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kithtaehyung · 8 months

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mami (m) | myg/knj

title: mami (m) pairing: myg x reader(f) , knj x reader(f) , slight jhs x reader(f)😛 rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au summary: you somehow have a conversation with yoongi, and you tell your roommate about a date date. note: heavy 00s vibes, this is just the beginning of a collection of parts instead of just a oneshot let’s fucking goooo🦋 note 2: this is pretty unedited lolll if there are mistakes i'm so so sorry! warnings for this part: language, choking, joon in sweats, bathroom s*x, b*ckshots, friendly sp*nks from your roomie🤪, it uhhh starts right out the gate lmfao, hobi in silk and a robe, yoongi is a warning in his own right, light sl*pping, you get called mamiii😗 so if that’s not ur thing i’d skip this series !!, joon is too smooth, a secret fourth guy lmfaoooo, battle rap scenarios! drop date: september 26th, 2023, 10:07pm est word count: 3.7k mood: here

“You like that, huh?”

Breath short, you can only gasp as the hands you’ve been eyeing all night clutch your throat, a fiendish hum the first response to your satisfied grin.

“Knew you would.” As your delicious captor speaks, you just know he’s fixated on your makeup—at least, the way it’s smearing onto a bathroom mirror that has seen better days. “You all do.”

Fuck, he knows what he’s doing. Fucking hell, he always knows.

Your lust condenses and slides down the glass in rivers, and with each experienced thrust inside your folds, it’s getting harder, and harder, and harder to see the man wrecking your shit.

But it’s coming. The end. The coil inside you is screaming and tightening and you know he can feel every potent pulse as you slap the tiny counter with a palm. “Yoongi—”

“You gonna come, mami?”

Yes yes yes you really fucking are. It’s so truthful that you can’t even voice your agreement in words, your moans higher and higher in pitch the only tell you can possibly give.

“Then fucking do it.”

Light bounces from your eyes and rebounds off the mirror the same time your whine does, every limb locking while bare shoulders bang against your reflection.

“Fuck.”

You spring right into the ground floor above, eyes rolling so far back you could probably see the way Yoongi’s smirking at your ass if your dumbfounded mush of a brain wasn’t in the way.

Again, and again, you milk his cock for all it’s worth, spurning him into gripping your bouncing hips with rough hands and faster strokes. Laughs and conversations seep through the door at your side, but you can’t make out a thing as you garble,

“Yoongi, please—”

“One more.”

“I can’t—”

“Don’t play dumb,” he tuts. “You won’t hustle me a second time.”

Busted.

Your pout quickly stretches into a devilish curve instead, and you hear his sound of approval before you brag,

“I spent all that already, by the way.”

Air whizzes past your ears as you’re hoisted upwards, and your mirth reverberates as you’re spun and shoved into the sink, cheap laminate bruising your back.

Yoongi must also be remembering the time your pussy sucked the soul out of him. After you both made a bet that you couldn’t beat someone’s record time making him come.

You won half of his prize money that night.

And that was the night he won the entire thing.

“You’re lucky I respect it,” he snarls, sweaty fingers gripping your chin as he slings a leg over his pelvis. When he grins, you wanna lick the white off his teeth. “And you’re lucky I made it back the next night.”

Oh, shit. Did he really?

Battle rap events usually stack so that everyone gets a chance. How did he get invited back the same weekend?

Well, other than being a monster on the mic. There’s a reason you can’t stay away from him, and you may or may not admit you get turned on by how effortlessly ruthless he is.

Lips smushed, you ask with genuine curiosity, “You won again?”

Yoongi lightly smacks your cheek, chuckling when you grit out a moan. “Nah. The sponsors loved me,” he claims, finally bringing a hand down to guide himself back inside. “So they paid me to come back.”

“Sick,” you praise through a grunt, fully catching his eyes for the first time tonight. Pushing past the way he fills you so fantastically, you huff out, “That doesn’t happen on south side.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, apparently west and east side do it a lot. Especially with that guy Randa—”

“Fuck Randa.”

Ah, so Yoongi knows him? You haven’t ventured into the west scene yet, but the one thing you know about it is that dude’s name.

So he must be a beast.

Especially if Gloss himself had some choice words.

At this little slip of emotion, you don’t hide your smirk at all. “Oh? Maybe I will if that’s how you feel.”

The sudden possessive shove of his cock into your folds is delightful, your high giggle pinging off the bathroom walls.

“Fuck whoever you want, princess,” he chides right against your lips. “You’ll always come back to me.”

“Duh.” You flick your tongue over his plush. “You wouldn’t last a week without me anyway.”

Yoongi pushes into you again, stare heavy and coaxing butterflies from your belly. “I’d manage.”

“As if.”

But even through the pleasure, you still wonder. How are you both having a regular conversation right now? This never happens with him. You’ve wanted it to, but there simply hasn’t been any talk when he’s involved.

The high from your orgasm compounds with this strange feeling that you turn a little playful.

“What I meant was…” Fingernail poking his tank, you joke with a sly curve, “Guess you must be like, good or whatever.”

When he looks down, you childishly swoop your finger up to bump his nose. “Ha. Loser.”

Predictably, Yoongi pauses before only his eyes raise, suppressed emotions hiding behind long dark strands. “Really.”

And even though you felt him twitch in your core, you’ll spare him. “I don’t make the rules.”

You think this is when he’ll start ramming into you again, because none of the times you’ve hooked up ever lasted this long. It’s always been quick with him, and never in any other place other than bathrooms or broom closets.

Which isn’t bad. Just a pattern you’ve noticed.

But Yoongi huffs in amusement before shaking his head. “Since when were you this weird?”

“Wow, rude?” Your scoff is full of mock annoyance. “I’ve always been this way.”

It’s just that no one’s taken the time to get to know you.

“But you’re so…”

All they care about is one thing.

Which, granted, is the same in your case.

It just gets a bit lonely sometimes.

Offering to finish for him to stiff arm any more incoming awkwardness, you blurt, “Hot? Slutty?”

“Fast.”

Oh.

Did you both just assume the other person wanted it over and done with?

That’s entirely possible considering the first time it happened lasted a grand total of three minutes. Max.

“I mean…” You lean back on your palms, not caring to adjust your very mussed top because your chest finally snags all of Yoongi’s attention. How he’s still hard inside of you is a complete mystery. “I don’t just fuck, you know.”

“And here I thought we were similar,” he teases, groaning through his teeth when you roll on his dick. Again.

And again.

Of course you’re both similar. The only difference is that people dub this guy a sex god and you’re an easy lay.

But you won’t get into that with him. Not now and probably not ever since you don’t dare even label Yoongi a friend.

Panting, you observe him watching your movements as you switch the subject, “You fucked that one sponsor chick for the invite, huh.”

And he takes the out hilariously quick,

“Both of them.”

Of course. Your head kicks back in laughter, remembering that there were two people running the event instead of one.

Truthfully, you would’ve paid to see that.

“Can’t stand you,” you lie, the way you chuckle as he slaps one of your tits saying otherwise.

“Good.”

As he rubs a rough thumb over a nipple, an announcement blares over deejay scratches and cheers, tugging both of your eyes to the door.

Before things quickly devolve into how they always go.

When you arch forward, his lips devour your breast; when you rock your hips into his, the groans against your chest make you feel alive.

Your nails claw through his hair before you can’t decide if you wanna rake them through his shoulders or his neck. Here, there, everywhere you can grab, you take hold.

Suddenly, Yoongi clutches the top of your skirt before thrusting in hard, and his laugh when you whine out a curse strikes your soul. “It’s better that way.”

It’s always better that way.

“Agreed,” you murmur, eyes flickering to the janky ceiling before sighing out, “I think they just said your name.”

“Mm.”

He plunges into you so hard you see his impish curve imprinted among the stars.

“Then hurry up, mami. Gimme one more for luck.”

MAMI

“Who’s on the menu tonight?”

You hum while peering into your mirror—a much cleaner, brighter mirror than the one you were pressed against a couple weeks ago. “That nice guy I’ve been seeing at the gym.”

“Wait, what? Are you going on a date date?”

“Hobi,” you giggle, loving your roommate very much despite the way he just forgets sometimes. “We went through this already.”

“So… Is that a yes, or.” His laugh blurts out when you throw a middle finger next to your head. “Okay, okay! You can just say it, you know.”

“I just”—you spot check your makeup before vacating your vanity stool—“You know me. I never do dates.”

As Hobi leans back on your bed, the way his hot pink robe matches your comforter makes you highly amused. Almost amused enough that you don’t react to his nosy question,

“Nervous?”

Extremely.

“Uhm,” you start, all pretenses dropping at the sight of his cocked brow. “A bit.”

Springing up, your roommate pads over and rests thin palms over even thinner straps of your sundress.

“What’s got you nervous, love?”

Pouting, you look out your window before your chin is gently swiveled back forward. Thankful for his insistence, you confess to the only guy that you feel like you can trust,

“What if I like him?”

The laugh you get is full of disbelief and pity. “That’s what you’re worried about? Really?”

When you nod, he chuckles again, but it’s smaller. And more understanding than the first.

“Pathetic, right.”

“No, no no,” Hobi starts, sliding his hands down to warm your biceps before squeezing. When he pauses, his expression gives his thoughts away before he can utter them. “Well, a little.”

“Hoseok.”

“But! Only because you’re making it seem that way.” He squeezes again before sitting back down on your bed. “If you just let things happen without thinking, isn’t that better?”

Does he really have to flop down to rest his head on his palms? Now?

Talk about not thinking.

Whatever. You didn’t expect Hoseok to do that, but he looks hot, so you’ll let it slide.

And you don’t shy away from his silk-covered package before retorting, “Says you.”

“Me? I overthink. That’s different.”

“How!”

“Don’t think about it.”

When he winks, you both laugh, and his grin slowly devolves into a smirk before he motions you over with a mere head cock.

And you gladly oblige.

Because your dynamic with Hobi still hasn’t changed.

Slowly, you arrive at his knees before mounting the bed at his hips, being steadied over his pelvis as he keeps his prone position.

“You look hot as fuck, you know.”

“Mmhmm.”

“He’s gonna like you for sure.”

“Naturally.”

“So what if you end up liking him, too?”

As he smoothes a hand over the side of your ass, you purse your lips in thought. “Uhh… Feelings? I guess?”

“You can have those, babe.”

“Not mine,” you correct, knowing yours are too fucked up to share with anyone. Which is exactly why you’re all for the so-called fast title that Yoongi clipped onto your persona. “His.”

Does the lifestyle you chose come with regrets? Yeah. Complications? Also yes. But at least those hurt less than the regrets and complications actual relationships come with.

You’re just fine with how things are.

Which is why you’re scared about seeing Namjoon, because he seems like the type that wants something steady. If you end up liking him, you’re gonna have to choose between options that are vastly different in color.

Despite all that, you still said yes when he asked you out at the gym last week—while you were drenched, bare-faced, and wincing from the last set you completed to failure.

Why did you say yes anyway? What drew you in to this guy?

“If you’re scared of hurting his feelings, then just tell him straight-up,” Hobi advises, pulling you back to the present. “Guys won’t know shit unless you spell it out.”

Looking down at his perfect features, you fake disbelief, asking the most rhetorical question in existence, “You mean you can’t just read our minds?”

“Baby, we can’t even figure out our own, let alone yours.”

“You said it.” Fully reassured, you rest on Hoseok’s chest, careful to not smudge your face on his clothes. “…Pity fuck if the date goes wrong?”

“Of course.”

Your chuckle is soft. “Thank you.”

“Now get up,” he orders, smacking your ass so perfectly that it offends you. “Before I give you another necklace.”

“Hoseok!” When his cackles follow you up as you stand, your jaw cannot hinge back in. “Goddamn, you’re bad.”

“Not as bad as you,” he says, following you out of your room. “Mami.”

That goddamn nickname.

Hobi knows it’s a common term. And he knows it’s one you hear from multiple people, especially on south side. Literally nothing new or groundbreaking.

But he also knows it makes you unwell because of one specific person. Because you confessed that you didn’t expect it from them during a fuck and it made you weak in the knees.

Which caused the same motherfucker to say it over, and over, and over again.

Fucking Yoongi.

Why the hell is it only potent when he says it?

The psychology of that needs to be studied yet you will completely refuse to be a subject.

After checking to make sure you have everything, you fish out your phone to double-check the address before calling a ride.

“Where is it at?”

“Some restaurant on west side.”

“Damn, all the way over there?”

“I’m okay with it,” you assure him, inwardly wincing at the cost on your screen.

Virtually anything on west side is far from your condo, but that’s partly why you’re alright with going. As much as you get around, you don’t prefer taking people back to your place.

Besides. No one needs to know where you live unless you really fuck with them.

And it’s only happened twice.

Hoseok’s unconvinced reply cuts your thoughts in two,

“Alright… Well. Lemme know if you end up somewhere else tonight.”

Smiling, you offer him a warm look, positive that his lean against the kitchen wall would put models to shame. “I always do.”

“What did I say earlier?”

“Spell it out for him.”

“Okay, good.”

When you grin, he does, too.

And you hope this Namjoon guy at least does well with words.

Turns out, he does a fucking splendid job with them.

At least, the things this man is saying has you absolutely melting under dim lights, and you haven’t even gotten your drinks yet.

“You look damn nice tonight, by the way,” he mentions with a dip of his head, fiddling with his napkin and giving you an upsettingly perfect view of his fingers. “I feel underdressed as hell.”

Underdressed? Looking around, you feel like you’re the one that dressed way too formal and you’re in a damn sundress.

You should’ve known, though. The restaurant that Namjoon chose occupies one of the few streets known for its laid-back, easy-going fare. Even you have heard of its unique charm and you reside quite a ways away.

Before you respond, you remember how you arrived, checking around the small space before spotting him in a booth. And while you loved the lax way he dressed, you were even more charmed when he got out just to greet you with a cheek kiss.

And the night has been so pleasant that you forget to be worried.

“Why? I mean, thank you, but why?”

Namjoon gives his sweatpants-covered thighs a glance. “I dunno. You just look bossed up and I’m like, your errand boy.”

Your mirthy disbelief leaks out of your grin before he can finish. Watching a nearby table point at their menus to order, you go along with his compliments,

“I mean, I could use an assistant…”

He only smiles at his hands. “Order me around anytime.”

Cute.

Maybe that’s why you’re drawn to this guy.

Even though he’s huge and can lift like a motherfucker, there’s a soft side that he’s got no shame showing.

Also, as the night goes on, you quickly discover more traits you rarely come across.

Curious, suave, humble—all of them surprise you in the best way. He’s already let you talk much more than he has, and the two of you have debated on not one, but three topics. Including one that you would have left his ass for if you both weren’t on the same page.

“Okay, so we agree.”

“Yes,” he responds in relief. “Definitely would’ve rethought this whole thing if we didn’t.”

“Uhh, yeah, because I would’ve walked out and let you pay for everything.”

“Damn!” Fuck, his grin is charming. “And I would’ve paid it, too.”

Laughing—and realizing that you’re doing that a lot tonight—you rest a hand on his shoulder, “No, no, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Fuck, he’s solid.

“Wait, I’m getting us this time, though.”

“Yeah?”

Holding a round glass up to his lips, he coolly adds,

“And next time, too.”

Well.

There’s no way you’re saying no to that.

“To next time,” you offer, clinking cups and taking a nice sip of your wine.

Things end with both of you just having dinner—a concept so foreign that it makes you wonder if he wanted something more than a second date.

But judging by the times he kept stealing glances and the way his curve stayed at a slant, it’s an open and shut case.

It’s always a bit crowded in the front few rows, so it doesn’t bother you to hang back for the first time in awhile.

Besides, you’re a little late from your date anyway.

Since nothing else happened with Namjoon—he had to leave pretty quick—you determined that you could make it to another Gloss smackdown.

After you greet all the people and bodyguards hanging around the front doors, you arrive downstairs just in time to hear the deejay ushering everyone in.

