes curl into the sheets. And all the while, his right hand works in tandem; pointer finger deep inside your pussy, thumb lazy and steady on your clit like he’s marking time. Like he knows just how fast to take you, just how slow to pull you apart.

You whimper, shamefully loud.

It’s the kind of sound you’d usually try to bite back, bury into your wrist or his bicep, but Katsuki doesn’t let you this time. He growls at it, low, like a threat, pushes in just a bit deeper, rubbing the pad of his thumb in slow, wet circles against your clit until your hips twitch again.

“There you go,” he mutters. ��That’s it. Let me hear it, baby.”

You do. Because you can’t not.

As you carefully wiggle your hips just a little more upwards, you yelp, feeling just a little pain from the thick finger in your ass and it takes all of Katsuki’s humility to gather a ball of spit in his mouth and let it go off, past his raspberry blown lips and onto the slit of your ass.

His finger exits so, so, so slowly, still you groan at the slight discomfort due to it, making his chest swell, and he catches some of his spit with his finger and enters you again.

Every nerve in your body is lit, every edge of you aching and raw. Katsuki doesn’t let up and with his chest bearing all this excitement and humility that makes his ears red and tingly from seeing you so spread open like this, he doesn’t stop. Just holds you open like you’re something precious and obscene all at once, his fingers working slow and deep until you’re shaking under him, toes curling, face buried in the pillow to keep from sobbing his name.

Suddenly, the bed creaks under his knees as he leans down, dwelling chest brushing your back, breath hot on your neck. His fingers never stop working—sliding deeper, curling, then scissoring your pussy open just slightly as if to test how ready you are for what comes next. He simply rasps at how wet you are, but it’s swallowed under the silky sounds of your squelching.

You feel open, loose, hot to the touch and unable to move, like your lower half has been lost in a cloud of overbearing pleasure.

Then, like you're kicked to the gut and jolted out of your pleasure cloud nine— you feel it. The weight of it.

Katsuki’s cock, hard and heavy, presses against the swell of your ass, sizzling hot even through the thin cotton of his boxers, begging to be set free.

You feel yourself leak, a beady drop of sticky sleek that trails down the lips of your pussy and onto his thumb. He presses down on your clit like it’s a button, squeezing just enough before flicking it, left then right, up then down and all over again until you’re screaming into the pillow.

Your pussy feels like it’s on fire and for once, the finger in your ass is starting to feel way more pleasing than it’s ever felt in the few times you two have tried this.

You feel the steady pulse of his throbbing mushroom tip beneath your skin, a weight that drags and shifts with every careful motion of his hips, like he’s tracing the shape of you without needing to see. Every inch memorized in the heat of this moment.

Slowly and so deliberately, his hands exit out of you with a pop and a treacherous whine from the depths of your chest that drips on your lips and slip to the waistband of his briefs, fingers rough only to himself as they peel the fabric down his thighs, releasing the tight hold. The cool air hits the bare skin of his cock, already glistening with heat and promise, and your breath catches at the sound of his dick hitting his abdomen.

Katsuki shifts closer, lips trailing a feather-light kiss along your shoulder, warm and urgent, grounding and electric all at once. His fingers slip free from where they held you open just moments ago, replaced by the thick, slick head of him pressing between your folds, nestling there like he’s already part of you.

His cockhead on your clit feels like heaven. Everything nice. Big and bulky and heavier than his thumb, it glides over a few, agonisingly slow times, before his voice breaks into speech.

He finds your clit again, traps it between flesh and fingertip, giving a small, delicious pinch that makes you shiver and arch against him.

“Y’gonna let me in, baby?” he whispers, lips dragging over your shoulder as his fingers slip free, replaced by the thick head of him nestling between your folds again.

You’re going crazy. Aching at the loss of his tip on your entrance. Drool catches at the side of your mouth and spills over the pillow, walls clamping down around thin air. You need him inside you right now or else you’ll combust. You’ve been spread out and toyed with for oh so long.

“Y-yes, please baby, put it in”

His breath fans across your skin, hot and ragged, as he shifts the last bit of distance between you. The head of him presses deeper, teasing the wet, swollen gate of your slit, just at the edge of full surrender. Your body tightens, trembling with the delicious agony of waiting.

Then, painfully slow, he pushes inside you, past the tight rim of your entrance—inch by inch, and so deliberate, a tender invasion that makes your chest rise and fall in ragged gasps. The heat of him floods you, filling every ache and hollow with only his tip that's pouring clear precum like a river. A vein on his cock throbs, catches close to your g-spot and you moan at the feeling, your clit throbbing like its on fire, by the action.

Katsuki’s hot hands slide down your hips, gripping firm enough to anchor you but gentle enough to let you melt beneath him. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses that trail lower—each one a quiet confession, a promise stitched into flesh. He bucks into you again, broken breath and a rhythm to match it, hips far from even stuttering against you.

All Katsuki can think right now as he looks down at his hands on your plush skin is that he loves you. All blown out and barely spread open as he pushes your ass close, chanting his name as he feels you trap his veiny cock inside your walls. He couldn’t keep his hands off you for a second and it’s like a blessing that you asked him to massage you. A curse too, because he knew he wouldn’t hold back from turning it into sex even if he tried.

With every -barely- measured thrust, you feel his chest swell against your back, pounding with something more than desire—a love so raw and fierce it almost hurts. His cock drags deep inside you, the slow rhythm setting fire to every nerve, every whisper of skin-on-skin.

He buries his face into your shoulder, breath hitching, biting onto your earlobe and sucking before he speaks, voice thick and vulnerable at once. “Love you babe.”

Your body trembles, caught between the sweet sting of pleasure and the weight of his words. You press back into him, aching to close the distance, to be lost in the overwhelming pull of this moment—where every touch, every breath, every heartbeat says you.

“Love you too” you whisper, finally.

You gasp when he grinds deeper, and he groans like he’s hurting, like it physically aches how much he wants to make this last.

And then he starts kissing you. Everywhere.

“I gotchu babe, let go” he whimpers “You’re killin’ me,” he breathes. “Feels so good—I just wanna stay here, baby, please—lemme just…”

His hips stutter and you feel him shake into your sore neck, just a little—and his lips press harder, tighter, to your shoulder as he groans your name into your skin like a vow. Like he’s praying and you're his only god.

Your hand reaches back blindly, desperate to touch him, to grab at something real, with your face still squished into the pillow and he catches the movement, brings one of his hands to match yours and threads your fingers together without a second of hesitation. His hand tangles with yours above the pillow. Fingers sticky with lavender oil and need, pressing into yours like he needs the anchor. The other stays at your hip, guiding you back into him with the same rhythm he holds in battle—steady, devastating.

You can feel the way his heart beats against your back when he leans in close. Can hear the way his breath hitches when you let out a soft moan into the pillow, hips pushing back into his, seeking more.

His grip is tight, grounding. A promise made in the trembling space between sweating and hot skin.

You feel every inch of him, not just inside you, in the squelching in and out and the sound of skin slapping, but around you, covering you, his chest flush and hot on your back, the way his arm tighten around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

With every thrust, he leans in, chest brushing your back, lips dragging kisses along the curve of your shoulder, your neck, the back of your ear. His breath is warm and ragged, but his mouth is gentle. If saying ‘I love you’ wasn’t enough, his cock spells it out inside you, like he can’t stop saying the phrase without saying it out loud.

“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck, voice breaking against your skin. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Katsuki’s hips roll again, and you gasp more from the emotion than the sensation. You’re so full, he’s so deep in it almost hurts. But he’s so tender with it. You feel him kiss your shoulder again, then the spot just underneath your ear. You shiver under the weight of it, under the heat of his breath.

“Can’t get close enough to you,” he mutters, almost like he’s mad at himself for trying. “You’re all I fuckin’ think about.”

You reach for him with your other hand as well, fingers searching behind you until your hand finds his forearm. Taut, huge as always and trembling from the control he’s holding. You clutch him there, and he groans at the contact, your nails dig in and he’s thrusting just a little deeper, a little slower.

