#so hot and sharp it makes my eyes ache with the effort of holding back tears of sheer frustration

[tojisun]

THAT BLOOD AS LUBE THING!!!! HERES MY TAKE!!!!!!

Logan having been punched in the mouth so many times that when he has you finally bent over, your both panting and full of aggressive adrenaline with your knees pushed up to your chest, his giant hands splayed over the backs of your thighs, he lets a bloody string of spit fall from his mouth and onto your exposed cunt from where he’s absolutely shredded the crotch of your costume.

THIS SEXY THING IN REFERENCE TO THAT? GODDAMN YEA cw: smut; f!reader; blood as lube; fucking in public; thrashing bcuz of oversensitivity - all consensual; a touch of poolverine/reader poly :3 this is v short im sorry! // divider by @/plutism!

the guttural hunger ripples in waves as logan tears through your pants, each rip sending his hackles rising, the tension between the two of you brewing, until he’s got you fully bare and ready for him. your scent hits him hard, and he almost buckles down, his cock jumping underneath his suit, before he’s got your thighs cushioning either side of his head.

he takes in a greedy drag, nose flaring at the waft of your aroma—so wet and messy and all his.

logan’s eyes flick up to you for a moment—a question—and you give him the subtlest of nods, and it’s all he needs to pry his maw open. the thick string of blood and spit mixed together falls like a diabolical glob on your cunt, and watching him do this makes your breath hitch.

everything about this is rugged, animalistic, but it is also so, so hot. you try to rationalize past your need, telling yourself that this isn’t the right time to be fucked, not when logan’s bleeding all over your cunt, but a rough tongue presses flat on your slit and your thoughts are razed into fractures.

you keen, bucking in his hold, as your hands fly to grip anything you can, trying so desperately to ground yourself. logan doesn't let you, digging in like a man starved and aching; he ruts his bloodied mouth all over your pussy, hot tongue fucking past your folds and into the tight ring of your cunt, and slurps.

“fuck!” you cry out, fists tightening around whatever remains of your pants. your head falls backwards, exposing your throat as you scream.

logan can eat pussy, you’ve known that for years, but there is a curl of something primal in the way he eats you out tonight—all filthy and overwhelming, his silence making you feel ever more so like a prey being devoured. tears are already springing up from your eyes, beading, until a sob wretches itself from your throat because it’s—

it’s too good!

you’re babbling nonsense, you realize later, your words slurring when you beg and moan, telling him how it’s too much and how he needs to stop—“please ‘gan!”—as you feel your mind getting scrambled with the intensity of this all. you try to dislodge yourself from his hold, thrashing, but logan pushes you down with a firm hand on your belly, subduing every effort to rip his mouth off from your cunt.

you’re fully crying now, shaking, and you try warning him that you’re about to cum—the dregs of your ecstasy peaking with every lick and sharp teeth dragging to nip at your folds and at your clit—but you can’t. you’re too drunk off of the pleasure, and your body feels like a rubber pulled taut, ready to snap as your climax builds—

tipping—

then logan’s pulling away with a snarl.

“no!” you keen, sobbing, trembling hands reaching to pull him back before your euphoria dies down, but logan’s already straightening up and folding himself over you, his bulk easily covering you. “i wan’ cum! logan, please—”

“shh,” he coos, like he isn’t wet with your slick and his tan skin tinged with the slightest of red. you see yourself on his beard, droplets of your slick glinting like little diamonds as he leans in.

he pushes your hair away from your face with a grin, and it looks mean but not unkind; just teasing because he knows how much your need has grown. he must have. no one knows your body more than anyone else, after all, and you are sure that he knew that you were there, on the throes of your orgasm, waiting for it to spill into a stuttering blanket of white.

“i’ve got you, darl,” he continues, like he didn’t just edge you off. “gon’ fuck you good now—prepared you nice f’me, after all.”

oh.

you hiccup, still glaring up at him with vitriol despite the promise, but you feel yourself loosening up as the tension leaves your body. he hums, still petting your cheek, and you grumble, looking away because you can’t stand the force of his attention—all that crinkled-eye smile and raggedly endearing taunts he chirps at you.

logan hums, satisfied at seeing you placated, then he’s moving back up again. the action draws air into your exposed cunt and you move to shut your legs close, at least even for a bit, but he wrenches them apart with a heavy hand pressing down on your inner thigh, and slots himself properly between your legs. you roll your eyes at him, dutifully ignoring the way your cheeks are warming up at being so exposed before logan while he’s still all clothed with his suit.

he chuckles with a fond shake of his head, and paws for the zipper on his suit. the sound of it dragging makes you twitch, feeling hypersensitive again. you feel him getting excited too, his chest heaving when he finally pulls his cock out from his pants. you stare at it, still so unused to the size because logan’s big, yes, and he’s big everywhere—from his thighs to his delts, and now his cock.

it’s girthy, webbed with thick veins, and leaking; pearly pre- beading on the head, and nothing has ever made your mouth water more than seeing it.

you want it in you, yes, but fuck, you want your throat stuffed too. want it fucked raw and ruined; want to be used by logan—

but your cunt is wet and itching, and you want to cum so, so bad.

you wonder what you must have looked because logan’s stuffing his fingers in your mouth, as though in placation, and you suck on them, greedy, not minding the faint taste of earth and salty sweat. it makes you even headier, filling you up with the reminder of where you two are, and you whimper, need bloating, because fuck, you need him now.

logan is still quiet even when he taps his cock over your clit, sending goosebumps to rise all over your skin.

“ready, pretty bird?” he asks like he can’t smell the desperation rolling off of you.

still, you nod, and you try your best to relax because you feel so worked up already with all the dragging—

then, logan’s pushing in, in, in, and you are gone.

.

you don’t even know how many time’s you’ve cum now, only that your cunt is oversensitive and your thighs are a sticky mess and your throat is hoarse, but it must have been hours because the sky has turned dark, almost pitch black, and there’s nothing else but you and logan—

the sound of boots crinkling against rocks makes you freeze, your sharp senses breezing past the euphoric pressure being pounded into your cunt, before you put a hand over logan’s chest, making him stop.

with only the sounds of ragged breathing, the two of you hear where the echoing footsteps are coming from. still perched on your back—and speared by logan’s cock—you tip your head up, not minding the upside-down perspective of your surroundings.

logan groans the moment a familiar red suit walks into view. wade’s got his mask pulled up just enough that you two see his grin, then—

“and where’s my invitation?”

logan groans again, while you give out a breathy chuckle, pussy clenching around logan’s cock. he bucks in with a confused grumble.

what? your throat is still pretty lonely, after all.

wade was lounging atop a building when he sees his two favourite people fight— wait they’re— oh? oh.

[dreamerwithoutadirection]

Sparks Gone Wrong

The time when Y/N falls in love with her neighbour- a hot single father.

Warnings: Eventual Yandere. Nothing for now! This will be like a two or three part series!

"Where are you taking this adorable little one?" you inquire, approaching your neighbour and his giggling toddler. He's a handsome single dad of a 5-year-old, someone who has fueled your fantasies. Angular face with rich brown locks cascading his equally brown eyes in a set fashion. A hot wet dream. Close in proximity, yet distant in reality. It's been three months since he relocated to the apartment across from yours. 

He walks past you, leaving you mid-jig with an awkward smile plastered on your face as you try to make his daughter laugh. Did I mention he always ignores you? Well, yeah. 

You sigh as you follow him to the elevator. Yet another unsuccessful attempt. Any effort to talk made by you was always shot down with curt nods or grunts. The only time you ever heard him speak in full sentences was when he introduced himself three months back. And you were pretty sure you made a fool of yourself.

“Are you a fairy?” you mumbled as you looked at the most handsome man you had seen in a while. 

Kim Taehyung continued to look at you with a stoic face. No expression. No response. You felt the gush of embarrassment, feeling your ears turning red. A natural reaction you had every time you felt appalled. 

“I am sorry, I am not this awkward usually I promise” you tried to laugh it off as you gestured for him to come in. 

“I will leave then, thank you for your time.” You stood and watched the man turn around and leave. Leaving you mortified at the interaction. 

That feeling of being mortified followed you at every exchange you had with him since then. A never ending saga. 

You sighed again while entering the lift. You could feel the awkwardness with each passing second. What had you ever even done to him?! Enough is enough. 

Mustering your courage, feeling your heart beating wildly, you turned to look into his eyes, “You know you haven’t said a word to me since you moved in. And I am not sure what have I ever done to offend you! Because if anything I have been very kind at every instance” your voice rose, “and every time you have been nothing but a prick to me- ‘Ding! The door is opening.’

Taehyung continued to look forward without a second glance at you. 

“Maybe I am not interested” he bluntly expressed his disinterest as he walked off towards his car. Leaving you with a mix of disappointment and the sting of embarrassment, all while the lift doors closed, sealing the moment with a sense of unresolved tension.

                                               *-------*--------*

“Oh my g-” your work friend Jin continued to laugh as you recounted the episode. He was so loud that you could feel the eyes of your colleagues at your table.  

“Can you shut it” you hiss, delivering a discreet kick under the table to emphasise your frustration.

“All right..all right” His eyes still holding the mirth. “On a serious note, Jin's eyes turning sharp and voice sombre, “I think you need to back off. Nothing’s worse than unwanted attention.” reaching out to hold your hand, “Moreover, you are a catch. Find someone without baggage. He has a daughter. And that’s a huge responsibility, no matter how hot he is.”

His words felt like a needle in your chest. The reality of you one sided crush sank in. Him having a daughter was never a problem for you because she was absolutely adorable. And despite the well-intentioned advice, it stung to acknowledge that your efforts might be in vain, leaving you with an unexpected ache in your chest.

A faint smile appeared on your face. “Maybe you are right. I need to back off.” You stood up feeling the loss of appetite. With that you went to keep your plate at the clean up area.

Some things aren’t meant to be. 

                                               *-------*--------*

Next day, you found yourself contemplating your friends' words all the while sipping the freshly brewed coffee. The noise of daily news running in the background. 

"Perhaps it's time to move on. There are better things to explore than deciphering the mystery of Taehyung’s demeanour." Taking a deep breath, you decided- you are not going to approach Mr. Kim any longer. If it’s not meant to be, why waste your time anyway? You were a catch, so, well, his loss. 

With the new found resolution you began to dress for the court proceedings you had to attend. It was an ongoing case related to organised crime. A man had finally confessed about his involvement in cities increasing drug abuse cases and you were in charge of prosecuting him. It was going to be an eventful day indeed, you thought as you pulled up your skirt.

Taking one final look in the mirror, you headed out. As you made your way through the hallway, a familiar handsome silhouette in the muted light appeared ahead. No sight of his daughter. Well, whatever, none of your concern. Deciding to maintain a polite distance, you exchanged a nod in passing which didn’t go unnoticed by Taehyung. 

You had been pestering him for months. What changed? He wondered. He could see you were dressed in your courtroom attire. Another hearing perhaps? Taehyung wasn’t oblivious. He knew you had a crush on him. And he wasn’t blind either. You were beautiful with your luscious hair and supple skin, he desired to explore. He was sure it was soft. He knew it.

But he decided to keep to himself as usual. Now was not the time to get involved with you. There were other things that required his attention. For instance, that meeting he had been postponing for a month. And his daughter whom he adored with his life. And the household work. As he left the lift though, one thing kept resurfacing in his mind. Something had changed since yesterday with you. Taehyung wasn’t sure if he was fond of it. 

Part II

[spinchip]

Making Electricity// You Can Feel it in Your Mind

pairings: Gen/no pairings

Wordcount: 2.5k

Authors note: Title from electric feel MGMT lol. I am sick so you know what that means *Inflicts the horrors on my blorbo*

Warnings: Zane is electrocuted. this is what the whole fic is about

Summary: Jay accidentally shocks Zane during a fight.

~

His world is eclipsed by a pain so deep and all consuming that it leaves his body singing after it is done with him.

His vision is a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that move and undulate in a constant flow. It’s a suggestion of the world around him, scrambled and shaken twice before it makes it to the part of his program responsible for interpreting reality. His vision is swarmed by a color- he knows his friends all have a signature color, but there’s a disconnect in his mind and he can’t understand what color he’s looking at. He is aware of the input but the information stalls and fails to process, leaving him clueless to the body at his side. His hearing is muffled and distant, the person is speaking but its formless syllables echo in his head as he tries to decipher it all. It’s overwhelming and he desperately wants to ask them to stop talking- but much like everything else, Zanes connection with his jaw has failed and he can’t vocalize a word.

He’s on his hands and knees- he doesn’t remember stumbling or falling. The amount of concentration it takes to keep his body off the floor is monumental- all his joints feel loose and liquid, like a light breeze could knock him over and scatter the pieces. He doesn’t know which way up or down is, everything swaying and twisting around him- his gyroscope is off kilter. It has to be. His clothes feel painfully tight- the person beside him touches his shoulder and Zane hisses in pain, and when he flinches away it knocks his hands from underneath him and sends him sprawling to the floor. Every one of his artificial nerves is on fire, like their sensitivity has been turned up past 11. Like someone had taken steel wool and scrubbed down each sensor until the wiring was exposed and sparking. He can’t feel his legs- the strangeness of that exacerbated by the fact he could still move them. The blobs of shifting light that he called his vision changed when he thought about moving his legs. He was watching them move. There was no input from the waist down, no data or pressure or spatial awareness to pin down how they were moving. Just that they were.

The air is sharp and chemical, ozone saturating every breath Zane takes.

He’s shaking. He’s breathing. There’s an awareness of the room creeping over the fog of his mind and he has to stop the ice from spreading- energy spits from his core and his chest feels hot and wet, his arms ache down to his fingers.

Something that sounds like it might be his name is called.

He’s on a table- a bed- it’s flat. He’s laying down. He’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to think for several long moments, not processing any data his body is supplying him with. He drags a trembling hand up from his side and tries to focus on how many fingers he’s holding up. The fractals in his vision have merged and sharped to one point, but now everything is so fuzzy he can’t make out any details. His hand looks- dark. The casing is gone? The back of his hand, down his forearm, all bare- maybe more, but Zane doesn’t have the strength to turn his head. He slumps his hand next to his face instead of taking the effort to place it back at his side. A sound. Attempting to be soothing and soft, but his ears hurt anyway. Even that light, gentle sound input is overloading his processor and causing a sharp pain between his eyes. He feels nauseous.

What happened to the fight? Where was he? He doesn’t remember getting here. There were no memories connecting each moment. Did he black out?

His jaw is still locked. He beeps at the voice instead, a downturned note to show his disapproval of the silence being cut. A light turns on above him and his vision whites out completely, sharp piercing pain that feels like a fire has been lit in his face. He can’t close his eyes. He can’t do anything.

Zane wakes up.

He can see. It’s the first thing he acknowledges when his eyes open- still blurry on the edges, but clear enough he can make out where he is. It’s the garage, the one on the lower levels under the Monastery- in a back room that was tucked away from the rest of the place. There were desks in here, a few work tables for smaller scale projects and a couch that Zane was curled up on. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His skin still feels raw, but the blanket is soft and welcome and he tugs it closer. The lights are on and dimmed, just enough so that he can see around the room easily. There’s a glass of water next to him that's only half full, and an apple with a bite taken out of it that Zane puzzles over for too long.

His brain isn’t catching up with him. Thinking is like trudging through quicksand, and he keeps losing the thread he’s following and staring blankly into space before remembering he’s trying to figure out what that water is doing here. It means something, right?

A door clicks, and Zane looks up. Someone is in the room. Dark hair. He closes his eyes and thinks, dragging up all his memories until he finds her inside them.

“Nya.” He concludes. His voice is jittery on the edges, but he can speak now.

Nya nearly jumps out of her skin at his voice. She barely avoids spilling her coffee down her shirt, looking up from her phone that she’d been absorbed in. She sighs in audible relief, “Hey, Zane. How are you feeling?”

He stares at her for a long moment, watching as she approaches him and sits in the chair set up next to the couch. She waits patiently for him to formulate a responde, “...it is hard… to think.” He manages. “...Why…?”

She smiles weakly, “You were struck by lightning, Zane.” She launches into a well-rehearsed and poised description of exactly what type of internal damage he had taken and how the blow had affected his body and delicate electronics. Each word is delivered carefully and confidently.

“This… is not the… the first… time…” He closes his eyes at the effort, grunting unhappily.

“No, this is not the first time I've told you all this.” Sipping her coffee, she shoots him a tight smile, “Hopefully it’ll be the last, though. Can you sit up? If you’re feeling up to it, we can do a few tests and see where you’re at recovery wise.”

He pulls the blanket out from under him, struggling to unwrap himself before he hauls himself up. His right hand is completely exposed, no protective casing at all. The wires are all shiny and brand new. Zane doesn’t dwell on figuring that out. He’s not in his ninja suit anymore- he’s in his pajamas. Did someone else dress him..? Uncomfortable, but understandable and necessary.

As Nya tests his reflexes and asks him to unbutton his shirt to examine his power core, Zane tries his best to organize his thoughts. His upper chest plate is brand new- the pieces around it have strange spider webbing marks, yet to be replaced.

“Lightning…” He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s supposed to be the word how? But it catches on his tongue and doesn’t come out right.

Nya understands anyway, but she hesitates. Finally, “It was Jay. It was an accident- do you remember the fight?”

The fight. He does remember- but he also doesn’t remember. Strange. The thoughts and memories surrounding the moments before his world turned sideways are disjointed and nebulous, hard to pin down and recall. He doesn’t remember why they were fighting. He had been in the middle of a fight with another man- no, he had just defeated him? He was standing alone, taking a moment to… to… analyze the field… no, he stopped because his head hurt. Didn’t he? The guy he’d defeated had gotten a lucky shot. His jaw had ached, possibly dislocated…? Then the world was a bright white-hot pillar of fire and nothing made sense anymore.

“Is Jay… okay?” The feeling of Nya's hands in his chest makes him shudder, which she nods approvingly at. His sensory input was reacting correctly.

“Er… Physically, he’s fine.” She reassures him, “But mentally… Well, he feels really guilty. He thought… we all thought it was possible he killed you. You would wake up but you wouldn’t retain any memories or information we’d give you. You just kept resetting.”

“How long…?”

“How long have you been out of commission?” She guesses. He nods and she sighs, staring at his core, “Three and a half weeks.”

Zane stares at her, dumbfounded.

“This was not a light blow, Zane. Your internal self repair programming system has really been struggling to deal with all the damage. It was touch and go for longer than I’d like to admit.” Her voice is gentle, “We’ve all been taking turns watching over you in case you wake up. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

“I… do not… feel good.” Zane says plainly, weakly pushing her away from him and ending the examination. She doesn’t fight it, leaning away and giving him space.

