#sidewalk performer au

[koqabear]

Attention

♫: 5 STAR, CL

“Yeonjun thinks there’s nothing better than to wind down after a show with his pretty girlfriend— Beomgyu also thinks there’s nothing better than winding down after a show with Yeonjun’s pretty girlfriend.”

yeonjun x fem!reader x beomgyu

Genre: rockstar!au, smut, pwp, established relationship w/jjun 

Word count: 5.8K

warnings: mc has acrylics. that’s it. 

smut warnings: hard/mean doms! yeongyu, sub!mc, threesome, strength kink(?), scratching, pet names (baby, good girl, etc.), name calling, dry humping, spanking, breast play, manhandling, degrading, fingering, oral (f&m rec.), choking, marking, biting, hair pulling, mirror sex, dumbification, slight brat taming?, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dacryphilia, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, unprotected sex, size kink, bulge kink, rough sex, creampies, mentions of safe word, facial, sloppy seconds, slapping, spitting, lmk if i missed anything 🤗

Notes: i’ve recommended every genre but rock for this.. final part of rockstar!txt, and my personal favorite; this was still barely edited—enjoy tho bc i definitely branched out quite a bit here >w<

Your legs feel shaky as you make your way away from the stage— whether it’s from adrenaline or anticipation for what’s to come, you’re not really sure. 

Another successful show has gone by with you in barricade; pushed up against the barrier by other eager, sweaty bodies, forced to endure another intense show in favor of watching your boyfriend perform— there’s a strange sense of satisfaction that you get from it, watching the way they all crowd around you and try to take your spot, hands reaching out desperately for even a brief touch from him. 

The most they’ll ever get from him is a brush of his fingers against theirs— but even that is enough to have them screaming in your ear, jumping eagerly as they don’t stop to realize why Yeonjun might be so eager to hog the section they’re currently in. 

You’re fully aware; maybe it’s because he’s always quick to spot you during his shows, sending you a wink before he’s striding over— subjecting you to a few hours of flirty and suggestive behavior, able to drink in the way your doe eyes look up at him with every thrust of his hips or growl of his voice— and if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve almost missed the quirk of his lips as he drank in your reaction desperately.

Your body felt a bit more buzzed than usual— maybe it’s because you were subjected to the absolute torture that was Yeonjun purposefully teasing you, completely ignoring you and sticking to the side opposite yours in favor of teasing and interacting with other faceless fans— you still remember the way your jaw dropped as you watch him reach out to a fan, holding her hand and winking playfully as he clearly mouthed a ‘call me’ to her.

Luckily for you however, you were quickly distracted by a different sight— meaning, Beomgyu and the way he very obviously seemed to stare you down every chance he got; where Yeonjun began to lack, he quickly took charge, lingering by your side and even taking a moment to go along with the way you reached out to him playfully, allowing him to hold your hand as he sang his part directly to you; you could feel deathly stares from both the fans around you and Yeonjun after that.

So now, here you are; one elaborate firework show later and the fans finally began to disperse and the crowded pit finally began to empty— leaving you, alone and antsy as you began to make your way backstage, where you knew a staff car was waiting to take you to the hotel Yeonjun was currently staying in.

Your leg is bouncing the entire ride there— fans outside seem to think the van you’re in may contain a member of the infamous band, and you watch with a small smile as they line the sidewalks and wave cluelessly; for a moment, you almost feel bad. 

You’re at the back entrance in the blink of an eye; that could also be attributed to the fact that you may have dozed off on your way there, but you don’t really mind it as you find yourself much more energized as you make your way out the van, thanking your driver before you’re off. 

Room 705, you tell yourself, pressing the number seven on the elevator as you lean back on the railing— you let out a soft, exasperated sigh as you make your way up, feeling the nerves from before creep up on you the longer you wait in this eerie silence— you’re practically running the moment the doors open, eager to see your boyfriend as you feel a wide smile form on your face. 

A moment passes after you knock on the door. 705, you reassure yourself, glancing back at the room number as you rock on your heels, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. Just when you begin to wonder if you’ve got the room wrong, pulling out your phone to check your messages with Yeonjun, the door suddenly swings open.

And you’re immediately pulled in. 

If the air hadn’t been knocked out of your lungs as Yeonjun pushed you roughly against the door, the way he captures your lips in a needy kiss definitely did. Your mind is spinning and you’re barely able to process what’s happening as you moan into his lips, feeling his hands wander up and down your sides, shivering at the feeling of his hands on your bare skin. 

You’re left to place your hands helplessly on his chest— you don’t bother to push him away though, indulging instead in the way his firm muscles tense under your hands, the thin material of his tank top not leaving much room for the imagination as you let your nails scratch and grasp at the material. 

He’s clearly reluctant to pull away as you begin to pat at his chest, attempting to signal your lack of air as he finally obliges after a second of struggle— you’re panting and dizzy as you take in the way his lips are swollen and shiny, his eyes lidded and dark as he takes in your outfit with a breathy chuckle. 

“Seriously?” he asks, reaching up to play with the hem of the shirt that barely covers you, the words “I ♡ TXT” written across them boldly, “You couldn’t have gotten one of those I heart my boyfriend shirts with a little picture of me? I saw a ton of fans wear those today.”

You scoff. 

“I dunno, I think this is more eye-catching— especially because it means that I don’t have to rely on getting the attention of just one of you.”

“Ohhhh, is that right?” he asks, tilting his head innocently as he wraps a hand around your waist, a cute smile on his face as he begins to walk backward to lead you further into his room, “Is that what your little attitude was about back then? Did I neglect you, baby?”

You pout. You hate when Yeonjun gets like this, teasing and petulant as he tries to back you up into a corner, trying to get you to say the wrong thing and set you straight by fucking you until you can’t think— it makes you feel undeniably small before him.

“Well, you did ignore me during the second half of the concert,” you admit, and you try to take a step back from him only to get pulled back in, your view obscured by him, “Seriously, you didn’t even come to our side.”

“You felt ignored?” he pouts, cooing softly at the way you meekly nod in agreement, “But Beomgyu didn’t ignore you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yup. Made sure to take good care of her.”

It’s only then Yeonjun lets go of you— he’s behind you now, interlocking his hands over your navel and pulling you back against him as he slots his chin on your shoulder— your stomach drops, and you’re able to feel the way Yeonjun presses against you perfectly from behind. 

Beomgyu lays back against the headboard, looking up from his phone as he sends you a pretty smile and a wave. 

“Shit baby, when did you get this skirt? It barely covers you.” you’re blinking out of your stupor as you feel Yeonjun grinding against you, your body beginning to rock from the motion as you grab onto his forearms weakly— you’re startled, unable to help your weak whimper as you take in the way Beomgyu stares at you with hungry eyes. 

And Yeonjun’s absolutely right— the pleated skirt is so short that it’s already ridden up, and you can feel your eyes hazing at the way he grinds his cock against your ass, against your panties that are already beginning to become soaked and sticky from your arousal. 

“You know, I saw the way you were so eager to interact with gyu once I left,” he purrs into your ear, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust that has you bouncing and yelping weakly, “Have I been neglecting you that much, cutie? Am I not enough for you?”

“No, no no no,” you babble, already too stupid to make coherent sentences despite having yet been fucked, “Saw you flirting with fans, I just… wanted to get back at you, ugh—!”

Your mouth is falling open at the feeling of Yeonjun’s hand falling sharply on your skin— your ass stings from the sensation and your back arches in response, and Yeonjun’s free hand snakes its way up to grope your chest, pressing you back against him and spanking you again as he laughs darkly in your ear.

“Get back at me? You know I was just doing my job, right?” he’s mocking you— it’s mean and belittling as he rubs the stinging area for a second before landing another smack— hmm? he hums, egging on your response as his hand squeezes your breast warningly.

“You still ignored me,” you whine out, clearly not the answer Yeonjun wanted as he scoffs and undoubtedly rolls his eyes; he lets go of you, and you let out a soft yelp at the way he pushes you toward the bed— you stumble and fall face-first into it, bouncing on the mattress before you’re looking up in a daze— you’re meeting Beomgyu’s wicked smile the moment you come to your senses. 

“Okay baby, if that’s how you wanna play. You really seemed to enjoy Beomgyu’s attention today, how about you get some more?” You’re not sure what he may mean by that until you’re being moved; you’re seated in Yeonjun’s lap on the bed, a pained whimper ripped out of your throat from the way he tugs your hair and pulls your head back— you’re staring at the ceiling as you feel your legs get thrown over Yeonjun’s, left to his mercy as he spreads you open completely. 

“Fuck. Such an attention whore, aren’t you? How are you so wet already?” his tone is so, so mean and mocking as he rubs a hand over your panties, two fingers pressing down against your entrance as he watches the way your folds spill out from the action, hissing quietly before he’s laughing softly, “Did a little bit of grinding do all this to you? Or…”

He leans into your ear— he places a kiss behind it before his teeth begin to nibble at the flesh, laughing airily as his hands begin to rub up and down your trembling thighs. 

“Were you thinking of getting fucked the whole show?”

Your lips fall into a silent gasp— Beomgyu’s lips are leaving open-mouthed kisses at the inside of your knees, his soft hair brushing against your skin as you attempt to look down at him— only to squeeze your eyes shut, Yeonjun’s long and slender fingers coming up to press down on your throat and hold your head up as he prevents you from looking, adding more pressure as he takes in the way you squirm from his grip.

Your hands are gripping your skirt. It’s bunched between your fingers as you attempt to close your legs, only to be stopped by Yeonjun’s as he continues to hold you open— in response, he spreads his legs a bit more, indulging in the pained whimper you let out from the stretch. 

Beomgyu’s lips are inching up your thigh. He’s sucking and leaving marks, teeth teasingly sinking into the flesh as he takes in the way you jump and whine at the feeling— your eyes are screwed shut, and all you can hear is Beomgyu’s breathy laugh before he continues to make his way up. 

Beomgyu is nothing but cruel as he continues to tease you; you think you might begin crying as you feel his lips begin to kiss softly at your clit, the feeling barely there as you begin to whine petulantly.

“Don’t be like that,” Yeonjun scolds, taking the way you’re practically trembling, “Shouldn’t you be thankful Beomgyu’s here to give you some attention? If you keep this up, I’ll just make you fuck against a pillow and leave you here while I go out for drinks with the others. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

You can feel Yeonjun smile against your jaw as you frantically shake your head no. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek in return. 

“Good girl. Now be patient, okay?”

God, how can you be patient when Beomgyu is still teasing you over your panties? They’re soaking and you feel pathetic as he continues to toy with you with his tongue, clearly eager to make you messier than you already are as his spit continues to soak the rest of your panties through— the whine you let out once he presses his tongue flat against your entrance is pathetic, but you don’t have any energy to feel embarrassed from it as he begins to press against your panties in an attempt to fuck you with his tongue.

You don’t know how long this goes on for— all you know is that you’re shaking and you feel your eyes sting with tears by the time his fingers begin ghosting along your thighs, his soft groans and sounds that come from below only leaving you more needy by the time his fingers finally hook under the waistband of your panties. 

Your hips lift eagerly as he slides them down, and you don’t bother to take their teasing comments seriously as you blindly buck your hips toward Beomgyu’s face instead. 

“What’s got you acting like this?” Yeonjun asks, his voice deep and gruff as he speaks in your ear, “Don’t tell me a little bit of teasing is what’s got you like this.”

A little bit of teasing is a severe understatement. You’re trembling over Yeonjun and your voice is breaking as you protest quietly— and if your boyfriend thinks you haven’t felt the way he’s been bucking and rutting his hips into you this whole time, he’s sorely mistaken. 

All your spite melts away the moment Beomgyu gets his mouth on you— you’re jolting in surprise at the feeling of his face pressed flush against you, his tongue entering you with ease as he begins to fuck you with it like you desperately wanted; his nose is brushing against your clit and your hands blindly go to tug at his hair in a weak attempt to pull him closer still, entirely shameless of the way your hips grind into his face to chase pleasure— the way he groans and hums against you only makes your head spin, tugging at his roots weakly in an attempt to distract yourself.

Yeonjun’s hand presses against your throat— the pressure has you going dizzy, and you don’t seem to realize that he’s tilted your head back down until he’s squeezing teasingly, growling in your ear to look.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open. 

“Gyu…”

The said man’s eyes flicker up to gauge your expression— only he finds that you’re not looking at him, but rather behind him— in other words, straight at the full-length mirror you sit in front of, hazed eyes taking in the sight of you on your boyfriend’s lap, his hand on your throat and the other pushing up your crop top to play with your breasts, followed by the sight of Beomgyu kneeled between your spread legs, his head neatly tucked under the skirt you wear as he diligently goes back to eating you out like a starved man.

Your mind has gone dumb from the stimulation— so much so that you were barely able to keep track of the hands on your body, your chest jutting out from the way Yeonjun plays with your nipples and your thighs shaking from the way Beomgyu massages them teasingly. You think you might just receive a noise complaint from the way you can barely keep your sounds down, your hips beginning to roll against Beomgyu’s face as you feel your orgasm beginning to approach. 

“So fucking loud,” Yeonjun growls, his hand leaving your tits before he’s putting two of his fingers into your mouth— and like the “good bitch” you are, you take them without hesitation, your lips sucking on them while your tongue runs along his fingers diligently. 

It does little to muffle your sounds, however. You can’t take your eyes off the sight in front of you, incredibly needy as you begin to push Beomgyu against you and practically suffocate him with your pussy— but, judging by the way he groans in response and moves his head side to side before pressing firmly against your cunt, you don’t think he minds it.

“Is he making you feel good? Yeah?” Yeonjun asks, cutting off your frantic nodding before he’s shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue— your mouth is left open and you can only watch helplessly as drool begins to gather at the corner of your lips, your hips jumping up at the way Beomgyu’s tongue toys with your clit before he’s back to fucking you— the way you react to the action has him repeating it, and it isn’t long before you’re letting out a long whine and cumming all over his face. 

“Good girl. Fuck that’s so hot, that’s right, ride it out…” Yeonjun’s hand leaves your neck in favor of gripping your hips and guiding your movements, grinning wolfishly at the way you simply cry softly and wrap your lips around his fingers in response, a stray tear running down your cheek as your mouth falls open weakly once more, beginning to melt from the way Beomgyu has yet to pull away, feverish mouth still on your cunt as he begins to clean you up despite your weak cries of overstimulation. 

Beomgyu’s face is shining from your arousal by the time he finally pulls away. He’s sitting back on his knees and looking up at you with puppy eyes as he pouts, swollen lips reddened as he takes in the way your pussy still glistens from your arousal and his spit, your body twitching from the aftershocks as you merely whine once your eyes meet. 

“Felt good baby?” Yeonjun asks you, letting you go before he’s laying you back on the bed— you’re reaching out for him, grabbing his shirt and tugging him back to you in a weak attempt to get him on top of you, only to fail miserably— he chuckles softly before his hands come up, encasing your own before he’s pulling them off; his gaze darkens. 

“Show me just how much you liked gyu’s attention, yeah?” he asks, and you watch with wide eyes as he begins to step away, ignoring your weak attempts to get him to come back before he’s getting comfortable on a chair across the bed; squeezing your legs together, you’re left helpless as you watch Beomgyu rise to his feet and begin to hover over you instead. 

“Don’t you wanna be good for him?” Beomgyu asks, placing a tentative hand on your waist and watching as you shiver from the sensation, “For us? Hmm?”

The pathetic whine you let out in response is enough for him, watching as you shyly reach up to grab at his shirt before you’re pulling him towards you. 

Beomgyu’s hands are big and warm as he places them on your thighs, sneaking to the underside and pushing them against you as he begins to spread you properly— you’re left folded and at his mercy as you simply look at him with curious eyes, fingers splayed neatly on your chest as you begin to play with your breasts absentmindedly. 

You’re shameless as you watch Beomgyu take his cock out— even more so when you begin to squirm, eyes widening slightly just from the mere sight; god, he’s huge. 

“What’s with the reaction baby?” Yeonjun calls out, and you’re snapped out of your daze as you look at where your boyfriend sits, slouched in the chair and palming himself casually as he watches, “Something on your mind?”

You shake your head no— but as Beomgyu slowly aligns himself with your entrance, leaking tip beginning to glide along your cunt as he spreads your arousals, you can’t hold back the shaky whimper you let out, your voice breaking from the sound as you grasp at the sheets under you. 

He’s big— just like your boyfriend, who always has to take his time prepping you before he finally fucks you; the only difference here, however, is that Beomgyu has never fucked you before, so he certainly won’t be aware of the struggle he’ll be met with as his tip finally begins to prod at your entrance, testing out the waters before he finally pulls out again. 

Yeonjun, however, is fully aware of this fact.

Maybe that’s why you take in the way his lips quirk up in a mischievous smile as Beomgyu finally begins to enter you— hissing at the stretch, going insanely slow due to the way you clench down on him like a vice, the feeling enough to make him cum if he’s not too careful. 

You’re a trembling and squirming mess under him— your eyes are screwed shut when he grabs onto your hips, telling you to stop fucking moving as the sheer strength of his hold is enough to have you freezing. 

“Shit, such a cute little thing, always begging for attention— don’t even care that it’s not your boyfriend fucking you, huh?”

God, this is so embarrassing— especially with the way you practically melt at Beomgyu’s touch, weak whimpers flowing from you the moment you feel him bottom out, hips pressed flush against yours as he simply… remains still. Clenching around him pathetically, all shame is thrown out the window as you begin to attempt fucking yourself on his cock, trying to get any stimulation you can before his fingertips are digging into your skin— a clear warning to fucking sit still, as he growls out. 

Slowly, he pulls out; you can feel every vein that runs along his length from how slow he goes, your walls fluttering in a desperate attempt to keep him inside as you let out a soft whine— he quickly rams into you after that, ripping a shameless moan from you and making your body jostle back against the mattress, only to get pulled back into him by his hands. 

He’s able to build his pace that way— your body is his to control as he begins fucking you, rutting into you wildly as he takes in the way your eyes glaze with pleasure, weak cries and moans escaping your mouth as he simply smiles down at you coyly.

“Beomgyu,” you hear Yeonjun say, though you don’t have the strength to look over at him as you watch Beomgyu turn his head over, his thrusts slowing to something deep and slow as the two seemingly converse— you’re unable to hear what your boyfriend says, but you know he’s up to no good as you pick up on his last words.

“Do it, you’ll see how much she likes it.”

Before you can question what he could possibly mean by that, a choked cry is leaving you; Beomgyu has returned his rough pace of fucking you, your words dying on your tongue as you’re left to pant and moan pathetically— your back arches off the bed the moment you feel his hand fall on your stomach, pressing down on the bulge of his cock inside you and watching the way you bite your lip in a failed attempt to conceal the squeal he rips out of you; the pressure of his hand makes you tighten around him more, and the laugh he lets out would be enough to embarrass you if you weren’t so fucked out. 

“Like feeling me? Am I too big for you, sweet thing?” he asks, whiny and attempting to mimic your tone as he sends you a pathetic pout, no doubt a reflection of your expression, “Can you feel me, baby? Feels good?”

Your eyes roll back the moment he brings your hand over to press on the bulge yourself; you’re letting out a soft fuck that has the two men chuckling, only able to come to your senses long enough to see that Yeonjun has begun to stroke himself where he sits, dark gaze never leaving your body as he watches everything with interest. 

Yeonjun is mumbling something again— it makes your heart race that you’re unable to pick up on it, much more focused on the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you to be able to pay attention to the conversation the two are having; before you can take any offense to it, Beomgyu is pulling out, the two of you hissing from the suddenness of it all before he’s guiding you to move. 

“You look so pretty like this.”

Yeonjun’s smile is warm as he meets your gaze— though you’re unable to see it for much longer, your head being pushed into the mattress as Beomgyu raises your hips a little more, landing a slap to your ass before he’s thrusting into you fully in one go— you think that if your face hadn’t been buried in the sheets, you definitely would’ve been scolded for being so loud. 

This position allows Beomgyu to fuck into you a little rougher; something Yeonjun told him you just go crazy for, and he knows it must be true if the way your walls flutter and suck him in are any sign, the feeling making it harder for him to not dump his load inside you then and there. 

“Pull her hair,” Yeonjun grins, watching as you nuzzle your face into the mattress for comfort, “She loves when you do that— isn’t that right, baby?”

Beomgyu doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging you hard enough that you’re being pulled up, pressed flush against his chest as Beomgyu’s hand snakes around your waist and circles your clit— if it weren’t for his arms that held you up against him, you’re sure you would’ve collapsed back down from the sheer pleasure.

His hand lets go of your hair in favor to wrap around your neck; his index finger taps at your cheek as he begins to put a slight pressure, watching as you become lightheaded and struggle to open your eyes upon his request. 

“Don’t you want your boyfriend to see how good you’re getting fucked?” 

His words shouldn’t spur you on as much as they do— but the way Beomgyu continues to spew absolute filth in your ears paired with the way Yeonjun stares at you as though he’s ready to pounce on you any second has you nearing yet another orgasm— and judging by the way Beomgyu hisses into your ear, you’re sure he notices it.

“Shit, such a greedy thing, so desperate to get fucked that you don’t care who it is, hmm?” Beomgyu says, laughing softly at the way you begin to squirm from his grip, “Feel good? Gonna cum on my cock? Hmm? Don’t even feel guilty that your boyfriend is watching you get fucked so good, just wanna get used, isn’t that right?”

You’re barely able to keep track of the shit Beomgyu is saying— all you know is that you’re intoxicated with the way his voice sounds, strained and shaky as his broken moans interrupt his sentences, the sound of skin against skin overwhelming your senses as you finally come down— your eyes are shutting tight as you feel yourself go weak, falling limp under Beomgyu’s hold before he lets you go entirely— and you’re falling back into the mattress, grabbing desperately at the sheets in a weak attempt to ground yourself. 

The sudden rush of blood to your head only amplifies everything as Beomgyu lets you ride out your orgasm; he’s rough and unrelenting as he chases his own high, reassuring you quietly that he’s almost there, just a bit more, be a good girl and take it, okay?

It doesn’t take long before Beomgyu’s pace is stuttering, his hands gripping your waist and using you as a fucktoy as he begins groaning that he’s close. 

“Want me to cum inside?” he asks, his voice breathy and dazed as he watches the way you simply whine and nod your head, “Yeah? Dump my load and fill you up like a good cumslut? Love letting me use you how I’d like?”

A weak yes! yesyesyes! is all that leaves you before he’s burying himself as deep as he can and cumming inside you; you feel so warm and full as you feel him spurt his cum inside you, whining quietly and nuzzling more into the blankets as you let him ride his orgasm out.

A moment passes— he has yet to pull out.

“So?” Yeonjun asks, a lot closer than you expected as he suddenly takes your hair and forces you up, ignoring your weak protests with a roll of his eyes, “What do you think baby? You want more of his attention, or are you finally gonna apologize for being such a fucking bitch to me?”

You let out a noncommittal whine— Yeonjun’s brow quirks in interest, but he simply looks back at Beomgyu with a soft smile. 

“Think you can dump another load in her?”

Beomgyu’s cock is already hardening inside you— the whine you let out is left in vain as Yeonjun simply directs his hardened cock to your lips, tapping his leaking tip against them as he begins to spread his arousal along them, smiling wickedly as you send him a pleading smile. 

“You know how this works, doll,” he hums out, smacking his dick on your lips with a soft laugh, “You know the safe words; you say it and everything stops— so stop acting like a helpless bitch.”

Softly, his hand taps your cheek.

“Now open up, won’t you?”

You’re obedient as always as you do what he says immediately. Your eyes are watery as you allow him to use your mouth just how he likes, the vibrations of your moans from the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you making Yeonjun pathetically bite his lips to conceal his sounds— of course, it doesn’t work, and all he’s left with in the end are swollen and reddened lips you’re fighting the urge to kiss. 

By the time Beomgyu is cumming inside you again, Yeonjun is above you groaning that he’s close; you’re whimpering at the feeling of being filled a second time tonight as Yeonjun takes his cock out and furrows his brows in concentration, taking in your fucked out face before he spills his load all over you; your eyes close as you feel the spurts of cum land on your lips, cheeks, and shirt, over the bold I ♡ TXT  as Yeonjun only smiles with pride; you’re whimpering pathetically as Yeonjun proceeds to use his sensitive tip to spread his release across your lips, hissing quietly as your tongue darts out to lick it teasingly. 

“Yeonjun,” you whimper out, looking up at your boyfriend with eyes that almost make his knees buckle, “Still need you. Want you inside me.”

He grins— how could he deny such a request?

In the blink eye, you’ve changed positions, now lying on your back— Beomgyu is no longer inside you, sending you a wolfish grin as he places one last kiss on your head, patting your thigh slyly before he’s sending you off to Yeonjun; after all your teasing and subjecting himself to watch for so long, Yeonjun can feel his refractory period turn to ashes the moment he finally slides himself inside you, your thighs dripping with Beomgyu’s cum as more comes out the moment Yeonjun bottoms out. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, moving slowly before he’s forced to stop from the feeling of you clenching around him, “How are you still so tight? Did you miss me that much, pretty?”

Without a second thought, you nod— Yeonjun simply laughs at that, beginning to move slowly and watching the way your face contorts in pleasure before he’s glancing back to the chair he sat in, making eye contact with Beomgyu as he sends him a grin. 

“You know, she really likes it when you do this,” he says, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders as he begins to fuck you roughly; you’re yelping and crying from the overstimulation, highly sensitive as hot tears begin escaping your eyes, “Don’t you, baby? Feel good right now?”

“Too— too much, jjunie,” you hiccup, though the way your pussy tightens around him says otherwise, your hands are desperate to grab onto something as you hold onto your skirt, crumpling the fabric in your hands as you allow Yeonjun to pull your shirt up, feeling the way his expert fingers play with your breasts and tug at your nipples, the movement almost memorized at this point.

“Too much?” he coos, not slowing his pace for a second as he watches you nod, taking in your teary eyes hungrily, “Want it to stop? Gonna say the safe word?”

You don’t respond. 

“‘Course you won’t,” he hums, slapping you softly and huffing out a laugh at the way his cum has begun to dry on your face, the feeling filthy as you simply whine, his hand cupping your face and squeezing your cheeks until your lips are forced in an open pout; he leans in, his hair brushing against your forehead as he continues to fuck you. 

“You love being used as a cumdump too much to say it, don’t you?”

Without a further warning, his index finger tugs at your lower lip, forcing your mouth open a little more— then, he spits. 

You come undone shortly after.

Yeonjun’s pace doesn’t slow down throughout any of it; not when you squeeze him so tight your cunt is practically choking his dick, not when you begin squirming and crying under him, and certainly not when he feels his own high approaching, only fueled even more when your pretty acrylics come up to dig at his shoulder, letting out a loud cry as he hits a particularly sensitive spot and scratching along his back, the stinging sensation enough to set Yeonjun off as he cums inside you— he sits back and watches as even more cum leaks out, your body already exhausted beyond relief as you simply let your eyes close and your chest heaves as you catch your breath. 

Yeonjun is rubbing your thighs soothingly, waiting for your eyes to flutter open again before he begins to speak. 

“Was that enough attention for you?” he asks— he’s hovering over you again, a mischievous smile growing on his face as he looks down at you and the mess he’s made, “I think you deserve a bit more.”

Fuck Yeonjun and his petty grudges. 

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Loved the 3 part of monet issue❤️. I thought about this. How about the doctor that experimented on reader became obsessed with us, infiltrated the compound as a new doctor and required that we go to observation, there she starts to do things again. I know it’s a little vague but that was what I could come with. See you and I hope you have a good day and take care of yourself.❤️❤️

-💣

My Beautiful Creation

Finally Part of the Monet Issues AU

Warnings: stalking, kidnapping, gun violence, swearing, forced experiment, death, killing, panic attacks, guilt, pregnancy, protective Avengers,

Word Count: 7.3k

New York City was known as the city that never slept. So many people (sometimes too many people, in your opinion) came from so many walks of life. Everyone came to this city to chase a dream. As you walked to a busy sidewalk, you were just another fish swimming upstream and weaving through people on the phone, listening to music, or performing on the street corner. There was always something to look at: massive skyscrapers, fights on the street, or trying to pick somewhere to eat because of the million and one options. So it was odd that you felt eyes on you. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. However, when you turned around, no one was there. It had to be your nerves since you’ve only been back in the city for two months. It would take time for you to feel safe since HYDRA altered your life.

The first step to returning your life to normal was meeting with Taylor and a few other friends for lunch. Opening the door to the small hole in the wall, you welcomed the quiet and peaceful environment. It was a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk. You saw Taylor in the corner, and you pointed to the table. The hostess nodded, and you walked over to them. “Look who finally is here to grace us with her presence,” your friend, Brooke, teased. She stood up and did a slight bow. “The princess has returned.” You punched her shoulder at her joke attempt, but it made you smile.

“Leave her alone, Brookie,” Emma said. “She’s been busy being an Avenger or something.”

“More like fucking one!” Brooke and Taylor high-fived across the table.

“Are we done?” You asked. “Because I will leave.” Emma grabbed your hand and forced you into the empty seat next to Taylor. You met Emma and Brooke through Taylor. While you went to college out of state, she went to Columbia. Brooke and Emma were her freshman-year roommates, and they were used to you staying over every weekend.

“We love you, Egghead,” Taylor kissed your cheek.

“And we missed you,” Emma added. You missed them, too. Lunch was spent picking on one another, catching up, and filling your stomach with cheap but good Italian food.

“So, are we going to be invited to the wedding?” Brooke asked, looking at you. You raised your eyebrows. “You and Natasha. Aren’t you guys like engaged?” You chuckled.

“Not even close,” you said. “We only have been dating for a few months officially. I doubt she would even want that,” Taylor scuffed, shaking her head.

“Have you talked about it?” Emma asked before you could question Taylor.

“Well, no,” you admitted. “There has been a lot going on.” Taylor chuckled. “Do you have something to say?” Your best friend pinched your side, and you glared at her.

“Natasha looks at you like you’ve hung the moon and painted the stars in the sky,” you tried to hide your embarrassment by picking at the pasta in front of you. “She would 100% be down to marry you.”

When lunch was over, you paid for the meal at the front. As you waited for your card, you felt that eerie sensation that prickled at the back of your neck. Your gaze darted around the restaurant’s other patrons to find the source of your uneasiness, but you couldn’t figure it out.

“Hey,” you were pulled away by Taylor’s voice. She was holding your card and frowning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled and took the card from her. “Let’s get out of here.” Was it a trick of your mind, or was someone watching your every step?

*

“Get off of me!” You gasped, trying to push Yelena off of you. Her body became dead weight. “You are so annoying,” you tickled her sides, and she quickly got off you. Her eyes were wide in fear.

“That was dirty,” she sat next to you while Kate and Peter joined you on the couch, hands filled with snacks and drinks. You rolled your eyes and stood up to help them.

“I thought you were supposed to help them,” the blonde shrugged and grabbed a beer from Kate. It was routine for you to find yourself with the trio when you were at the compound. You liked training with Wanda and Vision, eating dinner with Tony and Pepper, and cuddling up with your girlfriend. Since the ‘I love you’ confession, you both grew more confident in the relationship in front of the team. Movie nights were spent in each other’s arms. Natasha would grab you by the waist and kiss you, much to the disdain of Yelena and your father. The business was going well, your relationship with your father was better than ever, and life was good.

“You bitch!” You threw a piece of popcorn at Peter. “I can’t believe you stole my star.”

“I picked random!” He defended.

“Kate has four stars?! You stoke from me, and now I have zero.” You heard laughter from the kitchen and saw Tony. “I’ll be right back. Don’t start the mini-game without me,” you climbed over the back of the couch and walked over to him. He was in a meeting when you arrived at the compound.

“Hi, squirt,” he hugged you. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you watched him fill a mug with the leftover coffee in the pot. “You should cut back on the caffeine.” He shook his head.

“You should like Pepper.”

“The woman in your life is usually right,” the CEO squeezed your shoulder as she walked past you. Accepting Pepper as your father’s girlfriend turned-wife was hard for you. You saw her as someone that was trying to replace your mom. Another person is stealing Tony’s attention. So you treated her as a business associate but ran in the same circle. It became impossible to ignore her, and soon, you began to look for her at every Gala or event, finding a strange sense of peace from the older woman. “Have you asked her yet?”

“No, I was busy getting yelled at by my questionable habits,” you and Pepper rolled your eyes. “Are you free to have dinner with us?”

“Of course,” you smiled.

“Mini game time,” Yelena yelled from the couch. “Get your ass over here.” You flipped the blonde off, told the couple you could see them later, and joined your friends back on the couch.

*

“You’re pregnant?!” You gasped, putting the glass of wine that Pepper paired with the dinner she made. It was just you, Tony, and Pepper in their section of the compound. “Have you told anyone?” Pepper shook her head.

“We wanted to tell you first,” your father took his wife’s hand.

“And you are okay with this?” You heard the worry in his voice. Why wouldn’t you be okay with this?

“I mean, the idea of you having unprotected sex kind of gives me,” you faked a gag. Tony glared at you, but Pepper covered her mouth as she laughed. “But I’m so happy for you! I can’t wait to be an older sister!” When dinner was finished, you helped Pepper clean the dishes while Tony took a phone call from Rhodey.

“He was worried,” she glanced at him to ensure he was still on the phone. “About how you would reach the news.

“Really?” You questioned, drying a few plates and putting them away. “Why?” She sighed.

“I think he was worried you would feel like he was replacing you,” you frowned. “I know it’s not ideal timing, especially since you still trying to build your relationship with him. But-”

“Pepper,” you placed a hand on her arm, promptly cutting her off. “I’m happy for you both. You are going to make a great mother, and I know from first-hand experience,” the CEO smiled, kissing your temple. Suddenly, you felt arms around your waist, and you were lifted off the ground.

“Are you trying to steal my wife?” Tony asked. You squeaked as he spun you around. “Don’t you already have a girl to call your own? Or are you trying to get all the women in the compound?”

“It’s the Stark charm,” you laughed, a little out of breath from his tickling assault. “It’s hard for a woman to resist it,” he let you go, and it took a moment to gather your bearings.

“Ain’t that the truth?” He whipped a fake tear. “I’m so proud of you,” you saw Pepper pick up the drying towel, twist it, and snap it at Tony’s back. He yelped and jumped around to face Pepper.

“You sabotaged my help,” she handed him the towel. “Dishes are your punishment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you giggled as Pepper linked your arm with hers.

“Stark charm,” you said, looking over your shoulder. The pout on Tony’s face made you laugh. “Ladies can’t resist it.”

*

“There you are, malyshka (baby girl),” you looked up from your laptop and saw Natasha standing in the doorway. Her arms crossed against her chest, and her long-sleeved shirt came down to her thighs. “Where have you been?”

“Planning,” you said, closed your laptop, and put it on your nightstand. She raised a questioning eyebrow as she walked over. “I’m just trying to move some meetings around and delicate responsibilities.” Your girlfriend climbed onto the bed and swung her legs over to sit on your lap.

“Are you leaving the company?”

“I would never. I want to spend more time with you, my dad, and the team,” what you wanted was to be here at the early stages of her pregnancy. With the father being Iron Man, it was uncertain how often he would be around when the world called for him. You told Pepper you had no problem with being there. The CEO wasn’t ready to tell the team yet, so lying to your former spy girlfriend was challenging. You knew she wasn’t buying your story. “Everything is fine,” you squeezed her thighs. “I promise,” you leaned forward and nudged your nose against hers. “Can I kiss you?” You asked. The Black Widow chuckled.

“You never have to ask,” you kissed her, taking in the taste of Natasha. It was addicting. You felt her smile in the kiss and soon pulled away.

“Movie night. What do you want to watch?” You asked, moving your hands up and down her back.

“Moonraker,” you huffed. “Please, sweetheart,” she gave you her best puppy dog eyes that always seemed to melt you.

“Put it on,” She grabbed the remote and fell to your side. As the movie began to play, Natasha curled up into your side, and you wrapped your arms around her. “I love you,” you mumbled.

“I love you too.”

*

“Ooo,” you looked at Pepper as she rubbed her stomach. She was three months pregnant, and every sound of discomfort sent you and Tony into a fit of anxiety. “Come here,” she held out her hand, and you were quick to your feet. She took your hand and placed it on her stomach. “Just wait,” you waited and soon felt the small kicks.

“Holy shit,” you sat down next to her. “That is so weird.” Pepper chuckled.

“It’s even better when she wakes you up at 2 in the morning,” she sarcastically said.

“Can she hear us?” You looked at her.

“Doctors say once they are about 23 weeks, they’ll be able to make out voices outside the womb, but that hasn’t stopped your father,” she explained.

“Can I?” She nodded. “Hi, little one,” you spoke to Pepper’s stomach. It was a little strange, but a weird emotion bubbling in your chest. “I’m your big sister, and I’m so excited to meet you, spoil you, and fill you with all the sweets in the world,” you glanced up at Pepper as she laughed. Tears were forming in her eyes. “But,” you continued. “I’m going to protect and love you with every fiber of my being.” Pepper kissed your forehead and brought you into her arms.

“You are going to be a great sister.”

“I agree,” you looked at Tony. His facial expression was hard to read. “I need you to be part of this meeting, squirt,” you said. You looked at Pepper, and she had a reassuring smile.

“Okay,” you whispered. Why was there a knot in your stomach?

*

“She escaped,” was the only thing you could comprehend as you sat in the meeting room with the Avengers. There were a few here. Clint retired to Iowa with his family, Bruce and Thor were off-world, and Steve, Sam, and Vision were on a mission. Natasha held onto your hand. “I don’t understand. How did she escape?” Maria explained that the doctor responsible for your newfound ability escaped the prison. Unlike her boss, she wasn’t sent to the RAFT. The jury found her guilty but believed her actions weren’t entirely her doing and that HYDRA brainwashed her. Stockholm Syndrome was what they called it. So, she was sentenced to a medium-security prison.

“She got help from a guard that worked there. His name is Johnathan Anderson,” Maria brought up a picture of him. His black hair was closely chopped, and he had a beard. His blue eyes had a no-nonsense expression. Starring at this picture, you felt that eerie sensation on the back of your neck. Subconsciously, you grabbed the back of your neck. “When his supervisors searched his lockers, they found love letters between him and her.”

“Do we know what she wants?” Wanda asked.

“Me,” you whispered. Their heads snapped to look at you. “I-I was her only success. All the others died, so it makes sense that she would be after me,” Natasha squeezed your hand, and instead of looking at her, you placed your head on her shoulder.

“We won’t let that happen,” Tony firmly said. “We’ve been tracking Anderson’s movements. When he’s not at work, he frequently visits two locations. A home in Connecticut and a warehouse in PA. She has to be there,” you’ve never seen him this determined. “We find her and lock her in the RAFT like she should have been in the first fucking place.”

“Language,” Natasha gasped. Tony glared at your girlfriend, but a smile crept onto his face. She attempted to lighten the mood of the situation, but you knew the redhead better than anyone. She was scared, terrified of the prospect of losing you. You were terrified yourself.

*

“I can stay,” Natasha said for the 10th time. You were in the kitchen, busying your hands and making you and Pepper a small snack. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” you wanted her to stay and feel safe in her arms while the rest of the team went off to fight the bad guy. A clash of thunder caused you to look out the window. Even the weather seemed to know you were in a mood.

“You can’t,” you dropped the knife and cupped her cheeks with your hands. “The team is far too thin to search 2 locations, and Tony is making last-minute adjustments to FRIDAY to keep me and Pepper safe.” She turned to kiss each of your palms.

“I hate this,” she admitted.

“So do I, but you will stop both of them, and I’ll be safe again,” Natasha moved her arms around your waist and pulled you flush to her. You could feel her heartbeat, the organ rattling in her rib cage. Her warm breath caused goosebumps to cover your skin as she burrowed her face deeper into your neck.

“I love,” she mumbled. It was barely audible to your ears.

“I love you too,” you kissed her head. “Go get ready, baby,” you squeezed her. “I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich,” she huffed, removed herself from your arms, and sighed when she was out of sight. Thunder shook the compound, and you wondered what Thor was up to that was causing this storm. You loved rain storms, listening to the rain hitting the roof and the lightning that brightened up the sky. Now, it filled you with dread, an omen for darker times ahead.

*

As soon as the team left, Pepper asked if you wanted to help her paint the nursery. You agreed right away, hoping to find a helpful distraction. Soft music was filling the comfortable silence. They chose a light lilac for the walls; well, you figured Pepper picked it, and Tony swiped his card. There were boxes of furniture that still needed to be put together and clothes that were ready to be folded. Oh, you could not wait to spoil her. “How are you?” Pepper asked. She was taking a short break, resting in the rocking chair that Clint made. Sighing, you placed the paintbrush on the tray and looked at the half-finished room.

“I’m okay,” you said. “I feel like I finally have my footing, you know?” You looked at the CEO. “I just don’t want to lose the momentum I have.”

“You won’t,” she stood up and made your way over to you. She is quick to pull you into a hug. You slumped against her, desperately missing your mother’s hugs. “You are so courageous and strong. Your father and Natasha won’t rest until you are safe.” You knew that, so you nodded against the CEO.

“Miss. Stark,” FRIDAY said. “I do apologize, but your presence is being requested in med bay. It is time for your monthly check-in.” You groaned, stomped slightly, and pulled away from the CEO. It was Tony’s doing. He wanted to make sure the powers given to you weren’t causing you any problems. Pepper chuckled.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You shook your head.

“It won’t be long. I’ll be back, and we can finish painting, maybe tackle some of these boxes.” Pepper smiled, kissing your forehead. It was rare that you used your powers outside of training. Sometimes, you could use it to warm your body temperature and cuddle up to your cold girlfriend. Or you could create a small fire for Yelena to cook smores. Fighting wasn’t your thing. When you were younger, you hated the Avengers. It was another thing that took Tony away from you. When your mind was busy, you forgot about the power you could wield, forgot what happened to you. Sighing, you stretched your arms and opened the door to one of the medical rooms.

“Doctor Cho-” your voice trailed off as you stared at the woman in front of you who was not Helen Cho. “Who are you?”

“Doctor Cho is busy with other matters,” that voice. A chill went down your spine. The doctor spun around to face you, tablet in hand. “I will be conducting your exam today.” Charlotte Williams is the woman responsible for your newfound ability. You turned to leave, but the doors slammed shut and locked. No amount of pulling on the handle made the door move.

“How did you get in here?” You asked, facing her.

“You silly girl,” she laughed. “I gave you the ability to manipulate fire. do you not think I can hack your daddy’s AI?” You could fight and defend yourself and Pepper. With a flick of your wrist, fire engulfed your hands. “Not so fast,” she clicked a few buttons on the tablet, and the fire went out. You fell to your knees; a pained groan barely left your lips.

“What did you do to me?” Her footsteps echoed in the quiet exam room, closing the distance. She stood in front of you.

“I like to call it a fail-safe. With powers like yours, they can be unpredictable; I had to ensure you are under my control,” she ran her hand over your hair. “But it’s smart to have collateral,” she turned the tablet to show you security footage of Pepper. Johnathan Anderson had a gun pointed at her. Your eyes flickered to her, then the screen.

“What do you want?” You whispered.

“My beautiful creation,” she softly spoke. “I have missed you so much.”

*

Charlotte had you chained down to the table, an IV in your arm, and a nasal cannula for oxygen. She moved the security footage of Pepper to a bigger screen, a reminder that she was in charge. “Can I ask what you are doing to me?” You questioned. She ignored you and focused on your vitals. You sighed and looked up at the ceiling. There had to be a way out of this, but she had you under her control with whatever she typed on her tablet. Your attempt to escape had to be a surprise, so you had to wait. Wait and have some patience. Charlotte placed a warm towel on your veins. Once satisfied, she removed the towel and gently messaged the area to draw out your veins. Doctors always had difficulty finding an excellent place to draw blood. She tied a tourniquet around your arm and cleaned the spot. There was no pain when she pricked you with the needle, and the syringe filled with your blood.

“Have you experienced any fatigue? Headaches? Fevers? Insomnia?” She asked, taking your blood over to a microscope. The fact she had your blood didn’t sit right with you. You tugged on the chains.

“No,” you answered her.

“Have you felt any pain when using your powers?” Her back was still facing you.

“No,” you spoke.

“Any extreme mood swings?” She faces you, hands behind her back. “Anger? Jealously? Depression?” You shook your head now that she was facing you. She brought over a chair and sat down. “Do you know why you were chosen for this?” She questioned.

“Because I’m a Stark,” you whispered. It was the only reason that made sense. You were a Stark, a connection to Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers. Charlotte scuffed, shaking her head.

“You are more than a ridiculous last name. You and I both know that” she trailed her fingertip up and down your veins—goosebumps formed under her touch. “So sensitive,” she giggled. “I wanted you because you are resilient. You overcame so much to get where you are. I am in awe of that raw strength,” you weren’t sure if you could take what she said as a compliment. You’ve heard those exact words from close friends and Natasha, who understood the truth behind your relationship with your father. It didn’t sound enjoyable coming from her. “My beautiful work of art,” your stomach dropped. Bile filled your throat at the name. “We are going to do amazing things for the world.