And based on what you hear, it seems like Yijeong’s got extra volume in his mic tonight.

“Alright, alright, let’s give it up for our two up here, yeah?”

Everyone cheers as you clap to yourself, leaning against a chilly column and ignoring the stares your outfit gets.

The stage looks quite different from back here, with its huddled occupants talking amongst themselves. While you watch both crews laughing and standing around, you wonder what it would be like to support Yoongi from up there instead of on the ground.

You really would if he wanted you to.

“I don’t have to introduce either one but I’m gonna do it anyway. Cus that’s the rules or whatever and they both deserve some love. Give it up for my man K Shine!”

You aren’t familiar with him but you support anyway. A tiny whoop leaves your mouth as a big portion of the room shouts, and you watch as the guy nods to the people that came to see him.

“Oh, we’re showing out, okay. Alright, now let’s hear it for my guy Gloss!”

In contrast, your energy evolves tenfold, and you gladly yell with the rest of the floor as Yoongi stays piercing the ground at his feet.

This guy.

Still the same routine.

You always muse that he could look into the crowd once in awhile, especially since his audience is steadily growing.

If they ever saw his smile, maybe more people would be drawn in wait is he looking up this time?

Wait.

Despite there being rows and rows between you and the stage, you don’t miss the slight shift in his demeanor. It almost looks like he’s scanning the people in front.

What’s he doing? Is he looking for something? Someone?

…He’s not looking for you, is he?

You’re there quite often and always in the same area, but you didn’t think Yoongi would really notice or be checking for you right now.

…But is he?

Before you can think any further, the quick blares of an airhorn shove your thoughts away.

“K Shine, you win the toss,” the middle man on stage announces. Fuck, you think you’d know his name by now, he’s been here a lot ever since the first guy disappeared. “What you got.”

When the man answers, he stares right at Yoongi’s hooded head, fire flaring up the walls already,

“Mister Big House, Big Car, Big Rings can go first.”

Oh.

He—

You really fucking regret not being in the front now.

Immediately, the whole room ooh’s, with the middle man pursing his lips and giving the two opponents space.

Light illuminates the whole stage as both sides back up a bit, heavy cameras set to roll and some feedback ringing through the musty air.

And you wait with bated breath as the crowd goes quiet.

Heart stilling as Yoongi holds a mic right up to his lips.

—

tbc :)))

—

so.. what do we think lmaooo 🦋 | join the taglist :D

a/n: thank you all for reading! as i don't have too much time to spend on fics nowadays, i'll be heavily considering feedback and excitement around fics to determine what to work on. if you did enjoy, please interact however you can! even a like is okay at this point, but all tags, reblogs, comments, messages, and submissions in the feedback box are super appreciated.

a/n 2: all the names i’m gonna include that aren’t the members (or yijeong lol) are real life battle rappers! k-shine was one of the first ones i ever watched, and he has good aggressive delivery and performance but not too many heavy hitters. anybody i namedrop will have rap battles linked, so here is one of k-shine’s that i remember from back in the day. battle rap is an art form in itself, and i would like to showcase these talented individuals whenever i can.

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist

#y'all we finally did it we finally posted something :')))#bts fic #yoongi fic #namjoon fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #hoseok smut #*ryenfictalk #*latest #ryenwrites #rapline fic #rapline smut #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader

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wandasfifthwife · 2 months

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(5) a bad decision *** | I got a bad idea series

—> masterlist

southern!wandanat x fem!city-girl reader

tw: SMUT MDNI, top wanda, top natasha, bottom reader, strap in v (n giving;r receiving), fingering (w giving;r receiving), grinding (w giving;r receiving), overstim, exclusive relationship but no dating title, n is packing whoops sorry yall

a/n: I’ll come back and edit later bc omg idk how this is but I hope you enjoy lmfao

Wanda held you close, a blanket strewn over the two of you to keep warm from the cold. Her attention was on another, a familiar face you recognize as a neighbor down the street from them. Your attention was on the fire in front of you, on how the flames flickered in the wind and the small pieces floating into the sky.

She had a hand propping herself up, the other laid spread out on your thigh. You would remember her placement often when she rubs her thumb across your leg, her hand inching closer towards each time.

You’re entirely too bothered by it which is why you’re trying to focus on anything else as a distraction.

A summary of that night would be, ‘hot and bothered.’ After you climbed into bed, your thoughts ran wild. This time Wanda didn’t stop at her small comforting touch. Her hand got closer, even touching where you wanted her to. Soft kisses on your chest as she grinds her hands into your heat.

It was a dream. You realize soon enough because you woke up. The only realistic element from your dreams was the feeling between your legs. You felt it wrong to take care of it, so you showered with your head on the shower wall, replaying the dream over and over. It didn’t help.

Sure, you three were exclusive. There was a chance you could ask, but the chances of that happening are extremely low. That’s because those chances are gone, you would never ask.

Not to mention, have you even asked how they’re feeling? It’s been a day since your so-called exclusive relationship, one day.

For all you know they could be against moving your relationship further, if they even found you attractive sexually. You kept it from them. Since your dream, your body burned everytime they were near.

You found yourself in a similar position to that night. Under a blanket, beside Wanda, her hand on your thigh. Only difference being you were inside, the TV on with a random old 2000s movie playing. The time spent by the campfire awoke something in you. Since then you’ve had plenty of time mulling over them, craving for anything they give.

“They have a beautiful kid, huh?”

“Oh yes I agree,” you answer, turning towards her.

“I knew you weren’t paying attention,” she grins playfully, leaning to kiss your cheek, “they don’t have a kid.”

You continue to face her after, eyes darting around her face and dropping to her lips. The moment she begins to lean in your eyes are closing shut, waiting. It’s the first one you’ve shared. She brings her hand off your leg, pulling you deeper into the kiss with a hand on your cheek.

A gasp spills from you when her tongue brushes your bottom lip. She pulls away to look at you with your lidded eyes and glossy lips. A mumbled curse sounds from her as she’s slinging you to straddle her. She brings your face down again, kissing you with more ease. This time you’re making an effort to stay quiet. Proves difficult when Wanda trails her attention down your neck, especially when her hands come to grab at the bottom of your thighs.

She’s pulling you until your chest to chest, lips finding yours again. Your minds begin to melt, feeling like you’re floating with each ounce of attention she gives you. You actually whimper into her kiss, pressure building from within you as she moves you to straddle one leg. She breathes your name, a finger tapping your face so you open your eyes.

“Do you want to go further?”

You only give her a nod, frustrating her so she playfully pinches your hip, “words, angel.”

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

Her hands are gentle on you as she holds your waist, guiding your hips down onto her leg. It’s all too much. Her hand teasing you a day ago, the dream you had. Now you’re hypersensitive to every touch, soaked already after kissing.

“Ride my leg,” she whispers, jerking your hips forward as an example.

You start a rhythm, taking anything that’s given to you. Head in her shoulder, looking down at where you were grinding so sensually. You keep your mouth shut to muffle your sounds, moving your hips against her with need. She brings her finger to hold your jaw, her breath tickling your ear.

“Don’t hold back.”

That time her pants rub against your clit, the pressure building after causing you moan out loud. Your heavy breathing and occasional whine driving her mind into the same space yours was heading. When you lean your head back, sounds hitting directing in her ear she’s laying you down on your back.

“Wands,” you breathe, getting cut off by the feeling of her kissing you into the couch. The pillows behind providing comfort, pushing you back against her. You bring a hand to grip at her shirt, tightening your hold the rougher she begins to kiss you. You take it all. Every touch, every kiss, every action that brings you into a floaty mindset.

“Can I,” she asks, fingers dipping under your pants. Half of her face is illuminated by the tv screen, random colors showing the deep lust in her eyes.

You mumble your confirmation, lifting your hips to help her drag your clothes off. A hand draws your hip open, spreading you open. You grow shy, scared of seeing her reaction of your body’s eager response to her touch.

When you look over, she’s looking down with a small smile, “you’re so beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” she gives you a short kiss, using it as a small distraction from her finger sliding up your heat to rub onto your clit. You pull so hard on her shirt you think you’re going to rip it. You swear you hear a ripping sound after she’s pressing her middle finger into your soaking cunt.

She moves slow, giving you time to relax and feel comfortable before she’s adding another and increasing speed. The blankets being discarded, lying half on Wanda’s back and half on the floor. It covers enough when Natasha’s opening the front door, shutting the door faster when she sees you.

You’re too far gone, shaky sounds escaping you, entirely too focused on the feeling between your legs than the presence walking near you. You only notice her when Wanda’s saying her name, greeting her normally.

You’re pulled back down onto her fingers after your attempt to get away. Mind turning numb when she thrusts her fingers in deeper. The scene was filthy. You’re a mess under her while she hold a normal conversation with Natasha.

“Your client any less annoying now? Goodnight, these people are infuriating.”

Natasha agrees, sitting herself down nearby to watch you, “what’s happened while I was gone.”

Wanda looks down at you in all your glory, “couldn’t help myself.”

A much louder moan voicing from you when she rubs at your clit again. Strings of pleas and begs as your high builds. Natasha coos, “she’s sensitive.”

“Should’ve seen her after a single kiss, she was soaked.”

Natasha tuts, coming to stand over you, “such a sweet thing.”

The way she kisses you is overwhelming. Wanda’s kisses are passionate while Natasha’s are gentle, little pecks. She pulls back to tell you how good you are, how well you’re taking her and it’s all you’re wanting. Wanda’s fingers push up against a spot that has your back arching.

“Fuck,” you reach to clench Natasha’s hands, “Wanda, I’m—“

You’re barely able to get the words out, a whine coming from you as you come down from your high. The warmth of Wanda’s replaced by a cold, wet body.

“Why’re you wet,” you question, shaky hands coming to squeeze water from her coat.

“You.”

“You’re insufferable.”

She picks you up, frowning when you shiver at the cold water hitting your skin. It wasn’t long before she’s laying you down on their bed, growing nervous at the sight of her removing her outer layers of clothing. She’s climbing over your body, soft touches running up and down the sides of your waist.

“Are you okay if I touch you?”

You hum, a grin on your face as you brush her wet hair out the way. She rolls her eyes dramatically, pulling her hair into a bun.

“Better?”

“Hmm better,” you laugh, your light sounds covering the room even as she tries to shut you up with a kiss. She tries something else, wrapping your legs around her so she can grind her hips into yours at a better angle. You’re much more sensitive, every touch already pushing you over the edge.

Natasha slides her shirt over her head, the jeans around her waist following. You realize what’s happening, heat rising to your face as you realize she’s strapped. She spreads you further, pressing her hips into you to hear how prettily you gasp.

Her eyes trained on you when she presses in. Your chest feels like it’s being squeezed with each inch. Natasha winces at your nails digging into her biceps, so she pushes your wrists into the mattress. It’s infuriating watching you squirm beneath her, hips pushing up to get more than what she’s giving you.

The pace she sets off to start with is dizzying. Your back is arched off of the bed, loud cries escaping you. Natasha removes her hands off of yours so she can wrap one around your waist and pull you down the last two inches with each thrust.

“What a good thing you are. Taking us so well.”

With your face turned into the bedsheets, you babble about nothing, only her name coming out in repetitive whimpers. Anything she says falls into the back of your mind, attention focused on the way she’s driving her hips into you. You don’t have to say anything because she’s already done it.

The sheets twist in your hold, back arching even further if possible. A choked moan finding its way from you when you topple over the edge suddenly and recognize that Natasha hasn’t stopped.

You gasp, “more?”

Wanda presses on your bundle of nerves and you jolt, “do you want to stop?”

“no! need more.”

Natasha shakes her head to express her answer, droplets of water falling down and onto your body. You pant, breathing fast to deal with the blinding pressure. Wanda brushes the water off your face gently, contrast of how Natasha was handling you.

“Your eyes are still all glossy, angel,” Wanda coos.

“Please,” you cry, “please don’t stop.”

Natasha pulls your hips further up, hitting into at you a different angle. You’re almost thanking her, tears forming in your eyes.

“I know, I know, sunshine. Breathe.”

You’re coming again for the third time that night. You’re quiet, lips slightly parted as you try and take a break. Natasha’s pulling out, letting Wanda you close to her as she brings you to their bathtub. You can feel the soreness in your hips already, a relaxed sigh coming from you when you hit the water as it takes some of the pressure off.

“How’re you feeling?”

Natasha questions as she walks in behind you two. Your head is rested against the wall of the bathtub, “sore.”

Wanda laughs then, light and airy. Natasha doesn’t pay her any mind. You reach a hand out, a pitiful pout on your lips, “join me?”

Who were they to say no?

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kakujis · 10 months

Text

do you love me?; 4

synopsis: they wake you up and ask if you love them. 1 2 3

ft + wc: mistuya, draken, chifuyu. 3k.

warnings: gn!reader, swearing, miscommunication, workaholic bfs, tipsy chifuyu, slightly spicy in drakens! not proofread! thats it LMAO

a/n: hi. it's been a while! i took a writing break and i'm not sure if this means my writer's block is over, but here's the fourth and probably final part of this series (this is a lie im probs gonna write more when s3 comes out LMFAO) anyways, similar themes for mitsuya and draken, while chifuyu's is extra fluffy. the extra fluff was added in for @fuyuluvr btw.

mitsuya takashi has been busy. more so than ever, you’ll find him buried in his work til the early morning hours. this happens every time he’s hit with inspiration for a new runway collection and you often wind up feeling neglected. but mitsuya will always find a way to sneak time with you in, even if it means playing model for a little bit.

his love comes out through his finger tips, when he’s laying the garment over you, light touches over your skin. it comes out in the way he silently works, looking you over every so often, smiling when he notices the way you furiously blush when he lingers for just too long.

but this time is a little different. his fatigue clear on him when he crashes into the bed, mumbling a sleepy “good night” to your “good morning.” it’s jarring, how separate the two of you feel in the shared space of your home.

mitsuya realizes something is wrong the first night you tell him you don’t want to model for him. “it was a long day… i’m just tired.” you had told him, hesitating before you placed a kiss on his forehead. you left shortly afterwards, leaving mitsuya in his office.

the second night you barely touched your dinner, pushing your food around on the plate absentmindedly. when he asked if something was wrong, you told him that you weren’t hungry with a strained smile on your face. “don’t worry about me.”

the final piece locks into place the night you push him away from you when he tries to sneak a kiss. “not now,” you said, unable to look at him, “my breath smells.” you both know it’s a pitiful attempt at a joke, but when he tries to pry, you ignore him. lavender eyes trail after your form, noting the way you bend into yourself as you walk, closed off.

mitsuya’s always allowed you your space and this time is no different. except for the fact that he can’t focus at all, too distracted by the guilt gnawing on his bones. he has a deadline to meet, yet he can’t seem to care when his partner is upset with him.

he removes his glasses before running his hands over his face. he mulls over the apology in his head, before he’s up and heading toward your bedroom. when he arrives, he kneels at your side of the bed, one hand caressing your cheek to rouse you from sleep. when you blink almost awake you’re met with his pretty face, guilt etched into his features.

“taka..?” your voice barely louder than a whisper, you fight against the heaviness of your eyelids, the inherent need to see him reigning over the lull of sleep. you love him after all.

“morning angel,” he starts, dragging his thumb over the curve of your cheek. “i’m sorry.”

you open your mouth to speak, but mitsuya presses a finger against your lips, shaking his head. his silver locks move in tandem, his eyes peeking underneath them as he focuses on the hardwood floor. it’s hard for him to remember what he wanted to say, being in front of you much different than the scenario rehearsed in his head. at the end of the day though, mitsuya is a man of his word, whether it’s to you or himself, he’ll see it through.

he steels himself, looking you straight-on as you blink at him, one hand placed over his. “i’m really sorry.” he reiterates, “for neglecting you. i’m also sorry for not noticing sooner. i shouldn’t have asked you to model for me when i’ve barely spent any time with you… i’m just.. sorry.”