Each time his hips meet yours, your breath stutters, your throat tight with the aching swell of something bigger than arousal. It’s overwhelming—the way he fills you, how soft he’s being, how quiet and gentle he is when usually he’s all noise and heat and thunder. But now? There’s no room for temper now. And if he’s always just slightly embarrassed and aroused by that feeling in the bedroom, this time, it’s becoming something worse. His belly tightens, stomach tight and numb and falling like he’s been punched.

That bubbling feeling is travelling straight to his cock, making him impossibly hard, letting the start of an orgasm shimmer, his balls tightening so much he can feel it.

You can feel it where his hard abs brush your back, where his nose presses into your shoulder blade, where his hips move with more emotion than rhythm. His voice is cracking, his fingers are squeezing yours for dear life.

But the way he is fucking into you, is not rough, nor fast. It’s worship. Slow and delicious.

Every inch of his body sings with it, matching the soft song in the background. Every part of him is working to memorize a body he already knows like the back of his hand—not just how you feel around him, but the sound of your voice when you gasp, the way your hand tightens in his when the pleasure crests too high, the way your breath stutters when he kisses the back of your neck like he’s saying sorry for every time he ever doubted he’d deserve this.

He doesn’t even know what’s gotten into him right now.

It’s probably that he only feels safe when you touch him, when he touches you. It’s probably that the feeling of your skin on his is unlike any touch that he despises in this world. The hand you're digging your nails in is scarred, littered with skin tissue that’s newer, tissue that isn't going to match his old skin no matter how many years pass. And even though he hates looking at it, his cock throbs inside you at the sight of your bodies connecting there.

And it’s in every groan that leaves his lips, every kiss he drags across your spine, every tremble in his arms as he pulls you impossibly closer, like he needs your bodies fuse when he fucks you fron the back like a sin. Slowly, never picking up pace, likes he’s fucking you through it instead of towards it.

Your stomach feels likes it’s dropping, adorned in adoration, his love laced rhythm, that slow-motion hammering way he’s fucking you with is messing with your mind and body in delicious ways.

You’re almost at your breaking point.

Your breath catches again, again as the tension rises unbearably, a string pulled tighter and tighter through every snug and wet thrust, every kiss he plants tenderly, along your back

Katsuki’s forehead falls to your shoulder. He’s barely trembling by an inch but you feel it. Not from strain, not from fatigue, but from the way this is undoing him. And fucking hell if this isnt the hottest sex youve had in a while.

There’s no fight for dominance, no cockiness, just tenderness. Him not being close to you enough, you not being close to him enough either.

He desperately wants you two to merge into one.

You can hear it in his voice when he speaks next. Not a growl, not a command. Just a whisper. Frayed, cracked, raw.

“Can’t—can’t believe I get to touch you like this.”

The words split you open somewhere deeper than sore muscle. Because it’s not just the way he’s moving inside you, it’s the way his heart feels like it’s pulsing against your spine, the way he’s holding you like you’re both breakable.

You're scared for a second, that he's going to get irregular heart palpitations again, but the thought is pushed away when his lips brush your ear. “Your pussy 's so tight. Fuck...I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that.”

But he doesn’t make a move to pull away despite his words. Doesn’t even speed up. If anything, he presses in closer. Slower. Like he’s trying to memorize this exact second—the shape of your back under his chest, the soft pull of your fingers on his scarred forearm, the hitch in your breath that comes every time his hips roll forward.

You can feel the tremble in his thighs now. The catch in his rhythm. You’re so close, just on the edge, and he knows it. You know he is too. But he’s holding it back like he’s trying to stretch this moment out forever, like climaxing would mean letting go and he doesn’t want to let go.

But oh—you can feel it coming, like thunder on the horizon.

It coils in your belly, winds tighter with every breathless thrust. Slow, grounding, devastating in its tenderness. Katsuki’s mouth is at your shoulder again, dragging crazed open-mouthed kisses along your skin, the base of your hair, drunk on the scent of lavender and your skin like it’s an aphrodisiac.

You think you hear him whisper your name. Just your name. Not even his usual ‘babe’ like it’s the only word he remembers how to say, but it’s so cracked and under his breath you can’t pinpoint it over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

His cock pulses deep inside you, catching the perfect angle of your g-spot and it’s so hard now it aches, dragging against every place that makes you cry out, stretch, tremble. He’s still slow. Still careful. Always clinging to you like the act of letting go might mean waking up from this.

His arms wrap tighter around you. His scarred hand finds your chest from underneath you , just above your heart, and stays there, pressing down like he needs to feel every beat. His other is tangled over yours, fingers still locked tight, sweaty and trembling and unrelenting.

“Katsuki—” you choke, and he moans like your voice alone just finished him. A total fatality.

“I know, baby,” he breathes. “I know—‘m right here, come f—ah— for me. Let me fucking feel you. Say it babe, say you wanna come and I’ll —fuck, I’ll get you there”

“Wanna come on your cock Katsuki, feels s’good”

“Let go babe, ‘m here, I got ya” he whispers against your ear.

“Please… please, mhmm”

You shudder under him, your legs trembling as you reach that edge and go right over, your whole body clenching, fluttering around him, pulling him deeper as everything breaks open inside you. Your cry is caught in the pillow, but he feels it. Feels you squeeze, feels your hips arch, your back press flush against him, feels your ass fill out the space on his v-line.

And then he loses it. Sweat drips from his forehead and it takes all of his restraint to not let anything in his body ignite his quirk right now. You feel so good, so wet, so hot around him.

He sinks as deep as he can go and stays there, buried, kissing your cervix with his leaky tip, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, one long broken sound leaving his chest as his body jolts once, twice, into yours.

You feel him come inside you. Hot. Filling out every tight spot his cock doesn’t kiss in you. And still, he doesn’t stop holding you.

His breath is a mess against your skin. Lips still find you in the aftermath—your shoulder, the side of your neck, the shell of your ear. Your cheek. His arms won’t stop shaking. Neither will yours.

But he doesn’t move. He goes still. Stiff like his whole body is cramping.

Minutes pass like this. Breathing each other in. Skin to skin. Not a single space left between you as he pushes you with his hand from underneath you, into his chest.

You shift your head, enough to reach for him with your mouth, just barely brushing your lips to his knuckles where your fingers are still laced together.

“Babe—Kats,” you breathe, lunges closing in, a hint of guilt closing in as you know he has no other way to make you feel he means it when he says he loves you “I love you so much but I’ll pass out”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me—” he shifts a little, just to pull out, dragging his hand just enough to flip you over as he lays on the bed “all good now. Love you”

Katsuki catches your cheeks and presses a tiny kiss to the apples of both your squished cheeks. He flattens you against his chest with that same arm—the one that pulled you through it all. His hand is spread wide over your back like he’s trying to cover every inch of you.

Your cheek rests against his collarbone, lips parted, lashes damp. You feel the flutter of his pulse against your mouth, a part of you, the one that’s worried about his heart, tries to count how many times his heart beats in sixty seconds.

“I can’t feel my thighs,” you murmur, the words slurred, not really a complaint, when you decide his heart is pumping just fine.

“Shut up,” he says, but it’s all rasp, no bite. His lips press to your sticky forehead like punctuation.

You hum a soft laugh against his chest, then pout as you hold and squeeze onto his peck, kissing the outer rim of his scar over and over again. “No, really. I think I forgot how to walk, you’re gonna have to massage me all oooover again”

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 days ago

Text

Love Blues (Part 2) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairings: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore (Sinners)

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Explicit Sex, Supernatural Elements, Romance, Some Violence, Angst, Smoke's POV, Pre-Sinners movie.

Series Summary: Smoke Moore has returned from WWI with his twin brother Stack and meets Annie for the first time. Smitten immediately by the young Creole beauty, Smoke longs to make Annie his own. But he has to get past his brother and another rival suitor first.

