#me and gang pulling up to the function

[premium-keepingyouawake]

[justyourtypicalwriter]

Clouded you dumb fucking ho get off figure skater TikTok and work on your wips or something

[chow0w]

The scorpion den is punk

walk with me... ↓

The big idea

First, let’s walk through punk: what is it? Cambridge Dictionary defines punk as “a style or culture popular among young people... expressing opposition to authority through shocking behavior, clothes, and hair.” Contrary to popular belief, it's more than fashion and music: it’s a longstanding subculture which has existed since the 1970s. While looking for more definitions of punk, I found that a lot of people were saying different things - some say punk originated as an anti-racist subculture, while others say it was anti-authoritarian first. Either way, most people seem to agree that punk is loudly against injustice of any kind.

But how does this tie into the scorpion den?

First, it's important to consider what the scorpion den is by the time we are introduced to it: a crowded sandy city populated mostly by outcasts, deserters and veterans of the sandwing succession war. Most dragons of the scorpion den (outside of the talons of power and kind of outclaws) are not wealthy by any means, with a general stance against war and authorities like the sand kingdom. So, perfect breeding grounds for a punk revolution. The ideals of the scorpion den align very strongly with the ideals of punk, and It would be very easy for punk culture to manifest alongside its subculture cousins like riot grrl and emo.

The logistics of scorpion punk

Sandwings and Skywings of the scorpion den would probably be the first purveyors of punk, with both tribes heavily affected by tyranny, war and authoritarianism around the same time (Sandwing succession + Queen scarlet both come to power in the same..ish... timeframe.) I imagine these dragons talked a lot in the den, realized they had something and common and began accessorizing to identify each other or themselves. The harsh, loud, spiky appearance gives a distinct style, while also making it harder for other dragons (or guards!) to grab hold of these dragons during a fight - which they would likely have a lot of. Wood was burnt to make charcoal, which could be combined with oils or water to make a cheap, effective dye when squid ink imports were unavailable/too expensive. Spikes were fashioned from cactus thorns or cheap smelted metals, sometimes even sewn into the scales for that extra weaponry.

These functional design choices must've caught like fire to a dead tree, becoming more and more popular until they were a commonality across the punks of all tribes. Eventually, Scorpion punk became more creative - dyes and paints were used on sandwing frills, and thin black linens could be pulled over the neck or arms to create a fishnet-like accessory. In some extreme cases, dragons would even bend or clip their frills/spikes to create a more thorny appearance.

What about the Outclaws?

The biggest issue with this idea is undoubtedly the presence of the outclaws: an authority in an anti-authority space. Most of the individual dragons that make up the outclaws would probably lean into scorpion punk: if you look at Six-claws, Thorn and Kindle, all of them could easily be punk. Still, their presence kind of disrupts the whole vibe... until you look a little closer at what the outclaws are actually doing.

As described by the wiki, the outclaws are described as a group of peacekeepers who control (and distribute) water from the oasis equally, as well as providing free meals and persistently giving resources to the scorpion den. These traits are still very comparable to punk, only softer on the anti-authoritarianism. I would suggest the outclaws are more alike a punk gang, upholding their community in spite of the mistrust other dragons have of them.

Speaking of, the general response to punk outclaws would probably be to call them posers. Its been stated in the books that some dragons in the scorpion den think the outclaws are secret recruiters for the war, and the same sentiment could easily carry over to the honesty of their punkness.

in conclusion, the punks of the scorpion den undoubtedly outlast the sandwing succession war: remaining and integrated part of their community and culture for decades to come.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for listening to me prattle! I tried to keep it short and leave room for imagination, so do with this what you will. I'll see you guys this weekend for some perfectly punk sandwing redesigns!

( ´ ω ` )ノﾞ

[okartichoke]

hi i drew more characters here :D !!

me and the gang pulling up to the function (we are filled with joy and full of whimsy)

(this is all on the same canvas as this moody ahh godot LMAO

individual transparent pngs for all your (my) reaction image needs:

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS WITH A STYLISH READER ── .✦

a/n: so I tried to base this off of me because I like genuinely LOVE fashion and creativity (my closet is seriously so full rn but I keep buying and buying but soon I’m gonna donate some pieces I never wore/ won’t wear again when i’m like moving in 5/6 months (in April) but anyways yeahh this is requested by the wonderful @luvly_writer (I GENUINELY DONT KNOW WHY MY MENITONS ARENT WORKING TODAY!?!?

tags: (batboys x stylish reader ᥫ᭡)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick’s always had a decent sense of fashion, but after meeting you, he realized his wardrobe could use some spicing up.

“Okay, I need help,” he says, holding up his closet of endless leather jackets and dark jeans. “It’s starting to feel like I’m a character in a some main character show..” (this tiktok HELPP here)

You pull together a sleek but casual look for him, fitted trousers, a patterned button-up, and a blazer. When he sees himself in the mirror, he whistles.

“Are you sure I’m not about to walk the runway?”

He loves when you add your flair to his outfits, often saying, “This is why I’m with you.”

Eventually, Dick starts mimicking your style in small ways—accessories, boots, and bolder colors. He’ll even joke, “You’re rubbing off on me in more ways than one.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason scoffs at the idea at first. “I don’t need to be styled. My leather jacket and boots are timeless, I don’t need like bags and purses like you.”

But then he starts noticing the way you turn heads wherever you go and how people always stop you to ask where you got your hat or etc from, and he gets curious.

One day, he half-jokingly says, “Alright, fashionista. Make me look less like I just rolled out of a biker gang.”

You have so much fun dressing him in a sharp, dark button-up, fitted jeans, and Chelsea boots. When you suggest a leather trench coat instead of his usual jacket, he raises an eyebrow but ends up loving it.

“I look like a villain trying blow up something in broad daylight,” he says, smirking. “But, like, a hot one.”

Jason doesn’t fully change his wardrobe, but he starts incorporating your suggestions—better fits, fewer holes in his shirts, and maybe a sweater or two. He always claims it’s to “shut you up,” but deep down, he loves how confident it makes him feel when his s/o chooses stuff for him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s wardrobe is functional. It’s not bad because there’s a DIFFERENCE, Timothy drake wayne dresses in suits and is high end and chic but regular tim well… tim Is tim but he DOES care about what he wears just not like that serious about it, but it’s very much “guy who spends more time in front of a computer than a mirror.”

One day, he asks, “Do you think I should update my wardrobe? You know, to look… presentable?”

You practically light up, dragging him out for a shopping spree.

He’s a little overwhelmed by how excited you are, but he secretly loves the attention.

You pick out layered outfits—hoodies with tailored jackets, clean sneakers, and pants that actually fit. When he tries them on, he’s surprised at how good he looks.

“So this is what it feels like to be stylish,” he muses.

Over time, Tim starts borrowing pieces of your style. He’ll wear scarves, experiment with glasses frames, and even tuck his shirts in occasionally. You catch him researching minimalist fashion on Pinterest once, and he sheepishly admits, “You’re a bad influence.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian has a sharp sense of style already (thanks, Talia and Bruce), but he finds himself intrigued by your unique flair.

“You have a good eye for aesthetics,” he says one day, almost shyly. “Perhaps you could lend me some… insight.”

Styling Damian is like working with a blank canvas—he’s open to trying new things as long as it doesn’t compromise his dignified image.

You help him experiment with layered textures, sleek boots, and subtle patterns. He refuses anything too colorful but surprises you by agreeing to a deep emerald green blazer.

“I look… distinguished,” he admits, staring at his reflection.

He starts taking inspiration from your wardrobe, incorporating more modern and creative touches into his outfits. Every now and then, he’ll ask, “What do you think of this?” before leaving for an event.

Damian also becomes oddly protective of your style. If someone tries to copy you, he’ll say something like, “Flattery may be the sincerest form of imitation, but it’s wasted when done poorly.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce is already a style icon, but when he starts noticing the effortless way you put together outfits, he gets curious.

“What would you do with this suit?” he asks, gesturing to one of his many black ensembles.

You tease him for being so predictable but suggest a few changes—adding a pocket square, switching up his tie, and choosing a dark navy instead of black.

When he steps out in the new look, even Alfred raises an approving eyebrow.

“Now I’ll have to think about my outfits.”

He begins to take subtle cues from your style, occasionally asking for your opinion before galas. You catch him sneaking glances at your Pinterest boards once, and he pretends it’s for “business purposes” (you had to private your pin board after because he keeps buying 10 of each of what you put on your Pinterest board.)

[salemrph]

Careful, kitten

Summary: Sylus is tense, quiet, and clearly off his game and you can’t help but poke at him to figure out why.

Character: Sylus & MC/You

Genre: unresolved romantic-sexual tension, pre-relationship, teasing

Word count: 3.5k | Reading Time: 14 min | AO3

A/N: Had this for a while in the draft, I needed to see Sylus flustered somehow, without getting off character. Story is base on the moment with the Lipstick and the helmet, but not the moment itself. Picture source

Second part > Dreamy Date - Careful Kitten II

You crouch down, placing a small dish of food near a group of stray cats. It has almost become a ritual to go feed the cats in the park. Sylus picks you up on his bike on those days in the morning, sometimes you still notice the tiredness and the dark circles under his eyes from not having slept enough. Or not having gone to bed at all. You have told him many times that you don't have to see each other so early, that you want him to sleep a few hours at least. But the gentleman insists that he doesn't want to keep you waiting and prefers it this way. He's just as stubborn as you sometimes are. Sylus is standing behind you, sunglasses on. It's a gorgeous day this morning, it's getting warmer. You enjoy the rays of the sun that caress your skin. 

The usual trio of cats approached, the cautious steps quickly turning into eager little trots as the scents of food reached them. You smile when you see them eating.

“Not so fast… you will choke, Marshmallow”. You are very immersed in the scene of the three cats eating with fervor.

His lips parted slightly before he closed them again, exhaling through his nose. “You’ve started naming them?”

“Of course I have”. You gestured lazily at the largest of the three. A round, fluffy white cat with a soft gray patch over one ear, currently inhaling its food like it hadn’t eaten in days. “That’s Marshmallow. He eats like he’s in a competition. Every time.” 

Then pointed to the second one, a lean, all-black cat with striking green eyes, the one who always lingered just a bit further back, observing before approaching. “That one’s Phantom. He’s a little dramatic.”

You grinned in satisfaction before finally gesturing to the last one. A scrappy little tabby with a torn ear, the smallest of the three but easily the most energetic. “And that’s Bandit. Tries to steal everyone else’s food and somehow still stays tiny.”

Then, with a smirk, he said “Mephisto will get jealous of all these new friends you're making.” 

You scoffed, nudging his arm lightly. “Oh, please. Mephisto knows he’s irreplaceable. This is just my little morning gang.”

Sylus hummed, gaze flicking to the trio of cats devouring their meal. He coursed down, eyes flickering back to you. The way you sat comfortably on the pavement, fingers gently brushing against one of the cats, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, it was an oddly soft image. More cats approved, Sylus pulls out more small food out of a bag. As soon as he popped the lid, the cats perked up, their ears twitching at the familiar sound. You watch him with an amused smile. 

“It still surprises me, for someone who acts all untouchable, you sure are soft on them.” 

Sylus huff, not looking up “They’re be a nuisance if they were starving and desperate.” 

“Uh-huh” You don't say anything else. Marshmallow gets closer to him. Sylus just scratched him behind the ear, the cat leaned into this touch, purring loud enough. A small chuckle escaped you. 

“Your hands are really beautiful, you know.”

Sylus froze. His fingers stopped mid-motion, his eyes moved to you. You weren't even looking at him, when you said that. You were still watching the cats, head tilted slightly, your expression thoughtful “Long fingers, clean nails, nice veins… a bit rough. I bet people would pay just to see them in those hand model ads.” 

Sylus blinked. He flexed his fingers instinctively, as if trying to understand what you were seeing. They were just hands, functional, efficients, and dangerous. These hands had killed many times. Ended lives without hesitation or remorse. The blood that had once coated them wasn't something that could ever truly be washed away. And yet, here you are, calling them beautiful. 

He scoffed, still trying to follow you. “Don’t say weird things first thing in the morning.” 

You just hummed, Sylus exhaled sharply, looking away. He massages his eyes, slightly lifting his sunglasses. He wasn't a morning person. Never had been. And this one was especially hard. You’ve started to blurt out things like that latly, without a second thought, throwing him off in ways he wasn’t prepared. Normally, he’d have some sharp remark, a smirk, a teasing jab to keep the balance from tipping too far. But today? No chance. He hadn't slept much. With that bit of sleep he had gotten was plagued by a dream so vivid, so tangible, that waking up had felt like a cruel joke. You were tangled in his sheets. Fingers gripping his shoulder. Lips parting in breathless whispers saying his name… 

So vivid that when he woke up, the first thing he had done was grip the sheets in frustration, jaw tight, body thrumming with leftover heat that had nowhere to go. Even if he had taken the time to deal with his painful erection that very morning, it wasn't enough. Not after a dream like that. It was getting difficult.

Difficult to sit next to you without his mind wandering. Harder to keep his gaze from lingering on the curve of your neck, the way your lips parted slightly when you focused too hard. Harder to pretend like he wasn’t aching every time you said something dangerous without even realizing it. It wasn’t fair. Today, he was tired. His patience was worn too thin, his self-control stretched to its absolute limit.

“You okay? You look kind of out of it” 

“Didn’t sleep much” 

“Nightmares?” you frowned slightly.