*

You were tired, even though you were laying in bed and watching her take more of your blood, took a hair sample, and swapped your mouth for your saliva. Whenever she took something from you, she turned her back and worked on whatever she tried to figure out. It wasn’t proving easy. There were subtle changes to her behavior. Shoulders were tense. There was mumbling under her breath. Her eyebrows were pinched together. She was growing frustrated.

Charlotte had a stethoscope around her neck. The cold metal made you jump. “What are you trying to figure out?” She ignored you. “You are running out of time,” she grabbed a needle and filled it with a liquid from a small bottle. You caught the name: Gadolinium. It was a chemical dye used in MRI scans to help improve and enhance the quality of the image. Why would she need that? Unless… You laughed.

“What’s so funny, Stark?” She asked, injecting the dye into your veins.

“You don’t know, do you?” You asked. “You may have selected me, wanted me for my raw strength, but you don’t know how I survived. If I were to guess you expected me to die in that chair,” her silence was all the answer you needed. “I bet your little trick earlier was nothing more than a placebo. You know nothing about what you created,” you focused your power on increasing your body temperature. The metal chains that once held you down melted on your skin. There was pain, but the adrenaline that was moving through your veins overpowered it. Charlotte grabbed a scalpel as you jumped out of the bed, ripping the IV out of your arm. You reached for the tablet she had, and she swiped at your hand, but you were fasted. Grabbing the tablet, you threw it to the ground. The last thing you wanted was for her to contact Anderson.

“I understand you completely,” she slashed again, but you jumped back. “You want approval,” she attacked again. “You want acceptance.” Again, you dogged her. “You want love, and I can give you all of that.” You understood how she was able to convince Anderson to help her. Her words were sickly sweet, and she knew what insecurities to target. There was a part of your brain that wanted to give in. To believe her. Your eyes glanced at the security footage. There were others you had to think about, such as Pepper, your unborn little sister, and your friends back in the city. You had Yelena, Kate, and Peter. Most importantly, you had Natasha and Tony. They gave you love. They accepted you. You would never need her.

Charlotte lunged for you again, and you grabbed her arm to disarm her. However, being without a weapon didn’t deter her. She threw her body at you, and you tumbled to the floor, both fighting for control over the small metal knife. In the end, you were strong. It was a gut instinct as you drove the blade into her stomach and twisted. You were above her and watched her eyes fill with panic and her mouth pool with blood.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “But I can’t allow you to hurt me and my family anymore. You understand that, right?” She nodded and shakily put her hand on your cheek. You allowed her to have her moment. “I hope you find love and acceptance in the next life.” Her hand fell from your cheek, and you watched her breathing stop. Biting back your tears, you closed her eyes. On shaky legs, you left the room. You couldn’t take your eyes off her body until the doors closed.

The hallway was spinning. Your chest was heaving. You pressed your palms to your eyes. “Stop, stop,” you mumbled on the verge of a panic attack. “Breath. Just fucking breath.” You heard a muffled scream from the hall closet, and it pulled you out of the panic attack. “Helen!” You called out and ran towards the noise. Another muffled yell and you open the closet. Helen was gagged and bonded with rope. “Helen,” you removed the towel from her mouth, and she took a gasp for air. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” she said, and you began to undo the rope around her wrists and ankles. “Where is she?”

“She is,” you trailed off. “She’s been dealt with.” You killed her. Her blood stained your hands. “Look, Pepper is still in danger, and I need to get to her. Can you call my dad? And don’t use anything that has been connected to FRIDAY.” You weren’t sure how far her reach was. Once Helen was standing on her own two feet, and she reassured you that she was fine, you took off with one of the ropes in your hand. Pepper was on her and Tony’s section of the compound. If the feed was accurate, Anderson had her on the couch. There was a door behind him that you could use, and it was hidden by furniture and a wall if you were fast enough.

*

Quietly, you closed the door behind you and were covered by a bookshelf. You heard footsteps, pacing back and forth. “I don’t get it,” Pepper spoke. “Why are you helping her? You must know what she put my daughter through.” Your heart skipped at the term Pepper called you. You saw her as a mother figure these past few months, but hearing her call you her daughter made your stomach flip.

“She’s not your kid.”

“She might as well be. I didn’t give birth to her, but I love her as my own,” you let out a shaky breath and heard Anderson’s footsteps stop.

“Then you must understand why I’m helping her,” you moved closer, now covered by a small wall. You peeked your head out, and Pepper’s eyes darted to you. Her expression never changed. “I love her,” he kept talking, unaware of what was happening behind him. “And she loves me.”

“Are you sure?” Pepper questioned. “I sense some hesitation.” You let out a shaky breath and wrapped the rope around your hands to create a taut line. You could do this; using your powers was too risky with how close Pepper was.

“She loves me. She’s just busy. Once her experiment is done, she will be mine,” he was obsessed with her, and you weren’t sure if she felt the same.

“I get it,” Pepper whispered. “We do crazy things for the ones we love,” you slowly stood up. “Even putting our own lives at risk.” It was your cue, and you moved quickly to wrap the rope around Anderson’s neck. He struggled against you, but you kicked in his knees. His legs went dead, and he fell. You pulled tighter.

“Sweetheart,” it was a mistake to look at Pepper as Anderson took the pause and flipped you onto your back. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Pepper stood up, picked up the gun he dropped, and helped you up. The guard was coughing and rubbing his neck.

“Get somewhere safe,” you told her. “Tony should be on his way.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he was slowly standing up.

“Go! Now!” You punch him, making contact with his nose. A horrible crack filled the silence, and pain radiated through your fingers, but you refused to let up. You were tired of these people having control over your life. You were supposed to be safe here, and they went and ruined it. Why was this happening to you? Why? Why? WHY? You weren’t sure when you straddled Anderson; each punch you threw was more brutal than the next. His bloody face began to blur with tears that formed in your eyes. You were exhausted and drained, and the adrenaline was running its way out of your system, but a burning rage kept you going until solid arms wrapped around you. “No, no, no,” you struggled against the hold. Were there more? Did Charlotte have other people under her control? How did you miss that? You needed to find Pepper and fast. But they wouldn’t let go of you.

“Hey, malyshka (baby girl), it’s me,” Natasha held onto your face and forced you to look at her.

“Natty,” you whispered; your eyes must have given away your frantic state because her green eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re so safe,” she repeated. You numbly nodded, burrowing your head in her neck. Your whole body shook as you looked over her shoulder and saw Tony checking on Pepper. His eyes locked on yours, and you had to close your own. There was a quilt filling his own. It was too much too much.

*

“You wanted to see me,” you stood in Tony’s lap. After you were treated with your wounds and a long shower, Wanda told you that Tony wanted to see you. You didn’t trust FRIDAY’s announcement. So you scrubbed and scrubbed your skin raw until you were happy with how clean you were. Until you no longer saw the blood on your hands. Tony looked up from his computer; there were bags underneath his eyes.

“Hey,” he smiled. “I wanted to see how you are doing,” you shrugged and walked over to him, arms crossed against your chest.

“Can I stay in here with you for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he went to put his hand on your shoulder but hesitated. When you nodded that it was okay, he hugged you. You felt him release a shaky breath, which told you how much you needed a hug from him. Your hands gripped him tighter, and the faint scent of coffee filled your nose. It made you feel safe. Finally, you ended the hug, whipped a tear that fell from your eye, and crawled into the bean bag he held in his lap. He watched you settle and turned his attention back to what he was working on. A hologram appeared before him, and he began moving different components. They were moving so fast you couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was trying to do. Soon, the items flashed red. He grabbed his coffee mug and threw it against the wall. It shattered on impact, leftover liquid staining the wall. You let out a squeak, surprised by his sudden outburst. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” he began to pick up the porcelain pieces, but you saw his hands shake. Quickly, you stood up from the bean bag and grabbed some paper towels before walking over to him. You heard each hitch in his breath.

“Tony, it’s okay,” you spoke softly. “Let me take care of it.” He rapidly shook his head; breathing became shallow and erratic as he struggled to fill his lungs with air. “Dad,” he looked at you. “I’m going to hug you now, okay?” A simple nod was all you got as you sat up on your knees and brought him into a hug. His head slumped against your chest, and his body was tense with panic.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

“Sh,” you told him. “Just follow my breathing. Nice and slow.” You saw his hands release the shards of the cup. Red patches of blood appeared on his palm. The cuts weren’t life-threatening, so you could attend to them later. Soon, his body relaxed against yours, and his breathing was under control. “Good. Let’s move to the couch, maybe a little more comfortable.” He had no fight as he allowed you to stand and move him to the couch. He refused to look at you, not even when you cleaned up the mug or brought a first aid kit. You knelt in front of him, carefully cleaning the minor cuts. You were familiar with panic attacks, having many yourself, and helping your friends through them. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, licking his lips. “Yeah, I’m here.” You sat beside him on the couch, knocking your leg against his.

“Do you want to talk about what caused the panic attack?” He sighed, opening and closing his hands.

“I was trying to figure out how she did it,” he gestured to the still flashing red items. “She beat me. She was better, and I can’t let that happen and risk you and Pepper’s life. But I can’t fucking figure it out,” he slumped back. “How can I protect her when I keep failing to protect you?” You stayed quiet, tapping your fingers against your thighs. You stared at the blinking hologram. “I am Iron Man,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you are,” you spoke. “You are Iron Man, a part of the Avengers, playboy, genius, billionaire, and philanthropist,” he chuckled. “But you are human, and we sometimes get it wrong. We make mistakes and can’t find the answers to everything. That’s life,” you said. You looked back at him, and he was already looking at you. “The human existence is so uncertain, but that is one thing I know. You will love and protect that little girl and aren’t doing it alone.”

“Morgan,” he said. You whispered it back to him. “It’s the name we decided. Pepper wanted to wait, but I wanted to tell you.”

“I like it,” he held out your hand, and Tony took it. “What happened to me and Pepper was not your fault. Sometimes things happen a little out of our control,” he pulled you into a hug, kissing your temple.

“I’ll never get over how lucky I am to call you my daughter,” you leaned into the hug more and felt your body warm up at the praise.

“I’m pretty lucky I get to call you my dad,” you said. “Do you want some help on that?” You gestured to the hologram. “Two eyes are better than one.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you up on that.”

*

You found Natasha in the training room past midnight, and she wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. Only wearing a sports bra and leggings, she punched and kicked at the sandbag in front of her. Her body was glistening with sweat. Any other time, you would spend the time ogling your very sexy girlfriend, but she was hurting. It was different from seeing Tony’s panic attack or how Pepper hugged you tighter. She was more subtle, but you knew Natasha well. “Hi baby,” you made your presence known, but she kept punching harder and harder. “Do you want to shower and go to bed?” Still no response. You sighed and walked over to her, keeping your footsteps slow but loud. You felt her gaze on you, analyzing your next move. Instead of stopping her, you stretched, crumbled up her shirt, and she took off and lay on the ground. The shirt wasn’t a great pillow.

“Go to bed,” she said.

“Not without you, and you are going to be here for a while, so I’m going to be right here,” you closed your eyes. The rhythmic sound of her punching almost rocked you to sleep, but the sudden quiet pulled you awake. Opening your eyes, Natasha was sitting in front of you. “It’s rude to stare, you know,” she smirked.

“I just like looking at my beautiful girlfriend.”

“Creep,” she laughed, and you knew it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Are you alright, my love?” She scuffed.

“I feel like I should be asking you,” you said, sitting up and intertwining your legs with hers.

“It’s okay to not be okay with all this. I mean, someone broke into our home,” she looked down, and you forced her chin up to look at you. “Talk to me, beautiful.”

“Do you like living here?” You were stunned by her question. “Your home is here and the city, but do you like both places.”

“Where are you going with this, Natasha?” You asked.

“Sometimes I just want to walk away from this. I want to live where no one can find me and take you with me because I can’t stay somewhere you could be in danger.”

“What about the team? Yelena?”

“Fuck them,” you glared at her knowing she didn’t mean that. “I’ll miss them and this life, but they could come and visit. You are more important than any mission I fight,” she moved closer to you, carefully laying you down on your back. Her body covered yours. “Would you go with me? You could still work, and we would wait till Pepper gave birth. I’d leave this to start a family and keep you safe.” You ran your fingers through her red hair.

“This sounds like a marriage proposal without a ring,” you teased.

“Who said I don’t have a ring?” she kissed your cheek and lingered above your lips. “So what do you say?”

“Show me the ring, and I’ll say yes,” you forced her down, lips colliding into a messy kiss. She tasted mint and a hint of strawberry from her electrolyte drink, and both covered her natural taste. But you couldn’t care less. You kissed her as if your life were dependent on it because, at that moment, it was.

*

“Auntie Nat!” Your five-year-old sister’s side, rushing out of the car and sprinting up the stairs of your log cabin home. Morgan pushed past you and jumped into the arms of your wife. The ex-Avenger dramatically kissed the girl’s cheek, which caused her laughter to fill the quiet space.

“What am I, chopped liver?” You asked.

“She wouldn’t stop talking about spending time at Auntie Nat’s house and playing with Liho,” Tony laughed. You met him halfway to grab Morgan’s bags.

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled, hugging your father and Pepper. “Betrayed by my sister.”

“Thank you for watching her. We appreciate it.” They were leaving on a week-long, no-kid vacation to Europe. You loved watching Morgan, and it seemed only fair since they gifted you this property up in Maine as a wedding gift. Natasha stepped away from Avenging, and you delegated more responsibilities to your company. It was strange at first not having a meeting to attend or waiting by the phone when Natasha was away on a mission. You could relax. You found your sister in the living room, with her toys scattered on the ground, and captured Natasha’s attention in whatever game of make-believe she created.

“I see what you’ll be doing for a week.”

“Can I come to Italy with you and leave them to their devices?”

“Maybe next time,” Pepper laughed, squeezing your shoulder as she walked over to where Morgan was sitting. You placed her bags on the foot of the stairs.

“This looks good,” you hummed in question. “This life away from Avenging and the spotlight. It looks good on both of you,” you smiled as you watched Morgan rope her mother into whatever story she was spinning. “I was hesitant when you said you wanted to move,” you knew he was. “But I’m glad you did it, squirt.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Suddenly, you felt a little body run into your legs.

“Mommy said you were upset because I didn’t say hi,” you picked her up with a slight grunt.

“Hi, Princess Morgan,” you kissed her cheek.

“Hi, sissy,” she wrapped her arms around your neck. “You’re my favorite sister.” You looked at Tony; his mouth hung open slightly.

“Do you have more of us running around I don’t know about?” He shrugged. “Alright, say goodbye to your dad,” you weren’t sure how well she would take being away from her parents for so long. So you and Natasha planned a week filled with fun. Tony took his daughter from you and squeezed her tight.

“Gonna miss you, princess.”

“Miss you too, Daddy,” she whispered. “Are you going to bring me something back?” You chuckled and shook your head. She was a firecracker, always keeping you on your toes. Once more goodbyes were said, and you watched their car drive away, you looked at Morgan.

“Ice cream time?”

“Ice cream time,” she repeated and returned to the cabin. Before you could follow her, Natasha’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close. Her hands rested on your stomach; they seemed to find their way there a lot.

“I love watching you with her,” she kissed your neck. “Makes me excited to meet our little one,” you giggled and turned to face her.

“Are you excited to tell Tony and Pepper when they return?”

“Hopefully, he doesn’t threaten me like when I asked for his blessing.”

“Auntie Nat! Sissy! You said ice cream time!” Morgan’s voice called out.

“Duty calls,” you stole a quick kiss from Natasha and ran into the house, where Morgan waited patiently in the kitchen.

You were married, expecting your first child, and your home was filled with laughter, happiness, and warmth because your life didn’t end when you were trapped in that chair. The doctor was right you were reborn into something beautiful but it wasn’t what she had in mind.

[salaciousdoll]

Not A Bad Thing!

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Pairings : Number 1 Mafia Executive! Coyote Starrk x Candy store owner Chubby fem!Reader

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Encapsulation : Love is in the air on a Christmas Eve night

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Warnings : Starrk is a Dilf, Family issues, Lilynette is an actual human, this is an Au, talks of pregnancy, Smut, Fingering, talks of La Espada being a Mafia, talks about emotions, squirting, fucking against the wall, slow fucking, passionate fucking, Cute pet names( butterfly, Angel, etc.), doing a split on the dick, black reader, reader has stretch marks( buttercup made me become better at this), Starrk being slow and passionate with the touches, breeding kink( heavy), creampie mentioned, slight daddy kink, the word daddy is there only two times (so brace yourselves for those who don’t like it), just praise and overall smut, the ending may be rushed but hey I was tired last night, hook up that turns into something else.

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Word Count : 5.2k

18+ Shortcakes Allowed Only

White avalanche was everywhere as Starrk and his daughter were walking to Lola’s favorite candy shop, Saccharlicious. He finally had a day off but was still on guard due to his position in the mafia. La espada was a mafia that was well organized and if you make one wrong move, you’re gone just like that. Now if he made the wrong move today, it’ll cost his and his daughter life so he had to still be cautious even if he’s with his little girl. He hated that he had to do this because his little girl deserves the world and that means a parent who’s not so tense at harmless times like this.

“ Dad, I can’t wait to see Miss y/n, she’s so pretty and she also gives me a lot of free stuff sometimes. I think it’s meant to be a secret.”, Lola says while skipping beside Starrk on the inside of the sidewalk. They are only walking because of the parking space being far from the shop, he could only guess that they were busy right now.

Starrk smiled down at his daughter before opening the shop door for her, “ Yeah, I’ve noticed, baby girl. Remind me to tell her to stop giving you special treatment, don’t need you bouncing off the walls like last time.”

Lola blew a raspberry and sighed, “ Dadddd!, I was not bouncing off the walls because of miss y/n’s candy, it’s because I was too hyper while watching my favorite music group, wouldn’t you be hyper if you happen to see a performance from your favorite singer?”

Starrk almost let out a laugh because that was part of the reason for her hyper tendencies, candy just added on and she’s just denying it, “ Sure, whatever you say Lola.”

Lola was saying something else but he lost focus when he heard the voice he’s been wanting to hear ever since he first came here to this shop. That one visit made him obsessed with you. He loved and hated the feeling because this was new and he didn’t like new things if it didn’t come with a price or deal. That’s just how he grew up, especially being in the assassin field.

He was only confused about this feeling whenever he heard a pinch of your laugh or voice speaking to other customers because he didn’t grow up in love or even having an emotion of likeness. He was trained to suppress any emotion he had and just get the jobs done. That is why he became so desensitized when it came to the feeling and emotion of love or obsession so why now?

He didn't even show this much care or obsession towards his ex-wife, Neo. A woman he was in a relationship with for five years. They had Lola in their first year together and that’s where his disconnection of his love came, not like it was there in the first place. He had a reason to not care or love his wife now. His reason is just her hatred for Lola, her own child. A small child who didn’t know right from wrong, didn’t know small to big, hell not even her own name yet. She hated Lola as soon as she saw the love she got from Starrk and her own parents.

He couldn’t take anymore of her hatred for his kid so he gave her options: “ Either stay with our kid and learn to love her or Die.” He had no patience for her because she always acted yucky towards Lola. She finally told him the reason behind her behavior when he was sleeping with two hands behind his head in their bed, she wasn’t loved as a child and she’ll never experience what Lola experienced neither can she give Lola the experience of being loved by a parent, so after two days she left without a trace and Starrk didn’t care not one bit. At least she didn’t die from his hands, he didn’t care about what happened to her outside of him.

He was just glad that he was now the only parent Lola needed. He wasn’t gonna walk out or back down from being a dad to Lola, it’s the least he could do even if he, himself, wasn’t loved as a child too. One left and the other stayed for Lola. He promised he wasn’t gonna let any woman or man get close to Lola because they could do the same thing Neo did: walk out, so why is he letting you get a chance to ease your way into her heart. Lilynette was the only one, you will be in that category too.

He snapped out of his mind when he heard your voice closer and a little louder than it was before, realizing that he’s at the counter, “ Hello, what can I do for you, Lola-pop? First, how have you been? And how have you been, Mr. Starrk?”

You peered down at Lola as she smiled up at you answering the question so happily, the happiest she’s been since they walked out the house, “ I’m excited, miss Y/n, your taffy grapes are now back on the menu, I could already hear the taste in my ears!!”

You laughed at her excitement, “ Oh, come on, another good pun, you just got them floating around in that cute little head, don’t cha’?” You then watched her nodding her head excitedly prior to you lifting your head to see Starrk's pretty blue-gray eyes already on you, you slowly dragged your eyes up and down his body slowly before meeting his eyes again with a smile on your pretty face, “ And you?”

He cleared his throat before engaging in your question with his usual voice just deeper, “ Peachy, this one is driving me up the wall just to come here and get your famous grapes.” When he said this one, he had his palm on Lola’s head, ruffling her hair with a smirk on his face knowing she’s gonna whine and she did, making you laugh as well at her little whine.

“ So I’m guessing that’s what she wants now. What flavor would you like, Lola? We have Oreo flavor, red velvet, regular taffy grapes, and cotton candy taffy grapes.”, You say while pointing to the menu on the counter. Of course taffy grapes wasn’t the only thing on the menu but that’s one of the three things she likes or has tried at your new candy store. She likes your Hello Kitty Cookies and the fruity cereal KitKat you always have to restock since almost everyone loves them. You always had to make more of your taffy grapes and cookies too, you wanted to make some more candy or desserts since everyone seems to love these.

You could practically see the light reflecting from the little girl's eyes as she scanned over the pretty menu you made, “ Everything looks so pretty and good, but I want my Oreo taffy grapes, they’re so good, wish dad can make it for me..” she grabbed your apron you had on, motioning you to bend down. You did and she whispered the last part in your ear while you kept your eyes on Starrk’s facial expression with a big smile on your face, “ but he’s too lazy to learn the recipe.” You wanted to bust out laughing because you honestly get a kick out of kids respectfully dissing their parents.

An idea popped in your head but you had to ask your next question first, “ Okay, since it’s almost Christmas time, we have an extra size you could get, buy one get one free, do you accept mr. Starrk?” He could almost melt from how you say his name. You're only a few years younger than him yet you’re still keeping up formalities. Such a good girl you are, huh. He could feel himself growing the more you stared at him, so he averted his eyes from you whilst answering your question, “ Yeah sure, doesn’t matter to me.”

Lola almost jumped out of her body when she saw you came back with an extra large cup and a medium cup, you held up the extra large cup, “ This one is the free one, Lola-pop. I know how much you love my taffy grapes and wanted to be grateful for you and your dad for being my consistent customers.” Lola was saying thank you non-stop even while you were adding the Oreo taffy grapes in both cups. You couldn’t do anything but laugh because you could see Starrk trying to calm her down. The seven year old couldn’t hear anything he was saying at all and it was cute.

You came back to the counter with the cups filled with taffy grapes now, “ and would that be all?” Starrk couldn’t even speak because those taffy grapes looked delicious and he was finally willing to learn the recipe but how when he only seen you do this, maybe he could look it up onl-”

“ Yes, miss y/n, that is all. I have no idea what’s going on with dad today. He’s been spacing out a lot ever since we got here.”, Lola says so nonchalantly while eating on the medium cup taffy grapes while trying to hold the extra large one in her arms.

Starrk quickly grabbed the big cup out of her hands before placing the money on the counter in a hurry, saying thanks as Lola skips. You smirked before stopping him from walking to grab his daughter's hand to get out of the store, “ I could teach you if you would like?”

He stopped and slowly turned to see you already writing down something on the piece of paper you had, “ Help with what exactly?” A man of a few words is what you could describe him as and that’s fine with you that’s why you liked him. You smiled at him before waving him over again and giving him the piece of paper in his hand prior to leaning to whisper in his ear, depending on your height he may or may not have to lean down. His eyes widened when he heard what you said. He felt your warm breath on his ear and wanted you to lick his ear lobe so badly after saying what you said because then he would’ve called Lola’s auntie, Lilynette to come and get Lola so he could have some time with you right here and now.

You smiled at his darkened eyes, winking at him just as Lola called his name in a whine since she was tired of standing right there, “ Call me when you want to learn, Mr. Starrk.”

Starrk hurried out the shop and dropped the text to Lilynette that tonight she could get her to open up her Christmas presents over her house and then she’ll come back home on Christmas to open up her Christmas presents at his house. Good, tonight is the perfect night to finally learn.

After some hours, the shop was now getting locked by you when you got the text from an unknown number telling you it’s starrk and asking where you two should meet. You never expected him to actually text you first but here you are. You puffed out the cold air as you unlocked your car door, getting in the hot starter car. You texted back your house and how he got the address already before putting your phone down with the Bluetooth hooked already.

You were smiling nonstop on your way home, going in the house, and even as you finally took a shower after your long day. You finally had him in your grasp just in some minutes.

Right now, You had on a cute little pajama set and had the taffy grape products out and ready for him to learn about. The doorbell rang just as you were putting the grapes in the drainer bowl to get washed properly. You knew it was him so you hurried to answer the door, not wanting to keep him waiting on you.

Starrk was surprised to see you looking so damn good in this pajama set, your hair was supposed to be in a bonnet by now, but you weren't gonna show him that yet. You smiled at him before moving to the side, “ Hello and welcome to my home, Mr. Starrk. You can take your shoes off and put them over there, if you're comfortable with that.”

Starrk took his shoes off and put them where said, working on his coat afterwards when he was interrupted by your voice, “ I’ll get that for you, if you don’t mind, of course.” He gulped before nodding at the home vibe he was already getting. He was so glad that he came here, safely as possible. He couldn’t allow you or risk you getting involved in his field of work. He’ll never forgive himself if something happens to you because of him coming over.

You walked behind him, trailing your fingers over his back bringing them up to his shoulders to slide off the rest of his jacket, putting it on the rack afterwards. Your slow movements were going straight to his cock and he couldn’t help it especially when you walked around him ti stand in front of him. You two sized each other up, walking closer towards each other. Starrk placed his sturdy hands on your love handles/ hips, “ Can I kiss you? I can’t wait any longer, gotta taste you right now.”

Once you nodded your head, he grabbed your neck with one hand and brought your body even closer to him, leaning to capture your plump lips with his. The kiss was slow and sensual, he was going to take his time with you. Your heads moved in opposite directions as you two deepened the kiss, tongue was starting to get more involved in this kiss. His lips were so soft on yours and the way he held your body was so delicate that it kinda made you scared and excited at the same time.

“ Room or living room? Guide the way.”, Starrk says after breaking the kiss, he caressed your face so gently. Hypnotizing, really. You honestly forgot all about the grapes sitting in light vinegar and water in the bowl. However, they do gotta sit for a while, so why not engage in the activity you always wanted to engage in with Starrk.

You smiled before taking his hand guiding him upstairs into your room, locking the door afterwards. As soon as you did that, starrk eyes were on you like a lion catching its prey. He was ready to devour you. His hair was down and he looked so fucking good to you but you had to make sure if this was something smart to do, “ Sta-”

“ Shut up, don’t wanna hear you asking me if I’m sure. When I got in my car and came over here, I was sure. Now the question is, will I be able to resist my urges or succumb to them, what do you think, Angel?”, Starrk says as he takes slow steps towards you. You didn’t back up nor one bit because you wanted to know what urges he had for one and for two you wanted him too much right now. Way too much. Starrk took your lips against his again while you worked on his shirt, you both disconnected when you pulled it over his head only to reconnect like two wolves in heat.

Your kiss was sloppy and the saliva was finding its way to slide down yours and Starrk’s chin’s, neither one of you wanted to stop as he now worked on pulling down your pajamas and you helped him by stepping out of them with a quickness. This could be straight out of a movie from how you two were going at it. His thoughts were roaming and the only word in bold was the word he’s going to do to you. Your hands combed through his silky brown hair as you tongue kissed him with a hidden passion. You both moaned and groaned in between kisses. You both couldn’t help it, it tasted too good and felt too good.

The way his muscles jumped under your touch was enough to drive him mad. He never wanted this to end so because he got you right here and now, he’ll show you his the only one for you. You broke the heated kiss in order to catch a breath whilst looking around him to see the bed realizing you two walked over here while you were making out. You laughed preliminarily, feeling his body walk around you getting behind you, “ You’re gonna’ allow me to do what I want to do to you and your body? Your choice.” His hands were caressing your arms as he spoke with devoutness laced in your ear. His fingers were massaging your arms at this point, it was a relaxing touch and you wanted to stay like this forever. Especially since your body was close to his with your head against his body whether it against his chest or shoulder, depending on your height really.

You nodded because you did not trust your voice right now. He was smirking and you felt it even without seeing it. He rarely does that so when he does, you are either in trouble or just his daughter. You are definitely in trouble for agreeing so dumbly. He had you dumb for him without even being inside of you.

Starrk started to place little kisses on the back of your shoulder as his left hand traced over your rolls to your pudgy stomach rubbing tiny circles into it, making you hide your hands over your face in embarrassment, just a little embarrassed that’s all. His right hand was making its way on your panties rubbing in little circles over your clit. Your body shuddered against his when you felt the little circles against your soaked clit. Oh God! This was really happening is all you both thought. He was taking his time with you and you couldn’t complain not once. When he traveled his right hand in your panties, he traced his index and middle finger down your glossy pussy prior to entering with those same fingers.

Your fat fingers gripped his wrist as little whimpers escaped your pouty, moisturized lips, “ Ah, Starrk, keep going please. Please….please.” He chuckled into the back of your neck, curling up with fingers finding your g-spot so easily. You were surprised because the men you were with haven’t really found the g spot not even 10 minutes later so how was he so fast. The bare minimum really and yet you’re so surprised. Starrk moved his fingers inside of you slowly, lazily but you still loved it as your fingers dug into his arms in fear of you collapsing from the pressure on your pussy right now.

“ Do you like when I dig inside of this fat pussy, hmm? You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to have you like this. The stretch of your pussy tells me that you really don’t even receive this kind of treatment from previous boy toys. It’s a shame really? Feels like a virgin pussy that wrapping around my fingers, not even my dick yet.”, He whispered heavily into your ear making you whine at the fact that he was right. When you got foreplay, the fingering was off and the pussy licking was too hard, shit was aggressive and aggravating.

You gasped when he added a third finger, feeling them speed up afterwards too, “ Ughh! I think I’m gonna cum, m’gonna mmm.” Your legs were shaking as the wet sounds of your pussy were surrounding the room. His words only set off your horniness even more that you lifted up your leg to set it on your bed gaining Starrk more access to your pussy.

“ I could see you right now, falling apart on my dick like a broken toy. My broken toy now. So cum for me, Angel. Give me what I want, hell I’ll make you squirt too, how does that sound? Is it too much for you? Hmm. Nahhh, not for you my little Angel, you’re gonna take everything I have to offer today, so come on. Cum for me, cum for daddy.”, Your legs shook as you screamed so loudly when you came undone on his thick fingers inside of your dripping cunt. His dirty talking was something else but the way he kept curling his fingers while moving faster inside of you did it for you.

Starrk watched your body almost collapse on the floor until he used his left hand to wrap tightly around your arms to hold your shaking body up against his. He pulled down your panties, slightly picking you up l to get them completely off of you. His sadistic ass chuckles were heard in your ears as his fingers were now slipped out of your pussy, now rubbing against your clit in medium pace circles, “ Come on, give me the other thing I want, you could do that right? After this, all you have to remember is to just enjoy yourself, yeah.” His husky voice was enough to send any woman into a frenzy so when he’s close to your ear while rubbing circles against your already puffy clit, what else are you supposed to do other than squirt against the end of your bed. Your moans were music to his ears, “ I can’t, I can’t, mmmmmhh.” He got you now. So obedient. So perfect.

Starrk was gentle enough to wait until you stopped squirming against him ahead of gently turning your body towards him to hike you up against his body. Your body weight meant nothing to this man and this surprised you to the fullest but nevertheless you wanted to know what he wanted to do until you saw him walk to the wall beside your bed.

He placed you against the wall and your legs wrapped tightly around him in hopes of not falling. You didn’t even notice the look he had in his eyes as he stared at you so longingly. You fidgeted under his gaze turning your head, but his hand grabbed your chin, “ Eyes on mine, don’t you dare take them off of mine anytime soon. If you do, prepare. Now, Condom or no condom? Your choice.” He wanted you to say so badly no condom so he could give into his urges and by the look of your eyes, he could already jump in lazy pride, especially when he heard your answer.

Starrk unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling out his hard dick. Your eyes widen at how long he was. Your suspicion was right all along, he was a heavy and long one. Your pussy clenched and unclenched the cold air at the thought of that thing going inside of you. He struggled a little to get himself out of his underwear and pants but he managed even with holding you up. You guess he becomes overpowered with the adrenaline of sex.

You wanted to reach down to help him in some way so you trailed your hands down your naked body and onto your pussy, all while keeping eye contact with him. Your manicured hands opened up your soaked pussy lips inviting him inside and he gladly accepted the offer. As he moved his tip against your pussy, his tongue traced over your stretch marks around your chest. He was showing that he was indeed in love with you and hoped you got the message after all of this because he plans on taking you on a lot of dates, too.

When Starrk finally moved inside, he let out a little whimper at how tight your pussy clung to the tip of his dick. He wasn’t even fully inside and you got him like this. This was dangerous, luckily that’s all he knows. Starrk took one of your tits into his hand as his other hand was holding onto one of your ass cheeks, “ Fucking, fuckk… Angel, your pussy is already clinging to me, loosen up a bit for me.”

You tried to ease up under his eyes, but you couldn’t. He could tell so he kissed you, hoping that can ease you up a little and it worked. You melted into the kiss as he moved more of him inside of your weeping pussy. The stretch was burning the hell out of you, “ Ahhh! It hurts, hurts so good.” Starrk watched your saliva covered lips and wanted to devour you again, but first he had to pay attention to other parts of your body. He was going to cherish all of you without a care in the world.

Starrk’s hips were slowly moving back and forth, making his cock move in and out, slowly. It was like his cock was exploring your insides. You felt like you can feel every vein protruding upon his cock and you loved it meanwhile Starrk was loving how your insides feel around his dick. Your pussy was as soft as your skin right now. Everything about you was so soft and he could stay around you, inside of you all day, everyday. Both of your moans were having a sing off with each other.

Starrk moans at the feeling of your pussy tightening and untightening around him as he had one of your nipples in his mouth. His tongue moved around your hard nipple as he had the entire areola in his mouth slobbering over it like it’s a pacifier. The feeling of him inside of you while he devoured other parts of your body was too much, “ Fuck, Daddy please, keep fucking me like this. Feels so, mmmgh, feels so good.” You didn’t know where the urge to call him daddy came from, you could only guess because he referred to himself as that you could call him that. You just made the biggest mistake.

Starrk halted before taking your bruised nipple out of mouth. You thought you did something wrong until you heard his dark chuckle, “ That’s all I’ve been wanting to hear from you, little butterfly. Now I’m gonna cum inside you as many times as I want.” As soon as he said that, his hips snapped against yours as your legs wrapped tightly around him again, ready to take him all. The slaps were heard all around the room and you basked in it. Your head was thrown back as your hands were placed on his back feeling his back muscles attract and detract from him pounding inside of you. Starrk’s hips were moving faster and going in a circular motion, the new found rhythm was driving you insane.

“ Ngh! Yes! Yes, fucking yes. I think M’cummin. Oh! I’m cummin’.”, You moaned loudly into his ear as his head was in between your neck and shoulder breathing more heavily. His breath against your neck was adding onto your pleasure so you had no choice but to cum around his thick cock. Your cunt pulsed and that along with the smell of your body scent and cold anklet against his ass sent him spilling himself inside you with no remorse.

“ Augh! Shit, take that dick baby. Take my cum too!.”, He moaned into your neck before gently biting into it. You whimpered at the feeling of being filled up with his warm cum and the biting on your open neck. He didn’t even care that he came inside of you, so you finally figured it out. He has a heavy breeding kink and you knew right then and there you were in for a ride.

After two more pumps into you, he slowly pulled out and you tried to stand on your own as you unhook your legs from his waist. Your legs were fucking shaking like a leaf, this is how it felt when you first lost your virginity. Starrk, however, wasn’t done filling you up, “ We’re not done, so come on. You could hit a split right?”

You were hesitant to nod your head, yet you did anyway, making him run his hand through his brown hair pushing it out his face, “ Good, now lay down on your stomach and stretch your legs into a split for me, bunny.” You were dragged over to the bed prior, so he now just watches you shakily get on the bed and do what he said, gaining him full access to your pussy and ass on full display for him. You knew this position was gonna hurt because you were chubby and couldn’t hold a split for that long, but don’t worry he could tell which is why he had plenty of other positions in mind.

Starrk crawled in bed with his knees and positioned his still hard cock on the opening of your pussy, “ Hold on a little bit longer for me, Angel. I saw how you were with Lola and couldn’t help but to think what you would look like with a kid of your own, our kid. Been thinking that for a year now. Can’t wait to see you waddling around with your big baby bump. The massages your feet will be getting are gonna be daily since you're gonna be carrying my child. From The disgusting food to the kicks of our baby inside of mommy’s little stomach. I already know you’re gonna be a great mother. The way you take care of Lola was everything I needed to see to make my decision of making you the mother of my child, how about it, Angel.”

Starrk knew you couldn’t speak since he already moved inside of you with every word he spoke. He was now fully inside of you, throwing his head back in bliss at the feeling of you around him again. He could do this over and over and he thinks he’ll always have the same reaction. He yanked your head back to see your reaction and saw your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he guessed there were silent screams coming out of your mouth. From the statement he said, he felt you tighten against him. Letting him know you want the same thing, so he was going to give it to you.

After that, everything was set and stoned. Every position he put you in, he came deep inside of your pussy with no hesitation. You felt so full and stuffed when you both finished with the lotus position. He was in love with you and he finally got you. He just didn’t know you felt the same. You never believed in love at first sight but you do believe in love in multiple sights. You felt so loved on the night of Christmas Eve and couldn’t ask Santa for anything else but that feeling. Of course, you two laughed at the end of the night when you thought about the thing you were supposed to do, which was helping him learn how to make taffy grapes. Well, there’s always next time!

━━ ༉⁩༊⁩ Tagging: @eiflawriting @dejwrites @happygoluckyalexis @mastermindenoshimaalicia @simpingfor-wakasa and anyone else

[andvys]

We’ll burn the sky | E.M.

Warnings: none yet, this is just the teaser!

Pairings: rockstar!Eddie Munson x rockstar!fem!reader

Summary: Eddie left his life in Hawkins behind to live the one he always dreamed about but there is a missing piece in his life and in his almost perfect band; you.

Author's note: Daisy Jones & the six inspired me to band au fic, so here we are. I hope you guys will like this! Also shoutout to @littledemondani thank you for helping me choose the title and for letting me rant about my ideas, you’re amazing

-

“They don’t want us.” 

“What?!” 

“They don’t want us! They don’t even want to record the album!” 

After months of pouring tears, blood and sweat into this album, their record label suddenly decided that the songs aren't good enough, that the band isn't good enough, that Eddie isn't good enough.

“We worked our asses off– what do you mean they don’t want us?!” Jeff cries, throwing his hands up as he follows Eddie, who almost ran into an old man on the sidewalk, quickly apologizing to him before he keeps on walking. 

“They said that we’re not good enough!” Eddie mumbles in annoyance, “told me to come back when we got something better to offer.”

“Not good enough? Sam loved our songs!” Gareth says as he looks at Eddie in confusion. 

“He did but apparently something is missing, the label refuses to record the album,” Eddie sighs as he halts in his tracks, placing his hands on his hips, he looks up at the blue sky and lets out a long sigh, “they said some.. some freshness is missing, whatever that is supposed to mean. Told me that there’s enough bands like ours out there already. They want something different, something new. It's too 'old fashioned'.”

Gareth stares at his best friend, shaking his head, he plops down on a bench, running his hand through his messy hair, “freshness?” he mumbles, furrowing his brows. 

Eddie clenches his jaw as he thinks of his conversation with their producer. 

‘You’re good, amazing even, your voice is great but there’s a missing piece.’

“Missing piece,” Eddie huffs, shaking his head, “he said that there’s a missing piece.” 

Jeffs stares at him, “like.. like what?” 

Eddie shrugs as the doubt begins to creep in. They all left their life in Hawkins behind, dropped everything to come out here to Los Angeles with the goal of becoming big, everyone laughed at them, told them that it would never work out, that their dreams are ridiculous but things went well, for a while. 

All four of them worked hard, they worked extra hours, saved up enough for money for them to last out here for a few months. Eddie wrote the song texts and they put all their blood and sweat into each song, hours and hours of rehearsals paid off and after a long search for a producer who was willing to work with them, they found Sam, who instantly took a liking to the boys, he gave them a chance, arranged some gigs for them before they were finally given the chance to make the album but suddenly, something is missing and they aren’t good enough anymore. 

“I don’t know, I think nothing is missing,” Gareth mumbles, “the band is perfect as it is.” 

Eddie sighs, “I don’t know.. maybe there is something missing,” he mumbles, eyes falling on the bar across the street, “I need a drink.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

-

They knock back one drink after the other, listening to the awful karaoke performances and making fun of all the singing drunk people, a distraction is what they all needed after the stressful past months and who knows, maybe they’ll find inspiration here, though Eddie doubts it. 

As entertaining as it is, Eddie can’t concentrate on it for too long. His mind goes back to the conversation with Sam. If he refuses to make the album then they can pack their things and go back home to Hawkins, pick up where they left off. Eddie would work at the garage again, Gareth and Jeff would try to get back into the community college there, Johnny would work with his dad again, they would give up their dreams and go back into a town they wanted to leave behind. 

Sure, Eddie has Wayne, all his friends and girlfriend there but Hawkins is a part of his past, something he doesn’t even want to go back to, not even for his loved ones. He is fine to go back for holidays or birthdays but that’s all. 

This is what he wants, he wants the band, he wants the concerts, the tours, the life he always dreamed of. 

But what choice does he have if the album won’t even get a chance? 

Fear fills him, anxiety takes hold of him and his hope begins to dwindle.

The music stops and only the loud chatter in the bar fills the room for a moment. Eddie stares down at his drink, ignoring the laughter of his friends. 

He downs the rest of his drink, running his hand through his messy curls, he leans back and turns to look at the stage to find a young girl reaching for the microphone. After all the old drunk men, the girl is the first female to sing tonight. He can’t see her face yet but he recognizes the band shirt, he has a similar one lying in his closet, somewhere. Clad in a short leather skirt and chunky boots, she already looks like she belongs on a stage but he doesn’t have much faith in her voice, after all, karaoke bars are just for drunk people who want to have fun, right? 

“Damn,” Gareth whistles, “she’s hot,” he says, staring at the girl. 

Jeff and Johnny chuckle but agree with him nonetheless. 

“Look at her, man,” he says to Eddie, who only shakes his head, “totally your type.” 

“I have a girlfriend,” Eddie mumbles, glaring at his friend. 

Gareth rolls his eyes, “whatever,” he mumbles, not even hiding his distaste for his best friend’s girlfriend. He never liked her and he never will. 

The One I Love by R.E.M starts playing and Eddie’s friends immediately start to bop their heads to the music. Staring at the girl with curious looks on their faces. Eddie chuckles at them, shaking his head. 

The smile falls from his lips and his eyes widen a little, both the lyrics and your voice catch his attention. He looks away from the awestruck expressions of his friends and turns to look at the singing girl, you. His breath hitches in his throat when he looks at you, truly looks at you. 

Your eyes are closed and you hold the mic tightly in one hand as you sing with the most beautiful voice he has ever heard, it’s soft yet husky and low; it’s just perfect. You look like you’re in your own little world, like only you exist. 

A girl in front of the stage whistles and you crack a smile as you open your eyes to look at her and the other girls around her who are no doubt your friends. 

Eddie’s heart makes a weird jump in his chest when you look his way as you sing. Eddie can’t help but stare at you, he is in awe. The way you sing, the way you hold yourself, the way your voice seems to get prettier and prettier to him.

He can’t tear his eyes away from you, you sing as though it’s the only thing you are meant to do, like this stage is meant for you and the people are here just for you. You own the stage, you own the heart of all the people watching you, you stole it with just your voice. 

“Holy shit,” Jeff mumbles, he stares at the way you move your body as you sing, “she’s a hot piece of ass.”

Eddie gives him a disapproving look but then his eyes widen when he looks back at you. 

Piece. A missing piece. 

This is the missing piece. 

Your voice. 

Eddie blinks as Sam’s words echo in his mind. 

He looks back at you, watching your performance in awe. He is impressed by the way you look and sound like a professional, like you are already a famous singer and how you seem to capture everyone’s attention in this room. 

Your performance is effortless, there is not a single pretentious thing about you, you are just a natural. You are a star, born to be one.

The people in this bar cheer for you, whistling and clapping even as you get off the stage and your friends embrace you. 

“You’re a star, baby!” one of your friends yells with a slur in her voice as she smacks her lips against your cheek. 

“Damn, I wanna kiss her too,” Jeff mumbles as he watches you with dreamy eyes. 

A smile tugs at Eddie’s lips as he stares at you, you blush and giggle as one of the drunk performers from before pretends to ask for an autograph. You wave him off with a chuckle before you make your way towards the bar. 

“That was one hell of a performance,” Gareth says with an impressed look on his face. 