She motions to the water and apple, “Those are yours from before. You should eat and drink- I know you don’t need to, but your core took some damage and you're on an energy deficit right now. You need physical fuel.”

He falls asleep before he finishes the apple.

He comes back to consciousness again in the same room, curled up in the same way, tucked in with the same blanket. This time, sitting next to him is Pixal.

“Pixal.” he says plainly. He says it like he’s proving that he remembers her.

She’s on her Borg Data Pad when he speaks, and she politely closes the case and sets it on the desk behind her, “Good morning, Zane. How are you feeling?”

The words make more sense, “I remember.” He tries to tell her firmly, with conviction, but his voice croaks out awkwardly despite his best efforts. “I remember… talking to… to Nya last… night.”

She blinks. Her whole demeanor changes- her shoulder slump in a bone-deep relief, and her eyes close, and she even takes a deep breath in. when she releases it, it trembles. When she opens her eyes again they’re shiny and wet, “You scared me.” She tells him before throwing her arms around him in a hug.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, slumping boneless into her arms.

"We're not out of the woods yet but this- this is a huge step in the right direction." She doesn't squeeze him too tightly and he's grateful.

After another examination, Pixal asks Zane if he's feeling well enough to make a trip up the elevator to see the others. To be honest, Zane wants nothing more than to do that. It’s early morning according to Pixal. He could have breakfast with them. He doesn’t respond right away, thinking. Truly feeling out everything.

His body still aches, his vision is still blurry, and it’s hard to think. He has to sort through the fog to remember anything- but he can walk, and talk, and remember.

“...Yes, I.. I want to.”

She helps him hobble his way over to the elevator and braces him while they head into the monastery. They take a break at the couch so he can gather some energy before making the final stretch to the kitchen. She sits him at the breakfast nook table and starts on pancakes at his request.

He leans back in the chair and involuntarily his eyes close until he’s lightly dozing in his chair, the rising sun warming his metal skin.

“Zane?” Cole asks, jaw dropped at the door.

Zane blinks open his eyes and smiles, “I am… okay… ish.” He says gently, and politely ignores Cole's tears as he brings him in for a quick hug.

Kai comes in next and actually jumps up and down in joy, clapping his hands. Nya is after him, and her sour-puss morning attitude does a heel turn and now she’s absolutely glowing.

When Lloyd comes in, he cries the ugliest out of them all. Zane is weirdly thankful he can’t think too clearly, or else he wouldn’t be able to simply not think about the snot patch Lloyd left on the shoulder of his pajamas. As Lloyd wipes the last of his tears he says, “I'm going to wake up Jay. He’s been sleeping in and I think he’d like to see you the most.”

Accidentally, Zane drifts off again. It feels so nice in the morning sun, and he’s exhausted again. He can’t help it.

A hand touches his gently and Zanes' eyes flutter open.

Jay is sitting next to him, looking like a kicked puppy but sixty times more pathetic and sad. He’s staring at the point of contact between their hands and Zane has to focus really hard to understand why. More of those spider webbing patterns wind down his left hand. The casing on his right had been replaced, but his left was still… still scarred from the blow. This makes Zane feel lightheaded. The injury suddenly feels so real.

“I am so… so sorry.” Jay looks like he’s about to cry. Oh- oh Jay is crying.

Zane doesn’t want Jay to cry, “It is.. Okay.” he reassures him, raising a shaky hand to place on top of Jays, “I will… be… alright. It was… an… an accident, I… I forgive you.” He says, and he means it.

“I was stupid and reckless!” Jay insists, looking at Zane with a pleading expression. Like he wants Zane to be angry- like he thinks he deserves it.

Zane pats his hand, “Eat with me.” He says as Pixal brings them each a plate.

He has to let Cole cut his pancakes up for him- his motor skills are severely lacking. It will take time for the fried pieces of his programming to repair. The next few weeks are hard and frustrating- but his friends are there to help him eat, help him walk through the monastery, even remind him basic facts that his processing fog loses.

There are things he’s lost forever. Memories that don’t exist anymore.

“We could watch the original Starfarer movie? But we’ve all already seen it.” Kai hums as he pokes through the stacks of DVDs they were discussing for movie night.

Zane wracks his brain, “I… have not…” He rephrases, “I do not… remember seeing that one.”

“Aw, lucky! What I wouldn’t give to watch it for the first time again!” Jay laments, not stopping to think before he speaks. He looks absolutely stricken when he realizes what just left his mouth.

The words shock Zane so much by their absurdity that he barks out a startled giggle before following it up with actual laugh, tittering at the sheer wrongness of that whole sentence. Jay is smiling again, and the room feels lighter.

They were there to help him laugh, too.

[puptoy]

The following fantasy includes: a little bit of piss, werewolves, cnc, outdoor sex, stalking/voyeurism, facefucking, talk of breeding, possessive behavior, musk/scent marking, humiliation, gender play (a sub with a pussy who likes to crossdress/present masc, referred to as "bitch" a lot, "wife" one time, "boy", and with female anatomical terms), size kink

Imagine you're a werewolf (or some other pent-up and feral beast of your choosing) and I wandered too far into your territory. There's nobody out here in these beautiful woods as the sun starts to set, but I'm new in town, so I figure it's a lucky coincidence. I think I'm extra safe because I'm wearing masculine clothes; people don't tend to bother me for hiking alone when I look like a guy. Big hoodie, cargo pants, my hair cut short but grown out a little shaggy.

But you don't care about any of that. You can tell just from my scent that I'd be easy to breed. And more than that - you can tell I'm lonely. Can't smell any other humans on me. You don't normally do this, but you're so pent up yourself... Something about me is driving you to desperation. You follow me at a distance for a little while, just to be sure it's me that has you reacting this way, aching, your cock heavy and swollen half mast just from thinking about it. And as the full moon rises higher, you keep thinking: this little human is here for me. Why else would they come here? Has to be for me. Your instincts keep telling you I'd be a good little mate.

Finally, you see me looking around a little clearing, the ground padded with soft clover. I check over my shoulder to make sure I'm alone and can't see you (humans have terrible night vision, poor things). You watch me pull my hoodie up and hold it between my teeth, exposing my tummy, the place where my hips curve up to my waist, the little trail of hair that goes down from my navel. I unbutton my pants and push them down along with my boxers, stepping out of one leg, then the other, bent over, exposed. You see the way I carry weight on my soft, plump ass and thighs and you think about mounting me.

Then I squat down low to relieve myself. And I just look so vulnerable like that, my thighs spread out wide, a hand braced against a tree for balance as I try to keep from stepping in my own mess. You can smell things I don't even know about myself; you know I'm ovulating. Your eyes fix on my pink pussy, on display for you, and your instincts take over entirely.

By the time I hear your low rumbly growl, it's way too late to run.

I make a pretty cute effort, though. You chase me for a few yards, easily catching my arm and pulling me against you. I freeze for a moment, feeling you solid and hot against my back. You're huffing against my neck, licking and grazing your sharp teeth against my shoulder, making me shiver.

You're so keyed up at first, it's hard to get words out, but you've heard communication is important in relationships. You manage a low, "Bitch. Wife. Mine."

Shocked out of my freeze, I jerk and shake my head, coming up with the first panicked excuse I can think of. "No, ah, oh fuck, I'm not- I'm a boy, not your wife, wrong person, sorry-"

You don't see how that should matter when I was clearly made to be yours. You push a hand up under my hoodie and touch me all over - my belly, my waist, my soft little tits - while I squirm and gasp and try to get away. Twisting me around so you can kiss me, you lick into my mouth until I've settled and then speak against my lips. "My boy. Bitch boy," you insist.

I make a noise that's half shame, half gut-punch arousal. I didn't know being called names like that would turn me on so much. Amused, you lick my neck. I moan. As far as you're concerned, that settles that.

You pin me down hard under your heavy body so I can barely move, but I still thrash when I feel you pushing one of my knees up to part my legs. My heartbeat is pattering so quick I sound like a prey animal. You slide a hand down my hip, between my thighs, laughing softly when you feel it, murmuring, "So wet." And then you're rubbing little circles into my clit, honing in on what makes me wetter until slowly I go from struggling and kicking to softly whining and spreading my legs a little wider for you.

You purr, "There, that's right, good boy." You tell me you're gonna take me right here. That you're gonna keep me in your den and breed me over and over. Mate me, keep me. I'm out of my mind, but I nod and say "Yeahhh" as you let your fingers dip lower.

You feel my slick entrance, watching the way I lift my hips to chase the touch. I spread my legs even wider. Your fingertips press into me, and even that is a snug fit at first. Even as wet as I am, it'll be a struggle to fit your cock in me. You can see it when we grind against each other - your thick, monstrous breeder cock bobs down under its own weight, the length of it going up past my navel. You tug my hoodie up and lap at my sensitive tits to soothe me, but you think it's cute how tense and tight I get around your fingers when I notice how big you are, how deep you're going to get inside me. "Oh god," I breathe, "It won't fit, we can't, I can't-"

You grind against the crook of my hip, getting off on the thought of making it fit. Your mate is so cute, so soft, so easy to push around. You pull your fingers out of my pussy and shove them in my mouth, growling, "Suck." When you feel my tongue moving obediently, you nuzzle my chest, proud. "Good. Mine. Gonna be a good bitch, use your lil' cunt, train you t'take it. Mount you every time I need it. My cocktoy, good boy, mine..."

Perfect. It's all perfect and you love me, love your mate. You could fuck me right here but you're too impatient, so you just keep going, making possessive promises and playing with my mouth while you frot against me. You rub and hump against my belly, my thigh, my hip until you cum with a feral whine, long ropes of thick cum landing on my skin. And that's... Mm. You like that.

Oh. Fuck. You don't know what it is, but you like that a lot.

You gotta make sure I smell like your bitch.

Making me kneel on the ground, rubbing your cock on my face, making me lap against and worship your full, heavy nutsack. Rubbing you cockhead against my lips, smearing them with pre until I open up and suck. At first enjoying the way I suckle and swirl my tongue around the tip, then grabbing a fistful of my hair and sighing in pleasure when you push into the tight squeeze of my throat. I'm trying my best to swallow around you but it's just too thick. Such a mess, drooling down my chin, tears in my hazy eyes.

Cum against my open mouth and tell me not to swallow until you say so. Bite an obvious mark into my neck, and then finally stand back up pick me up. Take me to your den and keep me.

[autisticrosewilson]

In Trouble

Um. This is a joke that's not a joke that spawned from a conversation with @perseus-jackass about Nurse! Jason and Red X! Grant, that spiraled into a Miraculous Ladybug style love square situation lmao. OG's will remember when this was an ML blog, you could say I'm going back to my roots. Also this story is omegaverse! It's not really mentioned till Jason's pov but I don't want to blindside anyone

"Scream if you have to." Robin says gently, before wrenching his shoulder back into place. Grant does scream, he jerks and writhes but gloved hands hold him in place while his bones shift under the skin. There's a white hot pain that spreads through his arm, an aching relief as everything is realigned, and then everything goes prickly and numb.

Grant lays there panting, staring up at the smoggy night sky. Gotham doesn't even give him the courtesy of stars after subjecting them all to her madness. Robin had at least been kind enough to lay down his cape before his impromptu field med session, but goosebumps are spreading up his arms the longer his bare torso is in contact with the New Jersey air. At least Robin had helped him remove his shirt instead of cutting it off, as he'd threatened to.

"Good job," Robin praises, "you took that so well!" He grins, a certified Robin smile. Suddenly, Grant knows where all the stars went.

"Uh, thanks." Grant says absently, eyes tracing over the glint of too-sharp canines peaking out from cracked lips. Robin's a lip biter, he notes, the flesh has been scraped off. They'd probably bleed with little to no effort.

Grant wants to try, wants to taste it.

Slade clears his throat, and Grant remembers that his family is in the room, among several other hostages, and about twelve previously armed men who are now very unconscious. Robin himself has moved onto taking stock of everyone in the room, likely doing a head count and checking for any other injuries, but he signals for Slade to wait. He tilts his head slightly, finger coming to rest on the communicator in his ear.

"Okay folks, police are en route and the parameter has been cleared. I'm going to lead you all to the nearest exit, keep your head low and try not to make any noise. Listen carefully and stay behind me." Robin pops out of his crouch, helping Grant up as he gives the group orders.

"Look, kid-" Slade starts, and is promptly cut off by multiple snorts from the other hostages. The Gothamites, Grant realizes when he notices how calm they are. The collective reaction seems to throw his father off for a moment, but he continues. Grant feels a flash of second hand embarrassment. "Shouldn't you let the professionals take care of this?"

Robin smiles placatingly, it's got customer service written all over it. "I understand this is an upsetting situation, especially for a tourist, but we have everything handled." He assures.

Slade goes to say something else but Robin doesn't spare him a second glance, pulling out a handful of zip ties from one of the pouches of his belt. He gets to work ridding the men of weapons before tying their hands behind their backs, and then looping more zip ties through those to fix them all firmly together. None of them would be going anywhere anytime soon. He kicks all their guns to a far off corner anyway for good measure, but pockets a hunting knife one of them had been carrying.

"Secured," Robin chirps to whoever is on the other side of his comm, "Where to next?" He rolls his shoulders, resting his hands on his hips. After a moment Robin nods to himself. "Got it, meet you outside."

Grant watches as he heads towards the door, most of the hostages easily following his orders, they stay close together and seem to default to herding the omegas and pups in the middle. He almost gets swept up in it, shielded by the crowd, but then Slade's big hand is on his back bringing him and Joey to the front of the group just behind Robin.

He's shorter than he seemed earlier, when he was looming above Grant, backlit by flashing red lights like a blood soaked angel. He's slimmer without the cape wrapped around him, but with his gaze stuck to the muscle flexing in Robin's thighs he can tell the dark haired boy is stronger than he looks.

Robin leads the way, crouched low and keeping to the wall. The crowd does the same, unusually calm as they gently shush the children and tourists who aren't quiet enough. The implicit trust is breathtaking, the easy way that Robin commands the crowd with a cocksure smile and easy confidence. They only run into trouble once on the way to the exit and Grant barely has time to flinch before him and Joey are both shoved behind dad. Grant strains to see how Robin reacts to the two guards rushing at them but all he can make out is a flurry of movement and flailing limbs. There's the cracking of bone and then Robin's ringing laughter and then the hallway is still and quiet again. Slade's grip on his shoulder is still tight, Joey still pressed to Slades back. Grant nudges forward in time to see Robin securing the unconscious bodies.

He turns back to the crowd, hair a little messy and cheeks a little red but hardly even out of breath, and motions for them to keep going. They do, the group easily parting around the crooks before clustering back together. Like fish, Grant thinks, absently reminded of a trip to the aquarium not long ago.

They all file out in a straight line when they reach the exit, Robin holding the door open and checking behind for any stragglers before breaking away from the group to stand beside Batman. He looks even smaller next to the imposing figure of the Bat, but the cops seem to take his orders seriously.

Grant is pulled away by Slade and he barely realizes where they're going until he hears his mom's voice. She pulls him into a hug, all warm tobacco and vanilla but it almost doesn't register. She pulls Joey in next, peppering his face with kisses and surely staining it with her dark lipstick in the process. Her and Slade are talking about something over his head, but everything sounds like it's underwater. His attention is pulled back to Robin, sitting with some of the younger pups who are having their statements taken, someone's chubby toddler being bounced on his knee. He assumes the man in the nearby ambulance is the child's mother if his intent gaze and round belly are anything to go by.

Without thinking he clutches the fabric around his shoulders tighter. It's heavier than it looks, soft but tough. The outside is plastic-y, like a raincoat, but the inside is silky fabric slips pleasantly over his skin. He feels a tug on it from behind him, tuning back into the immediate conversation.

"Now what is this?" His mother frets.

His mouth opens but he doesn't say anything at first. "Robin gave it to me." He manages, the first thing he's said all night. He clutches the cape tighter, unwilling to let it go. It's a comforting weight, it feels like all that's keeping him on the ground, like if he lets go he'll simply float away.

His mother reaches for his face, tilting towards her. Her eyes are sharp but not angry, studying his expression and the look in his eyes carefully. Whatever she sees makes him purse her lips and glance towards the ambulance. "Oh my baby, you're in shock." She tells him, but the meaning behind the words doesn't register.

"First time getting his shoulder reset, he'll be fine." Slades voice, an attempt to be reassuring. Grant tenses before the words fully compute.

"WHAT!" His mom's voice is loud and shrill enough to make his ears ring and he knows they're going to start a fight.

He's shaking, he realizes, gaze dropping down to the trembling of his good hand where it's resting on her elbow. He doesn't remember moving it. Her skin is warm under his hands, he can feel the way her muscles are tensing as the voices around him raise.

He turns back to Robin, but the boy is already staring at him. At least Grant thinks so, hard to tell where he's looking with the white lenses, but he's facing Grant's direction. His lips are twisted, displeasure or concern maybe, and Grant wants to soothe him but he doesn't know how. Then his head tilts, just slightly, and Grant realizes that Robin had been looking at his parents. He can feel Robin's attention on him fully now, settling over him like sunlight. It's warm and grounding and he can feel his body again. Robin smiles, small and proud and encouraging. A secret just for Grant, to keep and cherish and own. And then Robin is turning, attention maddeningly taken by the others that Grant has just remembered. He feels cold, the kind of cold you feel in the early morning when you've just slipped from your warm blankets, the kind that settles on your skin and then sinks into your bones.

Grant's eyes don't leave Robin until the car pulls away, and as he's craning his neck to catch one last glimpse he sees Robin standing on his tip toes to wave Grant goodbye. He waves back, but the windows are tinted and they're already too far away.

Jason has a secret, and an embarrassing one at that. He knows if anyone ever found out he'd never be able to live it down. Jason doesn't even know how it started really, it's not like he's ever been interested in the latest trends or celebrity gossip.

Jason will blame Rena, because it's easier than analyzing the alternative. Technically it started with a routine hostage situation, but for deflection purposes, it starts with a link to an app that's trying too hard to be Vine. He'd squinted at it, toothbrush still in his mouth, half convinced it was a rickroll.

Jay: Why are you up?

Ren: Why are YOU up?

Jay: I asked you first.

Ren: I messaged you first

Jay: Not how that works.

He had rolled his eyes at the time, finishing up his nightly routine, reluctantly chewing on the multivitamins he's supposed to take every night before bed. The gummies only, never the pills.

Ren: did you watch the video

Jay: I'm not clicking an unknown link, Rena.

Ren: wow full name

Jay is typing...

Ren: Not an excuse for you to use my real full name

Ren: seriously watch the video!!