Sylus snorted, shaking his head. “Not exactly” Far from it. If it had been nightmares, that would have been easier. This was needed. It was hunger, deep and aching, wrapped around him like a slow-burning fire that refused to go out.

“You sure? You seem…”

“I’m fine.” He cut in too quickly, voice rougher than intended.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Clearly, you aren't buying it. But you didn’t push but you didn't drop it entirely either. Instead, you turned back to the cats, scratching Phantom under the chin as the sleek black cat purred in contentment. 

His mind was still stuck on your voice, breathy and needy from his dream, whispering his name in ways you never had in reality.

“Well, whatever kept you up, it must’ve been pretty intense.” His brain was still rebooting when you smirked lightly. “Was it a mission thing? Or something else?”

You rested your chin on your hand, watching him like you were solving a puzzle. “Wait… don’t tell me you got into a fight with Mephisto again.” Sylus blinked. You nodded to yourself, looking way too serious now. “It makes sense. The broody look, the weird tension, the fact that you’re avoiding eye contact. Did you two have a jealousy spat over the cats?”

“You think this is about the cats? What's wrong with your head?” Sylus shakes his head then he runs a hand down his face, his fingers pressing against his temples. He needed this conversation to end. Immediately. “We are leaving. I need a coffee.” 

Still sitting on the pavement, you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. "Okay…? You could’ve just said that instead of having a mini crisis."

Sylus didn’t respond. He was already walking away, jaw tight, hands shoved into his pockets. 

You frowned slightly before glancing down at the cats. "What’s his deal?" Phantom, as if in solidarity, flicked his tail and turned his head away with an exaggerated huff. You chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah, I don’t get him either.”

Today, he’s weirdly quiet.

He keeps rubbing his fingers over his temple like he’s trying to will away whatever is bothering him. He runs a hand through his hair too often, exhales too heavily. You tilt your head, watching him, amusement bubbling in your chest. Oh. Oh, this could be fun. Maybe if you push him a little, just a little, you’ll figure out what’s wrong. What could possibly go wrong?

The engine growls beneath you as Sylus kicks the bike into motion, but you can feel the hesitation in his movements, the slight rigidity that wasn’t there before. Sylus inhales sharply, fingers gripping the handlebars tighter.

"Hold on" he mutters, voice tight. You grin. You press yourself closer than usual on the back of his motorcycle, arms wrapped snugly around his waist. Normally, you keep a respectable grip, not too loose, not too tight. But, you let your fingers drift just a bit lower, brushing the firm muscle at his waist. You don’t miss the way his entire body tenses beneath you. Oh… Interesting. You’re sure he curses under his breath. 

By the time he pulls up to your destination, you can tell he’s barely holding himself together. The moment the bike comes to a stop, he mutters a firm “Get off.”

You blink innocently. Sylus twists around to look at you, and he’s struggling. His red eyes are dark, sharp, his jaw tight like he’s fighting something. And it’s glorious.

“Off. Now.”

You huff playfully, but slide off the bike, stretching as if nothing happened. Sylus stays seated for a moment longer, like he needs to breathe. This is too good.

At first, you thought maybe he was just tired, maybe a little irritated about something mission-related. But now? Now, you’re starting to suspect it’s something else entirely.

Because every little touch, every offhand comment, every time you press even slightly into his space, he reacts. Not in a big way, no, he’s too good at keeping himself composed for that. But you see it. The flicker in his eyes. It’s like he’s… sensitive. And then it hits you. 

Oh. Ohhh. Maybe he just… 

…hasn’t gotten fucked in a while. Sylus is an attractive man who could have anyone relieve his stress. You've read in some articles that men with so much power often forget to relax. You almost laugh at the thought. Is that what’s wrong with him? Is that why he’s all tense and restless? Well. You’re not cruel. But you are curious. Which is why you decide to push. You wait until you're sitting across from him at a café, sipping on coffee, watching him struggle to act normal. His usual confidence is still there, but it’s fragile, like it could crack at any second.

You smirk. "You know, Sylus…" you start, propping your chin in your hand, voice slow and thoughtful.

He lifts a brow, already looking suspicious. "What?"

Your smirk widens. "I read something interesting earlier."

Sylus exhales, dragging his fingers over the rim of his cup, gaze flicking to you warily. "Should I be worried?"

You shrug, swirling your drink absentmindedly. "Apparently, if someone goes too long without… a release…." you pause just long enough to see his fingers tighten slightly "...their body starts getting all restless. Irritable. Sensitive."

His eyebrow twitches. Sylus lifts his cup to his lips. You continue, your voice taking on a casual, almost curious lilt. “Have you… released yourself lately?”

And then he chokes on his coffee. You blink, watching in fascination as he coughs into his fist, setting the cup down too aggressively. He tilts his head slightly down, running a hand over his mouth, exhaling sharply like he’s trying to stay alive.

You purse your lips. "Wow. That was dramatic."

Sylus glares at you, voice rougher than usual. "What kind of question is that?"

You lift your shoulders in an innocent shrug. “It just made me think. Maybe that’s why you’ve been all weird today. Maybe you just need to, you know…” You gesture vaguely with your fingers. “Take care of…”

Before you can finish, Sylus snatches the small bun from your plate and shoves it into your mouth, effectively silencing you. Your eyes widen in pure betrayal as you glare up at him, muffled by the mouthful of bread.

"Kitten…" he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s suffering some great burden. "You know very well that I adore you, but do me a favor and keep those ideas to yourself."

You chew slowly, staring at him, piecing things together. His grip on his cup, his stiff posture, the way his gaze seem desperately focused on anywhere but you. He’s embarrassed. Flustered.

You swallow the bite of bread, smirking as you tilt your head. "You’re blushing." You lean in, resting your chin in your hand. "You’re really telling me you’ve never gotten like that?"

Sylus exhales sharply, shifting in his seat. "Sweetie…" he said, warning.

"Come on," you press, voice dipping just a little, teasing. "You’re all moody, tense, acting like you haven’t had a moment to yourself in forever."

Sylus suddenly leans forward, his face mere inches from yours. You freeze. The café noise around you fades as his eyes flicker with something you hadn't seen.

"Kitten," he murmurs, low and smooth, "do you really want to know the answer to that question?"

You blink. Your heart does an unexpected little flip. …Wait. Did you just? Did you accidentally walk into his trap? Your throat bobs. Sylus’ smirk curls back into natural place. He sees it, sees the moment the teasing turns back on you. And that’s when he leans back, taking a slow sip of his coffee like nothing happened.

"Eat up."

You stay silent, but your mind is racing. He thinks he won. He thinks he got the last word. But no, oh no, you’re not letting this go. You know you’re right. You just need to make him admit it. Still, you force yourself to drop the subject for now, watching as he takes another casual sip of his coffee, like he didn’t just send your thoughts spiraling with that stupid smirk.

You spend the rest of the day together, running errands, taking the long way back through the city. Sylus, despite his usual sharp awareness, seems tired. It’s the kind of exhaustion he hates showing, but even he can’t hide it completely.

By the time you both make it back to your place, the sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the floor. You unlock the door, stepping inside as Sylus leans against the frame, rubbing again his tired eyes. 

You glance over at him. "You should take a nap."

“I'm fine, I can go home.”

You gesture toward the couch. "Nap here. You can leave after." Sylus stares at you for a moment. Then, in a move that genuinely surprises you, he actually sighs in defeat. He shrugs off his coat, tossing it over the armrest before sinking onto the couch. You make space, removing some plushies and pulling out a blanket. You move away to get some water when a strong hand suddenly grabs your wrist. 

Your voice hitches. "Sy-!?" pulling you down onto the couch, straight into him. Your back hits solid warmth, his body firm beneath yours, and for a brief moment, you forget how to breathe. His head drops forward, resting against your back. A slow, steady breath fans against your shoulder. Your carefully crafted schemes? Gone. Vanished. Replaced by the very real, very warm reality of Sylus beneath you, his breath slow and steady, his body solid and impossibly close.

"C-Can you sleep like this?"

Sylus doesn’t answer. Instead, he just lets out a low growl, shifting slightly as if trying to get comfortable. You swear you feel the vibration of it through your whole body. You shift slightly, trying to regain some sense of control. "Sylus?"

Again, no verbal response. Just another slow breath, another barely-there rumble of a sound. His arms tighten just a little more around your waist. You swear he’s doing this on purpose. You stay completely still, your mind racing, desperately trying to figure out your next move. But then Sylus nuzzles slightly against your back, and every single thought leaves your brain. Oh, this bastard.

You huff, twisting slightly to get a look at his face. "Hey, are you actually asleep or just pretending so you can mess with me?"

Nothing. Just the slow rise and fall of his chest, the completely at ease expression on his face, his lips slightly parted, his head still resting against your shoulder blade.

…Okay. Maybe he actually is asleep. That was quick. He must be really at the end of his strength. You bite your lip, debating your options. You could move, try to wiggle out of his grasp, but that would mean more contact, and you’re not sure if you can break free that easily. Or you could be evil. Your lips curl slightly.

You shift again, this time, intentionally. A slow, careful movement, rolling your hips just slightly in his lap, like you’re innocently adjusting your position. The reaction is instantaneous. Sylus lets out a low, sharp inhale, his grip tightening just a fraction before his entire body freezes. For a moment, there’s silence.

So, you do it again. Another small roll of your hips, your weight pressing slightly into his lap. Still nothing. You try it a few more times and then you feel it. Something hard presses against your butt, unmistakable even through layers of fabric. Your breath catches. Your entire body locks up in realization, the warmth rushing up your spine now burning at your face. Oh. Oh, shit.

You freeze completely, pulse hammering, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The firm press of Sylus' thighs beneath you, the heat of him against your back, the fact that you started something you weren’t sure would lead. You just wanted to tease him and now he is hard under you. 

“Kitten...” Your heartbeat slams against your ribs. His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Stay still.”

You bite your lip, waiting, expecting him to react, to throw some cocky remark your way but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays completely still like he’s fighting something, like he’s trying to force this moment back under control. You’re not going to let him. Slowly you shift your hips again. Sylus exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching where they rest against your waist.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "Are you going to tell me why you’re so tense?" You push further. "I mean, you’ve been acting weird all day." You let your voice dip just slightly, playing into the innocence of it. "Wouldn’t have anything to do with what we talked about this morning, would it?"

Sylus finally speaks with a dangerous rasp against your ear.

"You should stop."

A shiver actually runs down your spine because of that tone. That is not his usual teasing. Slowly, cautiously, you turn your head to look at him, really look at him. And that’s when you see it. Sylus’ face is flushed. His jaw is tight, his lips slightly parted like he’s struggling to breathe evenly. His hair is slightly messy, strands fallen across his flushed forehead.

His eyes flick to your lips… then lower, linger on your thighs, before dragging back up to meet yours. That paralyzes you because Sylus never looks like this. Your mouth goes dry. You’ve seen Sylus in many states: bored, smug, amused, deadly. But this? This is something else entirely. You’ve imagined it, sure. On lonely nights, in quiet fantasies, in those dangerous thoughts you don’t usually entertain for long. And it’s such an erotic image that the idea of getting off his lap now feels like a death sentence. Like stepping away from something you might never get the chance to see again.

You want to burn this into your memory. Your heart is thudding, loud in your ears. You swallow, barely trusting your voice as you whisper.

“…Why?”

His eyes darken instantly. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand comes to rest on your thigh. Is light but the heat of it burns through the fabric.

“Because if you keep going…” he murmurs, but stops himself. A mocking smile appears on his lips again. “Why do you want to know so badly?” His thumb brushes the inside of your thigh, maddeningly light. “Is it curiosity?” he continues. “Is it the power? Or…” his eyes flicker to your lips again, “do you just like imagining it?”

Your heart stutters. He leans in, just enough that you feel the heat of his breath ghost over your cheek, his voice a whisper meant for no one but you.

“Be honest, kitten. Is it me you’re thinking about… when you’re restless?”

Your pulse trips.

“You ask that like you want it to be you.” You tilt your head, eyes dancing with mock thoughtfulness. “I mean, it could be. But there are so many options. It’d be unfair to name just one. Why so curious?” you murmur. “Feeling a little... worked up yourself?” You move a bit more on his lap. He is still hard, you bit your lip. 

“If I said yes,” he murmurs, voice low and velvety, “would that change anything?”

Your lips twitch with a teasing smile. “Maybe,” you say, leaning in just enough to make it sting. “Or maybe I’d just watch.”

“Careful, kitten. If you watch too long… you might beg to join.”

Second part > Dreamy Date - Careful Kitten II

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[hyper-fixates]

low honour!arthur morgan x virgin!reader

this is really just one long-winded fic idea that i need to speak into existence.

tags: literally save a horse ride a cowboy, afab!reader (feminine pronouns, descriptions, and names used), religious topics/imagery, obsessive!arthur, virginity kink, age gap relationship, loss of virginity, corruption kink

Reader is in her early 20s, privileged to come from a family with wealth from their heritage and inheritance in the oil industry.

The era of cowboys and outlaws has started to become a thing of the past from the shifts in climate and industry throughout the country. Reader has resided in Saint Denis her whole life, never needing to worry about gangs, outlaws, or even cowboys.

She has never even seen a cowboy before, but she’s heard stories; none of them particularly pretty. The presence of law enforcement throughout the streets and the sheer distance of Saint Denis from other towns is enough to deter most of them from causing trouble.

Functionally, she should never be compatible with a cowboy.

Her father has always preached about her waiting for a “good, proper man” that can marry her into another family with obscene wealth. And so, she protects her chastity and innocence just as she is expected to—just as her father expects her to.