“Yeah,” Jeff mumbles, “do you think that she’s maybe.. I don’t know, a singer already? We’re in L.A. after all, there’s plenty of singers we don’t know.” 

Johnny shrugs, “I don’t know–” he stops, raising his brows as he watches Eddie get up and walk away from his friends, “but we’re about to find out.” 

Gareth and Jeff follow his gaze to see him walking towards you. 

You smile at the bartender, thanking him after he takes your order. Your heart is still pounding in your chest from your little performance. It took you a lot of courage to sing in front of such a crowd, your friends did a good job at convincing you and cheering you on. You were nervous and anxious but the moment the music started and you began to sing, you forgot everything and everyone around you. 

You lean against the counter, smoothing down your skirt a little and brushing through your messy hair when someone comes up next to you. 

“Hi.” 

You raise your head and you feel as though you have been punched in your stomach, your breath is stolen away and goosebumps arise on your skin as you lock eyes with the prettiest chocolate brown eyes you have ever seen in your life. 

He grins, showing off his pearly whites. He stretches his arm out, offering you his hand to shake, “I’m Eddie.” 

A small smile appears on your face, you take his hand, ignoring the way his touch seems to make your heart flutter in your chest. You tilt your head, squinting your eyes as you stare at him. You have seen him before, not up close but.. Oh! 

“Eddie,” you smile, “from Corroded Coffin, right?” 

His eyes widened in surprise, lighting up, “you know my band?” he asks, still not letting go of your hand. 

“Yes,” you say, licking your lips as you stare at the tattoos on his arm, “you played at the twilight zone last weekend, I was there with my friends. You’re good,” you smile, “amazing even.” 

Eddie blushes, smiling at your words, “thank you!” 

“You’re welcome,” you chuckle as you see the flushed cheeks. 

He finally pulls his hand back, laughing awkwardly, “uh so, I think you’re amazing, your voice is pretty– pretty fucking good!” 

You smile at him as you look into his pretty eyes, “you think so?” 

“Yeah, I totally think so,” he grins, “that’s uh– that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him but he can’t help but check you out. It isn’t just your voice that caught his attention it’s also– No, Eddie. Don’t go there, don’t go there. He looks away for a moment and takes a deep breath. 

“Do you do that for a living or something?” he asks, “I mean, singing.” 

You shake your head, “no..” you mumble.

He nods, trying not to stare at your lips as he looks back at you, “would you like to do that for a living?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks into your eyes, noticing the pretty color; his favorite color as he just realized.

You furrow your brows and shrug, “I mean, I would love to. I-I grew up with music. I sing and play bass."

Eddie raises his brows, “you play bass?” 

“Mhm.” 

Wow. 

Not only are you an excellent singer, you also play one of his favorite instruments.

“That’s.. that’s amazing!” 

You chuckle. Your eyes trail down to his hands, eying the many rings on his fingers. 

“So uh– you know, my band might be missing a member,” Eddie says as he takes a step closer to you, leaning his elbow against the counter, “and you are really talented so…” 

Normally, Eddie wouldn’t make an offer like that, he was content with the band and he wasn’t interested in having any new band members— especially another singer but he is desperate and his chances of becoming a rockstar are getting smaller every day but something tells him that you and your voice are the key to success— hopefully.

You blink in surprise, “you’re looking for another band member?” 

He shrugs, sighing, “we weren’t looking but apparently something about our music is not good enough and the label is about to drop us. We need something new.. something that might make our music better— don’t get me wrong, I think it’s good already but apparently not everyone thinks so.”

A smirk appears on your face, “oh, so… you want me to save your band?” 

He rolls his eyes playfully, giving you a coy smile, “I guess?” 

“Aren’t you a heavy metal band?” you ask, skeptically, “I do rock music, not heavy metal.” 

“I mean, we lean more towards rock right now, so..” he says, shrugging.

You raise your brows, crossing your arms over your chest, you shrug, “I don’t know, what am I gonna be? A background singer?” you ask, “background bass player? I’m not interested in being in your shadow.” 

“No…. we just need another singer.” 

“The lead singer wants another singer?” you ask in confusion, “who would want that?” you chuckle, shaking your head. 

“I want that,” he shrugs, “I play guitar and I sing so I have no problem with sharing the spotlight.” 

“Really?” you laugh, “you don’t mind sharing the spotlight, why is that so hard to believe?” 

He chuckles, “listen Sweetheart, I would never ever make an offer like this to just anyone but I’m really desperate here, I really want to make this album and I’m willing to add another singer to the mix, your voice is fucking beautiful and something tells me that you could.. make things better so… are you interested in joining the best band in the world?” 

The smile on your face gives him the answer he was hoping for. And just like that, his confidence is back.

This isn’t over yet, not for him and not for the band.

Corroded Coffin is gonna go big and Eddie’s dreams will come true, he just knows it, he can see it, in your eyes.

-

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | mature | wc: 1.1k | tags: spy au, spy boyfriends, established relationship | @steddielovemonth prompt: Love is sitting in comfortable silence together doing their own thing by @steddieasitgoes)

The sun beats down on a sprawling city below. Eddie Munson, an unassuming young man with unruly black curls pulled back in a loose bun, crouches on a nondescript rooftop overlooking the maze of buildings. It's hot as Satan's breath and he's sweating like a pig in his heavy leather jacket. Knowing that Chrissy was right when she told him to leave the jacket behind doesn't help his rapidly souring mood. He adjusts the high-powered binoculars pressed to his eyes and scans the streets again for his mark, just as he's been doing for most of the afternoon.

Through the scope, Eddie finally spots Jason Carver strolling casually along the crowded sidewalk, talking on his phone. Carver's movements are mundane, and he seems engrossed in a conversation that Eddie is sure is as boring as everything else he's seen Carver do since being assigned to the case.

With a deep sigh, Eddie thinks he's seen more action watching paint dry. He leans back against the edge of the roof, his posture betraying his growing impatience. He idly wonders what Steve is doing right now and wishes he could be spending time with his boyfriend instead of being boiled alive in the scorching sun and bored out of his mind. Hell, even watching Carver do jack shit would be better with Steve at his side. At least Eddie would have something pretty to look at.

"Why can't these guys have a more exciting life?" Eddie grumbles in frustration. Just then, he almost loses sight of Carver and thinks it's time to leave his vantage point and get some action.

But no. Carver simply disappears into a shop, from which he reappears seconds later to continue his leisurely stroll until he stops near a street vendor to inspect a selection of fruit. Eddie lowers the binoculars as the building excitement dies down and shakes his head in disbelief.

"Wow, exciting selection of apples you got there, asshole," Eddie mumbles in annoyance.

As boredom sets in, Eddie pulls out a small notepad and starts scribbling, creating a caricature of Carver munching on an apple. Chuckling to himself, he is only made aware of the presence of another person with him on the roof when their shadow falls on him.

Before he can fully process what's happening, his gun is aimed at the head of whoever snuck up on him.

"Oh baby, is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?"

Scowling, Eddie slowly lowers the gun until it's no longer pointed at the pretty face of his grinning boyfriend.

"What the hell are you doing here, Stevie? Please don't tell me Carver's your mark, too? You know what happened last time we had the same job. This time it's you who gets to sleep on the couch if I have to give up sex for the foreseeable future."

Steve laughs at his words, like it's funny how Eddie had to go weeks with Eden's forbidden apple winking at him in Steve's tight boxers, but not allowed to touch it, until he gave up and let Steve bag the job Eddie was also signed up for.

Being spies for competing agencies was bad enough, but when they ended up on the same job, things got ugly pretty fast. Eddie is still surprised that their love survived. Some days he even thinks it made them stronger as a couple.

He still doesn't feel like a repeat performance.

"Nah, don't worry. I told Robbie to make sure it doesn't happen again. Despite what you might think, I would rather not have us fighting as well. Although you have to admit, the make-up sex was amazing. One of our top five fucks. But I don't get enough time with you as it is, I want to enjoy what little I get. That's why I'm here. I thought I could keep you company, y'know. If you want me to, that is."

Steve shrugs as if he doesn't care either way, but Eddie knows his boy. He knows him well enough to see right through him, and he gives Steve a soft smile as he pulls him in with an arm around his waist.

He misses Steve, too. Since he started the Carver job, Eddie's hardly ever home, and when he is, 9 times out of 10 Steve isn't. It's frustrating. It makes Eddie reconsider civilian life, no matter how mundane it might be.

"It's not really exciting. Carver's looking at apples."

"I don't mind, Robbie and I are playing words with friends. I just prefer to sit here with you while we do it."

Eddie finally holsters his gun again before leaning forward and capturing Steve's mouth in a deep kiss.

When he resumes his position on the edge of the roof to continue his surveillance, Steve sits down next to him, his shoulder leaning against Eddie's thigh and his head resting on Eddie's hip.

The distant hum of city life surrounds them as they both go about their business in comfortable silence. Eventually Eddie checks his watch and realizes that hours have passed without anything substantial happening.

"I signed up for espionage, not rooftop babysitting," he grumbles to Steve, and his boyfriend hums in agreement. They both know that being a spy is not like the movies. It's weeks, sometimes months of nothing but watching and waiting.

His attention fades and he stares at the skyline, daydreaming about the record store on Elizabeth Street he passed a few weeks ago. The one he offered to buy without telling Steve. The wind ruffles his hair as he contemplates the surprisingly mind-numbing monotony of his current job and wonders what Steve would say if he offered him a different life. If Steve would keep doing a job that could get him killed one day, maybe sooner than later. If Steve also wondered if it was worth the risk now that he had something - someone - to lose.

Suddenly, Carver looks up at the sky, bringing Eddie back to reality. He watches as Carver adjusts his suit and walks toward a sleek black car parked at the curb.

"And it's on," Eddie says, adrenaline surging through his body. He presses a firm kiss to Steve's lips and whispers, "I love you, don't wait up," against them.

"I love you too. Be careful and don't let me wait too long, Robbie's already complaining about me whining all the time."

Eddie readies himself, folding up the notepad he had been scribbling on and tucking it away. As Carver's car pulls away, Eddie quickly follows, eager for the mission to be over so he can go home to his beautiful boyfriend and let his clever hands take him apart. When he looks back, the rooftop is deserted, with only the echo of the city's pulse in the air.

[theharrowing]

Denim & Strawberry

When Yoongi gets invited to watch his crush perform, he has no idea what to expect. Jimin stripping on stage and singing a sultry little number while tugging on his hair is definitely not what Yoongi had in mind, but who is he to complain?

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show." Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

🍓 Yoongi x Jimin

🍓 word count: 19.6k 🙈

🍓 friends to lovers, burlesque au, porn without plot, tooth-rotting fluff, slash, nsfw, 18+

🍓 warnings: top yoongi, bottom jimin. jimin has pink hair and yoongi has a half-up top-knot. this is more or less porn with very little plot. recreational drug use (weed smoking.) jimin performing burlesque and singing while being a flirt. light hair pulling. the burgundy suit from jimin's filter performance, and his kitty gang jacket, and cute lingerie. a hint of jealous/possessive behavior. bickering as a form of flirting. the tiniest hint of sub/dom vibes. safe word establishment. teasing & light humiliation. a little begging. use of good boy and slutty. jimin is shy at times but also a brat and yoongi fights the urge to tame him. a lot of drool, spit, lube, and cum. dirty talk. so much god damn praising. anal (plug, play, eating, fingering, sex.) messy blow job. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. yoongi loves to discuss boundaries & check in. lots of heaven/angel comparisons but only because yoongi is a sucker for how ethereal jimin is (it's not that deep.) too many positions (what was i thinking???) subspace. mating press. cock-warming. after care. tooth-rotting fluff.

🍓 note: a yoonmin fic + jimin doing burlesque was some brainrot shared between @echotoyou and i that i decided to write when their birthday was approaching. but then the big day came and went, and i lost control of this beast for a very long time. she is finally ready hehe. i hope you all (but especially mg!) enjoy!!! finally my years of being a photographer for a burlesque troupe and dating a performer have come in handy for my writing lolol.

🍓 listen along: 🎵 streets by doja cat & yeah, i said it by rhianna (thank you to @sailoryooons for these song choices!!!)

🍓 beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🍓 posted august 2023 | read on ao3

Yoongi pats his pockets down one last time, fingertips tentatively grazing lumps beneath denim. Phone…wallet…keys. That's everything. He presses the lock button on his open car door, then closes it. In his pocket, his phone buzzes. 

Namjoon Hyung, are you close?

Yoongi Just parked.

Namjoon  Okay, good. Just making sure you don’t miss anything. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes but smiles. He has no idea what to expect – nobody has told him much – but Jimin did say, over and over again, that it was fine if he could not make it. That he would be thrilled if Yoongi could come but understood if he could not. That there would be other shows. 

But of course, Yoongi did everything in his power to make it. This is Jimin, after all.  

He slides his hands into the pockets of his black denim jacket and moseys from the small parking lot to the sidewalk and around the corner. There is a small congregation of people smoking and loitering outside, under a bright red neon sign that reads Paradise. Yoongi has never been to this bar before – tends to avoid spots on this side of town because it is more popular with college kids, and therefore, the drinks are overpriced. 

Everyone outside is done up in some flashy way, wearing sequins and fishnets, glittering eye makeup, and patent leather. Yoongi feels underdressed, wearing a black band tee tucked into black skinny jeans, with a black jacket and black work boots, and he awkwardly runs a hand through his dark, wavy, unstyled, and overgrown hair. 

"Yoongi!" a familiar voice shouts, and he looks up in time to find his friend Jeongguk waving him over, past the closest group of smokers. 

Even his friends are all dressed up, with sparkly eye glitter and tight, colorful clothing. Hoseok and Jeongguk are in mesh, Taehyung has a burgundy feather boa, and Seokjin and Namjoon are both wearing leather pants. Since when did the two of them own leather pants?

"Ya, you're dressed like a scrub!" Seokjin shouts, making Yoongi's cheeks warm in an instant.

"Nobody told you a single thing about the event tonight, did they?" Namjoon asks sympathetically.

Yoongi shrugs, mutters, "No," and digs his hands further into his pockets. 

Taehyung approaches, using his pinkies to brush the hair away from Yoongi's face, cradling a pot of light blue glitter between his fingers. "He probably wanted it to be a surprise," he mutters lowly, unscrewing the pot. "Don't let them make you feel self-conscious."

"I don't," Yoongi responds softly, feeling incredibly self-conscious. He stands still while Taehyung dabs his fingertip into the glitter and allows him to smudge it around his eyes. In the early days of their friendship, Yoongi probably would have fussed, but these days, he lets the youngest two – Taehyung and Jeongguk – do whatever they want.

Jeongguk approaches, unscrewing a stick of pink, shiny lip gloss, and Yoongi huffs out a sigh but stands as still as he can while Jeongguk applies it. "Should put your hair into a bun or something," he mutters before he and Taehyung trade places so Taehyung can smudge blue glitter onto his other eye. 

"Your hair is really pretty, hyung," Taehyung adds, screwing the top of the glitter pot back on and sliding it into his very tight white slacks. "You should let me style it."

"Don't we have to go inside?" Yoongi asks.

"We'll head in when the emcee comes on," Hoseok responds, approaching with a mischievous smile. Without asking, he grabs Yoongi's right arm and pulls at the black hair tie that he always keeps on his wrist, then begins separating the top half of Yoongi's hair and making a bun on the top. "Jimin goes on third or fourth."

"What is he doing tonight, again?" Yoongi asks, throwing in the again to make it seem like he may have been privy to information in the past, in case it makes one of them divulge even a crumb of information. 

"A little singing," Hoseok mutters, grinning. "You know how it is."

"I literally do not know how it is," Yoongi responds, finally becoming impatient with his friends touching and fixing him. 

"You'll see, hyung," Hoseok says as he takes a step back, inspects his handy work, and nods.

Taehyung returns with a knit brow and reaches up to fix Yoongi's glittery makeup, which he allows for a moment before swatting him away, grumbling, "Okay, enough."

"Alright, grumpy cat," Namjoon teases, then passes him a freshly lit joint. "Here."

Yoongi reaches for the joint and takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before tilting his head upward and releasing it. Then he holds out his hand for the next person to take it, and rolls his shoulders back. 

"What kind of song is Jimin singing?" Yoongi half-mutters, expecting next to nothing in response. 

Taehyung simply says, "You'll see, hyung,"  with a wink. 

“Is it an original song?” Yoongi tries. He can’t remember Jimin ever talking about songwriting, but he wouldn’t put it past him; Jimin is full of surprises. 

The sound of someone shouting into a microphone can be heard, and Yoongi stands at attention, ready to go inside. He can hear people cheering and loud pop music playing. 

“Shall we?” Taehyung asks as he takes one last drag at the diminishing joint and hands it to Yoongi. 

Yoongi nods and takes another hit, cradling the tiny roached joint between his thumb and forefinger, then holds it out for the others, all of whom hold their hands up and shake their heads. With one last puff, Yoongi flicks it into the street, then shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. 

“Is Jimin part of the opening act?” Yoongi asks, and Seokjin snickers. 

“He’s one of the main acts,” Namjoon supplies unhelpfully. 

So he must be headlining, Yoongi assumes. 

“Hyung is so unobservant when he’s nervous,” Jeongguk teases, and Taehyung chuckles along with him. 

“I’m not nervous,” Yoongi grumbles.

He glances around and sees flyers for various events taped to the windows for drag and burlesque shows, and a few for various bands, none of which shows any images of Jimin, or any other performers he has ever seen before. In his pockets, his hands prickle with sweat, and he imagines what kind of instrument Jimin might play. Or maybe he only sings. 

Jimin is a somewhat new addition to their friend group, brought in by Taehyung and Hoseok; they all work together. To say Yoongi is smitten would be the understatement of the century. And although Yoongi thinks Jimin may also be interested in him, they have not spoken too much about anything outside of college and work, only seeing one another as part of the larger friend group.

As a major in theater arts with a minor in dance, Jimin works at a local studio teaching children tap and ballet as an assistant to Hoseok. Occasionally, Taehyung substitutes for the older lady who plays piano for the classes. It was natural for them to come together, all close in age, with Hoseok only a year older than the other two.

When Jimin invited Yoongi to come watch him perform, they were all tipsy from one too many bottles of soju. Jeongguk was the last in their friend group to graduate college, and they were all celebrating with drinks and fried chicken. 

Even then, when Yoongi asked what kind of show it was, everyone was giggly and secretive. From that moment, he got the feeling that Jimin was definitely flirting with him, with the way his gaze lingered, lips curled into a smile long after Yoongi made him laugh. The more Jimin insisted Yoongi needed to just go and experience the event first-hand, nibbling on his pillowy lip with a somewhat shy, rosy-cheeked grin, Yoongi felt eager to do anything he wanted him to. 

“Of course, I’ll be there,” Yoongi promised, and he meant it. 

The cheers inside grow louder, and Taehyung takes up the lead, stepping into the bar. Namjoon slings an arm over Yoongi’s shoulder and gently shoves him along with the group. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, but Taehyung mutters something to the door guy, who looks at a list of names and then waves the six of them inside. 

Taehyung leads them down a short hallway, into the bar. A long counter lines the left wall, with patrons leaning against it both to order drinks, and to chat with one another. Past the bar top, at the end of the venue, is a stage, and on stage is a woman lip-synching to some upbeat pop song while waving big white feather fans in front of her, enticing the audience to want to see what the fans are covering. 

Yoongi has seen clips of performances like this but has never attended this type of show before, and his gaze lingers on the woman, who winks and blows kisses to cheering audience members before Namjoon leads him over to get a drink. 

The music is loud and a little tackier than Yoongi’s usual taste, but the bass line thrums through the speakers straight into his bloodstream, building his nervousness to see Jimin, egged on by feeling somewhat high. He wonders what kind of performance Jimin might put on at an event like this, and he cannot imagine what it could be. 

“Hyung?” Taehyung asks, tilting his head toward the waiting tender. “First one is on me.”

What he would like is a nice scotch neat, but since Taehyung is paying, he finds a mid-tier whiskey and gets it with a spritz of soda water. The others order, and by the time they step away from the bar, the woman’s song is at its climax, and she is topless, wearing lacy red underwear and bouncing in a way that spins the red tassel pasties on her breasts in a circle. The action makes him chuckle, and when she bows and leaves the stage, he claps his fingers against the back of the hand holding his drink. 

“Burlesque, huh?” Yoongi asks, turning to Namjoon while a man in drag takes the stage. 

Namjoon waggles his eyebrows while taking a sip from the bright blue concoction in his hands. 

“Is Jimin also doing burlesque?” Yoongi asks, earning him a shrug. 

Yoongi decides to just stop asking. Clearly, his friends are determined to be completely useless. 

Although there is a decent crowd in the bar, most people are mingling about, watching the stage from a distance, or whispering amongst themselves. The emcee introduces another act and leaves the stage, replaced by a person with a very nicely manicured mustache and beard wearing a big orange wig and vintage blue dress. They prance around the stage, lip-synching to a silly pop song that Yoongi has never heard before, winning cheers and applause from the crowd.

Yoongi wonders if Jimin will also come out in drag, and what kind of a gimmick he might have. Would he wear a dress? High heels? A wig? Yoongi imagines Jimin with the bright, exaggerated makeup on and smiles to himself; he bets Jimin would look really pretty. 

Taehyung leads the group toward the stage, taking his place just left of the center. The others file in behind him, with Yoongi keeping some distance from the very front. The performer comes by, lip-synching to Taehyung, who pulls some money from his pocket and holds it up while the performer bends and offers their cleavage for him to slide the notes into. 

"I don't have any cash," Yoongi grumbles toward Taehyung when the song ends and the performer exits. "Will I need any for Jimin?"

"I got you," Taehyung responds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes, shoving them into Yoongi's empty hand before he has a chance to protest. 

Yoongi attempts to straighten out the notes while holding onto his drink. Meanwhile, the emcee returns to the stage. 

"Our next performer is a fan favorite," the emcee says with an exaggerated waggle of their eyebrows. Around them, the crowd becomes dense, with someone bumping shoulders and elbows into Yoongi as they get close to the stage. The emcee continues, "A man who needs no introduction because, let's be honest, you're all here to see him…Jimin."

The stage lights go out, and there is some movement – a person carrying items, as well as the light clacking of heels on the wooden stage. Yoongi's heart goes wild in his chest, and he lifts his drink to his lips, watching ahead for more movement in the dark, eager to not miss a thing when the lights come back on.

A red glow illuminates the back edge of the stage, showing the silhouette of Jimin sitting on what looks like a standard black folding chair. He is sideways on the chair with one leg crossed over the other, his arm draped over the back of the chair, and his head tilted back. He appears to be wearing a jacket and slacks, but it is hard to tell. 

Also on the stage is a tall, wooden coat rack, and hanging from it appears to be a short mesh robe with fur trim along the sleeves and bottom hem. 

Beside Yoongi, a man loudly whispers, "I fucking love Jimin; just wait," to someone else, and Yoongi shifts a little on his feet with anticipation and something like envy stirring in his guts. 

A yellow spotlight comes on, shining on Jimin. He wears a fitted burgundy suit and black leather boots with a heel and pointed toe. His light pink hair is styled off his forehead, and he appears to be wearing makeup around his eyes, but it is hard to clearly see. In his hand, which is draped over his knee, is a burgundy wide-brimmed hat. 

A familiar oldie comes on, a pop track from the 1950s, and Jimin slowly uncrosses his legs and places both feet on the floor. Female voices sing sweetly before Paul Anka's voice croons, "Put your head on my shoulder."

Only, before the sentence is finished, the song abruptly changes to a sexy R&B track with a trap beat. In that moment, the yellow spotlights turn red, the hat is dropped to the floor, and Jimin's hands are on the chair, supporting his weight as his body bows upward. Briefly, Yoongi thinks he recognizes the song from a bunch of tiktoks Hoseok has made him watch. 

The crowd cheers as Jimin rolls his body, then sits and rotates, facing the audience and spreading his legs. A woman's voice comes through, singing, "Like you…like you…like you…I find it hard to find someone like you," while Jimin rolls his shoulders and hips to the song, leaning forward and then back, holding onto this chair as he lifts his hips and lolls his head.

Yoongi is stunned, gripping onto his drink while he watches Jimin stand, spin the chair around and sit once more with his back to the audience and head tipped back while his hands rove over his body. His fingertips lift and fall to the rhythm of the song while they work their way down, down, down Jimin's body, difficult to clearly see and stirring up so many mental images. 

Jimin's shoulders and hips sway while his hands disappear, and then he pulls open the burgundy jacket. Everyone around him roars excitedly, cheering and applauding. Jimin holds onto the lapels and turns his head, teasing the audience with his opened jacket before he stands and lets the garment slip down past his shoulders, revealing a matching burgundy button-up that is tucked into his matching slacks and clings tightly to his arms and waist.

With a slow, deep swish of his hips, Jimin faces the audience and begins to rip the dress shirt open from the collar, sending buttons skittering across the stage, earning him whoops and shouts. With a strip of skin exposed, he walks over to the coat rack, turns it in a circle, and dips it as if he were dancing with a person, causing the mesh robe hanging from it to sway.

Each movement of Jimin's body is fluid, clothing clinging to his torso and thighs in a way that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. He wears tighter clothing sometimes when they all hang out, but this is the first time Yoongi has really allowed himself to look.

For just a split second, while Jimin is holding the coat rack as if he is cradling the back and neck of a person and lip-synching to the song, it seems like he makes eye contact with Yoongi, causing Yoongi to hold his breath and heavy-blink through the well of excitement and shyness that he feels. It almost looks as if the edges of Jimin's lips lift ever so slightly, but then he releases the rack and spins away from it, swishing his hips as he dips down low and continues to rip open and untuck the button-up shirt with his eyelids fluttering closed. 

Yoongi practically forgets there is a song playing, focused so intently on Jimin, that when the singer begins to rap – quick and raspy – matched by Jimin's movements of tearing away the garment and revealing a bare torso with little light-colored heart pasties on his nipples, Yoongi sucks in a gasp that gets caught in his throat, nearly making him choke. Jimin’s bare chest and abdominals are chiseled – carved from the finest clay with careful hands. Yoongi lifts his drink quickly, taking a gulp of bitter whiskey and soda water while the crowd goes wild. 

In a swift movement, the pants are torn away from Jimin's waist, revealing long, muscular legs and shiny briefs that match the pasties. Jimin sinks into a squat, rubbing his hands over his legs. Then he sits and lifts one of his legs into a high split, giving Yoongi a very clear eyeful of a bulge and taut thigh muscle, making his mouth fall open. 

Jimin unzips the boot from the foot suspended in the air and tosses it aside, then drops his leg down and sweeps his other leg out in a half-squat, half-split while he drags his hands down the length of his leg to the other boot, unzips it, and tosses it near the other one. 

He spins, gets onto his knees, which are spread, and rolls his hips, lifting and dropping his ass while his hands rove up to his neck and hair, and his head lolls back. All he wears is shiny briefs and pasties, making Yoongi feel more intoxicated than the glass of whiskey ever could. 

The group to Yoongi's right is particularly loud, cheering for Jimin and shouting things like, "That's it, baby, show us how you ride it!" making a shiver run along Yoongi's spine. The objectification makes him feel uncomfortable, but he wonders whether Jimin cares, considering he clearly enjoys stripping for an audience; maybe that is all part of the thrill. Yoongi can't say he blames him. 

The song fades out as Jimin gets onto his hands and knees and crawls over to the coat rack, then slowly gets to his feet. As the music ends, the red lights fade to regular spotlights, revealing the briefs, pasties, and mesh robe – which Jimin pulls from the rack and begins to put on – are all a light pink color that matches his hair. 

Jimin ties the robe with a cord around his waist, standing barefoot while looking out at the crowd with a soft smile. The audience roars with applause and praise, and Yoongi expects Jimin's performance to be over, but then a stagehand in all black runs out, collects the discarded clothing while another sweeps a large broom across the floor to kick away loose buttons, and he hands Jimin a microphone that has been covered in light pink rhinestones. 

Once the men wearing black disappear behind tall curtains, a new song begins, also a slow R&B track, and Jimin lifts the microphone and starts singing, slowly swaying his hips and approaching the front of the stage. 

Yeah, yeah…yeah, yeah… I ain't tryna think about it, no

Taehyung takes a step back, wraps his arm around Yoongi's waist, and pulls him closer to the stage, causing Yoongi to fumble as Jimin approaches. He stands still as a statue with his hands in front of his chest – wad of notes that Taehyung gave him wedged between two fingers while both hands grip tight to his cold, condensation-covered glass of whiskey and soda water. 

Jimin's eyes find Yoongi, and he smiles, tilting his head sweetly to the side. To his right, the guys who had been cheering loudly try to close in and reach forward, but Jimin ignores them, looming over Yoongi while he sings in a soft, sweet voice, delivering lyrics that have Yoongi's cheeks absolutely burning. 

Yeah, I said it, boy, get up inside itI want you to homicide it

As Jimin lifts a hand and reaches out, Yoongi steps forward instinctively, knocking the toe of his boot into the front of the wooden stage, head tilted upward with his eyes never leaving Jimin's face. Around him, hands reach out with money, and some even toss notes to the stage, but Jimin ignores all of it. 

Go in slow, but I want you to pipe it And I think I kinda like ya Up against the wall, we don't need a title

But Jimin does take the wad of notes that stick out from between Yoongi's fingers, tugging them right out of his weak grasp, and he snakes his hand under the robe and tucks it into the side of his little pink briefs, making Yoongi breathe out a soft chuckle. 

Beside him, the guy who seems intent on getting Jimin's attention mutters, "Who the fuck is this guy?" just loud enough that Yoongi can hear him, and pride begins to burn behind his ribs. 

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it, man, fuck a title

Gently, Jimin reaches out toward Yoongi's head, eyes widening and brows slightly lifting as if asking for permission, and Yoongi nods while letting out a shaky breath. Fingers delicately push into his hair, tugging on strands as Jimin takes a handful and releases it, pulling away while dragging his fingertips against Yoongi's cheek. Even the gentlest touch feels electric, and Yoongi sways slightly forward when Jimin's hand drops away. 

Boy, I always like to show Get a little bit, come a little close, now

Arousal builds, and Yoongi feels a bit ashamed considering he and Jimin are friends, and Jimin is hardly touching him in a way that should warrant blood rushing to his dick. But Jimin looks like pure sin wrapped in inviting pink, and the way he stares at Yoongi is playful in a way he has never seen him look. 

Take it home on your camera phone Get a little bad, watch me blow it down

Jimin sinks to his knees, still taller than Yoongi but closer to eye level. With one hand, Jimin reaches for Yoongi's drink, then he has a sip of it and sets it down on the stage. Yoongi's hand stays in the same shape as if the glass had never been removed, and he is not sure what is sexier, the fact that Jimin takes the glass straight from his hand, or that he doesn't even flinch after essentially drinking carbonated whiskey.

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh

With a smirk, Jimin slinks to the very edge of the stage, knees practically bumping into Yoongi's hips. He slips his microphone into Yoongi's hand and lifts it until Yoongi has it in front of his face, as if he is supposed to sing the next line, and then he drapes his arms over Yoongi's shoulders, leans in, and continues. 

Yeah, I said it… Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it… Ooh 

From this close, Yoongi can see a dusting of shimmery pink on Jimin's eyelids, which are lined in black. His lips are glossy, he smells like strawberries, and Yoongi feels stunned in place, questioning whether or not all of this is a dream. Could his friends have slipped something in the weed? Could he be hallucinating?

Jimin sings higher, each word more inviting than the last. 

You can be rough, boy, but you won't

One of Jimin's hands slides into Yoongi's hair, and starting from the nape of his neck, he takes a handful. Everyone in the bar fades away; as far as Yoongi is concerned, the only two people in the room are himself and the beauty before him. 

Yoongi wonders if this is how Jimin's performances typically go. Does he always pick someone from the audience to tease? Is he always this handsy?

Give me some love, boy, give it to me 'til the morn'

With a gentle tug at his hair, Yoongi practically whimpers, watching as Jimin's lips pull into a sweet, devious smile. Jimin holds onto Yoongi while swaying side to side, knees spreading wide as he dips low and closing as he sits a little higher. 

Jimin continues singing—

Yeah, I said it…Yeah, I said it, bae Yeah, I said it…

—but he seems less focused on sounding good for the audience and more interested in gently tugging Yoongi's hair and making him gradually fall apart. Soon, he is no longer singing at all, and he releases Yoongi's hair and drags his hand around his neck, past his throat and chin, then up and away, making Yoongi lean forward as if pulled by an invisible string. 

Yoongi wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Jimin seems to follow the movement before gently tugging his microphone out of Yoongi's tight, sweaty grasp and getting to his feet. Only then, does Yoongi realize the music is fading out. Jimin does a cute little twirl and opens his arms wide, bowing as the audience erupts into cheers, leaving Yoongi too stunned to clap. 

The emcee returns to the stage to announce an intermission, and the house lights come on, brightening the space. The crowd thins, and Yoongi heavy-blinks as he takes in his surroundings and allows his soul to return to his body while Jimin prances away, glancing over his shoulder to wink at Yoongi before slipping behind the black curtain. 

Two large, warm hands crash into Yoongi's shoulders, and he jumps, sucks in a gasp, and turns to find Namjoon staring at him with a wide smile. 

"So?" he has the audacity to ask, and all Yoongi can do is scoff and shake his head incredulously. 

"So, what?" Yoongi responds, attempting to play it cool despite the way his heart hammers in his chest. 

"Was it life-changing?" Taehyung asks, and Yoongi turns to regard him before remembering his drink is still on the stage and spinning around to retrieve it. When he turns back to his friends, he finds five sets of eager eyes watching him, as well as the stares of strangers, and he ducks his head and gulps down half of his drink. 

"It was…" Yoongi begins, trailing off as he attempts to summarize what he just witnessed, blinking through mental image after mental image. "Unexpected," he finally says, lips involuntarily tugging to a smile, which he covers by slamming back the rest of his drink. 

"It sure was!" Hoseok says with wide eyes. "Jimin never comes to the edge of the stage like that. People always try to entice him, but he always plays hard to get."

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, letting the words sink in. 

"Another?" Jeongguk calls, holding an empty glass, and everyone nods. Hoseok and Taehyung finish their drinks in a gulp while they all turn and make their way to the end of the bar. 

As they stand and wait, Yoongi takes a look around the space. Everything is black and chrome and nothing too remarkable, but the place seems to have a chill vibe. And he is grateful to not be the only person wearing denim and a band tee – dressed like a scrub, as Seokjin so elegantly put it.

Taehyung and Jeongguk get drinks, then slink away from the bar to stand off to the side. Then Hoseok and Seokjin order, and finally, Namjoon. Yoongi steps up to the counter and decides to order the same thing he had before – whiskey and soda water. 

From beside him, a sweet, familiar voice shouts, "Make that two, please!"

The smell of strawberry perfume hits Yoongi's nose, and he turns to his left to find Jimin smiling widely at him. He wears a white tee tucked into tight, black leather pants, and a black leather bomber jacket with a feathery design embroidered in red and silver beads on the shoulders. 

Now that Jimin has touched him – tugged at his hair while looming over like a salacious little threat – Yoongi allows himself to stare a little without feeling the nervous urge to flit his gaze away. The longer he looks at Jimin, the wider Jimin's smile grows. 

"Hi, hyung," Jimin says, taking a step closer. 

"Hey, pretty," Yoongi responds, feeling self-conscious about his choice of words until he sees the way they make Jimin blush. Pretty, indeed. 

Two glasses thunk against the bar top, and Yoongi turns with a gasp, fishing for his wallet. 

"On the house," the bartender says, nodding at Jimin. 

"Oh," Yoongi mutters, "okay."

"I got the tip," Jimin says beside him, leaning into his personal space to hand a folded wad of notes to the bartender. Jimin adds, "Though, technically, you are paying for it, hyung," close to Yoongi's ear. 

"Taehyung is paying for it, actually," Yoongi responds with a smirk, turning to Jimin whose mouth falls agape, scandalized. Yoongi feels the need to defend himself, adding, "Hey, I didn't know what was going on, otherwise I would have come prepared!"

Yoongi picks up both drinks and hands one to Jimin, who responds, "Fair," through laughter as he grabs Yoongi by the bicep and pulls him away from the bar. 

Even through his denim sleeve, Yoongi feels a spark of electricity where Jimin touches him. He notices that Jimin has pulled him in the opposite direction of the rest of their friends and decides not to question it. When they find themselves against the wall in a somewhat dimly lit corner, Jimin's hand stays on Yoongi's arm, giving him a tentative squeeze, and Yoongi looks down at Jimin's hand and smiles before meeting his eye. 

"You could have just asked me out," Yoongi teases, raising his drink to his lips before adding, "no need to put on a whole show."

Jimin's mouth falls open again, and he steps close, leaning to speak into Yoongi's ear. "Ah, but you liked the show, didn't you hyung?"

Yoongi has a sip of his drink, then he hums as he nods and says, "I did like the show. Your voice is really beautiful."

"Just my voice?" Jimin asks, stepping so close, their shoulders touch. 

A chuckle rocks through Yoongi, and he tips his head toward Jimin, who takes a drink with wide, curious eyes. "Not just your voice, no. Everything about you is beautiful."

"Awe, hyung!" Jimin shouts, shoving playfully at Yoongi's shoulder and sending him crashing lightly into the wall. 

"Wow," Yoongi responds, snickering. "Last time I compliment a guy."

Jimin places his hand over the spot he shoved and rubs over it, radiating warmth through denim and cotton. He opens his mouth to respond when a small group of men approaches to tell Jimin he did a great job, and Yoongi recognizes one of their voices as the guy who stood beside him during the performance. Yoongi cocks an eyebrow as the man makes eye contact with him, lifting his free hand to place over Jimin's hand, which continues to mindlessly rub over his chest, just below his clavicle. 

"Thanks for coming to the show," Jimin mutters politely, turning back to Yoongi. 

The group hovers behind Jimin and Yoongi does his best to ignore them, but it feels awkward to have an audience now that Jimin is no longer performing. 

"We should finish these drinks and get out of here," Yoongi suggests loud enough for the others to hear him, letting his gaze lift to the group to see if they have. 

Jimin chuckles. "Hyung, are you being possessive right now?"

"Maybe," Yoongi responds, tonguing the inside of his cheek. "But if you want to stay while that desperate pack ogles you, by all means—"

Jimin slides his hand from Yoongi's weak grasp to give him another smack, this time on the arm. 

"God, you're hot when you're jealous," Jimin says, making Yoongi blush, "but I should stay until the end to support the other performers. There are only four more."

Yoongi nods and accepts Jimin's terms. He wants to clarify that his offer for Jimin to leave with him afterwards is genuine, but the house lights dim, and music plays through the speakers, signaling the return of the show. 

Jimin takes Yoongi's hand and pulls him toward the front of the stage, to where the rest of their friends have congregated. Namjoon looks down at their linked hands, then to Yoongi, and he winks, making Yoongi roll his eyes despite how nice it feels to be holding Jimin's hand in public. 

The rest of the show goes by in a haze. Yoongi is hardly aware of the performers, hearing a hint of a song here and seeing a whoosh of brightly colored fabric there. All he can focus on is Jimin’s hand in his, Jimin’s voice singing and cheering, Jimin's warmth emitting in welcoming bursts beside him. 

Whenever Jimin slips his hand away to clap for each performer, Yoongi follows suit, robotically tapping his fingertips to his glass. And when Jimin takes his hand again, everything blurs and slows down, drowned out by the thrumming of blood in Yoongi’s veins, every sense acutely aware of only Jimin’s proximity – soft and strawberry-tender.

Once the house lights come on again, signaling the end of the show, Yoongi downs the rest of his drink. He feels sluggish and heavy, stumbling slightly when Jimin yanks him over to their friends. He wonders if they will want to keep drinking, whether they will want to go to a new bar. He thinks he would be alright with going to another bar; he parked his car somewhere it can be left overnight. 

“Wanna get out of here, hyung?” Jimin asks sweetly in his ear, and Yoongi decides all at once that another bar is out of the question. 

“Yes,” Yoongi responds, turning to Jimin with a wide smile that may very well look too eager for his own good. 

Jimin chuckles, finishes his drink, and says, “Good,” before leading the way to the bar where their friends are gathering with empty glasses. 

Yoongi considers how to break the news; Taehyung and Jeongguk tend to be pretty clingy and weaponize pouts that even Yoongi struggles to defend against, while Hoseok is always eager to keep their hangouts going well into the early morning. 

“We’re gonna get out of here!” Jimin announces, gracefully stealing the words from his mouth before he can even begin to formulate them. 

Jimin begins to hug everyone before they have a chance to oppose, smacking kisses against their cheeks and thanking them for coming to watch him perform. Most of them seem too dazed to argue.

Yoongi waves to everyone, noticing as they all make some sort of wink or eyebrow waggle at him, then he turns wordlessly and allows himself to get dragged by the wrist through the space, past patrons who attempt to talk to Jimin, and out into the cool night air. 

Jimin slides his arm into the crook of Yoongi’s elbow and pulls him along the sidewalk. “I live close,” he says before Yoongi has a chance to ask where they are going. Not that he would protest against being taken anywhere Jimin wanted. 

“Did you like the performance?” Jimin asks, bumping his hip against Yoongi as they walk. 

“I told you I did,” Yoongi teases, turning to find Jimin smiling while looking ahead. 

Jimin’s side profile is all firm lines and glitter, softened when he turns to Yoongi with wide, round eyes and pillow lips. He is stunning, and Yoongi is relieved to be able to stare unabashedly. 

“You told me I was beautiful,” Jimin clarifies, raising his eyebrows before looking ahead. 

“You are,” Yoongi mutters, remembering the performance. “And your singing was really beautiful. And the…stripping…” he trails off, feeling nervous about his choice of words. 

But Jimin does not miss a beat. “You liked watching me strip, hmm?”

“Of course I did,” Yoongi mutters, blushing. 

He is tugged around a corner to the right where the streetlights are fewer and the world feels darker, quieter. 

“And my dancing?” Jimin asks, walking impossibly closer – the two of them somehow managing to not trip over one another. 

“I liked your dancing,” Yoongi responds softly, clearing his throat to speak louder. “Hoseok mentioned you never come to the edge of the stage like that.”

Jimin chuckles, and Yoongi glances to the side, catching his eye before they both look ahead. 

“I don’t. That was just for you. I had a couple surprises just for you.”

Yoongi hums questionably, and Jimin says, "There's still one more surprise, in fact."

“Wow,” Yoongi rasps, smiling, “guess I’m pretty special.”

Jimin stops in his tracks and turns, pulling Yoongi gently away from the sidewalk, onto a grassy area near where tall bushes line the outside of an apartment building. It is even darker, and even quieter, without another soul around as far as Yoongi can tell, and he allows Jimin to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him close enough that their lips nearly touch. 

“You are special,” Jimin responds with a smile, fingertips playing with Yoongi’s hair. “And you look so cute with your hair half up and your eyes covered in Taehyung’s favorite blue glitter. How could I keep my hands off you?”

“Your admirers seemed pretty jealous,” Yoongi teases as he wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist, holding him close. 

“Let them be,” Jimin mutters softly, ghosting warm breath over Yoongi’s lips, which he wets with the tip of his tongue in anticipation. “The only admirer I care about is you.”

Yoongi smiles, letting his mouth fall open to respond – to tell Jimin he does admire him, so much, in fact, that it makes him dizzy. But Jimin slots their lips together tentatively, hands cradling Yoongi’s neck and back, and Yoongi sinks into the feeling with a sigh, then gently sucks Jimin’s bottom lip into his mouth as his pulse quickens. 

Jimin’s mouth is warm and soft beyond Yoongi’s wildest dreams. Yoongi rubs his hands over Jimin’s lower back and tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, licking over Jimin’s bottom lip until it falls open with a gasp, granting Yoongi entrance. 

With a slow graze of his tongue over Jimin’s, he feels Jimin tense and shiver in his hold, letting out a soft whine that has arousal crashing through Yoongi. Jimin whimpers, and all Yoongi can think about is the man on stage in his tight little briefs, and his trim, flexible body grinding and swaying so invitingly. 

Jimin breaks from the kiss, panting as he tips his mouth away but presses their foreheads together. Yoongi opens his eyes just enough to see Jimin smiling. 

“Let’s go inside,” Jimin mutters, sounding breathless, and he releases Yoongi from his hold and leads him up the short set of steps into the building they were just in front of. 

“Couldn’t wait two more minutes to get me inside?” Yoongi chides as Jimin tugs him by the wrist down a short hallway, to a door on the right. 

Jimin punches in the door code and steps inside the apartment, switching on a bright overhead light that makes the two of them squint. When Yoongi steps in and closes the door, Jimin has his hands on him, pressing him against the wall. 

“Are you always such a brat?” Jimin groans, crowding Yoongi’s space. 

Yoongi assists Jimin in being close by wrapping his arms around his waist. “I like to tease you,” he rasps, chuckling as Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You were teasing me earlier,” Yoongi adds, sliding one hand up, over the scratchy embroidery of Jimin’s jacket until his hand is on the back of Jimin’s neck. “With your dancing…and your singing…and your hair-pulling.”

“I was being extra sexy once I saw you standing there,” Jimin says sweetly as he slots a leg between Yoongi’s thighs.