“can i speak now?” you ask, squeezing his hand and he nods. you push yourself up onto your elbows, before placing your hands on his shoulders. “i’m sorry for being selfish.”

he shakes his head, “you’re not selfish, don’t say that. i mean, i could say the same thing right?”

your expression is somber as you respond, “takashi… it’s your job, hon. it’s always been like this, it’s not like this is your first collection either.”

but mitsuya can read you like a book, remembering that with each disagreement, you’ll hide your feelings in favor of his. he knows when you break eye contact, looking away, that you’re not saying what’s really on your mind.

“do you love me?” he asks, before running his finger under the curve of your jawline. when you nod, he tilts your face back upward, forcing you to look at him, “then be honest with me.”

“o-okay…” you sigh, “i hate your job.”

he grins, “that was brutal.” but he still nods, urging you to continue.

“i hate your stupid deadlines and i hate when you’re super busy, because i want to spend time with you. and also, i miss you all the time and by the way, that stupid runway coordinator called your cell and when i answered they hung up immediately! that’s so unprofessional! like, you should be grateful i even answered the damn phone! right?” you huff once you finish your tirade, your feet kicking up and down in annoyance.

mitsuya can’t help but laugh once you’re done, it’s the most animated he’s seen you these past few days. he likes it.

“don’t laugh!” you pout, puffing your cheeks out and your boyfriend has to bite back another laugh.

“no, no, you’re right, how could they hang up on my partner?” he agrees and your face softens. “but damn, i didn’t think you hated my job that much.”

you gasp, freezing for a moment, “ahh, well it’s not like i hate it-“

“you just despise it?” he quips, one eyebrow raised, interrupting you.

“no!” you exclaim, continuing to pout. but you feel lighter, like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders.

“you feel better?” he asks, taking your hands into his and pressing a kiss to them.

maybe the two of you didn’t exactly solve the problem, but that’s fine, you can never stay upset with him for long.

“a little bit.” you say, before tugging him upwards. “you know what would really make me feel better?”

“hm?” he tilts his head, eyes soft.

“if you cuddled with me.” you respond, tugging at him just a bit harder.

he smiles as he climbs into bed, “as you command, my dear.”

draken:

sometimes, you think ryuguji ken would be better off moving into his bike shop. you don’t mean to be bratty, really, but you can’t help it. the countless nights of him coming home late have been taking a toll on you. it’s been worse since inui’s taken some time off which means draken and shinichiro need to take over, which means less time with your boyfriend.

you check your phone one more time for the daily goodnight text, but when you see none, you quietly turn your phone off and close your eyes to try to get some sleep.

but it hurts, like the prick of a thorn or the sting from a wasp, but you know when draken’s busy, it’s best not to bother him. still, you can’t help the tears that bubble up, spilling over like the flood of a dam as you hug yourself, burying your face into your pillow. when you finally settle, you hope he won’t notice puffiness of your eyes when he comes home. maybe he’ll keep the light off, you hope, as you drift into a deep sleep.

when he finally gets home, smelling distinctly of motor oil, he tries his best to stay quiet, borderline tiptoeing his way to your shared bedroom. as he changes out of his dirty clothes, his eyes naturally trail to your sleeping form. there’s something off.

if there’s one thing about draken, he can pick up on every subtle shift of your mood. after all, draken knows you best.

he knows he should probably shower as you hate the smell of the oil and grease, but his body moves towards you anyway. he turns the bedroom light on before he climbs onto the bed, grabbing you and shaking gently.

“baby?” he calls, watching as your face scrunches up.

“hm? what is it?” you murmur, a little irritated, but you let him turn you over anyway.

“were you crying?” he asks and you force your sleepy eyes open. concern paints his face as he cups your cheek, “what happened?”

“nothin’,” you lie, staring at his chest rather than his face. “i’m just tired.”

“and your eyes are swollen just because?” he cocks a brow, already onto your little lie.

“yep.” you quip, before pushing his hand away and sinking into your pillow. “it doesn’t matter, kenny.”

“except it does,” he replies, moving down with you, “what happened?” he asks again and part of you feels like maybe it’s time to answer. until you remember the big race mikey has coming up, which makes you decide to keep your mouth shut.

draken sighs, “alright, i won’t pry.” he stays there in his dirty clothes, yawning as he stretches and lays back, eyes closed.

you scrunch your nose. “kenny… aren’t you gonna shower?”

“yep.” he says, in the same tone you gave him earlier.

“… and when are you gonna do that?” you press, silently thinking about the laundry you’re going to have to do later.

“when you tell me what’s wrong.” he answers, head leaning back against the headboard. he peeks an eye down at you, smirking at the incredulous look on your face. “what? i said i wouldn’t pry, not that i wouldn’t wait. take your time.”

“and if I decide I won't tell you anything all night?” you ask, slightly sitting up.

“like i said, take your time.” he shrugs.

“you’re …insane.” you scoff, laying back down. you pull the blanket over you, back to him.

“nah, just patient.” he corrects and the two of you fall into another uncomfortable silence.

for the next few minutes, it’s completely quiet and you think draken may have actually fallen asleep sitting up. but when you turn around, you meet his eyes, soft yet concerned. you know that he cares, it’s the essence of your relationship. so maybe, just this once, you could let him know.

hesitantly, you open your mouth to speak. “if i asked you to spend less time at the shop and more time with me… would that be okay?” your voice is low, quiet, and unsure.

instead of answering, he asks,“do you love me?” and you find yourself confused.

“huh? that doesn’t-”

“just answer the question.” he interrupts.

“yes, of course i do.”

“then why wouldn’t it be okay?” he asks, pulling you into his embrace. “i didn’t have to pick up the extra shifts if you didn’t want me to.”

“and leave shin to die from overworking?” you joke, but in actuality, it is a ton of maintenance work.

“why not?” he smirks and you laugh. “ah! there it is, your pretty smile.”

“you stink.” you grumble, pushing away from him. “i’m mad at you.” but your heart betrays you and the pout you try to display is futile as the corners of your mouth curve into a small smile.

“huh? you talkin’ about me or my personality?” draken quips, but he holds onto you tighter as you continue to try to push off. “don’t go anywhere, angel. you’re comin’ with me.”

“what? where are we- ah!” you squeal as he gets up, taking you with him. you quickly wrap your arms around him, clinging tightly.

he smiles, basically beaming and you realize that made you fall in the first place. draken is kind, selfless, even if he may not seem like it at first. he’s always good at making you feel better, even if you don’t tell him.

“to shower,” he answers, starting the trek to the bathroom, “you keep saying i smell.”

“i already showered.” you protest, but you rest your head on his shoulder. “but i guess i do smell like car grease now.”

he stops in his tracks, his mouth pressed into a line. “shit. our bed does too.”

“should we sleep on the couch?” you suggest and he starts moving again.

“or we could crash takemichi’s place.” he says, pushing the bathroom door open with his shoulder.

“and interrupt his precious time with hina?” you muse as he sets you on the counter.

“isn’t that the point?” he asks, turning the water on before coming to slide between your legs, looming over you.

“what about mikey’s?” you ask, your hands naturally coming to help him take off his work jacket.

“fuck no,” he groans, letting you turn him around so you can finish taking it off. “he’s gonna try to cuddle with you again.”

“with us.” you correct and draken rolls his eyes before he shifts out his shirt. he dips down to press a firm kiss to your lips and you smile. “shower time?”

“shower time.”

chifuyu:

chifuyu matsuno curses under his breath as he races up the stairs to your apartment. he’d lost track of time, evening drinking turning into early morning. he hopes you won’t be too upset, hey, maybe he can blame it on baji.

when he gets home, making sure to walk a little quieter, he peeks his head into the bedroom. the light is left on but you’re asleep. his heart thumps a bit more and a blush creeps onto his face when he notices you’ve fallen asleep in his shirt.

his steps are light, springy even, as he makes his way over, plopping into bed beside you. you stir in your sleep as chifuyu watches you, his head leaning into his palm like a schoolboy in love.

“fuyu?” you mumble, as you stretch before turning over to face him. sleepy eyes meet pretty green and chifuyu thinks he’s in a dream... or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still left in his system.

“hey lover,” he smiles as he scoots closer before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “good morning.”

“what time is it?” you ask, squinting, before adding, “hi to you too.”

“like 3am.” he answers and you hum.

“hm, tonight was that fun?” you yawn, trying your best to fight the drowsiness that's currently over taking your body.

“yeah,” he replies as another peck flits over your cheek. “wish you went with me.” he thinks about how much fun it would have been if you went with him earlier. how he’d love to walk home with you, hand in hand, sneaking kisses under the moonlight.

“‘m sorry, fuyu,” you mumble as your heavy lids close, losing the battle. “i’ll try to go next time..” you trail off as your body lulls you back to sleep.

the blond frowns, as cute as you are asleep, he wants your attention now. “oi, y/n. wake up.” he huffs, using his index finger to poke at your cheek.

when you only make a slight noise, he pokes harder. “wake. up.”

your eyelids flutter under his touch, but they don’t open and chifuyu sighs. “do you love me?” he whines, loudly.

you force your eyelids open at the question, he’s cute when he’s whiny so you indulge him. “yes, chifuyu, i love you a lot.” you mumble, before tipping your lips up into his, giving him a soft kiss.

you realize where the unusual clinginess comes from tonight as he tastes faintly of alcohol. normally, chifuyu would quietly get ready to bed before slipping under the covers to hold you as you slept. he wants you to get your rest and he’s fine with waiting til morning. although, there are some exceptions which almost always include a tipsy, pining boyfriend.

you giggle when he whines as you pull away.

“stay here.” he grumbles, before he’s cupping your cheeks and kissing you again.

“fuyu, i have work in a couple of hours,” you mumble between kisses.

“‘m sobering up,” he responds, “if i don’t do this, i’ll get a hangover.”

“that’s not how it works at all,” you sigh happily, “but okay.”

and so you let him. you let him kiss not only your lips but your cheeks, forehead, and even your neck. you giggle when he ghosts over a particularly ticklish area, but chifuyu is lost in you. lost in your scent, your voice, your everything. until suddenly, he’s not.

“fuyu?” you whisper, your arms laced around him.

there’s no response but the soft snores escaping him as his head is buried in your neck. you can tell he’s asleep by the way his body’s gone limp, the full weight on him bearing down on you. but it’s comfortable like this and you feel sleep beckoning you over.

when morning and inevitably, the time for work comes, you try your best to move out from underneath him without waking up. the soft daylight pours in through the blinds, casting rays on your boyfriend’s sleeping face.

you’re close, almost fully out from underneath him when an arm slings itself across your waist and pulls you back in.

“stay.” he mumbles, voice deep and slightly hoarse from his half asleep state.

“i have work,” you say, gently. “i’ll be back in a few.”

“just call off,” he says, tightening his grip on you.

“chifuyu-“

“please?” he pleads, one eye peeking up at you. the blush on his face this time isn’t from the alcohol.

it tugs at your heartstrings and you give in. “fine. but if i get in trouble you owe me.”

“you know, the pet shop is always hiring if you get fired.” he wiggles his eyebrows, throwing you a cheesy smile.

“ha. ha. very funny.” you retort, rolling your eyes.

but the smile on chifuyu’s face doesn’t disappear, he simply tilts his head to press it against yours.

“i’d take care of you forever, you know.” he says, completely serious and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“i know.” you mumble back, closing your eyes.

“i love you, y/n.” he says and you feel the tip of his nose brush against yours.

“i love you too, chifuyu.” you giggle and he realizes he wants to listen to it for the rest of his life. but he has no ring, he’ll need to remember to get your ring size.

“forever and ever?” he asks, his own heart fluttering to the timbre of your voice.

“forever and ever.”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #draken x reader #chifuyu matsuno x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #ken ryuguji #draken #mitsuya takashi #chifuyu matsuno #pibby writing

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gimmethatagustd · 11 months

Text

needy | jjk (ft. myg)

Jungkook refuses to admit that he has feelings for you, but he's slowly cracking under the pressure. Will his bright idea of asking his friend to seduce you be the final thing that helps him get over his interest in you?

↳ pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x f!reader x yoongi (from babydoll)

↳ rating/genre: BTS | 18+ | fwbs | smut

↳ wc/date: 4.3k | July 2023

↳ warnings: marijuana (is it really a jai fic without weed??), a failed attempt at cuckolding, humiliation, degradation, yoongi and jungkook are kinda like "good cop, bad cop" except jungkook is more of a sub than he thinks he is, soft dom!yoongi, sub!reader, sub!jungkook, vaginal fingering, blow jobs (crying, throatfucking), cunnilingus, oral sex between yoongi and jungkook so if that's not your thing ya better exit outta here, protected vaginal sex, reader gets fairly non-verbal during sex

↳ notes: i highly recommend reading babydoll first, but this can be read as a standalone. i think i covered everything in the warnings? but if i didn't list something, pls let me know. i'm really tired lmfao

↳ masterlist / taglist

↳ what was jai listening to? like i would - zayn

“Hey, love. Can I call you love?”

You give Yoongi a bashful smile and nod your head. He brings his hand to your thigh, softly running his fingers along your exposed skin.

The three of you sit in Jungkook’s apartment, with you and Yoongi on the couch and Jungkook in a chair on the other side of the room. Jungkook nurses a half-finished blunt between his lips and allows the marijuana to fog his memories of how he’d gotten here.

You giggle at whatever Yoongi whispers in your ear, your freshly manicured fingers pressing against your lips. Jungkook undoes the button at the neck of his dress shirt and shoulders his suit jacket off. He’d forgotten he was still wearing it.

Leaning back, Jungkook watches you squirm when Yoongi’s hand reaches the hem of your skirt. You stare at Yoongi with heavy red eyes. His eyes match yours, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

Your sorority formal was a bust, not to Jungkook’s surprise. Spending the night in a seedy nightclub, humid with the stench of sweat and beer, with a bunch of wasted college kids wasn’t exactly Jungkook’s idea of fun.

He told himself a thousand times that he wouldn’t agree to go with you. Yet Jungkook put on his only suit and slicked back his hair, which was getting to be a bit too long. He spent an hour pregaming with your lame friends, who Jungkook believes really shouldn’t be your friends, and another hour and a half dancing at the nightclub that was just as terrible as he knew it would be.

Had he had fun? Absolutely the fuck not. The moment you started grinding your ass on his dick when more sexually explicit music started playing, he’d quickly snatched your wrist and dragged you out of the club. Now you’re in Jungkook’s apartment, stumbling home in the middle of the night, all dolled up and looking prettier than Jungkook has ever seen you.

It was just a coincidence that you ran into Yoongi, Jungkook’s neighbor and decent friend, in the hallway of their apartment complex. The thing is, Jungkook saw the way Yoongi eyed you in your little black skirt that just barely covered your ass and the swell of your tits bubbling out of your corset. He saw the way Yoongi licked his lips, pausing longer than necessary to chat with the two of you as he fumbled with the keys to his apartment.

Jungkook still isn’t sure what he was thinking when he invited Yoongi over when it had been clear that he was dragging you home to fuck you, but you didn’t protest when your night turned into a smoke session with Jungkook’s friend.

A few blunts later, Jungkook had pulled Yoongi into the kitchen while you lounged on the couch.

“You want me to what?”

“Fuck her.”

“Like, right now?” Yoongi had taken in a sharp inhale as his eyes widened. “Does she like me?”

Jungkook had rolled his eyes in response, passing the blunt to his friend while he searched for words. It wasn’t fair to act like Yoongi was the idiot here when Jungkook asked something highly unexpected out of him, not to mention that Jungkook wasn’t being honest about why.

“Yeah, I know the face she makes when she’s interested. She keeps looking at you like that.” Had he been lying? Maybe. Yoongi is cute, objectively. You probably think so, too. The fuck if Jungkook knows.