Hell, she doesn’t even know how to ride a horse! Her father believes that riding horses is beneath them, so anywhere she wants to go is accommodated by a stagecoach.

Cut to: reader is accompanying her father on a trip to Annesburg to discuss potential investments in the mining industry. He hates leaving her alone. She knows he worries that she’ll get “up to no good”.

Her father has chosen one of their more comfortable, flashy stagecoaches for the longer ride, giving him more storage for his financial documents and whatnot. A perfect target for gangs.

And, inevitably, they get robbed.

The robbers’ faces are all concealed by hats and bandanas, and one of them ties her arms behind her back with careful hands before guiding her to her knees on the wet grass.

The man who tied her up stays close by her side, and she can see her father pleading for his life to another man who’s not listening.

“Are you a cowboy?” Are the first words she says to him, not a note of fear in her doll-like eyes that make her look so fuckable in this position with her on her knees next to him, dress billowing out around her form.

He looks down at her confused. “Uh, once, I suppose.” His voice is a little muffled by the black bandana hanging over his nose and mouth.

She can see that his hair is so long that it starts to curl up and out at the ends under his hat.

“Well, you got the hat. And the horse,” she reasons, wondering if she’s truly meeting a cowboy under circumstances she thought she’d never be in.

He looks to her again, left hand causally hooked in the leather of his belt as he waits for the rest of his gang to finish up. “I guess you’re right.” He tips his head to her in agreement.

“Leave them! These people are leeches. Let the wolves decide their fate.” A man with a deep, booming voice announces atop his white horse.

Now she starts to panic.

She pulls against the rope around her wrists, looking up to the man who tied her as he begins to walk toward his horse. “Wait! Mister, please! Please don’t. Please,” she yells to him.

He looks back to her, then his horse, then back to her again. “Hold on.” He signals to the man on the white horse before walking back over to her.

“Take me home. Please just take me home, mister. I won’t say nothing, I promise, but just take me home and I’ll give you anything you want,” she begs to him.

He sighs, but not out of annoyance or hesitation for her request. He sighs because he has no idea what she has just done to herself.

He places his bandana over her eyes and leads her to his horse. He unties her hands and lets her blindly climb into the saddle, legs shaking from unfamiliarity.

When she settles, she blindly grips onto the saddle horn for dear life, wishing her father let her ride at least once in her life so she wouldn’t appear so delicate in this situation. The man chuckles off to the side before mounting up behind her. She notices the saddle is not quite meant for two as he pushes in tightly against her ass, seemingly not even concerned about it.

This is probably the closest she’s ever been to a man.

“Where to, miss?” The man leans forward against her back to grab the reigns, caging her in with his arms.

She tells him in a quiet voice, and he kicks against his horse, setting them into motion.

When they arrive at her French two-story home on the outskirts of Saint Denis, the man dismounts swiftly, hand circling her wrist before saying, “Swing your right leg over and I’ll help you down.”

She slowly brings herself around, feeling the man lock his hands around her waist to guide her to the ground.

He tugs at the knot holding the bandana around her eyes, and she doesn’t let herself turn around until she feels he’s had enough time to tie it back around his face.

“Thank you, mister,” she whispers.

He tips his hat and leaves without another word.

In the following week, the man watches her after the sun sets. He watches her pray before bed and change into her silk nightgown, waiting for the night he can maybe finally see the more explicit side of her. But it never comes.

She’s perfect.

Eventually they cross paths again one day. The man purposefully chooses to ditch the bandana, too.

“I don’t think my daddy would appreciate me talking to someone like you,” she admits slyly as she continues her trek into Saint Denis.

The man follows beside her on his horse, left arm lazily hanging down by his side. “Someone like me? And who’s that?” he asks, a slight smile also on his lips.

“A cowboy. An outlaw,” she says, sneaking a glance up to him as his horse steps in time with her down the path.

“Well your daddy ain’t here.”

“No, mister.”

“Come for a ride then.”

And that’s how it’s starts for them. He introduces himself as they ride to his gangs camp, and she complains about how sore her legs are when they arrive.

“You don’t ride?” Arthur asks, intending for it to be a joke.

“That was my second time. Ever,” she laughs.

And that’s when he understands what type of lady he’s dealing with, so he goes for it.

“Maybe you should practice on me sometime,” he remarks, untacking his horse.

She wonders if she heard him right. “Uh, mister—”

“Arthur,” he corrects.

In that moment, she realizes he can teach her everything her father has kept from her, show her everything he had protected her from. Throw away the innocence and chastity and truly experience what life should be. But Arthur doesn’t know the entirety of her sheltered life. She needs someone like him.

“Arthur…I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” she admits. “I…I’ve never been with no one. Ever.”

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Just as my daddy said I should be. Until marriage.”

And Arthur makes it his mission to make her experience her own sexuality in its completeness, so he starts off slow.

He would always touch, never breaching her or letting her do anything to him. The focus was always on her.

Her virginity and pureness made him conflicted: he wanted to ruin her in all the ways she has never been, but he wants to tease and rile her up and watch her experience all the sexual frustrations for the first time.

It was cute. The more bold he got with his touches, the more bold she got in trying to take what she wanted. He would take her behind a tree and slowly lift up the dainty material of her summer dress, gathering it in his left hand as he used his right to rub her clit through her underwear while he licked and sucked along her neck, careful not to leave marks.

She would get weak so fast, Arthur could barely handle how virgin her body truly was. She would grip onto the leather straps of the rifles hanging down his back, trying to force his hand harder and faster.

However, the first time he made her cum was an accident.

He confidently placed a gentle kiss on her lips while they were alone in his tent—he just wanted to see how she would react.

She leaned in and returned it, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling him down to her. He pulled her into his lap, laying them down on his cot as they started making out like a long-distance high-school couple.

Arthur mindlessly starts grinding against her, ignoring the clothing separating them. She doesn’t realize what she’s feeling as Arthur’s hard cock slides against her clothed pussy.

Her orgasm just kind of happens.

Arthur watches her shake and twitch under him as he pulls away to see what happened. The wet spot on her underwear is all the evidence he needs.

Ever since, she’s been insatiable. She wants Arthur to show her everything. Teach her everything. She wants to feel everything if that means she can cum like that again.

Around the campfire she’d sit on his lap, tightly circling her hips against him until he’d grow hard before stopping. Then she’d do it again.

Arthur would mostly ignore her teasing. He didn’t want her to know how much she was driving him up the wall, so he’d retaliate in a way that was ten times worse then whatever she did just to prove a point about her innocence, how she knows so little compared to him.

The first time they fuck, he makes the horse riding joke again: “I’m sure this’ll be good practice for you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a laugh, rubbing his cock through her folds as she straddles him. He’s built up her confidence so much, it’s all been leading to this.

He’d guide her up and down, back and forth, testing her body to see what she likes. Seeing what spot makes her tremble.

He finds it. “Fuck, there it is,” Arthur groans.

She can’t even think. She doesn’t know what to think. She’s doing everything her father told her not to.

Premarital sex.

Premarital sex with a cowboy.

“Oh, Lord, forgive me,” she prays, her pussy sliding so perfectly along him as he grips her hips harder.

Eventually, he’d eat her out in her childhood bedroom. Her father sleeping in the room above her own, separated by the thin wood of the floor. She arches against the bed, and her eyes meet the iron cross hung above her bed frame.

She’d often ask him to leave the hat on, and he’d laugh, pleased that she is slowly adopting sexual preferences and interests.

She was his perfect, sophisticated woman that he was free to defile and poison with his desires.

[cherrybugbite]

how me and gang pull up to the function

[ghostlyglimmer]

The Fun Zone Part 3

You can find previous chapters here

Summary:

Danny Fenton’s part-time job at The Fun Zone—a chaotic arcade and entertainment center that’s secretly a gang front—was going great until a certain vigilante stormed in to shut the place down.

It was another day at The Fun Zone, and Danny was manning the counter like always, half-heartedly sorting through a stack of tokens while sipping on an overly sweet slushy. Business was steady enough to keep him on his feet, but not so busy that he couldn’t hear the unmistakable chime of the front door opening.

Danny didn’t look up right away. “Welcome to The Fun Zone,” he called out in his default bored tone. “Mini-golf is on special today. Please don’t fight over the clown hole.”

“Actually, I’m more interested in laser tag,” came a voice that was far too chipper for Gotham. Danny glanced up to see a young man with a camera slung around his neck and a backpack that looked too functional to just carry snacks. His black hair stuck out at odd angles, and his smile radiated the kind of curiosity that immediately put Danny on edge.

“Sure thing,” Danny said cautiously, taking in the guy’s face. He wasn’t exactly memorable, but he had the same intense energy as a kid trying to win all the prizes at once. “Laser tag’s fifteen bucks for unlimited rounds. You here alone?”

“Yup.” The guy smiled wider. “I like to… scout out fun places for my blog. Gotham doesn’t have many safe places for kids, you know?”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “A blog? About arcades?”

“And family fun centers,” the guy corrected, his voice practically oozing innocence. “Places like this are important. Keeps kids off the streets, you know?”

Danny wasn’t buying it for a second. No one with that much pep belonged in Gotham. “Cool. Name?”

“Uh…” The guy hesitated.

"It's for the ticket." Danny replied

“Tim.” The boy smiled sheepishly

“Tim,” Danny repeated, staring at him for a moment before shrugging. “Okay, Tim. Here’s your gear.”

Danny handed over a laser tag vest and a blaster, noting the subtle tension in Tim’s posture, like he was expecting something to jump out at him. “Laser tag arena’s through the back. Don’t break anything.”

Tim nodded and wandered off, though not without a suspicious glance at the prize counter as if he were cataloging the stuffed animals for some secret database. Danny watched him go, his unease growing.

About ten minutes later, the chime of the office door opening caught Danny’s attention. Red Hood poked his head out “Hey, where’s that slush—”

Hood stopped mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes toward the laser tag entrance. “God damnit-Stay here. Don’t let him leave until I get back.”

“Uh, sure, boss,” Danny said, watching as Hood stalked off toward the laser tag arena like a man on a mission.

Fifteen minutes later, Danny was back at the counter when Tim returned, looking slightly disheveled but otherwise unbothered. He placed the laser tag gear on the counter and smiled. “That was fun. You’ve got a good setup here.”

Danny crossed his arms. “You meet my boss in there?”

Tim’s smile didn’t falter. “Oh, you mean the guy who thinks laser tag is a viable interrogation method? Yeah, we had a nice chat.”

“Sure you did,” Danny said dryly, grabbing a disinfectant wipe to clean the gear. “So, what’s the deal? You guys just take turns harassing me, or is this some kind of weird Gotham hazing ritual?”

Tim tilted his head, genuinely curious. “You seem pretty unfazed by all this. Not many people can handle Red Hood breathing down their neck without sweating.”

Danny smirked. “I’ve had worse bosses.”

“Fair enough,” Tim said, pulling a notepad out of his pocket and jotting something down. “By the way, do you guys host birthday parties?”

“Yeah, but it’s mostly chaos and kids screaming for tokens,” Danny replied. “Not sure it’s blog-worthy.”

Tim grinned, slipping the notepad back into his pocket. “Oh, I think this place is definitely worth writing about.”

As Tim walked out the door, Danny sighed, already bracing himself for whatever nonsense tomorrow would bring. Hood emerged from the laser tag arena a moment later, looking equal parts annoyed and suspicious.

“He leave?” Hood asked.

“Yup,” Danny replied. “Said he’s writing about us.”

“Great,” Hood muttered. “Now we’re gonna end up on Bat's watchlist.”

Danny couldn’t suppress his grin. “We weren’t already?”

Hood shot him a glare. “Shut up and mop the arcade.”

Danny gave a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain Hood.”

[honeyydrunk]

the nct fuckboy/fratboy agenda has me weakkkk omg give us more whenever u have the time ur so good!!!

ofc thank u !! they have me going delusional feral crazy barking and meowing !! let me do it for you let me write it out ANY MORE REQUESTS LEMME KNOW !!

part 1 link NCT COLLEGE FUCKBOYS PART 2 ten jeno jungwoo hendery yangyang renjun xiaojun winwin

ten lee chittaphon leechaiyapornkul is a whore. absolute whore. he's raising those neos into SLUTS. his reputation precedes him bc he is so pretty, so flexible, so ughhhhhhhhhhh !!!! like you see him for the first time and you know why people say he's got a body count bigger than his age. everyone wants to fuck himmm. he's so pretty, and even even prettier fucked out. messy hair and everything.

he's always flirting with someone new in the hallway when you see him. and like taeyong, his sex tapes get sent AROUND. people come up to him at school randomly and beg for 1 night w him. he's slept w all the neos at one point im sure about that.

you knew about how much of a SLUT bro was. but once you saw one of his sex tapes w johnny, you found yourself showed up outside of his class and begged for him. he responded that you should dm him w your application and he might get back to you about it. lee jeno 💪 bro is ur average athlete player fuckboy. THE cliche. smokes behind the benches, rich family, somehow top of the class. the one that everyone swears they won't fall for but they all want. you see a new girl on his arm each week and it hurts. but you've already fallen, it's just a matter of time. he'll start wearing you down and he didn't even know he did it. but you did. pulling the triangle technique when you lock eyes, catching you when you fall. and eventually he'll be right behind you when you shamefully admit to your friend that you want him. when he fucks you gone in his car? you know you need to get him to stay with you. you couldn't live without this. like you need his dick to even function. you've given up your life for him, just so that when he asks you're available to suck his dick.