“Is that so?” Yoongi asks, tipping his head back against the wall so he can actually see the beauty before him. 

Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip and nods his head. “I don’t usually grind on the floor as much. And the little splits I did to take off my shoes was improvised.”

“I might need to see those moves again,” Yoongi mutters, closing the gap between their lips with a soft, chaste kiss.

Jimin sighs and sinks into Yoongi, stomach and chest flush with his. “I have a lot of moves I can show you, hyung,” he responds as he sucks Yoongi’s lip into his mouth hard enough to make Yoongi whimper. 

“So show me,” Yoongi practically whines as he licks eagerly over Jimin’s lips. 

Jimin heaves a breath and takes a step back, grabbing Yoongi’s hands as they slowly slide from their grasp, walking backward through his tidy apartment, smiling as he mutters, “I’ll show you.”

Abruptly, Jimin stops and shouts, “Wait!” shoving Yoongi backward. Yoongi is confused and cocks his head, allowing himself to be moved, fingers still laced with Jimin’s. 

“We have to take our boots off, silly,” Jimin says, unlinking their hands and pressing Yoongi against the wall once more. He leans against Yoongi's chest as he lifts each foot to slide out of his black Chelsea boots and socks, stepping a bit shorter than before. 

Once Jimin’s feet are free, he prances away with a giggle, and Yoongi opens his mouth to call after him, but shakes his head and chuckles instead as he bends and unties his boots, toeing out of each one. The sound of a faucet running cues Yoongi to where to go, and he walks through the living room, to the right, and finds Jimin standing in a small kitchen, drinking from a glass of water. 

“Thirsty, hyung?” Jimin asks, holding out the glass. 

Yoongi takes it and has a drink, then sets it on the counter, and says, “I’m not too thirsty…but I am quite hungry,” watching as Jimin begins to look around with a frown. 

“I don’t have much,” he says, “what are you hungry for?”

Yoongi wraps his hands around Jimin’s waist, rubbing both palms over his leather-clad ass. 

“You,” he rasps, earning him a groan and a weak smack on the arm. He pouts and adds, “Pretty please?” while batting his eyelashes, and Jimin takes his hand, leading him away. 

“Are we leaving every light in your apartment on?” Yoongi asks while Jimin drags him into a short hallway. 

With a huff, Jimin turns on the hallway light, then reaches into a semi-open door right in front of them and turns the light on, revealing a bathroom. 

“There!” Jimin says with an incredulous glare. “Are you happy, hyung?”

“No,” Yoongi grumbles. “Feels like a waste of electricity.”

“You’re infuriating,” Jimin complains as he shuts off the bathroom and hallway lights. He playfully shoves Yoongi away to storm off to the kitchen and living room, and Yoongi laughs to himself, over the moon with how easy Jimin is to rile up. 

When Jimin returns, he grips onto the sleeve of Yoongi's jacket and yanks him roughly down to the end of the short hallway, into a dark room. Yoongi is still laughing, muttering, "Whoa, easy, tiger," as he is pressed into another wall, body against body, with warm breath wafting over his face. 

"You'll just have to fuck me in the dark since you're so god damn annoying," Jimin huffs as two hands slide up Yoongi's neck, into his hair and grip tightly.

Yoongi reaches into Jimin's jacket, pushing material away as he grabs him by the waist. Then he twists the two of them, grinning to himself when Jimin huffs out a surprised, "Oof," from the impact of his back being pressed into the wall. 

He leans forward, grazing his nose against Jimin's nose as he says, "So you want me to fuck you, hmm?"

"I thought that was a given," Jimin responds, voice less confident than before – trembling, even.

Yoongi hums and noses at Jimin some more, flicking his tongue out and pleased when it grazes over soft lips. "Didn't want to assume," he responds lowly, licking over Jimin's lips once more. "I'm down for anything you want, pretty."

It feels almost frantic the way Jimin's lips crash into his, mouth kissing and nipping while hands shove away Yoongi's denim jacket, sending it to the floor in a heavy lump of fabric. Jimin's hands yank at Yoongi's shirt, pulling it untucked from his jeans, and Yoongi reaches down, gently taking him by the wrists to stop him. 

"Wanna see you," Yoongi says. "I take back what I said about the lights; turn them all on so I don't miss anything."

Jimin chuckles and pulls his hands away, then a rustling of fabric is followed by the bright flashlight of Jimin's phone coming on. 

"Compromise?" he suggests with a smile that Yoongi barely sees behind the bright white glow. "There's a lamp beside my bed. Be a good boy and turn it on for me?"

Despite the somewhat indignant scoff that rolls through Yoongi's chest and throat, he turns on his heels to make his way through the dark bedroom, determined to be a good boy, indeed. He watches his step, maneuvering around discarded clothing items in the white glow before reaching the bed and finding the lamp. 

It takes a few moments of him rubbing his hand over the post and then down to where a cord sticks out, but he finds the little plastic switch and presses it on. A soft, golden light fills the space, and when he spins back around, Jimin is in the center of the room with his jacket draped down past his shoulders. 

Jimin begins to saunter over, and Yoongi's brain kicks into gear, going haywire over what he should do – join Jimin and undress him, or sit down and find out whether Jimin feels like putting on another show for him. He opts to sit, but when he turns to make sure the bed is close enough, his knees bump into it, knocking him off balance, and he more or less crashes onto his butt against the mattress. 

"So eager," Jimin teases as he rubs his hands over his neck, up into his light pink hair, and back down. 

"For you?" Yoongi responds, raising his eyebrows and nodding toward Jimin, feeling zero embarrassment over his floundering. "Absolutely."

"What are you so eager for?" Jimin asks with a grin that grows into something as beautiful as it is dangerous. 

"You," Yoongi responds without thinking. "All of you."

Jimin giggles. "Be more specific, hyung."

"I want to watch you strip again," Yoongi says, swallowing a lump of excitement that builds and builds in his throat, threatening to suffocate. "I want to worship you."

With another giggle, Jimin begins to thumb through his phone. The sound of a bluetooth speaker connecting somewhere to the right chimes through the room, and Yoongi turns to glance around, noticing a desk, a dresser, and an open closet door. Garments are strewn about – mostly shirts, it seems – and the dresser appears to be covered in various makeup items, beauty tools, and accessories. 

Over the speaker, a sexy R&B track begins to play, and Yoongi turns his attention back to Jimin, who tosses his phone over to the bed, to the right of Yoongi, and begins to sway his hips. Earlier, when Jimin was on stage, Yoongi was awestruck and struggled to fully comprehend what was happening. Especially with others around him cheering and shouting for Jimin, it took time for everything to settle over him.

But sitting in this dim room, just the two of them, knowing the type of body that Jimin has under all that leather and cotton, Yoongi's desire and anticipation reach new heights, and he leans back with his palms spread against Jimin's pink and orange floral comforter while butterflies kick up in his stomach. He almost feels the urge to pinch himself, worried once more that he might be dreaming.

Jimin lets the jacket fall to his wrists, then he lifts one hand slowly, dragging the material upward with his wrist until it slides free and falls. He lifts his other hand straight out and tilts his wrist until the material slides and crumples to the floor, and although it is just outerwear and Jimin is still fully clothed, the seductive movements have Yoongi sitting wide-eyed and mouth agape – entranced.

Yoongi barely registers the song that is playing, but he does not need to. Jimin's shoulders and hips amplify its tune, turning it into something tangible – something he could reach out and feel. Slowly, Jimin turns, and, with his fingertips dancing over the material of his t-shirt, he begins to untuck it little by little. 

White cotton drags over muscular shoulders with every movement, while black leather hugs his ass and thighs tightly. Then Jimin does a cute turn and sways down, bending his knees before swishing back up while lifting his shirt over his tummy and up, up, almost to his chest before spinning again and looking over his shoulder, pretending to be shy. 

Yoongi scoffs and shakes his head, absolutely charmed by Jimin's little show, still toeing the line between playful and sexy as the shirt lifts over his head completely and Jimin tosses it over his shoulder, straight at Yoongi's face. Yoongi barely lifts his hands, allowing the fabric to gently clobber him in a wave of warm strawberry, and when it falls to his lap, he lazily takes it in one hand and holds onto it. 

"Still wearing those cute hearts?" Yoongi asks, and when Jimin mock-pouts and says, "Sorry, hyung, I took them off," he feels the tiniest tinge of sadness. 

"What a shame," Yoongi responds, wetting his lips as Jimin turns and saunters closer, hands rubbing over his nipples, keeping them covered. "They were cute."

"You're cute, hyung. But no touching unless I say you can," Jimin instructs softly but firmly, nibbling his bottom lip while slotting one leg between Yoongi's thighs and lifting his other knee to the bed. 

Yoongi tips his head back, leaning to give Jimin space as he rolls and grinds his hips, rubbing his hands up, over his neck, and into his hair, and then down, over his nipples and abdominals. Jimin is delicate hills and valleys of taut muscle and soft skin, and all Yoongi can do is stare at the beauty before him while swallowing the saliva that has pooled beneath his tongue, threatening to drool past his lips. 

"Like what you see, hyung?" Jimin asks, making Yoongi chuckle. 

Yoongi has to find his voice, softly clearing his throat. "You know I do."

With a deep, inviting hum, Jimin presses his thigh between Yoongi's legs, applying just enough pressure to make the air get trapped in his lungs. Arousal simmers through Yoongi, and he gasps, which becomes a soft chuckle when he notices the playful look on Jimin's face. 

"Evil," Yoongi groans when Jimin's leg grazes over him again, feeling blood rush straight to his dick. 

"What's the matter, hyung?" Jimin sing-songs as he takes a step back, spins around, and lowers his ass to Yoongi's lap. 

With both hands planted on Yoongi's knees, Jimin rolls his hips in circles and grinds them forward and back, and Yoongi squeezes the comforter in both palms as he groans from the pressure, fighting how badly he wants to touch. 

The song switches to something else sultry and unfamiliar, and Jimin reaches back with one arm that drapes over Yoongi's shoulder, resting his head on his other shoulder while his hips lift and fall in quick but soft movements that graze over Yoongi's crotch. 

"You're good at this," Yoongi mutters, dazed, hardly sounding like himself. 

Jimin hums in agreement and says, "I'm good at a lot of things."

A particularly firm press of Jimin's ass against Yoongi's constricted dick has his eyes fluttering closed, and he practically whines, "Show me everything."

Jimin sits up, taking away the arm around Yoongi's shoulder, then glances back with a mischievous smile, still moving his hips in inviting circles. Yoongi can hear the slow drag of a zipper, each tooth releasing as Jimin's arms make small movements in front of him. And then he lifts his hands to the waistband of his pants, hooks his thumbs under the black leather to slowly push the garment down.

The movement is agonizingly slow, only revealing an inch before he pulls back up and begins to drag down little by little, exposing pinkish-white satin briefs. Yoongi wants to grab onto the pockets and yank the material to the floor, losing all sense of sitting like a good boy. 

"You're killing me," he grumbles, fisting the blanket tight. 

With a giggle, Jimin stands, pushes the pants all the way to his thighs, and then sits again, grinding down on Yoongi's lap. The delicate curve of Jimin's waist into soft hips and a round, perfect ass has Yoongi reeling; the fact that he has Jimin all alone, and he is teasing him like this, is still a bit hard to comprehend. And, to make matters worse – or better – sticking out from under Jimin's satin panties are white lace garters connected to white mesh thigh-high stockings. 

Yoongi groans, eager to show his appreciation while feeling at a loss for words, earning a light giggle in response. 

"How badly do you want to touch me?" Jimin teases, glancing over his shoulder. 

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, raising his eyebrows while Jimin continues to watch him. "Oh, I'm going to fucking ruin you the second you give me permission to."

It is subtle the way Jimin's eyes widen and all mirth melts from his features – it only lasts a split second. But Yoongi clocks it, and he smirks, feeling victorious. 

Jimin turns and stands, bending himself in half while pushing his pants down to his ankles, and Yoongi watches as more drool pools under his tongue, gaze drifting down to where Jimin peeks from around his ankles to smile before slowly standing back up. He steps from the crumpled leather and then kicks the garment away before turning to Yoongi with his cock straining hard in those tight little briefs as he straddles his lap. 

"How was this performance, hyung?" Jimin asks, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's shoulders to play with his hair. 

At some point, the song had changed, but Yoongi barely registers the downtempo beat, staring at Jimin, who giggles and wiggles his hips back and forth in a quick, playful movement. He lifts his right hand and then drops it back to the blanket with a groan, rolling his head back and taking a quick moment to close his eyes. 

"It was more of a tease than the first one," Yoongi grumbles, tracing the soft lines of Jimin's neck and shoulders with his eyes before looking at his face. "But it was great, all the same; I thoroughly enjoyed it."

Jimin reaches down and palms over Yoongi's dick, which sits bunched up at an uncomfortable angle under restrictive denim, making him gasp from the pressure-ache that tears through him. 

"I can tell how thoroughly you enjoyed it, hyung."

At this, Yoongi chuckles, biting the inside of his mouth and biding his time for when it is his turn to be a menace.

"Did you notice my final surprise?" Jimin asks.

"The garters and stockings?" Yoongi asks, eyes drifting downward. 

"Not that," Jimin responds, and Yoongi cocks his head, unsure what he means.

"No…" he mutters. 

Jimin stares incredulously, heavy-blinking in disbelief. "What, really?" he practically shouts. "My ass was right in your face, how did you miss it?"

"I mean…your ass is…surprisingly perfect," Yoongi tries.

With a playful huff, Jimin rolls his eyes, grabs Yoongi's right hand, and wraps it around him, making Yoongi cup one of his cheeks. 

"You can touch only with this hand," Jimin says with an insistent gaze, "and only on my butt."

The material of these briefs is thin and smooth, gliding softly under Yoongi's palm. It takes Yoongi a moment of rubbing over the soft flesh, squeezing gently, and mapping its shape before his fingertips brush over something hard, making Jimin suck in a sudden gasp of air. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks, grazing his fingertips against the spot with more purpose, making Jimin squirm. "What have we here?"

Jimin whimpers as Yoongi presses against the hard, round surprise before taking a handful to squeeze and spread, turning his sounds into soft moans. 

"Were you wearing this plug during the performance?" Yoongi asks, head tipped back to watch as Jimin's lips tremble and search for what to say.

"Yes," he finally sighs, lolling his head back with a moan when Yoongi passes his fingers firmly over it again. 

"You performed wearing an anal plug?" Yoongi asks again, watching as Jimin's cheeks flush and his eyes widen.

Jimin leans forward and presses his forehead against Yoongi's, nodding while whimpering a broken, "Uh-huh."

"While dancing and singing and tugging on my hair?" Yoongi continues, "While those eager boys stood and watched you flirt with me, you wore this, hoping I would bring you back here and find it."

"Yes, hyung," Jimin moans, and god if Yoongi had not already been fighting back the urge to absolutely destroy this pretty man in the most delicious ways possible, he would be now.

"You wanted me to find this plug, hmm?" Yoongi presses and rubs over it, squeezing and spanking while his other hand grips onto the blanket for dear life. "Wanted me to bend you over and pull it out…stretch you further on my cock…didn't you?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, hips rolling lazily into Yoongi's touch.

Without another word, Yoongi slides his hand away and anchors himself back against the bed. Jimin scrambles, sitting back with his eyes bulging wide, making Yoongi chuckle.

"So naughty," Yoongi teases, voice full of mirth and sparking a petulant fire in Jimin's eyes.

"Hyung!" Jimin shouts, lifting a hand to smack Yoongi on the chest, which Yoongi catches despite not being given instruction to touch, just yet. Jimin looks incensed and gasps, eyes going between Yoongi's hand and his face.

"It's my turn," Yoongi rasps, biting back a grin. "Let me touch you."

Jimin blinks at him, clearly still processing the teasing, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows, impatient. 

"Fine," Jimin huffs brattily, yanking his hand from Yoongi's grasp and sliding from Yoongi's lap to take his place beside him on the bed. "It's your turn to strip, hyung. Give me a good show."

Yoongi stands, walks a couple paces into the room, and turns, letting the movement flow with the beat of whatever song is playing – something a little quicker-paced but still sexy enough to dance to. He rubs his hands over his neck, down his pecs, and over his tummy, watching as Jimin rests back on his palms with his thighs slightly spread, intently following every movement. 

Then Yoongi grips onto the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it quickly over his head, messing up his hair in the process. He flings the garment at Jimin with maybe just a little too much force, and it hits him in the chest, falling to his lap.

"Wh—hyung!" Jimin shouts, tossing the shirt aside as Yoongi quickly undoes his belt and fly and shoves his jeans to the floor, stepping out of one side and then the other, and then reaching down to yank away his socks. 

"This is the worst strip tease I have ever seen!" Jimin shouts despite his eyes roving over Yoongi's body with a hunger that says otherwise. 

Yoongi approaches in two swift strides and bends to take Jimin by the backs of his knees. He lifts and spreads Jimin's legs, sending his back crashing against the bed, scrambling and squealing while Yoongi leans forward, legs draped over his hips, and grins. 

"What did I tell you I was going to do, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sternly, caging Jimin in with his hands against the bed while Jimin's frantic movements cause their clothed cocks to rub against one another in an addictive jolt of energy. 

"R-ruin me," Jimin pants as his flailing slows to a stop.

Yoongi grins. "That's right. I am going to absolutely ruin you. Now be good for me and get on your hands and knees."

It appears to take about two seconds for Jimin to process Yoongi's words before he crawls back on his elbows, getting fully onto the bed, and turning to position himself on his hands and knees while Yoongi sinks down to the floor. Jimin moves toward the center of the bed when Yoongi stops him.

"Ah, ah, come back here, pretty." He pats the mattress as if calling over a puppy. "Want you right here."

Jimin crawls backward with a somewhat dazed, borderline humiliated look on his face, and Yoongi waits patiently until Jimin is settled on the edge of the bed with his ankles hanging near Yoongi's head. 

"Perfect," Yoongi groans as he sits high, reaches for the waistline of Jimin's pretty satin briefs, and pulls, uncovering his prize in all its soft yet muscular glory. 

Yoongi practically moans at the sight of Jimin stretched around a metal toy with a light pink rhinestone in the center, and he wastes no time reaching two handfuls of soft flesh to squeeze firmly in his palms. He spreads his hands wide to graze his thumbs over the toy, then uses one hand to begin slowly tugging on it while keeping Jimin spread. 

"God, look at you," Yoongi groans as Jimin's pucker tenses and relaxes with each movement. "Is this what you wanted? When you invited me to come watch you perform, did you picture me bending you over and playing with your ass afterward?"

"Yes," Jimin whines, sending a shiver down Yoongi's spine.

Yoongi uses his palm to gently strike Jimin's ass. The sound cracks through the room, punctuated by a moan, and Jimin shutters as he relaxes. 

"What did you imagine, exactly?" Yoongi asks, hearing a dazed, "What?" come from Jimin. 

"When you nestled this pretty little toy inside yourself tonight," Yoongi clarifies, rubbing over the reddened mark of his hand. "What were you imagining I would do to you?"

"I thought you would want to f-fuck me," Jimin says, sounding somewhat bashful. How cute. 

Yoongi rubs over Jimin's ass with both hands, then taps the tip of his index finger over the end of the toy, making Jimin tremble. "Is that all?"

"N-no," Jimin whimpers.

"Awe, is pretty Jimin too shy to dirty talk to his hyung now that he has me right where he wants me?"

All he hears in response is a low whine, and Yoongi chuckles, smacking and squeezing Jimin's ass just enough to make his legs quake. He wonders if Jimin likes becoming pliant and malleable in someone else's hands. 

"I can tell you what I imagine," Yoongi offers, sitting back before getting onto his feet to rub over Jimin's back and bend over him, draping himself to speak low into Jimin's ear. 

Jimin nods. 

"What I've imagined since the day we met—" Yoongi reaches with one hand to Jimin's chin and lifts his head up, then presses two fingers into his warm, wet mouth, "—is watching these sinful fucking lips wrap around my cock."

Jimin sucks on Yoongi's fingers, stirring a fire in his belly, and Yoongi nuzzles their cheeks together, pulling away as Jimin releases him with a pop. 

"And what I've imagined since that little performance of yours tonight—" Yoongi gently grips Jimin's chin and pulls him so that he is held in place, back arched and neck craned, looking him in the eye, "—is the sight of you riding me…using me to make yourself cum…squeezing me so nice and tight…all while tugging on my hair."

Jimin's eyes blow wide, and he gasps, staring at Yoongi as if he has just personally hung every star in the night sky. Reverent. 

"Would you like that, pretty?" Yoongi asks, and Jimin nods.

Yoongi grins. "Use your words, baby."

Brighter and wider, Jimin's eyes turn to heavenly disks, and Yoongi makes a mental note to call him baby a lot more. 

"Yes, hyung," Jimin mutters sweetly.

"Say my name. Tell me what you need."

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin responds. "I need…you. Anything you want, please."

With a soft kiss against Jimin's cheek, Yoongi lowers Jimin down, continuing to drape himself over his body, keeping his weight from pressing on him too much. 

"Do you like to be more in control," Yoongi asks, dancing fingertips in Jimin's pink hair, "or do you like to submit?"

Jimin's voice has a slight tremble when he says, "Submit."

"Do you like it rough or soft?"

"Both."

Yoongi groans, pleased with that answer. "Do you have a safe word, baby?"

"S-strawberry."

"Strawberry, of course," Yoongi says, grinning. "Good. I'm going to make you feel so good, baby."

Yoongi feels Jimin's body relax beneath him as he sighs, "Please, Yoongi," in a voice fit for an angel.

Eager to learn all the pretty ways Jimin can sing, Yoongi gets back onto his feet, running his fingertips over the length of Jimin's back before dropping to his knees. He spreads Jimin wide, leans forward, and licks from just beneath the end of the plug to just above it, tasting cold metal and zirconia with a sticky-sweet hint of lube. 

Jimin moans low and arches his back, pressing his ass against Yoongi's face, and Yoongi chuckles as he grips tightly to both cheeks and licks again and again, straight lines and rounded ones, tasting and teasing.

"Do you get really sensitive?" Yoongi asks as he rests his cheek against the soft curve of Jimin's ass and takes the end of the toy between his fingers, tugging it ever so slightly – just enough to make Jimin whine. 

Jimin mutters a pitchy, "Uh-huh."

"Words, baby," Yoongi instructs with a somewhat stronger tug. 

Jimin sobs as he says, "Yes, Yoongi!"

"Good," Yoongi groans as he nuzzles against Jimin and nips gently at his skin. "We're gonna have a lot of fun together."

With a firm tug, Yoongi begins to pull the toy, taking it nice and slow while Jimin's hole stretches around the bulb. Jimin sobs with shaking legs, and Yoongi lifts his head and drops a dab of spit as he pushes the toy back in and gives it another tug. 

Back and forth, he tugs and presses, with more spit and kisses against Jimin's soft skin, again and again, until finally Jimin opens wide and releases the plug with a soft wail. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, licking over Jimin's rim with a firm twist of his tongue, making him moan. "So good for me."

Yoongi stands on somewhat shaky legs – knees, and calves tired from being bunched up on the floor – and he moves to the bedside table, grabs a tissue from a small box, and places it down to rest the plug onto. "You got lube in here?" he asks, tapping his fingernails against the small door on the front of the table. 

"No, on top," Jimin responds, and Yoongi glances around, then finds the bottle wedged behind the tissue box. 

"Is this the lube you used earlier?" Yoongi asks as he returns and takes in the sight of Jimin on his knees with his face pressed against his floral comforter.

"Don't pick on me," Jimin pouts, frowning, making Yoongi chuckle fondly.

"Not picking on you, baby," Yoongi responds, patting the center of the bed, closer to the pillow. "Come up here."

With a whimper and even deeper pout, Jimin anchors himself on his hands, and – like a doe learning to walk for the first time – fumbles and sways with forward momentum until he slams his chest down onto a pillow and wraps his arms around it. 

Yoongi gets onto the bed and crawls on his knees behind Jimin. The satin briefs are still around Jimin's legs, keeping him from spreading his knees too far, and Yoongi leaves them in place, curious how Jimin might enjoy a little movement restriction.

With his thumb, Yoongi flips open the lid of the lube bottle, then he squirts a generous amount onto his index and middle fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb through the sticky substance to warm it just a little. Then he rubs the slicked tips of his fingers over Jimin's hole, watching the way he trembles from even the slightest of touches. 

Slowly, Yoongi presses the tip of his middle finger in, testing how far the toy has stretched him. Although Jimin moans, his voice is steady as Yoongi pushes all the way to his knuckle and twists. The muscle does not squeeze too tight, so he pulls out and gently slides in another.

With his index finger added, Jimin squeezes him with a deep whimper and then relaxes. Yoongi takes it slow, rubbing his palm soothingly over Jimin's ass and thigh, pulling his fingers back and pressing them forward little by little. 

"Let me know if you need me to slow down or stop, pretty," Yoongi says as he watches his fingertips get swallowed. 

"Don't stop," Jimin whimpers, "give me more."

"More?" Yoongi teases, drawing the word out nice and long. 

"Please, Yoongi."

Yoongi twists his fingers as he pushes and pulls, listening to Jimin's deep voice become high-pitched and raspy. Satisfied with how Jimin feels around him – swallowing eagerly but not with a death grip – Yoongi adds his ring finger. 

Jimin trembles and bleats broken syllables as Yoongi presses three fingers into him. He twists slowly and dribbles spit onto Jimin's rim, giving himself a little more slide, working himself a little deeper. And Jimin takes him so well until he gets to his knuckles and the stretch feels too tight.

"Fuck," Jimin gasps, legs quaking. "Feels s-so good, but it—'s too much."

"I got you, baby," Yoongi says softly, planting kisses over Jimin's ass and upper thigh as he slides his fingers out and pauses. "Call your safe word if you want a break."

"No," Jimin pants. "I don't want a break, your fingers are just…they're too good."

Yoongi chuckles, slowly pressing his fingers back in, stopping before the knuckles, as he says, "Just breathe for me," with his lips dragging over Jimin's soft skin. 

Labored, panicked breaths make Yoongi smile and shake his head, and he slowly pulls out as he clarifies, "Breathe slowly, Jiminah. Don't make yourself dizzy; I don't need you passing out on me."

An impatient groan muffled by a blanket makes Yoongi sit up high on his knees and angle his body to get a look at Jimin, whose face is squished cutely into the bed with flushed cheeks and a frown in his brow. 

"Ya, what is it?" Yoongi teases, using his lubed fingers to give Jimin's ass a little smack, smiling at how the man cries and quakes. 

"Wanna ride you," Jimin groans indignantly. 

Yoongi wants to rile Jimin up so badly. He considers tickling the man until he crashes to the bed laughing – and probably throwing a tantrum. He wants to threaten not to let Jimin do anything he wants, just so he can be pouty and bratty and make Yoongi put him in his place a little – gently and sweetly, of course. He has to hold his tongue to not chide the poor guy for how grumpy and impatient he is, even as Yoongi stretches him. 

But he does not. Instead, Yoongi rubs both hands over Jimin's ass, spreading and squeezing while settling back down again. "I thought you wanted to be submissive," he asks, with only a hint of mirth.

"I do," Jimin responds, pout still evident in his tone. "I want to do both. I can't make up my mind."

"You can do both," Yoongi insists with a smirk, reaching for the lube bottle to slick his fingers back up. "I would love it if you rode me, baby. But if you can't take three knuckles, you sure as hell can't take my cock. So why don't you be a good boy and breathe nice and slow while I stretch you open, yeah?"

The breathy way in which Jimin mutters, "Yeah," tells Yoongi his message has been received loud and clear. The prospect alone of Jimin riding him has him very eager to get the other nice and ready. 

Yoongi slathers his three fingers in lube and begins to press them in. Jimin still huffs his exhales, but he is breathing less like a man who might be dying, for which Yoongi is grateful. It takes plenty of twisting and coaxing to slowly get the muscles to open for him, but Yoongi is patient, kissing and sucking on Jimin's skin while watching his fingers get swallowed. 

When Yoongi finally does finger Jimin past the knuckle – accompanied by a pitchy squeal and Jimin begging, "Fuck, fuck, don't stop, please don't fucking stop," – he stops, letting Jimin adjust to the stretch. 

"That's it," Yoongi praises, rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and thigh while his fingers stay nestled deep inside him. "I knew you could take me. Just had to be a little patient."

"I've fantasized about how your knobby knuckles would feel but fuck, they are so big," Jimin whines, making Yoongi laugh. 

He squeezes Jimin's ass in his palm, then slowly begins to pull his fingers out, watching as Jimin opens wide to accommodate him once more. "You've fantasized about my fingers, huh?"

"H-hyung," Jimin groans, sounding embarrassed.

"Say my name, pretty," Yoongi sweetly commands as he twists his fingers out and begins to plunge them back in, meeting far less resistance. 

"Y-Yoongi," Jimin sobs, trembling as Yoongi twists – pulling out and pushing back in. 

The sight of his fingers getting swallowed whole has Yoongi's jaw hanging slack, drool pooling beneath his tongue. Jimin is an absolute vision, and the more his light-dusky pucker becomes flushed and reddened with pleasure, the hungrier Yoongi is to give and give and give. Anything to paint him prettily with bliss. Anything to hear the sweet, broken sounds he makes. 

"What is it, baby," Yoongi asks, twist-pulling and plunging deep. 

Jimin hiccups and Yoongi rotates his torso to lean just enough to see Jimin's fist grasping at the comforter. "N-need you."

"I'm here," Yoongi coos while rubbing his palm over Jimin's ass and lower back, fingertips mapping and memorizing. "You're almost ready for me."

Yoongi pulls out, then uses the index fingers of both hands hooked into Jimin's rim to open him nice and wide. Jimin sobs as Yoongi stretches him, slowly plunging his fingers in and out in a push and pull, watching as the welcoming rings of muscle tense and relax. 

"Wh-what are you doing to me?" Jimin groans, as he sinks a little further forward, pushing his ass ever so slightly higher. 

"Admiring you, baby," Yoongi says, sitting high on his knees to dribble a dollop of spit into Jimin's hole to squelch between his two fingers. "You have no idea how fucking perfect you are."  

Jimin hiccups as he moans, and Yoongi slowly pulls out, one finger and then the other, watching as his pucker tightens and tightens.

"Alright, baby," Yoongi says as he sits back on his knees and open-palm kneads at Jimin's fleshy thighs, feeling supple skin, rough lace, and soft mesh against his palms. "Wanna be a good boy and show hyung how you ride cock?"

A pitchy, garbled, "Uh-huh," leaves Jimin's mouth in a rush as he pushes himself on shaking limbs until he is seated on his knees. Yoongi slides off the bed and walks toward the head, moving pillows and the comforter out of the way, revealing a pretty green floral sheet. He pushes his dark briefs down to the floor, stepping out of each side as he places his knees onto the bed, knee-walks the center, and then sits, spreading his thighs while Jimin grabs the bottle of lube and hobbles close. 

Without preamble, Jimin cages Yoongi's hips between his arms and licks a slow stripe up the underside of his aching, neglected cock, sending a thrill of pleasure shooting through him that has a moan storming from his lungs. Yoongi's head thumps against the headboard as he sinks against the cool, wooden surface, and he lifts his hands to gently take Jimin by the hair and chin. 

"Hyung tastes so good," Jimin coos sweetly, glancing up through his eyelashes while poking out his pretty pink tongue to lap at the dribble of precum at his tip. 

Yoongi was not planning on getting his dick sucked – he was dead set on Jimin's pleasure first and foremost, eager to give absolutely anything to him that he wants. But if what Jimin wants is to put those pretty lips to use, Yoongi would not dare say no. 

"Is that so?" Yoongi urges, eager to press Jimin to say more – hopeful that he will turn shy and sweet like before.

Jimin nods, blinking with a lust-drunk haze in his eyes before looking down into Yoongi's trimmed dark pubes as he says, "Salty-sweet…so yummy…"

"It's all yours, baby," Yoongi says as he drags his trimmed, blunt fingernails along the sharp lines of Jimin's jaw. "Anything you want, it's yours."

Jimin lets his tongue hang long, blinking upward while drool pools and dribbles onto Yoongi's tip, dripping down to disappear from view. "Want to make a mess," he slurs, barely pulling his tongue back enough to speak clearly. 

"Yeah?" Yoongi urges, "you wanna make a mess of me, baby?"

Jimin nods, curving his lips upward, saliva pooling and dripping. Yoongi fights the urge to beg him to do more – wants Jimin to go at his own pace and enjoy himself, even if it means Yoongi vibrates with nerves and anticipation, bordering on impatience and flat-out desperation. 

Luckily, Jimin does not make him wait long. With a deep, eager groan, Jimin sucks Yoongi's tip into his mouth without using his hands, then curves his back and neck, doing his best to swallow him down. Pleasure quakes through Yoongi, and he sinks further into the bed, dragging his head back against the headboard while he moans deep and appreciative. 

He tips his head to the side to watch Jimin's spit-slick petal lips drag along his length. Jimin hums and moans, which vibrates just enough to make Yoongi shiver, sucking his cheeks and swishing his tongue in a hypnotic dance. 

Slowly, Yoongi climbs to the precipice of bliss, further each time Jimin takes him a little deeper and swallows a little harder. Then Jimin changes position, sitting higher on his knees, and he takes Yoongi into his throat and swallows hard, sending a heavy wave of euphoria crashing inside him. Yoongi's fingers, which had been loosely holding onto Jimin's hair and face, grip onto Jimin's hair, and he tugs gently without pulling too hard. 

"Shit, baby, that's it," Yoongi whines, voice coming out pitchy and breathy. "Won't last if you keep swallowing me like that."

Jimin hums and swallows harder, holding Yoongi in his throat long enough to make Yoongi begin to spiral; long enough for Jimin to come up for air with a heavy gasp. Spit hangs from Jimin's lips and tongue in thick strings, and when he blinks, mascara leaves little black streaks on his face. 

"Pretty, messy baby," Yoongi praises with a smile that feels crooked and heavy. He knows he must look absolutely fucked out, and the way Jimin's eyes shimmer has affection blooming deep behind his ribs. 

Jimin grins, then sinks back down, sucking and swallowing eagerly while setting a quick pace bobbing his head. The faint pass of Jimin's teeth along Yoongi's length sends a tickle up his spine that has his back arching, and with each upward stroke of his lips, spit collects and trickles, coating his balls and dribbling over his asshole. 

Yoongi is close, and he grips Jimin's hair a little tighter, guiding his head a little deeper. He whimpers broken pleas for Jimin to keep going that hardly sound like words – whisps of sounds flitting into the air as he struggles to keep his bearings. Jimin's mouth is better than Yoongi could have possibly anticipated, and he submits fully to letting Jimin send him straight into the clouds. He wants to cum down that pretty throat so badly. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, finally finding his voice. "Gonna cum, baby. Will you swallow for me?"

Jimin seems to try to nod, muttering some kind of response that amounts to consonants and sputtered drool, and Yoongi loosens his grip on Jimin's hair, letting his hands slide and fall away to fist at the sheet, instead. It only takes three more passes of those perfect fucking lips to make Yoongi absolutely dissolve.

"Gonna c—" is all he chokes out before painting Jimin's tongue and throat. 

Jimin gags slightly but continues to suck and swallow, humming and moaning between Yoongi's sharp, raspy sounds of pleasure. His orgasm flows through him hot and quick, erupting and intoxicating. Only once he is trembling from overstimulation does Jimin release his cock, licking once more from base to tip with his mouth hanging agape. 

Streaks of viscous white streak Jimin's tongue, and Yoongi takes him by the jaw and gently lifts, urging Jimin to sit up and crash into him. Yoongi licks into Jimin's mouth, tasting his own heady release, and Jimin melts forward, laying his torso heavily against Yoongi while very slowly crawling up into a seated position on his lap. 

"Was that what you were imagining, hyung?" Jimin asks against his mouth, making Yoongi chuckle.

"Better," he rasps. "I could never have imagined anything feeling that good, Jiminah."

Jimin blushes as he asks, "Did you like how my lips looked?" and Yoongi raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back to get a better look at him. "Wrapped around you," Jimin continues, nibbling on his plush, kiss-swollen bottom lip. 

"You know I did." Yoongi leans in to place a soft kiss against Jimin's lips, deciding instead to suck them into his mouth, one after the other, making him giggle. "You looked and felt like heaven, baby."

Jimin leans back into Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his neck and gently tugging at his hair. They kiss, lick, suck, and nip in unhurried movements, tasting and teasing while Yoongi's dick recovers and begins to harden once more. Sticky-cool saliva transfers from Jimin's chin to Yoongi's, aiding in the mess that was promised, and Yoongi slowly sucks at Jimin's tongue tip, making him drool even more. 

Time grinds to a halt, suspended and of no use to them. Yoongi passes his hands over Jimin's shoulders, down the slopes of his back and hips and ass – anywhere he can reach. Occasionally, Jimin shivers and sighs, and Yoongi cannot help but smile, endeared and eager to know every single sensitive spot he may have. 

One of Jimin's hands leaves Yoongi's hair and travels down, tickling as his fingernails delicately scrape down his pec, across his ribs, to his hip. When Jimin wraps his hand around Yoongi's growing erection, engulfing him in pleasure and warmth, Yoongi gasps, rolling his eyes back and nodding as he mutters, "Almost ready for you."

Jimin releases Yoongi and reaches for the lube before using both hands to slick him up. Yoongi is grateful that Jimin does not warm it in his hands, hissing with delight at the cold touch. Jimin giggles deviously, chewing on his lip, and Yoongi gazes down at his cock between two slender, pretty hands before returning his attention to Jimin's face. 

"Now are you ready, hyung?" Jimin asks as he sits high on his knees and positions himself over Yoongi's tip. 

Yoongi uses both hands to steady Jimin's thighs, dancing his fingertips over the stockings, then gripping gently while Jimin reaches up to the top of the headboard and leans his chest close to Yoongi's face. 

"I don't think I could ever fully be ready for someone as perfect as you fucking me, Jiminah," Yoongi confesses with a smile, tilting his head until his tongue is able to flit out and drag over a dusky, pert nipple. "You'll just have to give it to me; force me to be ready. Don't hold back."

"As you wish, hyung," Jimin responds sweetly as he begins to sink down. 

The tip of Yoongi's cock breaches Jimin's hole with a shutter and whimper from both men in tandem. Yoongi grips Jimin's hips bruisingly, expecting Jimin to stop and adjust, but Jimin keeps lowering, down, down, down until he is fully seated and choking pretty, broken sobs. 

Yoongi is overwhelmed with pleasure, squeezed with blissful tight warmth, and he quakes with each gentle squeeze of muscle around him. His breath feels heavy in his lungs, and as he lets out a groaned exhale, he releases his grip on Jimin's thighs and rests his head back in a desperate attempt to get his bearings, teetering on the brink of total mental collapse.

"Hol—" is all Yoongi manages to moan as Jimin lifts and drops, slamming his ass against Yoongi's thighs, letting out a dulcet whimper that is rivaled by Jimin's pitchier one. 

"Big," Jimin mutters as he picks up a dizzying pace of slowly lifting before forcefully dropping, spearing himself so nice and deep, Yoongi feels like he may be carving the poor guy open. 

Jimin is magnificent with his head tilted back and lips hung wide, whimpering as he rises and drops and rises and drops. Somehow exactly as Yoongi imagined, yet so much more. His cock glistens hard against his tummy, dribbling with precum and so neglected, bouncing against his abs with each drop, leaving a little splatter behind.

"I won't last," Yoongi admits, feeling the blissful, agonizing squeeze that is only intensified as Jimin's muscles flutter with pleasure. "I usually have more—ahh—s-stamina, but you feel so g-good."

"Awe, hyungie," Jimin purrs, tilting his head forward and opening his dreamy, lust-lidded eyes. "That's ok. I just hope you can keep going…ruin me like you promised."

"I can," Yoongi croaks. It will be much easier to stave off his orgasm when he is in full control; like this, he doesn't stand a chance. 

"There's always tomorrow, too," Jimin mutters half-dazed, and Yoongi smirks at the prospect of Jimin wanting him after tonight. 

Yoongi rubs his hands up Jimin's hips, along the delicate curve of his waist and the white lace garter, and further, palming over pecs. As Jimin lifts and drops, Yoongi almost feels overwhelmed by the arousal that pools and pools, warm and aching in his center, tingling to his limbs, filling him with desire. He wants to grab Jimin tight and fuck up into him, but Jimin feels and looks so amazing he lets him take his time. 

With a grin that morphs into a bite of his lower lip, Jimin lifts his hips and swivels them, whorling around Yoongi's tip and tugging up, making him gasp and groan. Yoongi rubs his hands down to Jimin's waist and gently holds, helping keep him steady while the dancer twists and swishes, creating dizzying patterns to the song Yoongi barely hears over the pounding of his heart. 

"God, your body…" Yoongi mutters, eyes heavy as he watches muscle tense and soften. 

"You like how I feel, hyung?" Jimin mutters as he swirls up. 

Before Yoongi can respond, Jimin begins to bounce his ass up and down to the beat of the background song, just fucking himself on Yoongi's tip – teasing in a most delightful way. 

"How you feel…" Yoongi mutters, head rolling back against the headboard, looking down his nose at the beauty above him. "How you look, how you sound…you're fucking perfect, baby."

Jimin smiles and runs his hands over Yoongi's neck, then uses one hand to leverage himself on Yoongi's shoulder while the other takes a handful of hair and grips tight. 

"You're just saying that because I'm fucking you," Jimin teases through gasps and whimpers, gaze turning sharp while he begins to drop his hips back down and spear himself deep.

Even with a cock buried inside him, Jimin is a brat. Yoongi finds it way too endearing, though he is eager to flip the pretty dancer over and fuck him so good he can no longer talk back. He rolls his eyes, moaning as Jimin rides him a little steadier, trying to ignore how rapidly his pleasure builds.

"True," Yoongi mutters, playing along. If Jimin wants to be petulant, two can play this game.

"Ah—" Jimin moans, "I knew it. Just using me for my perfect ass."

Yoongi's hands slide over the soft, inviting curves of Jimin's hips and ass, and he takes two splayed handfuls and gives him a squeeze, moaning, "Exactly."

With his palms gripping tight, Yoongi assists Jimin in his movements, lifting and dropping him in a nice steady rhythm. Rather than attempt to stave his high, he chases it now, eager to change positions and give Jimin more. 

Jimin whimpers and sobs, breath coming out punchy and ragged while his tip leaks precum. 

"Are you close, baby?" Yoongi asks, receiving only a whimpered, "Uh-huh," in response. 

"What did I say about using your words?" Yoongi insists through grit teeth, finding it harder to steady his breathing and speak clearly. 

"Yes, Yoongi," Jimin moans, sending a chill down Yoongi's spine at the sound of his name. "I'm so close."

Yoongi pulls one hand away, lifts it to his mouth, and spits into his palm. He stares up at Jimin as he wraps his hand around Jimin's cock head and squeezes just enough to elicit a moan and shiver from him, then he begins to stroke nice and slow, collecting dribbled precum on his palm.

"Hyung," Jimin whimpers, body tensing and relaxing over and over. 

"Say my name, baby," Yoongi instructs with a smirk, watching Jimin's lips tremble and form unvoiced syllables. 

Jimin leans forward and takes two handfuls of Yoongi's hair as he lifts and slams his ass with purpose. Each breath Yoongi pants hits Jimin's chest, creating a pocket of sticky warmth between them. 

"Yoongi," Jimin whines as his grip tightens, tugging on Yoongi's scalp and making him hiss. 

"Yes, baby?"

Jimin's voice cracks, barely croaking out the words, "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, Jiminah," Yoongi moans, feeling his own high reach its peak. "Cum all over this cock, baby, let me feel you."

Jimin's muscles squeeze and release– frenzied and dizzying as his rhythm falters. Rather than lift, he grinds, burying Yoongi so deep, the air feels trapped in Yoongi's chest. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi wheezes through grit teeth, stroking Jimin at an angle that has him gently punching his fist against both their tummies. "Use my cock to get yourself off. Fuck, you feel so good."

Jimin's back arches and his body quakes as he cums. Yoongi squeezes at his tip, urging more and more release to coat his fist sticky-white, digging his heels into the mattress as he fucks his hips upward, just enough to get Jimin bouncing and moaning. Jimin squeezes him so tight, pushing him right over the edge. 

"Gonna cum, baby," Yoongi groans as every nerve prickles tingly and hot, ready to burst. 

"Fill me, Yoongi," Jimin sobs as he bounces in quick, shallow movements. "Make me messy."

The squeeze of Jimin's muscles, and fucked out, eager sound of his voice has Yoongi's orgasm hitting hard. He releases Jimin's cock, gripping onto his thighs with both hands as his body trembles roughly with pleasure. Yoongi barely makes a sound, rasping around heaving breaths as his eyes squeeze momentarily tight, attempting to relax as his orgasm pulses through him in tremendous bursts, making him see stars. 

"That's it, hyung," Jimin whimpers, leaning all the way forward, draping himself over Yoongi's shoulders. "Feels so good."