Word Count: 3.8K

Masterlist HERE.

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"Hey sweet mama

Baby don't you go too far

Hey sweet mama

Baby don't you go too far

I wanna know where you is every minute

Who you're with and where you are"

Keb Mo – "Love Blues"

Smoke and Stack sat across from their childhood friend Bo Chow in the back of the Chinese grocery store that served the negro community in Clarksdale.

Sitting among stacked boxes of canned goods and crates of fresh produce, Bo looked over the bank loan application that Smoke filled out for the opportunity to borrow enough money to open a business he and his twin dreamed of since they were little boys.

A juke joint.

Music and dancing steeped heavily in their blood directly from their father, Cash Moore. Their momma told them both tall tales of what their father could do with a banjo, but it was his guitar playing that set Clarksdale on fire.

That's when the rumors started.

Cash left the tenement field life to become a full-time musician a couple of years after the twins were born. He went on the road for weeks and came back with fistfuls of money and a strange new way of playing a Dobro Cyclops guitar with a sparkling silver resonator. He'd been a right-handed player all his life until he paraded back into Clarksdale playing left-handed.

There were whispers he bargained with the devil at the crossroads.

His new music sounded sinful. Lewd. Exciting. Capable of leading masses of good Christians astray if he ever recorded a song one day. When Smoke asked his mother about it, Taiwo only said that folks were afraid of the songs Cash sang because they changed people in ways that weren't natural.

One time, Cash played at a juke in a nearby town and a woman pulled a straight razor out of her purse and sliced her husband's throat in front of the entire joint. When asked why she did it, the woman told authorities the music revealed to her that her husband was cheating, and he planned to run off with another woman and their children from a second family he created.

At another gig Cash performed in, a docile husband listened and wept into his liquor at the bar. He whisked out a gun by the third song and shot dead two of his running buddies in cold blood. He told the crowd that the guitar whispered to him a plot by his friends to swindle him out of his share of profits distilling gin.

Taiwo hinted that his father's music could do more, but Smoke refused to believe in magical guitars and devils hanging out at crossroads around midnight. The only devils he knew for sure were white men and white women. So unless they were plucking his daddy's guitar strings, all the hearsay was just superstitious nonsense.

Taiwo seemed hurt by that response. Most times, any talk of their father upset her because of what Smoke had done to him a year before he left for war to escape the law.

"Whatchu think?" Smoke asked.

Bo nodded his head.

"I think you filled out everything properly. How much money do you have already for collateral?" Bo asked.

"Four hundred. Plus, we got our daddy's old car we can use, too," Stack said.

"That's good, Stack. Real good. Your exceptional conduct records in the military should help secure a decent amount to get y'all started."

Smoke asked him to look over their application because Bo's family successfully received loans to open their two grocery stores that had become an economic hub for the Chinese in Clarksdale. He'd known the Chows since he was seven, and they'd been the only Chinese people to interact with Black people. In Smoke's view, an invisible divider separated white, Black, and Asian people, and the delta's Chinese community received more leeway to flourish than the Black community. Some even started to act like white folks, turning their noses up at fraternizing with the colored customers who kept their pockets full of plantation field money.

"When you headed over to take it?" Bo asked.

"Today," Smoke said.

"Let me know how it turns out. They usually make a decision in two business days."

They all shook hands, and the twins headed out of the store through the front.

"Y'all going to Cornbread's jump up tonight?" Bo asked.

"You taking Grace?" Stack said.

Bo's face turned slightly pink in the cheeks. He brushed back a lock of glossy black hair from his forehead and grinned so hard that all of his teeth showed.

"Boy, you in love," Stack said.

"I'ma ask her to marry me."

"When?" Smoke said.

"Tonight."

"You ask her parents for permission first?" Smoke said.

"Not yet. But I want to know that she wants to marry me before I embarrass myself…in case she says no to a formal courtship later."

"That girl ain't sayin' no to you," Smoke said.

"I hope not. George Yun and his family have been taking meals together with Grace's family. I think they're planning to marry her off to him. He teaches at the new private Chinese school over near Maybelle."

Bo's forehead creased, and the smile turned limp on his lips. Stack placed a hand on Bo's shoulder.

"Well, if it don't work out with Grace, you can always go back to your fine ass ex, Trenna Wells, and have some negro Chinese babies. What would we call that mix? Negronese?"

"Man, shut up," Smoke said.

Bo laughed.

"I don't think Trenna's folks or my parents would approve of that. That whole situation blew up in my face."

"Y'all were just young, that's all," Stack said. "Had you been older, maybe things coulda been different."

"I don't think so, Stack."

"No need thinking 'bout the past. You got Grace now," Smoke said.

"See y'all tonight, then?" Bo said.

"We'll be there. Won't we, Smoke?"

Stack threw an arm around his twin, and Smoke nodded.

"C'mon, let's get this application over to the bank," Smoke said.

They wandered down the block to check on the old Model T-Ford their father left behind. It was one of the first expensive things Cash bought while traveling the road as a musician.

Before the severe personality change in him, he used to carry his sons and wife around like they were fancy people. Smoke missed that side of his father. The loving, playful side that kissed all over their mother and spoiled the twins. Maybe the devil did get to him after all.

Smoke and Stack eyed their surroundings. White people weren't fond of colored people lingering around town if they weren't there for business. Too many vagrancy laws were on the books to give those white racists an excuse to arrest them for loitering. New structures and businesses were being built as they strolled toward the Bank of Clarksdale. Passing King's Tamales, they smelled the strong savory odor of hot catfish, chitlins and the popular chicken tamales soaked in beef broth.

"Remind me to pick up some tamales for momma and Mrs. Henry," Smoke said.

Stack nodded, his attention diverted by some young white women walking out of a dress shop, giggling and staring at him.

"Just cuz you fucked a few Frenchies overseas don't mean that shit flies over here, baby brother," Smoke hissed under his breath.

Stack adjusted his focus on the bank looming in front of them.

They both stopped to check out their clothes, making sure their ties were straight and their suits still looked crisp from Taiwo's iron.

"We look good, nigga. Let's go get this money," Stack enthused.

"This shit gotta go through. That uppity Mound Bayou bank manager did us dirty, so this is our only chance to get legit funds to make this juke work."

Stack glanced at several white carpenters working on a new business structure. One worker was a negro, Beau Willie Jennings. Smoke had butted heads with him when they were younger. Beau Willie carried a stack of wood beams on his broad shoulders inside the unfinished frame and cut his eyes at the twins.

Smoke looked over their application again. Took a deep breath.

"Let's do this."

The bank was no cooler inside when the twins stepped across the threshold and looked around. Nothing but blotchy white faces peered back at them with looks of disgust. A pinched-face white man with salt and pepper slicked-back hair rushed over to meet them before they wandered any further toward a teller.

"May I help you…gentlemen?"

The banker wore round glasses that perched precariously at the end of his bulbous nose. Smoke held up the application.

"We'd like to apply for a loan," Smoke said with a steady voice.

"Step over here, please," the banker said, holding out his arm to usher them away from the white people waiting in two lines.

They followed, and Smoke noticed the name sign on a small desk hidden by the side of the main counters. Mr. Peacock.

"May we sit?" Stack asked, turning up the charm by smiling.

Mr. Peacock hesitated for a split second before nodding in the affirmative. He looked over the application as the twins settled into uncomfortable wooden chairs.

"Three hundred dollars is what you're requesting. You want a loan for what, exactly?"

"A juke joint," Stack said.

"A social club for the negro community," Smoke clarified.

"Social club?"

Stack looked over at Smoke. He cleared his throat as a signal for his younger brother to hush.

"Yes, sir. We envision a place where hard-working colored folk can come to listen to pleasant music…dance a bit. As you can see on our application, we have enough collateral to cover any fears of a default."

"Looks like you have all the money you need to open a place without our help."

Mr. Peacock dropped the application on his desk for Smoke to pick up.

"Well, sir. We're trying to establish credit and build up our reputation with the Clarksdale business community."