All Jungkook knows is that he needs his favorite hookup to get the fuck out of his head. He’s tired of seeing your face when he fucks other people. He’s tired of opening and closing Instagram just to refresh your profile. He’s tired of caving whenever you text him to come over, always staying the night despite Jungkook’s no-sleepovers rule.

Yoongi is a good friend. He’s consistent, reliable, and open-minded. Plus, weed makes Yoongi horny anyway. Jungkook is honestly doing him a favor.

But something stirs in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach when Yoongi finally slips his hand beneath your skirt after playing at the hem. Compared to Jungkook, what Yoongi lacks in size and strength he makes up for in the softer features Jungkook knows girls like: large hands, plush lips, and gentle eyes. Yoongi’s ass might even be a tad bit fatter than his, too, but Jungkook isn’t looking at another dude’s ass.

“You’re cute,” Yoongi murmurs.

“Th-Thank you,” you say with a small sigh.

“Wanna give me a kiss, love?”

When your lips connect, Jungkook turns away. The soft moan that falls from your mouth shoots like electricity straight to his cock, but Jungkook struggles to lift his eyes. He has no desire to watch his friend shove his tongue down your throat.

But isn’t that the point? Perhaps Jungkook has forgotten what he’d wanted to gain from this.

“Is our Jungkookie feeling left out?”

Yoongi’s light teasing brings Jungkook out of his head. He finally looks up to see you’re now straddling Yoongi’s lap, arms loosely wrapped around his neck. You turn back to look at Jungkook, and he sees something akin to guilt flash in your eyes. It disappears once Yoongi runs his tongue up your throat, the sensation making your head fall back and lips part.

Jungkook squeezes his fists against his thighs. His eyes lock with Yoongi’s, and the other man gives him a wink as he suckles the skin below your jaw.

I asked for this. I asked for this. I asked for this.

Jungkook is beginning to feel lightheaded. He shifts in his seat and realizes he isn’t breathing. His heart pounds so violently in his chest that he feels he might go into cardiac arrest.

“Y/N, get the fuck over here,” Jungkook growls. His voice is deep and tight and cuts through the quiet living room as sharp as ice.

You shoot up, re-adjusting your skirt from it being shoved around your waist. Yoongi watches with cat-like eyes as you wobble over to stand between Jungkook’s legs. He doesn’t utter a word, only cocks his head to the side and keeps his eyes on Jungkook.

Jungkook makes a point of ignoring Yoongi. He turns his attention to you, grabbing your wrists and pulling you forward so you meet him at eye level.

“Is he turning you on?” You tremble, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze. He pulls on your wrists again, tightening his grip on you. “Use your words.”

When you still don’t speak, Jungkook reaches under your skirt to rip your thong down your legs. He slides his fingers through your pussy, toying at your entrance. When he pulls away, a sticky string of your arousal attaches to his fingers before eventually breaking off.

“Look how wet you are for him. You fucking slut.”

Jungkook hears Yoongi make a surprised noise from the couch, but he doesn’t bother looking. He keeps his attention on you because you’re all he ever wants to focus on.

“Yes,” you finally admit. You stare into Jungkook’s eyes with swollen lips bitten between your teeth.

“You want him to fuck you?” Jungkook squints at you, already knowing the answer. But he wants to hear you say it. He needs the confirmation that you want someone other than him, that someone else can pleasure you, potentially even better than he can. He needs you to tell him that you don’t want him.

Jungkook pulls down your skirt to let it pool around your ankles with your underwear. You let out a small whimper, but he knows you know better than to stay silent.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Jungkook lets go of your wrists to rip open the lace corset you’re wearing. Your tits spill out, and he fights the urge to bring his mouth to them.

“Yes, I want him to fuck me.”

Jungkook twirls you around so you have your back to him. He pulls you into his lap, positioning his knees between your legs so he can force you to spread open, on display for Yoongi.

“Do you want to fuck her?” Jungkook’s jaw muscles twitch beneath his skin as he bites into his molars. His hands snake forward to caress the inside of your thighs, daring to swipe his fingers through your dripping folds. “She’s a needy little slut.” He spits the words more for you than for Yoongi.

Yoongi is hard. His already skin-tight jeans stretch across his groin so tightly that Jungkook is sure even pinching the fabric between two fingers would be impossible. He can relate to his friend: Jungkook’s pants are too tight around his hips from his erection, but he ignores his arousal.

“Fuck, yeah.” Yoongi’s voice comes out hoarse and low, and Jungkook feels you clench your thighs when he speaks.

“Great.” Jungkook grits his teeth. He pushes you off of him and rises to his feet.

You stand between Jungkook and Yoongi, eyeing both men with a hint of… curiosity, perhaps, in your expression. If you’re confused by what’s going on, then you aren’t the only one because Jungkook doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He assumed you would put your clothes back on and go next door to Yoongi’s apartment. The two of you would fuck, and Jungkook would force himself to take a cold shower and think about how you were Yoongi’s now.

But Yoongi doesn’t move, and neither do you.

“Well?” Jungkook knows gritting his teeth is bad for him, but he can’t help but seethe with irritation – largely at himself, but you and Yoongi are perfect scapegoats even though Jungkook did this all on his own.

“You don’t want us to stay here?” Yoongi’s eyes drop to the bulge in Jungkook’s pants. He licks his lips and returns to Jungkook’s face.

It hadn’t ever crossed Jungkook’s mind that staying was an option.

When Jungkook doesn’t respond, Yoongi turns to you. He gives you a gentle smile, softer and prettier than Jungkook has ever given you. “What do you want, love? Do you want JK to watch?”

Drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, you grin as you bite your lip and nod. “Yeah, I do.” Your eyes drift from Yoongi’s to Jungkook’s, and your expression falls momentarily. “Unless you don’t want me, too, JK.”

Jungkook shakes his head, speaking before he can stop himself. “I always want you.”

It might feel like the wrong thing to say, but it makes you happy, and Jungkook is realizing too quickly that making you happy is what he wants the most out of everything else.

So when he finds himself standing beside his bed, shirtless, watching Yoongi removing the last of his clothing, Jungkook wonders just how much this is going to fuck him up in the head. Because there’s no way he’s walking away from this the same as he was when he went into it. Even though he’s frustrated and high and ready to prove something to himself (what, he doesn’t know), Jungkook can’t shake the thought that maybe he’s going about all this wrong.

“Oh fuck, Yoongi, oh my god,” you squeal, throwing your head back into the bed. Yoongi sucks on your clit, and how his jaw works against your lips tells Jungkook that he’s likely lapping at your clit with his tongue.

“She tastes so fucking good,” Yoongi moans with glistening lips.

Jungkook’s mouth starts to water. He knows. Fuck, he knows. You’re sweet and creamy and so fucking warm.

“Why don’t you come over here?” Yoongi turns his head to the side to lock eyes with Jungkook as he slathers his tongue through your folds. He licks a long, slow stripe up your pussy, purposefully gathering your arousal on his tongue so strings of it attach to his lips when he pulls away – all the while keeping his eyes on Jungkook. “Taste her with me, Jungkookie.”

Joining them hadn’t been the plan. Even watching hadn’t been the plan. Yet Jungkook finds himself maneuvering around Yoongi, so they both can settle between your thighs.

Yoongi lowers his head to run his tongue around your entrance. The new position makes more room for Jungkook to lean forward. Keeping his eyes on you rather than Yoongi, Jungkook tentatively flicks his tongue against your clit.

A moan rips from your throat as you feel the double stimulation of Jungkook licking and sucking your clit while Yoongi plunges his tongue inside you. You immediately buck your hips, but Yoongi holds them down firmly. It’s easier than he expected. A stupid little voice in his head comments that he and Yoongi work well together.

“I’m gonna cum, oh my god.” Your moans sound strained and wet.

With your legs spread between Jungkook and Yoongi’s shoulders, it’s impossible for you to close your legs. Jungkook’s eyes fly open when he feels Yoongi dig his fingers into his scalp. Holding a solid grip on Jungkook’s hair, Yoongi maneuvers his head for his tongue to hit your clit just right, sending you over the edge. You cum with a scream that’s muffled by Yoongi’s free hand pressing against your mouth.

When Yoongi finally allows Jungkook to lift his head for air, he maintains his hold on his hair. Your arousal glistens on Jungkook’s lips in a thick, sticky layer. Before Jungkook can catch his breath, Yoongi pulls his head forward to crash his lips against Jungkook’s.

Jungkook inhales sharply as Yoongi’s tongue glides along his lips, licking off your slippery arousal and leaving his spit behind. When Jungkook’s lips part slightly, Yoongi’s tongue finds its way in, licking at the inside of Jungkook’s mouth. Yoongi grabs Jungkook’s thigh for support as he leans in, and Jungkook feels his cock twitch in his briefs. It’s alarming, but it feels good. Surprisingly good, to let his friend suck his bottom lip into his mouth.

“So pretty,” Yoongi hums, pulling Jungkook’s head back to let his eyes roam over the younger man’s features as his cheeks turn bright pink. “Pretty boy.”

You whine from being neglected for too long, and Yoongi quickly lets go of Jungkook to cradle your face in his hands and kiss you instead. It’s gentle and soft, just like Yoongi had kissed Jungkook.

“Would you like it, love?” Yoongi speaks softly to you, his long fingers tracing hypnotizing patterns into the soft skin of your thighs. “Want to watch me suck our Jungkookie off?”

“Oh.” Jungkook feels like he got punched in the gut.

You give him a sly smile as you nod your head. “I do. I really do.”

Jungkook tightly fists the sheets with both hands as Yoongi leans down to kiss the head of his cock through his briefs, right where a large wet spot is forming. He flinches slightly, but the action has him bucking into Yoongi’s face rather than pulling away.

Everything in him screams that this is not how the night was supposed to go, but he still lifts his hips as Yoongi drags his briefs over his ass and past his thighs. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest once his briefs are completely pulled off his legs, and Yoongi is reaching up to take Jungkook’s cock in his large fist.

Yoongi keeps his eyes locked on Jungkook’s as he slowly sticks his tongue out and gives it a few light taps with Jungkook’s cock. The dark, heavy eyes Yoongi watches him with have Jungkook’s face heating up.

“Not the cocky dom anymore, are you, Jungkookie?” Yoongi purs smugly.

For a moment, Jungkook forgets that you are sitting beside him, waiting with your legs open for him to play with your pussy. All he can do is watch as Yoongi slips the head of his cock into his warm mouth and swirls his skillful tongue around the ridge of his head. Jungkook gasps when Yoongi gives him a hard suck and slips more of him into his mouth until the head of Jungkook’s cock is nudging the back of Yoongi’s throat.

“Fuck,” Jungkook moans, one hand reaching down to grab a fistful of Yoongi’s thick hair and the other reaching over to slip two fingers inside you. When Yoongi swallows around his throbbing cock, more profanity spews from Jungkook’s open mouth. “Ohh, shit, oh shit.”

Smug, Yoongi lifts off of Jungkook’s cock and turns toward you, pulling you into a kiss by the back of your head. With his grip still on you, Yoongi guides you toward Jungkook’s cock.

“Your turn, love,” Yoongi murmurs roughly, and it takes all of Jungkook’s self-control not to bust a nut right there.

His cock is shiny from Yoongi’s spit. You wrap your lips around the tip, suckling it. Yoongi massages your tits as you bob your head, and Jungkook spreads his legs, his thighs pressing against your and Yoongi’s chests.

“Shit, wait,” Jungkook huffs, trying to push the two of you away from him. “Gotta stop.”

He’s honestly a bit flustered by all the attention, which is a new feeling for him. Having never experienced a threesome before, Jungkook doesn’t quite know what to do with himself – especially with another man involved. Especially when that other man is his friend.

“Let’s give our love some more attention, hm?” Yoongi reaches for you with a gentle touch.

You lie flat on your back and lift your legs as Yoongi kneels between them. He squeezes the backs of your thighs to push your legs to your chest and hold them open.

While Yoongi maneuvers you into a comfortable position, you tilt your head to look up at where Jungkook kneels beside you. His cock dangles near your face, and it embarrassingly kicks up when you give him a small smile. It used to piss him off and still does, but he’s become familiar with the ache in his chest when you give him that look. Adoration isn’t something he deserves, and he knows it.

“Ready, love?” When Jungkook looks up, Yoongi is holding the base of his cock as he rubs the tip between your slick folds. You let out a breathy “Yeah” that Jungkook just barely registers.

Something like jealousy, but not as envious and more aggressive, rumbles in Jungkook’s chest. You and Jungkook never wear protection because he knows he’s the only person fucking you, and Jungkook always wears protection with everyone else. There’s trust between you, which developed organically as you learned about each other over time. Even though this was all entirely his idea, the sudden realization that someone else is about to fuck you raw has Jungkook grinding his molars so terribly he might need to see a dentist.

He’s about to say something when Yoongi lets go of his cock for a moment, and Jungkook can better see that he’s wearing a thin, clear condom.

Whatever the fuck was going rabid inside of Jungkook’s chest settles down at that realization, though his nerves are starting to get the better of him. That is, until your hand glides up the side of Jungkook’s thigh, bringing his attention back down to you.

“Hi,” you whisper.

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth twitch as he whispers a greeting back. It’s such a juvenile thing to say when he’s got his cock in your face and Yoongi’s rubbing his own in circles around your clit. But Jungkook doesn’t care. Internally, he chastises himself for growing soft. Not his dick! But his heart. He’s emotionally soft, and it’s everything he said he wouldn’t let happen.

“Are you ready?” Your eyes are attentive and bright when you ask, and Jungkook feels himself falling deeper into whatever part of himself is reserved just for you. He’s not ready. But he has to be.

Yoongi can hear; he’s right there, but he politely waits for your small interaction to run its course before he says anything.

“Ready?” He repeats himself, but it’s quiet and nowhere near impatient.

“Mhm, please,” you beg, and it sounds so much different when you beg for Yoongi than when you beg for Jungkook. Yoongi coos and praises you and gives you rewards for begging. Jungkook realizes he uses your desire to punish you.

Interestingly, you get off on both.

You let out a breathy moan as Yoongi slides inside you, your mouth falling open and your eyes fluttering. But you keep them open, even as your eyelids grow heavy so that you can stare into Jungkook’s.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hears Yoongi curse.

Your body jolts forward when Yoongi bottoms out and then pulls back to snap his hips against yours. Every thrust brings you closer to Jungkook. He watches you with a burning stomach as you hold out your tongue, pressing the tip to the underside of his cock to lap at the precum dribbling from his slit.

“God, you’re so fucking,” Yoongi lets out a string of curses, but Jungkook has all his focus on the way your face contorts as Yoongi starts pounding into you.

“Harder.” You moan the request to Yoongi – who obliges – but you stare into Jungkook’s eyes as you do it.

Tilting your head further, you lap at the underside of Jungkook’s cock again.

“Jungkookie.” The sound of Yoongi moaning his name makes Jungkook’s stomach flip. “She’s being such a, fuck, good girl for us. Give baby what she wants.”

Yoongi’s cheeks are flushed a light shade of pink, and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. For a moment, Jungkook gets lost in examining Yoongi. Even though he’s intensely pounding into you, there isn’t anything aggressive about his technique. He caresses your legs, kisses your calves, and moans little praises.

“Oh my god, Yoongi. Oh fuck, right, r-r-right there, please don’t stop.” You scramble to hold onto something, your nails eventually digging into Jungkook’s thigh. He hisses but doesn’t tell you to let go.

“Shit.”

It’s a delayed response, but Jungkook finally moves closer to your face. With one hand holding the base of his cock and the other cradling your chin, he guides his cock into your mouth.

“That’s it,” Yoongi groans, one hand pressing against your abdomen. “Fuck her throat, Jungkook-ah.”

It’s so dirty the way you moan against Jungkook’s cock as he fucks your mouth. He keeps your head angled in a way that doesn’t hurt you and does his best to time his thrusts with Yoongi’s. It takes a few attempts before the two men find a good rhythm, but once they do, Jungkook honestly isn’t sure how long he’ll be able to last.