Yoongi sits back, catching his breath as his cock softens, running his clean palm up Jimin's back while the cum-covered hand falls to the side. Jimin's muscles continue to flutter, and he nuzzles his face against Yoongi's neck, leaving lazy, wet kisses against the skin and filling Yoongi with butterflies. 

The music continues to play, changing from one sexy beat to another. A female artist sings, but Yoongi is unable to make out what she is saying. His pulse thumps in his ears and throat, forcing each breath out in a lively beat of his own. 

"It feels nice to just…sit here and hold you," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's skin. 

"I would hug you back but one of my hands is covered in your cum."

Jimin hums in understanding, adding, "You got it on my thigh," with a familiar bratty tone. 

"You wanted to be messy," Yoongi grumbles with a smile, feeling absolutely smitten. 

Jimin groans, "I did," as he slowly begins to sit up, taking the warmth of his body away. 

Yoongi shivers as the sweat that covers him turns cold. He tips his head back and looks up as Jimin settles on his lap, cock-warming him while sitting tall, smiling sweetly. 

"I guess since you got what you wanted, you don't need me anymore," Jimin teases with a smirk and a lift of one eyebrow as he reaches out and undoes what is left of the bun in Yoongi's hair, tossing his trusty hair tie aside. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and lolls his head back, trying not to smile as he mutters, "Really, Jiminah?"

With wide, playful eyes, Jimin nods, sliding his ass up, up, up until Yoongi's soft, cum-covered cock falls away, making him shudder. 

"You had a taste of my perfect ass, so—"

"Oh, I had a taste, alright," Yoongi interrupts with a grin, sitting up and causing Jimin to move slightly backward. "You think I'm gonna just leave now? Never to see you again?"

Jimin's playful demeanor begins to crumble as Yoongi lifts his soiled hand and begins to lick at what is left of Jimin's heady, salty-sweet release. 

"Uh, I—" Jimin says, lips forming around syllables he never voices. 

"What about promising me tomorrow? Hmm?" Yoongi asks before dragging his tongue over his knuckles, cleaning the remnants of Jimin's cum.

Now that his hand is far less messy, Yoongi grips onto Jimin's waist nice and tight and lift-pushes the dancer onto his back. Jimin yelps as he hits the pretty green sheet, pink hair sweat-stuck together in little spikes, fanning messily around his beautiful face. 

"I'm not finished with you yet," Yoongi says as he gets onto his knees and towers over Jimin. "Weren't you just whining about me ruining you moments ago?"

Jimin giggles softly, reaching his arms to wrap around Yoongi's neck. Yoongi gently takes Jimin by the wrists and pushes his arms to the mattress, pressing his weight down, watching with delight as Jimin gasps and shivers beneath him. 

"You really think I could only do this once?" Yoongi teases as he leans forward, crowding Jimin's space. "Now that I've had a taste of you, I'll be craving you, Jiminah."

"I-is that so?" Jimin breathes, head tilting as if offering the expanse of his neck to Yoongi – an invitation Yoongi takes as he drags his lips over salt-slick skin. 

"That is so."

"Are you sure you can keep going?" Jimin asks sweetly. "You just came twice."

"I could fuck you all night, baby," Yoongi insists, licking and nipping until Jimin gasps. "Just need a moment to get hard again. Why? Can you keep going?"

Each breath that puffs from Jimin's lips sounds heavy. "I can, but…I might get overstimulated."

"I know," Yoongi groans with a smile. "I watched you fall apart on my fingers, remember?"

"I might get…really…lost," Jimin admits.

Yoongi releases Jimin's hands and moves them to the mattress so he can press more weight down and angle himself upward just enough to look Jimin in the eyes. 

"Like, subspace?" Yoongi asks, watching Jimin's eyes widen. 

"Maybe," Jimin mutters. "I just get really…floaty. Like my soul and body are disconnected…held together by pleasure."

Yoongi nods in understanding. "Do you want to hold off, then? Wait until we're more comfortable with each other before you go there with me?"

The smile that tugs on Jimin's lips is sweet, and his eyes sparkle as he says, "I have a feeling you will take good care of me, hyung."

Affection bursts warm in Yoongi's chest. "Of course, I will. But I still understand if that's something you want to build up to."

Jimin shakes his head and nibbles on his lip. "I trust you. I'll call my safe word if I need to."

"You don't go non-verbal at all?"

Jimin pinches his brow and shakes his head. "No."

"Alright," Yoongi agrees, eager to keep going as long as Jimin feels safe. 

Jimin leans forward, groaning as his chin juts out, puckering for a kiss, making Yoongi chuckle softly. Yoongi closes the gap and presses further, allowing Jimin to lie comfortably, and he licks and sucks at Jimin's soft, sinful mouth. 

"Sorry for ruining the mood with talking," Jimin mutters against Yoongi's lips.

Yoongi hums as he licks into Jimin's warm, petal mouth, opening him wide; making space. Jimin tastes so delicately sweet yet heady, and Yoongi has no choice but to chase every nuanced flavor, eager to discover more. Jimin's hums and groans are music to Yoongi's ears, and he swallows each sound with ease. 

Rather than lifting his head, Yoongi simply stops kissing, letting his lips rest on Jimin, who smiles. Yoongi wishes he could adequately communicate just how important every little thing Jimin thinks, feels, and needs is, to him. 

"Discussing boundaries is never a mood killer," Yoongi insists against his lips. "I never want you to hold anything back."

"Thank you, hyung," Jimin mutters, leaving pecks of soft kisses along Yoongi's mouth and chin.

"Don't thank me for doing the bare minimum, Jiminah. You deserve to be cared for."

The way Jimin squeals and wiggles beneath him makes his smile go lopsided. Yoongi lifts his head just enough to watch Jimin's cheeks flush, taking in the beauty of his shimmery and black makeup smudged around his eyes. 

"Shut up," Jimin groans.

"Shut me up," Yoongi challenges with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Jimin tilts his chin up once more, chasing a kiss. As Yoongi leans down, giving into his desire, one warm hand wraps around his half-hard cock, making him shiver and groan; this certainly is one way to get him to stop talking. 

"Want you again, Yoongi," Jimin pleads into Yoongi's open mouth, tugging on his cock. "Need you."

"You have me, baby," Yoongi practically moans, licking against Jimin's lips as his arousal simmers and warms him. "Turn over, on your stomach."

Jimin nods as he deepens the kiss, licking eagerly into Yoongi's mouth, sighing as Yoongi pushes and pulls with his tongue. When Jimin breaks the kiss, fingertips dig into Yoongi's neck and shoulder, and both men are panting, thickening the air between them with moist warmth. 

Jimin begins to wiggle around onto his side, then his stomach, and Yoongi stays where he is, caging him in with his arms and lifting his knees one after the other to accommodate Jimin's legs. Once Jimin is settled, Yoongi leans forward and presses his lips to the back of Jimin's neck, nipping and swirling his tongue as Jimin moans, back bowing delicately – trembling.

Yoongi kisses down the curve of Jimin's spine, crawling backward onto his knees. He sucks marks at the top of Jimin's ass, nipping and licking over dewy-smooth skin and lifting his hands to cup and squeeze. As he sits up, he kneads gently into Jimin's perfect, pillowy flesh, spreading him wide. Jimin's puffy rim glistens with leaked cum, and Yoongi wets his lips as he runs two fingertips over the mess before pressing deep inside. 

Jimin moans loudly, broken and debauched, as Yoongi fingers his tight asshole, feeling his own cum squelch, icky and enticing. He looks around for the bottle of lube and leans back, allowing his fingers to be slowly released as he reaches for it with his free hand. 

"You sure you can keep going?" Yoongi asks as he flicks the lube bottle open with his thumb, caressing the soft swell of Jimin's ass and thigh. 

"I'm not fragile, hyung," Jimin whimpers with his hands beside his head, clutching onto the comforter that has been bunched up and pushed out of the way. 

"Never said you were," Yoongi smiles fondly, squirting lube into his palm and working it over his cock, hissing from the sensation on his tender skin. "Just don't want to push you too far."

Jimin groans a pitchy sound that Yoongi assumes is impatience. "We already discussed this. My safe word is strawberry, hyung. Please fuck me."

Yoongi rubs his lubed hand sloppily over Jimin's hole, nibbling his lip as Jimin bucks and trembles against him. "Say that last part again."

There is a second of hesitation, followed by a soft sigh that makes Yoongi grin. He opens his mouth to ask again nicely, but Jimin beats him to it, muttering, "Please fuck me, Yoongi."

Jimin spreads his thighs flat against the bed and extends his legs straight, laying in a perfect split, and Yoongi gasps at the sight of him. He leans forward to accommodate the new height, gripping onto his length with one hand and Jimin's hip with the other. With a devious giggle, Jimin begins to bounce his ass, clapping his cheeks softly in a show that has Yoongi absolutely reeling. 

Without a moment more to spare, Yoongi leans forward on his knees and lines himself up with Jimin's rim, using his non-sticky hand to guide one of Jimin's hips. "You're a fucking menace," he groans as he presses in, in, in, spearing Jimin open as they whine and moan in tandem, feeling pleasure burst through his limbs like rays of warm, alluring light. 

"Squeezing me, baby," Yoongi rasps as he slowly slides out, giving Jimin no time to adjust. He places both hands on Jimin's hips and begins to rock his body, fucking into Jimin without moving his own hips. The delicate, elongated stretch of Jimin's mesh clad legs, right down to the tips of his pretty little toes has Yoongi torn between wanting to cherish him like something delicate or completely wreck him. 

"Such a slutty little dancer and you're all mine," Yoongi teases as he continues to rock Jimin's hips against him, watching his puffy rim swallow him whole. "What would your admirers think if they knew you wore a plug on stage while you were doing the splits to tease me?"

"Hyung," Jimin whines, burying his face down into the comforter. 

Yoongi slides his hands to the bed and leans forward, slowly thrusting his hips up and down while walking his hands up to Jimin's armpits, hovering nice and close. The scent of strawberry mixed with a faint, sweaty musk is sticky-sweet enticing, and Yoongi lets his eyes flutter closed as he takes a deep breath in. 

"You even performed for all of our friends wearing a toy," Yoongi rasps beside Jimin's ear. "What would they think of you?"

"Stop," Jimin whines, dragging the word long and whiny. 

Yoongi nuzzles his face against Jimin's nape, nipping at short pink hairs. "Alright, I'll stop teasing you, baby," he mutters sweetly, smiling at the sound of Jimin cooing happily. 

"Mmm, I like it," Jimin admits with a groan, making Yoongi nuzzle harder, grinning at the thought of Jimin feeling shy.

The smacking of skin is heard in lewd, rhythmic bursts. Yoongi fucks Jimin nice and steady, listening for the strained "Ah!" that punctuates each thrust, huffing small sounds of his own. 

Yoongi begins to sit back, careful not to let his hips lose too much rhythm. Once on his knees, Yoongi spreads Jimin wide with both hands and leans his weight into him, fucking him much faster. Jimin jiggles hypnotically, and Yoongi gives him light spanks to each cheek, unable to resist playing with him; delighted by the sound of him squealing. 

"Hyung, I want to cum again," Jimin cries, gripping the floral blanket tight. 

Yoongi wants to watch him cum – wants to touch and tease his cock while praising him and making him sob. As he slowly pulls out, Jimin trembles and groans in protest. Yoongi gives his ass a couple of light taps and mutters, "On your back." 

"Hyung" Jimin complains, elongating the word, making Yoongi smirk. 

Jimin crawls slightly forward and bends at the knees, then flops onto his side, huffing dramatically as if he cannot be bothered to move a single inch more. 

"I know, I know," Yoongi mutters, grabbing Jimin by the hips and pulling him the rest of the way onto his back. Jimin squeals and laughs, spreading his legs wide while watching with eager, mascara-smudged eyes as Yoongi continues to position him right where he wants him. 

"Sorry I can't choose between wanting to see your ass and wanting to see your face," Yoongi grumbles defensively while pumping his cock and reaching for the bottle of lube. He squirts some directly onto his shaft – cool liquid on warm skin – and he smears it in one stroke.

"Wow, and they say chivalry is dead," Jimin teases, lifting his eyebrows playfully with a grin. 

Yoongi slides his length into Jimin's tight warmth in one swift movement, and Jimin's grin falls agape as his back arches. He lets out a deep, pleased moan that Yoongi mirrors with a slow intake of air, filling his lungs. The curve of Jimin's neck, along his chest, and down to his tummy bows delicately taut, and Yoongi maps each inch with his eyes, stunned by his beauty. 

When Jimin settles slowly onto his back, Yoongi reaches forward and slots two fingers into Jimin's mouth. Jimin clamps his lips closed and gently sucks as Yoongi begins to set a steady pace with his hips. 

"Good boy," he praises, and Jimin's eyes blow wide. "So fucking good for me. So pretty and tight and perfect."

Jimin anchors himself onto his elbows, muttering something that sounds like a question, and Yoongi nods, smiling sweetly down at Jimin, watching his hard, leaking cock slap his tummy with each thrust. 

"Perfect, pretty Jiminah. And you're all mine."

More sounds are uttered around Yoongi's fingers as Jimin's eyes roll and his head bobs with the rocking of their bodies. Yoongi reaches between them and rolls his palm over the tip of Jimin's cock, eliciting his eyes to open big and round. 

Already, Jimin looks dazed, back draped slightly with his head held up only enough to suck on Yoongi's fingertips, supported against his elbows. Jimin's fingers slowly dance over the material of his green floral sheet, legs flayed lazily around Yoongi's hips. 

Yoongi slowly tugs at Jimin's length, making him whimper and sputter incoherently. Jimin rocks his hips and squeezes around Yoongi in a rhythm matching Yoongi's thrusts – must be chasing his own high. Seeing Jimin looking dazed and eager to cum again, stuffed with fingers and cock, Yoongi's mind races as he attempts to sort out how he got so fucking lucky.

"'S good," Jimin whines, dropping his head back and letting Yoongi's drool-slick fingers drag over his chin. 

Yoongi continues his pace – a deliberate roll of hips – letting his fingers slowly fall past Jimin's chin, to his chest, tracing curves and dips until finally taking hold of him around the ribs. Gradually, Jimin's arms give way, and he lies back – head first, then shoulders, sinking deeper against green flowers with his eyes hazy and wide. 

"Are you floaty, Jiminah?" Yoongi asks sweetly, wetting his salty-dry lips. 

Jimin hums and crooks a lazy smile, lifting his hands slowly to rub over his pecs and tummy. Yoongi follows the movements, feeling affection swirl and swell behind his ribs. At this pace, he thinks he could fuck Jimin for an eternity if he tried; his pleasure simmers just below the surface nice and steady, with no risk of boiling over too soon. 

"Ah—Yoongi," Jimin gasps, chest heaving and falling. "I'm—"

Yoongi rolls his palm over Jimin's tip and gives him a firm enough squeeze to make him sob. 

"Gonna cum, pretty?" he asks. 

Wide-eyed and mouth droopy-round, Jimin nods. His lips form shapes unvoiced, and Yoongi continues to roll and squeeze, languidly syncopating his quicker thrusts. 

"Cum for me, baby. Get nice and messy."

Jimin's eyes flutter, and his back arches slowly, head and heels digging into the mattress. "Please, please, please," he mutters softly like a prayer, palms flaying and squeezing above his ribs. 

"Relax and let go," Yoongi urges sweetly. "Let yourself float."

As if reacting on command, Jimin's body goes rigid and taut before quaking and sinking – thunder growling from his depths and dispersing out. He spurts tiny piles of cum onto Yoongi's fingers and palm, mouth forming softly-uttered stormy sounds. Even in the throes of incomprehensible bliss, every little thing Jimin does is eloquent; a performer and a muse. 

"Harder," Jimin groans, taking Yoongi by surprise. "P-please, Yoongi, need you."

Yoongi grips Jimin's hips with both hands, smearing cum on his sweat-slick, goosebumped skin. He picks up a pace that has Jimin's legs lifting and stretching, and Yoongi slings both calves against his shoulders before leaning in and taking hold of his hips once more. 

Jimin wails, eyes squeezed as if pained, licking and biting at his reddened lower lip. His arms lift and fall around his head, and he grips onto the bunched-up pink and orange comforter.

"This how you want it?" Yoongi asks, feeling his high build and build, impossible to hold at bay.

"Mmm, 's good," Jimin slurs, opening his eyes wide and smiling before his face falls back into a state of lazy bliss. 

Yoongi would love for Jimin to cum once more but has no idea whether he can. His cock is limp and resting against his patch of cutely trimmed pubic hair, jostling with each slam of Yoongi's hips against his thighs. 

"Not gonna last at this pace," Yoongi warns through grit teeth, his high climbing fast toward its breaking point. 

"Fill me," Jimin mutters dazedly. "Make me messy."

"Say my name," Yoongi rasps as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes closed, gripping harshly to Jimin's soft hips. 

"Yoo—" Jimin sighs, bowing his back. "Yoongi. Please, Yoongi."

Pleasure courses through Yoongi, flowing like lava in his bloodstream. He keeps his pace steady, holding back from slamming too fast or too deep. Cum and lube squelch around his cock, and the thought of watching it drip from Jimin's used, puffy hole is just the push he needs to reach orgasm. 

"Fuck, Jiminah," Yoongi groans, dragging blunt fingernails in streaks along Jimin's sides. "I'm—ahh, fuck!"

Yoongi's body tenses and releases in waves of pleasure – white-hot and overwhelming. He quakes as he spurts his cum into Jimin's begging, fluttering hole, babbling nonsense, attempting to praise, failing around each syllable. Jimin sobs and squeezes, trying but failing to reach for Yoongi. 

With a chuckle, Yoongi leans forward, hands slipping and crashing into the mattress, dripping sweat from his forehead to Jimin's chest. Now that he is within reach, Jimin reaches and clings, grabbing Yoongi's shoulders and yanking down until Yoongi gives in and falls forward. Pleasure continues to tremble through him – chest heaving and jumpy as he does his best to settle and relax. 

"Holy shit," he mutters into Jimin's clavicle, covering his face in sweat. "That was—"

"Amazing," Jimin coos. 

Yoongi smiles and nods, kissing anywhere his lips reach in slow movements. "Amazing."

Where they lay in the center of the bed, Yoongi is unable to stretch his legs far before hitting the headboard, so they stay in a ball while he catches his breath and litters Jimin's shoulder, neck, and chin with affection. It takes time, but Jimin begins to come back to earth, clinging a little more purposefully. 

"You made me messy," he mutters with more clarity than Yoongi has heard for a while. 

"Lemme see," Yoongi says as he sits up, groaning from his soft cock sliding from where it was nestled nice and warm. 

Jimin groans shyly, covering his face with his hands as Yoongi sits up and lifts his spread legs. He puts up a tiny amount of resistance, but Yoongi holds firmly, nibbling his lip, trusting Jimin to use his safe word if he really does not want to be teased. 

Dropping a leg to the side, Yoongi uses his thumb to press pearly liquid back into Jimin's puckered hole, grinning like an idiot when Jimin whimpers, legs shaking. 

"Messy baby," Yoongi teases, earning his arm a light smack from Jimin's foot. 

Yoongi pulls his fingers away and watches as Jimin tenses, causing the cum to dribble back out. He rubs his hands over Jimin's shins and calves, watching as Jimin heavy-blinks at the ceiling. 

"Shower?"

Jimin's gaze finds Yoongi's, and he smiles, then nods. "Carry me?" he asks with a cute bat of his lashes that makes Yoongi's heart go haywire.

And although Yoongi makes a show of rolling his eyes and being indignant, he gets up and stretches, then turns his back to Jimin and taps his shoulder. 

"Get on."

"Ooh, piggyback?" Jimin shouts, and Yoongi turns his head in time to see Jimin sit high on his knees and fling himself over Yoongi's shoulders. 

Yoongi links his arms around sweaty thighs and has to bend and hop a few times to get Jimin in place – a mildly humiliating task while nude – then he is off, kicking discarded clothing items along the way. 

"We should take a bath," Jimin mutters into Yoongi's shoulder. 

Yoongi hums and nods, turning left into the hallway and again into the bathroom. "Anything you want."

Although Yoongi would love to dote on Jimin hand and foot, he is grateful when Jimin slides off his back and begins the bath, finding sweetly-scented bubble products to squeeze into the stream and controlling the temperature. Jimin slides out of the lace garter and mesh stockings, and sinks into the tub when the water is barely a few inches high. Yoongi presses a kiss on his forehead before leaving to fetch a glass of cool water from the kitchen, lingering just a moment to take in the sunflower pan holders and mismatched cooking utensils. 

Yoongi returns with the glass to his lips, taking slow, steady sips and smiling over the rim. 

"Sit up and drink this," he instructs a sleepy Jimin, whose cheeks are pinkened from the warm water. 

Once the bath is full, Yoongi slots himself behind Jimin, fitting perfectly with his legs outstretched. He rubs Jimin's shoulders and litters him with kisses. And when the water cools, he insists they shower off, helping Jimin finger the cum from his ass while licking deep into his mouth. 

"I could get used to this," Jimin groans as Yoongi wraps a towel tightly around his hips and uses another to squeeze the remaining water from his hair. 

"Good," Yoongi responds against his lips, finding it impossible to spend too many minutes without touching and kissing. "Want you to get used to this."

"Stay the night," Jimin whines, wrapping his arms around Yoongi's middle and walking him backward out of the bathroom. 

Yoongi smiles and nips at petal lips. "That was the plan."

"Stay tomorrow night, too," Jimin groans as they hobble out into the hallway, bumping Yoongi's elbow against the doorframe enough to make him hiss. 

"Won't you get tired of me?" Yoongi barely utters slightly pained against Jimin's soft, greedy mouth.

Jimin releases their hug and pulls Yoongi by the hand back to bed. He has a pep in his step as he gathers his phone – shutting off the music, finally – and finds the lube bottle tangled in the blanket. 

"Doubtful," Jimin finally says as he crawls into bed and plops down, yanking Yoongi's hand until he sits and lays beside him. 

"Alright," Yoongi grins, wrapping himself around Jimin and pulling him close, chest to chest, on their sides. His hair is still damp, but he is unconcerned when Jimin beckons so adamantly. With a gentle teasing tone, he says, "I'll cancel all my foreseeable plans and live only to serve you."

Jimin smiles and hums, saying, "Good," into Yoongi's mouth. 

In a tangle of tongues and limbs, Yoongi sighs and sinks, unable to hold back the affection that overflows from him. He thinks he could also get used to this. 

thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs & comments make the world go 'round!!! and likes are super appreciated too!!!

tags: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69​ @giriiboyy @mgthecat​ @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki​ 🍓 wanna be tagged in my posts? shoot me a message!!!

Denim & Strawberry is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. 

[eoieopda]

Congrats on 2k!!🥳💋✨

As for the request- for the love of God, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 do a Seokjin + fake dating au where he realises he is falling for reader😭

i gotchu, boo!

the one with seokjin and without complaints

pairing: kim seokjin x gn!reader type: drabble | type: fluff | wc: 973 summary: you don’t want to arrive dateless to a wedding your ex is also attending. enter friend and local hero, kim seokjin. au: fake dating, drunken confession. cw: alcohol use & moderate tipsiness, blatant inspo. by “leonard cohen” — boygenius, not proofread tbh 🤪 rating: pg15 *regardless, my content is not for minors. minors or ageless blogs who interact with my content will be blocked.

When you pulled up outside Seokjin’s apartment building to find him waiting on the sidewalk, you were all smiles. He’d hopped in the passenger seat, did his best not to stare at you in all your satin-wrapped glory, and asked one last time if you were sure you didn’t want him to drive. You, despite your absolutely abysmal sense of direction, declined.

And then you were off, headed for the highway with only the faintest hint of anxiety vibrating through you. As you drove, you’d thanked him for his service — for the thousandth time — and he’d reminded you — for the thousandth time — that it wasn’t necessary. He’d meant it he said he’d do anything for you, up to and including spending too much money on a new suit just to make your shithead ex feel slightly worse.

After a few minutes of easy conversation, you reached the on-ramp and stopped at the red light. Noticing the song that shuffled to the top of the queue, he’d moved to change it to something that wasn’t garbage. With a flexed brow and all the emphasis in the world, you hit him with a challenge he couldn’t turn down:

“Seokjin-ah, if you love me, you will listen to this song.”

So, he’d let you enjoy your own questionable taste in music without complaint. Of course, he’d realized a long time ago that you were headed in the wrong direction, but Seokjin would’ve rather died than interrupt the full-blown performance you were giving within the confines of your seatbelt. 

He couldn’t tell what prompted the butterflies to appear en masse in his stomach: the way you’d blushed when the song ended and he clued you into your mistake, or the prospect of more time to swap embarrassing stories the other somehow hadn’t heard yet. The unintentional detour had added an hour to the drive, but Seokjin had no complaints about that, either.

Eventually, you’d reached your destination and whipped into the venue’s parking lot at a rate of speed Seokjin could only describe as criminal. Claiming the last remaining space before some other straggler could snag it, you’d turned and shot him a wink that made him go a little bit stupid.

It suddenly made sense why you’d never been hit with a moving violation. Nobody on the receiving end of that smile could have the strength of will to ticket you.

“Ready?” He’d asked once he joined you on the pavement, glancing at the entrance before his eyes flicked over to you.

You didn’t look it, but you’d swallowed hard and said, “Ready.”

Like it was the hundredth time and not the first, your hand slipped into his and squeezed tight. Distinctly not ready, you’d followed his lead as he headed towards the front doors. Seokjin caught sight of your joint reflection in the glass pane as he pulled the door open. Your ruse would’ve fooled him if he wasn’t in on it, he’d realized. It looked right, you holding onto him.

The ceremony was exactly as boring as he’d expected it would be, but your head resting lightly against his shoulder was a sufficient distraction. Completely ignoring the vows being exchanged several meters ahead of him, Seokjin had spent a minimum of ten minutes trying to figure out what the scent of your shampoo was, and why it was giving him heart palpitations. When the newlyweds paraded past him on the way back down the aisle, he’d ignored that, too, and wiped the sentimental tear off your cheek with the side of his thumb.

Thankfully, the reception was proving to be infinitely more exciting than its predecessor.

Despite scanning the area several times, Seokjin still couldn’t spot your ex in the crowd of guests. You still danced as if that clown was watching, touched Seokjin’s arm whenever you laughed at one of his jokes with your whole chest. He was dizzy, kind of, but maybe that was the champagne.

No, he ultimately concluded. The champagne was currently working it’s magic on you, sloshing lightly in your flute as you set it back down on the table.

“I have a confession to make,” You whispered at full volume, smiling sheepishly. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

You reached across the table to take his hand and knocked over the aforementioned flute in the process. With reflexes shockingly quick for someone as tipsy as he was, Seokjin managed to steady the glass before it could empty onto the table cloth. Eyebrows raised, he smirked expectantly back at you.

“They aren’t here.”

Seokjin wasn’t following, and that was definitely the champagne. You squeezed your eyes shut and proceeded to spill your secret at a shocking pace.

“Chan told me a few weeks ago that their RSVP said no.” Your blush licked up your cheekbones like a wild fire. “I may have known that when I asked you to come with me. I just didn’t…”

Your voice petered out at the end of that sentence. You cracked one eye open to look at him in anticipation of a reaction.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to come with me if I asked you outright,” You sighed. “I just — I really wanted you here. You know, with me.”

Inside Seokjin’s head, there were no thoughts, only bells and sirens and whistles and fireworks exploding, sending sparks down to put themselves out on the smooth surface of his brain. He didn’t have words, but he did have hands; so, he cupped your face between them and kissed you with all the emphasis in the world.

You kissed him back with vigor until you eventually pulled back breathless. Shock evident in your whisper — and this time, it really was one — you asked, “You’re not mad?”

Like it was the hundredth time and not the second, Seokjin kissed you with a smile.

“No complaints.”

[bon2bonn]

Happier

Singer!Daniel Ricciardo X female!reader

*Singer!Daniel Ricciardo 🎸🎤 au!

Words count : 1.3k

Synopsis :

"Danny thought that she moved on after him , that she was happier without him , aren't she?"

*I'm sad , so no happy ending here .

Daniel stood before the chanting crowd strumming the last note of the song , shooting them a wide beaming smile as they got louder and louder, turning to take a drink of water before moving the chair he's been sitting on for the previous set to the side as one of the stage crew took it back and another one brought him a microphone stand .

He took it with a light thank you before moving along the catwalk with his guitar slung over his shoulder . The crowd stood in confusion as they thought it was the end of the show but nevertheless they couldn't complain , they kept chanting as he reached the centre of the small platform at the end , setting the mic and looking around the arena in awe , he gave another smile before speaking " I hope everyone enjoyed their night" pausing as they erupted in a loud wave of cheers "you seem like you did !" Then he took the mic out of the stand turning to every section as he spoke " the past few months were a wild ride with you guys , every stop exceeded our expectations and every night we do our best to bring out our best performance for you to enjoy the shows , and we're thankful and deeply grateful for the love and support and patience we got back and tonight isn't less than the first , tonight we pack our bags for the last time on this tour and hopefully we'll see you again " he paused as they cheered in a mix of sadness and joy but kept going " with new places to go , new faces to meet , new memories to make , and definitely new tattoos to get " laughing along with the crowd as he joked " I definitely have few more places left somewhere for few more ...." Taking a deep breath as the laughter died down " but that's for the next time , and right now before we leave you I have one more thing to say , one more last song to sing before we say goodbye for now . This one is very personal to me , and I'm thankful for my dear friend Ed for not blocking my midnight drunk calls and for helping me finishing it on time to share it here with you " he stepped back , adjusting his guitar as he turned back to the band on stage giving them a thumbs up before turning to the crowd before him strumming his guitar " MA Lune , this one is for you" .

Letting the music carry his mind away in a memory as he start singing............

Five months ago as he made his way down the street heading to meet some of his old friends for some drinks instead of coping himself in his apartment . keeping his head down he made his way through the semi crowded street stopping at a sign he adjusted his cap before looking around him then across the street as the sign turned green , but paused in his step as he saw her , she stood there across the street from him wearing her favourite jacket with her hair down framing her face as it fell in soft waves her smile is bright and captivating , she turned to the man beside her that Danny didn't seem to notice before, his arm going around her shoulders, holding her close as he said something that made her laugh, nodding along as she smiled widely, a kind of smile that's more happier than he ever saw on her face , or so he thought, he stood there watching them as the moved to doors of a bar getting in and disappearing from his view . Leaving him in the now empty sidewalks lost in his thoughts as he whispered to himself " she looks happier "

He shook his head as he sang the pre-chorus , trying his best to not get lost in the memory

" Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you

But ain't nobody love you like I do

Promise that I will not take it personal, baby

If you're movin' on with someone new "

Taking a deep breath before giving his all with the chorus aided by the band playing in the back as he went on ,

"Cause, baby, you look happier, you do

My friends told me one day I'll feel it too

And until then, I'll smile to hide the truth

But I know I was happier with you"

Her remembered how he sat in dressing room backstage after every show , with the adrenaline rush gone the memories haunt him , no matter where he looked everything reminded him of her ,and how he dreaded returning home because everyone corner brought back memories after memories of her , the clothes , the pictures on his phone, his jacket that you liked the most , his hat sitting on top of one of the tables , the rings that she gifted him back then that he still wearing, everything took him back to her . Even the empty bottle in his hand taunting him as he thought of her , but he kept telling himself that "she's happier now . Aren't she?"

He took a look around at the crowd to distract himself as he sang , before he looked up at the VIP boxes on the upper stands on the left side of the stage , his eyes stung as he saw her standing there , or he thought he did see her , he couldn't tell anymore , her face haunted his thoughts now it's haunting his wake , but he fixed his gaze upon her as he sang sorrowfully

" Oh, ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you

But ain't nobody need you like I do

I know that there's others that deserve you

But, my darlin', I am still in love with you "

He closed his eyes to prevent his tears from falling but his voice cracked but he refused to stop

"But I guess you look happier, you do

My friends told me one day I'll feel it too

I could try to smile to hide the truth

But I know I was happier with you "

He moved his guitar to sling it on his back again as he held the mic and sang the last part softly. keeping his eyes closed with a heartbreaking sad smile "

"'Cause, baby, you look happier, you do

I knew one day you'd fall for someone new

But if he breaks your heart like lovers do

Just know that I'll be waitin' here for you"

He stepped back as the crowd gave an earthshaking applause , all cheering and clapping as he took the last bow , wiping his tears as he gave a final thank to the crowd and the team working on stage and backstage wishing everyone a goodnight before rushing backstage in a haste to get out . Locking himself in his dressing room as soon as he stepped in , leaving his manager and crew behind but they understand how it breaks his heart , how that song broke his heart but it's his only way to get it off his chest , even if meant to hurt like hell , he did it . But oh, if he only knew , only if he looked once more , just one more glance up .

.............................

Back on the stand she stood there stunned as people moved on their way to leave , she was frozen with tears streaming down her face holding her hand on her chest as her heart squeezed in agony , she convinced herself as she bought the tickets that she'd be strong enough to see him again, even if he didn't see her , even he didn't know she was here , but she was wrong , she knew she was wrong the moment he called the name he gave her , the name he loved to call her with , and her heart shattered as looked up and locked eyes with her , she swore she saw his eyes water as he kept his eyes on her as he sang ever so softly and so heartbreakingly to her , but she was too far in her head to notice how he disappeared back stage , how she's left there standing on her own as the world around her moved on .

It took her a while to whisper to herself in a broken voice " but I'm not , I'm not happier without you" .

[magpie-writes]

Venus in Furs

Pairing: Helaena Targaryen x Fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Rating: E

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Targcest, semi-public sex, bondage, pain kink, explicit smut

A/N: Venus in Furs is a poly Helaemond au. We have no idea how many chapters it'll end up being, but the story will progress as the relationship does. Sometimes a chapter might be a little kinky drabble, other times it might be an epic 10k beast. This story has just become such a vulnerable little happy place for @acrossthesestars​ and myself and we hope you enjoy it! Tags will be updated as the chapters go on.

alex masterlist | emma masterlist | ao3

Part One - Seven Hells P.1 | Part Two - Seven Hells P.2 | Part Three

The sky above was clear, stars managing to peek out even from the thick veil of the city lights. It was loud, music blaring from cars and drunk revelers pouring out from the mouths of the surrounding bars and clubs. My heels clicked on the sidewalk, the noise echoing loud over all the others and my hands curled into fists within my coat pockets.

'Don't lose your nerve,' I thought. 'You aren't allowed to chicken out.'

A sharp gust of near freezing wind ruffled my coat, blowing up beneath the short skirt of the black dress I wore under it, and I bit down on my cheek to keep from yelping nervously at the shock as I neared the building I had been looking for.

Seven Hells was a privately owned club, the red brick facade blending into all the others on the block. The only clue that I had arrived at the right place was the small gilded placard by the door that simply read "7" in an ornate script. My chilled fingers wrapped around a thick brass knocker in the shape of a dragon's head, rapping it gently against the wood. The door swung open and a handsome bouncer stared me down, the moment stretching on forever. He was older, with a close cropped silver beard, a bald head, and a thousand yard stare.

"Password," he asked, his voice rich and deep. 

"Oh don't bother with all that, Harrold," a soft voice chirped from behind him. "She's with me. Isn't that right, Lady Grey?"

The door opened a crack wider, revealing a cloud of moon pale hair and the Cheshire Cat grin beneath it. 

“Honestly, you express a tea preference one time.” Rolling my eyes despite the amused smile tugging at my lips, I stepped up onto the landing, close enough for the club’s warm air to twine invitingly around my bare legs, beckoning me inside. With an apologetic shrug to the stoic giant before me, I gave the password Helaena Targaryen texted me earlier that evening. 

“Dreamfyre.” 

He granted me a nod, as if in appreciation of a fellow rule-follower, and threw the door wide. 

“Welcome to Seven Hells.” 

If I'd thought the grandeur of our Neo-Gothic university campus was extravagant, with its ivy-clad walls, peaked windows, and rolling quads beneath venerable oak trees, the sumptuousness of this club delighted in proving me wrong. Stepping down into its shadowy interior, I couldn’t help gaping at the luxury surrounding me. Sleek, black leather couches sprawled along the edges of the cavernous room, all subtly tilted towards a low stage, the obvious focal point of the room. No one graced it, not this early in the evening, but a St. Andrew’s cross stood waiting in the wings, eager for its first victim. It was the most obvious nod towards the club’s hedonistic character but the more I looked, the more secrets I uncovered. 

Steel hardpoints graced walls and furniture, looking like so much industrial hardware until I realized their presence went beyond simple aesthetics. Mirrors littered the walls, affording endless views for performers and pleasure seekers alike. Stacks of silken cord lined low-running shelves, all in easy reach. It was an opulent, unguarded promise of sensuality. 

A dare. 

A shiver of anticipation licked up my spine, despite the warmth winding sinuously around my legs, caressing my chilled skin and urging me eagerly to shed my heavy wool coat.

“Come on. I can’t wait to show you everything.” Helaena seized my hand excitedly while I was still unwinding the glittering gray scarf from around my neck. I shoved it into the pocket of my coat as Harrold quietly lifted the garment from my arms before withdrawing to his post by the door. 

My eyes weren't sure where to land. A pretty brunette winked at me from behind the bar and heat crawled up my throat at the gesture. My gaze darted from the couches to the stage to the people who had just started to trickle into the space before landing on the pale hand that grasped my own. 

Helaena was divine, a gods damned painting, a water nymph come to life. Her white-blonde hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders, her plump body sheathed in a tight powder blue dress, the hem hitting her mid thigh. When she turned back to wink at me, the light caught in the glitter she had painted over her eyelids, her pink mouth curling up at the edges. 

"I love first timers." Her voice was soft, but I still heard every word.

I raised a brow. "Do you bring people here often?"

She squeezed my hand. "No," was all she said as she dragged me to the bar. 

The energy of the club settled around us as I followed my new friend, all simmering possibility and the driving beat of music emanating from hidden speakers. When I slid onto one of the plush velvet barstools, Helaena perched alongside me, never letting go of my hand even as she raised her other to catch the bartender’s gaze. 

“Two of the Wild Gin Brambles please, Talya”

My eyes widened in surprise as she named the exact cocktail I would have ordered from the specials menu. Despite the crowd of people surrounding the bar, jockeying to place their orders, no one looked surprised when, in mere moments, the bartender slid two glasses towards the pair of us.

“How did you guess?”

Helaena only smiled her enigmatic smile and raised her own drink to clink against mine. 

Her violet eyes tracked every movement as I raised the sweating glass to my lips and took my first sip. Flavor bloomed on my tongue, tart and sweet, strong but clear, the blackberry syrup coating my mouth even as the gin traced a cool burn down my throat. 

“That is delicious,” I said, having to raise my voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the other revelers.

“Let me try.”

Rather than lifting her own glass, Helaena leaned in and kissed me. 

Startled, my lips parted on a gasp, but when I moved to cup the other woman’s cheek, she deepened the kiss. Her tongue slid against mine, a swift, gentle taste, and then she pulled back, her gaze searching. 

“What did you think?” My voice was deeper, roughened with the desire already surging in my blood. 

“Delicious,” she confirmed. Her starry eyes roved over my curves and I could swear they came to rest on the hollow of my throat. I wondered if she could see the eager jump of my pulse.

Helaena grinned when she recognized her stare was bordering on overwhelming, glancing down into the depths of her drink and taking a sip. I looked up, willing away the heat that had settled almost uncomfortably in my cheeks. My gaze settled on the mirror, a flash of silver catching my attention. From across the room, mismatched eyes pinned me like a butterfly to glass. The set of his full mouth was almost stern, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. My heart hammered against my ribs but when I blinked, he was gone. 

A wide smile broke over Helaena's face. Whatever had grabbed her attention lit her up from the inside out, a soft warm glow settling beneath her skin like a beacon. I turned and couldn't stop the soft "oh" that fell from my lips.

If Helaena was divine, then Aemond Targaryen was damned. He was her soul's twin and yet her opposite, hard and lean where she was soft and curved. He prowled toward the pair of us with all the violent grace of a predator stalking prey, the top half of his long white hair pulled away from his face, the rest hanging down his back like a curtain. He wore all black, a button down shirt tucked into fitted slacks. His face was hard, unreadable except for the flame in his left eye, the same shade of violet as his sister's. In place of his right eye, lost in some accident at the hand of his nephew, if rumor was to be believed, sat a sapphire, the facets swallowing up the low red lights of the club's interior. Helaena squealed and clapped her hands at his arrival, reaching for him. Aemond took her hand, pulling her close and bringing it to his mouth, his lips soft against her skin as he hummed in greeting. 

"I'm surprised she came," he said by way of acknowledgement, his gaze falling finally on me.

Heat bristled up my spine, righteous indignation at being referred to as if I was of no importance.

"Play nice or Lady Grey won't come at all and where's the fun in that?" Helaena replied, poking at Aemond's middle.

Something tensed in my gut at that easy, playful gesture. A reminder of how these two belonged to each other, pale and strange as binary stars and just as entangled. How could I ever hope to join their orbit? 

As if sensing that momentary flicker of doubt, Aemond raised one perfectly sculpted brow with all the cool poise of a marble god as if to ask “How indeed?” I bristled, drawing myself up to my full height, my spine set like steel. Damn him and his smug self-assurance. Helaena had approached me after all, invited me to join them in their pleasure den I’d only heard whispered about on campus, with all the dark, half-veiled insinuations that accompanied such an invitation. 

“You tell him, Hel.” I slid my arms around her waist, glaring a challenge of my own at Aemond over her shoulder. “She was just wondering if there might be any dancing on tap for the evening, or is that too frivolous for the Eyes Wide Shut crowd?”

Aemond’s mouth twitched. 

“Oh, I’m sure we could manage something.” 

In the end, all it took was an imperious nod and his sharp gaze to some nearby staff member, and then the music shifted, turning to a low, throbbing beat that pulsed through the crowd. People moved as if summoned to the dance floor, a tangled knot of writhing bodies and reaching limbs. Aemond sketched a half-mocking, half charmingly outdated bow and extended a hand to me. 

“Would she like to dance?” This time, the slyly intentional word choice felt less like a slight and more like an almost-apology, an unspoken admission of having chosen his words poorly. For the first time, I noticed how stiff his posture was. Maybe I wasn’t the only one unsure of how to navigate this evening.

I inclined my own head, amused despite myself, and said “She would.” 

It was easy enough to follow him to the dance floor, Helaena close at his heels. Aemond spun me once before drawing me close, his hand finding the small of my back. "Dance, then," he said in an amused tone, his gaze raking over my body. I narrowed my eyes as he just stood there, trying to get a feel for whatever game he was playing. It was Helaena who rescued me, her hands finding mine and pulling me further from the edge of the dance floor. 

She moved with a liquid sort of grace, the sort that left one utterly entranced. It was impossible not to move toward her, caught in her orbit as if she were the brightest star in the dark sky. Her lavender eyes were bright enough to light up the dance floor as her hands settled on my hips, turning my back to her front before pulling me flush against her. She smelled like violets and lilies and something earthier, something you would find in the forest after it rained. I wondered if later I would be covered in the body glitter she'd dusted all over herself, her skin shimmering in the glow.

"Can I touch you?" She asked, her voice low against my ear. 

There was literally nothing I wanted more in that moment.

I nodded and she ran a hand up my throat to grasp at my jaw, tilting my head back until she could catch my mouth with her own. She tasted like gin and sweet lip gloss, strawberry maybe. My hips followed whatever sinuous rhythm she set as she curled her tongue around mine. I felt her smile against my lips and couldn't stop myself from mirroring the gesture. With one hand I reached back, carding my fingers through the moonlight strands at the nape of her neck. 

One song melted into two and then three and I learned for a fact what I had already had an idea of: Helaena Targaryen was entirely captivating. She radiated a dreaminess, a sort of unexplainable out there feeling that I couldn't put my finger on but I knew I wanted to sink into. There was also an edge. She had teeth and claws and made a conscious choice to keep them sheathed. At some point I had turned back to face her and she smiled wide again, as if she had never considered not being so open, so real. Then her eyes drifted away, lighting up again when they landed on her brother. I looked too, because I couldn't help it. Aemond had taken up a perch on one of the large leather chairs, more of a loveseat, really. When our eyes met he raised his left hand and beckoned us forward with a crooked finger. Helaena drifted toward him as if pulled by gravity, her hand reaching back for mine and pulling me along after her. 

I mirrored her movements, lowering myself onto Aemond’s outstretched right thigh while she claimed his left. When I did, his gaze snapped to mine, startled. The intensity there, the banked violet fire, ripped through me like a summer storm, leaving heat and electricity crackling in its wake. Before I could shift my weight or draw back, before I could even form an apology for overreaching, he caught me around the waist to keep me still. Slowly, deliberately, curiously, he flexed his muscled thigh beneath my legs, shifting it just enough to drag against me and make me gasp. Pleasure kindled in his hawklike stare and I smiled, heat rising in my cheeks. 

We’d surprised each other. 

Helaena tipped her head back and laughed, her carefree delight so infectious even her brother’s lips quirked into something like a smile. Pure, wild joy beat like wings within my chest when her lavender gaze met mine at the same time that Aemond rested a hand on my thigh. As if some hidden key had turned, the tumblers falling into place, everything slid open, the night suddenly wide open and brimming with potential. Something was happening and we were part of it. We were all of it. 