Jason remembers huffing, he probably put it off till the last second, until he was curled up in bed and on the cusp of finally getting some rest. It's all secondary to the video though, the familiar face split into a wolfish grin, those pretty eyes catching the flash of cameras and sending a wink towards the viewer. It's obviously some kind of rich person event, paparazzi lined up and a carpet laid out on the damn ground, but you wouldn't know it from how the boy is dressed. The orange and blue jacket over the button up would probably make him snort usually, but all he can think about is broad shoulders and warm skin under his hands. Unwarded he remembers what Grant's bare chest looked like, and then the image of strong shoulders wrapped in Jason's cape. He doesn't know how many times he watches the video before the next message comes through.

Ren: isn't he hot?

Jay: Who is he?

Jason already knows of course, but Rena doesn't know that, and he's not keen on informing her. She might start getting ideas.

Ren: Grant Kane, he's some old money CEOs son from New York or something

Jay: And?

Kentucky, Jason corrects mentally, Adeline Kane is from New York but the Wilson family lives in Kentucky.

Ren: I heard his mom is coming to your charity gala next week

Jason's heart skips a beat, teeth sinking into his lip to bite back the giddy grin trying to break through.

Jay: Once again, and?

Ren: And? C'mon when do we get to see new faces at these things? Especially ones as pretty as his!

Jealousy twinges in his chest, churning hotly in his stomach for a moment before he's hit with a flash of guilt.

Jay: oh? You interested

Ren: Pft nah

Ren: this is for you

Ren: my ducks are in a row

Jay: Hurtful, but whatever. I don't even know him. Maybe I don't want that duck in my row.

Ren: Start being real with yourself rn

Ren: I'm coming over tomorrow so we can decide on what you're wearing<333

Usually he matches with Bruce, or Dick if he shows up. He can only imagine what Rena is going to try to talk him into. Technically, Jason is unpresented, even though everyone else his age has already. Most pups present around thirteen, Jason is turning sixteen soon. Leslie says it'll be any day now, that with time, and love, and a steady three meals a day Jason will come into his own in no time. Jason isn't so sure.

Rena herself is a beta, but she's always been a bit of a rule breaker. More so than Jason anyway. She always goes above and beyond with her outfits for these things, with the kind of passion obviously bred from living with the biggest fashion mogul in Gotham. He can only imagine what her plans to play matchmaker are going to entail.

Ren: I've enlisted Eddie to help me

Jason stops, fingers hovering over the keyboard, jaw slack. The indignity! He doesn't need a- an intervention to help him get a date!

Jay: When did you guys even start talking?

Ren: YOU gave me his number

Jay: That was a courtesy! You weren't actually supposed to use it!

Ren: 😜

Jason scowls at his phone. He switches over to his chat with Eddie, certain the omega is still awake watching a terrible obscure movie he's going to tell Jason all about when they see each other again.

Jaybin: I've been betrayed, forsaken, abandoned.

KD: Ok edgelord lmao

Jaybin: STOP laughing I've been the victim of a conspiracy!

KD: Are people on Twitter calling you guys vampires again or do they have something more interesting?

Jaybin: Not that kind of conspiracy.

KD: ???

There's a pause as Eddie stops typing, Jason assumes to go Google it, before his speech bubble pops up again.

KD: Is this about me and Rena wingmanning for you

Jaybin: SO YOU ADMIT TO IT! FIEND! SCOUNDREL!

KD: Weird way to say thank you but okay

Jaybin: I don't need help.

KD: ok well we would LIKE to help

KD: please let us

Jason purses his lips. He hates when Eddie does this. Like he's the one being difficult here. Sometimes he feels like everyone treats him even younger than he is. Just because he hasn't presented doesn't mean he's a baby. He can't wait to be sixteen, hopefully by then he'll know his designation too.

Jaybin: Fine, but I retain full rights to veto anything you pick or any plan you make.

Eddie's response is a gif of a cat doing a happy dance, and though he rolls his eyes he likes the message. He's added to a new chat immediately, one with the three of them in it. Rena sends the video to this new chat, apparently named Operation: HONEYPOT. Jason finds quickly that his lack of admin rights means he can't change it.

He huffs, watching the two messages back and forth. Sending photos he's already seen and telling him information he already knows about Grant. The screen slowly goes dark as his eyes flutter closed, burying his face in the milky hazelnut scent just barely managing to cling to the shirt he's been using as a pillowcase, the MCTC logo pressed against his cheek.

It's a guilty pleasure, he supposes, Grant's smell in his nose as he imagines what his voice sounds like, of Grant pressing into his touch instead of flinching away. He switches to an app easily passing as a calculator, inputting the password without thought to pull up the tracking grid.

He skims over everyone else's - Bruce and Alfred are in the manor, Natalia is in her manor on the boundary of Little Italy and Summerset, Dick's phone is at least in his BludHaven apartment, Barbie is still staying at her dad's house until she gets used to her wheelchair - the one he's looking for is marked with the Robin symbol, blinking steadily, somewhere in Kentucky. The sky is probably clear for him, a star filled sky unobstructed by the pollution of the city. He imagines Grant staring out at the sky, red lip caught between his teeth, thinking about Jason. What he might be doing as he does.

Jason nods off, eyes fluttering shut, matching his breath to the gentle pulse on the screen.

[dyrewrites]

Bloodhound -- too close

Despite their attempts to avoid them, desire smothered a want for self, leading to enough bites and sips of throbbing, heady blood to tangle the vampire and his werewolf tighter.

Where they remained, coiled close under covers in the morning. A morning waking Deluca, as it often did, with searing agony in his veins.

The curls in his face forced a sharp breath, a twitching smile and touch of ragged relief...before the heat in them spoiled it with bitter shame. A shame he’d felt too often as of late, a shame threatening tears, and a chill want to climb up the side of the building and hurl himself off it.

No, he told teasing death, I can’t do that to my flower. Nor can I keep waking in another’s arms, he told his ring, can’t keep living with a lie of you, my love.

Finding himself in that realization, more followed, with the bracing blood of his last meal. Drops of heady throbbing from the wolf tried to taint them, but a certain Inspector’s worry pulsed louder. Sliding from the lie—careful not to wake him—Deluca held that worry close as he searched for clothes and bag and resolved to flee.

Unfortunately, the elevator had never heard of subtlety.

“And where do you think you’re going,” Leandro asked, through a yawn as the horrid creaking woke him. His sweetfangs didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to sneak off. But he’d bring him back, as he always did, “are you ashamed of how I make you feel, how comfortably I fit in your arms.” Crawling off the bed, and making no effort to dress, he found the rich brown eyes he ached for, flicked a few gray hairs out of the way to see them better and smiled, “don’t I make you happy?”

“You know it isn’t that,” Deluca tried, truly, to avoid the moonlit lies. The soft touch on his hand, pulling him closer.

“Then stay with me,” Leandro pressed, stepping closer, breathing him in, “all we’ve been, all I’ve done, aren’t I enough to make you forget him?”

Warm the hand, soft the touch, caressing his face so sweetly as the deep, smooth voice he adored said horrible things, “no, and you never will be.”

“I was, so close we’ve been, so sweet,” he didn’t pout, but it came close as he refused to leave the warmth of the hand, holding it to his face, “and that’s why you’re saying goodbye. That fucking witchblood got to you. Even after all the fun we’ve had, the beautiful night, my promises not to beg for your fangs, you’re leaving me?”

“You didn’t have to beg, I did, I ache for it,” Teasing lips with thumb, smiling for how they tried to tease back, “for you.”

Teasing more, pulling the hot thumb between his lips, Leandro waited for the soft gasp and wider grin before giving it back, “is that so wrong...to ache for me?”

“You’ve been invaluable, and you know I enjoy your company,” allowing the tug of his shirt, the kiss, Deluca fought the urge to trace the neck, “but my rules were not to get too close, and you have—we have—far too close.”

Another kiss, and another and Leandro ran a hand down his arm to massage the bag away, pulling him closer, tighter against him, “because you wanted it. Wanted me,” feeding more attention to a neck so warm, lips so inviting, “and you still do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” stepping back, and grabbing his bag, Deluca ignored the knit brows, “and that’s why I’m leaving. This has gone too far…I’m too confused around you.”

“Non puoi semplicemente andarten,” Leandro spoke more to the elevator, as his vampire proved him wrong and walked away, but he followed—no care for clothing.

Sighing for the hands trying so desperately to keep him, Deluca dropped his bag to remove them, “Posso e sono.”

“What of Riri,” strained his voice, a tone Leandro was unaccustomed to and he smoothed with a purr, “we’ve been so good for her, good together.”

“We are not together, Leandro, and what you suggest is parenting,” dodging another kiss, he sighed at the next attempt, “you are not her father.”

Scoffing for the suggestion, the lie of it for all he’d been, Leandro backed away, “Right, I’ve just been a constant for all the life she remembers, helping her understand what she is, comforting her when it scares her, teaching her to keep calm, leaving my scent all over her house,” turning on the narrow eyes burning at him, his voice growled as he poked a chest he yearned to fall into, “all over you.”

“Grazie, for so thoroughly illustrating my point,” peeling him back off as he made to grab shoulders, Deluca eyed the door—a floor from the exit.

But Leandro hit the emergency stop, locking the vampire—his vampire—in the elevator with him as he settled the crackling groan in his muscles to keep a calm tone, “Do you think he’s coming back.” Earning the eyes he wanted so badly, he fought to grab as they glared, “that they’ll let him? No one gets out. No one.” Smiling for the twitch of lips, he stepped closer, closer still as he wasn’t stopped, “it doesn’t matter how many concessions you make, sweetfangs, they’re never letting him go.” The kiss wasn’t returned, but he didn’t care, didn’t care about the snarl either, “so why remain loyal to a dream when I’m right here, real and touchable,” another kiss not returned, “I can be everything you need.”

“Muoviti prima che io ti muova,” Deluca threatened, voice calm. The wolf did not move and so he moved him, gripping him by the arms he lifted and set him against the opposite wall, “I can’t be what you want and pretending is hurting us both.”

“But you want to,” he fought, “all we’ve been, you want to stay mine.”

“I belong to another,” still calm, still holding arms shaking to grab.

Arms that tore free of his grip as Leandro lost his purring tone for howling rage, “But he’s not here! I am. Right here,” scoffing for hands holding him back, he kept trying, “begging you to forget what you can’t have and take what you can.” Leaning through those arms, though he allowed them to keep his wrists, he made certain all the cinnamon in his hair was unavoidable, “I’ve never wanted anyone how I want you. I could spend all of my days with you and the pup and die happy.”

Simple, he tried to keep simple and calm though voice begged to scream, “you are not my husband, not her father—”

“And he is?” too loud the voice, so close, near a screech, but Leandro didn’t stop there, “he’s a voice, a picture and your sugar-coated stories! He’s no father. A dream if anything, to her and to you. While I am real and I adore you both, want to be with you both. Why am I less than what you can’t have?”

Breathing, eyes closed to keep from such chill moonlight, Deluca tried again to push the lie away, “I will see him freed, no matter the time it takes, I will.” Daring to look for the scoff, he swallowed for the manner in which the wolf knit his brows and pinched his lips, too close, ever too close. And it made it difficult to say all he should have, so he appealed to him instead, to his safety, “and the longer you stay so close the more likely he will see you in pieces.”

“Sei preoccupato per me,” Leandro taunted, but he leaned, delighted when his lips were welcomed, “all you’ve spat and you’re worried about me?”

“Certo che mi preoccupo,” Deluca fought against more kisses to speak, “much as I would adore dying again and again by my love’s hand for what I’ve been with you, I’ll come back. You won’t, and I don’t want you dead.”

“Asshole,” Pulling free, Leandro retreated to a corner, to escape the heat, “to be so warm, so comforting, so fucking gorgeous,” a scoff prompted snipping, “don’t even, you know what you look like,” throwing his arms in the air and flopping against the wall, he gestured to all of him, “you’re a fantasy made real, every moment with you paradise, and here you are telling me I can’t keep you, worse that you care enough to worry about me.” Groaning, he shouted to the ceiling, “and I can’t even hate you for it! Big, hot fottuto vampiro pushing me away because he’s worried for my life, how could I?” With a chuckle as lure, he sped to steal another kiss, smiling as it was returned, “but you do want me, do enjoy me...and all I’ve been for you?”

“I do,” another kiss, deeper, with sweet tastes of tongue, “but you’re too close and I’m too much, hm?”

“You are,” and another, “and I’ll let you leave, but I won’t stop wanting you.”

“And I’ll want you for too long,” another accepted, returned, pulling him into a deeper kiss.

One they both sunk into, drowned in before Leandro hit the button to let him out. To let him leave, certain he’d see him again—as he had no intention of selling his flat.

“Ti avrò di nuovo, detective,” Leandro whispered as he watched the vampire walk out the door of his building, at a speed he imagined for his enjoyment alone.

A wink was all he offered the gasped yelp of a sweet old lady checking her mail. She did not at all intend to start her morning with the sight of a nude man leaning so confidently on the door frame of the elevator—but she didn’t complain either.

[amorgansgal]

Best Kept Secret - Part One

Dipping my toes into the the world of The Last of Us. I've been a secret fan for a long time, but honestly I've got to thank @misspearly1 for being the inspiration and motivation behind writing and posting this!

Summary: After a long, treacherous journey you make it to Jackson and are all too keen to forget about the life you lead previously, but you meet someone you never thought to see again and they aren't too pleased to see you.

Warnings: Mild depiction of injury and pain

The snow was thick and heavy around your boots, the cold seeping through the tough leather and worn soles. You had wrapped material around your feet and stuffed paper into the holes, but your socks were drenched, your feet were freezing and still you kept running. You had to, even with cordyceps preferring a warmer, humid climate, you had stumbled across a small group of infected and had used up the last of your bullets on three. There were still two of them, hot on your heels, their eager calls and screams echoing horribly. You were only a few miles from Jackson, the glimmering lights in the distance holding so much promise and hope, just a few more miles of your lungs burning, your desperate gasps for air, the muscles in your legs cramping horribly but you kept going. You prayed they wouldn’t confuse you for the infected and shoot you on sight.

A large, barricaded entryway came into view and you doubled your efforts to reach it. The blizzard made your eyes sting and you were sweating copiously, even in the freezing cold weather. You were almost blinded as a floodlight was turned on and shone directly on you, but even though it made you reel you kept running towards the gate. You waved your arms over your head, desperate to show you were just a regular human, you weren’t infected.

You tugged down your scarf, so they would hear you better. ‘I’m not infected! Please let me in!’ you shouted, though the wind whipped away your words. You crashed into the still closed door and risked a glance over your shoulder. The runners were getting closer.

‘Please!’ you shouted, you could just make out the outline of a man standing above the gateway. He was holding a gun and looking down on you, but you couldn’t make out any of his features. It was too dark.

‘Open the gate!’ he yelled. His voice sounded familiar, a rough southern drawl. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was… but surely not, how could be here? But you couldn’t think about it any further as the gate opened. Your heart flooded with relief and you only waited until there was a wide enough gap between the gate and fence, before you wriggled your way through.

A loud crack of gunfire tore through the air and you heard the muffled shriek and then heavy thumps of two bodies landing in the snow. The gate closed behind you. You closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to catch your breath and calm yourself.

‘ARE YOU INFECTED?’ someone yelled. ‘HAVE YOU BEEN BITTEN?’

You opened your eyes, only to find a small group of people surrounding you, most pointing a gun directly at you, one with a bright torch. You blinked as they shone the light into your eyes.

‘No, I’m not infected! I’m not bitten! They didn’t touch me.’

‘Alright, alright,’ a woman’s voice clear, calm voice came through the crowd’s hubbub. She made her way towards you, her dark brown hair, which was streaked with grey, was neatly tied back, her bright sharp eyes gazed at you keenly and you were rather envious of the large, thick black coat she was wearing. ‘Let’s get this new arrival to the medical centre. Come on,’ she gestured for you to follow.

As you took a step forward, an agonising pain shot up your leg and you fell forward. You struggled, trying to get up, but it felt like your legs no longer worked. The fear and adrenaline that had kept you going for so long was wearing off and now you could feel every sore, aching muscle, every blister on your feet.

The woman was back at your side. ‘Easy, come on,’ she said gently and tried to help you to your feet, but it was no good, your legs trembled like a new born deer and you couldn’t find any strength. She sighed, but gestured to one of the men.

‘Joel, could you lend a hand?’

Behind the scarf, your eyes widened and you tried not to give away your sense of surprise that he was here. Of course he was, dammit! You dragged your coat around you closer, trying to keep your features obscured. If he recognised you… you wouldn’t put it past him to kill you. The sickening sense of shame crept up your throat and made you lower your gaze, as Joel stepped forward and easily scooped you up as though you weighed nothing. You let go of a tight, uneasy breath that you had been holding.

‘Y’okay?’ he asked.

You swallowed nervously. ‘I’m fine,’ you mumbled into the scarf, hoping he wouldn’t recognise your voice. But he didn’t question you further and simply stomped over to the medical centre. The woman pulled open the door and you blinked at the bright, harsh light that lit up the room. It was a clean, simple place smelling sharply of bleach, a bed in the centre, a wash stand and green bar of soap in one corner and a small stove against the furthest wall. Joel placed you onto the bed.

‘Here, let me help with that,’ the woman leaned over and began to unwind your scarf. You avoided the temptation to push her off and try to keep yourself hidden away. You nervously glanced at Joel, who was leaning against one of the walls, his eyes were narrowed as though he just might recognise you but was trying to place you.

‘I… I don’t want…’ you whispered.

‘Course,’ the woman said understandingly. ‘Joel why don’t you get a fire going in here, it is rather cold?’ The woman pulled a hospital curtain around the bed and gave you a smile. ‘I’ll get you some new clothes, reckon these could do with a wash. Oh and my name’s Sandra, sorry, should’ve said sooner. What’s your name?’

You hesitated as you unwrapped your scarf and pulled off your thin coat. There was no way you could escape this. Even if you gave a false name, Joel would eventually see your face and recognise your voice. You gave your first name and heard Joel drop a log he had been placing onto the fire. Sandra gave you a smile, though it seemed even she sensed the uneasiness of the room.

‘Lovely, well, could you take your boots off and your pants, and I’ll examine your legs,’ she said blithely, evidently ignoring how Joel had stopped his work. You dutifully began to remove your pants and then heard the heavy footfall as Joel stomped out of the room, the door thudding close behind him. ‘Shit,’ you thought.

[smilingmxsk]

[ fear ] sender finds receiver having a nightmare

nonverbal  meme  prompts | Accepting!

It hurts.

Every muscle in her body is strained and constricting, aching with each slight movement and twitch. A dull 'pop' or sharp 'snap' came as bones shifted, contorting Margaret's form with every passing moment. The Fixer finds herself curled on her side, writhing, trying to stifle the yelps and whines that threatened to escape her while her limbs readjusted. All the while, her body now felt alien to her; her limbs felt longer than normal, and her teeth sat uneven and awkwardly in her mouth.