"I'm afraid we can't help you with that. You can try some of the new colored banks that are cropping up—"

"Ain't no colored banks in Clarksdale…sir," Smoke said.

Mr. Peacock folded his hands on his desk.

"Well, when one opens up, you two be sure to be the first in line."

"Dontcha have to have some type of review process? I heard it took two business days to get a final decision. We have cash money we can show you, and we also have a car that we're willing to put up for collateral, too," Stack insisted.

"As the bank manager, I make all final decisions on loans. The answer is no. Good day, gentlemen."

Mr. Peacock stood abruptly.

Smoke balled his hands into fists. It would be easier to rob a bank than to go about things the right way in the south.

"Y'all can give Chinese people money, but not us? Niggas that picked the cotton that built this bank, built this town…built this damn country?" Stack barked.

Smoke placed a hand on his brother's arm and rose from his seat. He left the application on the desk.

"I'd like a formal rejection in writing…by two business days."

"Nigger, you come back here in two days…. I'll have you both thrown in jail…or worse."

Smoke leaned in, ready to snatch the man across the desk, but Stack patted his midsection.

"Forget these crackers," Stack said. "We'll figure something out."

Smoke stormed out of the bank with his jaw clenched and his temples throbbing with anger. They headed to their car and Smoke kicked the front tire hard.

"We fucking fought for this country…fought for that cracker ass bitch's freedom, and we can't get a damn bank loan to build something for ourselves?!"

"Calm down, Smoke. We can use the money we have and just open up a smaller place."

"We can't do that. The cash we have now has to hold us for another year. I want us to pay off momma's house note and buy some land for us. The whole point of coming back here was to stay outta the fields and working a menial service job for these rednecks. Be our own bosses."

Stack nodded and held Smoke's shoulders.

"Look me in the eye," Stack said.

Smoke huffed and tried to keep his hands from shaking.

"Smoke?"

Stack shook him and Smoke locked eyes with him.

"We got this. Listen…we survived Germany. We have enough money to not work for a year or more if we stretch it out. Let's think about going somewhere else. Back east…or maybe even Chicago. Shit nigga, we some young hungry twenty-year-old men who traveled the world. Germany… France… England. We can do anything we set our minds to together. Right? Together forever!"

Stack shook Smoke's shoulders again to loosen him up. He grinned at his older brother.

"Let's go get these tamales for momma and 'nem, and think about a new plan. Ain't no rush. We did hard, brutal work three years overseas, so we deserve a long break. Relax."

Stack pulled out some tobacco and rolling papers from the car and prepared a cigarette for Smoke.

"Here," Stack said, handing it to Smoke.

Smoke stuck it between his thick lips and Stack lit it for him with a gold-plated lighter. He took a long drag and let the smoke flow through his nose. Stack joined him in smoking and they puffed away until a couple of nosy white men watched them from across the street.

Smoke threw the unfinished cigarette on the ground next to Stack's. They strode down the rust-colored dirt street with their heads on swivel, keeping aware of the proximity to whiteness all around them until they reached the negro-friendly side of the street where they could walk on a sidewalk.

"Stack! Smoke!"

Cornbread hustled over to them carrying a sack of flour, his wide grinning face as shiny as the sun.

"Happy birthday, nigga!" Stack said.

Stack patted Cornbread on the back and then pretended to box with him.

"Man, don't make me drop this flour. My momma will have a fit if I don't get this by her house in one piece. The jump up starts after four. We'll get a big roaring fire going later and have a good ole time. Some fellas from the Clover Hill plantation and Anderson plantation are coming over to play music, too. Hope you got some money to throw these dice tonight," Cornbread said.

"Y'all wanna see me run your pockets until they got holes in them?" Stack joked.

Cornbread chuckled.

"Man, you still owe me seventy-five cents from the last time we played. Don't think going to war made me forget about that!"

Smoke slipped inside King's Tamales while his brother joked around with Cornbread. The sweltering food shop had too many scents that messed with his head after being pissed off from the bank manager. A part of his rage stemmed from knowing that the racism was to be expected. Hope was a tender thing for a negro in America. Smoke wanted more, wanted something for himself and his brother that freed them from being casualties of white people's whims.

He stared at the various food items behind the display case. The fried livers looked enticing swimming in sautéed onions. Catfish, tasty greens cooked with meaty ham hocks, and the chicken tamales he wanted lured him to the end of the case.

"What put all those lines on your forehead?"

Smoke jerked his head up.

Annie.

"You work here?" he asked.

"Sure do. What can I help you with?"

A pale blue head wrap covered her lustrous hair. The heat from the shop drenched her smooth skin with perspiration, but she still looked lovely. The white apron that cinched her waist accentuated her figure. Smoke glanced over his shoulder and looked for Stack and Cornbread through part of the glass window that didn't have the painted menu items covering it. His twin and their friend cackled loudly like women, and their voices were loud enough to hear through the glass.

Two weeks had passed since the last time he laid eyes on Annie in person alone. He heard her voice in his mother's house early every morning, though. Taiwo and Annie shared a daily cup of coffee and went outside to harvest special plants and herbs that grew freely in the wooded area behind the property. He wouldn't come out of the bedroom he shared with Stack until after Annie left with his mother. By the time they came back to prepare the gathered items they collected, he and his brother were long gone, scouting for old friends and drinking at the old abandoned barn that would become the jump up location for Cornbread's birthday celebration.

Smoke and Stack slept in their old bedroom until ten every day. Taiwo never bothered them. She knew the suffering they went through to make it home alive, and she wanted them to rest for as long as they needed each morning. Stack snored through his slumber as Smoke listened to Annie speaking to their mother. He could never get the nerve to join them without waking his brother up. From his daily observations, and Stack's grumbling, it didn't appear that his twin made any forward progress getting Annie to be his woman. Perhaps…there was a chance for him.

"I need to get two dozen chicken tamales. Throw in six fried livers, too," he said.

"Coming right up," she said.

Annie quickly reached for parchment paper and scooped out the tamales first. She double wrapped them and did the same for the fried liver.

"You're not going to tell me what's got you looking so upset?" she said.

He didn't want to re-live the disappointment. Her soothing brown eyes reached an ache in him to confide in someone other than Stack. He loved his brother's optimism. However, Smoke just wanted to vent without getting a list of suggestions on how to fix things at the moment. Annie's eyes held patience in them. She quirked up the left corner of her mouth in an inviting smile.

"We tried to get a loan from the bank. They turned us down even though we had enough collateral to cover the borrowed amount we needed."

"What did you want a loan for?"

"A juke joint."

"A juke joint?"

"Yeah. Our people need places of our own to have fun. We shouldn't have to have a good time in raggedy places."

"I agree," she said.

She placed the food in a brown paper bag and set it on top of the counter for him.

"That'll be fifty-one cents," she said.

He gave her a dollar, and she went to the cash box. She wrote his order in a ledger and gave him change.

"Is that Cornbread out there with your crazy brother?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I suppose you'll be at his get together tonight."

He perked up.

"Are you going?" he asked.

"I am."

"Is Stack taking you?"

"I'm going with friends."

Stack burst through the door.

"Let's go. Gotta get ready for later…"

Stack's voice trailed off when he glimpsed Annie behind the counter. He rolled his eyes and took his place next to Smoke.

"What happened to you on Tuesday?" Stack demanded.

Annie closed the cash box and stared him down.

"I know you're not coming in here talking to me with that tone, Elias Moore. I already got a daddy, and he don't even raise his voice at me."

Stack bolted closer to the display case to fuss with her.

"I came by your house and told your mother I was looking for you. We were supposed to go hang out. She didn't tell you?"

"You never asked me to go anywhere, and you sure didn't get my daddy's permission to do so."

"That's why I came by on Tuesday, because he works in the afternoon…and your momma likes me, so I thought she'd tell you I was coming back to see you."

"I had to work on Tuesday."

"Okay, well…what time you get off work today?"