JUNGWOO,,,, oh my god. he's so crazy. y'all remember the 2 baddies fuckboy jungwoo era. imagine that, but that's his default setting. man's still sugaring candy, but it's ur candy this time. he's sucking ur pussy if u didn't understand what doja said. he's the quiet slut. the whole school doesn't talk about him like they do mark, ten, taeyong and jeno. but when you see him? you're done for. batshit crazy delusional. his whole demeanour and personality is straight flirting, pulling his shirt up at every opportunity. the way he walks around the school with his sweet perfume trailing, he gets people going feral over him. people will just walk up and beg for him to fuck him, and ofc jungwoo obliges if they're hot enough.

he's so sweet when you taste him, like his cum is sweeter than sugar. his perfume too. everything about him is like a candy drug. a pretty moan when you suck him dry. he's so pretty and sweet that makes you cum too. genuinely, you start following him around school just so you can smell him. you don't even care it's creepy.

H E N D E R Y is the epitome of "so weird you forget he's hot." he's actually extremely popular. genuinely friends with everyone. people are a little hesitant because they know he's part of the neo slut gang, and they see him acting a little unusual special crazy. but they actually have a conversation with him and suddenly they realise, bro this guy is amazing. and jus like that he's friends with everyone.

but then, uh well here comes a strange phenomenon. you've only seen him being silly, a little whimsical even. but when you see him zoned out, or concentrating for once? ..... "oh". because you finally realise how beautiful he is. an actual prince. it's not exaggerated to say he's taken your breath away. you're in love. imagine how much it hurts to go to a party and realise that you're not the only one in the room that is. so many people had that exact experience as you. learning how beautiful he truly is, falling in love, and begging for him. you see him in the corner, zoned out from the loud music and watch one of the guys you're mutually friends with have that phenomenon right there and then, pulling him away to a cupboard.

the same thing happened 3 times that night. liu yangyang international exchange fuckboy. he doesn't realise he's a fuckboy though. with the whole funny and cute personality going on, he thinks he's just got an amazing ability to pull people. sleeping with a different person or multiple people at a party, to seeing someone new every day and asking for their instagram. bro doesn't even know about the horrendous reputation he's got. "dude people say i'm a slut? nahhh that's crazy."

yangyang is of the opinion he's just a funny chill guy. down for anything, including a little fun fuck times whenever someone asks. and while that's his reasoning, he doesn't quite understand how it looks to everyone else. a rich guy coming back from germany, taiwan, and wherever else for weekend getaway bender and driving to school in a luxury car with a new girl in it almost every day.

when he fucks? it's just like his personality. fun and hyper. bros fucking for a good time and with him it's definitely a good time. spilling cum on the luxury leather seats, tinted windows and a surround sound system. yeah,,,,, you see why he does this so often. it's genuinely so much fun. better make sure you give him a really good time though, so he invites you to his apartment next time.

renjunnie the most smug class president for some, and nct's little plaything to others. it really depends on who you ask. for people in his class, he is the most obnoxious, smug, annoying ahh know it all, with the biggest dick. (a stick up his ass which is obviously jenos). genuinely, every person he's tutored has ended up unfortunately eyeing him instead of the book. how did that end? with him being just as rude and bitchy as he fucks you. measuring how much he pleases you by how much you can answer while fucked out.

but for the ones that know of the dreamies having their way with him can't possibly see him as anything other than a little toy. the way the other six just devour that man is actually quite shocking. lowkey surprised bro can even walk.

xiaojun oh my lord. this man's moans are heavenly. you actually cum when you hear them. (lowkey think some czennie do when he hits those notes). he's part of the nct moaner gets passed around line with renjun, haechan, taeyong, and ten. horrid sex tapes.

he looks so beautiful. standing in front of the school performance during an assembly, halting everyone with his voice. if you could look around, you'd see everyone frozen. haunted by his siren song and face that launched a thousands wars. everyone in that room was looking at him, and only him. in that room, no one was in a relationship. how could they love anyone else except him.

countless marriage proposals, dowrys of billions. everyone in that room would give xiaojun the world in exchange for a sliver of his love. no joke someone has given him a car in exchange for his private instagram account. winwin bros got the cha eunwoo effect. the campus crush. he hangs out with the china line horrid fuckboys , yangyang hendery chenle. but who cares? that actually elevates his status. literally a rose in a garden of slutty ahh thorns. that's not to say he's not a giant fuckboy. he's just quieter about it.

with his quiet excuses, sneak dates an hour away, his subtle ways of affection. he says he doesn't want attention, so you can't publicly date. but that's just so the other girls won't find out. he doesn't even think he's dating you, just seeing where it goes. eventually you'll call it off, "making it easier on your friendship" you say. that's how he goes through so many girls.

taking you to a beautiful garden several hours out of the city, you think it's romantic. he uses a different phone to text with you, 'so the guys don't go through my regular one and tease you'.

enjoying the sunlight he's slowly fingering you so you're focused on his love, and not seeing what's right in front of you

tags: @stanskzorillkickyou you asked for yangyang bbg !!

prev: haechan, mark, johnny, yuta, jaemin, kun, chenle, jisung next: jaehyun doyoung, perhaps lucas sungchan shotaro

[asterain]

wyd when me and the gang pull up to the function with the vivid bad squad ice cream spoon

[dumpywrites]

Club Brooklyn - Min Yoongi / Suga

Prompt: Partners in crime, one mission ruins it all.

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Slight angst, drama, mafia au, partners in crime au, mentions of violence/crime/assault

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

Word count: 5.7k

a/n: I literally write this during my work lunch break lol don't know what possessed me

You had been working for the mob organization for the longest time, spending away your youth days. It wasn’t entirely by choice, but given the options, it could’ve turned worse.

Having an absent father who left you with debt was something you wouldn’t wish on anyone. One day a couple of men just came up to your small apartment, demanding you some amount, you refused, and you tried to beat them up. Did you succeed? Hell no. But you did impressively made one of them lose one tooth and knock the other straight on the nose. Having a small knowledge in Taekwondo did save your life, but also changing it from that point onwards, forever. 

Apparently, the small damage you made amused the headmaster, the boss of the organization. Instead of getting trafficked, you assumed, you were forced to train into one of the dogs, as what they called. At a young age, you then became an official guard dog of an elite gang and earned your new alias, Violet. 

The very next month was when you first got assigned with a partner. His nickname was Agust, a man who was just a few years older than you, but seemingly equipped with far more experience. Fair skin, not too tall, and jet black hair that was sometimes pulled into a small bun. There was a small scar across his right eye, but you didn’t even wanna ask why and how did he get it. He was quiet, professional, and quick. You were surprised to get paired up with someone as capable as him on your first ever gig.

It happened again in the next two months after that, the next week, and then until somehow the boss wouldn’t assign you on anything without the man coming along. You just worked together perfectly. It was almost you could read his mind without him needing to tell you anything. Your creative thinking matched well with his quick and quiet moves. 

There was never really anything between the two of you. Not even a mere friendship, just strictly business. But little by little you started to pick on his habit and so did he. You started smoking after gigs, while he now carried a few pieces of bandaid in his pocket for emergency annoying cuts, just like you did. It was bound to happen anyway when you spent that much time working together. 

Your new life was far from perfect. But it was… secure. Yes, your life was continuously put at risk, but at the very least you didn’t have to think about whether you could afford food on your plate the next day. You could afford the latest gadget if you wanted to and the apartment complex they told you to stay in was pretty sweet. 

**

Agust cursed under his breath as he peaked over his shoulder, sore feet dragging him as he kept going, hoping he had successfully flee. 

"Answer the damn phone…" He muttered through gritted teeth, clicking his tongue in annoyance as he shoved the phone back in his pocket and made a mental note to scold you about it later. His eyes turned to a small dark corner, then he spotted you, his trusted partner in crime, leaning against your track taking puffs from your cigarette, unbothered.

“You’re late.” He groaned, approaching you. 

“Your car decided it was a great time to not function.” You raised your eyebrows. “I found another car though, you’re welcome.”

“So you just left my car like that?!” He asked in disbelief as he followed you from behind. 

“I called Vante. I’m sure he’s taken it somewhere.” 

“Knowing him my car is probably torn to pieces right now, on its way to become his robot coke server or something.” He sighed. “You should’ve just left the car.”

“And risk leaving evidence???” You glared at him before you entered the car. “Why did you even buy that old ass car…”

“It’s vintage.” He corrected you as he took the passenger seat, looking vexed.

A small smile crept up on your lips, a bit amused seeing the expression on his face. “Relax, I told him to not touch it.” You flicked off the cigarette bud by the window, stomped on the pedal, and sped away. 

You arrived shortly at your hideout after a quiet ride. As usual both of you reported to your superordinates and handed out whatever was requested. In this case, an ear of a supposed business partner’s. You did not know what happened between them that your boss had to request for such thing, but you didn’t asked. Not like you had the authority to. 

The back porch was small, nothing flashy to avoid attention, but you loved spending just a few minutes winding yourself back after a job. Reminding yourself of nature, the small things in life, the opposite of the brutal truth you had to encounter every single day. 

You took out the cigarette pack from your pocket and lit up your favorite heart shaped lighter. It was one thing that every members loved to tease you about, but you couldn’t care less. You thought the design was pretty and there was nothing wrong with it. It had been with you for almost two years now. It didn’t look as cute as it was with small bloodstain that you couldn’t remove right at the corner. 

“I told you to stop.” 

A man, your partner, approached as he lit one up for himself as well. 

“I’ll quit when you quit.” You scoffed. “I picked the habit from you anyways so it’s only fair.”

Both of you stood in silence, the sound of birds chirping filling the air and the sun was slowly setting. 

“Has Jay told you about our next gig?” You said after puffing some smoke to the opposite direction. 

“No.”

“No?” You looked at him in disbelief. “Don’t you guys live nearby or something…”

“If you hadn’t notice, people don’t really enjoy talking to me that much.” He huffed. 

“I do.” You shrugged. 

“We kinda have to with our circumstances.”

“I don’t think they hate talking to you. You just love to push people away without giving them the chance to actually do it.” You flicked some ashes into a tray next to you. “You do realize that?”

“What’s our next gig about?”

You sighed, noticing the way he avoided the topic. “We’re taking the owner of Club Brooklyn for some talk. I don’t know the details yet but we might need to disguise and blend in a little bit since it’s a public place.”

“When is it?”

“Next Saturday if I’m not mistaken.”

Your partner frowned. “I have a solo the day before.”

“I think this one’s might just be a chill gig so you’ll be alright. Is it like a big stuff?”

“Some money laundering shit. Big guy needs me there.” He frowned, huffing the last puff before squeezing the bud on the metal ashtray. 

“You’ll be fine.”

**

A loud knock followed by another, then another afterwards. It was almost four. Surely, you weren’t expecting anyone to come and visit at this hour. You quickly grab a pocket knife from your side table, proceeding cautiously. Bringing your eyes to the small peephole, you were beyond shocked. 

“What the fuck happened?!” Exclaimed you, quickly letting the person in. 

The state Agust in wasn’t something you had not seen. Bloody nose, bruised knuckles, and a small cut on side of his left jaw. It was more the fact that he just showed up at your door unpromptedly. In the years of knowing him, this was a first time. 

“Had to flee, fucker’s got government people with him. We were outnumbered.” He said with hoarse voice. 

You noticed the obvious limping and moved to his side, helped him to sit on your small couch.“What happened to your feet?”

“Metal bat.” He sighed. “Asshole.”

You sighed along him, bending down and sat on the floor. You rolled one side of his trousers up to check on it. Immediately, you cringed at the sight of the purplish hue on his skin. 

“I’ll go get some ice compression.”

You came back a few minutes later with a bag of ice pack and a glass of water. He winced at the contact with the cold surface, but he kept his composure. You handed the glass cup to him and he took it immediately, muttering a quick thanks. 

“It seems like you’re gonna need some makeup for our mission later.”

“Shit, I forgot about that.” He scoffed, rubbing his temples. 

“Just stay in, I’ll call someone to pick you up later.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t mind.” You said casually. “You want the bed?”

“The couch is fine.” He said after groaning as he moved his position. 

“If you want to wash up I have some oversized t-shirts you can use.” 

“Thanks, I’ll just stay here for now though.” He sighed. 

“Okay.” You nodded. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

Sleep didn’t take you for long. You woke up from your short sleep at around nine. You felt a bit restless at the thought of your partner sleeping in your living room. He was still asleep on the couch, both of his feet were up on the armrest and it looked unpleasant. It also seemed like he had clean himself a bit, despite still being in his clothes. 

“Hey.” I shook his shoulder lightly. “Go wash up and sleep on the bed for a bit.” 

His body must be aching but you got an immediate response. Everyone on the house was a light sleeper, it came with the job. 

It was quite the sight seeing him in your t-shirt. Funny how the oversized fit now seemingly turned into a fitted one. Thankfully, you forgot to give back a pair of sweatpants you borrowed from Vante a while ago. Suits, shirts, ties, trousers, and black boots were his usual go to. You barely saw him out of his work attire. 

“You seem comfortable.” You couldn’t help but to comment. A small smile appeared on your lips. 

“T-shirt’s a bit small but it’s alright.” He said as he dried his hair with a towel. 

“It looks good on you.” You shrugged. 

He eyed you suspiciously but commented on nothing. 

“Toast? Coffee?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Both of you sat in congenial silence, just eating the buttered toast as the TV showed a random news forecast. 