Margaret could only lie on the cold, hard concrete of the alleyway in isolated agony, unable to call for her allies. As if they would be able to do anything anyway. She wanted to call on them, to make this misery end... but she couldn't let them see her this way, not as something so vile. A pop in her spine, followed by several more, brings a fresh wave of red-hot pain down her back toward her legs, wrenching a pained gasp from the Fixer as she claws the ground beneath her in a futile effort to find support.

The Fixer attempts to call out, yet nothing escapes her but a pained groan, raspy and ragged. A broken note. Speaking was pointless. She wasn't human anymore, so why was she still pretending? Just to keep meat puppets around for company? A lonely beast drenched in the blood of its loved ones, remorseful yet full up on their tender bodies. The image shifts... And Margaret's view changes from the cold, hard concrete to the lukewarm mess of bodies piled beneath her talons. The bodies of her allies staring back at her.

She loved them. Even as her teeth tore into flesh, tugging and pulling innards free, they were her family. She loved them so much, yet she couldn't stop herself. She couldn't stop the hunger that took hold of her, nor the black ichor that stung her eyes and poured down her pale cheeks. She could hear their voices now as if they were right beside her misshapen body.

'Disgusting. Unholy. Monster. Creature... Why?'

"It's not my fault," Margaret croaked, wet and gargled words finally forming on the foreign tongue in her mouth.

"Don't hate me, please.

I'm not a monster... I didn't CHOOSE this!

It's not my fault... I promise..."

_________________________________________________________

Margaret jolts awake from her slumber with a gasp. Hands immediately dart across her body, gripping and feeling her arms, her legs, her face...

All of it was intact. Her body was shaped as it should be, and her teeth were abnormal but in check. Her limbs were also the correct length. And yet, she couldn't be sure. All the while, leaning against the wall, Margaret gripped and felt across her body; her eyes were wide and unfocused, darting across the room and staring into the distance. Her breaths were labored and ragged, heavy with an unspoken fear that had a grip on her heart.

It takes her some time to even realize that Otis is sitting beside her, but eventually, her eyes find purchase on his features.

She's shaken; that much is clear. She tries to muster some energy to cover up her exposed weakness... yet to no avail. The pieces of her metaphorical mask have all but shattered to the ground around her.

[brandwhorestarscream]

predacon seeker au: awaken with fear

everything was cold, too cold, freezing.

then it was blazing hot, feeling like his metal plating is melting off. his chest hurts, he wants to sleep. his eyes burn with the effort of keeping open. he wants to go home. ‘what's going on? why does it hurts?.’ his body aches all over as the cold and his damaged plating tries to fight against gravity trying to get him back into sleep. “bre…own!…..tra..quilize…it's…..gett…ing up!….break…down!….” a voice echos, he can't see who, panic and fear in his voice, loud clattering as someone crashes back with a cry. ‘what'sgoingon,what'sgoingon,what'sgoingon-' question echoes in his helm as he scrambled to get up, pain searing in his limbs with clashing of temperature, joints creaking and grating, much to rusting to hold his frame, with a scratchy bellow he tumbles over, something opens, another voice shouts in horror, deeper with more anger laced in. ‘gogogogoGOGOGO!.’ he can hear rage in the voice, his claws dig into something, someone, red mech, gold highlights, he was scared, desperately struggling to get away from starscream, until something punched him, off, his sensitive frame flaring in pain. he wakes, jolting upright and dashing through the corridors, bashing into mechs- or drones?- and colors blended, all purple and pinks and loud noises so loud, he needed to go, but where?

a couple of blasts, and sharp pain bloomed from his his body, his wings! his wings nonononONONONO!

he scrambled, claws slashing the ground with a loud screech, heaving and bellowing, another voice is heard, he can't make out what it says, someone sounded mad, it didn't feel like it was mad at him, but he didn't stick around to find out who- no, no! he needed to GO AWAY, GET AWAY, GO AWAY, HE NEEDS TO GO AWAY!! His vents sputter harshly, he doesn't stop for anything, just keep running, keeps running and running and screaming. The screams turn to whimpers, into a whine before dissolving into quiet mewls. He has no idea how long he runs, only that it's never enough, his legs start to shake, he could feel them tremble, he's so tired…so tired…so Tired… he collapses, slipping under something, winds blaring harshly as his body limps, and he falls unconscious.

Oh nooo 🥺 my poor baby! Is he gonna be ok? Please op I need to know 🙏

[sinful-feminae-a]

Anonymously send my muse a wet dream. Make them feel horny or fluster when they’re awake.

Anonymous said: Kind of got carried away, the --- is meant to be a new paragraph.

Wet Dream for Niffty: The hallway zoomed past her as she became aware that she was running as fast as her legs could carry her. The rumbling came from behind, only whenever she turned a corner would it dampen, but only for a few seconds, then less, and she could see tendrils reaching from the corner of her vision before she came to the staircase of the hotel. Instinctively she'd jump down to grab at the banister and drop down from one floor to the other, dodging grabbing hands that reached out from the darkness. Looking down from the next ledge she could see an impossibly long drop, she appeared to be dangling over an infinite pit of agony, hellfire all around and the sudden rush of darkness starting to blot out everything else, leaving her dangling between damnation and torture, or the darkness unknown. But before her hand could let go of the remaining banister, her arm had been grabbed, a familiar hand, with long claws and a palm hot to the touch, she had been brought into the darkness, but instead of claiming her, it parted around her to form a bubble. The next instant there came the sensation of a firm chest, and arms holding around her, the smell of coffee, leather, and gunpowder came to her and a deep drawling tone could be heard from the darkness around her, making the darkness feel familiar, yet there was a note to it that said she was not done.---

Looking up she could see the dark form into an inky face filled with fangs that leered at her, a tongue slithering out and dripping on her face as it came closer, the tone becoming louder, darker, vibrating the air around her and her body. Her mouth opened without resistance, feeling the thick tongue push its way into her and the face pressing inches away from hers. Eyes with spirals circling the inky black pupil stared at her, feeling its hunger as her body was pressed against the darkness surrounding them, landing on her back as she felt as if he was all around and over her, the warmth became overwhelming as her mouth and throat got violated by the inky tongue.---

Feeling like her body had become submerged, she felt her legs spread apart as the form moved over her, and the tingling sensation shot through her as she knew what was about to happen. Her voice was muffled by their lips on hers as he took her on the spot, filling every part of her insides with a heat that numbed the aches and pains of muscles and joints. She had been utterly overcome by the dark entity that claimed her. from the pits of Hell and into its arms, marking her as his with everything it had and could give. Grasping at their arms, she could not feel herself able to pull off or away, as every movement made her sink deeper into the darkness, only able to see the eyes that had marked her as theirs, feeling her insides move to its wishes as she was used to their desires, body surrounded by nothing as the world had completely disappeared and all that was or would ever be was the monster that took her. The intensity had taken shape as she felt her whole body squeezed from all sides, and with a final shuddering effort, she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling of her dark room… It had been a dream.

Niffty woke with a sharp gasp, drenched in sweat. Her breaths were slow and deep, chest heaving as she tried to get a hold of her senses. 

That was an intense dream and so real. Usually her dreams weren’t so vivid and she forgot most of them after she woke. But she remembered every detail of this one so clearly. She shakily lifted her sheets, confirming what she already knew. And those were her favorite panties. Oh well. She supposed she could always buy new ones.

She settled back under the covers and squeezed her eye shut. Niffty wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep the rest of the night.

[shamelesslymkp]

I just realized that it’s entirely plausible someone would tell me to stfu when I say I’m not Christian, since my family celebrates Christmas and Easter, and would tell me that well, you’re culturally Christian, and like, I get what you mean, but I am literally not Christian. I am a Unitarian Universalist. It’s not Christianity. It’s pretty explicitly not Christianity. Half of my religious lineage is explicitly about not believing in the divinity of Christ.

Like! I have definitely been raised in a Christian culture! I have Christian relatives and even though I’m a third-generation UU, my family has passed down some of the more secular trappings of the really LOUD Christian traditions, like Santa at Christmas and the Easter Bunny at Easter. I know at least a few Jesus-related Christmas carols. My congregation hosts a nativity play every year, along with an Easter egg hunt. We also have a Passover seder, solstice celebrations, and bizarre annual flower and water “communion” services.

Unitarianism and Universalism both have a Christian heritage of sorts, that’s true. Unitarians were originally Christians who got kicked out for heresy of like, super high levels, since their heresy was literally not believing in one of the main foundations of Christianity, aka the Holy Trinity thing. Unitarians (then called Arians) got kicked out originally by the Council of Nicea and again every time someone went ‘ok but how the fuck does this trinity thing work anyway that’s just. CONTRADICTORY.’ (Unitarian Heresy: Believing in the Unity of God)

Universalists were also originally Christians and also got kicked out for super heinous heresy, as they disagreed with another main foundation of Christianity, that of the divide between Heaven and Hell, since, as Universalists pointed out, if God truly is the ultimate power of Good then it seems antithetical to its nature to like, actually damn anyone. (Universalist Heresy: Believing in Universal Salvation.)

Unitarian Universalism... is pretty different from its parents. It’s not Christian-Heretics-Assemble. It’s Come-All-Ye-Questioners. It’s not We-The-Chosen-People. It’s We-The-People-Who-Choose.

(look, I could keep going, I for a not insignificant period of my adulthood truly felt called to ministry as a UU, but this seems a little superfluous, so I’m going to tl;dr)

tl;dr: I get why people would call me culturally Christian. I don’t even entirely disagree. I certainly have been raised in a Christian culture. But damn if it doesn’t get my hackles up and make me want to hiss like an angry cat, because I am Unitarian Universalist down to my bones. it’s the faith I was raised in, a faith I believe in, a faith integral to my identity now and my memory of every self I’ve ever been. And I have spent my life having to defend my faith from people who try to tell me I’m Christian, that Unitarians are Christian, that Universalists are Christian, that UUs are basically Christian, just like, super liberal?, that Unitarian Universalism isn’t a religion, that Unitarian Universalism is nothing but an argument, nothing but a joke - and, funnily enough! it turns out that leads to really really really not liking it when someone calls me Christian. Even just a cultural one.

I’m sure there are atheists who would make similar arguments. And I’m sure the reasons people give for why the overwhelming majority of American atheists would count as culturally Christian are the same reasons they’d cite when labeling me. And I’m sure that yes, this is me reflexively responding to something people aren’t even saying, and that in most cases it would be derailing a conversation to object to its application. I’m sure that I’m going to bite my tongue the overwhelming majority of the time and stay in my goddamn lane because I understand the point the other person is making.

I’m just also sure it’s going to sting like hell.

[eddiesbug]

Billy x girlfriend reader who loves to ride him and is trying her absolute best to be quiet because Max and El are a few rooms down and afterward she makes dinner for them and El goes “We’re those happy screams” and Billy can’t stop laughing at her embarrassed expression😭

this was supposed to be short but it’s actually quite long i’m v sorry anon (GAH IM NOT HAPPY W THE ENDING BUT U KNOW IM POSTING ANYWAYS)

content warnings: smut 16+ (p in v), oral (m receiving) mild dacryphilia, (kind of) breathplay (??), face fucking, billy’s a lil bit soft for reader<33

“F-fuck!” you squeal, head lolling as you bounce yourself with vigour onto Billy’s cock. His hands guide your hips at a brutal pace, lifting and dropping you back onto him until you’re crying.

His broad hand flies to cover your drooling mouth in an effort to keep you quiet; he grunts, cradling the back of your head with the other hand and pulling you to the juncture of his neck. He removes the hand from your kiss bitten lips as soon as he’s got you firmly fixed against his skin and you begin to mouth at his jaw, sucking, kissing, biting.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs lowly, clasping your hand in his as you grab for his hair. “‘ve got ya, calm down.”

“Feels too good,” you mumble, teary eyed. He coos mockingly, the gentle thumb that comes up to push away your tears contrasting his mean tone.

“My baby’s fucked dumb already?” You nod, too high on the feeling of him buried deep inside of you to register that he’s teasing. It’s not long until your legs ache and you start to slow, frustrated by how close you are but not quite being able to get there.

“‘s alright, just hold on to me,” Billy instructs, pushing you back and fucking up into you meanly. You try your utmost to keep quiet until Billy sticks three calloused digits down your throat, stretching your mouth to accommodate them. The action alone makes you clench around him; the vibrations of your moans against his fingers go straight to his cock. He laughs. “Fuckin’ slut, you like bein’ treated like a stupid whore?”

Your noises are high and strung out and completely incoherent; he slows and deepens his movements, hitting the sweet spot inside of you that has you turning white hot and seizing up.

“Mmh, cumm-ing…” you manage to choke out around his fingers.

You squirm and convulse, trying to push him away, but he fucks you through it, letting you pull cruelly at his curly locks as you thrash. Once your sounds grow short and sharp, he knows you’ve had enough and pulls out, tugging at his dick.

“In my mouth,” you breathe out. “Please.” He smirks, pulling you to the end of your bed so your tear streaked face hangs off of the edge. He grabs two fistfuls of your hair, pushing in until he hits the back of your throat.

“Shit, fuckin’ tight, jesus,” he swears, using your throat as a fleshlight. Every time you gag around him, he moans. “Oh, yeah. This keepin’ that slutty mouth quiet?”

You’d answer if you could, but you’re preoccupied with stifling your gurgling sounds as you gasp for air, nose pressed against his balls.

“Good girl, fuck, that’s it.” He pushes all the way in, holding your nostrils shut as he shoots his load straight down your throat with a stuttered moan. You slap at his thighs, your head growing fuzzy the longer he cuts off your air supply, until eventually he lets go, grinning as you crawl up the bed and gasp.

He sits himself next to you, opening his arms ever so slightly. It’s the most invitation you’ll get from him, so you take it, crawling into his lap. It’s quiet as you wrap your arms around him, nuzzling into his neck, until he breaks the silence with a,

“You did good.”

Your eyelids flutter and you give him a dopey smile; you startle when you feel his own arms wrap around you and tug your naked form closer. Cuddling is a completely new concept for him; he seems to enjoy being this close to you, almost as though you’re one person.

You give yourself a minute to enjoy his closeness, eyes shut as you doze quietly against him, and then you’re pushing yourself away despite his almost silent protests.

“Where are you going?” he asks as you pull your clothes back on, doing your best to hide the array of bruises littered over your skin.

“I told the girls I’d make them dinner, remember?” You snag one of his t-shirts and pull it over your head, inhaling his strong scent of cheap cologne and cigarettes.

“Yeah, I remember.” He stands and pulls his clothes back on, kissing your jaw.

It’s mostly quiet as you get to work on dinner for the girls. Billy sits and watches you from the table, lips quirking into a smile as you hop around, plating things up and setting the table.

You call the girls for dinner and they bound down the stairs eagerly, sitting opposite where you and Billy have situated yourselves. They eat in silence, every so often exchanging snickers that have you cocking an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?”

El turns to face you, leaning forward slightly. Her eyes widen and her lips part as she whispers, as though the two of you are sharing a secret.

“Were those happy screams?”

You choke on a mouthful of pasta, hands flying to cover your stricken face. You can just about make out Billy’s smug, grinning expression from beside you and you elbow him. He laughs, leaning towards El.

“Yeah, those were very happy screams.”

“Billy, shut up!”

“What?”

You’re mortified, and you spend the rest of the meal dead silent, your face burning.

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” Billy laughs, seemingly amused by your humiliation.

“Yeah, for you! Cos you can be all smug about it. It’s embarrassing for me!”

Max coughs, nudging your foot under the table.

“It’s okay. If it’s any consolation, we didn’t even hear that much.”

You hide your face, rigid as Billy tugs you into his lap. The rumble of his chest as he laughs makes you purse your lips primly and bat at his chest.

“You’re so mean!”

“It’s funny!”

[chaosmagicss]

drunk words... (wanda maximoff x reader)

synopsis: you have a bad habit of calling wanda when you’ve been drinking. wanda, who you’re pretty sure you’re in love with. wanda, who you’re pretty sure is in love with you, too.

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of alcohol, getting shot, swearing

words: 4.5k

a/n: i haven’t posted a proper fic in forever and feel bad about it so i figured why not post this thing that has been hiding in my drafts forever!

It takes ten seconds for the headache to hit, and you groan heavily as you roll onto your stomach, burying your face into a pillow that smells distinctly of…

“Good morning, sunshine.”

You lift your head just long enough just to find Wanda at the end of the bed, an amused smile on her lips. You grumble in response, dropping your head back down and closing your eyes, wishing Wanda didn’t have to have her blinds open.

“This is the third time you’ve drunk-called me this week,” Wanda says, and you can feel your face go hot, so you hide it further against the pillow. You feel the bed dip beside you, and then a gentle hand lands on your back. The soothing way she rubs along your spine is enough to make your eyelids flutter. “Sit up and have some water, please, love.”

Your chest warms at the pet-name, and slowly, you do as you’re told. You take the offered painkillers without hesitation, all too aware of the throbbing in your skull, and down the whole glass of water in one go.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand as you reach to set the glass back down on the bedside table. You struggle to meet her eyes; she’s watching you with that intense, knowing look. “Did I, uh, say anything embarrassing?”

Wanda blinks, then averts her gaze. “Nothing you haven’t said before,” she replies, with this weird inflection that makes your chest ache with guilt. Your fingers twitch with the effort of not reaching for her. There’s a long, heavy silence, and you fumble to fill it, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Wanda takes a sharp breath suddenly, shoots you a tight lipped smile. “So, you had a good night?”

You swallow thickly, feeling a little bit like this is a trap. A handful of responses sit at the tip of your tongue.

Would’ve been better if you were there.

Too many snobs.

It was okay once I got home, to you.

“I…” You take another breath, try for an easy-going smile. “I’m never drinking tequila again.”

Wanda smiles a little, just one corner of her mouth curling up, but it seems genuine, and it relaxes the tightness in your chest almost immediately.

-

“I just—” You fumble with your keycard, cursing softly when the reader beeps in protest. “Shit, hold on.”

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice crackles over the phone, and you mutter a little bitch at the keycard when it finally works and allows you to shoulder the door open.

“Sorry,” you mumble when Wanda says your name again. “Stupid keycard wasn’ working.”

“Oh,” Wanda says softly. “Are you home, now?”

You hum an affirmative. “‘m almost there,” you tell her. You step into the elevator, tripping over nothing as you do so, stumbling into the back wall, letting out a giggle at the impact. “Almost ate shit,” you grin, and there’s a small breath of laughter that has your insides warming, your own dopey grin pulling at your mouth as you rest your back against the wall. “Y’have a pretty laugh, Wanda.”