It’s loud and sloppy, fucking your throat as you drool around his cock. Jungkook can’t take his eyes off of your face. Tears slide down your temples, and your throat bulges with every thrust, but it’s the vibrations from your moans as Yoongi fucks into you that really shoot electricity up Jungkook’s cock. Everything is wet and warm, and even the sound of Yoongi’s moans gets to his head as he spirals.

A hand presses against Jungkook’s chin, tilting his face up and away from looking down at you. His hips falter slightly, but he maintains a shallow, slow thrust that allows you to catch your breath. It’s Yoongi beckoning Jungkook. His fingers dig into Jungkook’s jaw as he leans forward, his hips pushing harder against yours to capture Jungkook’s lips in his.

Jungkook feels you pull back slightly, and your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips suckle him. At the same time, Yoongi slides his hand up to grab a fistful of Jungkook’s hair and tugs it.

“Are you gonna cum, baby boy?” Yoongi whispers against Jungkook’s lips, and Jungkook chokes out a moan as bright lights explode in his vision.

He cums into your mouth with a moan that’s swallowed up by Yoongi, who continues to fuck into you. He lets go of Jungkook’s hair and brings his fingers down to play with your clit, ensuring you reach your orgasm before he eventually does. Jungkook hardly notices any of it; he’s too exhausted to do anything but sit back on his heels and let his head hang forward as he waits for his breathing to regulate.

Yoongi gets up and slips down the hall, discarding the used condom in the bathroom trash and bringing back a warm, damp washcloth. He’s careful as he massages the inside of your thighs, even more so when he carefully lifts Jungkook’s cock to clean him up, too.

Jungkook lets him, now sprawled on his back on the bed beside you, tells himself that this doesn’t have to mean anything even though his heart feels full and his body is buzzing with a warmth that feels like more than just an orgasm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you say softly. Yoongi boops your nose with his index finger.

“Don’t need to thank me, love. I had fun.” Yoongi eases onto the bed, lying on his side next to you. “I had fun with both of you.”

Jungkook has two pairs of eyes on him, searching for something in the same way he’s searching your faces.

“JK?” You reach up to run your fingers through Jungkook’s hair.

Jungkook lets out a small hum, closing his eyes and savoring the feeling. “You’re not too bad, I guess,” he says with as nonchalant of a tone as he can. But his poker face turns into a grin when you slap his bare chest, and Yoongi chuckles from the other side of the bed.

“You’re so full of yourself, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook still doesn’t know what to do with you, but now he’s got Yoongi, too. He’s realizing maybe it doesn’t have to be as hard as he’s making it out to be.

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts smut #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #yoongi x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi #needy #yoonkook fanfic

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madelynraemunson · 10 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series (completed)

* loosely inspired by Sara Cate’s “Salacious Players Club” series

🔥 EXTRA CONTENT HERE 🔥

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016** , 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters , ** = smut chapters

Summary: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, eventual smut (a lot of it), voyeurism, mutual pining, sexual tension, jealousy, drug/alcohol, profanities, sexual harassment, domestic violence

Welcome to Hellfire.

theme song: meet you in hell by jade lemac “Look me in my eyes. I know that you’re scared. You see yourself and you cry for help. Look me in my eyes. Tell me it’s not fair. If you taught me well, I’ll meet you in hell.”

Chapter 001: Wolves

The Hargroves are cursed. Generationally, that is. One night Billy takes it too far, costing him the only thing he had left... his sisters.

TW — abuse, domestic violence, blood, profanities, implications of infidelity, death

word count: 8.5k words

author's note: there are four different acts to this introductory chapter :) so much foundation to lay down and i spent forever on this to craft it perfectly for you guys. thank you for being as excited about this fanfic as I am releasing it. i hope you all enjoy! -madelyn

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you."

♡

Duality of man. Mom was always a firm believer in that notion. In fact, she always used to say, "Inside of you, there are two wolves: a good one and a bad one. Depending on which mouth you feed, one will triumph the other.”

It became more evident when she died.

“YOU FUCKING SLUT. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GO.”

Once identical in every aspect, the differences between you and your brother slowly began to unravel over time.

Being ‘good wolf’ was impossible while living under the same roof as Billy. So you settled for neutral wolf instead. Meanwhile, the big, bad wolf possessed him at age 15, when he realized hitting your father back would get him to back off.

It was 2010, post-homecoming game.

Dad nearly flung Billy into another dimension when he came home. The preferred alternative would have been attempting to reason with one another, but it just wasn’t something that was normalized in the Hargrove household. Communicating with words was a daunting task; but not nearly as daunting as accountability.

“I’M DONE WITH YOU, BILLY. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m a literal minor, you can’t do this, Dad!” Billy wailed. "PLEASE!"

Over a football game.

The Friday Night Lights were a staple of Vista Palms High School. That and all of its nacho-eating, pot-smoking, LMFAO-playing, neon-filled goodness.

"C’mon V-P, c’mon, let’s beat S-D!” For weeks Billy had been chanting that mantra. There was no clearer indication that it’s where he would be the night of the championship game. He didn’t communicate it, of course, but it was implied. But still, it didn’t cross Dad’s mind.

Any parent who thought their child was coming home on time — and sober — that night was a foolish one. Especially if their kid was a sophomore with senior status.

“You sure as hell don't act like one,” Dad spat. “Coming home, acting all grown." Little did Dad know Billy was there for community service. Billy was a good student. More than anything he wanted a full ride to a UC, mainly to get away from home. Either that or military. Maybe then, walking on eggshells and being accused of something he didn't do — like drinking and doing drugs — would be a seasonal occurence instead of daily. "ACTING LIKE YOU PAY THE BILLS. YOU DON'T. YOUR MOM AND I DO.”

Dad knew he hit a nerve. It was his signature move aside from alienating his victims to establish control. While the feeling of getting your wings clipped really did you in, reactive abuse was Billy's top trigger, especially when Mom was mentioned. After all, Billy was the one who found Her.

Through glassy eyes and gritted teeth, Billy closed up his fists before mustering up the courage to say, “I’m…not…calling Sue... the operative word.”

Dad snarled. “Like there’s anyone else physically here you’ve reserved that title for?”

Oh.

"This tainted love you've given-"

Billy took the bait, lunging forward to grab Dad. As if on cue, Dad winded up his arm, assuming his usual position. You managed to assert yourself between in hopes of stopping them. Suddenly the back of Dad's hand collided with your cheek, sprawling you onto the couch. Billy watched horrified while you fought to keep your eyes open, growing anxious when all you could hear was the room pulsating around you at the highest frequency you had ever heard in your 15 long years of life. Enough was enough.

One punch. Bridge of the nose. Game over. The control Dad had over you both had ceased.

Billy rushed to your aid while Dad took a few moments to gather himself. It was then his beat-in, throbbing eyes realized that the little boy he mercilessly pushed around was no longer there. His own little Frankenstein had taken his place.

"I gave you all a boy could give you"

"Oh my god, Sissy," Billy cried, crouching down to run a soothing hand through your hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you sniff, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I'm fine, Billy. I promise."

"I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you ever again," he vowed. "I'm gonna fuck him up and anyone else who tries."

"I love you, Brother."

"I love you, Sissy." The magnitude of power that surged through Billy melted into every neuron in his body, the warmth of its adrenaline imitating a tender — long overdue — embrace. He became fully enveloped in what was like an electric current, its tide higher than any wave he's ever surfed. It became more exhilarating than cruising down the I-5 in his Camaro at 130 MPH, and more intoxicating than any keg of beer he's ever swigged at a Wanna-be Project X Party.

It was the rush Billy had been searching for his whole life.

Every high Billy ever pursued before that rapidly declined in value. He would trade in anything for the static that had encoded itself into him. He felt untouchable, a luxury your father couldn’t afford his wife and children.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER AGAIN, YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

From that day forward, feeling respected was a freedom Billy was not willing to sacrifice, ever.

"Take my tears and that's not nearly all-"

But now Billy is the abuser, something you never imagined happening given his innately soft personality.

"Oh, tainted love. Don't touch me! Please.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking each other out. Pulling each other’s hair. Calling each other names. Spitting. Throwing things. Who would’ve thought the Hargrove twins were capable of the same horrors as their parents?

Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Billy’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, clawed at your brain in agonizing intervals.

“That’s all Max is. A pathetic little liar.”

“She will do anything for any bit of attention…even whore herself out to all the men in Del Mar.”

“You can get out. And stay out. Since you wanna act so grown all the damn time.”

He became the very thing — or person rather — he sought to destroy. The very person who indirectly, but explicably killed your mother.

And deep down you feared that if you and your stepsister Max don’t get out of that house, you’d both suffer that same fate.

“It's fucking JULY and 90 degrees out!” your sister retaliated. “What do you want me to wear to the beach? Fucking sweats?"

Max was out with friends the night prior. They hosted a birthday bonfire for her at the beach. She broke curfew and got a ride home from a friend. A guy friend. Billy wasn’t having it.

Max always got the short end of the stick. She was an easy target for Billy’s antics. Being the literal carbon copy of the woman he hates the most didn’t make it any better, and neither did taking the bait whenever Billy dealt it to “keep the peace”. Max believes being and acting helpless would get Billy to back down. It was far from the truth. In reality, she was feeding him his supply.

And what a volatile supply it is.

Mom also had another saying: "Anger is just grief with nowhere to go".

So you watched Billy and Max go back and forth with their pickleball tournament-o-insults, shouting at one another to their lungs’ capacity, their dead, black pupils strangling each other mentally while they gathered the physical strength to do so as well. You kept an arm halfway up and torso slightly turned in case you needed to butt in.

“I do this because I love you, Maxine,” Billy insisted. “So just SHUT UP and stop being a little cunt. Okay?”

“You stop being a presumptuous asshole first,” Max fired back. “We’re fighting again — why? Because someone with a penis drove me home? And we broke curfew by 10 minutes? I don’t control traffi-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismissed her. “Just say you wanted some dick and call it a night.”

Classic slut-shaming, as if Billy’s Instagram following wasn’t all models, strippers, and OnlyFans girls.

Before you could even process what was happening, the blurbs of their argument skidded to a halt when Max finally broke. Billy watched in subtle amusement as she screamed, her fist meeting the wall repeatedly out of frustration.

Reactive abuse is Billy’s favorite abuse tactic.

“Someone who’s not guilty wouldn’t react like this,” Billy quipped in a sing-song voice, eyeing the new hole in the dry wall that Max had created.

There was no sense in backtracking if Billy already got what he wanted. Max just needed the last word. Before any of you could process it, an acrylic storage box soared through the air, hitting Billy right in the groin. He roared in agony while Max attempted to collect herself off to the side. She still saw red.

That’s when the knife came out.

One slice to the brow and it was over. To ensure the last word was his to keep, Billy ended up chucking a knife at your sister.

“OHMYGOD!” Max shrieked repeatedly, entering the ‘freeze’ stage of her shock. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING, THERE’S BLOOD!”

It was then you realized, the little boy you vowed to protect and refused to leave behind was long gone. Dad’s essence had taken his place now.

“You just don’t know when to FUCKING STOP, do you?” you exclaimed, putting pressure on Max’s eyebrow with a washcloth as she wailed. Suddenly it was Dad you were talking to. They had the same apathetic, dead look in their eyes. “I don’t care who said or did what, throwing a fucking KNIFE?”

“Me?” Billy tutted. “You wanna call me crazy, who did that?” He was referring to the hole in the wall. “And who was the one to throw shit first? EXACTLY. EXACTLY.”

While Billy was technically correct, he would never admit to what he did to provoke you two.

“So you can both get out if you’d like. Be my fucking guests.”

You and Max exchanged one look. The look. It was time. You both were ready and now had the green light. Now was the chance to bolt without immediate consequences.

So you and your sister spent several minutes rummaging through your pre-packed belongings while Billy continued to shit-talk aimlessly around the rental you shared. The place soon reeked of cheap bud and gas station gin. Trash bags were soon filled with your favorite clothes and you shoved them into as many of your childhood suitcases as possible. Struggling to see past your tear-coated eyes, you reached for your books, the ones you've hollowed out 300 pages deep to pocket all the tips from your waitressing job, and shoved the loose bills into your crossbody. You’d sort through them later. Lastly, you popped the cap off the bottom of your salt lamp. There was a pre-paid Visa you bought several months beforehand waiting for you. With trembling hands, you grasped it and whispered a gratitude to the Universe before tucking it neatly into the back pocket of your Levi’s.

When it was all said and done and everything was loaded into your car, you focus on the hole in the dry wall one last time.

Never again.

Billy was complacent throughout the entirety of the event. You glared at him while he continued to soothe himself with drugs and alcohol, refusing to own up to the irreversible damage he caused your little family.

“SIS,” Max boomed from outside. “LET’S GO!”

A part of you used to pity Billy, but now his destructive behavior took away any ounce of guilt you felt for leaving him.

You never fought back until you had no other choice. Similarly, and tragically, Billy shared that very sentiment.

Who the villain is in the narrative relied solely on whose lens you are looking through.

It took you by surprise all the time. How could identical twins, who grew up in the same environment, end up so different from one another?

“I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m gonna pack my things and go." - Tainted Love by Soft Cell

There are two wolves inside of everyone.

——��———————𓇼——————--------

"Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you" - DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

The heart-wrenching ballad by Lia Marie Johnson dissolves as you crank the dial to the left. Music is always depressing when Max has the aux chord.

"Did you hear what I said?" you question her.

Max abruptly sits up and reorients herself, attempting to shrug off the trance “DNA” had put her in for a few minutes.

"No, sorry. What'd you say again?"

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

"I'll go at the airport.”

"Okay, but if you change your mind and decide to take a leak one last time, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Swami’s is also an exit away and you’re just fixing for a hot meal before takeoff. But you don’t directly say that. Besides, Max loses her appetite when she’s upset and may only have room for shitty airplane food.

“I’ll just eat on the plane.”

Stale pretzels and flat soda it is.

Despite the decrease in appetite, Max is holding up well. As well as anyone-who-was-nearly-stabbed-by-her-brother-and-is-now-moving-states-away-from-everything-she’s-ever-known-with-her-sister could be.

It wasn’t your first choice to leave California. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid it. But nonetheless, anyone with a conscious and only $4,000 to their name would make the wise decision to move away to somewhere more affordable.

Enter your online friend, Robin.

Working ungodly hours six days a week to pay the bills took up so much of your time that you had no friends in San Diego — albeit high school friends who would have never guessed how you and Billy turned out. Those friends had happy families anyway. They couldn’t hold space for you. Your online friend Robin, who you met on an art forum, however knew your family dynamic and was there for everything. But she lived in Indiana with her partner and was never able to offer you any physical comfort.

You entertained Robin’s idea of moving to where she lives, a small town in Indiana called Hawkins just 20 minutes southeast of the city. Living under the radar to get your ducks in a row seemed like such a perfect plan, but you didn’t want to do so at the expense of Max losing her only support system she had outside of you.

Moving would’ve also meant pulling her out of school, which wouldn’t be possible because Billy was her legal guardian. Now that she’s graduated high school, and today is her 18th birthday, the game has changed completely.

“Donovan texted me happy birthday,” Max reports, finally disclosing a fragment of her inner conscience. “Thought it was sweet.”

You can’t help but smile. "You thought he wouldn’t?”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and shifts them towards the rocky beach cliffs outside her window.

“You know,” you add. “I really think you two could make long distance work. I’ve never seen so much chemistry between two people before.”

Max scoffs. "Yeah right. Long distance with a guy going to Santa Barbara for college?” She fiddles with the strings of the knit poncho resting atop her lap. “I'd be breaking my own heart."

You bite your lip to stop the waterworks. Max doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to enjoy bonfires with her skater friends, surf all the tubular waves, and go on all the nature hikes without worrying about her stepbrother’s codependent-fits-of-rage waiting for her when she comes home. She deserves to eat fried funnel cake at the county fair and share a kiss with the boy of her dreams atop a Ferris wheel on the 4th of July. She deserves a San Diego summer, not a summer spent in hiding from her abuser in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Max decides to change the subject.