The music fell away. All I could hear was the breath catching in Helaena’s throat when I leaned in and kissed her. The hiss Aemond sucked between his teeth when his sister’s hand slid up to cup my breast. I looked around, expecting shock or censure, but while the warmth of her palm moving over my dress made my heart race as if the world was ending, no one else seemed to even notice. Even so, I pulled back, heat flashing up my throat to settle in my cheeks. Aemond's hand tightened where it rested against my thigh and I turned to face him, my eyes downcast. He raised a hand, his forefinger catching me under the chin until I met his eye. 

"There's no need to be shy, Grey." The nickname sounded different in his mouth, sharper somehow, then when Helaena said it. "You're free to take what you want here, without judgment." 

My gaze darted between his mismatched eyes and his lips. "What do you want?" My voice was small. 

He hummed, a low noise in the back of his throat, before using his hand to tug me farther up his thigh, my hands flattening against his chest as I fell forward. His shirt was warm beneath my palms, soft and obviously expensive. And then he kissed me. It wasn't tentative or gentle. It felt as if he would devour me. Where Helaena took her time, sensuous and explorative, Aemond went straight for the kill, licking into my mouth when it opened on a whine, pulling my bottom lips between his teeth. He broke the kiss and looked up at me, his high cheekbones dusted with pink, and pursed his lips, as if he was hiding a grin. I couldn't help it and smiled back.

Helaena ran a hand up my thigh, squeezing just enough to get my attention and jerking her chin toward the stage in front of us. "The show is starting," she whispered. There was a peculiar happiness in her eyes, a sort of feeling I wasn't sure I'd ever experienced. She leaned back into Aemond's chest, his hand circling her waist to rest over her belly. The way they fell into each other was mesmerizing and I wondered if I'd ever felt that sort of easy acceptance before, the sort of muscle memory that had me sinking into someone else's softest parts. 

I turned away, suddenly feeling much too raw, and looked toward the stage as the lights lowered, a single spotlight shining bright in the middle. Lying prone on the ground was a slight brunette, her hair tied up in a bun. She wore a rose pink dress, the fabric sheer enough to see the dusky outline of her nipples, her arms laying relaxed over her head. As she slowly woke, blinking away the sleep, the light softened, mimicking the dawn, and soft music played through the hidden speakers. Fingertips drew mindless designs over the bare skin of my thigh and the feeling left me burning as they drew over my hip and up, up, up my back to massage the nape of my neck. The feeling was near sinful, my eyes closing as Aemond worked out the tension. When I risked a downward glance, I found his eyes on the stage, his face infuriatingly neutral. I raised my hand, placing it back against his chest, playing at the top button of his shirt as I glanced back toward the stage.

From the shadows of the audience on the far side, a hulking shape melted through the crowd, lumbering up the two wide steps before crouching behind a makeshift barrier, watching the young woman on stage sit up and stretch. Helaena reached forward from her perch and placed her hand on my knee, her skin warm against mine, grounding me in the moment as the man in the mask began creeping closer toward the girl on stage. A Beast on the way to claim his Beauty, I realized with a thrill.

“Is it always fairytale-based?” I whispered the question into Helaena’s ear, so close my lips brushed against her delicate skin. 

“No,” she shook her head, answering in the same respectful hush. “They do all sorts of things - exhibitions, demonstrations. But this seemed more… you.” 

Before I could ask what she meant, Aemond’s broad hand tightened around my neck.

“Pay attention,” he commanded in a low, firm voice behind my ear, turning my head back to face the stage. From Helaena’s guilty start and the way she also turned her attention back to the scene unfolding before us, I guessed he’d given her a similar reminder. Normally I would have bristled against his domineering tone, but it sent a shiver down my spine instead, making me feel as deliciously helpless as the beauty the beast prowled towards. As if he knew, Aemond trailed the tips of his fingers down my neck and between my shoulder blades. 

The task of watching the stage while he teased me like this felt Herculean, but I managed to keep my eyes on the performers, watching as the girl on stage finally registered the presence of the beast. Her brown eyes blew wide as he loomed over her and the two engaged in what could only be considered a dance. Their chemistry was a wild thing, crackling between them as they pushed and pulled, as she ran and he gave chase. The Beast reached for her, catching the pale pink ribbon that held her hair tied up, and it cascaded down her back just as he caught her, pulling her against his chest.

As his lips found her neck and his hands drew her skirt farther up her thighs, Aemond's fingers dipped below the hem of my dress. The touch itself wasn't indecent, was hardly anything more than innocent, but every nerve ending in my body lit up. He shifted his thigh beneath me, riding my dress higher, just as the beast shed the girl of her dress, her body now bare beneath the spotlight, and I fought the urge to reach back and pinch him for teasing me. But I was riveted by the performance as the actress finally gave in to the beast, succumbing to him and letting him lay her out over the stage, her back arched as he wedged himself between her thighs and devoured her.

Aemond's hand slid further beneath my dress and I couldn't stop the hitch of my breath. I knew, logically, that no one was watching us, too engaged by what was happening on stage, or what they were up to in their own seats, but my cheeks still heated at the idea, at the clandestine nature of letting this practical stranger slide his skilled fingers beneath the damp fabric of my underwear. I bit back a moan as he did just that, parting my folds, teasing at the wetness he found there. I wanted to roll my hips, to chase the pleasure his touch promised. But I stayed still, afraid to call any attention to us. 

In front of me, the Beast lay on his back, the girl, his Beauty, now straddling his hips, her face flushed from her earlier release on his tongue. She rode him, claimed him just as earnestly as he had claimed her, taking her agency and making him hers. They moaned in tandem, not the sort of practiced sounds I had heard in porn or made with partners I was more than eager to get out from under, but something more feral, more honest. As the Beast reached forward to clutch at her breasts, Aemond pinched lightly at my thigh, a hint to open my legs wider. I gave in, just an inch, and was rewarded with a lazy circle against my clit. All I wanted was to drop my weight back against him, to spread my thighs farther and see what his wicked touch could wring from me. But even as I saw other patrons doing exactly that, I knew I couldn't, knew I wouldn't.

This entire night had been totally unlike me. Taking Helaena up on the invitation had left me filled with nerves. We'd spoken often enough at school and I desperately wanted to call her my friend. She was impossible not to adore, and denying her anything felt wrong. We'd flirted and when I finally gathered the courage to ask her for her number, she'd slapped me right in the face with an invite to the most exclusive club in town. How could I say no? Especially when she mentioned the more mysterious of her brothers would be there too. 

The Beast had planted his feet on the stage, his hands gripping bruises against his Beauty, driving himself up into her. Her face bunched with pleasure as she fell forward, her hands landing on his chest to brace herself as he fucked her roughly. I felt my pulse quicken, my lungs constricting as Aemond slid a finger inside me, and then another. I couldn't stop myself, arching my back slightly to grind down against his hand. His fingers were long, slender and graceful. They felt divine inside of me and I knew it wouldn't be long until he worked me up and over that peak, the muscles of my thighs already twitching with it. 

Suddenly Beauty came with a low groan, the blood rushing up her neck to settle in her cheeks as the Beast beneath her roared his own end, their bodies going rigid. She had thrown her hands above her head in a jubilant gesture as the Beast spilled inside her, as if unafraid for anyone, everyone, to see her pleasure. Then the music died and for a moment the room was silent except for the sound of ragged breathing. I couldn't figure out where one breath started and the next began, which was mine or Helaena's or even Aemond's. The spotlight went dark and the melancholy instrumental music that had accompanied the performance melted back into the low, heavy bass from earlier. 

Aemond's hand was out from under my dress before the lights returned to normal. I hissed at the loss of him, canting forward as if seeking him out. The neediness of the gesture left me feeling more than a little pathetic, especially as he growled, "on your feet." But his voice was strained, rough even, and that gave me more than enough satisfaction. I blinked up at him, my mind hazy and buzzing after being yanked so abruptly from what had promised to be a wild sort of release. Helaena stood first and offered me a hand, pulling me up on shaking baby deer legs. She just smiled like she knew and reached up to tug at the ends of my hair. 

The crowd blurred around us as we moved past the stage, past the bar, and deeper into the club. I looked down, startled, when the click of my heels against the polished wood floors turned muffled, my footsteps suddenly cushioned by plush carpeting. We were in a hallway, the walls paneled in rich, dark wood, an expanse of wealth relieved only by a series of doors, each one different from the last. One a rich, blood red with golden accents, another gunmetal stark but littered with peepholes, the third a shockingly clear plate glass. I caught a glimpse of twining limbs and chains within and finally realized where we were headed. 

“Why a private room? I thought the whole point of this place was taking what we wanted and no one caring?” 

“I don’t like anyone seeing what’s mine.” Aemond turned to me, one arm around his sister’s waist. My heart thundered as his gaze pinned me to the emerald green door we’d stopped in front of. Helaena leant back against him, a look of feline contentment on her features as she gazed at me through hooded eyes. 

“What did you want when you came here, Lady Grey?” It wasn’t so much a question as a gentle prompting, an invitation to voice the desire that had drawn me to them like a moth to a bonfire ever since that first time I’d seen them on campus. They’d looked so out of place they might as well have been another species. Two fae royals slumming it with mortals for their own amusement, sampling whatever pleasures they wished to indulge in, and tempting the rest of us with wicked delights if only we’d be bold enough to seek them. 

I ached to be bold.

“You,” I breathed. “Both of you.” 

“Yes, that was it.” Helaena tipped her head up to meet Aemond’s gaze and said “See?”

“Hm.” 

Before I could worry that I was failing some unspoken test he leaned in with that sleek, predatory grace and twisted the door knob by my hip. 

“After you,” he purred. 

Part Two

[tired-biscuit]

Crush

Part two.

Pairing: Kiba Inuzuka/fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ content [minors dni!!] modern au. dilf!kiba, age gap, thigh riding, daddy kink, unprotected sex.

Word count: 10.6k

Summary: Your best friend's handsome father has sparked your interest for as long as you can remember. Luckily for you, he seems to be just as intrigued.

YOU have a dilemma.

The dilemma in question is a pretty big one, so to speak. It owns a pair of warm brown eyes that glow like stoked embers in the night when the sun hits them at just the right angle, as well as a broad smile that brings forth dimpled cheeks, and a certain dazzle that makes you weak in the knees for some reason.

It possesses defined, broad shoulders that make a heatwave of sweat tremble over you whenever they flex underneath the simple, white t-shirt that's certainly much too tight to contain them properly. Long legs and equally as muscular, strong thighs that you'd like to sit on as they'd make you bounce in a soothing rhythm. A head of thick, chestnut hair that's turning faintly grey at the temples. Freckles that make you want to draw irregular constellations over the empty spaces of tan, golden skin in-between with the tip of your finger.

You've seen it smile. Frown. Even pout, on particularly rare occasions. Every emotion to grace its sharply-defined features is profound and looks absolutely dazzling. You can't understand how it can possibly be so fucking alluring no matter what it allows you to see, but you've long since learned to stop picking and prodding at the unsolvable enigma.

Why? Because your dilemma is forty-one years old; making it twice your age, despite never showing it.

But also because it is your best friend's father.

---

You've always loved summer.

But goddamn, the fondness you feel for it is hard to show, when the air inside the quaint neighbourhood you and your best friend Jun have found yourselves in, is so hazy that it sticks to your lungs. 

The July heatwave that has been practically terrorizing your country for the last three days has been irritatingly unyielding. Even the sidewalk you and the Inuzuka girl are currently occupying is still warm underneath the flats of your palms, despite that the sun had set literal ages ago.

Now, you can feel as its heat creeps up the tips of your fingers while you busy yourself by lazily tracing the rough ridges within the concrete. The music that has never stopped booming inside the house you've just spent the last few hours blissfully partying your minds out in, somehow sounds far away in the dead of night. 

You tap your converse sneakers to the rhythm lightly; pink nail polish-coated toes curling within the shoe every so often. The songs aren't all that bad, but you've certainly partied to better ones before. Not that it matters.

After all, sitting on a curb and indulging in drunken chatter with your best friend at two in the morning is exceedingly more peaceful and aesthetically pleasing than listening to wasted frat boys, now that you think about it. It's just like one of those scenes in the coming-of-age movies you liked to watch when you were a teenager.

Though, even that doesn't last for long.

Jun's head shoots up when she says, "I think that's him."

"Yeah?" Your reply is spoken with a hitch to your breath.

Your heart performs an extravagant, ever-so-sudden cartwheel as you squint at the headlights to meet your peripheral a moment later. They splash vivid brightness over you, the light so strong that it makes your retinas burn as you push up and spring upward to your feet. 

The familiar sleek-black SUV that slows down to a full-stop in front of you looks like a big, gloomy dark knight amongst the other colourful vehicles to cram the street. You've seen it and rode in it plenty of times before, but it has never stopped looking any less intimidating.

The car reminds you of a proper Batmobile. The thought makes you want to laugh quietly as you wrap your hand around the handle of the back door and pull.

Luckily for you, you're able to repress the chuckle that's bubbling up your throat by sinking your teeth into your gloss-coated bottom lip. The inside of the car is as dark as the night to surround you. There is nobody inside besides the person who you're anxiously looking forward to speak to. Just like always.

"Hi, Mr. Inuzuka!" Your voice acquires a certain, uncharacteristic chirp as soon as you fix your gaze upon the driver of the mafia-looking vehicle.

"Hi, Mr. Inuzuka!" Jun mocks you with a snort that's signaturely derisive for her as she steps in front of you.

Pushing your awfully taunting, wasted best friend inside the shiny BMW with much more force than needed, your upper lip pulls back from your front teeth as soon as you plop onto the backseat yourself, revealing a small smile that's aimed precisely at the man who's sitting behind the steering wheel.

Said man now leans back in his seat with a sigh as he drawls a tired, "Hey, y/n."

He's clearly annoyed for being obligated to pick up his very drunk daughter and her slightly less intoxicated friend at two in the morning right after his work shift, however you're a master when it comes to swiftly brushing off his lack of enthusiasm. You've expected this. Learned his ways a while ago. And because of it, your grin doesn't falter even for a moment.

"How are you on this fine night, Sir?" Irked or not, you're determined to fill the air with bubbly chatter, no matter the amount of visible exhaustion he displays. It's a thing you're pretty good at - pushing people to talk.

Mr. Inuzuka lazily turns his head to the side to look at you as you're shutting the car door closed. Your pulse quickens when his gaze rests on your face: sleepy, amber eyes inspecting your expression of positive furore. You can't stop staring at him.

He's just so dreamy.

You don't know it, but some form of thrill shoots through his chest when he realizes that you're looking right back at him. He stifles it down immediately. Well, he tries to, at least. The tendrils of warmth to surge through his insides are awfully suffocating.

You're too tipsy to catch the way he briefly glances at your lips. Unbeknownst to you, the gorgeous man before you is profoundly fascinated with the way your mouth just keeps on smiling and smiling in that exact moment - gifting him the sweetest beam he's ever been given the chance to see. 

It seems to appear every time you lay your eyes on him, lately, he thinks. 

Can it be a wild, absolutely unreasonable assumption he's making? Yes. But how can he not think that it's meant specifically for him, when he has never seen you smile like that at anybody else but him? Talk so sweetly, too?

It's either that, or... Or you're just a very nice, very affectionate kind of woman by default. Or maybe it doesn't matter who the person to stand opposite you is at all, and you're just messing with him because he's old. The younger generation certainly lacks respect these days, anyways. Who's to say you're not as polite as you seem at first glance?

He doesn't know you all that well, after all. Doesn't know what's brewing behind those pretty, doe-like eyes. Why would he?

"Well, somebody's feelin' rather chipper tonight, huh?" Kiba quickly flicks his stare towards his daughter before he can chew on the thought any further. It's for your and his own sake, he tells himself. Right? "What about you, kiddo? Had fun?"

"Daaad," Jun slurs in reply, prolonging the vowel into a longer, higher pitch, "had fun. Party good. Very good!"

Kiba's lips twitch upwards faintly at the lousy thumbs up the spunky brunette pushes into the air. She waves it around once, twice, before her head tips back against the backrest with a hushed yawn.

You watch as he turns to face the road. He sighs and scrubs a tired hand across his face, rubbing at his temple with two thick fingers that make you ogle for a second longer than what could be considered mannerly. 

You're still leering when he looks up into the rear-view mirror. Fighting back a small smirk from his face which you cannot see anyways, his voice is just an octave softer when he starts the car and says, "Don't cause me trouble, kid."

"Yeah, yeah. I won't puke all over your fancy car, old man." Jun quips back nonchalantly, her eyes already fluttering shut. You have no doubt that she'll pass out as soon as the first mile is behind you.

But unbeknownst to the lovely Inuzuka mini-copy; her father isn't looking at her when he says the words. 

He's looking at you.

Watching them in the rear-view mirror, his eyes remind you of rich, bitter coffee as they reflect the mellow blue light of the dashboard that splashes over you both as soon as the engine whirrs to life. They're nearly the exact same shape and colour of the ones your friend possesses, however a slight difference is visible, if one pays enough heed to notice it. 

After all, despite that she has her father's eyes, Jun has still somehow inherited the warm, compassionate look from her mother - who you've met when she had come to see a school play back in your senior year of high school. 

You hadn't become friends with Jun before that same senior year, and thus had never met her parents properly until the time you had swung by her house for the first time.

By the time you came around for a second time, it was only Jun and her father that took it upon themselves to entertain you during dinner. No ring on his finger in sight and owning a rather exasperated expression during the entire meal; Mr. Inuzuka had gotten divorced.

Speaking of Mr. Inuzuka: his eyes are nothing of the tame sort like his daughter's tend to be. Instead, they are fierce and striking, and are so sharp that they might as well possess the ability to pierce a hole right through your chest and bleed you dry. Even now, as you're looking at him and staring at the sharp pupils that are blown wide in the dark and that keep eating up the irises with pure, relentless greed, he reminds you of a feline that's just about ready to pounce.

The feverish stare makes you sweat and leaves your spine feeling somewhat stiff and tingly. Even your heart is pounding, but your accelerating pulse doesn't stop you from adding your share, "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Inuzuka. With Jun, I mean."

He blinks at your courage, and in reply doesn't even give you a second to breathe: "You tellin' me that I can rely on you to take care of it, y/n?" 

His voice is so deep that it feels like he's stroking you with every word he utters in that alluringly unbothered drawl. It's causing you to squeeze your thighs together. To rub the plush flesh, too.

You're not completely sure if he wants you to take care of his daughter's possible nausea, or something entirely else, now. But the thrill of attempting to find out is addicting as hell.

Speaking of hell, his eyes are absolutely ferocious. You feel like a helpless fawn as you only hum out a meek, pitiful, "Mhmmm."

It takes him a short moment before he at long last looks away, allowing for your rigid bearing to release some tension. You've even clenched your jaw to the point that it had started to hurt when you finally allowed it to slacken.

"Good, I'll take your word for it." He pauses for a moment as he steps on the gas pedal, "You better not disappoint me, though."

You eye your friend and listen to the deep exhales and faint snores that leave her parted lips in a calm, steady rhythm. She's soundly asleep, and so fast, too! Your voice is merely above a soft murmur because of it, "I'll try not to, Sir."

His own is oddly hushed, "We'll see about that, y/n."

Your saliva turns runny inside your mouth at the rather… Suggestive tone he’s using with you, now - especially at the way he says your name. Could he perhaps be flirting with you? Hinting at something you’re much too eager to initiate? 

No. No way. You’re clearly just imagining things tonight, because you’re tipsy as hell and horny just as hard. Indecent, improper, morally-wrong things. Ones that certainly are not allowed to be mulled over about your best friend’s much older father.

The gears within your head are turning and grinding at the speed of light when he glances at you in the mirror again. You feel like a computer at the information to flood your brain all at once, and are somewhat surprised there aren’t actual sequences of numbers flashing right within your irises from the intensity you’re pondering with in that exact moment. The scenarios you’re conducting within your filthy mind are so overwhelming that they send heat blazing down your middle.

It nestles straight into the pit of your gut. Settles right inside the soft, slick place where you’re yearning for him most and continues to burn until you can feel it angrily pulsate from the starvation you’re making it endure.

You feel like a little cat in heat; stuck in his formidable presence like that.

Yet another typical Friday.

—

You’re rather surprised to see Mr. Inuzuka washing the last of the dishes when you trudge down the stairs and tiptoe into the kitchen as silently as you can that same night.

After you’ve made sure that Jun is soundly asleep in her bed - dressed in a rather cute set of comfortable pyjamas you’ve somehow managed to force her into, and with the entirety of her make-up taken off by your expert hand - you’ve felt thirsty enough to venture downstairs for some water, or even better: some sweet juice that’s hopefully cold if you take it straight from the fridge.

However as you stand in the middle of the kitchen - his kitchen - now, staring at his massive, potent bearing at half past three in the morning; you can't for the life of you remember why you came down here in the first place.

Actually, you can’t remember anything at all.

He’s still in his uniform, after all. The form-fitting navy blue button-up you’re disrespectfully dragging your eyes over left and right, up and down, hugs his masculine, strong physique nearly to perfection, if it weren’t for the two undone buttons at the top. You can see the collar of the crispy, white t-shirt that’s hiding underneath when he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He’s so fit and vigorous that he reminds you of a bear. No, forget a bear. 

He’s built like a goddamn beast.

A beast that’s washing the dishes at half past three in the morning.

You can’t resist leering at the rippling biceps that are hiding underneath the cotton of the rolled-up sleeves when he turns off the tap and turns his body fully towards your direction. 

He wipes his hands against his thighs before he shoves one into his pocket. The action is done seemingly completely at ease, albeit you fail to notice how the set of broad shoulders and the tight cords within his neck shift into something awfully stiff.

You’re too busy checking him out to realize that he experiences a reaction to your presence, after all.

The pants he’s wearing are equally as nice on the eyes as the shirt. His belt is black. Its titanium belt buckle gleams from the soft glow which comes from the tiny light above the stove and that’s the only source of lighting in the room. You’re nearly narrowing your eyes in an attempt to distinguish which hole he has to push the pin through to make the pants stay in place.

Not that he’d need a belt. They fit him so well that the sight almost makes you drool. 

You’ve never had a thing for servants of the law before, but after seeing him like this - sighing and absolutely exhausted from yet another day of pure chaos in sin city - it seems that police officers might just be your newest kink.

“Can I help you, y/n?”

The blink you manage to accomplish is somewhat slow as you gradually sink back into reality. Looking up into his sun-kissed face, you realize that the man of your dreams and the main subject of your most wicked fantasies is indeed staring at you with one dark brow quirked in absolute amusement.

The sudden wave of embarrassment that washes over you makes you step from one bare foot to the other. The wooden floorboards are warm underneath your soles as you do it. Their heat makes you burn up with even more force.

“Sorry, I-I...” You groan internally at the nervous stutter you’ve just released into the world. He probably thinks of you as nothing more but a snotty brat, now. “I just, uh… I came to get a glass of water, Sir.”

“Thirsty, huh,” he says quietly, eyes unmoving from your own. You catch his gaze fall from your face this time around. He languidly trails it all over your somewhat timid form, dark eyes flicking up and down slowly. Patiently. Way more dilatory than what’d be considered proper. 

He invites you to come closer with a calm gesture of two digits, improper gaze still rowing all over you. “Is the hangover starting to get to ya, sweetheart?”

Your breath catches itself in the back of your throat at the sugary pet name. You know that it’s meant to be nothing but complimentary, but it’s the way he says it that makes your entire body tingle with lewd excitement.

You’re still in your tiny party dress that’s hugging your curves in all the right ways; one thin strap loosely hanging from your naked shoulder. The already low-cut neckline certainly leaves nothing to the imagination from how far it has managed to slip down your chest from all the drunken adventures you’ve been indulging in for the past couple of hours.

It’s no wonder he’s staring when your tits are practically pushing out of their confines. The self-awareness to crash into you all of a sudden is so acute that it nearly makes you stumble mid-step as you finally make your way towards the sink. Towards him.

“I think so,” you mumble as he hands you a glass of water. He’s so much taller than you that you need to look up while you drink the cool liquid; pouty lips wrapping around the rim of the glass ever so softly.

Kiba’s heart is pounding so viciously that it’s making him nauseous. It’s been a while since he’s felt this way around a woman. Since he’s felt his emotions stir into something other than annoyance and sheer, utter boredom. “You need a painkiller?”

Your hum of approval is so gentle that he can barely hear it as you keep drinking the water. He can see your throat bob with every sip you swallow down. It’s nearly hypnotizing, but the small pop! that sounds right when you pull your plush mouth from the glass brings him right back to earth. 

You loose a content sigh, your doe-like eyes still looking up at him the entire time. He can see the sheen of moisture on your upper lip. Can see how red it is from the icy bite.

“Please, Sir.” It’s all you say as you smile that exact beam that makes him weak in the knees even on his bad days. You’re batting your eyelashes up at him as he keeps looking at you; acting so adorably coy that it makes him think he might just have a corruption kink.

And goddamn, just that sentence alone makes him want to slam you right against the counter and fuck your brains out. Until you’re so fucked-out that you’re too stupid to function properly.

Kiba turns away with a click of his jaw and a flutter of a muscle in his cheek. He rummages through the cupboard; firm biceps flexing underneath the professional navy blue as he searches for the little box of Tylenol he keeps around. You’re still looking up at him as he hands you the pill. He watches you take it with a somewhat clouded gaze. Like he isn’t entirely present at that moment.

You pay him no mind as you pop the pill into your mouth and force it down your throat with more water.

The question leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, “Did you swallow it?”

“Yeah,” you reply quietly as you finish the rest of the water and place it back onto the counter, “I did. Do I need to prove it to you, Mr. Policeman?”

He snorts quietly at the petty jab, but it quiets down into silence when you open your mouth and stick your tongue out ever so slightly. The pink tip peeks just past your plump bottom lip. His pupils are dilating so quickly at the sight that it definitely has to hurt.

Gosh, he’s mesmerized.

“See,” you murmur just to make him tick even further, “nothing to worry ‘bout.”

Electricity surges through you when his hand finds your jaw. The callouses that adorn both of his rough palms scrape your soft skin as his thumb presses against your puffy cheek, pushing just enough to make you tip your head back ever so slightly.

He inspects you more closely now, his gaze somewhat soft. It makes you melt into a puddle of sexual frustration. Before you can even react properly, he’s patting your cheek roughly, grinning down at you like a wolf.

“Just wanted to make sure,” he mumbles quietly. Shadows dance within his honey irises every time your gazes connect. It is the most peculiar sight.

You’re nearly purring like an eager feline as you tilt your head and press your soft cheek further against his palm. You can feel his finger pad tracing the cheekbone in short, cautious sweeps, exploring the tender skin. 

A little noise of satisfaction leaves you; your tits squeezing together with the movement of your arms as you press them tighter to your body. The strap of your dress slips even further down your shoulder. You don’t seem to have any intention on fixing it.

Much to your dismay, however, both the sound and sight make Mr. Inuzuka’s entire stature go still as a statue; tan skin pulling taut at the surge of lightning to strike him. He’s about to go absolutely nuts.

He swallows the saliva that has gathered inside his mouth, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing within his throat. And then he’s releasing you from his hold much too quick, much too soon as he realizes his mistake. 

Kiba pauses for a moment, his arm hastily pulling back in one swift motion and leaving the place he touched cold and yearning to be stroked again.

He furrows his brow deeply - seemingly in disappointment. His limb falls limp against his side for a couple of seconds. You can see his digits fidget and twitch before he raises it again and runs his hand over his face, rubbing at his eye in pure, visible frustration. 

He’s looking at you as if you were the one that had burned his conscience with the physical contact. As if you were the one to blame. How ridiculous!

How exactly is this your fault? After all, he was the one who had begun to initiate it in the first place! Not you!

“Mr. Inuzuka,” you question carefully, giving him the best credulous and sweetly innocent look you can manage. Your eyelashes flutter against your warm cheeks as you bite your lip, “is something the matter?”

He pulls back even further at the way you lean into his personal space, expanding the distance between you inside the small kitchen with apparent urgency. His voice is laced with a certain edge that definitely was not present just a moment prior as he mutters his command: “I think it’s better if you went to bed. It’s late.”

His touch is like pure dopamine - even better than that. The hormone floods your brain and makes you unable to think straight, despite that he isn’t touching you anymore. Unfortunately for poor Mr. Inuzuka, you definitely want more of it. 

It’s the reason why you allow for your incisor to poke into your bottom lip again as you look up at him with somewhat of a defiant glint within your eye.

“You’re not my daddy,” you utter gently, knowing damn well that the term is meant more to provoke him than anything else, “and besides; I’m much too old to have a bedtime.”

You’re not going to allow yourself to get shut down that easily. Things are just starting to get interesting.

Meanwhile, he looks like he’s experiencing a glitch within his system at the lewd term. Looks like he’s just about ready to tear you apart for using it, too.

You’re barely holding back a smirk. You don’t want to risk appearing too smug and provoke him further, but anger suits him. His jaw is clenched firmly into place; eyes hard on the prize as he narrows them down at you. Your legs are turning into a state of jelly-like substance because of the stern stare. The racing of your poor heart confirms your suspicion that the reason behind it is definitely not the last remnants of alcohol to otherwise course your veins.

“Darlin’, you’re twenty. Nothing but a mere brat,” he grits out finally, bringing forth that signature obstinacy that his child tends to show as well in exasperating situations. Stubbornness seems to spread through their gene pool by default, because now he’s pushing past you, his side bumping against your own lightly as he passes you and heads for the door. 

You turn to look at him. His broad back is turned towards you, tight muscles flexing underneath navy blue cotton, when he adds: “Someone should teach you some manners, you know. That’s no way to talk to an adult.”

Your retaliation is honed like a knife, “I think you tend to forget that I am also an adult, Sir.”

“Barely.” He waves one hand in your direction before he starts to walk down the hall, dismissing you completely. What a prick.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He halts mid-step at the rather rude question to leave your lips. It’s out there before you can stop it; before you can think it through enough to make it gentler and more appropriate for his terms of politeness. The assertive tone and its effect causes heat to sear your face when he turns to look at you.

“To the living room,” he replies composedly after a long while. The cool placidity that’s weaved into his voice feels wrong and makes you feel on edge. It’s like the calm before a storm.

You’re sober. You’re fucking sober enough that a hangover is beginning to pound against your frontal lobe, and yet you look him right in the eye and ask: “Mind if I come with, Sir?”

‘Yes,’ he thinks, ‘yes I do fucking mind if you come with. You’ll ruin my life.’

“No,” he says instead, jaw clenched, “and call me Kiba, will ya? The Sir shit you’re using constantly makes me feel ancient.”

“Okay.” He can see you perk up; chest filling with excitement as you coo his name with a playful, little lilt, “Ki-ba.”

The naughty smile you give him right afterwards sets his entire body ablaze. He actually needs to clear his throat to suppress a goddamn growl of frustration that’s trying to force its way out of his mouth.

The absolute nerve. From the both of you.

—

Kiba isn’t entirely sure how you’ve ended up sitting on his lap.

It was something about your necklace - that he remembers. Some bullshit you’ve spouted the moment you’ve stepped foot into his living room, something about the pretty jewellery bothering you during your sleep just enough that you felt comfortable asking him if he could be the one to take it off.

So, here he is. Sitting on the couch with his daughter’s best friend on his lap. Obliging by tracing her neck with his thick digits; fingering the dainty silver chain like it’ll tear if he even thinks about using force. He’s never even unclasped it.

Nothing can save him now. You’re literally riding his thigh. Getting off on it, too.

God, you’re making him want to go batshit crazy. He can feel how warm the plush flesh of your inner-thighs is as they wrap around his leg. They keep squeezing and tightening every time his fingers venture down the middle of your spine; right over the zipper of your slutty dress that’s making him want to slam his head against the wall.

Don’t get him wrong. Kiba thinks women are hot, pretty - beautiful, even - no matter their attire. When they’re pampered to the gods, or dressed in oversized t-shirts and sweatpants that have certainly seen better days: none of it matters at the end of the day. He’ll still want to smash them just the same. 

But it’s something about this tight, tiny dress you’re wearing that really gets him going. That makes his blood boil and sweat coat his brow. He doesn’t just want to smash this young, vigorous body of yours. 

He wants to break it.

In truth, it’s the fact that you’re trying so hard with it. That you’re fighting tooth and nail to impress him and spark his interest in you so badly, that you’re willing to put this flimsy little thing on and parade it right in front of his nose for hours. Provoke him until he bites.

You’re just the right amount of desperate to feed his ego. And it’s enough to make him sink his teeth into you.

Kiba bounces his knee lightly, wishing that he could see the face you make when he does it. He doesn’t say anything when your breathing picks up in answer and you start to squirm. Your back might be turned towards him, but he can still see just how rigid your spine turns at the friction.

Both of your hands are clasped around his knee as you keep leaning forward; pushing your weight against his leg. Your fingers keep digging into the bone, clawing at his black uniform pants with such urgent need that he can feel the prickle of pain that reappears every couple of seconds. You’re so demanding. He’s forgotten how tiring satisfying young women can get.

You’re causing a mess on his pants. The milky slick you’re leaking sticks to your panties and soaks through the delicate lace as you grind against the rough polyester of his pants. The pressure is godly. It makes you nearly want to rut your hips against his leg, like you’re a goddamn animal of sorts.

Your soaking cunt clenches around nothing and throbs in the beat of your pulse every time he lifts his leg and pushes your panties further between your wet folds, until they’re tugging and pressing against your clit. He never stops bouncing his knee to get you closer to that special place you can’t wait to reach. Just keeps on pushing you further and further, until you can taste heaven on the tip of your tongue.

“Kiba,” you sigh his name out sweetly, teeth chewing on your bottom lip.

The entire situation is so inappropriate, especially the way you speak his name now. He’s never stooped so low, but climbed this high, and it makes his conscience burn with guilt and thrill at the same time. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers carefully, because he doesn’t dare speak any louder in fear of waking his daughter that’s, hopefully, still asleep upstairs, “we shouldn’t-... You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, y/n. We gotta stop.”

“Nooo,” you whimper in pure, needy panic, every word out of breath, “don’t stop. ‘s too good.”

You sound like a goddamn bimbo; a slut that’s shaken to her very core because he wants to pull back. Kiba can barely keep it in his pants because of the blatant need you’re exhibiting for him.

He groans, but nonetheless wraps his arm around your middle and pushes you down harder on his thigh as if you’re a chore he needs to take care of. The pleasure is enough to make you tip your head back against his shoulder in pure ecstasy with the most delicate moan he’s ever heard.

Your spine presses flush against his heaving chest as your bare feet find stability on top of his thighs. You’re sitting right on top of the hardness that’s hiding underneath layers of clothes. 

The room is getting hotter by the second, exactly like the temperature of the blood that’s rushing to his groin when you grind yourself against him. He can barely think straight, and yet his hand still finds its rightful place on top of your thigh.

You watch as he hooks his fingers around the hem of your dress that’s practically biting into the plush, tender flesh from how tight it is. He falters for a moment - tracing the ridge with the rough pads.

“Are you sure about this?” He stalls even more. “I gotta hear that you actually want this, sweetheart. I don’t wanna… Uh, I-... Lookin’ as pretty as you do makes me wanna do things to ya. Bad things.”

“Yes,” you gasp out, heart racing from the fact that he’s asking for your consent, “want this so bad, daddy. Give it to me.”

Relief washes over him at your approval. It makes his conscience feel just a tad bit lighter underneath all the fog of lust to haunt it from above as he tugs your dress up to your waist in one swift movement.

He looks down as he eyes the black panties to come into view. His attention fixates upon the tiny, baby pink bow at the waistband. On how fucking innocent it tries to seem; sewn on top of the whorish lace like that. 

His hand slips between your legs, two calloused, eager fingers tracing the damp fabric as his mouth finds your ear. He kisses your earlobe, teeth softly nipping in-between every other murmured word: “Oh, so I am your daddy now, huh?”

The laugh he lets out is huffed and breathless when he feels you grow tense in his lap. It makes every nerve end within your body buzz with electricity. Your skin is about to start sizzling and crackling if he keeps this up.

Kiba likes the pressure and the tension. Feeds on it.

Your arm reaches behind you; twitching fingers tangling into his hair and clumsily digging into his cheek when his hand makes its way underneath the lace. You can feel the rough stubble scrape against your palm. It seems that he didn’t get the chance to shave this morning.

“You poor girl,” he coos, gently tsking to bring you back to him, “need me take care of this, don’t ya?”

“Mhmm,” is all you manage, upper lip quivering in delight.

He gathers the sugary slick and sighs in content when you mewl and push further against him. His warm breath tickles the side of your neck before he places a doting kiss upon it. You can’t help but lean into him even more when his teeth graze your skin. It’s like you’re dependent on him. 

Some adult you are.

The way he instantly finds your clit is worth bragging about. Your knees begin to shake as he rubs tight, little circles over your most sensitive part, applying just the right amount of pressure. It makes you want to close your legs together, but he’s persistent on keeping them splayed wide apart by slapping your thigh lightly whenever you try it.

“Let daddy have his fun first, ‘kay, pretty?” he mumbles tiredly as you try to push him further into your panties. He doesn’t budge even as your fingers wrap around his wrist. Just keeps on teasing you, rubbing your arousal all over your clit and pressing all the right buttons that make you want to light yourself on fire.

If it weren’t for the sensations you were experiencing, then the sight would most surely make you drool and burn into ash. 

His hand is just so big. The veins atop his knuckles protrude every time he does that little circle that makes you squirm and cry out, tan skin hiding underneath the flimsy lace.

He keeps the pace. Slow and torturous. Languid. The high that he forces out of you by just pinching and teasing your clit is equally as sluggish and lazy in all the right ways. It’s delicate, but your legs still keep spasming; abused pussy desperately clenching around nothing as it attempts to find something to wrap around.

You’re absolutely dazed. Nobody has made you cum with zero penetration before, even less this hard.

You grunt when his thighs clench underneath you, firm bulge rubbing against your sopping hole. Soft whispers of the most filthy curses spill from your mouth as you grind against the ridge of his clothed cock. God, he seems to own a dick that has a big chance of absolutely destroying you.

Is Jun going to be suspicious if you can’t walk tomorrow?

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” Kiba asks you at your pouting, kissing your sweaty cheek. The concern to lace his voice is clearly mocking, because you can feel his smile against your skin now. It makes you want to punch him square in the face.

“Want you, daddy,” you whimper in reply, brow tightly furrowed in evident frustration, “jus’ wanna feel you inside me already.”

“Yeah?” There it is - that same huffed, breathless laugh as he says, “You wanna sit on daddy’s cock?”

“Yes,” you reply eagerly, heart hammering against your rib cage because it wants out, out, out, “want to sit on it so bad.”

The arm that’s still wrapped around your middle tightens its grip in response. “You want daddy to let you take it for a ride, too?”

“Mhmmm,” you comply, tugging on his hair, “lemme do it. Please, Kiba. Pretty please.” 

The mention of his name turns him stiff. God, this man thrives from dirty talk and strokes to his ego, it seems. Looking as rugged and arrogant as he does, you’re not even all that surprised.

“Okay, baby,” he utters softly, “let’s get you ready, then.”

You sigh in relief when the cool air brushes your tortured pussy as soon as he tugs your panties down your legs with the help of a little bit of your shimmying. 

You don’t comment on the way he stuffs them into the pocket of his pants instead of throwing them on the floor, so that you can put them back on when you’re done. If Jun’s father seems to be a twisted motherfucker that wants to keep a trophy, you might as well let him.

“That lil’ pussy of yours is so cute, sweetheart,” he sighs quietly, listening intently to every squelching sound and smack, “just look how it’s eating up my fingers. I love it.”

Your face grows hot from the lewd compliment. You might just pass out from the praise.

He fingers you properly now; two fingers stroking your velvety walls with each pump, every ridge and brush of knuckle only making you puff your already shallow breaths out. You’re sweating, every inch of your body is covered in salt as he tugs the upper half of your dress down to your waist to expose your tits.

Kiba doesn’t say anything about the fact that you aren’t wearing a bra. He just pinches and rolls one peaked nipple between two fingers while abusing your cunt with his other hand - all while whispering the most dirty, obscene things into your ear.

You can barely keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. Your toes are starting to curl against his thighs when he picks up his pace and presses his thumb against your greedy clit. He’s got you exposed and splayed wide apart on top of him like you’re a slut. Maybe, it’s because you are one.

I mean, who in their right mind throws themselves in front of their best friend’s father?

“I‘m gonna-... Mm, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you manage with tightly knit brows. The gasps you're taking are sharp and irregular from how much rougher he is with bringing you to your orgasm than he was the first time around.

“Cum for me, cutie,” he murmurs softly, kissing your jaw and neck, but never hard enough to leave a mark, “show me how good of a girl you can be for your daddy.”

The noises that bounce off the walls are improper and mix with your heavy breathing. You’re trying your hardest not to let out a sound as your insides at long last clench and hold their tenacious grip when you’re pushed over the edge for a second time.

“Attagirl,” Kiba whispers against your temple as your juices spill and leak all over his hand. You can hear him chuckle quietly at the way your body shakes with the orgasm to hit you. He rubs your arousal all over your pussy after he pulls his digits out of your slick warmth. The oversensitivity makes you whine in protest.

He makes you quiet by shoving those same fingers inside your panting mouth. You taste yourself as he runs them along your tongue. He traces it lightly, dark eyes keen to watch as your lips wrap around the knuckles softly.

“Suck on ‘em,” he orders you quietly, husky voice strained, “I wanna see that pretty mouth of yours working, instead of complaining.”

You do as he says; tongue twirling around both finger pads. There’s no other option. But the way his pupils are dilating like goddamn saucers tells you that he indeed was lusting for you back in the car.

It’s that same raw, animalistic look.

And he just can’t hold that greedy, possessive side of him back anymore. It’s time to slam. And it’s time to slam home.

Before you know it, he’s lifting you up with both hands just enough to undo his belt and zipper. You can’t help but ogle at his cock when he rubs it against your pussy to lube it up; his fist that he keeps wrapped around the base firm. Kiba pumps it a couple of times to spread the slick and pre-cum. He’s throbbing; looking so big, hot and ready for you.

It makes you nervous. He’s used the exact same beast to literally produce your best friend, who you cherish so, so much.

Honestly, you should be ashamed of yourself.

“Ready, baby?” His voice is so low that it makes your spine vibrate when you rest it against his chest. It’s like rumbling of thunder before a massive storm.

“Ye-Yeah,” is all you succeed in uttering. You’ll handle the shame later.

He shoves his dick inside you with such potent need and strength that you feel like you’re going to break apart at the seams. Your squeak of surprise makes his heart jump. Makes him groan in pleasure when that initial buzz washes over him.

“Fuck,” he curses through gritted teeth as he sucks in a sharp breath with every inch that glides further up your drenched heat, “how the fuck are you still so goddamn tight? I thought I’ve made sure-... Christ.”

Tears form at your waterline; mouth forming a small ‘o’ at the burning stretch when you whip your head to the side to look at him. Does he actually think that he’s going to fit? You doubt it. You seriously doubt it.

“It’s oh-okay,” you splutter out, jaw clenching as you try to swallow the runny saliva. 

“No, it ain’t,” he replies in an instant, eyes hard on your own, “you gotta relax. It’ll hurt otherwise, and I don’t want that.”

He’s staring at you as if he’s stated common knowledge that every male should know. You can’t help but feel absolutely flabbergasted.

This is the difference between a boy and a man. A man that is experienced and knows that being this tight is never a good sign. That wants to help you ease into your own pleasure before he starts chasing his own.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he repeats, kissing your open mouth that makes a pop! noise, “I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want.”

The affectionate peck surprises you. You would have never thought that he cares about you enough to kiss you, but it makes you forget about the tension and pressure you feel inside your lower stomach for just a fraction of a second; enough for him to slip into you yet another inch.

“God,” he groans against your mouth when you latch it to his own hungrily, “I love this. You feel so fuckin’ good sitting on my dick like that… Look real cute while doing it, too.”

Your teeth clash against his own. It’s messy and sloppy with every click of tooth; every kiss panting and starving. He tastes like spearmint, and you like bitter liquor and your blissful release. It’s a peculiar combination, but neither of you bothers enough to care about it.

“Daddy feels good, too,” you reply quietly, eyes soft and glassy when he pulls back. A small smile graces your features as he strokes you down the middle of your chest, fingers delicately trailing right down to your stomach. The touch is tender.

Something more intimate.

“Yeah?” The question is nothing more but a whisper: “You like it?”

“Love it.” It’s the truth.

He stares at you, plump, rosy lips slightly parted when he bottoms out within you at long last after a few more short, patient pushes. Silence surrounds you, but it’s comforting as you listen to each other’s breathing and thumping heartbeats. 

He looks so handsome; with his hair ruffled and his shirt unbuttoned all the way down. Your spine is pressing against the white t-shirt. You can smell his cologne as it practically hugs your senses and makes them its bitch.

Goodness, he smells heavenly. Prime example of masculinity.

“C’mere,” he says, caressing your cheek, “lemme kiss you properly.”

You part your lips to allow his tongue in. He glides it over your teeth and across the roof of your mouth as you lightly suck on it. Every time your lips brush together, it’s gentle. He bites into your bottom lip. Tugs on it. All of that while his hands are exploring you.