“Y/N.” It’s almost a warning, but your drunken brain ignores it.

“Got a pretty everything,” you continue, and when the elevator dings you step out, feet already headed in the direction of Wanda’s room. “Pretty eyes. Pretty hair. Pretty accent. Pretty smile, pretty lips.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, but you hardly register it as you come to a stop in front of Wanda’s door. It opens only a moment after you knock, and you hear the call drop out as Wanda comes into view.

How she looks as pretty as she does with a clean face and her hair thrown up in a lazy updo, you have no idea. She’s wearing old sweatpants that have a little hole ripped above the knee and a too-big shirt that you’re almost certain is yours, and she’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The words spill out of you before you can stop them. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you.”

Wanda blinks, brows furrowing in confusion, but she reaches for you nonetheless. She takes your hand in hers and pulls you into the room, slowly enough that you won’t trip over your own feet. You sink into her, however, wrap your arms around her waist and burrow into the curve of her neck, a heavy feeling on your heart.

She hugs you back, arms wrapping tightly around your back. “What d’you mean?” she asks softly. You take a shuddery breath as you nuzzle further into her.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper. “And so smart and so kind. And I keep - I keep hurting you. I don’t deserve you.”

Wanda takes a breath, and is quiet for a long moment. Your eyes flutter shut, and you think you could probably fall asleep in her hold. But then Wanda shifts, gently urging you to lean back. You lean into her touch when she cups your face, sighing shakily.

“Y/N,” she murmurs. You find her eyes, and she chews her bottom lip for a few seconds before she gives up on words and instead leans up to press gentle pecks to your skin; your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, and finally the corner of your mouth. You lean into the touch with another soft exhale, and your brain doesn’t really catch up with the fact that you’re turning your head until you feel the soft press of her lips against yours.

The kiss is soft and chaste, Wanda’s fingers pressing delicately into your jaw. She tastes like toothpaste and peach chapstick and something that’s distinctly Wanda, and you can’t get enough of it. Your hands find her hips, and you pull her closer as you kiss her again, your lips moving against hers more surely. But when Wanda nips at your bottom lip and earns a soft groan from you, she pulls back, like she’s just realised what’s happened.

She steps away from you like she’s been burned, and your head reels at the sudden loss of contact.

“Wanda,” you start, eyes flickering to her face, but any and all words die in your throat when you meet her gaze. She’s got one arm crossed over her tummy and the other reaching towards her face, fingers pressed against her lips as she stares at you with wide eyes. You swallow thickly. “I—”

“Y/N, you’re - you’re drunk,” she cuts in.

You shake your head and take a hesitant step closer. Wanda shifts a little, but doesn’t step back, and you take that as a good sign.

“Not that drunk,” you reply. “I - I know what I’m doing.”

Wanda’s lips twist as she watches you step forward again, face pulled together in an apprehensive expression. Her breath hitches when you touch her, gently gripping her forearms and running your thumbs soothingly along her skin. You can see the gears turning in her head as her eyes flit around your face, lingering noticeably on your mouth.

She swallows thickly, then inhales sharply. “It’s late,” she says, voice strained. “We should get to bed.”

“Wanda—”

She steps back. “Please just - please go to bed, Y/N,” she practically begs, and your heart twists when she steps around you. “I’m gonna go get a glass of water.”

“Okay,” you choke out, and then the door slams shut.

For a few moments you stand in silence, the quiet of the room deafening. Then with an exhausted, resigned sigh, you tug off your shoes and collapse into the bed, making sure to stick to the side that Wanda doesn’t sleep on.

-

When you wake the next morning, Wanda is nowhere to be found. Last night’s events come back to you in a rush, and you let out a loud, frustrated groan, your chest tightening. You reach for her side of the bed to find it cold, and your brain whirls with thoughts: did she even sleep in here at all last night?

You don’t see her all day, and by the time dinner rolls around, you’re practically bursting with anxiety. There’s a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach; there’s something wrong, and it’s eating you up inside. You want to talk to her about last night. You need to talk to her about it. Need to make her understand that she makes your heart feel like it’s going to leap right out of your chest every time she so much as smiles at you.

You have the plan to pull her aside at dinner and tell her as much, until you finally spot her.

Your feet freeze in place when your eyes meet, heart thumping harder against your ribcage. There’s a few seconds where the two of you just look at each other, but then Wanda blinks and pulls in a breath and looks away, giving Vision a smile before she leaves the room, plate in hand.

And, okay, ouch.

Your heart settles in that pit of your stomach, your whole chest aching. You find yourself frozen until Sam calls out for you, looking a little concerned at your lack of movement. You swallow thickly, blink away the tears threatening to burn at your eyes and offer up a smile, shrugging and muttering a, “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You’re so focused on keeping it together that you don’t notice Natasha’s eyes flickering between you and Wanda’s empty seat, a knowing look on her face.

-

The mission, for lack of better words, goes to shit.

If you weren’t so damn proud, you would’ve told Steve that you should sit this one out. That you were too distracted by Wanda’s ongoing silent treatment to focus on anything Avengers related.

But still, you find yourself undercover in some nightclub in Vegas, all too aware of the mob boss that might be sitting in the VIP area. Your eyes scan the crowd again as you sip at your drink, and you catch sight of Wanda talking to someone who’s leaning in just a little too close. You can tell from here that she’s uncomfortable; her shoulders are squared and her jaw tight, her fingers curled into fists as she probably fights the urge to fling him across the room.

And you know, you know you shouldn’t even think about going over to help her. You’re meant to be seperate guests, total strangers, to avoid anyone putting two and two together; all a precaution Natasha has made very clear not to overstep.

The probably important chatter between Steve and Nat isn’t sticking in your brain, your eyes focused in on Wanda and the asshole that just won’t leave her alone. You very clearly watch her say No before she turns away, taking a sip of her drink, but then the guy reaches over and slides his hand down her back, settling on her ass.

Your feet are moving before you can think better of it, gliding through the crowd with only one goal in mind. You watch Wanda shove him off hard enough that he stumbles, drawing too much attention to herself. The second you reach them, grabbing the front of the man’s shirt and pinning him roughly to the edge of the bar, ready to give him a piece of your mind, a man goes flying over the railing to the second floor.

“We’ve been made!” You hear in your earpiece, and you catch Wanda’s eyes. “Silva’s right-hand is making a run for it!”

There’s an echo of gunfire from upstairs, and immediately, every person in the club is legging it towards the closest exit. You scan the club to try and spot the right-hand in question, and find him running down the stairs, three guards on him.

“I’m on the right-hand!” you say, and both Wanda and Natasha’s yells of protest fall on deaf ears. For the following ten minutes, your body is running purely on adrenaline. You chase down the right-hand man, taking out the guards that try and stop you on the way. Your lungs are burning for air and your legs are starting to ache, but you’re so close. The man makes a fatal mistake; hesitating between taking a left or a right, and it’s enough for you to grab him. You tackle him around the waist, sending you both down a flight of stairs and effectively stopping you from keeping your hold on him.

He scrambles to his feet once you reach the bottom, but as you push to your feet to follow after him, two consecutive shots ring out.

You topple immediately, your momentum gone in an instant. You feel a burning pinch in your shoulder and another against your side, both feelings settling into a horrible burning sensation, and you yelp a little when you try to push to your feet, eyes still focused on the retreating form of the right-hand.

“Fuck,” you mutter, rolling onto your back. You hiss, pressing a hand to the ache in your side and finding warm blood. You know you’ll be fine; you’ll be healed within the hour, but healing powers or not, being shot fucking sucks. “Fuck.”

“Y/N?” You groan heavily, dropping onto your back, your head spinning. You close your eyes tightly, begging your body to pull itself together. A cool hand covers your own, prying your own fingers away from the wound, and you open your eyes just long enough to find Wanda’s face. “Shit. Y/N’s been shot.”

“Twice,” you croak out.

“Bring her back to the quinjet,” Natasha says, a little out of her breath. “I’ll be there soon, I’m almost done in here.”

“Fucking damn it, Y/N,” you hear her muttering as she pulls you to your feet, ignoring the way you shout in pain. “Idiot. You idiot.“

The words burst out of you before you can put a handle on them. “Sorry, princess, next time I’ll ask them very nicely not to shoot me.”

“Shut up,” Wanda grumbles. “Hold on as tight as you can.”

You grunt in response, gripping onto whatever part of her you can as she takes off. You slip a little, but Wanda’s grip tightens, and before you know it, Steve is lifting you onto the table in the middle of the quinjet and getting to work on your bullet wounds.

You can tell they’re already healing; that weird chilling feeling is settling in. You should probably be a little more focused on getting it to work a little quicker, but you’re locked on the way Wanda seems annoyed with you.

Sure, it’s not ideal, but at least she’s actually looking at you instead of pretending you don’t exist. You don’t look away from her as she paces back and forth until you hear Steve calling your name.

Blinking, you turn your head to look at him as he pulls you to sit up, mindful of your already healing wounds.

“What happened?” he asks again.

You open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by a sharp, “She almost got herself killed, that’s what happened.”

You scoff a disbelieving laugh as your head whirls around to face Wanda, who’s now shooting daggers at you with her arms crossed over her chest, jaw jutted out in determination.

“Are you serious? I almost had him!”

“We’ll have another chance, and it wasn’t worth getting shot over!” she snaps, volume raising.

Steve’s voice cuts in, “Guys, let’s calm down—”

“And with that guy at the bar? I didn’t need your help. I’m not some damsel—!”

“He touched you—!”

“I had it handled! You could have blown our cover—”

“Well, I didn’t, did I?”

“But you could have,” Wanda snarls.

“What the hell is going on in here?” You both stop at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

Both you and Wanda open your mouth to speak, but you beat her to it. “Wanda’s being a brat.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Y/N thinks she’s allergic to following a plan.”

“Oh, like you’ve never—!”

“That’s enough!” Once again, both of you are silenced, but this time it’s by Steve’s booming voice. He points a finger at Wanda. “You go cool down—” His finger jabs at you next, “and you stay there and be quiet. Let yourself heal.”

You groan in protest, but carefully lay back down, eyes flicking to Wanda’s retreating form. Natasha shoots you a look even as she hands you a bottle of water, but you just look up at the ceiling before closing your eyes and focus on letting your powers do their job.

-

“Hey, I need you to come help me with something.”

You look up from your phone to find Natasha, and frown a little. “What d’ya need me for?” you ask around a mouthful of apple.

She sighs shortly. “Would you just come with me? Please?”

Swallowing your bite of fruit and throwing the rest of it in the bin, you push to stand and trail after her. She slows her feet to let you in front of her as she comes to a stop at a random door you honestly have never been inside of, a hand on your back. In hindsight, that should have been your first red flag.

When Nat presses at your back, you don’t move, looking to her sceptically. “Is this, like, your murder room?”

She gives you a pointed look. “Just go inside, would you?”

With a heavy sigh, you do as you're told, reaching for the handle and shouldering it open.

You come to an abrupt stop when the door opens to reveal Steve and Wanda in the room, and Natasha pushes a little at your back. After a few moments of mutually panicked eye contact with the girl sitting on the bed, you tear your eyes away. You spin and try to step past Natasha, but she steps in your way, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

“Nat, please—”

“Inside,” she cuts in, pushing firmly enough that you stumble into the room. You huff, deciding it’s not worth trying to escape. “You two are staying in here until you sort out whatever it is that’s going on.”

“There’s nothing—”

“We’re not—”

“That’s final,” Natasha interrupts again, voice rising over both yours and Wanda’s protests and rendering the both of you quiet. Crossing your arms over your chest, you sigh, eyes flicking to Steve when he squeezes Wanda’s shoulder encouragingly before moving towards you.

“Talk it out,” Steve says with a firm nod. “It always helps.”

“Yes, mom,” you mock, scuffing your shoe against the floor. Natasha reaches over to pinch your arm, and you step away from her with an affronted Ow!

A heavy silence settles over you and Wanda when Steve and Nat leave the room, door locking shut behind them. Wanda’s gaze remains forward, glued to the wall, but you can tell she knows your eyes are on her. Your mind is reeling, a hundred different conversation openers flying through your head, but you can’t manage to get any of them to leave your mouth.

You clear your throat, the first sound in the room since the door closed, and Wanda leaps into action. She pushes to stand, and you hold your breath in anticipation. But she doesn’t so much as glance at you when she breezes past you, beelining for the door.

You fumble for a moment. “Wanda, wait—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she says sharply before you can get another word out. She tugs at the door, but when she tries to use her powers to unlock it, it simply locks again. She tugs harder to no avail. “FRIDAY, let me out.”

“You’re not authorised to unlock this door,” the AI replies smoothly.

Wanda sighs, thumping her head against the door in defeat. Her back is still turned to you.

“I want to talk about it,” you say. Her actions pause, body tensing. “Can we? Please?”

She takes a breath, then whirls around to look at you, crossing her arms over her chest and shooting you an expectant look. You falter, eyes darting away from her face as you struggle to come up with words.

“I’m - Look, I’m sorry if what… I didn’t mean to…”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me,” she says shortly. Your eyes leap back to her face, heart sinking. “You had no right to. It was unfair, and mean.”

“Wanda, I…”

It seems as if the floodgates have opened, because she steps forward, eyes narrowing in a way that has you wanting to tuck tail and run. “Are my feelings a joke to you?”

“No, of course not—”

“You think it’s funny that you have me at your beck and call, and I get nothing in return, except for when you’ve been drinking?”

Her voice wobbles, and you watch her eyes fill up with tears. “Wanda—”

“It’s been three months of you telling me all these lovely things just to fucking forget them by the next morning, and now you tell me you think I’m too good for you and that you don’t deserve me, and then you fucking kiss me! And of course, you remember that!”

She’s in your space now, shoving an offensive finger at your chest, angry tears slipping out over her cheeks.

“And then you go on that stupid mission and act like an idiot and almost get yourself killed for no fucking reason!”

You swallow hard, blinking back the burning in your eyes. “Wanda,” you say softly, and she chokes on a sob, shaking her head roughly.

“No,” she says, fists thumping solidly against your shoulders, again and again. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

“Hey, hey.” You catch her hands, and she fights you when you start to pull her into a hug until she all but collapses, falling into a fit of sobs and choked out curses. You just wrap her up, smoothing a hand along her spine as she clutches at the back of your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur among her repeated comments of you’re an asshole and fuck you and i hate you. “I know, I’m an asshole. I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Her hands curl into the back of your shirt as she gives up on cussing you out, burying her face in your shoulder and letting out sob after sob until they’ve dwindled down into sniffles and shaky breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against her hair, and she exhales again, shifting her face against your shoulder to nuzzle into your neck. “I know it wasn’t fair how I was treating you.”

“Then why…” she croaks out. She doesn’t finish the question, but you hear it loud and clear. Why did you keep doing it?

“I don’t - I don’t know,” you murmur. “I don’t know, but I’m so sorry.”

She sniffles, lets out a shaky sigh, and pulls back to look at you. You lift your hands to her face, cupping her jaw and wiping away any tears still lingering on her skin. Her breath hitches as she leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. Even with tear stained cheeks flushed from crying, she’s the single most beautiful thing you’ve ever lain your eyes on.

“It’s hard to breathe when I look at you, you know,” you murmur. Her eyes open, brows pulling together as her gaze finds yours, and your heart rate doubles. “You just—” You swallow thickly, thumb pressing delicately into her lips for a moment. “You’re so perfect.“

Wanda bites into her bottom lip, eye-line dropping to your mouth for long enough that it makes your knees weak. They flicker back up, eyes searching yours for something. With a shaky sigh, you grab one of her hands, and her face twitches in confusion as you lift it to your sternum and press her palm flat against your beating heart. Her face shifts again, softens a little, as she feels the racing thrum of your heart against her hand.

“That’s what you do to me,” you whisper. Her gaze lifts to yours again, those piercing green eyes constricting your chest further. “And I was so scared of it. I know that’s not an excuse, but I don’t - please don’t doubt that my feelings for you are real. I hate that I hurt you and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.” Wanda blinks, her eyes watching you closely. “And I, I understand if you don’t - I get it if I screwed everything up, but I just - I need you to know… I’m so sick of trying to pretend I don’t feel the way I do. I - I’m sick of being—”

Her hand fists into your shirt and all of a sudden she’s tugging you roughly and her lips are crashing onto yours. It hurts a little, and your teeth knock together, but when you cup the back of Wanda’s head and take control of the kiss, slowing it down so you can really savour the feeling, you feel like you’re floating.

Her lips are so soft against yours, a stark contrast to the desperate way she’s clinging onto you, and when you squeeze her hip in an attempt to get her to relax a little, she sighs against your mouth. The rest of the world falls away, all of your senses honed in on the woman currently in arms, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You really aren’t sure how long you stand in the middle of that spare room, Wanda’s lips on yours, but when you break away, chest heaving as Wanda leans her forehead against yours, her breath coming out in quick little pants against your lips, you find yourself wanting to sink right back into her. Oxygen be damned.

“You’re so stupid,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“And you’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

She nudges forward, nose bumping against yours, her fingers release her death grip on your shirt and flatten, smoothing over your shoulders, up the side of your neck to settle on your jaw.

“I love you,” she breathes out.

Your breath catches, heart flipping at the words. You try and fail to come up with something intelligent to say, your whole body thrumming. Eventually, you give up, leaning in to kiss her again. Her fingernails press into your jawline as she lets you kiss her, a small, satisfied hum escaping her at the softness of it.

When you pull back, you pepper kisses around her face, along her jaw until she sinks into you, arms wrapping tight around your neck as you hold her around the waist. You nuzzle into her hair, breathing in the comforting smell of her shampoo, your heart pounding inside your chest.

“I love you, too,” you murmur. You exhale roughly. “Jesus. I love you.”

After a few moments, she leans back. She’s smiling when you find her eyes, her thumbs stroking over your cheeks.

“Go out with me,” you say. “Please? This Friday. Let me make everything up to you.”

She bites into her lip, her smile turning just the slightest bit towards mischievous. “Keep kissing me, and I’ll think about it.”

With an elated laugh, you do exactly that.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.4)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Yoongi makes his choice, so does Moonbyul.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Graphic material, Death, Murder, Dead bodies and dying described in detail, brief suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, DARK THEMES, guilt, blood, a touch of blood kink? drugs, murder/crime themes, guilt, kinda fuck or die vibes? finally fluff at the end, mating marks, 

W/c: 7.1k

A/n: here is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the big d word moment!!! my carpal tunnel is acting up, I will probably not be able to get the next chapter out for a few days or until next week. Chronologically the next chapter continues after part 1. 