“So what’s Robin like? Your online friend.”

“She’s very sweet,” you breathe. “Been, uh, telling her about Billy for a long time now. Her arms have been open since day one.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“Vicky’s the best,” you insist. “A match made in heaven for sure. It’s like they’re the same person, just different font.”

You get a giggle out of Max. Her laughter during such a turbulent time is like music to your ears. The non-depressing kind.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you a gift this year.”

She side eyes you.

“What are you talking about? You quite literally gave me the best gift of all.”

“Did I? What did I give you?”

“You gave me safety.”

And with that, you give yourself a mental pat on the back, confident you made the right choice despite how foreign everything currently felt. The conversation dies down while you and Max ride on, driving further and further away from the Park and Ride you spent the night at, off Coast Highway, and onto the I-5 one last time.

Boarding the plane is a swift process. Your plane is a two-seater, so Max gets the window and you get the aisle. After receiving your snacks and drinks, you decide to play white noise and dissociate for the next five hours. It’s safe to do so, anyways. Liminal spaces were not something you took for granted.

Meanwhile, Max looks out the window, watching as the world she has come to know her whole life shrinks right before her eyes, before disappearing underneath a quilt of soft white cumulus clouds.

“This is 18.”

Goodbye, San Diego.

—————— ✈︎ ———————

Hello, Hawkins.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Robin incites, trudging through the miscellaneous projects that sit at her feet. “As if we weren’t DIY freaks enough, the pandemic really just amplified that.”

The pandemic was a hard time for everyone. You lost your fine dining gig and abruptly switched to UberEats to adjust to the flow of takeout. Billy couldn’t go to the gym, his happy place, and it took a toll on him mentally. Max broke quarantine multiple times to see Donovan, which didn’t sit well with your brother. He of course lashed out on her and also proclaimed that people like her were the reason why America hadn’t opened up yet.

“And I get no time at the gym!” Billy screamed. “So now I have to do this—”

You learned that a decent lamp costed $70 that night.

That wasn’t your first rodeo though. You and Billy grew up replacing furniture all the time. You two would gather up your money and spend it on replacing whatever needed replacing for Mom’s birthday. She always wanted to make your house feel like a home. Feel lived in. You and Billy thought you were heroes doing it, but it dawns on you now that you two were just babies.

“Oh!” Vicky interrupts. “Before we forget…”

You and Max watch her as she scrambles around, looking for something that she seemed ecstatic about.

“Happy birthday, Max!”

“No way, Kate Bush!” Max exclaims as she accepts the gift, an original Kate Bush vinyl record of her album Hounds of Love.

"Wow," you beam, rubbing your sister’s back. “Way to fuel her 80's hyperfixation, huh?"

“We found this at the thrift store,” Vicky boasted. “Knew we had to get it for ya.”

“It’s the real deal too," Robin adds. "Look, printed 1985.”

“It’s perfect,” Max gushes. “Can’t wait to play it on my Crosley.”

She thanks them both and hugs them before running back to the living room to get the rest of your belongings. You listen as she hums some of Kate Bush’s discography along the way.

You then observe Max as she unpacks her things one by one, slightly peppered with remnants of the California sand and the snobby fee it took to ship it all here via cargo. She then proceeds to sit on the new bed to check the springing quality, testing its bounce factor and comparing it to that of her old bed.

You let out a bittersweet sigh.

Suddenly you're eight years old, doing the same thing at the local motel Mom managed to snag a couple nights from when Dad trashed the house.

You turn to look in the mirror atop your new dresser.

Suddenly, you're Mom. Quite literally. You both have the same wavy blonde hair, scattered freckles across your nose that Billy used to call “stardust”, and the same tsunami blue eyes. It makes it no wonder why you and Dad never got along. You are Mom’s spitting image — and Billy is Dad’s.

Funny how life turns out.

You graze the crows feet at the outer corner of your eyes, realizing now how many years have silently passed you by, and then take note of the stress-defined scars in the form of eye baggage from all the sleepless nights that came as a souvenir.

You’ve put up with so much. For so long. The trauma is starting to manifest itself physically.

Robin snaps you back into present day. "So I was thinking we go to Applebee's for dinner, walk around Old Town, get you guys settled and unpacked when we return, Jenga at night, and then-"

She stops when she sees the horrified expression on your face.

“Hey…” the pitch in her comforting, raspy voice heightens. “What’s the matter?”

Your voice breaks. “It’s…” you manage. “It’s been a lot.”

Robin pats your back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Without looking, Robin snags a few tissues from a box laying around and gives them to you. You blot the tears away, careful not to mess up the makeup you had on with the intention to make you look less…dead.

“Sue didn’t even call and wish her happy birthday. Her own mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin repeats.

“Every day I watch Max store her trauma in the box... and just shove it into the corner where it gathers dust,” you continue. “If she doesn't unpack it..."

You didn’t even want to think of the collateral damage you and your brother caused her. A part of you wants to think Maxine has remained untouched from that side of you, but the dry blood on her outer brow was a reminder that it was far too late to shelter her from that.

"You see yourself in her."

"And my mom in myself,” you admit. “Now more than ever.”

You rub your eyes.

“I’m rambling, I know. It’s just… SO aggravating. Max deserves better.”

“She’s handling it really well.”

“We don’t know that. I know Max. She’s a pro at hiding her feelings.”

“She’s being strong for you, like you are for her. It’s very endearing, whether you both admit it to each other or not.”

She rubs your arm.

“For as long as Vicky and I are here, you and Maxine have a soft place to land. We are here for you. Y’all are safe.”

You two glance over at Max, who is now unpacking your Zen Basics Himalayan salt lamp. She sets it on top your new bedside table, a reupholstered one whose old wood was painted over by an earthy olive green, the old hardware replaced by eccentric shaped, neutral-toned knobs. Her Crosley sits on your floor, now playing a track off Kate Bush's vinyl while she stares out the window. Your new view for the foreseeable future.

Can't you see where memories are kept bright?

Tripping on the water like a laughing girl

Time in her eyes is spawning past life

One with the ocean and the woman unfurled

Holding all the love that waits for you here

Catch us now for I am your future

A kiss on the wind and we'll make the land.

Dinnertime comes fast, but you blame it on the time zone difference. You call shotgun and ride with Robin in the passenger seat, catching up with your best friend while Vicky and Max watch YouTube shorts in the backseat.

Robin gives you a backstory of everything you pass on the way to Applebees, from the schools to churches to family-owned gas stations. She and Vicky seem to know everyone by a first-name basis, naming random people off and knowing exactly who that is every so often. You try to stay engaged, but the only thing on your mind is where you’re going to apply for a job.

Robin drives into a plaza next.

"This used to be a mall, but now it's completely empty," Robin continues pointing to an empty building with remnants of a star symbol etched on it. "E-commerce really turned this strip into a ghost town."

"So basically, if I wanted a job, it would have to be any of these food places, an office of sorts, or an off-brand Blockbuster store?"

"Family Video is closing too," Vicky chimes in. "It's sad. But I guess Hawkins needs yet another overpriced coffee shop."

"You could always work at the gentlemen's club," Max jokes, pointing off to the side.

You turn to where she’s pointing and take note of the matte black rectangular building by the Sizzler’s. It didn’t seem out of place, but the silhouette of an exotic dancer with devil horns gave the sinister establishment away. You couldn’t read the name of the club, but a part of you tries to.

Robin slightly turns and nods in that direction. "Oh yeah. I heard the girls there make bank in tips."

“I made bank in La Jolla doing fine dining,” you point out. “Maybe I can do the same thing here. But at a similar establishment.”

“Fanciest restaurant you’ll get here is Benny’s,” Vicky says. “You’re gonna have to go to the city for fine dining. I don’t think the commute is worth.”

“Guess stripper is your best option,” Max nudges you.

You shoot a glare her way. “Very funny.”

"I know, I was joking," she scoffs. "Billy would kill you anyways."

Billy would literally go insane if you dared to work at a strip club. The slut-shaming would never end. Not that he never slut-shamed you anyway. There was always something for him to be misogynistic and hypocritical about.

Then it hits you. Billy isn't here. And you really need the money since in this day and age, $4,000 meant nothing. You peer over at the gentlemen's club one last time as it shrinks out of view the further Robin drives.

HELLFIRE.

-----------𓆩♡𓆪------------

Dungeons & Dragons.

Of course one of the very few strip clubs in Hawkins has to be the dorkiest.

But you understand the vision. Beyond the cobblestone entrance, the veil between real life and fantasy thins.

As you near the club with nothing but a purse and car keys in hand, you notice that there’s already security by the door. You’re surprised to see a leaner guy, tall and slender with soft blonde hair and a soft grin to match. He catches sight of you and greets you with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you nod. You reach for your wallet and give him your ID. Typical screening process. “Yourself?”

“Not too shabby,” he replies.

He examines your ID card. You notice his surprise when his eyes slightly widen before retracting shortly after. You guess that he was wondering why you are here out of all places. You peer over at his name tag while he concludes his screening. Henry.

Upon verification of your identity, the friendly security guard returns your card to you.

“Let me give you a wrist band.”

He motions for you to hold an arm out. You extend your right arm to him and watch as he gracefully pulls a paper wristband out of his pocket, clasping it into place with the side that read “21+” facing upwards.

You take the time to admire the gentleness of this man. The softness of his face. His dreamy gaze.

“Any weapons on you?”

“Uh…” you stammer. “Just pepper spray?”

A laugh escapes from his nostrils. “That’s fine, my dear.”

“I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Under my watch, you won’t.”

Henry gently strokes your hand before motioning you inside.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks,” you smile politely.

It’s a slow afternoon, but granted no one goes to a strip club at 2 PM. The Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club was comprehensively laced with playful innuendos. The accent wall by the entrance showcases an array of chains and handcuffs. Kukris, nun-chucks, and flails all of different variants and sizes are displayed on the walls, the point of balance being a vintage pulp print of a metal puppeteer. On the print, "OBEY YOUR MASTER" is written in edgy bubble letters.

Kinky.

And there’s a bonus of this themed club: the ladies are dressed in cloaks. You watch as beautiful women from all walks of life strut around the joint, leaving the clients with only their imagination to guess what’s underneath the tantalizing, medieval velvet.

There are LED signs that lit up corners of the space, indicating what they were for. KAS’ KORNER: GRAB A BITE, DRAGON'S BREATH: HOOKAH LOUNGE, and POTIONS — the bar.

You catch a glimpse of the private show rooms, or at least what you think are the private show rooms.

The LED sign to those rooms read, "I PUT A SPELL ON YOU AND NOW YOU'RE MINE."

The general seating area for the main event reads VECNA’S LAIR.

The Dungeon Master of this joint thought of every possible detail he could and ironed it into perfection.

Surely, someone who truly plays would adore every aspect of all the details, but it was evident that everyone came here for the same reason:

Girls, girls, girls.

You walk over to the bar to see two men conversing behind it.

One looked to be in his late 20s, with scruffy chestnut brown hair, some tired eyes, peach fuzz, and a patterned shirt decorated in a kaleidoscope of colors — a shirt meticulously calculated by quite possibly a girlfriend.

The other looked like he had another year left before being allowed to be behind that counter... of course judging by the “Hawkins High School class of 2021” on his insulated water bottle in his hand, a cracked iPhone in the other, and Beats with a small basketball sticker on it.

When you appear in their periphery, the conversation between the two gradually comes to a stop.

“Whoa,” the younger man hums. “New face. Welcome.”

“Hi. What do you recommend?”

“In terms of what?” the younger man questions slyly. There’s a timidness to the young man’s spirit, making his flirtatious demeanor somewhat dorky. The age appropriate bartender nudges him.

“Drinks, hotshot,” you refrain from chuckling. “Drinks.”

“Depends what you’re into,” the younger man replies, the slyness continuing. “If you’re into light liquors, Jonathan can make you a mean Cîroc with pineapple juice. But if you’re more into the dark stuff…”

He gestures up and down on himself.

“Then look no further.”

“That was very painful to listen to,” the older one who you assume is Jonathan cringes. “Can you get anymore corny?”

“Ta-ha!” the younger one tsks. “He said could I get any more corny. Can you get any more bitchless?”

“I have a girlfriend, Lucas.”

“Emphasis on the singular sense.”

“Nance is all I need.”

"Nancy is all you can pull," Lucas chuckles. "With that goofy ass shirt, man. Stop playing with me."

So you weren’t the only one who thought the shirt was absolutely ridiculous. It had "Bad Bitch Repellant" written all over it.

Jonathan whacks Lucas with the cloth that was sitting atop his shoulder. You request a double Tito’s straight on the rocks from Jonathan to which he automatically starts to make. Lucas continues to interrogate you.

“As you heard, my name is Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.” He extends his hands to you. “But my favorite ladies call me 'Dark Chocolate'. You can call me, 'The Man of Your Dreams' though.”

You take the youngster’s hand in yours and shake it. His heavy locker room cologne makes your nose swell, an uneven mix of what you believe is Axe and — is that Dior?

You tell Lucas your name then hit him with a, “But you can call me ‘When You’re Thirty’.”

Lucas laughs at your joke, beaming up at you as he does so. Then he nods to communicate a gracious fair enough. The flirting, you could sense, was in good nature, playful.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Do you have a younger sister by any chance?”

“Oh in your dreams, mister.”

Jonathan chuckles and rubs Lucas’s back.

"That’s enough man, can you go buss that table over there?"

Lucas gives a thumbs up before putting his Beats on and walking away. You divert your attention back to Jonathan who is now done with making your drink.

“Alright… I got a Tito’s double shot — straight — on the rocks,” Jonathan announces as he slides your vice on over. He studies you as you take the drink and request to keep the tab open. “I’m inclined to ask. Are you okay?”

When you’re not around Billy, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to trauma dump on a stranger. Especially one who asked.

“Pretty far from okay,” you answer before chugging it. “Can’t you tell? It’s 2PM and I’m consoling…” You slosh the drink around in your hand. “…my man Tito.”

“I see that.”

“It’s been a long day,” you continue. “It’s my second day in Hawkins so I thought I’d scope this place out. Dilly dally for a bit.”

“Second day?” Jonathan questions. “As in…ever?”

“Yeah, just moved here.”

The bartender looks around as if he’s missed something. “But…why?”

It’s a fair reaction. If the welcome sign is correct, Hawkins only has a population of 1,314 people. 1,316 now including you and Maxine.

“My friend lives here and convinced me to make the move,” is what you explain, though it only seems to make Jonathan more confused. “Couldn’t take the heat Cali was dishing out. Hawkins seemed like the perfect place to slow down.”

“Oh man,” Jonathan mutters. “California to here, what a change.”

“You lived here long?”

“Lived here my whole life,” he answers as a matter of factly.

“What made you get a job at Hellfire?”

Jonathan didn’t have to think. “I love booze.”

You laugh together, raising your half-empty class to clink his invisible one.

“I hate 9-5s,” Jonathan draws on. “Working from home ‘bout damn near drove me insane, don’t know how my mom does it with such ease. My boss here smokes me out on occasion and my friends make me nachos.” He smiles. “Can’t think of anything better.”

“There we go.”

"I’ve also just been looking out for women my whole life," he adds. "Bout time I get some financial compensation for it, no?"

“Amen to that,” You chug the last of your drink. “Thanks for your service.”

"Pleasure is mine. Anything else I can do for ya?"

You think. "Hm, probably not you, but maybe the hiring manager can do something for me."

"You're looking to work here?" he clarifies as you nod. "Oh sweet, you're going to wanna talk to Eddie. He's the owner."

"And a dweeb," says a significantly younger looking fellow as he slides into the conversation.

“Here we go.”

In front of you now is a gentleman around Lucas’s age with wild curly brown hair. You watch as he helps himself to a club soda, dunking three large wedges of lemon into his cup as well.