“You wanna go and rest some more?” 

“Nah, I’m good.” He dismissed.

You nodded. “You wanna watch something?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Why not.”

He stayed quiet as you browsed through the options on the screen. He seemed tensed suddenly, you weren’t quite sure why. 

“Any preference?”

“Anything’s fine.”

“Don’t say that, I’m about to make you watch some old Hello Kitty movie.” You chuckled.

The corner of his lips curved a little and he turned to face you. “Hello Kitty?”

“It’s a cartoon cat from Japan.”

“I know that.” He scoffed. “You like Hello Kitty?”

“Is that surprising?”

“No, it’s on brand with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean…” You tilted your head, eyeing the guy. 

“You always carry some cartoon animal band-aids. I’m surprised you don’t stick cute stickers on your pistol.”

“Hey, I’m allowed to have a personality, okay?! You should try it.” You rolled your eyes.

“No, no, I’m not mocking you. It’s adorable.” 

The warm smile on his lips was a huge contrast to the expression you were used to see him wore. 

“It helps you know… in a way it’s kinda my escapism from who I am.” 

The man’s gaze now fixed on you, making you a bit skittish. His eyes were always so intense. 

“I don’t really like who I’ve become and it’s good to have something to remind you that your old self is still there… somewhere.” You continued. 

“How did you even end up here?”

Your eyes widened for a second. You didn’t expect him to ask you. 

“My father left me with a debt. I was about to get collected, but I somehow managed to land a punch on and knocked one tooth one of the three guys who came… Apparently they were amazed by that.” You leaned back on the sofa and continued. “It’s Mr. Lee.” You chuckled. 

“You punched Mr. Lee?! He eyed you with an astonished look. “How old were you? That’s impressive.”

“Nineteen.” You sighed. “But, aren’t you glad? We wouldn’t meet otherwise.” You hit him with your elbow playfully.

He just stared at your wall. Maybe he wondered if it was really a good thing, you being here and all. 

“How about you?” You asked, making him move his eyes back to your direction. 

“I was fifteen when my parents sold me.”

You gasped. “They— they sold you?” 

“Yeah.” He said nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing. “I wasn’t exactly a good kid and my parents were stuck with debts left and right. It’s also how I got this…” He pointed at the scar on his eye. “I was resisting.”

“You were so young…” You looked at him, sympathizing. 

“I was one of the first batch of trained guard dogs. They realized if they need obedient slaves, they’re gonna have to start young.”

“Did you even finished school?”

“Nope. But they we were occasionally given private lessons just so we don’t turn out as a bunch of muscles with no thoughts.”

You wondered the horror he had to go through. You were lucky enough Mr. Lee, one of your seniors, ended up being somewhat of a parental figure for you. Being a woman in this petrifying world, you could imagine what could easily happen to you on your early days. 

“It must have been so hard for you…” You cooed. 

“You went through the same thing.” 

“Yeah but the place used to be way worse…”

You wanted to continue speaking, mentioning how the knowledge of his parents selling him away must had fucked with his mind so badly. How he shouldn’t had said all those horrid things with the calmest expression ever. It must had been so lonely for him. You did not feel like you had the right to say more though. 

“Agust…”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever feel like something’s troubling you, I’m all ears. We’re partners, it’s the least I could do.” You smiled. “You hear me?”

 “Yoongi.”

Your brain suddenly fogged. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Min Yoongi.” He repeated. “It’s my name.”

Guard dogs weren’t supposed to share and know each other’s name. It was all for safety purposes and to keep things strictly professional between everyone. In the span of more than three years of working with him, he barely even called you by your codename. So why suddenly..?

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…” You stopped, barely processing things.

“I thought you might as well know about it. You might see me die one day.” He said with a stoic face. 

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“It’s the truth.” 

You out of all people knew. 

You told him to get some more rest on your bed, your mission wasn’t up until later at night after all so you got plenty of time. 

Min Yoongi. It was just a name. You wondered why did it sound so delicate coming out from his lips, like it was the most vulnerable thing he had ever shared. Probably because it was. 

Later that evening, both of you set out to the main lair to get ready. Ate some food and got dressed in some club appropriate outfit. With your trusted pistol and knife hidden on a holster, you were ready to go. 

Today’s tasks were simple. Blend in with the crowd, locate the target, and lure him to the designated room where the negotiator would be waiting. 

Club Brooklyn. 

The neon sign was big enough to lit a whole forest. And you were told to be discreet? You wondered how much did they had to bribe the police to shut them up every single time. Because for a place filled with illegal festivities, it sure looked pretty flashy. 

Both of you were already at the parking lot, waiting for a signal to enter the premise. You look to the passenger seat, seeing your partner with a bruise that was still faintly visible on his jaw. 

“Hey, let me put some more concealer on you.” 

“It’s not gonna be obvious with all the colorful lights anyway.” He complained.  

“You could be talking to someone at the restroom?” You argued. 

He sighed in defeat. “Hurry.” 

You grinned, satisfied. “Come here.” 

He inched closer, but his eyes were looking at somewhere behind you. Carefully, you put a finger on his jaw, while your other hand tapping the product lightly on his skin. You had always known how good his skin looked, but you didn’t know it looked this good up close. It was unfair. You bet he showered with a 3-in-1 soap. 

You were surprised he stayed put the whole time. You still remembered how he swatted your hand when you first met him. Yikes. Guessed he got used to being with you over time. 

“Why? Is there something wrong?” He asked when you kept staring at his face. 

“Just admiring. You look great!” You grinned cheekily. “I’m trying to put my finger on why I feel like something’s off…” You tapped your chin comically. 

“What is it.” He said with a stoic voice. 

“I prefer you with your scars better. Makeup makes you look generic.” 

When you finally let go and put away the small concealer bottle, your eyes met for a second, but you were quick to break the stare. 

And then your phone beeped, alerting the signal. It was time to go. 

“Ag— Yoongi.”

His hand was still on the door knob, but the man turned his head to you.

“This might seem dramatic, and today is just an easy gig for us, but uh… I want you to know my name as well.” You smiled, unaware of how your cheeks had grown a light shade of pink. “Because I trust you.”

There was no major reaction coming from him as you spelled out your full name, but you could feel his gaze softened he held down a smile when you giggled sheepishly after. 

“Target on three o’clock.” You whispered to your earring-slash-earpiece. 

Slowly, you moved through the crowd. Pretending to have fun, you had a glass of on your hand as you did. On the other side, Yoongi was aiming for the owner’s bodyguards, looking for a way to stir their attention away. 

“Agust, Violet, big guy is moving to the bar area.” You heard the monitor man spoke from the earpiece. 

Your attention shifted to the drink in your hand and then to the shimmery dress you wore. An idea popped up in your head. 

“I’ll distract the guards. Agust, go and try to make a deal with the man.”

There were two bodyguards of the pimp, and you needed to distract the one that watched the VIP room door. Agust would slide in to convince him he was a potential client, then lure him to the room with your people waiting inside. 

Swiftly, you move across the sea of people, trying your best to not seem suspicious. You started casually moving your body, swaying your hips to the music, slowly moving towards the direction of the guard.

And then boom. Naturally, you made it all seemed like an accident as you spilled your drink all over yourself and some onto the bodyguard. 

“Oh my gosh!” You whined, trying your best to sound convincing. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been drinking too much.” You eyed the tall man with slanted eyes, giggling. “Do you want me to help you clean it up?”

“I can’t lady, I’m doing my job here.” The big man said. A sigh escaped his mouth as he looked down at his cocktail stained suit. 

“Come on… I’ll help you out.” You winked. 

The man peered over his shoulder, possibly looking for the sight of his boss. You sneaked a look too and saw your partner from afar, talking to a woman in gold silk dress. You couldn’t clearly see who the person was, but it happened so quickly. Suddenly, you saw him pulling her in for a deep kiss. 

For a split second you almost drop everything and run straight at him, but you were a fully trained dog. Instead, you pulled the bodyguard in front of you by his tie, dragging him away. 

You pressed a button on your earpiece to send a signal, letting your team know you had done your part. You were still dragging the big built man by the tie, but your mind wandered away. Your partner still had not rang his signal. 

Suddenly, your arm was yanked in a harsh force. You turned and saw a wicked grin plastered on the bodyguard’s face as he switched things, with him now dragging you instead. 

“Could you maybe stop pulling my arm like that?!” You yelled. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t just ask for this.”

Disgusting. You thought. “I was just trying to help you clean your clothes.”

“And we all know what that means.” The tone of his voice made you feel sick. 

The man was still tugging on your arm until he stopped in front of a janitors room. He shooed the janitor away just by a quick glance. 

Sensing danger, you yanked your arm off, but a punch landed on your face. It happened so quick that your reflexes missed it. You quickly got up but the man had locked the door by the time you did. 

Up until this point, there was still no signal coming from your partner. Talking and revealing your location through your earpiece would make the guy run to his boss in a jiffy, you could not risk that. You couldn’t believe you had to actually fight a pervert while your partner was out there tonguing some random woman. 

It was not until a few minutes later when you finally heard the alert sound from your earpiece. You immediately mentioned janitor’s room to your earpiece. The man’s eyes lit up, coming to a realization. He quickly ran to the door, but you beat him to it, kicking his hand away from the knob. 

“I should’ve known!” The man spat out. 

“I know, it’s almost as unbelievable as the thought of someone actually wanting to have sex with you.” 

“You slut.” 

He tried to land a low kick, but you quickly dodged it. One of the advantages of having a smaller frame. You might had lower power, but you had better stamina and speed. His punches made quite the impact though, you might need your partner to make haste and come faster because you could not keep eluding the attacks. 

Three minutes. Your partner took three minutes before showing up, opening the door with the key you figured he managed to snatch from one of the janitors. As soon as the door swung open, both of your eyes met for one second, then yours went to the lipstick stain on the corner of his lips, while his went to the damp dress clinging on your body. Seconds later you were pulled by your wrist and in a flash, the door was locked behind you, leaving the giant man inside. 

The drive back to the hideout was oddly quiet. You didn’t protest when Yoongi took over the driver seat, instead of fighting with him before with the argument of his swollen foot. He didn’t say anything either and just drove normally without any verbal complaints. The whole ride you busied yourself looking at the window, watching the vehicles passing by. You didn’t know why you were suddenly feeling so irritated. 

“Violet, did he hurt you?”

Yoongi voiced out as soon as the car was parked. You were too out of your head to notice, so he spoke again, this time calling out your actual name. 

You turned to him, still unable to utter a word. How did he make your name sounded so intimidating coming from his lips was beyond you. 

“Did he hurt you?” He repeated. 

“No.” You shook your head. 

He took off his outer and placed it on your lap. “Vante might be ogling at you.” 

Then he left the car before you could say anything back. 

The audacity of a man. First of all, you and Vante were just friends, and as far as you knew, he had never viewed you in any sexual manner whatsoever. Secondly, had he looked at himself in the mirror? The reddish lipstick stain was still very visible on his face, it was making you want to punch him in his beautiful features so badly.

But you did not say a word back. Instead, you just reported as usual, returned your gear, changed, and headed back to your place. 

**

“You need to relax.” 

You pretended you didn’t just hear the words coming out from another fellow dog who was training next to you. You kept throwing heavy punches at the boxing bag, secretly imagining it was your partner’s face instead. 

“Girl, what’s wrong?” The woman pulled you away lightly from the speed bag. 

You sighed and took off the gloves from your hand. “I’m just in a very bad mood.”

“For no reason?” 

“Oh, there’s a reason alright.” You rolled your eyes and proceeded to walk towards the lounge. 

“Why? Did you get scolded by Mr. Lee?” She asked, following you from behind. 

“No, it’s not Mr. Lee.” You breathed out a long sigh and took an empty seat. “It’s Agust.”

“You had a fight?” She exclaimed almost too loudly, making you hushed her immediately. “Sorry, I mean… I’ve always words of how in sync you guys are.”

“It’s probably nothing… To be honest I’m not quite sure why I’m this bothered.” 

“What happened?” She asked while taking two cups of fresh water, handing one to you. 

“I saw him kissing some random woman in the club during our gig.” You flinched lightly at the flashback coming through your mind. 

“Oh my god…” She scoffed in amusement. “Are you serious? You’re jealous.”

“What?! The fuck are you talking about??? We were in the middle of work! Was that really a good timing to do that???” You replied defensively. 

“Exactly, what if it was necessary…” She folded her arms and smirked at you. “Have you thought about that?”

You stopped and thought to yourself. That really did not cross your mind. What if he did that to distract someone? Or to convince the target? Why did you get so affected by something that was probably nothing?

“So you are jealous then.” She spoke upon seeing you lost in your own thoughts. 

“I’m not… stop it.” You groaned. “Maybe I just didn’t expect him to be able to do something like that.”

“Like what?! You think he can’t kiss??? Violet, he’s a fully grown adult!” She laughed. “Have you told him?”

“There’s no way I’m telling him.” You cringed. 

“Why not? You need to sort it out or else it will affect your work flow.” 

“How in the fresh hell am I supposed to tell him?” You looked at the woman in front of you with defeated expression. 

“You could tell him that you feel bothered by what you saw and be all professional about it.” She shrugged. “Or… you could tell him the truth? Tell him you’re jealous. See how it goes.” 

“You can’t be serious…”

“Just admit it.” She rolled her eyes, giggling. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at everyone and everything with a blank stare.”

“Not at you though.” She smirked. 

“If you’re just hyping me up for nothing, I swea—“ You suddenly froze. 