(PLEASE READ TAGS FOR CW BEFORE YOU PROCEED)

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 4: If I Have You 

Pulling the trigger is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Geumjae’s body flinches back from the force of the bullet. The ceiling splattering with the spray of his blood. It hits the side of your face too, your white shirt crested with red at the shoulders, dripping down your throat along with the blood from your mating bite. It’s a percussive splatter, noisy as it hits the wall.

People never talk about how blood gets everywhere during a murder. Yoongi is unable to stop his flinch when Geumjae’s brain matter and viscera splatter against him, just a little. 

Yoongi didn't think you'd actually do it. 

He watches you shove the body away from you, hard, what's left of his head, an empty vessel, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. His hands leave you for the last time, but the pain isn't finished. 

Yoongi barely has the forethought to lunge forward, knees scraping, wrestling the gun out of your hand before you can turn it on yourself. The barrel of the gun is hot when Yoongi's hands close around it and yank it away from your own temple. The smell of burning skin joins the metallic scent of murder. Your scent is a mess- it’s barely had a chance to mix with Geumjae’s burning wood-burning bread and wrath, rainstorms, and gunpowder. 

He shouts your name but you don't respond. 

Yoongi yanks the gun from your hands, probably hurting your fingers but panicked when he hurls the gun to the other side of the room and takes your hands in his, wrestling with you and screaming your name until the fight goes out of you. 

You’re hyperventilating when you stop struggling. Both of your wrists pinned above your head in both of Yoongi’s hands, his knees pressing your legs to stillness in a way that could be sexual but isn't- it's the easiest way for him to restrain you- both sprawled on the bloody floor. Yoongi’s crying, tears dripping down his nose, every other drop shines pink from what's on his face.  

“Yoongi please- please just let me go- I don’t want to become a ghost- I don't wanna become a walking corpse.” The way you look breaks his heart, your neck so bruised and bloody, your face swelling too from Geumjae’s hits. The way your eyes hold only darkness and no warmth as you look at him and beg- beg him to let you take your life. Your pupils are so small he can't see them at all. 

“Let me die Yoongi- please just- if you do one thing for me- let do this. let me go."

Yoongi looks at your mating mark and can already see the thin tracery of ink spreading under your skin- inky blackness spreading from your mating bite and up your throat. A piece of someone who’s dead inside of you, shot through with silver to make it stand out more. 

It’s like some silly zombie bite in a bad horror movie but it’s so much more haunting, The veins in your eyes are even starting to discolor. You have maybe a few minutes before the mating bite takes you over completely and you’re mated to someone dead.

Zombie movies were nothing more than fear of this taking root in common culture, everyone fears losing their mate. What else is more terrifying than something that takes your humanity in the way that this has taken yours. This is every person’s worst nightmare- a death sentence.  

‘Ghosts’ are what society has dubbed the women and men who live after losing their partners. Most of the time they live without alpha or a pack- unable to bond to anyone else ever again once their mates are dead. Mating bites are a one-time thing. 

When one-half of a mated pair dies- a person's body has a peculiar way of letting outsiders know how to treat them gently- The mating mark turns black like a brand. A mark to let everyone know that they would never have another person to take care of them- to love them.

But you aren’t alone- you’re not alone because you have Yoongi and he’s right here with his wide palms on you. Hands that where always made to fix things, but you aren’t just some broken toy that needs a bit of glue.  He’s too late, just seconds too late and only inches away. 

He grips both of your forearms in either of his palms hands, pulling you closer. Making you sit up, dragging you into his lap like carrying your weight in his arms will fix this. Anything to hold onto you- to not lose you too soon. 

"Stop- just stop, I've got you- I've got you," Yoongi repeats it more for himself than he does for you.

But there are wounds in your body that can’t be fixed by simple hoping. There is a limit to what one person can take. Despair is one hell of a drug and while Yoongi fights and fights there is no undoing what Geumjae has done to you.

But maybe…

Yoongi dares to hope; “It’s only a half bond if we-“ he falls silent as the idea settles over him like a bucket of cold water. His brain rushing over everything he’s ever learned about mating bites and beta’s; all of the statistics and articles that Namjoon had shoved down his throat when Jungkook had first stopped having seizures. 

The medical mystery that betas were; how they were able to heal unseen hurts and maybe- maybe this was like that. Maybe the solution to this problem lays in Yoongi’s veins, in his mouth. 

His jaw aches at the very suggestion of it.  “I’m a beta- and betas don’t usually mark- because- because they’re stronger than alpha and omega bites.” 

It’s the only truth that makes sense. All of the stories of omegas and alphas going crazy after being bitten by betas, not being able to move from them too far, extreme clinginess- a bond that was too close, too strong, stronger than anything else in their life. You weren’t supposed to bond with someone so deep, the bite almost seemed to do more harm than good. 

But you’re already dying and there isn’t much worse that could happen to you.

You don't have anything to lose but Yoongi does. You shake yourself free from his arms and pull back. Recoiling from what he’s offering to do for you; tether him to you forever when you might not make it. 

You can already feel the mating mark taking hold- It's already starting to cloud your judgment, deep down, the part of you that cares if you survive this is already winking out. The blankness sinking through your every inch, The emptiness. You’d be surprised if you lifted your hand to your chest and found your heart still beating. 

“Yoongi- No- you don’t have to- you’ve already got a pack and don’t- don’t bind yourself to someone like me.”

It’s the same argument that you had before but there’s no force behind it- every stupid excuse you had for him not to love you is moot now that your husband is dead next to you. But you're done; Every breath takes more effort than it should and you feel so heavy. You look down at your lap and feel the lethargy sinking beneath your bones like lead. Hidden hands gripping around your throat cutting off your words.

You feel like you’re choking on something. 

You’ve felt depressed before (how could you not have given what your life was like before Yoongi). And having a mating mark from someone deceased feels like that but worse, like it's turned up by a factor of three. A weird mixture of dizzy, absent, and dissociative. You have never felt less connected to your own body, it feels foreign.

You are nothing but a soul inside a body, craving release. A thread of black that wants to tug you down to where ever Geumjae is now. 

The sinking sadness says to you with gentle hands- this is a fine spot. You can just sit here, It’s okay. You don’t have to move, you can just sit here until you die. As long as no one bothers you and hurts you again, you could just sit here, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Things don't even have to be good, you don't need good things, you just need it to not hurt anymore. Until the earth reclaims you like it takes abandoned buildings. 

 A sharp pain that goes through your heart, an ache so deep that it speaks to cavernous places, wakes monsters that you didn’t know where there. 

You’ve never really wanted to die before, maybe as a passing thought- but didn’t everyone think that way? it’s so different now- where the thoughts are all consuming, running over your words in your head like oil spreading and staining cloth. 

Die- want to die- want- want- want die- wanna go- wanna be quiet- wanna fall asleep and not wake up- want to- 

But if you decided to lay here and not get up again, Yoongi would stay too.

He would try and get you to move, probably beg and try to get you to live. Even if he never bit you, he’d stay next to you until the end, just to hold your hand so that you didn’t have to be completely alone. You thought dying would feel more lonely,  But maybe it doesn't feel that way because Yoongi’s here. 

His hand closes around yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he cries. And you think if you want one thing; it's for him to stop crying. Out of all people- Yoongi doesn't deserve the hurt (but maybe you're biased because you love him).

That tips the scale in his favor.

Geumjae’s blood is pooling on the floor. His body gives a twitch, the last remnants of his misfiring nerves as he dies. You feel the painful jerk in your mating bond. Yoongi watches the muscles of your neck twitch. 

Neither you nor Yoongi pays him any mind. 

"You don't have to do this Yoongi." Yoongi’s hand on your cheek- is like a balm to those words, pushing them out of your head. “You can’t take it back. If I die- you could die too.”

“But I want to” he kisses your cheek- and the contact lights a flame down your neck to your touch starved heart. The heat flares to light and the next second your body and your mouth are aching to bite. Your instincts an avalanche around you begging you to complete the bond that’s tearing through you making you shake. He kisses a little closer to your lips, cheeks wet and cool against your skin.

Geumaje and Yoongi were related by blood at all, maybe your instincts can’t tell the difference. 

“I don’t care if it does- I can’t- I’m not going to just let you die” his voice breaks on the last word. Not when it was me who was too slow to save you; He won’t say the words or whisper his guilt into the open air. 

“Please sweetheart- let me.” He kisses your lips. So soft- achingly soft, Your first kiss, you wish it had happened under better circumstances.

You hate that the first kiss you and Yoongi share tastes like blood.

But there would be more- there could be more kisses if Yoongi manages to do what he’s saying he can. The mark on your shoulder is already healing, the blackness stretching to scar treacherously fast. Normal mating bites usually take a day or so to heal, but not yours, it’s already scabbing and sealing in the poision.

If you’re going to try this- if it’s going to work- it has to be now. The bond is advancing, regardless of the fact that Geumjae is barely dead, barely cooling beside the two of you.

It’s barely been 10 minutes since you shot him. And if you listen carefully- you can hear sounds in the rest of the house, maybe someone else from the gang here- about to come upstairs and discover the mess of you three. muffled voices and heavy footsteps grow louder by the second. 

Yoongi is safe but you’re not. “Yoongi,” you say, his name a broken hymn on your mouth. Musical- and Yoongi can’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to hear it. Hoping for more of this closeness and maybe one day, a love that doesn’t hurt.

You get the feeling that even if you are broken beyond repair, this man could fix you. Wide hands and careful fingers that rub the blood away from your skin, hands made for making things and mending things when they break. And maybe you’re selfish enough to let him bind himself to you- broken as you are.

You press your forehead to his, you have to ask one more time. "Are you sure Yoongi?"

He nods, quick and small, "I'm sure." there isn’t anything in his eyes that makes you doubt him.

"Okay," you say softly, tugging him closer, tilting your chin up to the sky, your skin stings where it stretches around the mating mark. "okay. Come here then."

Your hands tangle in Yoongi’s hair as you guide his mouth to your throat, and his mouth sliding into the space where Geumjae was just minutes ago. He lingers for just half a breath before sinks his teeth over the mating mark, a little deeper- his mouth a little wider. He makes the bite a tiny bit offset.

Your breath hitches, back arching. His hands-on your waist go hard, holding you closer to him, as close as he can get you. Unlike before when Geumjae’s bite was agony, this feels like heroin- like every drug mixing together sending you up and up.

If you looked down and saw your hands were tipped in gold you wouldn’t be surprised. For a second you think you can taste colors, and then the chocolate sea salt of Yoongi settles over your tongue delicious, like ambrosia- fuck it’s so strong, it’s halfway between a headache and a high. You gasp when you feel it, feel Yoongi all over, Goosebumps rising on your arms as he touches you. The smell of ocean breeze and chocolate filling you in a way that Geumjae’s scent didn’t.

Geumjae’s bite was nothing compared to this, a whisper to a symphony. 

This must be what a mating bite feels like when you want it. You cry out. Gripping the lapels of his coat. Yoongi’s heartbeat thunders in your ears, the only thing you can hear, until the beat matches to your own, heartbeats pumping in sync.

Your blood tastes sweet and he wonders what it says about him that he likes the taste. He gulps at it- once- twice- and then a third time just to make sure the mark sticks, maybe he could suck a little bit of Geumjae out of you.

His kisses get feverish, lapping up your blood with wide laves of his tongue, moaning a little. and this time when you kiss- with your blood in his mouth, they get hurried and rushed like he can consume you, each one sweeter than the last. There is one moment of nausea, only one moment where Yoongi sees the black tracery receded and feels it dim. 

Maybe it’s not gone, but at least it's buried.

Yoongi can almost feel you, can almost feel the bond, but not yet. Your scent, it's all cake-sweet now. You kiss him until your jaw aches until your lips feel bruised. Until you know the sounds below actually are people, rushing around trying to find Geumjae. Calling out your names. 

Yoongi is the first to break apart, the room spinning. “Do me” he lifts the edge of his shirt, picking out a spot that he likes, the meat just above his hip. A spot is half-hidden by his shirt and his pants.

Not everyone likes to have their mating marks on their neck (you certainly would have chosen to have yours another place had you been given the chance). And Yoongi stretches out so that you can get your mouth on him, your mouth on the spot he wants to bind your soul to his.

He holds one of your hands in both of his hands so gently as you cup his hip and bite down, even as you begin to make out the noise of gang members coming up the attic stairs. Yoongi bites down a moan, lets you take one gasp of blood into your mouth before your teeth leave his skin.

The high rushes over him and he knows his pupils are mirrors of yours, black and dilated. He just has time to wipe his blood from your mouth and get you as close as he can, before the attic door creaks, the barrel of a gun pushing it open. And the gangsters enter the room with practiced steps.

Yoongi pulls his shirt back down just before they have a chance to see.

You play the part, slumping against him and letting him take the reigns. the people must take it for pain even though you’re shaking not with sobs, but from the feeling of Yoongi’s soul intertwining with yours. Full body shivers and something solidifying between the two of you. 

Together you shake, Yoongi is barely aware of the gangsters clearing the room. 

You feel like you can taste his thoughts, though you can’t actually hear what he's thinking. You can feel the way they tumble like small waves over each other. You feel concern and something else, something that feels an offal lot like love shoot down the fledgling bond as Yoongi’s arms pull you up, firmer against him.

It makes shivers rise on every inch of your skin, the pleasure he feels when he touches you that you're now hyper-aware of. It's what your body has been craving- the completion of the bond.

You both bleed- your blood dripping onto the floor. One part sacrament and sacred love and another part poisonous longing for a man you hated so much more than you ever loved him. This feels strange, it feels wrong, and that you have one part of you reaching out for something that’s not there. And then this- with Yoongi, right and front of you and inside of you. Completely occupying your heart and your mind and your body.

Accept for that one poisoned inch; you might not be completely his, but it's enough now, the bond with yoongi occupying those thoughts you'd had minutes before.

The gangsters don’t touch Geumjae, at least until Moonbyul enters the room, unarmed. Yoongi’s cousin eyes Yoongi from the door. There isn’t enough room in this torture room for the 12 or so gangsters and the three of you, they press against the walls, guns at the ready.

Moonbyul approaches Geumjae’s corpse, turning him over with her foot to see his blankly staring face, turning it towards the heavens instead of hell. For a moment, Yoongi thinks she might actually kick him. She plucks her pink handgun from the floor. Someone passes her a rag and she wipes it free of blood and fingerprints.

Her eyes on Yoongi are hard; a bit of mirth playing on the edge of her mouth as she plays her hand. A queen in a room full of pawns and knights, and the king underfoot. Her hand of aces. 

Betting it all on a simple game of roulette- red or black- will Yoongi challenge her or not. Yoongi doesn't miss the way her finger hovers on the trigger. 

“I suppose this entire situation would be concerning to me- if you hadn’t already named me as Don.” she nudges Geumjae's body again with her foot. "I guess he didn't take it well?"

She lies effortlessly, taking the moment to seize power. So this was what she was waiting for. Yoongi doesn’t challenge her words for fear of what she might do right now, not that he really would anyway. 

Yoongi tips his head forward in difference, “No he didn’t,” 

Moonbyul tucks her gun back into her waistband, and holds out her hand to pull yoongi to his feet. 

Yoongi takes you with him, small and still a little high in his arms. You hide your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, Holding onto him tight. You don’t know if you could take it if they tried to separate you now. 

Yoongi has to swallow to continue, struggling to think before he speaks with so many new sensations shocking his body. He's intimately aware of the way you shift in his arms, arms tightening around you at the very idea of you moving more than an inch away from him right now as you settle onto your own two feet. still a little unsteady. 

“He- he mated her against her will, and then he tried to kill us when I told him I wouldn’t- and- and after-” It’s not a lie- not really, but it still feels that way. Moonbyul doesn't need to do anything more than that to nod to call her men off, and they all relax around the room. 

They instantly fade from engaged concern to understanding. The other heads of household will probably grill Yoongi more. But you’ve both got time to get your story straight. For now, they need to clean up the body.

It helps that threatening the beta is a punishable offense; no one will question Yoongi killing him- especially since they’re brothers. Most of the families tend to think that inner house spats that family's business. Yoongi doesn’t know which of his relatives will inherit the title of head of the Min family, but it won't be Yoongi.

You’re small and silent in Yoongi’s arms, so vulnerable, he keeps you a few paces away from any of the mobsters, bites down a growl whenever any of them come too close to his mate. It’s just the mating bond making it’s self-known. You are his. No one can touch you.

Yoongi has never been a possessive man, but now he is. The mating mark tearing through him and screaming at him to protect, to provide, to nurture, and keep safe. He strokes down your back as his cousin quietly orders the others to clean up the mess and Geumjae’s body. The family has cleanup crews on call for this very reason.

They quietly offer to burn the house down to stage the death but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guesses it belongs to him now or maybe you. It depends on which bond the family will consider more important; the bonds of a half mating or the bond of brotherhood.

“I’ll handle it-“ his cousin has the good grace to offer comfort to Yoongi that way when he gets you into her car. she doesn't say anything about the dents in the side.  

Yoongi doesn’t quite hate her for any of this, but he doesn’t trust her the same way he did before either. She’s gotten what she wanted- the Don position. Plucked it from Yoongi’s hands.

“You haven’t had a chance to call the heads of house and tell them about your decision yet, but after that, you should be free to go” she reads him easily as always, The only other manipulator up to par with Yoongi himself in the gang. She knows that not an inch of Yoongi wants to stay in this house or this city a second longer.

At the idea of leaving you to straighten up in Yoongi’s lap to listen in a little more, you share a look with Yoongi. Your mate, your body sings the eye contact makes you shiver in your seat. Yoongi pulls you closer, stroking up to your arm mistakenly thinking you’re cold. You pull yourself closer to him- but it feels like you can’t get close enough, He makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

Yoongi will have to get used to this feeling. Like his soul is walking outside of his body. It feels incredibly vulnerable and intimate- He can feel your panic, how physically you’re being torn apart right now, every few minutes you shake. Yoongi puts your legs over his and holds you close. Watching your face closely for every twinge of pain as the lights of the city flicker over you two.

The meeting with the heads of house is tense, though the usual group of is two short now, standing only at eleven members now that Geumjae is gone and Moonbyul is named Don. You cannot be Don and a head of house at the same time.

It takes every bone in Yoongi’s body to let you be taken into the other room by Moonbyul’s mate to check over your injuries. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He catches Moonbyul’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. “Would you look at her bruises for me?”

Later Yoongi will check them himself, again and again until he's sure you're all right. But the sooner you get ice on the nastier bruises the better off you’ll be. Someone should look at your ribs and your head too- he has half a mind to take you to the hospital before you leave the city. He doesn’t know how long it will be before you’re stationary again. He’d stay in the city tonight if you needed to. But he can feel your panic down the bond, The sooner you both get out of here the better.