The guy offers you a playful, pearly white grin. “Eddie may own a nice club with some smokin' hot babes, but he's got no game whatsoever."

“Hey Dustin.”

“Sup, man.”

“You think so?" you challenge him.

"I know so,” the boy who you now know as Dustin insists. “Can't talk up a chick to save his life."

"Yeah," Jonathan says, half-jokingly. "He's the bitchless one."

Dustin glances between you both, slightly puzzled.

You shake your head. "No way."

"I wouldn't say he's that bad," Dustin says. "I actually think he's seeing someone casually. But in general, dude's got zero rizz."

"Projecting are we?" Jonathan nudges him.

“HELL. NO.” Dustin booms. You attempt to refrain from laughing. “My game is what got me the baddest gal at science camp. Eddie? Clumsy as hell, stutters on his words, he's got the anxiety level of someone who drinks cold brew on an empty stomach… Now that I say it out loud, I think he does drink cold brew on an empty stomach. Some chicks dig it though, which is good for him.”

Curly was fun to observe. Once he’s done talking down on the club owner, Dustin politely walks over and shakes your hand, bowing to you like you’re a princess of sorts. You later find it that like Lucas, Dustin works as a bus boy and server, and his girlfriend makes sure that he remains in Kas’ Korner at all times. Dustin has about two years left before legally being permitted behind the POTIONS bar, but that doesn’t stop him from using it as his own storage shed.

You watch as he grabs some deodorant and hair pomade from an old shoe box under the counter.

“Anyways, later,” Dustin holds up a peace sign, starting towards the door. “I'm not on today, I'm just hitting the gym with Steve."

“Later, man!” Jonathan calls after him.

“Deuces. Say hello to Dark Chocolate for me.”

Before he could get any further, the loud swinging of a door closeby causes him to halt in place.

“ALRIGHT!” a loud, gruff voice booms from that direction. “Which one of you shitheads forgot to take inventory on the 10th?!”

You can’t help but turn your body towards the ruckus. And to your own pleasant surprise, you don’t regret it. Emerging from the door comes the possible shift lead, a tall and broad man with medium length wavy brown hair, chocolate-colored, youthful doe eyes that contradicted the deep lines on his face, bleach white Chuck Taylor’s, ripped black jeans, and a Hellfire Club baseball tee with the logo smack-dab in the middle.

The man looked to be in his mid to late 20s, with an assertiveness in his stride. His lips, a perfectly formed bow with a smirk-like undertone. The cool rings that rest upon his fingers look icy as they sway at his side, shining in contrast to his dark clothing.

The man is too tunnel-visioned to see where he was going. But that doesn’t stop Dustin from looking absolutely mortified.

“The 10th and the 11th,” the man clarifies. “So for all we know, we might need new kegs and ground chili, which is one more thing I have to d-”

Finally he looks up, with you being the first thing he sees. Proximity taking him aback, he snaps out of his stress-induced trance and softens up at the sight of you. You meet his eyes, big and beautiful with long wispy lashes and you can’t help but mimic the flutter in your heart in the form of a smile.

“Whoa.” He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whoa, indeed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s Eddie’s first day back, he tends to get a little in the zone,” Dustin explains.

Eddie.

Does that mean…

“Are you the hiring manager?”

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of you. He must be proud of himself, having such a successful business so early in the game.

Eddie gathers himself quickly.

“Dungeon Master, hiring manager, manager, owner, sanitations, re-stocker,” Mr. Jack-of-all-trades confirms. “I do it all.” He grimaces at Dustin. "Since you know, some people don't wanna work."

"You said I can have off!" Dustin exclaims defensively. "I worked for you before the weekend already and I wasn’t even on the 10th and 11th, fuck outta here."

All it takes is a scowl his way from the boss and Dustin is radio silent. The look on Eddie's face definitely said "Watch your tone". Eyes are all on you once more soon after.

Eddie’s gaze softens when he looks at you.

“Were you…looking to apply?”

“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly. “As a dancer. I’d like to perform here.”

“You don’t sound too confident.”

“Some guys like shy girls,” you shrug.

He laughs, a dark honey kind of laugh that just oozed from the back of his throat. “That they do.” His voice deepens drastically. Eddie studies you. “Any dancing experience?”

“Dancing, yes.”

“Stripping experience?”

“None.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “What do you have experience in?”

“I danced for a bit…I have good core strength,” you explain vaguely. “And I’ve worked in the restaurant industry so I’d say customer service is my superpower.”

Eddie soaks in the information.

“I know how to talk to people,” you continue. “I know the right things to say. Favorite pass time is upselling drinks. And dessert…”

You wait for Eddie to take the low hanging fruit. He doesn’t.

"Any experience with the pole?”

Your cheeks grow hot. You decide to lie.

"No.”

“Kinda essential for this profession, sweetheart.”

"I know," you respond humbly. "I wouldn’t doubt it for a second..." you scan the room. “So uh, do I need a permit to perform here?”

“Nah, Hawkins is a lawless wasteland pretty much,” he sighs placing his hands on his hips. “And my club does things a little different anyways. The ladies also don’t pay to perform, we pay them to.”

Shit. Strippers pay to perform at venues?

“The dining experience is what brings the base revenue in,” Lucas explains, returning from wherever he had been. “The ladies are a luxury.”

“And should be treated as such,” Jonathan chimes in.

“I take it you don’t work at any other clubs?” Eddie questions judging by your wide eyes attempting to take in every bit of information that has been dumped on you. The man sees right through your mask.

“No, but I-”

“I personally like to give everyone a chance,” Eddie says. “So don’t worry babe, you’re good. Even though you don’t have any experience, your energy tells me that you have potential. Wanna show us what you can do?”

Your heart sinks. The handsome club owner called you babe. And you’re also being asked to perform with the little experience you have — in front of girls who had tons of experience.

“Here? Now?”

Eddie nods.

You weren’t prepared to dance today. But with your sister and the mountain of debt on your mind, you are willing to do anything. So you walk over to Jonathan and tell him what song you feel most comfortable performing to and stretch as he takes the time to find it. When all is said and done, you make your way to the icy pillar made of chrome steel that was calling for your attention.

You exhale deeply.

Back to the old stomping grounds. The last time you worked with a pole you were wearing Heeley’s and light up sneakers. Of course in place of the horny spectators there were playground supervisors, and the only “bars” there were monkey bars. Oh, and you were 8, not 28.

The slut-shaming still existed, though. One time a boy told you that you were acting like a ‘hoe’ for trying to do a trick upside down. To Billy’s retaliation though. Before you knew it, the same boy was being shoved down and dragged across the wood chips, acquiring a series of splinters along the way. Admin phoned home. You and Billy got spanked. But, of course, Billy had no regrets. While you both cooled off together, you remember him grazing your hand, telling you he’d beat that kid up “a gajillion times over”.

He kept that promise. Except as you two grew older, it was you he was doing it to. A gajillion times over.

You laugh at the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Eddie says.

You give Jonathan a thumbs up to play your song selection. Soon, Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club is filled with the catchy, seductive tune that is Layla by Eric Clapton.

You start with a small stroll around the pole. Then a dramatic dip to flaunt your bouncy golden locks. Soon, the women of Hellfire gather around with the men following soon after to watch you work your magic in Vecna’s crowded Lair.

If muscle memory is in your favor, they are in for a good show.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running, hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Eddie claims a seat at a throne directly in front of the pole. He studies your technique, your movements, your facial expressions. You aren’t sure if reality is projecting onto you or if you’re dizzy from all the spinning, but you almost see a slight smile spread across the club owner’s face. It prompts you to keep going.

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

It’s a lot harder, your techniques and tricks. Most likely since you weigh more than 50 pounds now and had to exert more energy to keep yourself balanced an aligned. But nonetheless, you persist.

Tried to give you consolation

Your old man had let you down

Like a fool, I fell in love with you

You turned my whole world upside down

You buck your hips upward from you back arch to go into an upside down position. It earns you some hooting and cheering from the crowd.

“You better work, mamas!” a dancer cheers.

“I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

“YAAAS!”

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

Eddie watches intently, leaning backwards with his hands clasped forward. You feel his eyes burn through you, from the top of your head down to your toes. You feel as if he’s mentally scoring you like you’re at a competition, but the sisterhood that cheers you on makes you feel slightly less intimidated.

“SHE’S SO GOOD!” comes a high-pitched voice in the crowd. “I FREAKING LOVE HER!”

You turn to look at your own personal cheerleader, a bright-eyed cute little redhead with pigtails with an outfit that looks like an ode to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. She has cherry hair ties that hold her two pigtails at the bottom.

You watch her clap and jump up and down, cheering you on with a beam in her eyes that made you feel like your souls have been friends for decades.

Motivated to attempt more risqué moves, you jump into the splits before kicking your legs around to end on your knees.

Clapping and whistling erupts from the lair. Once it dies down, Eddie stands up, offering you a delighted series of slow claps as he makes his way towards you.

"That was really good, Shy Girl. I like how you finished your set."

“Aw, thanks Eddie.”

He walks around you.

"Go like this?" Eddie does a stretching motion, lifting his hand up.

You imitate him and reach up.

"Okay, and... turn like this? Then pop your ass out a bit more."

The word rolled off the club owner's tongue like it was nothing. It was done in a way that was professional, a hint of respect in his tone with no sort of ulterior motive.

You swallow hard, attempting to internally tame the goosebumps on rising upon your skin. He’s just giving feedback, he’s just giving feedback. This is a professional line of work.

You do as he says as he circles around you, fingers grazing on the cool floor of the stage just inches away from your thighs. He taps them in thought.

"For a beginner you’re pretty damn good,” he says.

“Yeah?” you look up at him and smile.

“Yeah,” his voice deepens. “You’re a natural. All that shyness just went away.”

Well, it’s about to return, you think to yourself.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in this specific setting.”

There’s a slight shift in his eyes as his imagination wanders. The dimples at the side of his mouth concave slightly.

“I gotcha.”

Eddie clears his throat. “So uh, when can you start?”

Today is Wednesday. You have tomorrow, Friday, and the weekend to settle you and Max in and make any last minute stops. Then the appointment with the other loan officer and DMV appointment on Monday. Tuesday afternoons are dry — everywhere so that left the earliest you can start as

"Next Tuesday? In the evening?"

A soft snort escapes from the club owner’s nose.

"Driest night of the week," he comments, looking around his club.

He turns back to you.

"But a good time for orientation. Works for me, Shy Girl. Can I call you that?”

You smirk. “So I got the job?”

He nods.

“Then you can call me what you want,” you smile shaking his hand. “In this case I’m Shy Girl Hargrove.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles. He knows you’re flirting. Eddie accepts your hand and shakes it firmly.

“Eddie. Pleased to formally meet you. And welcome to Hellfire.”

You two exchange contact information for professional purposes before he leaves. You study Eddie as he sees himself out, planting a firm, teasing smack on Lucas’s stomach on his way and whispering something to Jonathan as well.

Your cheerleader from the crowd excitedly makes her way over.

“I know a dancer slash gymnast when I see one,” she chirps. “I’m Chrissy. Stage name is Cherry.”

You two shake hands and exchange further compliments with one another. Your heart swells when you realize you’re slowly starting to find community.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Others come and say hello, but you’ve tuned out all the faces because all you can think about is Eddie. His demeanor. The way he carries himself. His presence alone was something so intoxicating that it lingered around the place in his absence.

Your heart flutters.

“Oh, Hargrove!” Jonathan says. “Before you go I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the drink.”

“Oh?” you respond. “No?”

“Eddie says it’s on the house.”

You smile and Jonathan returns the favor, making sure you see him when he voids your entire tab. As you wave bye to all your spectators, you release a grateful sigh. You felt very humbled about this new, yet unexpected beginning.

The happiness soon wears off when the events that just unfolded dawn on you. Suddenly, the flutter in your heart moves to your stomach, settling in a way that feels eerie. The unknown is pestering you again. Wrong, but oh so right and necessary.

You take in the area around you. You have a place to call home. You’re a stripper now. Your boss just bought your drink. You’re going to have money coming in. Oh, and YOU’RE A STRIPPER NOW.

Then it dawns on you. You need to go shopping.

#Spotify #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 5 #hellfire club #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fics

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iheartuwu · 4 months

Text

₊˚ ♡ random relationship hc’s ◞ leon s. kennedy

fem!reader, fluff, angst, established relationship, implied age gap for like one or two hc’s, wrote these in an id leon brainrot fueled spur lmfao so mostly for an older leon ig !? would love to expand on some of these in a fic, wc 0.6k ╮

gift giving is definitely one of his strongest love languages, however he’s not one for grand gestures or overtly romantic gifts. his gifts are practical, thoughtful, consistent reminders that he’s always thinking of you because he’s never been good with words. he prefers to not be present when you receive them and he’s SO deliberately discreet about it too. subtly replacing your skincare or fav products that are running out with brand new ones, delving into his mental notes of what you’re running low on when he’s at a shop. scheduling food or flower deliveries for when he’s away on a mission or work related tasks. any praise would probably make his skin crawl because he just can’t handle it

terms of endearment feel unnatural to him and rarely fall past his lips unless you seem to react positively to them. i don’t see him as someone who’s that experienced in committed long term relationships ( or relationships in general ) due to the nature of his work and lifestyle. he defaults to ‘babe’ until he learns which terms you prefer / dislike

leon would never accept your offers or attempts to pay for a thing ( i swear by this ). this doesn’t come from a place of arrogance or urge to fulfill some ‘traditionally’ masculine role. his disposable income is plentiful, and he’s happy to pay when the opportunity arises, he honestly doesn’t even think about it and merely hands over his credit card. receiving gifts can often be hard for him but he’ll never purposely display his discomfort or refuse

extremely dry texter and doesn’t really use his phone despite being tech savvy, all of his texts end with periods. rarely ever uses emojis ( his personal favs are 👍👎 and the occasional ❤️ ). typically one word responses. doesn’t understand half of the abbreviations you use. send him a keyboard smash and he’ll think you’re having a stroke. prefers to call you instead

always the driver ( he insists on it ). always has the seat warmer on for you. if you do drive he becomes a backseat driver which can be mildly frustrating. comments on your song choices when you play music in his car but would never tell you to stop no matter how grating it is on his ears and simply endures. sometimes opts for his motorcycle over his car solely because he gets to be held onto by you. would literally never let you even fathom the idea of driving his motorcycle

frequent date nights at borderline obnoxiously ritzy restaurants to compensate for his time spent away from you due to his job. also bc this man cannot cook. does not let you know in advance. he simply says “we have a reservation tonight” like an hour before which often results in you scrambling to get ready

he struggles with sharing his ( darker ) emotions, accompanied by a habit of opting to brush your concerns off. vulnerability is a foreign language to him. he’s scarily good at pretending he is fine, but you manage to see glimpses of his deteriorating wellbeing in his body language. the heavy sighs upon waking up, his slight recoil from your touch, his posture stiffening after you ask him what’s on his mind. this doesn’t come from a place of distrust in any way, he truly just doesn’t want to ‘burden’ you and convinces himself that his struggles aren’t important in the grand scheme of things. he also knows the source of his stress and trauma is for the most part confidential and he tells himself he’s doing it for your own safety and protection. when he does open up by his own volition, he keeps it brief, spares most of the details, his composure rarely falters and he’s itching to move on from the subject. you’ve never seen him cry :(

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #i could go on and on about him fr

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ivysoul · 1 year

Text

i know i have so many requests that i have to get to but i wanted to write something for ethan landry bc he’s my lil psycho pookie bear

cw for reader being just as fucked up as ethan, quinn, and bailey lmfao

the fear that encapsulated the old theatre was strong. it floated around like the dust that fell upon the old furnishings, flooding into the veins of anyone near enough to sense it. the two dark figures in the ghostface masks standing on either side of detective bailey should’ve scared you. they should have—but they didn’t. because you knew them.

they were the family you had been all too well acquainted with. the family you had spent many nights with playing board games and watching movies. they were the family of your boyfriend, ethan bailey—better known now as landry.

you knew about their plans to kill sam to avenge richie, you had even helped them at some points. making sure the group was in the right place at the right time, suggesting ideas on what to do next knowing that they were all ideas to aid in the killings, even going as far as impersonating ghostface yourself while bailey eliminated jason and his partner before they could get to sam themselves.

you loved them like they were your family, because that’s exactly how it was. when you and ethan started dating, you were welcomed with open arms. and ever since, you’ve been inseparable. with not only him, but his family.

all of this only made ethan’s infinite love for you grow, and yours in return. which was why you weren’t scared, surprised, nor turned away when he took off his mask.

his tone was taunting as he said, “y’know, it’s kinda funny. you don’t even need to pretend you’re not ghostface. you just have to be an accomplice.”