"Why you wanna know?"

Annie's lips curled up, and she tilted her head in a way that Smoke liked. Watching her go at it with his brother was a treat. He'd never met a woman so flippant and under-impressed with Stack.

"Cornbread's jump up is tonight. I can pick you up and take you in my car."

"I already got a ride."

"With who?"

Stack had a vein throbbing down the middle of his forehead. Smoke lowered his eyes to hide the mirth in them.

"Stack, I know you not coming up in here disrupting my work to fuss with me like you're my man or something. You best turn around and go back where you came from with all that heat in your throat for me."

"Okay…okay…forget it then. Go with your friends. Don't come bothering me when you see me there."

"Ain't nobody worried about bothering you," she snapped back.

Stack turned around and stomped out of the shop.

"Thanks for the food," Smoke said, backing away.

Stack stormed back in.

"I'ma give you one more chance," Stack blurted.

Smoke used his shoulder to nudge his brother back toward the door.

"Let's go before you make a fool of yourself in front of her," Smoke whispered.

"She playing hard to get," Stack mumbled, leaving the shop.

Smoke turned around to face Annie.

"Sorry about that."

"Chien jappô li pas morde," she said.

"What?"

"The barking dog don't bite."

"You don't like him?"

"I do like Stack. He's a lot of fun, but I like someone else better."

Her eyes twinkled.

He took a chance.

"Anyone I know?" he said.

"You might. I think he's kinda shy though. I'm hoping he'll dance with me tonight."

"Maybe he will."

Smoke left King's Tamales feeling better than when he first went in. Stack failed at getting with her, and it was clear as the blue sky above his head that Annie Belizaire was feeling him. Knowing that, he wouldn't let her out of his sight for one minute at Cornbread's party.

Part 3 soon come...

A.N.:

If you want to read about Smoke and Stack with their parents (and learn about Cash Moore BEFORE he turned bad), check out my very first "Sinners" fic, "A Gathering of Waters" HERE.

Taglist:

@puffmamaa

@theethighpriestess

@brownsugarcoffy

@hotebonynearby

@m0netm0netxo12

@bigjh

@soufcakmistress

@czennieinsomnionce

@katezy2x

#annie x smoke #annie x elijah #sinners fanfiction #sinners smut #michael b. jordan #wunmi mosaku #annie and smoke #smoke fanfic #smoke fanfiction #uzumaki rebellion #sinners movie #love blues

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lucydixon · 19 hours ago

Text

Erik x Rave Loving GF Headcanons

GIF by @sunnyie-eve

Summary: You meet Erik when you pass through the shop one day, looking to get your nose pierced before a rave, and wind up coming back for more. Slight NSFW For mentioning sex, but deffo not smut (Sorry you little freaks)

You and Erik would meet at the tattoo shop when you go to get your nose pierced. It’d be your first piercing, testing the waters before you go for all the other ones you’ve been wanting but never quite had the guts to get.

You’d be gearing up for some big festival and would be excitedly looking over all the jewelry in the case at the front counter, trying to think what would go best with your chosen outfit, when Erik laid eyes on you for the first time.

There would be a flash of something deep in his chest, too fleeting to place as his eyes raked over your body, then again when you locked eyes.

I think he’d falter slightly, dropping his unusual cocky saunter over for a half second before resuming it just as quick to greet you, doing all he could to even look a little bored.

He’d ask you, probably a little rudely, what you wanted, and you’d point at a glittery hoop and explain that you wanted your nose pierced. He’d tell you that you can’t get pierced and immediately put in jewelry like that, you’d have to put up with something plain, at least until it healed.

You might pout, and his heart might skip a beat at the sight of your bottom lip jutting out like that. He’d think about biting it. Instead, he’d wave you over to the piercing chair and ask you which side you wanted done. He’d look at you funny after hearing you say that you didn’t care and that he could pick. After a silent stare off, you’d animatedly explain that you wanted all these other piercings eventually and that you were planning on piercing both sides anyway, so it didn’t matter.

Maybe it’s the nerves while he’s prepping a clamp and needle to do your piercing, or maybe you just think that he’s cute, but you cannot, for the life of you, stop rambling. You’d tell him about how you’re going to this underground rave the following night and that you’d been up all night making beaded bracelets to trade.

Erik would just look at you with a raised brow, a little amused, and you’d apologize for being a total motor mouth, cheeks warming slightly.

He’d do the piercing, glancing up at your face every few seconds, and would probably rush the end of the interaction, a little freaked out by how much he enjoyed looking at you.

It wouldn't be the looking that would bug him, it would be the fact that he didn't just want to fuck you, that did his head in.

If you came back less than two weeks later, Erik would have to fight the urge to smile after thinking about you at least once a day since he'd last seen you. He’d settle for a smirk and remind you that you couldn’t change out the piercing yet, and you’d give him a little grin and remind him that you’d been clear that you wanted the other side done too.

Over the next few months, you’d show up every few weeks looking to get a new piercing, swapping out the plain silver jewelry for something fun once the previous ones healed, and chatting with your favourite piercer. Every time, the two of you started growing more and more restless between appointments, and when you were in the same room, you were all fleeting glances and lingering touches.

Every time you changed one out, Erik would offer to do it, grumbling under his breath that you were gonna fuck up his work if you did it with those long ass nails of yours and you’d let him because you’d take just about any excuse for him to touch your bare skin.

When you eventually get your ears and nose decorated to your taste, you’d move onto your belly button, and you'd be pretty sure your heart was beating loud enough for him to hear over your shaky breathing.

His forearm would be resting along the bottom of your stomach as he sat hunched over you, mapping out where he was going to spear the skin. It was far from a professional position to be piercing in, but the two of you would have grown close enough that the professionalism had long since left the building. Erik would take any excuse to feel your body pressed up against any part of him.

Even after he’d pierced your belly button, his hands lingered, fingers dragging along your skin while he looked up at you heatedly.

You’d tell him in a breathy voice that your friend had bailed on you and that you had an extra invite for a rave that evening.

“Do I look like I would want to go to a rave?” He’d scoff, but there’d be something playful in his gaze. “Not my scene, princess.”

“What?” You’d gasp in mock offence. “You don’t want to get high and make out with me in an abandoned train yard?”

“Oh?” He’d raise a brow, looking amused, “I get to make out with you?”

You’d nod, bottom lip trapped between your lips, unable to help the way you were slowly leaning into him.

“What else are you gonna let me do? Huh?” He’d feel the same pull, smirking at you.

“I think I’d let you do anything you wanted to me, Erik,” you’d mutter, finding it increasingly hard to focus your gaze on anything other than his lips.

“What if I don't wanna wait till tonight?”

Before either of you could fully process what was happening, your lips would collide in a brutal, desperate display. You wouldn't be sure if you’d launched yourself out of the piercing chair or if he’d yanked you off of it. Either way, you'd find yourself straddling him on his little rolling stool, and the two of you would almost tumble onto the floor. At no point would you break the kiss. It would be heated, full of passion, and months' worth of tension bubbling up to the surface.

He’d lay a claim to you on the piercing chair, and you’d ride him into next month, careful to avoid your fresh piercing.

The two of you probably wouldn’t make it to the rave, but sooner than later, you’d manage to drag him to one while he bitches and moans about how shitty EDM music is, but then you’d catch him with a few songs from one of the sets in his shower playlist a week later and tease him relentlessly.

Erik would absolutely give you free tattoos and piercings and would have you pay him in other ways.

He’d have an especially nice time giving you a tramp stamp after hours or maybe even at home in your bed, draped over your legs and resting his chin on your ass while he worked.

He’d clean your piercings for you and help change the jewelry. Erik would be shockingly gentle about it and dab at them with saline and paper towels while you rested your head in his lap.