With Geumjae dead there is no true opposition against his cousin's rule. She stands at the head of the table like she’s meant to be there. And still- the heads of the families talk through the night, kicking the non-proverbial dead horse into the ground. There is little mourning for Geumjae, one granny who cries faintly in the other room while the heads argue. Yoongi supposes he should look more upset, but no one pays attention to him now that he’s made his choice.

No, what they spend most of the time discuss is you. Sat in the other room, able to hear all of this, the men and woman weighing your fate and deciding what to do with you. If Yoongi listens, he can hear Hyejin’s quiet voice. Can feel your discomfort as the ice hits your ribs, maybe broken, definitely badly bruised.

Yoongi flinches every time he feels the pain pulse down the bond. Maybe in time, it will feel less sensitive but right now- Yoongi can feel your hurts just as bad as he can feel his own. A part of him is reaching out into the other room, screaming in his ear to go comfort his mate.  

He has a mate. Yoongi can scarcely believe it.

The gangsters around the table remain blissfully unaware of that fact. Most of the heads are on the same page, and he won’t reveal his mating mark unless he absolutely needs to, he will let that secret stay secret unless necessary. It’s a good bargaining chip. They wouldn’t kill you if they knew it was going to kill him too. But still- it’s hard to hear them argue over your fate when he can’t intervene.

“You know the rules- no divorces and no separations,” one alpha says, he’s older- nearing 60, but Yoongi can’t excuse that cruelty with age. The youngest, the head of the Ahn house does the rebutting for Yoongi, and he bites his tongue.

“But it wouldn’t be a divorce; she’s his widow now and his ex-mate technically.”

“Yes but that’s only a half bond.” There is only one omega head, and the woman snubs her long cigarette out on the table leaving an ashy circle 

“It’s only the alpha bite that matters- or have you forgotten?”

To her credit, the omega doesn't back down. “Chances are she’ll die anyway why are we even talking about her, we should start transitioning already.”

“That’s easy to say- if she’s got nothing left to lose what’s to stop her from going to the police.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Yoongi volunteers, jumping at the chance to turn the discussion to his favor. They can all go fuck themselves if they ever dare to try and hurt you. “You say she’s as good as dead anyway. So you shouldn't mind if she comes with me.” 

The likelihood of anyone living after their mate dies is in the teens. Yoongi knew that and even then he bonded to you anyway. He can only hope that with his bite coursing through your veins and your body confused that you’ve got better odds than that. Yoongi did what he promised to do, now your odds are both 50/50. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t go to the police.”

Through the bond he can feel your curiosity and a little bit of fear too, you’re listening in. And he does his best to let his calmness comfort you too. Your panic instantly relaxes and he senses you reaching out. If you were next to Yoongi you’d be holding hands, and it kind of feels that way. If you could ever hold hands with someone’s soul.

“You realize that if you make her your responsibility, anything bad that happens will fall on your head as well” their betas might be sacred- but they aren’t free from the rest of the laws of the gang.

“I understand.” The Don lifts her head, regarding Yoongi with a heavy look. “She’s his widow and whether we want to address it now or not, the law says she’s inherited his wealth.”

It's met with immediate opposition, several heads of house start speaking over each other at once,  but Yoongi speaks up again, shouting over them. A beta raising their voice is about as strange as one giving or getting a mating bite, everyone falls silent. “Give it to me or her- I don’t care.”

another few minutes and they’re ready to let you go. they vote on it, and only 3 out of 11 heads vote to have you killed. Moonbyul gives the all clear, “Then you’re free to go.” Yoongi doesn’t even say goodbye, going to you in the other room just as quickly as he can without outright running. The Don’s mate is crouched in front of where you sit. Your body is mostly clean of blood and you’ve been put in other clothes; a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt.

Yoongi can see all the bruises on the side of your face turning purple and Yoongi wants to cup your face and bring it to his, kiss away the pain coloring your skin like watercolors, but can’t do it here. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” 

“Not for her but maybe for you, no ones checked you over yet, have they?”

yoongi grits his teeth, seconds away from snapping at hyejin, he wants her to get away, get as far from you as possible. “i asked if she needed the hospital.” 

Hyejin stands when Yoongi crouches. shaking her head when it becomes clear yoongi isn’t to be argued with right now. “There’s something wrong with her- but I think you know what” her eyes hover on Yoongi’s hip.

 So at least she’s figured it out. She has the good sense to utter the words quietly. Though the people in the other room aren’t concerned with Yoongi anymore, they’ve already launched into discussions about transitioning power and re-defining responsibilities. It seems Moonbyul had a plan on how she wanted the family to run from the beginning.  

He shakes off his annoyance, “Thank you,” he says to the omega, holding out a hand to you, which you take, still not saying anything. Tiredness holding you down to the chair. The same kind of look you’d had when Geumjae had died. The mating mark has been taped over but some of the blackness is still there. Yoongi wonders when it will fade, if it ever does.

“I wish I could say I’ll see you soon but I don’t think I will.” You and Yoongi nod, your hands twined between the two of you. She knows that neither you nor Yoongi has a love for the gang. No one stops you and Yoongi when you leave the house. Immediately hailing a taxi. You stop only at Yoongi’s safe house for a spare 20 minutes, while he packs up a fraction of his belongings in a hurried rush, anything to get out before someone tries to change their mind.

If Geumjae had any hidden loyalists the beta that killed him and his runaway wife would be the first targets. Let alone their reaction if they knew who had really killed Geumjae. The quicker the two of you get away from the city the better.

You end up at the train station, Yoongi breaks the bracelets off of your wrist- the same ones that he saw you wear on you the first night- and the ones that he’s always thought looked like shackles. He yanks at them as hard as he can until they snap; kissing your wrist after each one is off. You throw them over the side of the chain-link fence and into the darkness- to be lost forever you hope. The symbols of all you’ve lost.

When you get on the train, you cuddle close under Yoongi’s jacket and into his warmth. He’s a protective barrier between you and the third seat that thankfully remains empty this late into the night it’s so late it’s nearly early morning. Most of the train is empty besides an elderly couple at the front. Regardless, the two of you sit behind them. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of the potential threat. Actually flinches when the conductor comes around to stamp your tickets.

You head off into the night- your little box of light in a sea of street lamps and hidden dangers. You almost fall asleep a few times, head bobbing as you catching yourself before it hits his shoulder. After the third time this happens he pulls you in close, tucks your head close to his scent gland, and commands “sleep” in a voice that you cannot disobey.

Eventually, you wake, the car is bright with the midday sun and the car is half full. Yoongi’s eyes are bloodshot as they train on every passenger who comes in and leaves your train car. Yoongi holds your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back in an endless trail. A conductor opens the door of your train car to pass through, bunching a few tickets here and there from the new passengers who have boarded the train.

He passes by where you're bundled and Yoongi flinches so hard it wakes you fully. his shoulder accidentally nudging a bruise on your cheek, He murmurs his apologies, panicked hands fussing over you. He could feel that he hit one of your bruises and the horror of hurting you make him wide-eyed and worried. You catch his hands, pressing the pads of them to your lips. Yoongi's hands shake as they touch you, hours later, he's still high on adrenaline. 

“You need to sleep Yoongi” it’s been a long few days for both of you.

He doesn’t answer with more than a grunt. But you get off the train at the next stop and it’s nearing noon by the time the two of you stumble across the street to a motel, and it’s shitty and smells like cigarettes and the lady at the front desk asks if you need the hourly rate or the daily rate. Though she does give you a discount because Yoongi’s a beta. Eyeing the blood-soaked collar of his jacket and the bloody bandages on your neck.

You should be holed up somewhere safe away from prying eyes to adjust to your new mating bite- not in a hotel where the smells of other people assault your nose. Making you press close to Yoongi because everything smells so new and scary. Like your senses have been turned up and only Yoongi can quell their sensitivity.

you don’t realize that the attendant gave you two beds until you get to the room. you both stare blankly before you cough and separated. the closeness too much now that you’re alone and free from threats. Though it doesn't feel that way. 

you hate it- you don’t want to curl up across the room from Yoongi- you want to be next to him. you almost whimper when he He steps away to the other bed to set down his backpack. You want to cry, your skin feels irritated and itchy without his pressed to yours. You want him to touch you but you can’t stay it. Don’t know how to ask around the thickness in your throat.

He gets a clean shirt from his black backpack and helps you put it on so that you don’t irritate the mating bite. You can’t lift either of your arms much and neither can he but he pushes through the pain for you. He only has 2 or three sets of clothes that he grabbed from the cottage, and it’s all you’ve got.

“We’ll get some more clothes for you tomorrow.” He doesn’t say that you should have grabbed some of your clothes- because you both know you couldn’t handle staying in that house a second more than was necessary. You barely thought to linger long enough to grab your purse, which thankfully had everything you really need in it. 

Somehow he has athletic tape in his bag, and he spends a few minutes changing out your soaked through bandages, bundling up toilet paper, and taping it over your mating bite. Only after yours is taken care of does he let you do the same for his bite on his hip, and the burns on his hands. 

You pull his pants off and then his boxers down just enough so that you can get at it, small from your mouth, the skin around it irritated and pink. You try not to let your eyes hover on the small happy trail that traces from his belly button downwards. The band on his boxers is stained with blood- and you wonder how much it hurt to have it dig into it all day.

You curl up in separate beds, and only when you’re under the covers do you slide off your pants. leaving you only in a large shirt that smells like yoongi.  Yoongi does the same, says “goodnight” and shuts off the light but doesn’t turn away from you, keeping his eyes on you in the darkness. 

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you can tell that neither of you is falling asleep. Your bed feels cold and you wonder if he feels the same, you let the distance hurt for a minute before you give in.  

"Thank fucking god-" He peels back the blanket for you the second you make the move and dash across the cold room. you scoot into his warmth and he lets out a little ‘oof’ when you collide. Letting him pull you closer, put the blanket over your back, and make sure all of your skin is covered.

It’s not enough for Yoongi and he pulls you sideways so that he can get some of his weight on top of you. A growl building in his chest at the thought of anyone walking through the door right now.

He needs to check the lock, make sure that no one can possibly disturb you. Needs to- the instinct filling him so harshly he can’t breathe. He tries to pull away, but your hands tighten on him, and you let out a whine so heartbreaking that instantly has him releasing comforting chocolate, flopping back on top of you nuzzling under your chin, you feel like you’re drowning in it. 

Your love with Yoongi is still too new and raw to be close like this without feeling shy- and yet you can’t resist, your mating bond is like a fresh burn that you can’t stop picking at because it hurts. (Like there’s something dead there that you need to get rid of, you can’t heal around, you need to tear it out so that it feels more like bleeding rather than something that was carved out by hungry heat.) You fiddle with the bandage at your neck before Yoongi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

For a moment, you crave the release that blood might give you- and like he can feel it. Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi says. You shake your head. The motel creeks and overhead you can hear someone else moving in an adjacent room. Yoongi gets his head on your pillow and adjusts his hand around your waist so that he’s not hitting the vicious bruise that Geumjae left with one of his kicks.

The last 24 hours have been such a tangle. It feels weird to not move now. Yoongi’s heart is still hammering; you can feel it under your palm. You’re both unwilling to relax and close your eyes even for a second even though you’re both exhausted.

You’re worried if you close your eyes you’re going to see Geumjae's face.

Yoongi left the light in the bathroom on for you. Sensing that the shadows would be too thick with nightmares for you to handle for long. You look at each other in the darkness before Yoongi lets out a shaky little giggle.

“Do you know what I just realized?” he says, the words quieted against the too scratchy bedspread. “We could have gotten a better hotel, we easily have enough money for it now” and that’s true.

If Yoongi’s orders were followed and the gang's accountant really did transfer all of your inherited wealth to your name then- fuck- both of you saw the bank statements. Both of you know how much money Yoongi’s family had amassed- the same wealth that Geumjae had inherited and now you.

“Fuck you’re right,” you say, ducking in so that you don’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Geumjae used to hit you sometimes if you did that- and trained habits die-hard. 

yoongi kisses your brow, slow little pecks that travel down your cheeks, as unhurried as they are sweet. It's strange to be close to him now when it’s all you’ve wanted for the last few months. You never thought you’d get this. It feels like a daydream and a nightmare all at once.

“We could buy a whole house- or three” and even then you’d have more than enough money to live on after. For the rest of your days, comfortable and cozy even if you were foolish with the money. Yoongi still gets his stipend from the gang. No doubt to be greater now that he’s the only beta.

He stops his kisses, mouth hovering on your cheek, “We could do that.” he sounds like he’s barely containing his excitement. 

You’ll both be fine. Neither of you will ever have to worry about money again and it makes you feel sick and happy with something that feels a terrible lot like grief.

Even if you got that- the last 24 hours haven’t been worth it. You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. The mark on your shoulder is scabbing over and inky. But every few hours of closeness that the two of you have- Yoongi think’s he sees the color fade- just a little bit.

You don’t know where the giggle comes from but one moment it comes out of your mouth and you laugh, and Yoongi joins in the sound startling out of his chest. He presses his forehead tight against yours and sighs at the sound. You see the moment clarity falls on him and an idea settles into his mind the second it hits. And dim happiness settles over your bond.

Yoongi lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your bruised knuckles. “Let's buy a house.”

You smile- tired from today but still willing to placate him. “Okay Yoongi, we can do that.”

Now finally, his eyes are starting to droop, every few seconds he tries to keep them open, but you know he's seconds away from sleep. His words slurred when they whisper, his sweet chocolaty breath tickling your cheeks. “Goodnight sweetheart- love you.”

“Love you too,” it’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to each other. It feels like the first of many times you’ll say it. Forever- you and Yoongi will be mated together until you both die. And who cares if that happens tomorrow or months from now. Who cares? Because you have him and that’s all that matters.

Yoongi holds you and knows- that he will love you- as long as he can.

He watches you sleep, waits until your eyes are closed. Until he can make sure you’re safe and warm. A gentle purring fills the hotel room, soft and peaceful. yoongi hears it louder when he presses his ear to your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, but somewhere around the second hour- they fall closed.

Neither of you dream.

—————

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[thefanbasewhore]

Bucky has a nightmare and hurts the reader?

Summary: Bucky has a nightmare and mistakes the reader for someone else.

Warning/content: physical violence, choking, Bucky is a mess, reader is hurt by Bucky.

Paring: Bucky Barnes x female reader

A/n: I wrote this really fast, it's not proof read.

Part 2 coming soon - comment If you want to be tagged

It all happened so fast, one minute she's fast asleep, not a worry in the world until a cool, vibranium arm wraps around her neck so fast her eyes could barely react quick enough to open and find the source.

Once opening, it's blurry. Unshed tears kiss her waterline as her body reacts naturally, scratching and clawing at the man pressing his metal appendages, squeezing her windpipe close. It doesn't phase him, the sting of ripped skin and taste of blood as it trickles down his face and taints his lips.

"Bu-." She tries but the metal grip only tightens. It burns, her throat is on fire, no doubt turning black and blue under the deadly squeeze. Pressure builds up in her head, making it unbearably hot and her chest stutters under the weight of his own.

Bucky is snarling, blue eyes boring into her own but only if isn't him, someone else entirely. The old him, no doubt deep in the confines of him mind making an appearance once again. His eyes are dark, filled with a deep, meaningless void.

It hurts, blood vessels pop pooling both eyes with a deep, crimson bed. With one last effort, fingers find the buzzed hair, nails curling around the back on his neck where she uses all her strength to scratch until she smells blood.

The sharp pain is enough to snap Bucky out of it, hand easing up as she inhales a deep, desperate breath. The look of realization, ocean blues ablaze, chest heaving with adrenaline and eyes never leave hers.

"I-." Hands pull away quickly, only to be held against his chest as he leans back, only to realize he's using all his body weight to crush her chest. When he sits up, the desperate sound of heavy breathing, burning lungs makes his bottom lip quiver.

She sits up, clenching her throat with small fingers, trying to sooth the buring ache. Now that she has an unlimited amount of air, her body doesn't seem to want it, the deep, chest filled coughs make it hard.

"I-I didn't know." Her chest still isn't moving, bloodshot eyes silently beg is own as he leans over, hand cupping her chin to notice the way her skin lightened, lack of oxygen taking the normal color. A hand rests against her chest and up to her neck, rubbing the raw skin.

"Breath baby, please breathe."

This has happened before but never this bad, never to the fact of almost falling unconscious from Bucky's wrath. Tears roll past his eye lashes, heart squeezing, his chest feels heavy, hurting under the burden of being the reasoning for this.

He fliches as her fingers push his away and crawls to the end of the headboard, trying to create as much distance as possible.

The first breath she takes hurts and it burns her lungs. Bucky let's out a breath of relief as he uses the back of his hand to wipe the endless stream of tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, God, I'm so, so sorry." He hiccups, he wants nothing more to reach out and hold her, sooth every ache and pain with the coolness of his lips. His chest stutters, catching a small cry in his throat.

He's cautious, making slow, seen movements as a flesh hand reaches out to cup her shoulder. Surprisingly, she snuggles into it, as the metal hand wipes away the small tears that fall to her cheeks.

"Oh, honey." He coos, biting his lip to prevent another cry that creeps up his throat as his fingers press against the ugly purple and yellow bruises and she winces. "My dream - I was dreaming, I didn't mean to -."

"I know." He cringes as the hoarse, low voice. Vocals cords completely crushed, sore and raw as he pulls away.

"I'm going to call, Sam. He's coming to get you, you need to get away from me." Bucky can't look away at what he's done, the tears are endless.

"Buck - wait... Don't."

Bucky reaches for the phone, ignoring her completely but the phone is yanked away with shaky hands and thrown over her shoulder. "What are you doing? Sam needs -."

"You didn't mean it." The first full sentence burns, red eyes filling with tears again, but instead of fear, not it's pain.

"How could you defend me right now? Look at you." Bucky can barely see in front of him, tears blurry his vision. He's hysteric, can't breath, chest giving out with ever word spoken, his broken heart pounds. "You need to get away from me, you can't be here with me, not anymore."

It's not his fault that demons haunt him in his dreams, that his life has been nothing but a series of unfortunate events. It's unfair, not to feel secure in your own skin, having to fight to stay alive for the last 70 years and be manipulated in ways that are unimaginable; brain ripped apart and frozen without any care.

"Bucky, it's okay." Smooth hands reach out to touch his tense shoulders to pull him close, and he can't help but fall into the crook of her shoulder. Tears smear the naked skin, fall and pool into collarbones as another cry rocks his chest.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, I never wanted to, always want to protect you." Soft lips press into the purple bruising, trying to kiss away the pain. Atone for his inexcusable behavior but it only makes it worse but she swallows the pain, the urge to move away as she rubs soft circles into the base of his lower back.