Your co-worker gasped in excitement. “You just admitted that you like him.” She squealed. “Just tell him! Let me know how it goes.”

You went back to your apartment unit that day with questions lingering on your mind. 

So you did just had a mini revelation on your feelings. You fancied Yoongi, but what now? Sure you saw him kissing someone, and damn he seemed to be good at it too, but what about romantic feelings? You were not even sure if he was capable of something like that. You were used to being firmly business with him for years so it would feel bizarre to admit something like this. 

Am I even allowed to feel this way?

**

Weeks passed and the words were still unspoken. You figured it would go away if you chose to ignore it, but you were mistaken. Because now you noticed every small details in the things he did. Your heart beat faster when he covered for you. All the usual things he would normally do as your partner, suddenly felt totally different. 

Today, both of you just came back from a pickup gig. You were exhausted and your right hand was hurt. You had to avoid a knife attack and it sliced your palm instead. You were sitting down on an empty bed at the infirmary, struggling to open a water bottle. 

“You good?”

You looked up and saw your partner approaching. This really was not the time, you were pretty worn out already. 

“Don’t worry.”

“You can’t even open that bottle.” He snatched the drink from your hands, opened it and gave it back to you. 

You took the bottle and uttered a small thanks. 

He went to sit next to you, making a comfortable space in between the two of you on the bed.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? It’s been weeks.”

Of course he noticed. 

“It’s just something stupid, I don’t even know what to tell you.” You stared down at your feet hanging above the floor. 

“It’s not stupid if it bothers you this much.”

How did he always manage to say all the right things with the most straight face?

“Look, I don’t think it’s a good time to talk about it now.” 

“Then when is it? I’ll wait.”

The way he looked at you made your heart sank to your stomach. 

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. “Promise me, no matter what I say to you, don’t let it affect work.”

He only nodded, waiting for you to say your piece patiently. 

“I was… jealous. I think.” You hesitantly said. You flinched just seconds later on how nervous you were feeling. 

“What do you mean?” He asked with neutral voice. 

“Back at Club Brooklyn. You kissed some random woman and I can’t keep that image out from my head. It’s driving me nuts.” You sighed in frustration. “And you did that just right after you spent the night at my place, I thought that at least—“ You stopped yourself, realizing you had said too much. “I’m sorry, it just bothers me so much. I don’t even know why you did that…”

“Hold on.” He said firmly, grabbing your shoulder as he did. “You saw that?”

“Of course I did! Must be nice smooching with some beautiful lady while your partner was busy fighting off a literal pervert.” You protested. 

“I did that to convince our target. She’s a prostitute, I told the guy I was gonna rent her.” 

“That’s the thing! I figured you could just be doing it for work too, but you were doing it for a hot minute and I—“ I stopped myself again. “It doesn’t matter anyway, this is stupid.” You slumped down and covered your face with your hands. “Now that you know, can you leave me alone for a second? The embarrassment is killing me.”

“Still can’t believe you were getting all jealous.”

Yoongi couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you looking up at him, unable to look away. Without hesitation, he moved closer, pulled you by the back of your neck, as he closed the distance between you two. 

Despite the slight chapped texture, his lips felt soft against yours. You eagerly returned the kiss, deepening it. When you broke away, his smirk was now gone, replaced by a soft smile. 

“Did you just— You just kissed me.” You said, dumbfounded. 

“And so did you.” 

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny.” You said, pushing him off lightly. Your cheeks started to heat up as you did.

“You’re not gonna make fun of me back?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I literally lost all my brain function when I saw your dress being drenched that night.” He admitted. “Couldn’t talk to you without looking at how the dress was hugging your body. I took the driver’s seat just so I can look at the road instead of you.” He sighed. “Damn, my foot was still hurting too at that time.”

“Wait…” You put your palms in the air. “So are you like, serious? This isn’t some kind of joke, right?”

“Since when do I joke like this?!” The man looked at you in disbelief. 

“Right.”

“Right.”

“So like, what are we gonna do… about this?” You said, pointing at him and back to yourself. “Do you even like…”

“I told you my name, it should be obvious.”

You had never seen him appearing so sincere, it was making you nervous. 

“I… My whole life I’ve only known fight and survive. Never really had much luck in high school either, I wasn’t popular surprise surprise.”You rolled your eyes, trying to make a light joke. “I don’t really know what to do when it comes to, well, my feelings.”

“So do I.” He said calmly. “But I still want you, despite going on fully blind.”

“I want to remind you that I’m not—“

“If you’re gonna talk down on yourself again, I’m not having it.” 

Your cheeks flushed again. “We have a lot to catch up to. I barely know what you like, I don’t even know your favorite food??? What’s even your favorite color—“

“Hey,” He called, hand resting on your back pulling you slightly to his direction. “No pressure. We’ll go with the flow and see how it goes.”

You sighed. “You sure?”

“You’ve asked me that multiple times already.” He chuckled. “Yes, I am.”

“Can you kiss me again just to make sure?”

Yoongi halted back for a second, seemingly taken aback by your boldness. He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded like music to your ears, before pulling you back in. 

To where you belonged. 

Thank you for reading! ✒

[yunholic-jongholic]

Bound to the Bosses [Part 3] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under their wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Mean Dom!Jongho, Strip Club Setting, NSFW, SMUT, ANGST, Explicit Content, Cursing, Weapon Use, Bruises, Mentions of Blood, Death and Harming, Mentions of Injuries, Unprotected Sex (Don't Do That...), Marking, Creampie, || I might be missing some, my editor died on me because she got the flu right now. :') ||

WORD COUNT | 7.4k

AUTHOR NOTE | This one is more Jongho-focused. Like I said in the last chapter. Next chapter will go back to being 2HO focused... ;)

TAG LIST | @mingisleftnipple

•

Your gut told you this was a bad idea. That if Hongjoong found out you were following them, there would be hell to pay.

But you didn’t care.

Yunho was going into this alone—or at least, that’s what Hongjoong had ordered. But it was clear Yeosang and Wooyoung weren’t going to just let him walk into danger by himself. They were involved now, which meant you had even less reason to stay behind.

You had a car. You barely ever used it, considering Yunho and Jongho always made sure you had everything you needed. But tonight, it served a purpose.

Carefully, you trailed them at a distance, keeping your headlights dim as you followed their car through the darkened streets. The city was eerily quiet at this hour, amplifying the tension that sat heavily in your chest.

You didn’t know what you were expecting when they finally reached their destination, but the place they stopped at sent a chill down your spine.

An abandoned warehouse.

Classic.

You pulled over a short distance away, parking in the shadows where you wouldn't be seen. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as you watched Yunho and Yeosang jump out of their car, moving quickly and quietly toward the entrance.

They’re sneaking in.

That meant this wasn’t a simple exchange. It wasn’t a negotiation.

This was an ambush.

Your heart pounded as you watched them disappear inside, your mind racing with possibilities. If Jongho was inside, what condition would he be in? Were they expecting Yunho and the others? Was this a setup?

You had no answers. But you did know one thing—

You weren’t about to sit in the car and wait.

Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath before quietly stepping out, making sure to stay in the shadows. If Yunho and the others were going in, you needed to find a way to stay close—without getting caught.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a dull glow over the abandoned warehouse, you let out a quiet sigh. The rising sun meant time was slipping away—if Yunho and Yeosang were inside, things were already happening.

You couldn’t afford to waste another second.

Your eyes scanned the building frantically until you noticed it—a slightly creaked-open window near the side of the structure. Perfect.

You whispered the word under your breath, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. The last thing you needed was for a stray guard or lookout to catch you snooping around.

The window wasn’t too high, but high enough that you needed something to help you climb. Your eyes flicked toward a rusted metal crate nearby, likely used for storage back when this place was still functional. Without hesitation, you ran toward it, gripping the edges tightly before dragging it beneath the window.

It groaned under your weight as you carefully stepped on top, testing if it would hold. Thankfully, it did.

Now came the tricky part.

Reaching up, you placed your hands against the edge of the window, pushing it open just enough to squeeze through. Your heart pounded as you hoisted yourself up, legs scrambling slightly before you managed to slip inside.

The inside of the warehouse was dark, the only source of light coming from the high, dirt-covered windows. Dust swirled in the air, and the distant echoes of footsteps sent a chill down your spine.

You had made it inside.

Now, you just had to find Yunho and Yeosang—before something went terribly wrong.

Your body tensed as you crouched behind a stack of old crates, desperately trying to steady your breathing. No weapons. No plan. And now, you’re trapped inside an enemy hideout.

You had known sneaking in was reckless, but hearing those words—

"The boss said he’ll have that stupid club owner killed by tonight. He just needs a few more answers out of him."

Your stomach twisted violently. Jongho.

They were planning to kill him.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, biting down on your lip to keep from making any noise. Your heartbeat pounded so hard you were sure they could hear it.

The two men continued walking, their heavy boots scraping against the concrete floor as they passed your hiding spot. You kept completely still, watching their silhouettes move deeper into the warehouse.

Think, think, think! You needed a weapon. Anything.

Your eyes flickered around the dimly lit space. There was nothing immediately useful near you—just empty crates, broken metal scraps, and dust-covered tools. But then, you spotted it—

A rusted crowbar leaning against the wall a few feet away.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Swallowing hard, you waited for the men’s footsteps to fade before carefully crawling toward it, fingers trembling as you reached out. The cold metal felt heavy in your hands, a crude but necessary defense.

You took a deep breath, gripping it tightly.

You had to find Yunho and Yeosang.

And more importantly—

You had to get Jongho out before it was too late.

The dim glow of dawn barely seeped into the warehouse, leaving you surrounded by nothing but darkness and the faint echo of distant footsteps. Your grip tightened around the crowbar as you stared at the sealed door in front of you.

This had to be it.

Jongho has to be in there.

Your breath was uneven, anxiety creeping into your chest as you positioned the crowbar against the rusted lock. There was no time to hesitate. With a deep breath, you swung—

CLANG.

The impact sent vibrations up your arms, but the lock held.

You gritted your teeth and swung again. And again. Your hands were shaking, sweat forming at your temples as you forced every ounce of strength into breaking the lock.

Finally—

CRACK.

The lock snapped, the broken metal falling to the ground with a dull clink. You barely gave yourself time to process before pushing the door open, its rusty hinges groaning in protest.

Inside, the air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat. The room was dark, but not enough to hide the figure slumped against the chair in the center.

Jongho.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of him. His arms were tied behind his back, his head hanging forward. Blood stained his once-clean shirt, cuts littering his skin.

For a terrifying moment, he didn’t move.

“Jongho?” you whispered, your voice shaky as you stepped forward.

Silence.

Panic flared in your chest as you rushed toward him, your hands reaching out to touch his face, his jawline bruised from the obvious beating he had taken.

Then—he stirred.

A low groan escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered open, sluggish and unfocused. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

“Y/N…?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Relief washed over you so fast you almost felt dizzy.

“I’m getting you out of here,” you whispered urgently, already fumbling with the ropes binding his wrists. Your hands were shaking, your adrenaline spiking as you worked quickly.

But then—

Heavy footsteps echoed from outside the door.

Your blood ran cold.

You weren’t alone anymore.

Jongho groaned, barely able to lift his head, but his words were firm. "Go... Get out of here."

You ignored him, gripping the crowbar tightly as you frantically tried to tear the knots apart. Your fingers burned from the effort, but you weren’t about to leave him here.

“I am not leaving you to die out here!” you hissed, desperation creeping into your voice. “Yunho and Yeosang are here too! We’re getting you out—”

Then, movement.

A dark shadow cast itself against the dim lighting in the hallway. Someone was coming.

Your body stiffened, and instinct took over. You ran, pressing yourself against the wall behind a stack of crates just as the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside; his boots heavy against the concrete.

"I heard someone in here," he muttered.

You clenched your jaw, biting your lip to keep your breathing silent. Your hands trembled, fingers tightening around the crowbar. If he found you, you were dead, but you were going to fight back.

The man’s attention turned to Jongho. You watched in horror as he pulled a dagger from his pocket, its sharp blade gleaming under the dim light.

"Where are they?" he demanded, pressing the cold metal against Jongho’s throat.

Your breath caught in your throat. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Jongho, despite his battered state, didn’t flinch. He simply glared at the man, his jaw tightening as he leaned away from the blade rather than giving in.

He wasn’t going to sell you out.

But if you didn’t act fast, you were about to watch him die.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, every instinct screaming at you to move. You had seconds—maybe less—to make a decision.

Stay hidden and hope for a chance to escape? Or take the risk and fight?

Your heart pounded in your chest as the man’s gaze swept across the room, searching for you. Think fast, move faster.

You stayed low, silently maneuvering behind Jongho’s chair, using the dim lighting to your advantage. With careful steps, you crept toward the other side of the room, positioning yourself directly behind the man.

He was still searching—still unaware.

This was your chance.

Gripping the crowbar so tightly that your knuckles turned white, you swung with every ounce of strength in your body.

CRACK!

The metal struck the side of his head with a sickening thud. The impact sent him crashing to the ground, his body limp as he groaned in pain, barely conscious.

Adrenaline surged through you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you rushed forward, slamming the door shut and locking it from the inside.

Your chest heaved as you turned back toward Jongho, rushing to his side, your hands working quickly to free him from the restraints.

“I told you to leave!” Jongho snapped, his voice raw with anger.

You glared at him, your hands still fumbling with the knots. “And I told you I’m not leaving you to die!” you shot back, your voice just as fierce.

Jongho’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue this time. He just exhaled sharply, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath.