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics

#Erik Campbell #Final destination Bloodlines #Final Destination 6 #FD Bloodlines #Erik Campbell Headcanons #Erik Campbell x reader #richard harmon

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whisperingmidnights · 2 days ago

Note

1. Feysand x reader but make it the court of nightmares reader

1.) don’t leave

The quiet whimper as I step out of my room draws me down the hall. It's soon accompanied by what is possibly the most pitiful little whine I've ever heard. The nursery door is cracked, with little, golden faelights drifting along the ceiling like fireflies, blinking in and out of existence.

I peek in and find the tear-stained face of a toddler peering back at me from a bed that looks far too big for his little body. It must be to accommodate his wings. His blue eyes, a starlit echo of Feyre's, are wide as he wipes his nose on his sleeve. I gently push the door the rest of the way open and tiptoe in, settling myself at the edge of his mattress. We haven't interacted much, Nyx and I, though his parents have tried to encourage it.

I just don't know what to say. I don't want to get attached to a child that isn't mine only to potentially have him ripped away, and I don't think he knows what to make of me, either.

"Did you have a bad dream?" I ask, lightly running my hand over my stomach where the boy's brother wriggles uncomfortably, his foot solidly lodged against the bottom of my ribs.

"Yeah," he sniffs, pulling his blanket beneath his chin.

"Do you want to tell me what it was about?"

"Nuh-uh." His gaze darts to the closet door and I nod, eyeing it with him.

"Should I check-"

"No!" Nyx shakes his head furiously, crawling out from under his blanket to splay across my belly, like a tiny warrior taking a blow for his friend. I place my hands on his back to steady him as he gives me a beseeching look. "Monsters eat babies."

"Where did you hear that?" I ask, settling him back on the bed.

"Uncle Cass."

"Oh." Hearing stories from his famed war general uncle would certainly lead a small boy to make those connections, even if Cassian didn't say as much verbatim. "Well, I'm pretty tough. And right now, closet monsters are going to have to go through me to get to the baby. Or you."

"Uncle Cass is bigger." The doubt written all over his face is enough to almost make me laugh. Almost.

"He is, but I'm way meaner."

"I have a brother." His little finger jabs into the side of my belly, and this time I do laugh. "Papa said."

"He is your little brother, yes."

"Why?"

"Well..." I don't know how to answer that one. Luckily, I don't have to. I hear Rhysand's low chuckle from the doorway and shift towards the end of the bed, though he crouches on the floor at Nyx's side rather than take the vacated spot on the bed.

"What a curious time for baby bats to be awake," he notes, pulling back the blanket to encourage his son to crawl beneath them. Instead, Nyx launches himself at his father, throwing his arms around his next. I'm too distracted by the muscles rippling beneath Rhysand's tattooed arms and shoulders to pay much attention to the boy. Violet eyes twinkle up at me, and he winks before scooping up his son and taking him over to the closet.

"I promise, son, there's nothing in the closet." When Rhysand opens the door, darkness floods along the floor, dissipating in the low light to reveal the closet floor. Rhysand wrinkles his forehead, gently pushing aside the little clothes hanging to see if anything else is lurking in there.

"See, Papa? Monster."

"Not a monster, Nyx. Just magic."

"Bad."

"No, son. Just another part of you."

"I don't like it."

"I know, darling. That looked scary, didn't it? You're perfectly safe."

I melt a little as he settles the boy back in bed, tucking him beneath his blankets. Nyx reaches out, patting his father's face in the way only small children do, looking up at him with pure adoration. Had I idolized by father the way this boy so clearly does.

A little foot jabs against my side, urging me to get up and move. When I begin to rise, I hear quiet footsteps in the hall and Feyre peeks her head in the door. The smile her mate greets her with is equally adoring, and I know that I really need to get out of here and give them a little family time.

"Oh, the whole family is here," Feyre notes teasingly as she knots the sash of her robe just over her bump. "What are we all doing at three in the morning?"

"Monsters," Nyx says sagely, and I get up from my spot, gesturing for her to take it.

"You're just in time, they're freshly vanquished."

"Oh, good. I'm not quite ready to reprise my monster fighting days just yet." Her hand catches my wrist before I can brush past her, her brows knitting together as she looks at me. "Where are you going?"

"A little walk. It seems neither of the boys are willing to settle just yet."

"Don't go. We can get him settled and then take care of you-"

"That isn't your job," I reply, trying and clearly failing to be gentle as her hand drops away from my wrist. I turn away, my ears burning with something like shame as I make my way to the staircase. They're not my mates, we're not family. My son might be Nyx's brother, but at the end of the day, I'm nothing to them. No one. It's probably best we all remember that.

#talk to me #ask game #feysand x reader

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imafirefly · 2 days ago

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"Say ass one more time, Moore... I know the perfect place to hide you on this island. They would never find you. Or maybe I'll give the dogs a treat. So many options." With that, she took another couple bites of food and points her fork once more in a half assed attempt to come off as threatening. He wasn't wrong though. He came with an acceptable amount of sass and in truth she absolutely loved that he hadn't lost his sense of humor even if sometimes she was slower to counter his wit. There was small clink as she set her fork down and Abby wrapped her fingers around the neck of her beer bottle to life it to her lips. "I didn't know how many asked you out, no but no yes I may have known because I did have the distinct pleasure of consistently hearing how many wanted to fuck you so." That may have been a little more crude than she had intended but that's what it felt like to listen to. "Teach kids with a face like that and you're the hottest bachelor in town." She tips her beer at him as if to congratulate him on the accomplishment for being both good looking and a good person.

"You're good with them. I looked in on a couple of the classes. Jokes were a little on the corny side for my taste but they ate that shit up." It had been sweet to watch him interact. They knew how it was to grow up in a lawless world but she was hopeful that the kids growing up in this place had as good of a start as any. Her posture shifts ever so slightly and the small smile fades away while she sets her beer down. It's hard for her to be vulnerable but she's trying her best. There would be no blame if he one day decided that he was tired of it all, tired of waiting around. There was plenty of opportunity and yet he still remained dedicated. It was admirable though she wasn't sure how fair it was. There was no expectation of it from him and yet he had kept it up for years.

"I know you are. And that's part of what makes you great. I just-- I don't want you to waste your time. I know you'll say it's not." She knows him better than to think he would ever feel that way but it's difficult not to. The words he spoke were an echo from the past and resonated deep within her. She believed him when he first said it at the aquarium and she still believe him now. They were allowed to be happy and in such a world, happiness couldn't be wasted. Abby couldn't stomach the thought of losing him and she'd already come close enough. That fear, the unknown? It felt quite apparent by now that losing him would kill her. "I have you and Lev. Don't need much more to be happy." Now that much was the truth. Or at least a half truth at this point. "Actually now that I think about it, maybe some more dinner and movie nights like this too. That would make me happy." And there it was, the deflection she could be so good at. "Speaking of movies - is it time for this masterpiece you speak of? I am stuffed but always room for another beer too if you're ready?"

If looks could kill, Owen might be in trouble. It’s side eye he gets in response to his comment. Anything she said, he no doubt would be able to twist in his Owen way. It was endearing but damn if his wit wasn’t frustratingly good at times. A fork pointed in his direction was the only warning he would get but it was quick to lower to be used appropriately as she took a couple more bites.

Whether or not he was just being modest was up for debate but she would give credit where it was due and this meal did deserve quite a bit of admiration. “Once, twice, however many times, feels like you’ve mastered it. Anything else in there worth more movie nights?” This would be hard to beat but she had faith in him. If there was more opportunity for indulgent meals like this, might as well pack up her stuff now. Abby could cook but not like this and if this meant she could chip in and show an offer of thanks via food every once in a while, she was more than happy to do so.

A few more bites and Abby washed it down with the freshly presented water and god did that ice cold water offer just the kind of cool down and refreshment she needed. It didn’t surprise her at all that Owen had picked up some of his expertise when helping others. It was just the kind of guy he was. She did remember what he spoke of and upon recalling it, Abby laughed quietly to herself. “Oh I remember. You have any idea how many times I overheard women around the island talking about you? About the handsome man that could cook and was working with the kids? You had them losing their damn minds.” It was funny thing to think back on.