"We have to get you to the hospital." Bucky whispers against her shoulder, pressing a soft, sorry kiss. His eyes fall to her nakedness for a second, gentle fingers press her chin up to his own. She raises her arms as he dresses her slowly with shaky breaths and the quivering chin never leaves. "I'm calling Sam there, you're staying with him from now on."

"Buck, there are other ways."

He sighs softly, helping her dress into the oversized hoodie that smells way too much like him. Large hands cup her own as he kneels between her legs, eyes never leaving each other. "I cant trust myself, I rather die then something like this happen again."

"Don't say that -."

Bucky can't help the heat of anger in his chest, not directed towards anyone but himself. "just for now, just until I get this under control."

A silent nod catches his attention and Bucky doesn't hesitate to get her to the hospital. She doesnt miss the way Bucky's eyes shift to the floor as she tells a totally made up lie, he's consumed with guilt and leaves the room.

The call beeps in his ear, dialing and dialing until a familar voice speaks through the speakers. "Bucky?"

"Sam, I need you." He needs his best friend, someone to talk to, someone to tell him that he's fucked up that this isn't okay. The way his girl is taking this is unhealthy, like it's expected and it hurts, his heart hurts so, so much. Tears rolling down his cheeks as he leans against the hospital hallway. "I need you to come get her, room 234. I can't be here anymore."

[lord-explosion-baku]

Tease

Yuuji Itadori x reader x Ryomen Sukuna

Warnings: noncon, dark themes, teasing, slight daddy kink, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, Sukuna’s big stomach tongue doing nasty things, very slight anal play

You’ll never admit that you love this game.

The “tease Yuuji until he’s grumpy, needy, and pouting—all because you refuse to fuck him” game.

There’s something about having your boyfriend nuzzle up in the crook of your neck, wrap his strong arms around you, and pull your ass against his hard, neglected cock, only for you to turn him down, and have him whine for it some more. You laugh and act abashed, but you’re really thinking, ‘Poor Yuuji. When will he ever learn?’

What you should’ve been asking yourself is ‘when will he ever crack?’

Because maybe you arch your back a little too slowly, and maybe you rub up against him a little too much, and when he kisses the back of your neck, maybe you sigh a little too longingly—a little too convincingly—and maybe you drive Yuuji a little too crazy.

“Baby,” he rasps, before ghosting his lips down your neck. His hand runs circles around your stomach, before slowly trailing down to the hem of your skirt. He toys with the waistline, shifting his fingers in and out, barely grazing your skin, then reaches for your button. “Please.”

Grabbing his hand and pulling it up to your lips, you laugh and say, “that’s far enough.”

A deep, permeating groan builds up in the back of Yuuji’s throat. It tumbles out when he shifts his hips forward, and his clothed cock slides between your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” you chide, and turn in his embrace. Lust-heavy, brown eyes bore into yours. His face is rosy with frustration, and by just a quick glance downwards, you can see that the front of his shorts have a small, wet mark, right where his erection pops out. You try not to grin, and instead say, “it’s not the right time.”

Though your actions betray your words, because you scoot closer to Yuuji in your shared space on the couch. His dick presses against your pubic bone and slides up to your stomach. There’s a sharp inhale, and Yuuji’s cheeks inflate, as if he’s trying not to explode.

“You’re killing me,” he blows out. “Sending your boyfriend straight to his grave.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” You laugh while turning his chin to the side to expose the column of his neck. Smirking, you rake your teeth up his throat, relishing the shudder he gives off, his fingers curling into your shirt.

“I want you,” he hisses. “I want you so bad, baby. It’s not fair. Can't you just—just touch it. Just a little bit. It’s aching, baby. Aching for you.”

“Yuuji,” you croon, using his broad chest to level yourself up. You dig your claws into his pecs, causing him to release a low groan. “You love me, right?”

“Of course.” His voice is hoarse with need, just how you like it.

“And you’d do anything for me, right?”

His cheeks are pinker than his hair when he whispers, “yeah-huh.”

Dipping your head down so that your lips are a razor’s edge away from his, you ask, “then you can wait for me, right Yuuji? You can wait, and when it’s the right time, I’ll be sure to make every second worth it to you.”

A croaking noise cracks out of Yuuji’s throat. Goosebumps appear on your legs when he slides his fingers up your thighs, then tightens his hold on your hips, and pulls you down to grind against his dick. It presses against your opening, putting pressure on your clit. Your stomach does a little flip when he asks, “feel how hard it is, baby? Fuck, all I want is to feel you sink onto my cock, y’know. Stretch your tight lil walls. I'd be so careful with you too. Never hurt you.”

Cute, but you already know that.

“Tell me what you really want,” you whisper as your hips begin to roll, your center bobbing up and down his shaft. Yuuji pulses underneath you, his mouth falling open on a shaky exhale.

“Dick you down, hard and good-“ his mutter is practically a groan, his fingers digging into your sides-“hear you cry. Make you regret taking so long.”

Your excitement grows more palpable, your cunt throbbing. “More, Yuuji.”

Blushing, Yuuji gives you more.

“I wanna play with you too. Eat your little pussy until you're trembling, begging to cum. You probably taste so good. So slick and warm. I’ll see you fall apart—break even, and before you get to cum, I’d have you choke on my cock. Your lips are so perfect, I know they’d feel so fucking hot wrapped around me. I think about it all the time.”

“Do you, now?” It’s news to you, but you like it. Yuuji has a bit of a dark side—something you’d like to explore. Leaning down to flick your tongue across his earlobe, slow and sensuously, until you suck him in, relishing how his body tenses up, your body vibrates when his voice breaks on a shuddered gasp. Lowly you ask, “want me to be your slut? Make me take your cock like a good girl? Swallow all of your hot, tasty cum?”

“Fuck. Yes.” Yuuji greedily palms your ass, his thumbs creeping towards your core. When he reaches it, he teases you through your panties, sliding up and down your vulva. “God, you’re wet. I knew you’d be, but—shit.”

Moving an arm around your waist, he presses his knuckle against your clit, soothing it up and down. You twitch, following his touch, sighing softly as he exerts a little more pressure. His other hand trails up your back, until he twists his fingers through your hair, and pulls you into a deep, consuming kiss. His lips are hot, and wet, and needy. His tongue, desperate to taste you, teases your lips open and laps up your moans.

“You want it, too.” Yuuji breathes huskily, petting your hair back. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Your body flushes, liquid heat shooting down your belly to pool at your center. Yuuji sort of half-laughs, then proceeds to pull your damp panties to the side. However, the moment he reaches for the hem of his shorts, you grab onto his wrist and tut at him. His brows narrow in outrage, but he doesn’t say anything.

The difference between his strength and yours is monumental. Everyone knows how capable he is—his sheer power. He could easily throw you back against the couch and pounce on you, rutting into you to show you your place. It makes you curious. Being thrown around a bit seems like it could be fun. Yuuji asserting his dominance could be even more fun.

But he doesn’t throw you. What he does is far worse.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s not what you want to hear, but there’s a glint in his eye. It’s hard to tell if it really is guilt, or something else.

It’s something else.

Something like black carvings or tattoos appear on his face, arms, and chest. His body shakes, and soon, two powerful arms grow out from under his natural pair, and the slits under his eyes open to reveal scathing, red irises.

No.

Not him.

“Yuuji,” you whisper warily. Your fingers tremble as they reach for your boyfriend’s cheek. “Yuuji, please come back.”

But before your hand can make contact with his face, the monster wraps his fingers around your wrist, yanking your arm back as one of his other three hands snatches your other wrist. He’s quick to lean up and pull you closer so that your breasts push up against his hard, bare chest, your legs wrapped around his torso, and his cock pushing against your ass.

Lips wobbling, you make another pitiful attempt to call Yuuji back to you, but the words don’t come out right. They’re strangled and choked and-

“Pathetic,” the monster in front of you drawls. Keeping your wrists clasped together, he uses a free hand to wipe a renegade tear away from your hot cheeks. “Already crying and I haven’t yet done anything to you. Oh, there’s no need to pout, little one. Daddy’s here.”

Finally, you have enough sense in you to fight back, but it’s all for naught. Even though you try to kick, and you try to bite, and you try to wriggle yourself free, it’s all hopeless. His hold on you is vice, and if anything, he looks amused at your sorry struggle.

Your defiant gaze meets his, and despite the tears streaming down your cheeks, you muster the willpower to bare your teeth at him, and snarl. As if he could ever be intimidated by the likes of you.

He snarls right back, taunting you, making light of your hapless effort to try to threaten him. You jerk back in response, not realizing that you’d be pressed against his hard length. It throbs between your thighs. Your eyes go wide, and in response, the curse snickers.

“Keep wigglin’, girl,” he jeers, free arms moving around your back to lock you in place. “Feels good on my cock.”

Rebelliously, you still, hoping to make it so he gets the least amount of pleasure out of this as possible. If he’s going to kill you, you’d like to go out with some dignity.

As if reading your mind, he tuts at you, just like you did with Yuuji, then moves his cheek to nuzzle against your neck—a mockery of a lover’s touch. The soft charade ends before you can pretend it’s nice, though, because soon his tongue laves out, drawing a wet streak up your throat, before he briskly bites down, sucking harshly on your fragile flesh.

A scream burbles out of your esophagus, but it does nothing to ease the pain the curse is inflicting on you. One of his hands moves up your chest. It gropes your left breast, thumb and forefinger twisting your nipple. He sucks and licks until you’re sure he’s left a giant mark on your skin, and when he’s happy enough with his work, he begins kissing you down your neck, to your collarbone, then to your jaw.

A unique languor disperses throughout your body, sucking your desire to fight. You don’t know if it’s because you’ve tired yourself out, or if you’re just…relieved he’s not hurting you—not in a way that you never wanted Yuuji to, anyways. That doesn’t mean you’re giving up.

There’s one thing you haven’t tried yet, and though it seems your throat to do it, you have no other choice but to try.

“Please,” you begin, feeling lower than dirt at having to beg for your release. “Let me go. I can’t do this…”

“And why should I?” He whispers, cool breath blowing against your cheek.

“Yuuji, he—“

“—offered me a deal,” the monster admits, all teeth. “So long as I don’t inflict any permanent damage on you, and he can feel everything we feel, I can do with you as I wish.”

No. Yuuji would never.

“You’re lying,” you murmur, although when you think about it, you’re not sure. Yuuji had…an odd expression right before the other appeared.

“Whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter to me. I’m in control now, and, little girl, it’s been so long since I’ve had my way with a woman. I plan to cease every second of this. Whether you’re willing or not, I will take you, and oh-“ his voice drops an octave when he says, “I promised him that you’ll like it too. Not that that will be any trouble.”

Unceremoniously, his tongue sweeps your lips, and even though you try your hardest to keep your mouth, when sharp teeth bite down on your bottom lip, you grant his access with a yip.

The kiss is leisurely, like he has all the time to waste on molding his lips to yours. His tongue stroke against yours. Beside yourself, you melt into him, picturing it’s Yuuji you’re touching. He hums, seemingly content with your compliance. When he pulls away, his smirk makes your heart jump. His eyes, Yuuji’s eyes, are still so soft. Deceiving.

He lifts you so he can get a better look at your body. Hands roaming your body, he gazes at you appraisingly, and says, “I’ll admit that the brat has good taste. You’d be the perfect woman if you weren’t such a prude.”

With that, Sukuna tears your shirt off your chest—the flimsy and annoying obstruction—to reveal the sheer bralette underneath. Your nipples press against Sukuna’s hands, hardening when he palms you covetously. His smirk widens.

“Not a prude,” he muses darkly, “a tease.” He pinches your nipples hard, making you half-cry, half-moan. “That was cute. You’re gonna be fun.”

“I don’t want this,” you pant, hating the sound of desire coating each word. “I don’t…”

“No?” The curse—the monster—looks amused, a dark gleam in his eyes. A sharp fingernail trails down your bare stomach, and you shudder as heat rushes towards your center, and down between your thighs. Sensing your inner response, he sneers up at you, and in one horrifying second, your boyfriend’s body splits open, revealing a dark, cavernous hole in his stomach. It contorts in an odd way until sharpened teeth, and a long, pink tongue appears. The stomach grins, right before its tongue slowly licks up your center.

The shrieking begins when the licking doesn’t stop. The slow, rhythmic laps soak through your panties. It moves in an undulating motion, thick and wet, forcing you to ride it like a mechanical bull. It’s so strong that even when you close your thighs around it in hopes of maybe squeezing it enough to hurt, it doesn’t do anything except make the monster below you chuckle. It’s completely violating you, not only licking your pussy, but your ass too. Everything is so wet, and sensitive, and hot, that soon your crying evolves into moans, and you can’t help but clench on top of this intrusion.

“Such a responsive little slut for someone who doesn’t want this.” One of the curse’s four hands pets you down your bare back, until it lands on your ass. He gives it an appreciative squeeze, first to feel you, to claim you, then to hold you in place as his stomach tongue begins vibrating at a high intensity.

“No,” you whimper when you begin to feel something coiling up on the inside. The pleasure is so startling, so intense, that you begin to mewl. You’re begging, but you’re unsure if it’s for him to stop, or if it’s for him to let you cum.

With two hands still holding your wrists together, and the others now sitting behind his head to cushion him, he watches with moderate interest as you come undone.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, “you want to cum for me, little one? Let me taste your pleasure?”

“No,” you say again, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to picture you’re anywhere else. “Yuuji.”

The curse tightens his eyes and groans.

Suddenly, the stomach-mouth closes, and you’re lifted up, your panties pulled to the side, and placed back down, his palm pressing into your cunt. Without registering what is happening, you blink at him, a question building in your foggy mind, but you never get to ask it.

Something warm slides up your slit, flirting with your opening. It twirls around your clit, and you begin to shake, realizing that it’s another tongue. He’s eating you out from the palm of his hand, and it only intensifies your tension. You’re burning from the inside out, your pussy pounding as the tongue slides in and out…in and out.

“Say my name,” he hisses, jaggedly, like he’s barely keeping it together. “Say my name, and I’ll take pity on you.”

“Ah…fuck…” Resolve crumbling, you fall forward and onto his chest. His fingers rake up your back, only intensifying your pleasure. Your hips wheel around, chasing his palm…his tongue…your ecstasy.

“Say it,” he commands. The palm’s mouth closes around your clit and starts to suck. Holding back your moans becomes unbearable. It’s all you can do to stop from screaming again, and even then, it’s not much.

“Sukuna!” You plead, tears dotting your eyes. “Please—ah! Please let me cum! Sukuna please, god!”

“So good, little one,” Sukuna coos, “so sweet.” He sucks and nibbles and licks amplify, and you squirm and gyrate against his tongue, barreling towards what was before a very elusive edge. You go over with a trilled moan, trembling, crying, euphoric.

Absolutely devastated.

And it’s not over. He’s not done with you.

Before you can stop vibrating, Sukuna pulls you up against him, lining you up with him. His cock head pries at your center, breaching your surface when he kisses you roughly. It's a vicious and animal, all encompassing kiss, like he’s been starving for it.

“Sit on it,” he instructs. His hands move up and down your sides, either to comfort you, or to remind you that he could force you down if he was so inclined. “Slide down on my cock like a good girl. I want to be buried inside of you.”

When you begin to descend, Sukuna sharply snaps his hips upwards, forcing himself in urgently. The sudden intrusion is enough to make you yip, your body set aflame. Sukuna’s—Yuuji’s pupils expand, his eyes growing darker as he watches you struggle to take him in. There’s no time to get used to his size. He’s moving, and you have no choice but to react. Reluctantly, you stretch for him, and he slowly moves out, only to harshly push back in.

“Beautiful,” he rasps. The praise sends shivers up your spine, and makes you pulse around his cock. You’re sure the evil bastard can feel it, too, because he cups your jaw, and exalts you. “Pretty girl, you feel so good. So tight. A natural submissive, too. Isn’t that right?”

You’re about to object, and when he senses it, he pulls you off of him, and throws you to the floor. You have no time to run, because he climbs on top of you, shoves your head down to the floor, and pulls your ass up.

“When I ask you a question, you answer me,” he rumbles against your neck. It’s violent, but one hand is still on your ass, caressing you soothingly. “You say, ‘yes, daddy’ like my sweet little girl. Unless you want me to treat you as a cum-dumpster—some whore to spill my seed in.” His thumb begins stroking your ass hole, and your body shivers in anticipation. “In any hole that I want. Do you understand me?”

“…yes, daddy,” you weep into the carpet and pray for this to end soon.

Sukuna guides his shaft back inside of you, and it presses against a spot that makes vision darken for a second. He’s relentless when he drives into you, over and over again. His heat surrounds you, weight pressing you into the floor. His large hands rub your skin, petting you all over, and the caresses almost make this intimate, until his touch, again, travels to your other hole.

Trepidation pumps through your blood, making you squeeze his cock. The fear is something electric and addictive, and it has you warbling. He groans, picking up his pace, but his thumb doesn’t leave its place.

“Are you afraid, little one?” Sukuna’s timbre takes on a darker edge. “Scared I’m gonna do the same thing to your ass that I’m doing to your beautiful, fucking pussy?”

The right answer eludes you. You’re not thinking. Your walls close around Sukuna every time he speaks. Every time he pushes himself to his hilt, fills you up, and claims you. By the tears staining the carpet, you can assume that yes. You’re very afraid.

“Yes, daddy,” you mewl, right before Sukuna twists his fingers into your hair, and pulls you back. Two arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing you to him, and his last hand reaches around you to rub circles around your too-sensitive clit. “Ohhh, god. Yes.”

“You should be.” He latches onto your neck and sucks violently. You scream as your second orgasm rips through you, forcefully shaking your entire body as Sukuna hammers into you, his pace kiltering off. He’s about to chase you.

“Daddy, please, no…” not inside. Not inside.

Sukuna scoffs, gives you several more cruel pumps, then pulls out, straining you to fall on your back so he can stroke himself off, spraying hot, white ropes of cum across your hot stomach.

“Mine,” Sukuna declares. He smoothes his hand over your sweaty belly, spreading his cum across your skin. “The next time you tease the brat, I’ll take more than your pretty pussy, little girl. That’s a promise.” He dips down low to glide his tongue up your cheek. “So don’t you hesitate to call on me again.”

Then, the marks and the arms disappear, the second pair of eyes closing. The brown eyes that blink at you, shining with something like shame or pleasure, are Yuuji’s.

“Baby…” He says, and you don’t have it in you to cringe away from him when he crowds you into a hug. He pulls you against him, kissing your temple, whispering apologies. He asks if you’re okay, and you don’t know.

But you can’t stop thinking…about when the next time you’ll play the “Tease Yuuji” game.