Kiba can’t get enough of you. You’re just so young that you’re practically buzzing with energy. Static crackles on your skin and makes it so hot to the touch that the tips of his fingers tingle whenever he makes contact with you. You’re like your own personal powerhouse, and he’s the leech.

Your body is so tight and pretty that he can’t stop running his hands over it. The contrast between his beaten up knuckles and your smooth skin makes his chest tighten. He tries not to look at his ring finger too much. The tan lines have long since disappeared, but it still looks weird, stripped bare of the band of gold like that.

Your soft, whiny moans reach his ears and bring him right back. Your back arches when he cups your tits and gives them both a firm squeeze; chest pushing further into his hands. He can nearly feel you purring when his fingers find your clit again.

Kiba can’t help but sigh.

You’re like a cherished possession, despite not belonging to him. The situation is complex, after all. Fucking you like this makes him realize that you are all that he wants, but cannot have.

He doesn’t know how he should feel about it. He’s got a Tinder date tomorrow night with a woman his own age, and here he is: fucking his daughter’s bestie, or whatever the fuck you two tend to call each other on the daily.

One thing is clear, however. If he ever decides to go through with that date, he’s absolutely sure that he’ll have nothing but you on his mind. You’re just too addictive, now that he’s gotten a taste. Too goddamn sweet, even though he prefers savoury.

Who can he blame for this? You for making him give into temptation? Himself for allowing it to happen in the first place? His ex-wife, who had grown cold and distant and divorced him for another man?

None of it matters, really. Not when you’re leaking milky arousal right down to his balls whenever you bounce on top of his cock and he has the pleasure of absolutely ravaging you right here, right now.

“Daddy…!” Your cry is soft when he grabs you and pushes you onto the couch; spine pressing flush against the cushions. He looms above you as he quickly yanks the button-up off and pulls the white t-shirt over his head.

Jesus Christ, he’s ripped. His shoulders are broad and defined, his abs prominent. He isn’t as vigorous as he once was when he was younger, but he’s definitely bigger; more powerful. And you: you’re definitely into cops. Absolutely.

He looks down at you, now, one dark brow quirked in puzzlement at the sight of absolute awe to show up on your face. “What?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you push your legs further apart for him. “Nothin’.”

He chuckles at the invitation. Leans in until your smooth legs are wrapping around his waist tightly. He kisses your forehead. Your nose. Lips and chest - tongue swirling over both sensitive buds. He wraps his mouth around one, sucking softly until you’re running your fingers through his chestnut hair, begging him to fill you up again. 

It’s only when his mouth finds your pussy that you start to writhe. He only kisses it softly; placing one wet, open-mouthed kiss upon your clit that nearly makes you shiver before his calloused hands find the back of your thighs and he pushes forward.

Your own hands rest just underneath your knees as he forces himself into you and makes your legs bend until they’re pressed right against your chest. God, you feel like you’re going to explode. It’s too good. You’re so lucky.

His palm rests on your abdomen. You can feel his fingers dig into the soft flesh as he keeps screwing the living shit out of you. One corner of his mouth quirks into a smile. He’s clearly enjoying himself and the fact that he can feel the bulge to poke just underneath your skin whenever he pushes in.

“Feels good, sweetheart?”

All you can do is nod vigorously. Tears are welling up inside your eyes and your chest is shaking with every inhale you take. You can’t open your mouth or else you’ll sob. It’s a slow pace that he’s chosen, but the angle makes him push in so deep that you’re reserving your place in the afterlife.

“Really,” he questions cautiously, leaning in to kiss you again. Every brush of lip is loving and delicate, even as one hooks to his sharp canine incisor, “wanna tell me how good it feels?”

He needs reassurance. He’s been divorced for two years.

“‘s just so good, daddy,” you squeak out when he rolls his hips into you and grinds a piece of your soul out, “can’t con-concentrate ‘cause of it.”

“Got fucked dumb by daddy?”

“Mhmmm.”

He grins, amber eyes twinkling with amusement, “Cute.”

Jun’s father makes you cum once. Twice. Sweat covers his forehead as he keeps pushing your limits and making you tighten around him over and over again. Your pussy has acquired a pulse of its own as it keeps squeezing and releasing his dick; forming a decent ring of creamy slick right at his base.

He can’t stop staring at you. You’re mesmerizing from how goddamn adorable and responsive you are. You’re taking his cock like a champ. Scratching his shoulders and back with your manicured nails. Whispering and moaning into his ear. His ex-wife had never been like that, not even when they were still on good terms.

It makes him delay his orgasm for as long as he can, because he doesn’t want it to get awkward. Doesn’t want you to realize your mistake. He just wants you and this raw, primal feeling that makes his heart burn. That makes it hard to speak.

It’s nearly five in the morning when he finally gives in, because you’re begging him to. You’re riding him, your dainty palms pressing against his chest as he starts to buck his hips upward. Starts rutting into you with more force - with the aim to break.

You’re fighting every urge not to scream when he starts slamming home: hitting that sweet, gushy spot within you over and over again, his broad palms locked in on your hips. He isn’t allowing you to move. Just makes you take it. Over and over again.

Until you finally cum for yet another time, with your eyes rolling back and your mouth hanging open. It’s so intense that he needs to pull out before he spills his own release all over your stomach and the dress that’s still gathered around your waist; his palm fisting his cock that still glistens with your arousal until it’s pumped dry.

You wince when the hot ropes of cum hit your skin. Pout when you see the mess he’s made all over your once-pretty dress. You can’t argue about it, though, because you’ve made an even bigger mess on his pants, so that’s just great.

“Oh, Kiba,” you sigh before you faceplant directly onto his chest. You’re just so tired. Sleepy. Spent. Barely alive.

He blinks at the weary tone you’ve used. Caresses your cheek once before he swiftly turns you both around. Before you can even voice your confusion, he pecks your lips, fixes a cushion underneath your head and stands up.

You’re too tired to follow after him. Much less to make yourself decent. The entire room smells like sex, anyway. You doubt your naked body makes a difference.

Dawn seeps through the windows, its light mellow and throwing odd shadows all over the place as he comes back a couple of minutes later; dressed in nothing but his unzipped pants that are still covered in your satisfaction and holding a clean, damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

His voice is hoarse when he says, “Drink up.”

He places the glass into your hand as soon as you sit up and support yourself with your elbows. You’re sipping on the water he’s brought you, absolutely parched and staring at him when he hovers over you. 

Kiba cleans his release off of your tummy carefully, his eyes never once glancing up to look at you as he collects the strings of cum with the towel. He notices the way your stomach winces every time. How shaky your breathing turns.

Watching him like this; you realize that this is the first time a man has done this for you. You can’t help but feel absolutely astonished, and a little bit puzzled.

Is this what proper aftercare looks like?

“Sorry about your dress,” he mutters after a while, cutting your train of thought, “I tried to clean it as best as I could.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, tilting your head to the side. He still refuses to look at you.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he ponders on his next move. He drops the towel to the ground and runs a tired hand across his face and hair. The exhale to leave him is pure frustration. “Listen, I-”

“I won’t tell anyone,” your voice cuts him off in an instant. He looks up at you at the claim, eyes wide open and searching for any sign of deceit. All you offer him is a smile. “If that’s what you wanted me to say, then yeah… I won’t tell anyone. I get the shitshow I could cause you and I’ve got no interest in doing that.”

“I, uh…” He looks completely lost at your bold honesty, face red and hair ruffled. Even the tips of his ears are turning red when he groans and hides his face behind his palms tiredly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that you’re... Not good enough, or something.”

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

“It really is, Mr. Inuzuka.”

“It isn’t. And stop calling me that. I just-... You can’t-... Ugh.”

“I think it’s better if I head to bed,” you mumble, finishing the glass of water, “Jun might wake up and it isn’t dark outside anymore. Besides, this is getting awkward.”

He visibly stiffens at the mention of his daughter. God, he’s just fucked her best friend. Oh, lord. He feels like he’s going to pass out. Jun is going to kill him if she finds out! She’s going to bury him six feet under. “I-I guess so, yeah.”

Kiba can’t hide the confusion he feels at how calmly you’re taking this entire ordeal. He watches as you push up to your feet and fix your dress the way it’s supposed to be worn, even though it’s sticking to your skin from how damp it is because of your and his own sweat. He doesn’t even want to look at the stains. They’d just make him feel worse.

“It was fun, by the way,” you utter, fixing the strap upon your shoulder.

“Yeah.” His brain still feels too fuzzy to comment anything further on the subject.

You wink at him, aiming for the hallway like he hasn’t just spent the last aeon rearranging your guts. But he can see the way your knees buck. The way you walk funny as you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Night, Mr. Inuzuka.” 

“Don’t call me-” he starts, however you’re fast to cut him off.

“Jun will grow suspicious if I start calling you by your name all of a sudden, won’t she?”

“Right…” He doesn’t say anything else as he watches you turn around briskly and tiptoe up the staircase with a sheepish grin and a wave.

“By the way, you can keep the panties. Those aren’t my favourite, anyway.”

His hand immediately rests over his pocket. He’s entirely red in the face as he utters a meek, “O-Okay.”

The laugh you let out is sweet as summer honey before you disappear upstairs. He can hear the soft pitter-patter of your feet before the door of Jun’s room clicks shut a moment later.

He stands in the middle of his living room with a heart that feels swollen and all kinds of weird.

Fuck, you’re his dream girl.

—

Kiba doesn’t know what to do.

He just can’t stop staring at you as you sit across the table from him that morning; drinking strawberry juice and eating your pancakes like last night had never even happened at all.

You’ve showered and changed clothes after sleeping next to Jun for a couple of hours, smelling just like her father and feeling full of him. Now, you smell like soap and your hair is tied into a loose ponytail that makes all the little hairs that frame your face stick out in the most adorable way. 

You’re dressed in a pair of comfortable leggings and a cute crop top. The leggings are so tight and hug your ass so perfectly that he nearly choked on his coffee when you went to get more juice from the fridge. Especially when you bent over at just the right angle.

He knows that you’ve expected him to look. He’s been following your every move like a hawk ever since you’ve stepped foot into the kitchen.

“Dad.”

And can you blame him? You’re just so pretty.

“Daaad. Earth to father, hello?”

He could smell you on his fingers and taste you in his mouth right until he showered this morning.

“Dad!”

The sudden pain to surge through his shin makes him wince when you kick him underneath the table. Kiba’s nose crinkles, a small groan leaving his lips that reminds you of yesterday when his empty stare turns into a vicious glare.

“What? What is it, kid?” He swats away the hand that Jun insists on waving right in front of his face in pure annoyance. Besides the subtle quirk of your mouth, nothing else shows that you’re paying attention to him as you continue chewing on your pancakes.

“What’s up with you, old man?” Jun says, pointing her fork towards him accusingly.

Kiba shakes his head much too quickly. “Nothing is ‘up’ with me.”

“You’re acting strange,” his daughter insists.

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Yu-uh!”

“Then why were you-”

“I think I’ll be heading home soon.”

Your sentence makes both father and daughter put a stop to their quarrel. You’re not entirely sure which one seems more upset that you’re leaving. It’s quite funny, actually.

“Oh, already?” Jun asks with a pout.

“Yep! About time I got out of your hair.” You grin at your best friend, shrugging lightly.

“I can, uh… I can give you a ride, if you want,” Kiba says. He sure can.

“That’d be cool, Mr. Inuzuka. I’m still feeling really tired from yesterday, so it’s better than taking the bus.” You sigh, ignoring the way his pupils dilate at the hint. “Imma just go get my stuff ready.”

“Okay,” he replies much too eagerly, much too obviously. He’s absolutely smitten by you. God help him.

Luckily, Jun doesn’t say anything. She’s too busy staring at her phone, responding to a text from, you’re guessing, her boyfriend and chuckling. That is, until Kiba copies your own move from earlier, and kicks her right in the shin.

The Inuzuka brunette hisses in pain. “Hey!”

“Say bye to your friend, Jun,” her father grits out, jerking his chin towards you, “you’re not seeing her until you come back from your mom’s next week.”

Your brow quirks as you look at him.

“Is that so?”

—

You spend nearly every day with Mr. Inuzuka that following week.

It’s done in secret and oftentimes only after dark falls, but you still have fun watching movies with him, messing with his gaming console and sitting on his dick every moment of free time in-between.

You sleep in his bed. He sends you a good morning text when he’s able while he’s on the job and you send him a naked picture of yourself writhing on top of his bed sheets in return. 

He’s actually way funnier and sweeter than you would have thought at first glance. You realize that you like him way more than you initially did.

Perhaps you could even say that you’re crushing on him, in a way. But you’re way too old for that. And so is he. Obviously.

However, as you’re standing underneath the shower with him and staring up into his eyes on the third day you’ve spent at his house, you can’t help but think otherwise. He’s just so happy and full of life around you. Even his eyes seem golden from raw glee.

It’s the reason why you say, “I think I’ve got a crush on you.”

Your face heats up at the confession, because it’s firstly: silly, and secondly: absolutely true. You do have a crush on him. A big one. Your heart races every time he’s around you, and whenever he touches you, it feels electric.

Who knows what’ll happen. This probably won’t work out in the end, but you can both enjoy it while it lasts, right?

Kiba seems to know exactly what you’re thinking about, because now he’s caressing your face, smiling from ear to ear as he says,

“I think I’ve got a crush on you, too, sweetheart.”

[niki-phoria]

Hi! Can i request a non AU Jake x male m/n where male m/n is a street performer and Jake witnesses his performance and becomes a fan where he always makes sure that he's there for his performances? M/n then gets scouted and becomes a soloist and they eventually become a boyfriends?

pairing: non idol!jake x idol!male!reader (he/him pronouns) genre: fluff word count: 1.6k

includes: blushy jake, probably inaccurate writing about how street preforming/auditioning works, reader debuts in txt bc i couldn't really figure out how to make him a soloist but it's not super important, the breaks are meant to be timeskips lmao

warnings: mention of homophobia

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :))

requests open !! read my rules first

the sun beams down on jake from above as he tugs the strap of his backpack further over his shoulder. he rushes to get to the shade of the train platform. it’s not much, but it’s a much needed relief from the sweltering heat. 

the sound of a song playing through a nearby speaker immediately catches jake’s attention. curious, he makes his way further into the station in search of the noise. a boy stands off to the side on the sidewalk, dancing along to the beat of the music. jake immediately pauses in his tracks - plans now long forgotten as he watches you perform. he recognizes you almost immediately - y/n l/n, the new boy in his chemistry class. his eyes scan your movements, almost in a trance. your movements are both sharp and elegant as you easily hit every beat.

“do you know him?” a voice from a woman at his side startles jake a little. “sorry,” she smiles. “it’s just that you look around the same age and you’re wearing the same uniform.”

“ah, we’re classmates,” he nods. 

the woman hums. “he’s an incredible dancer.” they fall back into a momentary silence as both of their eyes refocus onto you. you kneel down on the ground, holding your ending position for a few seconds as a small applause runs through the crowd. you smile as you thank the few people that step forwards to drop some money into a bag for you. 

jake contemplates going over to compliment and tip you himself but he’s interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. he pulls it out quickly, cursing under his breath as he answers the call from his mom, rushing to find the next train home. 

you’re back at the train station the next day. this time it’s a little later - the heat isn’t as bad and you’re wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans as opposed to your somewhat uncomfortable school uniform. jake walks closer to you this time, slowly making his way towards the front of the crowd. 

your confidence has improved and the group surrounding you is a little bigger. the performance goes just as smoothly as it did the day before. you execute the choreography flawlessly before holding the end pose for a few seconds. jake reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few dollars he had on hand and dropping it into your bag. you smile at him when he does, causing an embarrassingly deep blush to spread across his face as he smiles back before rushing off to catch his train. 

jake easily finds himself falling into a routine. everyday he goes to class where he stares at you as sneakily as he can and then watches you dance on the same train station street corner you always perform at. as the weeks pass he had slowly inched closer until reaching the front of the crowd. 

he grabs a few dollars from his pocket, stepping forwards and handing it out for you. you take it with a soft smile before adding it to your bag. “thank you.” 

“of course,” he smiles. 

he turns to leave before you cut him off with a simple question. “it’s jake, right?” 

jake freezes a little before quickly nodding. “yeah! yeah, jake. from your chemistry class.” 

“i’ve seen you around here a few times,” his nerves heighten immediately, silently preparing for the worst until you softly smile at him. “honestly, i’ve been hoping to talk to you for a while but you make me a little nervous.” 

“i make you nervous?” jake blushes slightly as you look down, a little flustered by his reaction. “sorry, it’s just… you make me nervous too.” 

your smile returns when you look up at him again. “do you want to go out sometime? there’s a cafe i’ve seen a few times. it looks nice.” 

“like a date?” 

“i mean… if you want that.” 

“i’d love that.” 

“great! i’ll meet you here at the same time tomorrow?” 

jake nods immediately. “i’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“jake!” you smile, pulling him into a hug as a greeting. 

“hi angel,” he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. he pulls away after a few seconds to hand you a chilled drink. it’s your favourite - the same order you always choose whenever jake drags you out to an unplanned cafe date. “you did great today.” 

“excuse me,” a man’s voice interrupts the sweet moment. jake’s arm remains wrapped around your waist as you step back to his side. “i’m a representative of a south korean performance company called hybe. i’ve been watching your performances for a few days now. i see a lot of potential in you,” he pauses, reaching out to hand you a stark white business card. the cardstock feels thick in your hand as you flip it to verify the information. “we’re currently taking international auditions. you can apply online. call us if you’re interested.” 

“thank you,” you say, smiling at the man as he gives you a curt nod before walking away and catching one of the various trains out of the station. 

“so, are you considering it?” jake asks as he slides your usual order over to you. 

“the audition? i don’t know.” you look down at the cup, tracing your finger on the lid. “i’m still considering it.” 

“you should do it. it could be a good opportunity for you.” 

“i just…” you pause as jake reaches over to grab your hand, gently squeezing it in his. “i’m worried that i’m not good enough for this. i did some research. that company - hybe - they’re the same ones that bts work under! people train for years!” 

“y/n,” jake cuts you off with another gentle squeeze and a soft smile. “you’re incredible. your footwork is amazing, you command the stage, you draw everyone’s attention whenever you move. i think you should audition.” 

after a few more seconds of contemplating, you nod. “okay. i’ll try it out.” 

“babe!” jake stumbles, nearly falling backwards as you jump into his arms, nearly tackling him down in the process. he’s quick to wrap his arms around you to support you. “i got in! the audition! i got in!” 

he gasps as you pull back just enough to see the increasingly bright smile on his face. “really?” 

“really.” 

“congratulations!” he cheers, wrapping his arms around you tighter. you cling to him in your excitement. 

jake brings a hand up to your cheek, pulling you into a sweet kiss. you’re both smiling by the time you pull away as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “we should celebrate.” 

“celebrate?” 

“yeah,” he whispers. “we can do whatever you want. take layla out and go hiking somewhere or cuddle on the couch for a movie marathon or have a nice dinner wherever you want. but we should celebrate.” 

“okay,” you smile, pulling him back into yet another kiss. “then let’s celebrate.” 

“are you sure about this?” you glance over your shoulder at the various planes outside of the grand windows of the sydney airport. “i mean, you’re moving to a new country for me - a new continent! i just don’t want to be the reason you derail your entire life.” 

“hey,” jake brings a hand up to your cheek, gently stroking his thumb against your skin. “i’m sure. i want this. we’re both learning korean, we have an apartment, and i already applied to university there,” he pauses, leaning in to press a sweet kiss against your forehead. “i would go anywhere if it meant being with you.” 

“but… we’re boys. and korea’s… not exactly accepting. you can’t kiss me in public and we can’t be too touchy during dinner and-”

“y/n,” jake cuts you off with a peck against your left cheek. 

“if i become an idol-” he presses another kiss against your right cheek this time. “-i can’t tell anyone about you-” this time it’s against your nose. “-and it’s gonna be hard-” jake presses a final kiss against your lips. 

“and i don’t care. i already promised i would do anything for you and i meant it.” he’s cut off by an announcement playing over the loudspeakers, announcing your plane is about to begin boarding. “now come on, we have a plane to catch.” 

a thrill runs through you as you stand on stage beside beomgyu and soobin. you push your nerves down as you reflexively wipe the sweat from your hands off on your stage outfit before the lights come on and the metronome of your in-ears cues the beginning of your debut song. 

your eyes scan through the audience, desperately searching for jake’s face in the crowd. you focus on the camera in front of you for a second before you find him. he’s in the front row, excitedly cheering you on from within the crowd. 

the sight of his smile immediately calms you down as you refocus on performing. your footwork is sharp and the moves are seamless. your vocals are steady as they play back through your in-ears until you end the performance next to taehyun with a bright smile. 

jake’s cheers feel the loudest from amongst the crowd until the camera switches off, signaling the end of your performance. adrenaline rushes through you as you follow kai backstage. “y/n,” yeonjun calls. he reaches over to pat your shoulder with a smile. “you did good. everything was perfect.” 

“thank you.” your smile only grows when jake enters. you immediately rush over to him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. 

“congratulations on your debut love,” he whispers, pressing a quick peck against your lips. “i love you.” 

“i love you too.” 

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Natasha Romanoff x Fem reader 

I don’t really care if it’s a one shot type thing or a story with a couple parts, I will leave that completely up to you but it’s so hard for me to find stories with the reader and Nat dancing together and I love your work so I was wondering if you could please write a story where the reader is a prima ballerina. She lives in the city and during some kind of attack something happens and Natasha ends up saving her. The dancer falls in love with Nat as soon as she sees her and after the attack Natasha wants to see her again so they start dancing together and then fall in love and start dating. 

Dance with me

Hope you enjoyed this! I really had fun writhing it and would 100% be done to continue writing in this AU.

Summary: You had the weirdest luck, from being in the city where the Avengers are facing a newest threat, to being saved by the Black Widow, and seeing that same Black Widow entry your dance store. See, the weirdest luck.

Warning; Angst with a happy ending, Fluff, love confession, attempted assault in the beginning, mention of past trauma, Natasha needs the biggest hug, guilt, a form of self harm, mention of the Red Room.

Word Count: 4.4k

“You got to be kidding me,” you mumbled as ran you down the sidewalk as a car exploded next to you. Running down an alley, trying to escape the violence. Your heart was beating against your rib cage as you tried to catch your breath. Sweat pouring down your back. You were in Chicago for three days for a dance convention, and one of your students was performing. It happened to line up with the Avengers creating havoc on the city. You knew it wasn’t their fault but damn you had the worst luck. You flinched as another explosion rocked the streets and a scream echoed in the distance. A man appeared in the face of the alley, wearing all black and holding an assault rifle.

“Well hello beautiful,” he was British, and the smile he wore made your stomach drop. You hated it. “What are you doing here, little bird?” You didn’t answer as you walked backward, your eyes never leaving the man. “Cat got your tongue.” Your back hit the brick wall, you were trapped. “It’s hell out there and I need some stress relief.” When he got closer to you, his gloved hand gripped your chin. “I bet you can help. Won’t you baby?” Your lips began to shake as your eyes closed. Your body froze, unable to scream or fight back or run. Soon the grip on your chin was removed and you heard a pained grunt. You snapped your eyes open and saw a woman, wearing all black and bright red hair. She kicked your attacker once, twice in the stomach before handcuffing him to the dumpster.

“Are you alright?” She asked, looking at you. Your eyes flickered to her and your assailant, who now had blood dripping from the side of his head.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice and handshaking. “Yeah,” it was steadier as you stared at the Avenger. The Black Widow. Shit, she was prettier in person. “He didn’t get a chance to do anything.” Her green eyes sent daggers to the unconscious man but an explosion rocked the city. You stumbled slightly and she placed her hands on your waist to catch you. You felt your stomach drop as her cold skin could be felt through your thin tank top. But Natasha wasn’t affected by the interaction.

“Look I have to go,” she removed her hold on you. “Can you make it back home safe?” You nodded. You weren’t completely helpless. “Good. Be safe.”

“You too,” you called after her as ran to join the fight. “And thank you.” You noticed the stutter in her steep and she disappeared. You let out a breathless sigh, slumping back against the wall. You had the weirdest luck.

*

There was a buzzing that formed underneath Natasha’s skin. The buzzing wouldn’t go away no matter how much she worked her body - spending hours in the gun range, sparring with Steve, and punching the sandbag until her knuckles bleed. The buzzing remained. She concluded a new outlet was needed to release this energy. So she walked the surprisingly empty streets of New York City with her hoodie up to cover her face. The last thing she wanted was to be recognized as an Avenger when the media was portraying them as villains. She opened the dance shop, and a soft bell alerted her presence to the owners. “I’ll be right with you,” a voice called out. In Natasha’s muffled mind, the voice sounded familiar. But she didn’t dwell too much on it. The hood covering her face fell as she walked over to the wall of pointe shoes. This was the last store she wanted to be in but she needed to make the buzzing stop. The Red Room used ballet as a punishment rather than a training tool. For hours, she and other girls were forced to endure training, learning different variations, and techniques. Sometimes she could still feel the whip on the back of her calves when her form wasn’t correct. She needed that reminder of the Red Room instructors yelling at her. The way her muscles cramped and twitched because they weren’t allowed breaks. She deserved the pain. She wasn’t good enough, she was failing.

“Hi, how can I-” the voice trailed off. Natasha knew why the voice sounded familiar. It was you, the girl she saved in Chicago from that pig of a man. She made sure to throw him a little harder against the metal van that arrested him. “Sorry, can I help you find anything? Or are you just looking?” She blinked once, twice at you. That was different. She was used to the fan-girls crushing over her or the hateful glares she received on the streets but you acted like she was a normal customer.

“Pointe shoes,” Natasha said simply. “I need a new pair.” You smiled.

“I’m guessing you’ve been fitted for shoes before,” the redhead wasn’t sure how to tell you that she was forced to endure a fitting.

“It’s been a while,” your smile didn’t change.

“That’s fine! Just tell me what size you think you are and I’ll grab some options. There is a studio through that door and we’ll try them on in there,” Natasha did just that. She told you her shoe size and walked into the dance studio. It was as if the air was sucked out of her lungs as she stood in the familiar space. The studio was small but it had a wall of mirrors and a ballet bar. Posters were hung on the walls. Natasha couldn’t help but feel that fear as she sat down and waited for you. That fear made her stomach twist and her heart beat against her ribs. A part of her enjoyed it, the anticipation of when she was going to be hit. She knew it was sick and twisted but she deserved it.

*

You were freaking out. The Black Widow. The Natasha Romanoff was in your little hole-in-the-wall dance store buying pointe shoes. What the fuck was going on? But you had a job to do so you let out a shaky breath and grabbed a few options for her to try on. When you entered the small dance studio, she was sitting on the floor with her leggings rolled up to her knees. “So I brought a few pairs and we’ll find your perfect pair of shoes,” she didn’t return your smile. She looked lost in thought.

“Right,” she took the first box that you handed her. “Thank you,” a small smile formed on her lips. It was tight, strained as it took everything in her to smile. You wondered what was bothering her. She began the process of putting on the shoes, slipping her sneakers and socks off, and tying the ribbon. She did it like a pro. Natasha stood up as you remained sitting. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she broke the silence.

“You didn’t think I’d get home safe,” you teased. “I’m not that helpless.” Natasha frowned.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, Natasha, I’m just joking,” you didn’t mean to offend her. “Can you go up on pointe for me?” She did. Her legs shook a little but it was to be expected since she wasn’t training every day. You didn’t like the way they looked. “How do they feel?” You asked

“A little loose,” she came back down. “Sorry,” you were startled by her apology.

“It’s alright,” you said. “My job is to find the right shoe for you, no matter how long it takes.”

*

You found a pair that Natasha was happy with. Well…you hopped she was happy with the pair. It was hard to read her expression when she didn’t show any real emotion. While you rang her out, she was looking at the pictures you had displayed behind the counter. It was the students that you gave private lessons to when you weren’t running the store or at your rehearsal. “I wasn’t aware this store was a dance company.” She said, taking the bag from you.

“We aren’t,” you said. “I give private lessons.”

“Do you dance professionally?” You nodded.

“I dance for the New York City Ballet,” it was the first time you saw a flicker of emotion across her face. She was impressed. “In my downtime, I help run the store and teach. It’s not easy to live in the city on a dancer’s salary,” Natasha chuckled.

“Do you rent out the space for private use?” You normally didn’t but you were curious.

“Does the Avenger Tower not have a dance studio?” You questioned.

“It does,” the redhead slowly. “But I don’t dance in front of them.” You understood that. Dancing could be a vulnerable act, pouring so much of yourself into it. You had an idea. Opening the top drawer, you pulled out an extra key to the back door. It leads right into the dance studio. You put your hand on the counter, covering it.

“I have a proposition,” you said. She raised a curious eyebrow. “I’m going to give you an extra key to the dance studio and you can come to use it whenever you like,” you removed your hand showing her the key. “And if you ever need a dance partner you’ll give me a call.” Natasha frowned.

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I know I don’t but I want to,” you slide the key over to her. “I’ll clear it with the owners so don’t worry about it. Besides, you saved my life it’s the least I can do.” Natasha hesitated but took the key.

“Thank you,” she smiled. It was the first real one she gave you.

“No need to thank me. I hope to see you around,” she nodded and pulled her hoodie up before leaving the store. You couldn’t help but watch the way left. It was strange, stupid really to worry about someone you barely knew. Especially an Avenger but you worried about Natasha. She just seemed sad and upset. You desperately wanted to help.

*

You weren’t always around when Natasha used the key to the dance studio and she was grateful for that. You had a presence about you that scared Natasha. It made the buzzing underneath her skin increase and no amount of hours dancing would stop it. But there were days Natasha wished you were there. On the days you happened to be in the studio when she came around, you offered her a kind smile and that was it. You didn’t hound her with questions or force her to talk, you just let her be. It was oddly nice.

*

A trend was forming, you weren’t a detective or a police officer, even though you had a guilty pleasure for true crime TV shows but you noticed it right away. When Natasha would slip into the dance studio, you saw the horrific words spewed by the media, politicians, and the general public about the Avengers. They were called monsters, villains, and killers. Unfortunately, Natasha received more hate compared to her male teammates.

At the end of you the day, you were a dancer and a choreographer. You saw the story and emotion behind each dance the Black Widow did. You felt the anger, the pain, and the guilt she carried. It was so unfair and you wanted to take it all away.

According to a news article you read, you saw the Avengers were returning from DC. The meeting went well better than most but you saw that once again Natasha was left to defend her character and her allegiance to this country. It made your blood boil.

So you were ready when the Black Widow opened the back door. A scowl was on her face but it lessened slightly when she saw you. You tried not to read too much into that. “Hi,” you said. “Do you want to dance with me?” She barely had time to close the door before she asked your question. “We don’t have to,” you gave her an out. “We’ve seen each other dance individually so I thought it would be fun to dance together,” she continued to stare at you. “Sorry, it’s stupid-”

“Yes,” Natasha cringed at her placement. “Sorry no it’s not stupid, yes we can dance,” she chuckled, scratching the back of her head awkwardly. “You took me by surprise. I just got back from a trip.”

“I know,” it was your turn to cringe. “That sounded like I was stalking you,” she smiled and sat down to warm up. “What I meant was I saw on the news,” she frowned at your statement. “Do you know the pas de deux from Alice in Wonderland between Alice and the Knave of Hearts.?” She smiled, nodding her head.

“Yeah, I do. Let me warm up and we can do it. A pas de deux translated into a step of two. It was a dance in which two dancers formed ballet together. Some of the most popular duets were Swan Lake, Giselle, and Sleeping Beauty. It required a great deal of trust between the two dancers. When you jumped, you needed Natasha to catch you. If you needed to spin she would be there to guide you. But it was the same with her as she moved and danced across the room she trusted that you would follow her. You preferred dancing with a partner rather than a solo. You were able to tell a different story and play off with one another.

You had to admit it was had to dance with Natasha. Her hands holding onto your waist. You could feel her breath on your skin. All of your senses were consumed by the Black Widow and it was overwhelming.

When the dance was done, you were slightly out of breath as you stared at the redhead. You were sloppy and made a few mistakes but it was worth it to see Natasha’s smile. It was wild, unreserved, and free. Also so beautiful.

So you made it your mission to be there after every time Natasha. No matter her mood, you would ask her to dance. Sometimes you picked popular variations and other times you two would make up your own, sticking to ballet and contemporary style. When Natasha asked you to dance for the first time, you had to stop yourself from spitting your water out. But the shy smile and the light blush on her face made you say yes without hesitation. You learned no matter what she asked you to do you’d do it. Anything to see her smile.

*

“I won’t be around much this week,” you told her as you rested your back on the mirror and nursed a bottle of water. “I have tech rehearsal,” you answered her unasked question. She didn’t need to ask. With all the hours spent with the Black Widow, it was easier to read her. You noticed her walls were coming down.

“What ballet are you performing?” She asked, taking her ballet shoes off.

“Swan Lake,” you bite your lip. “I have an extra ticket for the opening night if you want to come.”

“Me?” Natasha questioned. “I’m sure you have other people you want to invite.” You shook your head. You already got the tickets for the husband and wife that owned this store and allowed you to stay in the above apartment.

“My family didn’t like the idea of me being a dancer,” you told her. “They wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer,” you remembered the day your father kicked you out. “So I have an extra ticket and I’d like you to come. Opening night is this Friday.” It wasn’t much of a notice but you were working up the courage to ask her.

“I’d love to go,” she said. “What part are you playing?”

“Just a background character,” you shrugged. “Nothing major.”

“Nonsense, any part is important. I know you’ll do amazing,” your body felt warm from her compliment. So when Natasha was done and headed back to the tower, her ticket was held tightly in her hand.

*

Natasha was running late. She had a meeting with Fury on how to save her public image that went longer than she expected. However, she didn’t care about the public image at the moment all she cared about was you. A stranger that opened up a space for her to exist, without question and no strings attached. A safe place where she could let down her walls and learn to fall in with dancing. To fall in love with you.

She parked her bike on the side of the road and jumped off, arriving at the theater with enough time to grab a pamphlet and find her seat. She had a quick thought to send you a quick text, telling you that she was here, and turned off her phone. As the lights dimmed, she flipped through the pamphlet to find your name. Her jaw dropped. You weren’t some background character, you were Odette and Odile. The main character. The White and Black Swan. Natasha chuckled. She wasn’t surprised you were given the lead, you were a talented and strong dancer. Also beautiful. Sometimes Natasha lost herself as she watched you dance. You were graceful, and elegant, and danced with such a passion for what you did. She envied your love for dancing, it wasn’t tainted by those who believed they could control the minds and bodies of little girls. But your love of it broke down every negative feeling she had associated with dancing. These new feelings scared her. She worried you would run away if she ever told you. How could a person like herself ever deserve love?

*

“Amazing performance,” someone congratulated you giving you a quick hug. It was a little overwhelming as you walked out into the lobby after the performance. Everyone, rather you knew them or not, came up to congratulate you on a job well done. You were grateful, each praise gave you more confidence in your dancing ability. However, you were looking for her. It was easy to spot the redhead while you were on stage because you knew the seat and row she was in. Now, in a sea of people, you were lost.

Finally, you found her, dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket. She was leaning against the wall as she played on her phone. With a smile on your face, you closed the distance between you and the Black Widow. “Hi,” you said as you got closer. She looked up.

“You were incredible,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket. “And some background character, you were the main dancer,” you giggled, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Dorogoy (sweetheart), you were amazing,” you weren’t expecting the Black Widow to take you in her arms and lift you in the air. You laughed, drawing some looks but you didn’t care. Soon she placed you back on the ground, a little surprised at her sudden action. “I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to pull away from you but you kept your arms around her neck. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m just really proud of you.”

“It’s okay, Nat,” you smiled. You were sweaty, probably smelt horrible but that didn’t matter with you being so close to Natasha. Her green eyes flickered to your lips and back to your eyes. But your name was called out and broke whatever trance you both were in. You groaned.

“You’re the woman of the hour,” Natasha chuckled. “It would be wrong of me to keep you all to myself,” you bite your lip, looking towards the direction your name was called.

“15 minutes,” you told her. “Meet in the theater, okay?” The redhead smiled.

“Okay, 15 minutes.”

“15 minutes,” you repeated, kissing her cheek before heading back into the crowd of people. Butterflies danced in your stomach. You just performed one of the hardest technical pieces of your career but you were more nervous to tell Natasha you loved her.

*

As Natasha walked into the quiet theater, the lights turned on and soft music began to play. You walked out from the curtains with a smile. “Come dance with me,” you said, holding out your hand. Natasha smiled, took her jacket off, and jumped onto the stage.

“How do you have the energy to dance?” She asked. “I am tired from watching you,” you giggled as she took your hand in hers.

“I will always have the energy to dance with you,” it was a different type of dancing than Natasha was used to. She wouldn’t call it dancing, just gentle swaying to the music with her around your waist. Sometimes Natasha would spin you and bring you back into her arms. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” she teased. “Of course, ask away.”

“Why do you dance?” You asked. “What made you walk into a dance store and buy a new pair of pointe shoes?” The question took Natasha by surprise. It was a dark and complicated answer. She wasn’t here to dump her messy history but to celebrate you and all your hard work. But the look in your eyes told Natasha it was okay. That all those hours spent together she could trust you.

“I dance to punish myself,” she admitted but your expression didn’t change. “In the Red Room, ballet was a form of punishment. We were forced to spend hours at the bar with perfect form; no breaks, no food or water, and we were beaten if our form faltered.” She felt your play with the hair that didn’t make it in her ponytail. “So when I fail I dance so I can remember that pain.” You hummed.

“And now?” You questioned. “Why do you dance with me if dancing brings you pain?” Natasha let out a breathless laugh. She was thankful she took off her jacket because, under the lights and the intensity of your eyes, she was feeling a little warm.

“Because,” she licked her lips. “You made me fall in love with dancing,” Natasha whispered. “Because I fell in love with you.” A small squeak left your throat at her confession. Natasha laughed, picking you up and spinning you around.

“I love you too,” she set you down. “I think I fell in love with you when you saved me in Chicago,” the Black Widow smiled. You brushed your nose against hers. “Kiss me,” you whispered. Natasha didn’t hesitate as she connected her lips with yours. The kiss was messy, desperate, and she tightened the hold she had on you as if she was afraid you were going to disappear. You pulled away but Natasha chased after your lips as she became addicted to the feeling of your lips. Luckily, you didn’t fight her. This kiss was gentle, slow, and soft. Natasha sighed against your lips and rested her head on your shoulder.

“Your so beautiful malen’kaya tantsovschitsa (little dancer),” she mumbled against your shin. She felt you shiver.

“Nat,” she hummed. “Sit with me,” you pulled away and Natasha stopped the whine from leaving her lips. She didn’t want to be away from you but you got her to sit down on the stage. You pulled out your phone, turned the music, and placed your phone down. You grabbed her hands. Natasha loved the feeling of your hands. They were soft and smooth, warm which was a stark contrast to her cold hands. When she danced with you, she didn’t allow herself the luxury to enjoy it. “I want you to listen to me. Can you do that for me, baby?” She felt her cheeks burn at the term of endearment but she nodded. “You are a hero,” she scuffed. According to the government, she was a sleeper agent ready to be activated She was a threat. “You are. Unfortunately, you were subjected to pain and torture at a young age,” Natasha couldn’t look at you so she stared at your connected hands. “You were forced to do horrible things because of that you think saving the world is strictly on your shoulders.” With a gentle hand, you used a finger to lift her chin.

“That is not your weight to bear, sweetheart,” you smiled. “I can’t imagine the guilt but your past shouldn’t limit your future. You deserve happiness and love.” It was getting harder for Natasha to hold back tears.

“I don’t,” she whimpered. You didn’t know the blood that covered her hands or how many lives she ended.

“Oh, baby, yes you do and I promise I will remind you every single day if you let me,” she nodded and you stood up on your knees, bringing her into a hug. Her body shook against you and she was grateful you didn’t draw attention to her tears. It felt good to cry, therapeutic. She couldn’t recall the last time she allowed herself to cry. In hindsight, it was such a basic human emotion but she never allowed herself to feel it. But as she cried in your arms, feeling a weight being lifted off her chest she felt safe. And loved.

*

When Natasha felt the buzzing, when the guilt began to feel all-consuming, and she was drowning from the bloodshed and screams, she didn’t turn to dance. Because dancing didn’t remind her of pain, of instructors yelling at her and other young girls to be perfect. Natasha would pull you closer to her chest and bask in the morning sunlight in your studio apartment. The faint smell of the lavender that you claimed helped you fall asleep, calmed her racing heart. She felt you stir, feeling slightly bad about waking you up. You moved onto your back, eyes blinking open slowly. Natasha smiled. “Hi baby,” your voice was slurred. The redhead traced the lines of your forehead, down to your nose, and lips. “A nightmare?” Sleep was clearing from your eyes. Natasha hummed in agreement. “What do you need?” Instead of answering, she kissed you slowly.

“I have everything I need right here,” Natasha whispered. “I love you, malen’kaya tantsovschitsa (little dancer).” You smiled.

“I love you, Natty.” Oh, Natasha was never going to get tired of hearing it. _

As a reminder my requests are open, it may take me some time to write them! I'll write for pretty much any character and not just Marvel!

Also, this AU was really cute. Like I said in the beginning if people want to see more, let know me! Especially if you have any ideas.

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Part 7 of Vegas AU!! It's so long but I'm so excited for you all to meet Charlie!! This is my first ever OC character I hope I did them justice 🤞 and apologies for being late it's Neil Gaiman's fault. I did have my weekend of editing planned out until he ripped out my heart and stomped on it so I spent last weekend as a burrito instead, sorry.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 6

Eddie insisted they drop the car off at the hotel and walk to the parlour instead. Not that Steve minded, Eddie had assured them it wasn't far and although the streets were busy, the night air was cool and with Eddie by his side everything seemed kinda magical; almost like anything was possible.

Robin was already back to her usual self, chattering away with Chrissy. He couldn't hear what they were talking about precisely, but it was happy chatter filled with gasps and laughter, so he figured it wasn't for him to worry about. Chris was more than refreshed from her nap and seemed pretty relaxed again as she practically dragged Robin giddily down the sidewalk, fingers entwined and arms swinging adorably.

Steve couldn't help but smile at them, and Eddie seemed equally endeared, grinning fondly as he linked his pinkie with Steve's as they strolled along after their best friends. A street performer was playing a gentle tune on an acoustic guitar, the shop lights were casting a warm glow over the street and the scent of Italian spices were floating out of one of the restaurants as they passed by, all leading to this romantic air that felt more like Paris than Vegas.

The bubble was quickly broken by a group of dudes across the street heading in the opposite direction, whooping and hollering a chorus of "Vegas!" Eddie snorted derisively at the display, making Steve giggle. God, as if I was one of them! The jocks hadn’t seemed to have received the memo to grow the hell up, somehow still stuck in the delusion that because they were someone in high school that the world owed them a favour.

Steve had a feeling Eddie would’ve despised him in high school, and quite right, too. Nothing about Eddie screamed ex-jock, in fact Steve would put money on him being anything but. Not that he was sure what he could've been precisely. A band geek, maybe? Eddie knew a lot about instruments, chatted easily with Robin when she'd brought it up, but hadn't mentioned being in marching band himself.

Steve supposed he could’ve been a nerd, he knew Eddie was crazy smart, he easily kept up with other people even when Steve himself got entirely lost. And Steve could so easily picture it too, Eddie with cropped curls, big glasses and a bow tie. It was an adorable picture, but unlikely. No, Steve swinging closer to him being a theatre kid, especially given his and Chrissy's little display in the desert. Either that or maybe he'd been on the debate team, knowing a lot about everything and impassioned speeches were something they were good at.

He was distracted from his spiralling thoughts when Eddie bumped his shoulder playfully, "Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" Eddie asked.

Steve glanced over, enjoying the sparkle in his eyes and the gentle smile gracing his face, "Who you were in high school. I'm torn between theatre or debate club?" Steve said softly, because the more he thought about it the more he swung towards theatre, but he hoped he wasn't way off, he didn't want to insult him.

Eddie let out a self-deprecating sigh, his expression shuttering, "Couldn't be more wrong, I'm afraid. I did help with staging a couple times, but I was- uh- well, I wasn't exactly liked in high school," Eddie admitted forlornly.

Steve's internal panic fell quickly from shit I've insulted him to huh? "Really?" Steve asked disbelievingly. Because surely not! Who wouldn't like Eddie?

"Yeah, nah, I was just the school freak. Eddie "The Freak" Munson. That was me for five years," Eddie muttered at the floor, like he was ashamed, like that was anything close to who he was.

Steve felt anger rise up his throat, the urge to protect Eddie putting his shackles up. He desperately wanted to go back to that time and place and make anyone who wanted to call Eddie that say it to his face, make his King Steve persona useful for something, make them apologise and grovel for ever making Eddie feel like he was anything less than the incredible man he was. 