She relishes the peacefulness of such a dinner and looks up to him with a softness to her features that weren’t always present. “Thank you, Owen. Not just for this but for everything. You’ve been more patient with me than I’ve probably deserved but you’re one of the only reasons I haven’t completely lost it. I’m rambling now but just, thank you.” Her smile offers a warmth that’s been lacking for so long and it’s the most at peace she’s felt in a long time.

#mothinked

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capi-art · 2 days ago

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I'm done hiding in the shadows, watching everyone show ocs to cool artists, so I shall show mine

Meet Talia, a 17 year old girl who's the sister of Antinous, and is also an asshole (cough cough like brother like sister cough cough)! She is close with Telemachus and Antinous, has a childish crush on Amphinomous, and absolutely DESPISES Eurymachus along with Melanthius.

-sincerely, the girl in the shadows :>

(srry srry and SRRY if I answered late :,( )

I really like the drawing and it's super interesting to see a sister of Antinous!!! I think this will be the interactions that each of the suitors (+ Melanthius) would have with Talia!

Antinous= would be the typical protective brother to his little sister, of course, he would treat her badly and use her as a servant every now and then to annoy her and even argue with her

but I also love to see Antinous bragging about his sister every time he can with the suitors saying “I HAVE AND YOU DON'T!” and it's not recommended that you tell him “Well, I have too” or “I have more sisters than you” because this man will end up with all your lineage to shut your mouth.

Amphinomus= he wouldn't have so much interaction with her but he would treat her like a little girl, like a daughter- He would be careful and delicate with her, he could even teach her things like cooking and basic things, also to help her in case she makes a mistake saying “aww relax! there's always a solution for these mistakes, don't fall” he would be a love with her.

Now… if he found out how she feels about him, he would most likely stay away from her AT ALL!!! this because he would see her as a daughter!!! he's 35 years old girl, he wouldn't listen to her and it would be weird, but he would try to make her understand why they can't be together- besides ANTINOUS KILLS HIM.

Eurymachus and Melanthius: Perhaps these two act the same way in pushing her aside or ignoring her, Melanthius would be very distant with her in a way that he would simply forget she existed, to him Talia is so insignificant that he would sometimes forget who she is if asked about her.

Eurymachus more of the same but it would be to the point of getting annoyed just by hearing his name, he has been Antinous' friend for YEARS! Maybe at this point he would know more than anyone else the contempt that Talia has for him and would walk away or bother her when Antinous is not around

#Eurymachus is a bitch #Amphinomus GET OUT #antinous #epic antinous #epic eurymachus #eurymachus #melanthius #epic melanthius #epi amphinomus #epic amphinomus #amphinomus #epic fanart #epic musical #epic #epic au #epic design #epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga

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wardingshout · 1 day ago

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Hi Livi!

I finally gathered the courage to send something to your ask box. There’s so much I want to say, but I'm not very good at expressing myself, so if my words seem a bit jumbled, I hope you don't mind.

I started using Tumblr a little over a year ago, and I remember stumbling upon one of your artworks after searching the “alttp” tag. I was so incredibly happy and excited — I loved it immediately, especially because it’s so rare to see ALTTP-related art where I’m from.

Back then, I didn’t pay much attention to who the artist was and just kept browsing. But over time, I realized that so many of the amazing pieces I loved were actually created by you! Honestly, your art is breathtaking. The way you portray Link and Zelda outside of the game’s narrative makes them feel so real. Your inspiration and creativity seem endless.

Your use of bright, intricate, and emotionally resonant colors fills every piece with a sense of story — sometimes with a gentle sadness, sometimes with tiny, charming interactions that make me smile.

I remember seeing that you draw on a particular site, and I tried using it too. It was really hard 😣 and made me admire your work even more — I’m amazed at how you manage to create such rich, detailed pieces on such a tiny canvas and with such limited tools.

Your compositions and the way you frame your scenes are incredible too — the perspectives you use, whether it's looking up, down, or close-up, show such skill and depth. I’ve been obsessed with your artwork for a long time 🥺🥺

And the outfits you design for Link and Zelda — they’re absolutely beautiful. They’re so different from the classic green tunic, yet they feel *exactly* like something the characters would wear. I don’t think any language could fully express how much I love your costume designs. Please allow me to scream for a moment here.

There’s still so much I want to say, but now that I’m writing, I find myself at a loss for words. So I’ll just say this: you are truly an amazing artist. Your work is astonishing and deeply captivating.

Also, I drew some of your versions of Link and Zelda — I hope you’ll like them! (Screaming again, their designs are just too beautiful 😭😭)

VIOLET HI!!! 💕💕💕

I'm sorry I have no idea where to start here, I'm feeling so overwhelmed in the best way ever! I just barely managed to load this ask before leaving the locker room at work yesterday and ended up hiding there until everyone else left bc I didn't want them to see my cry haha💕,,

I don't think there's any beginning or end to how emotional this got me and to how honoured I feel to have my art described in such a way;; this is!! absolutely everything I've ever dreamed of reaching with my art, so having someone else putting it into words just from looking at is so incredible !!!! ;v; even if it's hard to feel happy about my own stuff it seems like I can still portray the things I want to, this makes me so happy 🥹💕💕

and especially because a lot of this is stuff I absolutely love about your art too!!!! you have such an incredible way of creating soft, yet somber atmospheres and your compositions always come off so intentional and interesting !!! the way you blend so many different colours into everything looks both natural and interesting and it's one of my absolute favourite things from art !! ✨✨✨

Seeing you back on tegaki was such a joy too !!! ;v; even if it ended up feeling difficult, I was so excited to see you there and getting to check your posts for new comments brought me so much joy !!!! I always wanted to send you more comments but got so caught up in the excitement of you posting smth yourself I got distracted from it too often...

in general I'm always so excited to see you post new art !!! and super grateful we get to see a lot of your sketches lately too !!!! you art has such a consistent and pretty style and always comes off so smooth and effortless and interesting and it has inspired me so much !!! 💖💖💖🥹💕

I'm feeling a bit lost for words since there's So much I want to say it's difficult to phrase it properly. but you bringing up fun tegaki memories reminded me of the most fun way to thank people! (I tried bringing out the classic palette too!)

and since I also really love the way you draw them too and I was sad I missed maid day (yet again) them !!

I've been absolutely losing my mind over the way you drew my little guys!!!!!!!;; I've been looking at them so much already they almost feel ingrained into my brain, to the point I almost forgot they were real !!! there's no way I could properly thank you for all of this; the amazing art, the incredibly nice words and all the art inspiration you bring me by sharing your work!!! I'm feeling so so lucky and again so so honoured ;v; 💖💖💖💕💖💕

#ask #I'm sorry I don't even know where to start with all these nice things you told me so it took me a bit;;#I was so worried about losing it I screenshotted everything right away and every time I read it I teared up a bit again;;#I'm so !!! emotional about the care you put into writing this and the fact that you paid attention to what I draw like this;;#you always inspire me so so much !!!!!!!!#I FEEL LIKE I ALREADY PUT SO MUCH TEXT AND YET I'M NOT DONE...#the way you drew Link and Zelda is so So incredible;; the warm tones with the blue tints is so amazing !!!!!!#and their little faces are so incredibly cute !!! ;v; the way you drew all the little Zeldas too !!!#I'm so excited I got to see her in multiple outfits like this and they all came out so perfect;;#I never get back to Link with braids often enough and this is Rly making me think I need to fix that !#and Zelda's pose is so cute here and again I love how you managed to add so many colours so naturally!!!#I'm so obsessed with all the poses you drew Zelda in rly ;v; her holding the sword is Exactly how I've always wanted to portray her #it makes me so so happy;;;;;#AAAAAAGASUA I FEEL SO FULL OF ART JOY !!!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖!!!!!!!!!!!;;;;;;#I also. understand gathering up courage so so much;;; I'm still trying to be someone who hits up people more too !!!#I'm finding that the braver I get the less free time I have to act on it.. which is so sad bc!#art really is so so wonderful when shared !!!! ;v; where would I be without the inspiration I find on here...#other people's art #WAAAH!!! I'M CRYING AGAIN!!!!!!!!!;;; I love drawing I love getting to share art joy online;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;#ROLLS IN HOURS LATER AND IN BED. I FUCKED UP LINK'S HAND... I HAVEN'T FUCKED UP A HAND LIKE THAT IN YEARS OMG #I'm so sorry little guy I'll fix it tomorrow !!! 🏃🏃🏃