You scoffed, yanking the last knot loose. “And you’re welcome.”

As soon as the restraints fell away, Jongho groaned, rolling his stiff shoulders before slowly standing. He was still weak, still bruised and had deep cuts on his arms, but his presence was just as commanding as ever.

But before either of you could say another word—

A loud banging echoed against the door.

More were coming.

You looked at Jongho, hissing at him. “We have to go—now.”

You grabbed Jongho’s arm, ignoring his grunts of protest, and ran. The sound of frantic footsteps and muffled curses echoed behind you, but you didn’t stop. Your only focus was getting out alive.

Ducking back into the darkened part of the warehouse, you dragged Jongho toward the same hiding spot you had used earlier. You both pressed yourselves against the crates, your breath shallow, adrenaline still pumping through your veins.

Then, movement from the other side of the hallway caught your eye.

Yunho and Yeosang.

Your stomach flipped as you saw them armed guns drawn, daggers glinting under the dim lighting. They were ready to kill.

“Y/N?!”

Yunho’s furious voice rang out the second he spotted you. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and rage.

Shit.

You barely had time to react before Yeosang shoved him against the wall, slamming a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up,” Yeosang hissed under his breath, his sharp eyes scanning the area. “They’ll hear us.”

Yunho’s glare could’ve burned a hole through the wall, but he listened, jaw clenched as he yanked Yeosang’s hand away.

Your heart pounded as you peered over the crates. More men were storming the hallway, searching, their weapons drawn. They knew someone was here.

Jongho exhaled shakily beside you, his body still weak, but his mind sharp. “We need to move now,” he murmured under his breath. “If they find us, we’re dead.”

You nodded, glancing back at Yunho and Yeosang. Yeosang gave a quick, silent signal—on my count.

One… two…

Three.

Your heart pounded as you ran, every muscle in your body screaming for you to move faster. The dimly lit warehouse echoed with distant shouts—they knew you were here.

Yeosang and Yunho were right behind you, covering your backs as you and Jongho pushed forward. Every second counted.

Then—a door.

Your eyes locked onto the heavy metal exit leading outside. Wasting no time, you jammed the crowbar against the handle, trying to pry it open. The rusted metal groaned under the pressure, but it wasn’t budging fast enough.

"Move," Yunho grunted, stepping beside you. Together, you slammed the crowbar into the door, forcing it open with sheer strength.

The second the door gave way, the cold morning air hit your face like a shock to the system.

"Go!" Yeosang ordered.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed Jongho’s arm again, dragging him forward as you all sprinted out of the building.

Gunfire erupted behind you, bullets ricocheting off the metal doors.

"Shit—GET IN THE CARS!" Yunho barked.

Jongho, still weak, stumbled slightly as you guided him toward your vehicle. Yunho and Yeosang split off, covering the retreat, their weapons raised.

Your hands trembled as you yanked the car door open, practically shoving Jongho into the passenger seat. His breathing was heavy, but he was alive.

You jumped into the driver’s seat, your fingers fumbling as you started the engine. Yunho and Yeosang weren’t far behind, diving into their own car as more men spilled out of the warehouse, weapons drawn.

Tires screeched against the pavement as you floored the gas, speeding off into the rising morning sun.

Your pulse was still racing, adrenaline making your hands unsteady on the wheel. You risked a glance at Jongho. He was slumped against the seat, eyes half-lidded, exhausted but watching you.

"You really don’t listen, do you?" he muttered, voice hoarse.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "And you should know by now, Jongho," you said, your voice steady, "I don’t leave people behind."

"You’re badly injured," you murmured, keeping your focus on the road as you drove back toward the club. The rising sun barely lit the empty streets, but the tension in the car was suffocating enough to make you forget the time of day.

Jongho let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes despite the pain written all over his face. "Shit, really? Hadn’t noticed." His voice was hoarse, laced with sarcasm, but even that couldn’t hide how weak he sounded.

You sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Seriously, Jongho. You’re in bad shape. I think we should take you to a hospital—"

“No.” His voice came sharp, snapping through the air like a whip.

You turned to look at him, surprised at the sudden shift in his tone. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"I’m fine," he said again, more controlled this time, but just as firm. "No hospitals."

You swallowed hard, watching as he exhaled through his nose, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jongho had always been stubborn—too strong-willed for his own good. But this wasn’t just stubbornness. It was fear.

You wanted to push him, to argue, but before you could say anything, you pulled up to the club.

Yunho and Yeosang were already outside, waiting. The moment you parked, Yunho yanked open the door, his eyes scanning Jongho’s condition.

"Fucking hell," Yunho muttered, looking between you and Jongho. "Took you long enough." Yeosang exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He needs medical attention."

Jongho groaned, already tired of the conversation. "I said I’m fine." Yunho shot you a look, then back at Jongho. "Yeah? And what happens when you aren’t fine?" His tone was laced with frustration, but underneath that, there was something softer. Concern.

Jongho sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. "Just get me inside."

You bit down on your lip, glancing at Yunho and Yeosang before nodding. Whether he liked it or not, you were going to make sure Jongho got help. Even if it wasn’t a hospital, he wasn’t walking away from this without being taken care of.

"Well, at least let’s get inside and clean you up," you sighed, finally accepting that Jongho wasn’t going to a hospital—for now.

Jongho didn’t argue, which was rare. He was exhausted, his body weakened from whatever hell he had been through. His usual stubbornness wasn’t as sharp as before, and you took that as a silent sign that he was barely holding himself together.

You moved to his side, looping an arm around him to help him out of the car. He grumbled under his breath but didn’t push you away, leaning on you just enough to stay steady.

Yunho and Yeosang followed closely behind as you made your way into the club, making sure no one was watching as you led Jongho upstairs.

It was morning now, but thankfully, the club was empty. No customers, no distractions. And more importantly—you didn’t have to work tonight.

Small mercies.

When you finally reached Jongho’s room, you helped him ease down onto the bed, his body slumping against the mattress with a heavy sigh. His breathing was ragged, his knuckles bruised, his lip split. The fresh cuts and dried blood on his skin made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You turned to Yunho and Yeosang, who stood in the doorway, tension still thick in the air. "I’ll clean him up," you said quietly, not wanting to fight any more about it.

Yunho held your gaze for a second, his jaw tightening before he exhaled through his nose. "Fine. I’ll go check in with Hongjoong before he burns the damn place down."

Yeosang nodded, already heading toward the door. "Let us know if he gets worse," he murmured before following Yunho out.

The door shut, leaving just you and Jongho in the dimly lit room.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves. "Alright," you muttered, grabbing a first-aid kit from the nearby cabinet. "Let’s clean you up before you actually pass out on me."

Jongho smirked faintly, though it barely reached his tired eyes. "You really don’t know how to leave things alone, do you?"

You scoffed, wetting a cloth with warm water before sitting beside him. "And you don’t know how to stop getting yourself into trouble."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, wincing as you gently dabbed the cloth against a fresh cut on his temple. His smirk faded slightly, and for the first time since getting him out, his guard lowered just a little.

"…Thanks for coming for me," he muttered under his breath.

Your hands stilled for a brief moment before you resumed your careful movements.

"Always," you whispered, not needing to say anything more. After finishing up with Jongho’s bandages, you quietly left his room to grab more gauze and supplies from your own. The exhaustion was finally settling in, your body aching from everything that had happened.

But as you stepped back into the hallway, voices caught your attention. You stilled, pressing yourself against the wall just out of sight, listening closely.

"We need to block this place up, and I need you and Mingi to keep anyone from coming in these next few days." Seonghwa’s voice was firm, calculated, the way it always was when things were serious.

"Alrighty," San responded casually, but there was an edge to his tone. Even he knew this wasn’t just another order—it was lockdown mode.

You peeked around the corner just enough to see San nod before walking off to find Mingi. They were going to be stationed downstairs, guarding the entrance. Your stomach twisted.

What exactly were they preparing for?

You sighed, shaking your head before heading back into Jongho’s room. He was still lying in bed, his breathing slow and heavy. His body was completely still now, his exhaustion finally taking over.

You walked up beside him, brushing your fingers lightly over his arm, checking to make sure his wounds were wrapped properly. He stirred slightly at the touch but didn’t wake up.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Despite all the chaos, despite everything that had happened—he was safe. Leaning in slightly, you whispered, “Good night, Jongho.”

He didn’t respond, already slipping into unconsciousness, but that was okay. He needed the rest. You turned, stepping out of the room as quietly as possible before making your way back to your own. The second you laid down; sleep took you instantly.

Whatever was coming next, you would deal with it tomorrow.

The dim lighting in the room cast a soft glow over Jongho’s sleeping form as you quietly stepped inside. The weight of exhaustion still lingered in your body, but checking up on him felt more important than resting.

You approached his bedside, your gaze falling to his bandaged arms and bruised face. He looked better than before, but the sight of him still made your heart clench.

Carefully, you reached out and placed your hand over his, your fingers barely brushing against his skin. His warmth was reassuring, a silent confirmation that he was still here—still breathing. Then, a quiet sigh.

You froze as Jongho stirred, his chest rising and falling with a deep inhale before his eyes slowly blinked open.

For a moment, he looked dazed, his mind still caught between sleep and reality. Then, his gaze locked onto you, dark eyes staring directly into yours. You weren’t sure what to say. You had no reason to be here, not really. But instead of pulling away, you gave his hand the faintest squeeze. "You're awake..." you murmured softly.

Jongho exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. His fingers twitched slightly beneath yours, but he didn’t move away. He just kept looking at you, his tired gaze filled with something unspoken.

"Yeah," he finally muttered, his voice raspy from sleep. "I guess I am." Silence stretched between you both, heavy but not uncomfortable.

There was something about this moment—the quiet, the stillness—that felt different. A rare vulnerability that neither of you acknowledged but both understood.

And for once, Jongho didn’t fight it.

Neither did you.

Jongho’s tired eyes flickered to you as you sat beside him on the bed. “Would you like anything? Water? Food?” you asked, your voice soft with concern.

He blinked slowly, looking around the room as if debating his answer before shaking his head. “No. I’m fine.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. Typical Jongho. Stubborn as ever.

“Well, I’m hungry, so I’m getting food,” you huffed, standing up. He didn’t argue, simply watching you as you left the room.

Making your way downstairs, you expected the club to be buzzing with energy, but instead, it was eerily quiet. No music, no loud conversations. Just the distant hum of the city outside.

You stepped into the kitchen and immediately spotted Yunho sitting alone at the table, a cold stare fixated on something unseen. His fingers tapped idly against the surface, lost in thought.

You hesitated for a moment before grabbing some leftovers from the fridge. Maybe he needed company.

“I’ll join you, if you don’t mind…” you said casually, sitting next to him as you placed your food down.

Yunho’s eyes slowly shifted to you, observing for a second before he nodded slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, simply watching as you took a bite of your food.

After a beat of silence, he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Checking up on Jongho?” he asked, his tone unreadable. You nodded. “Yeah. He woke up. Stubborn as always, but at least he’s awake.”

Yunho scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “That bastard would rather bleed out than admit he needs help.” You smirked. “Sounds familiar.”

Yunho shot you a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His expression was more serious now, as if debating something.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “This whole situation with Jongho… something’s off.” You paused mid-bite, setting your fork down. “What do you mean?”

Yunho’s jaw tensed. “The way they took him. It wasn’t just about revenge. They needed something from him. And now that we got him back… I don’t think we’re in the clear yet.”

A chill ran down your spine. You hadn’t thought about that. You had been so focused on getting Jongho back that you hadn’t questioned why they took him in the first place. Yunho’s eyes met yours, dark and serious. “I think they got what they wanted.”

Yunho’s words hung heavy in the air, but before you could respond, you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts.

"I overheard something when I was spying on them," you admitted, your fingers idly pushing the food around on your plate. "They wanted to exchange the guy you killed that night… for Jongho’s life in return."

Yunho’s posture stiffened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You swallowed hard. "I assume they think Jongho was the one who killed the guy since he was last seen with him. Before… before you must have found him and killed him yourself."

The weight of it all settled onto your shoulders, making your stomach churn. The pieces were coming together, but the truth was worse than you imagined.

Jongho had been taken as a scapegoat.

Because of Yunho.

A heavy silence filled the kitchen. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your hands tightening into fists in your lap.

Then, after a long pause, you heard it—

"I’m sorry."

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as you flickered your gaze up to him.

Yunho sighed, running a hand down his face before leaning back in his chair, looking exhausted. "I mean it," he muttered. "Jongho got caught up in my mess. And you… you almost got killed trying to fix it."

You stared at him, still processing the fact that Yunho—Yunho—was actually apologizing to you. The man who never admitted fault, who always brushed things off like they didn’t matter.

For the first time, he looked like he regretted something.

A part of you wanted to be mad at him. A part of you wanted to tell him that he was reckless, that Jongho didn’t deserve this, that you didn’t deserve to be dragged into it.

But instead, you just exhaled softly, shaking your head.

"I just… I don’t want anyone else getting hurt," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Yunho nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. But there was something different in his eyes. Something softer.

"We’ll make sure of that," he said firmly. "No matter what. But I want you to stay out of it. Me and Jongho can afford to lose you." He coughs trying to go back to his tough mean old self.

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice softer now, laced with curiosity and something deeper concern.

“What… what made you choose this lifestyle?” you asked, your eyes drifting down to his hands. They were scarred, roughened by years of fighting, of survival. You had never seen Yunho like this before—his usual cold and cocky demeanor stripped away, leaving something much softer underneath. Something real.