Steve stopped in his tracks to breathe through the sudden fury sitting in his chest. Chrissy and Robin were already waiting for them at the end of the street, a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. Eddie had stopped a pace or two away, still staring at the ground, still feeling the pain and humiliation those bastards had put him through for five years. But it was as though the rest of the world had melted away as Steve dragged Eddie to him by the hand, lifting his chin with gentle fingers and cupping his face; feeling simultaneously like he was holding something as exquisite as a butterfly and as substantial as the whole damn world.

"Eddie," Steve spoke softly, waiting for Eddie to look at him instead of over his shoulder, "Baby. That's not who you are! I didn't know you then, but I guarantee that's never been you! You are so much more than those small-minded, dickless, hopeless nobodies could ever even hope to comprehend! You're Eddie Munson! You're amazing!" Steve told him fiercely.

And if Steve wasn't in love before, seeing the adorable shade of crimson Eddie had gone and the bashful smile affixed to his face made Steve want to reach into his chest, pull out his beating heart and place it into Eddie's precious hands.

Their moment was quickly interrupted by his best friend, "Oi! Dingus and Dorkus!" Robin yelled from the corner, drawing both of their attention, "Less romancing, more moving, we haven't got all day!" she called, only half joking.

Eddie’s grin turned mischievous as he grabbed one of Steve's hands that were still dangling in mid-air and pulled him into a run to catch up with the girls, laughing like a little kid the whole way. Robin rolled her eyes as he and Eddie scampered passed them, dashing further down the road and skidding to a halt outside an inconspicuous shopfront; Chrissy and Robin skipping leisurely after them.

The four of them gathered on the pavement outside of Clarke's, it was a pretty indistinct store, only distinguishable from the surrounding shops in that the windows were covered with white film and the name was written calligraphy style, black lettering on a plain white background. 

Eddie and Chris shared a look Steve couldn't quite decipher before Eddie took him by the hand and dragged him through the front door. The bell that jingled as they entered had barely finished tinkling before the person behind the counter came flying at them, "Eddieeee!" they exclaimed, throwing themselves into Eddie's open arms. 

Steve could only stand there gawking at whoever the hell had just thrown themselves at his husband; trying desperately to push down the irritation he felt prickling his skin as they held Eddie longer than was strictly friendly. It didn’t help that they were gorgeous, tall and slim with an awesome purple mohawk, dressed casually in Converse, daisy dukes and a tie-dye vest that had “they/them” tagged all over it. And it really didn’t help that they were covered in tattoos, not just a few like Eddie, they probably had hundreds, every inch of skin he could see was covered in a multitude of different coloured inks.

Eddie had caught them easily and had wrapped them tightly in his arms, exclaiming, "Charlieeeeeeee! How're you?" he asked, squeezing Charlie tighter.

Steve wasn't jealous, he wasn't. That clawing, gnawing, burning sensation in his chest was just from fast food and a short burst of exercise. Steve tried to avert his eyes as Charlie pulled back, cupping Eddie's jaw in the same way Steve had just done to him not five minutes before, and he felt more than saw Robin reach for his hand, letting her touch soothe him.

"I'm good, I'm good, but how are you?” Charlie asked, tucking a piece of Eddie’s hair behind his ear, “Jeff said I might see you," they added, tilting their head with genuine concern. 

And the thing was, Charlie seemed lovely, very compassionate and very concerned. Steve really was trying his hardest not to hate them, but he couldn't help feeling the desire to put himself in between them. To take Charlie's hands off of Eddie because it felt like someone had walked into his house and had started randomly touching his stuff; because Eddie felt like his and as much as he was trying to swallow that feeling down into the depths where it belonged, he could feel his hands unintentionally clenching, squeezing Robin’s hand tightly. He could feel his spine straightening and his shoulders squaring, like he'd come up against a bear instead of someone Eddie knew, and Steve had to consciously roll his shoulders, trying desperately to fight the overreaction.

Eddie didn't say anything in reply, but something on his face must draw Charlie's attention away from Eddie and to the group at large because Charlie let go of Eddie altogether and looked over at the girls, grinning fondly at Chris when he caught her eye. Then Charlie looked over at Steve, eyeing him like a cat, sizing him up before Charlie's smile turned a little lecherous, "Oh, but you got right back on the horse, didn't you?” Charlie said to Eddie approvingly, “Who's this pretty thing?” they asked, coming towards Steve, hands outstretched like a kid in a toy shop about to start picking up all the dolls.

Except Eddie stepped quickly into Steve's space, batting Charlie's hands away, "Hands off my husband, Kohl!" Eddie didn't sound mean per se, but there was a definite warning in his tone. Oh! That's hot!

Charlie baulked, eyes going wide in disbelief, "Your husband?!"

Eddie nodded decisively, "My husband," he confirmed. Charlie's face went through a multitude of expressions before settling on something that looked almost like pride. It seemed to spur Eddie on, he preened and wrapped an arm around Steve's waist, physically pulling him into their conversation, "Stevie, Sweetheart, my cousin, Charlie Clarke. Char, this is my better half, Steve Harrington," Eddie introduced.

Steve’s brain was short-circuiting. Eddie’s cousin, he’d been possessive over his cousin hugging him! God, I’m too tired for this. Luckily for Steve, autopilot took over, his stiff upbringing coming in handy for something as he shook Charlie's hand cordially, but he'd apparently married into a family of huggers because the two cousins laughed as Charlie threw their arms around Steve’s shoulders, squeezing him tight. 

It'd been a while since Steve had felt so fucking stupid, in reality he had no right to be possessive over anything Eddie did, they were only technically married after all and just because they were continuing to have fun didn’t mean that he had a right to overreact like that. 

Yet at the same time he couldn’t control that buoyant feeling, realising Eddie had chosen to introduce him to his family when he could’ve called Charlie and asked for a recommendation for Robin, or just taken her to any parlour on the strip, but Eddie had chosen to bring them to family. To his cousin who was proud of Eddie, and accepting of the fact that Eddie had got married, hadn’t even asked for details just threw their arms around Steve like he was one of them now. And god did it feel good to be introduced to someone as not only Eddie's husband but his better half. Which given half a chance was a title Steve'd happily wear proudly for the rest of his life.

A vision of them having a reception, Eddie walking him around the room introducing Steve as his husband to all his relatives, Steve doing the same with Eddie, popped unbidden into Steve's mind. Oh, Christ! I absolutely cannot think about that!

Releasing Steve with a genuine smile and patting Eddie affectionately on the cheek, Charlie chortled, "Well, he couldn't be your worse half could he!" they teased.

Eddie rolled his eyes playfully, nudging Steve with his elbow bringing him in on the joke, "Kohl's still bitter about being replaced," he taunted, winking at Steve conspiratorially.

Charlie scoffed, "I think you'll find, I replaced you with Vegas!" they jibed, making Eddie laugh heartily. Feigning pushing Charlie away as they kissed Eddie affectionately on the forehead, before wandering off to wrap Chris in a hug, "Chris! How're you, kitten?"

Chrissy beamed at Charlie, kissing them on the cheek, "I'm good, darling, I'm having the best time!" she told Charlie realising them and tugging Robin closer by the hand, "This is Robin, she'd like something done if you've got the time?" Chrissy asked so sweetly, Steve wondered how anyone could ever say no to her.

Charlie puffed out a breath in mock consideration, "For my favourite girl's girl?" they asked, rubbing their chin and looking Robin up and down, quickly caving from the facade, "I've got all the time in the world," Charlie added, already flipping the sign on the door from Open to Closed, flicking the lock, "Come on out back, tell me everything!" they said as the girls followed Charlie behind the counter through the open door into the backroom; Chrissy chatting away about their day, leaving Steve and Eddie truly alone for the first time since that morning.

Steve suddenly felt nauseous, he wasn’t sure whether it was the butterflies that’d suddenly sprung to life in his stomach or the worry that maybe somehow Eddie had sensed his reaction to Charlie, that maybe he’d be in trouble for being jealous. And the longer the moment lasted the two of them just staring at one another the more unsure Steve became, he wrung his hands, no longer knowing what to do with them.

He wanted to draw Eddie to him, put his hands all over him, like he was desperate just to touch him. And he hadn't ever felt like that, like he couldn't focus, couldn't control himself, like he wanted to be a giant, so he could keep Eddie in his pocket, like he wanted to shrink himself down, so he could live in Eddie's so he would never not be touching him.

His racing thoughts were staring to make him panic, he could feel his breaths getting short and faster but Eddie, his calming, steady Eddie just looked at him so softly like he was thoroughly endeared, pulled Steve into his arms in one swift motion and kissed him so soundly that every thought flitting around his head just floated away until there was nothing but the pressure of Eddie's lips, the smell of fading sunscreen, mixed with cologne and the underlying something that was just Eddie, and the fizzling excited feeling in Steve's sternum he felt every time their lips were locked.

It felt like they spent forever and barely any time at all in each other's embrace before Robin calling their names eventually broke through into Steve's consciousness, making him reluctantly pull away. Not that he could leave the safe little bubble Eddie had created for them right away. Steve had to rest his forehead against Eddie's to keep the connection for a few seconds longer, just to keep him close, to keep breathing him in while he got a hold of enough of his bearings to function. Eddie hummed quietly to himself, softly pecking Steve’s lips once more before taking his hand and leading him into the back room.

Robin snorted when they entered, and he couldn’t exactly blame her. It seemed he’d somehow managed to pull all of Eddie’s hair free of its tie and his lips, although kiss swollen, were pulled tightly into a sunny smile. "When you two are quite finished," Robin chastised with a raised eyebrow. Steve knew she was joking with them, but he couldn’t help the immediate rush of guilt he felt.

This was supposed to be their holiday together, supposed to be her special trip, her special day, yet he was wrapped up in someone he was stupidly desperately in love with and considering the chances of him ever seeing Eddie again as soon as they all went home were pretty slim, he felt terrible that he’d stopped focusing on his best friend.

Eddie didn’t seem too bothered, in fact he seemed more amused than anything, "I'm sorry Bobs, I just can't get enough," he purred, laughing raucously when she mimed gagging, turning back to the book in her lap with a roll of her eyes.

Charlie pressed a drink into their hands with a gentle "here you go" before flopping down next to the girls on the comfortable looking sofa. Robin was flicking through a stack of books filled with drawings, Chrissy pressed tightly to her side, looking over her shoulder. Eddie put his glass down on the coffee table and sat in the lazyboy next to his cousin, effortlessly pulling Steve into his lap, tucking his chin over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. It’d stopped surprising Steve that Eddie just did things like that, but he was thankful for his dexterity that he’d managed not to spill liquid all over the tiled floor in the process.

Steve placed his glass on his knee, watching Robin flick through the images, wondering what she’d pick. He half expected the cousins to start up a conversation and was trying to give them as much privacy as possible, so they could talk, even if it was only small talk. 

Steve didn’t have cousins of his own, but Tommy had had three. They weren’t very close, but that was unsurprising he supposed given they lived on the other side of the country and only really saw each other every couple of years for family get together’s. Steve had been allowed to go to one once when Tommy’s gran had died. It had devastated Tommy, and Steve had only been allowed to be at the funeral to keep Tommy from crying and embarrassing the family. Apparently, 10 was too old to cry when you lost the only adult who'd ever really loved you.

He’d met Tommy’s cousins at the wake, and they were awful. The things they’d said to Tommy were way out of line and whether it was because they were grieving or just because that’s who they were Steve didn’t know; honestly he didn’t care, he was just glad when Tommy never spoke to them again. And he'd always thought that if that was what cousins did to each other, he was glad he'd never had any of his own.

Except neither cousin said anything, they just stared at each other for a while and then Charlie asked, "So, I hear you're from Hawkins?"

Steve pulled his eyes from where they’d glazed over watching the pages of the book flick, to Charlie. It was obviously aimed at him, and although they had asked almost conversationally, there was a fierceness in their eyes and a definite tone. Steve knew the beginnings of a grilling when he heard it, and he was suddenly glad for Eddie's proximity, especially when he wrapped his arms instinctively tighter around his waist.

Max had been the last person to give him the “what are your intentions” talk. It’d hurt mainly because he had thought she'd liked him, and he knew she'd hated Billy, especially after the incident with Lucas. He couldn’t afford to think about that now, if he had any hopes of making this work past this holiday, he had to make a good impression. And that was a thought that only continued to make him more nervous, the thought of fucking this up for good was unbearable, his heart rate kicking up and his mouth going impossibly dry.

He was so nervous he could only nod his affirmation, barely even registering the telltale smell that it wasn't water in his glass as he took a large swig, only realising that it was neat vodka when he choked as it burned down his gullet. Jesus Christ!

Eddie smacked Charlie's shin with the back of his hand while he rubbed soothing circles on Steve's back, "Jesus H Christ! Warn a person, Kohl! You mean bastard!" Eddie chastised, leaning forward to check Steve wasn't dying as he hacked up a lung, tears blurring his vision as he tried to breathe.

Charlie sprang off the couch, "Come now, Bear," they said, quickly crossing the room in two strides, "You know better than anyone that my fathers' were married long before I came along," Charlie quipped, pulling a bottle of water out of one of the cupboards and handing it to Steve with a whispered "Sorry, honey. Are you alright?" joining Eddie in rubbing his back gently, "Plus, I didn't hear you warn him either!" they said to Eddie accusingly.

Eddie sucked in a breath, no doubt ready to retort when Chrissy interrupted, "My darlings, are you fighting? You know how Pa hates it when you fight." Chris spoke softly and sweetly, but something about the way she said it made sure both cousins were quick to back down.

Eddie sighed heavily, back to fussing over Steve as Charlie sat back down on the sofa, making a point to look anywhere but at their cousin. A heavy quiet settled over the group, the only sounds in the room coming from the rustle of turning pages and the quiet music playing on a radio in the corner of the room; Endless Love sounding out of the tiny speaker. 

Steve inadvertently caught Eddie's eye as he fretted over him, brushing Steve's hair back away from his forehead and combing his fingers through the hairs at the back of his neck, and the look in his eyes was enough to take Steve's breath away. Eddie was looking at him with such a deep intensity, Steve felt like he was being sucked into a vortex. Becoming almost overwhelming when Eddie started mouthing the lyrics, it felt like Eddie was the one saying the words, like he could possibly mean them and Steve felt it for a second, his own feelings mirrored back at him in Eddie's gaze.

But then Robin accidentally kicked the coffee table, swearing loudly and rubbing her foot, effectively snapping their attention to her and breaking the moment like popping a bubble. Chrissy carefully pushed the table away from Robin with her foot, effectively covering the sound as Steve gulped audibly.

He began purposefully glancing around the room as the song switched to Let's Stay Together, he knew he'd give himself away if he looked back at Eddie. Knew he'd be able to see Steve's true desires if their eyes met and something about Eddie seeing how deep the well of affection Steve felt for him went terrified the living crap out of him. And honestly, he wasn't sure his heart would survive it, if he saw and heard it reflected back from Eddie, and then he never saw him again. Steve knew it'd destroy him, there'd be nothing of him left for Robin to piece back together. 

For the first time since hearing Eddie sing in his shower, Steve wished he'd stop when Eddie started crooning the words under his breath into Steve's shoulder where he'd pressed his face against him. Steve felt panic rising back up his throat, constricting his chest, and he knew he needed to focus on something else before he lost it completely. 

He'd never been in a tattoo parlour before, it was a brand new experience he could throw all his attention at, and he'd never been more thankful. He had nothing to compare it to, but Clarke's seemed nice, white tiled floors that sparkled just so in the overhead lighting, but he knew a cursory glance wouldn't be enough to hold his attention enough to drag his anxiety back to neutral, so he began counting things trying to quell the emotions filling him and slow his rapidly beating heart. 

Ten spotlights in the ceiling, nine bottles of something lined up on the counter against the wall, eight leaves on the potted plant in the corner, seven business cards on the pin board, six framed paintings, five hooks on the key hook by the backdoor, four different coloured painted walls, three workstations with comfortable looking black chairs like what you'd find at the dentist, two magazines on the coffee table and one tattoo artist, watching Steve intently.

Before Charlie had a chance to ask, Steve took in the thousands of photos of different body parts adorned with pretty patterns and colours all over the walls that threw a question blindly into his mind, "Did you do all of these?" he asked gruffly, his throat still not quite recovered, both from choking and the lump that had formed no matter how much he tried not to listen to Eddie, indicating the wall behind Charlie's head with a tilt of his own.

He cleared his throat inconspicuously, knowing he'd hit the jackpot question when Charlie's face split into a manic grin, almost the exact same look Robin had whenever someone asked her about her theories; ecstatically animated with sparkling eyes, like you could see the words being formed behind them.

"Not all, no, but I've done the majority. There's two other artists working here, but I've been here the longest," Charlie told him, glancing proudly around the room, calming Steve somewhat, "Do you have any?" Charlie enquired, giving Steve their undivided attention, clearly genuinely interested in the answer.

Steve shook his head, "Me? No. They're beautiful. I love Eddie's but erm..." and Steve realised he was about to say his parents wouldn't allow it, like they had any control over his life and he was so sick of having thoughts like that. He knew it was way past time he learned that he liked what he liked, and his parents would always be indifferent to it regardless of what he did, there was just no pleasing them. So if he liked tattoos, if having one was what he wanted, that was for him to decide; there was no right or wrong that would suddenly win their affections.

Luckily, Steve was saved from elaborating by Robin’s excited gasp as she pointed to a picture in the book she was flicking through, "That one! That's it! Can I have this one, Charlie?" she asked excitedly, bouncing up and down in her seat like a kid on the way to the seaside.

Steve clambered out of Eddie's lap, so they could all gather around the book, looking down at the page of drawings, "They're adorable, babe!" Chrissy declared joyfully, and she was right; it was a simple design, a little upside-down teardrop with giant eyes, the human depiction of an alien's head, but it was very cute.

Charlie grinned at Robin, "Perfect! You want colour or just as they are?" they asked, getting off the sofa and heading across the room towards one of the stations.

Robin didn't even hesitate, "Just as they are!" she decreed, jumping up and practically dancing around the room.

Somehow, the book had ended up in Chrissy’s lap, who was staring at the little picture with such adoration Steve wondered if you could force something into existence by pure thought alone. Luckily, Robin stopped moving long enough to notice, kneeling in front of Chrissy and looking up at her through her lashes, "Why don't you get one too?" Robin asked coyly.

The look of awe Chrissy was directing at his best friend nearly knocked him off his feet, "Really?" Chrissy asked with heartbreaking disbelief in her voice.

Except Robin panicked and suddenly second-guessed herself, she started backtracking, babbling, "Yeah, I mean, if you want. You don't have to, don't feel like you've got to. I just thought it'd be nice, y'know? And you seemed to like it, you said they were cute, but that doesn't mean you'd want them forever, right? Maybe you could get something different? Maybe we could all get one? Just like a souvenir?"

It'd been a long time since Steve had seen someone look at Robin like that, like she was the miracle Steve knew her to be. Chrissy was misty-eyed, her smile stretched so far across her face, Steve worried it might split in two. She looked like all her dreams had come true, and maybe they had; he knew all he'd wanted growing up was for someone to say yes to something he actually wanted.

"Bobbie!" Steve interrupted gently, nodding his head towards Chrissy, successfully redirecting Robin's attention away from her internal panic. The two girls beamed brightly at one another as Robin knelt up, crowding into Chrissy’s space; Chris nodding tearfully like she’d just accepted a marriage proposal instead of an invitation for a matching tattoo. Steve could stop himself from smiling affectionately at them, "That's a brilliant idea, if it's okay with Charlie?" he asked, turning purposefully away from the girls, giving them a moment of privacy.

Charlie grinned from their station, where they were busy getting set up, "This is my joy, doll, the more, the merrier!" they said affectionately, patting the chair, inviting Robin to come and sit.

“Yes! So we’re all getting one, right?” Robin asked, giving Steve a quick squeeze around the middle as she passed him.

Steve planted a kiss on the top of her head before she let go, “If you’re sure?” he asked, asking with his eyes as well as his mouth as she backed away from him towards Charlie, just to make sure she hadn’t backed herself into a corner, but she seemed pretty certain and who was he to deny her anything after he’d essentially ruined their platonic couples getaway by falling in love.

Chrissy sat with Robin while Charlie worked, holding her hand and talking her through it, even though it took surprisingly less time than Steve assumed it would. The radio in the corner only had time to play a few songs that he barely had time to register as he watched Robin intently, making sure she wasn't in too much pain or panicking, but she was fine, she was happy. When Charlie sat back with a satisfied grin and a questioning eyebrow, Robin looked down at the little alien looking up at her from her finger and grinned even as tears sprung into her eyes, sliding quickly down her cheeks.

It was so unlike her. Steve had always been a total wreck, a good song, a sad movie, he cried but not Robin; she was always the one making fun of him. This was unprecedented, and he didn’t really know what else to do other than to spring up and wrap his arms around her shoulders, pressing his face into her hair even as she insisted she was fine.

Robin put up with his fussing for a whole minute before she was patting his arm and trying to wriggle out of his grasp, “Honestly, dingus. I’m just… so happy. Look,” she said, wiggling her finger at Steve and laughing wetly.

He didn’t really want to leave her side, but Chrissy was trying her best not to crowd into them, even though Steve could tell she wanted to and when Eddie patted the sofa next to him softly, he knew he was right. Knew that from that moment on he wouldn’t always have to be the one to protect Robin. Knew that he’d find it hard to move over and let someone else help when he’d been the one doing it for so long, but that it was something he was going to have to wrap his head around.

He wandered melancholically back to the couch, letting Eddie wrap him in his arms listening to the rumble in his chest as he sang softly along with the songs coming from the radio, watching as Robin slid out of the chair and into Chrissy’s embrace, excitedly showing her her finger and seeing Chrissy mirror her excitement back.

Charlie did a bit of cleaning and tidying while the girls chatted before patting the chair again, and after asking Robin another twenty times if she was sure she wanted them to have matching tattoos, Chrissy sat for hers. 

Steve couldn't help but admire her strength because she barely even flinched as Charlie pierced her skin. Robin had tried to be brave, but he’d recognised the signs she was trying not to show, the same signs from when she’d lay in agony on the couch once a month and Steve wouldn’t even need to ask, he’d just get the heat pad and, depending on the weather, either the rocky road ice cream or a hazelnut hot chocolate.

Chrissy didn’t even seem to notice and his admiration for her must shine through because Eddie pressed his face into his jaw, "This isn't her first," he whispered into Steve's ear. And it's not that it surprises him exactly, he just never would've guessed, but maybe having Eddie as a best friend taught her things he's yet to learn.

Steve hummed, pushing Eddie back into the sofa, so he could snuggle into Eddie's side. He felt safe, tucked under Eddie’s chin with his arms securely wrapped around him to feel the pain he was feeling for his younger self. He so wished he'd known the four of them when he was a teenager, wished he'd had the chance to be himself sooner, wished he was as sure of himself as Chrissy was. 

Unfortunately, Eddie mistook his clinginess as nervousness, muttering in his ear, "You don't have to get one, if you don't want. I won't either, and then it'll just be a thing for them-"

"It's not that. I want to. I do," Steve interrupted quietly, "It's just... I realised earlier that the only reason I've never done a lot of things I want to do is that I'm still fearful of disappointing my parents, even though they're already disappointed and there won’t be anything I can ever do to change that. I just want to be more like Chrissy, she's living her life for herself, y'know?" he admitted, surprised at how good it felt to let that out.

Eddie nodded solemnly, pulling him closer and bringing one hand up, fingers splayed in the hair at the back of his head, "She wasn't always this way," Eddie muttered, playing absentmindedly with the strands, "It takes practice and good people around you who are ready to really see you and what you want and remind you it's okay to take it. I was as lucky to find her, as you were to find Robin, and we're both luckier still to have found you two," Eddie mumbled, placing a kiss into Steve's hair.

Eddie sighed heavily, "My dad wasn't a good man, but my uncle was. He realised I was in a bad place. Always getting into fights at school, no friends, no family. When my dad first went to prison, my uncle stayed with me at my dads, until I came home from school one day black and blue and on the edge of tears. He cleaned me up and calmed me down, and then he sat with me and asked me what I wanted. Asked me if I could live anywhere in the world, where would I want to live. And when I said I just wanted to live with him, he literally just picked me up and took me to live with his family."

He huffed wistfully, "They cleared out their office, so I could have my own room in their home, even though both Charlie and I said we'd be fine sharing. They made me feel so welcome and honestly, for years, I felt so left out because Charlie called Wayne dad, but I felt like I couldn't even though I wanted to more than anything. And then I met Chris, her stepdad was the one to rescue her, from her mother of all people, but she always called him dad. One day I asked her why, and she said to me, "Moms and dads aren't the people who give you life, they're the ones who raise you, who show up for you and love you no matter what"."

Both Chrissy and Robin were chatting vibrantly with Charlie, so they hadn't heard Eddie’s mumbled story, nor the sob that hiccuped out of Steve's chest, even though he had been trying his hardest to focus on their smiles in order to quell the flood roaring through him. Eddie tightened his grip, rubbing his thumb soothingly along Steve's ribs. His story was as beautiful as Eddie himself, and Steve knew deep down that he was right, that you can't live your life for people who never bothered to love you enough to even be classed as your parents. 

Not when he had Hop and Claudia, who actually deserved the titles. They’d been taking care of him in the way his parents should’ve for as long as he could remember. They were the ones who loved him, who showed up for him, who he called when he had a bad day, who he knew he could rely on no matter what, who dropped everything to be at his side whenever he needed them.

He was lucky to have them, Claud was the one who fussed and coddled and cared; icing wounds, forcing him to eat home-cooked meals, doling out endless affection and letting him get away with murder. And Hop, well he’d come into his life on the day he needed a dad the most and honestly Steve wasn’t sure where he’d be if he hadn’t. Not that it had stopped Steve from putting the man through hell. Steve hadn’t wanted to, not really, he was just young and rebellious and angry, and he’d needed an outlet for that.

But Hop saw him and continued to see him, no matter how many times Steve acted out or tried to brush him off. Hop always stood there and took whatever Steve threw at him, calm and steady most of the time and even the times when Steve pushed too hard and Hop stormed off, he always came back. And although he might not have been the best at saying it, or showing it in any of the traditional ways, Steve knew Hop loved him. He was more of a dad than his own had ever been.

Admittedly, Hop was a little miffed when Steve came out, not because Steve was bi but because Steve had hidden the fact that the real reason he had moved to Indy was to be with Billy, to really be with him in a way they couldn't be in Hawkins. Except all Billy did was drag him out to Indy, continue to ignore and neglect him and make Steve feel like it was his fault he was acting that way, when in reality he was just cheating on Steve with just about anything with a pulse.

So yeah, Hop had been a little miffed but only because he hadn't been able to stop his boy from getting his heart broken, hadn't been able to give Billy a shovel talk so genuinely terrifying he wouldn't have dared to treat Steve that way, hadn't been able to do what he did best, which was protect his kids from harm, even if the only harm was heartbreak.

The Billy Incident had led to their agreement, anyone getting past the third date came to dinner with Hop, so they could be sized up and terrified before Steve had the chance to fall too hard and get his heart broken by someone just wanting to mess him around. And thinking about it, Steve was a little scared of what Hop's reaction was going to be when he found out Steve was already in deep; not that he thought Hop would be mad with him, just that he might be disappointed, which somehow seemed worse.

Steve wondered if Eddie's uncle would be equally unimpressed. If Eddie called him dad now. If his uncle knew how much Eddie loved and respected him. Not that he had time to ask because Charlie had finished with Chrissy and the cleaning and was in the process of calling Steve over, until Robin took one look at him, red-eyed and uncurling himself from Eddie's side and dragged him unceremoniously out of the room with an “excuse us” so she could check in with him.

She of course went on a minutes long rant, reminding him he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to, taking no interruptions, so Steve could explain that his being upset had nothing to do with a tattoo. When she did finally let him get a word in edgeways, he only had to say the word parents before she was nodding sagely, she might not understand exactly, but she saw the way his biological parents were with him in comparison to the way Hop and Claud treated him. She had once jokingly asked him if he was too old to be emancipated and adopted, and honestly, Steve kinda wished he wasn't too old for that.

By the time he’d convinced Robin that he was okay, Eddie already had his tattoo done like she'd ordered with a bark at them as she'd marched Steve out. He was sad he’d missed his opportunity to sit by Eddie’s side as the girls had got to, but he could hope he’d get another chance some other time. Steve sheepishly clambered into the chair next to Charlie, feeling excited and nervous all at once. 

Everyone's eyes were on him, and he didn't want to be the wuss of the group, but Charlie was great, keeping him distracted with easy conversation, "So, you're from Hawkins, right? Did you go to Hawkins Middle?" It sounded a lot less like the Spanish Inquisition this time, more like curiosity, even if it was oddly specific for someone who grew up a few towns over. Steve happily hummed his affirmation, trying his hardest not to speak, so he wouldn't shout "OW!" like he wanted to, but then Charlie looked up at him, a truly mischievous smile spread across their face, "Taught by Mr Clarke?" they asked, eyes gleaming.

Steve's brows drew together because yeah he was, but how did-? "Oh my god! Your dad is Scott Clarke?" Steve yelled in astonishment as it all fell into place.

"The one and only!" Charlie proclaimed, laughing merrily and bending back over his finger, getting back to work.

And what the actual hell because Steve had grown up hearing stories of Mr Clarke's kids, Eddie and Charlie. Steve had spent a year looking forward to Monday mornings because Scott would be so excited to tell his students all about his weekend and all the weird and wonderful things he and his family had got up to.

Honestly, Steve had always been envious that they spent time doing things together, even if some of the stuff was weird as hell, like deconstructing and rebuilding the TV for fun. And Mr Clarke was the best teacher Steve had ever had, he was so caring and supportive and obliging, and had the patience of a saint, for those few middle school years all Steve wished for for Christmas was for his parents to be more like him.

Then, when Steve had become the kids' official babysitter, he'd really got to know Scott and he'd talk so proudly about his son's band, always inviting Steve to concerts, but heavy metal wasn't cool enough for King Steve and when he'd started up with Billy, he'd declared it lame, so Steve never went. But to think that maybe if he'd gone, he might have met Eddie all those years ago and neither of them would've had to suffer heartbreak and terrible partners.

Steve was broken from his musings by Charlie announcing "ta-da" and when he looked down, there was a little alien staring cutely back up at him. A souvenir. A reminder. An unspoken bond. Something they shared that'd outlive all of them. He'd never been happier with anything in his life.

The first words out of his mouth weren't the "thank you" he'd intended, but "Corroded Coffin" which snapped everyone's attention from Charlie's work to Steve.

"What did you say?" Chrissy asked breathlessly.

Steve shrugged, "Corroded Coffin. Scott, Mr Clarke, he talked endlessly about camping trips and hiking trails and a garage filled with, what I always imagined being absolute chaos, but knowing the way he kept his classroom was probably as neat as a pin. And then years later, I babysat kids in his AV club, and we'd chat, he told me about his kids band, Corroded Coffin," he admitted, refraining from imitating their dad.

"He talked about us?" Charlie asked, looking a little misty-eyed over at Eddie, who looked a little tearful himself.

Steve smiled wistfully at the memory, "All the time! We all knew stories about you two. The time you got stuck up a tree was a particular favourite," Steve informed them, making Chrissy cackle and Eddie and Charlie look varying degrees of offended.

"We weren't stuck!" Eddie yelled indignantly.

Steve couldn't help the giggle that crawled up his throat, "No? So Scott didn't have to call the fire brigade?" he asked faux innocently, sending the girls into hysterics.

Charlie found the funny side when Eddie blushed deeply, "Actually, I got down by myself eventually, Eddie was the one clinging to the trunk, wailing," they added, Chrissy flopping onto the couch, so she could roll around laughing.

Steve couldn't help feeling endeared by Eddie's pout as he muttered under his breath that it was Charlie's fault they were up the tree in the first place. Steve pulled him to him by his belt loop wrapping his arm around his waist and resting his head against his stomach and mumbling "You're so cute!" Eddie brushing his fingers through Steve's hair.

When Charlie had finished giggling, they called them all over so the four of them could put their matching fingers next to one another on the counter, Charlie using a Polaroid camera to snap a photograph for the wall. Charlie then proceeded to wrap up their tattooed fingers to keep them safe, giving Steve and Robin detailed instructions on how to care for their new tattoo.

They unfortunately didn't get to stay with Charlie much longer, they'd gone back to the sofa to chat some more when two of Charlie's colleagues, Tee and Bee, arrived. They were surprised to find the parlour so full on a random Wednesday night, but they were excited to meet Charlie's big brother.

Except after two more vodkas, Eddie decided when he heard You're The First, The Last, My Everything coming through the radio speaker, it was time to serenade Steve again, which after three vodkas Steve was absolutely fine with; Charlie on the other hand was just embarrassed to be the sibling of someone who considered "that" dancing.

They were promptly shooed out of the backroom and after a round of hugs and kisses, with many promises to see each other again soon, the two couples took a tipsy stroll back to their hotel, hollering loudly into the night.

my beautiful tag list @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @hbyrde36 @dolphincliffs @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington @abstractnaturaldisaster @lololol-1234 feel free to lmk if you want removing 💖

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Part 8

[flashnthunder]

luztoye end of the world au

(snippet under the cut)

The truck rattles along the empty road like an ant marching along a cracked sidewalk, meandering its way with quiet purpose down an endless path. Joe has the windows rolled down, and the midsummer heat of Georgia buffets them with heavy air. It feels better than trying to drive anywhere with the windows up and wasting even a few ounces of gas on something so trivial as the AC had long since become a thing of the past.

Music plays loud enough to let him lapse into silent thought as he drives. The double standard of the air conditioning lies with the radio. The radio and its attached cassette player neatly tucked under the half-cracked display is always on when George is riding. No amount of scolding and dirty looks ever prevented the inevitably of it getting turned on, and only George had the patience to coax the busted volume knob into working. Right now, Joe is subject to a second playthrough of a well-worn Billy Joel album and a private performance by George in the passenger seat. If he had known the world was going to end when it did, he would have made sure to have had a better selection shoved in his glove box.

Green trees flash by outside the window, and the grass that had turned into a jungle on the roadside almost falls over onto the faded asphalt. The summer peace is only interrupted by George leaning towards him across the bench seat and crooning the chorus with a surprisingly accurate imitation. He’s had more than enough time over the years to really nail it down and never was one to miss a chance to practice. Joe does his best not to smile, but the corner of his mouth must twitch because George dissolves into miming a saxophone with the determination of a man who knows how to crack his audience. Joe shakes his head and lets his fingers drum on the warm paint of the truck door from where his hand hangs out the window. They have another twenty minutes at least before they’ll be back, sparing any stops. As long as they get there before George can rummage through the glove box again, it'll be fine.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts again by a tapping sound on the window behind his head. He glances back, catching sight of Bill with his hand still up to the window to get his attention.

“Open the window for them would’ya?” he shoves at George from where he had halfway squirmed out of his side of the front seat to crowd into Joe. He had only stopped his invasion to avoid having to sit on the busted leather of the middle seat. George cuts off his performance with only mild complaint, reaching to turn the radio down first. The volume knob, predictably, takes some fussing before the sounds of the music finally quiet. He turns to tug the sliding window open, grinning at Bill when he leans forward to yell into the cab.

“Are you trying to break my back here, Joe? Jesus why do I always end up in the bed, one more pothole and you’re gonna get me laid up. How much further we got?” Bill’s scowl grows deeper when they take a curve in the road a little too fast. He grabs the edge of the window to keep from sliding around in the back of the truck.

“Aw wouldn’t want to hurt princesses’ butt back there with no padded seat. We're almost there, maybe fifteen minutes if you stop asking,” Joe eyes him in the crooked rearview mirror. Bill rolls his eyes and swats at George’s head when he laughs.

“Oh I don’t wanna hear nothing about princesses when you got your certified passenger princess up here hogging the front,” Bill says, and George manages to duck away from the second pass at cuffing his ear. He’s forced to retreat in full to his respective side of the truck, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning into the door.

“I’m in charge of the radio and the map, don’t be mad I’m useful,” George half sing-songs. If Joe wasn’t so bitterly fond of the stupid face he was making, he would have joined Bill in his attempts to smack him. The road curves back into a straightaway, and he urges the truck along. For the sake of not rousting Bill anymore, he avoids the larger potholes that pocket the sides.

“Bullshit you are,” Bill says, leaning further in the back window, but still not getting close enough to George to grab him.

“No, Bullshit is in the back with you, I’m up here,” George snarks, feeling relatively safe from his current position. Malarkey’s head pops up from where he’d been slouched down in the back. He looks distinctly less disgruntled than Bill, but still sporting windswept hair from the journey. Both he and George had lingering pink on their noses and cheeks from being in the sun all day. Joe knows that means George will be looking to go take a nap as soon as they get back. Hopefully, that comes after they get the truck unloaded.

“For the love of it, just get us there in one piece, Joe. I ain’t dying three years after the last real traffic jam because we end falling into a crater on this road here,” Bill says, abandoning George so Malarkey could lean in to hear what they were saying. They’re close enough to town now that the gripping dies down and the music goes back up. He leaves the window open, slowing enough that the buffeting of wind out of the cab isn’t quite as annoying. If he has to sit through more singing, Bill can too for all his bitching.

The rest of the drive is uneventful, and the green melts back into a pleasant background whizzing by. The outer fence of town comes into view first, old rusted barbed wire and an even shittier padlock and chain holding the gate closed. He throws the truck into park as they roll up to it and stop. The keyring with the padlock key lays on the dash, having only slid a little since he’d tossed it up there as they left this morning. He’s not sure why he ever expects George to jump up and get it. When he does look over, he’s met with an overly innocent expression and no hint of any intention about grabbing the keys. Joe huffs but swipes the keys off the plastic of the dash without comment and slides out of the truck.

“Not even pretending that he doesn’t got you whipped,” Bill yells from the truck. Joe flips him off without looking behind him. He can hear Malarkey laughing because apparently, all his friends are in on a collective conspiracy to make his life hell. Pulling the chain free, he jerks the gate wide enough to get the truck in before making the three-step journey back to the driver’s side.

“My knight in shining armor, I didn’t want to get my silk dress in the mud,” George says, batting his eyes in exaggerated motions once he’s back in and shifting the truck back into drive. If he had been prone to blushing, his life would be a whole lot worse. He gets by with a dismissive grunt and resolutely ignores the extra heckling from his traveling peanut gallery. He pulls through the gate and turns to jam his hand with the keys still in it out the back window, waving it between Bill and Malarkey.

“Like hell, I’m getting out before we’re back,” Bill says, and any further argument is spared by Malarkey grabbing the keys and jumping over the side of the truck bed to go lock the gate. Joe scans down the fence line and ignores the bickering.

“See Bill, chivalry is alive and well,” George lounges out a little further if at all possible, legs spread and back sliding down against the worn leather seat. In letting down his guard, Bill finally manages to poke him in the ear and George shoots Joe a withering look when he doesn’t fall over himself to defend him.

Malarkey swings back over the tailgate of the truck, his boots landing in the small space between the crates of supplies, “Alright, we’re all good to get going.” He settles back down in his spot near the window next to Bill, and they start moving again. There’s a relatively short distance between the outer fence and the inner one that encamps the buildings in town in some amount of security, and Joe takes the distance slowly. He's in no rush to come careening up to the second gate. Singing and complaining or not, he enjoys getting away from this pocket of their world sometimes. Supply runs were a necessary evil in the eyes of people too scared to poke their heads outside, but to Joe, it teased some level of freedom he missed. George making it his god-given mission to follow along didn't hurt either.

Babe must have been on the watch patrol today because as soon as he hears the truck’s engine, he comes jogging toward the inner gate. He’s got a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and as the truck rolls in he saves the argument of who is getting out again as he pulls the gate open for them. He gives a lazy mock salute, his free hand still curled around the rifle strap. Joe’s mistake is slowing to a near stop, which gives Bill time to vault over the side and land on his feet near Babe. No doubt to gossip about whatever it was they managed to talk about. George groans, head flopping back to give Joe a mournful look about having to unload supplies with three guys instead of four.

[s1llydr3amscape]

I didn't quite get to finish this for vanweek during day 5 among other things so I think I might try to conquer the other days i missed soon mweheheheh

More under the cut (including more dialogue!!) :

Originally was gonna post a fanfic for day 5 aswell that was mainly featuring Vanny talking one on one with the glamrocks!!!!! Not today I'm embarrassed cuz I'm very wordy and a simple convo can be way too long. I wanted to do a one on one scene with Vanny and all the glamrocks to get their dynamic but only managed to do Roxanne. They're on the sidewalk at night near the apartment complex convenience store. Right outside on the sidewalk sitting at the curb.

Since Vanny is undead in this AU he doesn't really feel pain as much I just think characters stitching themself back up is very cool. I'm a huge fan of zombies!!! I want to draw her rotte

Also 2nd time bro's in it's underwear and I just realised god I don't know how to draw clothes 💀 (I wear cat shirts everyday do not ask me for fashion advice dawg!!!)

Snippet no context barebones. Don't let me cook :

Roxanne sighed.

"Look Vanny I know you've been busy with your work or whatever but c'mon just stop by for one race. I need my girl cheering me on if I'm gonna be taking the win."

Vanny snickered as she playfully jabbed Roxannes shoulder.

"You already have plenty of fans. I ain't gonna make a difference. Besides, unlike you, I have a real job."

Vanny took another swig of a drink as she lightly shaked its contents.

"HEY! Racing is a real job. Thank you very much."

"Not if its illegal." Deadpanned she took another swig of her drink.

"Atleast I'm good at my job unlike you!" Roxanne blurted our as she crushed the can she was holding.

Vanny shifted in her spot. Her eyes now gazing into hers. Controlling herself she looked to the curb.

"What do you even know."

(I didn't like how this scene played out because I don't know how to write characters moving and having a gay old time.) But basically Vanny was on her shift when Roxy spotted her. She managed to convince Vanny to sit and chat with her and even bought her some drinks from a vending machine nearby. Roxy was gloating about how many races she managed to win and hoped she could convince Vanny to come watch her perform again. Because she likes the attention. They have a lil back and forth before Roxy accidentally blurts out something that pisses Vanny off. Making Vanny be mad because what does she know what she's going through.

(Roxanne in this AU is technically a nepo baby but her story about replacing Glamrock Foxy is very much here in a different way. So like if Roxanne were to ever quit her races she could technically go back home and live comfortably in Vanny’s eyes)

Vanny thinks Roxanne already has it easy and gets a bit pissed and abruptly ends it there. Roxy realises and tries to backpedal what she meant but Vannys already gone. Sighing Roxy throws her empty can into the curb and grabs onto her face trying to calm down.

And that's about it. I like relationships whether platonic or romantic to have their ups and downs because it makes it feel relatable to me. Like a lot of my heart poured into this AU and what the characters go through I've sorta went through in a weird way.

(Ft orange cats I saw around love them <3333)

I have not draw gore in so long (full of whimsy and joy) so it looks wonky but I'm trying to get out of my comfort zone but drawing my blorbo standing in an empty background smiling tho...

[dawnrider]

Inukag 40 ☺️

Coming in at 40 is Blinding Lights by The Weeknd. I'm honestly surprised it's not a little higher on the list, though I've been listening to a bunch of his other songs, so that might be why.

This one ended up being another peek into that Modern AU I keep dabbling in inspired by @heavenin--hell's Inu in a ballcap and a slouchy jacket.

There was so much more to try to shut out in the city. The noise, the smells, the lights… Inuyasha struggled to keep to the building side of the sidewalk in the throngs of people. The performance hall up the road must have just let out and the crowds were pouring out to cover the sidewalks as people went to their cars, the metro… Inuyasha tucked himself into his oversized jacket just a bit more, pulling his hat down over his eyes. He kicked himself for popping out at this time of night when he should have waited for Kagome to get home from her study group. He just wanted to make sure she had something nice to eat when she got back. There hadn’t been much in the apartment, so he’d decided that a trip to the ramen shop down and around the corner was worth it. Mistakes were made. The food in the takeout bag was piping hot against his leg, the scent nearly making his mouth water. But he had to focus hard on it to block out all the smells from the crowd, the street itself, the dumpster in the alley he just passed… Then there were the lights from the bus, the streetlight, and the cars going by. Even with his hat pulled down, the flashing caught his peripheral vision, making him grunt and flinch. He missed the country in moments like this. The stoop to the apartment came into view and the more familiar scents he associated with their building caught his nose. The family on the third floor was making tortillas with the window open. The guy living on the ground floor apartment in the back was frying fish and desperately trying not to set off the smoke alarm. Inuyasha could hear him swearing from his spot on the sidewalk. Most importantly, he could smell Kagome. Looking up, he was a little stunned to find her on the step, waiting for him. Her eyes were worried, but widened then relaxed with relief when she spotted him. He lengthened his stride a little, jostling a few people to get through to the steps and to her. The simple impact of her touch on his arm as she silently greeted him was enough to wash away all the tension in his frame, to calm the agitation and anxiety caused by being out in a crowd of humans from whom he had to hide his presence. She leaned into him as he took her hand, opening the door for them so they could return to their cocoon of safety. As they sat in their tiny kitchen in their tiny one-bedroom apartment, eating their ramen directly out the to-go containers, laughing… Inuyasha was blinded by the glow of Kagome’s smile. The light of the love in her eyes. Maybe the city and its stressors were worth it. For her.