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ex0rin · 2 days ago

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What’s the Mumbo fics ab :3c? <- Mumbo fiend

hello! very big same re: mumbo fiend 🤝

letsee here i've got the second half of incoherent ( E ) ( grumbo ) in the works which is sitting at about 2.5k right now but my brain needs a little rest before i overthink it too much/ build it up too much in my head

THIS ONE IS DONE NOW: i've ALSO GOT a little something that popped into my brain nearly fully formed last night ( shout out to @grianhole ) which is a short and sweet ( and ver. spicy ) gembo number with a hint of both taylie and grumbo on the side... VERY MUCH because of this interaction that i cannot stop thinking about:

( yes you SHOULD go visit her mumbo!!! can you tell that i'm still obsessed with the mumbo lore stream )

and then ( to no ones surprise, i'm sure ) i've also got a couple of back of the volkswagen/ minecraft earth era grumbo fics that are about two paragraphs in each, give or take 😅

thanks for asking!

#anon asks #asked and answered #cara writes #cara watches minecraft #cara clips #grumbo #gembo #mumbo jumbo #grian #geminitay #youtube rpf

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written-in-knife · 4 hours ago

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Hello! Love your Floyd fic and may I ask a request about Reader/Yuu having a crush on Floyd, but Floyd is not ready to commit yet/doesnt see the point of it so reader keeps getting lead on and reader realizes that it would go to nowhere so they stopped pursuing. Floyd was supposed to be happy that the courting stopped but found out that he can't stop looking at reader interacting with someone else other than him.

Basically like the Flipped movie, just wholesome/hurt/comfort with the main theme of figuring out ones feelings. Reader and Floyd don't require to be together in the end just like in the Flipped movie but Im fine if they get together too! Im torn between the two. Please disregard this if you don't feel comfy creating it ^^

Disappointed

Floyd Leech x gn!reader one-sided both ways, background Ace Trappola x gn!reader, not explicit, could easily be read as platonic and/or fake dating

they/them pronouns, is THIS angst? I think this is angst, background hurt/comfort for reader but not Floyd :)

Word Count: 1098

I've never seen Flipped, but I love this premise and I'm going to make it Worse :) pretty short but this is what we call a tasty little morsel lmaoo

Floyd knew you were interested in him, how could he not? You made it so obvious. He thought it was funny at first, how you kept handing him little trinkets and rushing away, eventually getting brave enough to hang around him. But you kept coming, even on his bad days. For months, you kept stopping by the Mostro Lounge or catching him in the hallways or showing up to basketball games. It stopped being so fun after awhile. He'd thrown most of the trinkets that you'd given him away, not really interested in your courting attempts in the first place. It was just fun for him to watch you flit around like the little shrimp you were. He never stopped you, even if he knew this would never go further than your silly little attempts.

You'd brought him a tiny blown glass eel you'd found in town after a basketball game, catching him before he went into the locker room. You handed it to him with that same hopeful smile you always had on your face, and he took it from you with the same minimal acknowledgement that he always did. The second the door closed behind him in the locker room, he tossed the little eel into the trash with as much acknowledgement as he'd given you before moving to change out of his uniform.

"What was that?" Ace scoffed as he pulled off his jersey, tossing it into his locker haphazardly.

"Shrimpy keeps givin' me crap I don't want." Floyd shrugged, moving over to his locker as Ace gave him a confused look. "I've just been throwin' it away."

He didn't pay any attention as Ace moved over to the garbage, pulling the little glass figure out of the bin with a loud huff.

"You could just tell 'em you don't want it, you know." Ace snapped at him, taking the figure back to his locker. "They spent money on this crap trying to get you to notice them! Quit leading 'em on!"

Floyd rolled his eyes dramatically as he turned to Ace, glaring him down. "And hafta see 'em cry or somethin'? Hard pass."

You knew you were being blatantly obvious about your attraction to Floyd, you thought he might've been flirting back whenever he teased you about it. What you perceived as flirting was the only thing keeping you from getting discouraged after so long trying to court him. You didn't realize exactly how wrong you were until Ace came to find you when he was done in the locker room, the glass blown figure you'd given Floyd in his hands. Your heart sank as he apologized, telling you that he'd watched Floyd throw it away the second you wouldn't see, that apparently that's where all your gifts had gone. In the trash. You were embarrassed and disappointed, a lot of Floyd's actions making much more sense to you now. You took the figure back with trembling fingers, trying to put on a brave face for your friend, but you were devastated. You'd tried really hard to pick out things you thought Floyd would like, you thought you might've been getting somewhere. It hurt to find out where all that effort was really going.

Floyd noticed before the end of the week that you hadn't come by. You'd become a regular presence in his life, not necessarily daily, but often enough that your absence was notable. At first, he really didn't care much, it was one less thing he had to deal with. But something nagged at the back of his head about it. He tried to ignore it, but it was making his mood significantly worse. He didn't even know what it was, he was supposed to be happy that you weren't hanging around him all the time... wasn't he?

He didn't start to realize what the feeling was until he saw you weeks later. Basketball practice had just let out and he spotted you in the hall outside the locker room. Before he could go over and ask where you'd been, Ace pushed past him to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders and poking at your cheek. He watched you laugh at whatever Ace had said as the two of you turned away from him to leave. The nagging feeling in the back of his head returned tenfold, surprising him as he watched you disappear around a corner. Why was he jealous of Ace? He hadn't been interested before, why would he be jealous of something he didn't want? It wasn't even on purpose, it felt more like karma that Floyd kept seeing you in the halls every day now. Always with Ace. He saw the delighted smiles on your face, the way you would blush and smack his chest when he whispered in your ear, the damn arm that was always around your shoulders. You'd sure moved on quick, if you could call multiple weeks quick. And why wouldn't you? Ace had likely told you what Floyd had been doing after he found out, he was probably there to comfort you in the aftermath, he was one of your best friends after all. Rationalizing it in his head didn't help, he still had an awful pit in his gut whenever he saw the two of you. You leaving him alone was what he wanted anyways, wasn't it?

Floyd let it go on for a few more weeks, even Jade tried to figure out what had him so upset. But how could Jade help when Floyd couldn't figure out his own feelings about it? It came to a head after another basketball practice, back in the locker room. Floyd was slow to get changed, waiting until Ace had gotten dressed and was about to leave.

"So you and Shrimpy, huh?" He asked as Ace walked past, trying to keep his tone casual.

"You snooze you lose?" Ace offered with a shrug, shooting him a smirk before walking out of the locker room.

"Yeah..." Floyd muttered to himself.

He sat in the feeling for a moment, finally able to see it for what it was. He was disappointed. Disappointed he hadn't realized sooner, disappointed he hadn't just turned you down so he could maybe try himself later. Disappointed it wasn't him. You had become such a regular presence in his life, he hadn't realized he was taking it for granted. Hadn't realized that when he stopped finding your courting fun, it wasn't because he didn't like it, it had just stopped being surprising. And he had no one to blame but himself.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech #ace trappola #floyd leech x reader #ace trappola x reader #twisted wonderland fic #mine #HAVE YALL S E E N. DEUCE'S PJS???#as if i couldn't adore him more they had to go and put him in the pink cheetah print they keep talking about?? thats his JAMMIES????#i could SCREAM its so good. i love not giving a shit about spoilers from the jp servers #and apparently they're getting equestrian club wear in june?? im so jealous

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