Yunho tensed slightly, his fingers twitching against the table as he leaned back in his chair.

"What do you mean…?" he muttered, attempting to play dumb, but you saw right through it.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You seem like someone who was forced into this. Like… this wasn’t always who you were." Your voice was quieter now, careful. "What were you like in the past? Were you always like this?"

Yunho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his jaw tightened, and for the first time, he looked almost… uncomfortable.

You studied his face, searching for a reaction, and there it was—the flicker of something in his eyes. Something he was trying to hide. You leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think you were."

Yunho’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, exhaling through his nose as he looked away. His fingers drummed against the table, a rare moment of hesitation from him.

"You ask too many damn questions," he muttered, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness. It wasn’t an insult. It was deflection. You stayed silent, waiting.

Yunho’s silence lingered as you pushed back your chair with a little too much force.

“Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll leave you alone,” you huffed, your voice clipped with frustration.

You grabbed your plate, barely finishing your food, and tossed it in the garbage with a dull thud. Without another glance at Yunho, you turned and walked away, leaving him at the table, lost in his own thoughts. You didn’t have the energy to press him further. Not now. Instead, you found yourself gravitating back toward Jongho’s room.

When you entered, Jongho was already awake, now sitting up against the headboard. His sharp gaze immediately landed on you as you walked in, scanning your face like he could sense the tension you carried.

You exhaled, pushing aside your emotions as you lifted a glass of water toward him. “I got you water, just in case…”

Jongho’s eyes flickered from you to the glass before you walked closer and set it down on the nightstand beside him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his stare. Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was still hoarse, but steadier than before.

“You’re upset.” You blinked, looking up at him. “What?”

Jongho tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Something happened.” You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.”

Jongho didn’t look convinced. “It’s not nothing.” You sighed, rubbing your temple. The last thing you wanted was to get into another conversation about Yunho, but Jongho was perceptive. He always had been.

“I just… I don’t get him,” you muttered. “I don’t get why he refuses to talk about his past. Why he pushes everyone away.”

Jongho studied you carefully before exhaling. “Because sometimes, talking about the past doesn’t change anything.” His words were blunt but held a weight that made you pause. You swallowed, glancing down at your hands. “I just… I want to understand him.”

Jongho was silent for a moment, then leaned back against the headboard with a small, tired smirk.

“Then you’ve already made a mistake,” he muttered. You furrowed your brows. “What?” Jongho’s gaze darkened slightly. “You’re trying to understand someone who doesn’t want to be understood.”

The room fell silent again. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—the fact that Jongho was right, or the fact that he had said it, as if he knew exactly what it felt like to be Yunho.

You tilted your head slightly, studying Jongho’s reaction. “What about you?” you asked, your voice quieter now, laced with curiosity. Jongho visibly tensed, his usual confidence faltering for just a second before he looked down, as if debating his answer. He let out a slow breath, avoiding your gaze.

“Maybe another time…” he muttered, his voice softer than usual. “One day, maybe.” You caught the way his fingers twitched slightly, the subtle hint of guilt in his tone.

You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to get anything more out of him tonight. “Fine…” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though there was no real frustration behind it. Jongho exhaled, almost as if relieved, but then—he did something unexpected.

His hand, rough yet warm, rested gently on top of yours. The weight of it, the gesture itself, caught you off guard. You slowly looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker now, but softer at the same time. There was something else there—something unspoken.

Before you could think too much about it, you felt his grip tighten, and in one swift motion, you were pulled onto his lap.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as your hands instinctively found his shoulders, steadying yourself. His hands rested at your waist, firm but gentle, as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes. Neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick, charged with something you had ignored for far too long.

Slowly, your gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips, your body moving before your mind could catch up.

Jongho didn’t stop you. He didn’t hesitate.

As you leaned in, his fingers curled slightly against your waist, pulling you closer. Your lips met his in a slow, careful kiss—one that started hesitant but deepened almost instantly.

He exhaled against your mouth, his grip on you tightening as if grounding himself in the moment. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.

It was something else entirely.

The warmth of Jongho’s body against yours sent a shiver down your spine, a heat pooling deep within you that you couldn’t quite explain. The moment felt intense—too intense. That’s why you pulled away, needing a second to process what had just happened.

Jongho’s dark eyes locked onto yours, his breath still warm against your lips. His gaze was unreadable, but there was something in it—curiosity, amusement… something dangerous.

“Why did you pull back?” he teased, the corner of his lips tilting up slightly. You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. You weren’t sure why that kiss felt different. It wasn’t just physical—it had weight to it.

“Uhmm… Well…” You tried to form an excuse, but the words caught in your throat. You had nothing.

Jongho hummed, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly before he leaned in again. “Don’t think so hard,” he muttered. And before you could say another word, he pulled you back into the kiss. This time, there was no hesitation.

His lips pressed against yours with more intent, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. You let out a soft hum, melting into him as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair.

Jongho deepened the kiss, his control firm but not overwhelming, as if testing how far you were willing to go. It was slower this time—intentional, as if he wanted you to feel every second of it.

You did.

You felt everything. The way his hands held you, the heat of his skin, the way his lips molded perfectly against yours. And for the first time, you didn’t stop.

The sudden knock on the door sent a shock through both of you.

You and Jongho scrambled apart—Jongho adjusting himself back in bed while you practically leaped into the chair across the room, trying desperately to look like nothing had just happened.

“Come in!” Jongho called out, clearing his throat to hide the slight breathlessness in his voice.

Your face was burning, and you mentally cursed yourself, trying to erase the thoughts lingering in your mind. The way he held you, the heat of his lips, the way his hands—No! Focus!

The door creaked open, and the moment you saw who it was, your stomach dropped.

Hongjoong.

His sharp eyes immediately scanned the room, and it didn’t take him long to notice—the slightly disheveled look on Jongho’s face, your obvious redness, the air still thick with unspoken tension.

Hongjoong knew.

You stiffened in your chair, avoiding direct eye contact, but Hongjoong wasn’t stupid. His gaze lingered for just a second too long before he cleared his throat, stepping further inside.

“I’m just coming to check on you,” Hongjoong said casually, though the hint of amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on you. Jongho, always one to keep his cool, nodded. “I’m fine,” he muttered, shifting under Hongjoong’s sharp gaze.

Hongjoong glanced between the two of you again, his lips twitching slightly like he knew he had just walked in on something.

“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Because it looks like I might’ve interrupted something.”

Your soul nearly left your body.

Jongho scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “You think too much,” he muttered, brushing off the insinuation. You, on the other hand, were trying your absolute hardest not to combust on the spot.

Hongjoong hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and exhaled. “Well, just wanted to see if you’re alive. You need anything?” Jongho shook his head. “No. I’m good.” Hongjoong nodded, lingering for just a second more before he turned to leave.

Just before stepping out, he threw a glance over his shoulder—this time, at you.

“Don’t stay too long,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. Then, with a final smirk, he walked out, shutting the door behind him. The moment he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Jongho sighed, leaning his head back against the bed. “That was too close.”

You buried your face in your hands, still burning from embarrassment. “He knows,” you groaned. Jongho chuckled under his breath, glancing at you with that familiar, teasing glint in his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, smirking slightly. “But I don’t think he cares.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still pounding.

Maybe Hongjoong didn’t care—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t watch.

You hesitated, still flustered from Hongjoong’s unexpected interruption. The heat on your face hadn’t faded, and the air still felt charged from what had just happened between you and Jongho.

"I should probably go..." you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, your embarrassment creeping in as you avoided his gaze.

You turned, ready to make your escape, but before you could even take a step, Jongho grabbed you by the wrist. In one swift motion, he pulled you right back onto his lap, his grip firm, his body warm against yours. Your breath hitched as you found yourself straddling him again, your hands instinctively landing on his shoulders for balance.

"You can't just make out with me and then leave," Jongho murmured, his voice rough, teasing, yet undeniably serious. His dark eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. "You gotta fix this mess you made." You swallowed hard, the tension thick, his words making your heart pound.

"Fine…" you exhaled, knowing damn well you didn’t actually want to leave. Without another word, you leaned in, crashing your lips against his. Jongho groaned softly against your mouth, his hands immediately sliding up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The kiss was desperate, heated, as if making up for the lost time that neither of you would admit to wanting back. You could feel the urgency in the way he kissed you—like he had been waiting for this.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, panting slightly as you smirked. "I thought I was the desperate one," you teased, your lips brushing against his.

Jongho chuckled lowly, shaking his head before tilting your chin back up, his gaze dark and unrelenting. "Shut up," he muttered, before pulling you right back into another intense, heated kiss.

And this time, neither of you were holding back.

He pulled your shirt over your head throwing it on the floor. You immediately took your bra off. Jongho started undressing himself and he immediately started caressing your body. Your body shivered against his touch as you hummed out softly enjoying yourself.

Jongho hovered above you, his presence overwhelming, his body caging you against the bed. His usual cold and unreadable expression had faded, replaced by something more intense—something that made your breath hitch.

But despite the heat in the moment, concern flickered through you. He was still injured.

“Aren’t you hurt?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Do you want me to do the work?” Jongho’s smirk deepened, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “I think I can handle it,” he murmured, his voice low and confident.

You exhaled softly, your fingers instinctively moving to his shoulders, your touch gentle against his tense muscles. “Alright,” you hummed, deciding to trust him.

The air between you was thick, charged with unspoken emotions neither of you had fully processed. This wasn’t just about the tension that had been building for weeks—this was something more.

Jongho’s gaze softened slightly as he studied your face. His hands, despite their strength, moved carefully, tracing your arm before settling against your waist.

For a brief moment, he paused, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breathing was heavy, yet controlled, as if he was grounding himself in the moment.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured. It was the first time you had heard him ask something so sincerely. You swallowed, meeting his gaze, and for once, there was no teasing, no playful banter—just the raw honesty of the moment. You nodded. “Yeah.”

Jongho exhaled, closing his eyes for a second before leaning in again, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against your lips. This time, it wasn’t just about urgency—it was about something deeper.

Jongho slid himself in between your folds, pushing himself deep as he could. You let out a loud shaky moan digging your nails into his shoulders already. He groaned at the feeling.

You felt your insides pulse as you tried adjusting to him finally letting him go ahead to start thrusting in and out.

"Jongho..." You moan immediately covering your mouth with one hand. Your other hand gripped onto his shoulders trying to hold onto him. You felt his hands grabbing you by the waist as he continued to move.

You moaned out arching your back as he thrusted in deeper and got rougher.

"I thought u were in pain..." You tried to speak but were out of breath. Jongho smirked at you leaned down towards you.

"Not really, you are really good at distraction." He smiles kissing your lips. You moan into the kiss wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Fuck..." He cursed pulling his lips away. You felt his grip get tighter around you. Throwing your head to the side, you moaned heavily, already feeling the exhaustion settling into your body.

The night had been long, emotions running high, and yet—you couldn’t stop yourself.

Your hands instinctively moved, fingers trailing up Jongho’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your touch. The warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart—it grounded you.

Your fingertips traced the line of his collarbone before sliding up to his neck, your touch softer now, more deliberate. When your palms cupped his face, Jongho’s breath hitched slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

Jongho kept thrusting in and out of you, instead of being sloppy like usual he was slow and doing this out of pure love and passion. Or so you thought.

You felt his shaft graze your sensitive spot causing your moans to get higher. He took the advantage he was given and kept thrusting into that one spot causing your eyes to roll back and you tried to keep them close as you dug your nails deep into his skin.

"Jongho!" You moaned in pure bliss almost screaming his name. You watched him as he thrusted in last few times before releasing inside you. You started breathing heavily as your both released together.

Your body felt completely drained, exhaustion creeping into your limbs as you let out a soft whimper.

Before you could even process it, Jongho shifted underneath you, gripping your waist and flipping you so that you landed against his chest.

A low groan of pain escaped him, his body still sore from his injuries. Your eyes widened in panic. "Oh my god! I’m so sorry!" You immediately sat up, hands hovering over him, worried you had hurt him even more.

Jongho exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "No, it’s fine… Just—" he let out another small groan, shifting his legs beneath you, adjusting himself. "I just want to sleep with you tonight."

His words made your breath hitch, but not in the way they usually did. This wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t flirtation. It was genuine.

You swallowed hard, nodding softly before allowing yourself to settle back down against him. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer, securing you against his warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.

Jongho’s heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his warmth spreading through you like a protective barrier against everything that had happened.

You let your eyes flutter shut, feeling his fingers trace slow circles against your back. The tension from the night melted away as the comfort of his embrace consumed you. And before you knew it, wrapped in each other’s arms, you finally slept.

•

I didn't mean for it to be that long and by the time I was ready to write smut, it got too long. LMAO. The smut was very rushed I am extremely sorry.

[s1ushyz]

Me n gang pulling up to the function

[timetodanxx]

Me nd gang pulling up to the function pt2

[beentobeetle]

Forever funny to me that the Butcher’s name is actually just Dennis. Fucking DENNIS. At least Collin’s is a good last name, and lucky for him he’s living in the 1930’s, because everyone refers to everyone by their last name, but imagine if they DIDN’T? Worse yet, imagine he didn’t have the title of The Butcher!

Aw hell naw gang Dennis pulled up to the function with the piano wire !!!! run gang ruuun DENNIS gonna get yall !!!!!!

I’d become a murderer too if my parents named me Dennis! Like of course his dad didn’t love him, look at how dirty he did that man!!!!!!

Dennis … the horrid little man you are Dennis …