“what are you talking about?” sam asked sharply, eyes going back and forth between the family of murderers in front of her. she grabbed tara’s arm subconsciously and tugged her closer to her side. you however, were counting the seconds until you could walk up to ethan and watch the girl’s faces when they realized.

quinn laughed airily and rolled her eyes. “you were too focused on who could’ve been the murderer, that you didn’t even care to ask who could’ve been working with them.”

“never trust the new ones, right?”

the words left your lips smoothly, laced with venom. you didn’t take your eyes off of your boyfriend as you walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, reaching up to place a passionate kiss on his lips. his free arm wrapped around your back and squeezed your waist.

it was such a dirty thing; love. a feeling that would drive you somewhere you never thought you’d go.

you pulled away only to look at tara and sam, gaining a new tint of satisfaction against your ribcage. a sick a part of you wanted to take a picture and hang it on your bedroom wall when this was all over. but you figured that the real thing was better than a photograph.

you looked back up at ethan, gingerly placing your thumb on his jaw. your featherlight touch had him looking at you immediately with a smile that was only saved for you.

“did i do good, e?”

he kissed your lips once more, gently, and full of love, not once taking into account the scene at hand. “perfect, baby.”

#this was so corny bye #and bad too good lord #i’m very much prepared for this to flop horribly #anyway #ethan landry #ethan landry scream #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #scream #scream 6 #scream 2023 #saintlulls

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1lenii · 11 months

Note

Hey im that mystery anon again <3 So not a request just thought i wanted to share, this Friday i went to a bbq with my uncles and cousins (me being the only girl) and I couldn’t daydream about Miles with a shy girly s/o who completely turns around when she is with her family and becomes all motherly yet play-fights and sings rancheras with her uncles while cooking. The dream life <3 Can’t imagine Miles (E-42) confusion at his sweet gf suddenly all out

Ⰶ BBQ SURPRISE Ⰶ

Miles G Morales x F!Latina!Reader

Ⰶ Hii lovely<3, I CONSIDER THIS A REQUEST IDC. SO. basically made a oneshot(?)cs why not? My mind if filled with a bunch of what ifs so here are some hcs or not :)

Ⰶ Do enjoy!

Ⰶhonestly Js fluff! No warning that I know off

Ⰶ Y/N is still getting use to Miles as they recently started dating, keep this in mind so it can make sense!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N gets a text from her mami, that’s theres gonna be a family cookout and to, QUOTE “trae al moreno lindo tuyo”

Y/N is like ‘why not’, so she does exactly that, struggling to tell Miles, what was planned for the day

Miles being the loving boyfriend he is, is rubbing her back encouraging to speak up from her reserved nature

With that Y/N says “I want you to come with me to my family cook out!”

Miles is like how ironic cause you already went to his now it’s his turn to go to yours

Otw there Y/N is kinda nervous cause I mean this is gonna be the first time Miles meets her family officially WHO WOULDNT BE NERVOUS

They get to the house/park it was being hosted at and going into the open space the couple is greeted with a bunch of “Y/N’s HERE!” Coming from a few younger cousins

The kids and the same age and older cousins greet their favorite cousin so yk how that goes, some how Miles manages to end up at edge of the circle around his girlfriend

Miles is like “:0” cause he didn’t know she could be such a extrovert(????????)

Miles is greeted by Y/N mom and aunt as they laugh at his surprise and here come the boss lady saying “didn’t know y/n was like that did you?” Mother dearest says laughing and nudging him to have a seat

“No I did not” he chuckles

After that commotion Y/N goes back to miles ONLY TO BE CALLED BY HER UNCLE pulling her away from miles for the 2nd time this night!

“Mi sobrina favorita!! We need you on los papás y hamburguesas!” Her uncles calls out, and you can literally hear the other children groan at the “favorite”

“Ya vengo” y/n says now pulling her hair behind her ear and into a loose bun(anyone else tries less when tying their hair when it’s curly??)

Miles watches I’m awe forgetting what he was about to tell her as she ties a apron from one of the lost chairs and makes her way to her uncle.

Miles just smirks taking mental notes of Y/N habits when she’s let loose, also making sure he’s the first in line for his Girls cooking🥰how cute

The eating and mingling portion is done now it’s later in the afternoon and on of Y/N older cousin calls out (I ran out of options) “who wanna shadow box”

“THAT MEANS YOU Y/N” your cousin yells from the other side of the yard

“I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME” Y/N calls out making her way to the group of cousins bringing miles along

Miles takes out his phone to record and Mayb post later and when Y/N litterally annihilates getting a 3 for 3

“OHHHHHH” miles hears eb say (LMFAO having tm fun)

And with that the night was spent, and yk they otw home

I kid you not Miles would turn to you and challenge you

“Match me rn”

“Huh??” Y/N is dumbfounded she so confused

“Juega me”

“Me? Oh no I can’t I could possibly-“

“Oh tu si puedes”

And ya would get home to find miles crumbling in defeat LMFAO

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This was fun, maybe not exactly BUT YK WHAT? I had fun writing this so idc!

Don’t be afraid to submit something, I’ll literally make anything out of limit sources<3

#atsv x reader #miles morales x reader #miles g morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles x y/n #atsv fic #miles 42 #miles morales #miles morales x y/n #miles x reader #miles g morales #miles g morales headcannons #earth 42 miles morales x reader #latina reader #prowler x reader

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desiredcaramellatte · 6 months

Note

Do you think you could do some crk self aware au stuff?? The tag is painfully dead.. if not feel free to delete lmfao

That aside, during Cookie Odyssey, I was **convinced** that soulstones we're going to come into play somehow, it was like my major theory during ch.2, and nobody could convince me otherwise but it never happened. Giving the soulstones an in lore explanation would've been fricking awesome imo..

Can we get some HCs of the player (or their in game kingdom) basically having a monopoly on soulstones while the cookies are left scratching their heads as to not only how they work, but also how the reader got what is technically a part of their souls.

Write for anyone really, idm that much. I generally like the Creme Republic though-- whether reader is still behind the screen or knows the cookies are self aware is up to you really.

That would be very cool if they actually had a lore explanation :0 I thought the soul jams were soul stones first time I heard about them tbh, they just linked together in my mind, also reader is so real for trading monies for souls

I have never written self aware before so apologies if it sucks-

Anyways enough of my ranting, hcs yes

Self aware cookies & reader

(Who has a soul stone monopoly)

Gingerbrave & friends

Gingerbrave is one of the least confused cookies regarding this, to be honest. Mainly because he doesn't really care enough/doesn't notice to really question it. You gather these little trinkets that make him stronger! Cudos to you from this boy.

Wizard, on the other hand, is confused as hell of this process. Where do these stones come from? Are they truly linked to the Cookie's souls? Does that mean that they are not fully themself and/or complete until they are fully leveled, even if they only materialize with twenty of them?

Wizard just wants to know. He has asked you multiple times over, getting confused by your answers and delving in deeper whenever he can. Exactly WHERE do they come from? He's obsessed with finding out by this point.

Strawberry really doesn't mind. She's a little confused where they come from, but, like Gingerbrave, she doesn't question it too much. She does like to occasionally made theories, but she doesn't really like to share them.

If you're good friends with her she may share some of her theories with you, but none of the wild ones, and only if you ask.

Clotted Cream

WHOLE ASS ENGROSSED. He wants to know everything about the soulstones. Where do they come from? How would one even 'farm' these and how does farming a soul even work?

More specifically, he is trying to find a connection between soulstones and souljam. They do almost the same thing and have very similar names- they're both linked to the soul, and make cookies stronger.

He has spent many restless nights awake thinking about this.

Much like Wizard in that he's harassing you for answers, but he does asks questions more subtly.

Clotted Cream has flipped a few tables (with occasional assistance from Financier) before, mainly when he gets annoyed enough at not having a verifiable answer to this.

Financier

It is what it is. She accepts this. She's got dragged into the theorizing by Clotted Cream.

Chilling, mainly. She doesn't really mind not care. Likely to thank you for doing your best to collect them and to make everyone, including her, stronger.

Black Raisin

Intrigued by the sparkliness of most of these soulstones. Much like a crow, she is attracted to shiny objects. Her crow friends are too.

Black Raisin has a small hoard of soulstones that she's occasionally found, of all different sorts of cookies. The sparkler the soulstone, the likelier she and/or her crows are to snatch and hoard. If the soulstone is just a pretty rock then she'll also hoard those too.

If you really need a soulstone she will likely give one to you. How often and/or how many depends on her connection to you.

She's farming them with you by this point.

Oyster

Yoinks you.

She wants to have conversations about this. She wants to know what they are and where they come from. She will offer you tea and scones while the two of you converse.

When she first found out that her stones are Super Epic, she was very proud of herself.

Probably sends you back with some every time you come visit her.

Captain Caviar

Doesn't believe they exist. They're just rocks. Nothing more.

He will stand by his claim to the death. This WILL be the hill he died on. Captain Caviar does not believe soulstones exist.

Probably has made some propaganda about soulstones being fake. Socks, hats, jackets, you name it, he's likely made it with the words "Soulstones do not exist, numbskull" in big letter on it. Except shirts.

Pure Vanilla

Very much like Oyster. Will likely join in on your conversation time and/or will invite the two of you over for his homemade tea and treats!

Most likely to understand how Soulstones work due to him wielding Souljam, which is the most similar thing to them. Also the fact he has lived for a long time and has gathered many knowledge on the subject.

Probably has a book on the subject somewhere.

He likes to sit and watch the Ferris Wheel Landmark rotate. He likes the motion.

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aquagustd · 2 years

Text

doin’ time - PJM

after that…riveting evening spent with Jimin, you think he’d be the perfect candidate to help you with the few things that you don’t know after discovering that the real thing is far better than the books. he only has one rule: you’d have to keep your little arrangement a secret.

⤷ lust for life masterlist

pairing — step bro’s best friend!jimin x nerdy!reader

genre/rating — R | smut, fluff, slight angst, fwb2l

word count — 6.5K

play — doin’ time by lana del rey

warnings/tags — summer holiday, rich kids au, college au, strong language, small age gap, inexperienced!reader, flirty jimin, blond jimin, sexual discovery, corruption kink, insecurities, virgin!reader, vaping, manhandling, mouth fetish?, oc lowkey loves money, she’s v h0rny in the part lmao, mentions of masturbation, jimin’s unspoken rizz lmfao, explicit smut — dirty talk, a single spank, oral (m), he teaches oc some stuff 😵‍💫, cum eating, teasing, brief handjob, thigh riding, lots of kisses + one hickey, jimtiddies & biting

note: can be read as a stand-alone !! this jimin 🥴

Puberty. All over again.

Except this time you actually possess the courage to experiment with your own body. You’ve only ever flicked the bean, never really…dared to try and use your fingers. But after that night with Jimin – you’d like to believe he’s the cause – it’s just not enough. Both your hands were occupied, you felt like a cavewoman, hair all messed up as you squirmed and thrashed under the assault of your own fingers.

Imagining Jimin’s lips on your own. His cherry breath mingling with yours as he took you to the heights of pleasure.

One finger wasn’t enough.

Not even two, it seemed.

Three fingers knuckle deep in your own pussy as you lay on your stomach, fingers twisting at the sheets, all that happened between you the other night replaying in your mind like a broken record. Revisiting that moment – when he called your name so sweetly, cumming all over your tummy.

Late that night, it took you nearly two hours to comprehend what had transpired. Bordering insanity that Park Jimin kissed you, nearly fucked you, and more…all in one night. Your first night of intimacy with another person. You’re not sure if you’re happy or sad that he collected your firsts like infinity stones in only half an hour – but you’re one hundred percent sure that teenage you is living her best life right now.

You bring your fingers up to your lips, reminiscing, remembering how soft and plush his lips felt against yours. Tongue moving so expertly while you felt like you were levitating.

You’re glad that he asked for your number and didn’t give you his, since you would’ve lost your mind wondering when or if you should text him. Since it was probably just a one-time thing.

Collapsing on your bed, you bury your face in your pillow, letting out a tiny shriek.

If you don’t empty all this soon, you might explode.

You can’t even bring yourself to concentrate on your books anymore, mind so muddled with Jimin and his unholy tongue.

Hurriedly, you grab your phone from your nightstand, doing mental math just in case it’s a bad time to call Farah right now. But, to your surprise, your best friend answers on the first ring.

“Hey!”

“Oh my God, hiii,” you squeal, narrowing your eyes at her, “where are you?”

She holds up the phone, giving you a good view of what’s behind her. She seems to be in a marketplace, strolling past the stalls with an iced coffee in hand. Crowd chattering behind her.

“Mum and I went shopping.”

“That’s cool. What are you bringing home for me?”

She giggles, bringing the phone up to her face as she whispers, “it’s a surprise…anyway, why did you call?”

“Oh, oh,” you blush, suddenly shy as Jimin’s stupid face pops into your head. And then you’re second-guessing. Wondering if you should really tell her what happened. You know she won’t judge you, since she shared her firsts and everything else after that with you.

“What? Tell me!” She shouts from the other end of the line, apologizing to the bald man who happened to be standing a little too close when she yelled.

“Uhm,” you cough, covering half your face with one hand, “you remember Jimin. Well, of course you remember him.”

Her grey eyes go wide, “Jimin? Park Jimin?”

You chuckle nervously, “yeah… the only Jimin we know, Farah.”

“Wait, he’s back?”

Your eyebrows furrow, “yeah…he came for my parents housewarming and—”

“When did he get back?”

“I don’t know, probably last weekend…I think.”

“How long is he staying?”

You snort, fist propped under your cheek, “since when do you care that much about him?”

She tuts, “we studied together, remember? Those two years in Germany.”

“Oh, right. That…totally slipped my mind.” Because it did. Farah, your step brother (who tagged along for a vacation), and his friends all left for two years to complete a business course in Germany over a year ago. But your mother didn’t let you go, of course. You’re still bitter over that.

Jimin had done the same course with them and while they were living it up there, you stayed home and finished your courses here. Missing out all on the fun.

“H-How is he?”

“Uh…he’s good, I guess.”

“Still charming all the girls? God, I used to have the biggest crush on him,” she sighs, eyes a little distant.

That has you raising an eyebrow. Since she never, ever brought up her crush on him, and when you were younger she used to tease you and force you into talking to him and ultimately, embarrass yourself.

“You had a crush on him?”

“Come on, ___. Who didn’t have a crush on Park Jimin? Anyway,” she clears her throat, hair swaying behind her as she weaves through the crowd, “what did you want to tell me?”

The dreamy look in her eyes makes you wonder if her sentiments toward him haven’t changed, and for that reason, you use it as an excuse to not tell her what happened. Not yet, that is.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” you smile, shuffling to the balcony when you hear the crunch of tires rolling into the driveway, “what time is your flight?”

“We’ll reach around 6 in the evening. I got to go, can’t wait to see you tomorrow!”

“Me too!”

“Bye, love you!”

“Love you too.” She ends the call at the right time, otherwise she would’ve witnessed your heart-eyed expression as you watched Jimin step out of his father’s car, wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt and black cap.

Looking…sexy.

You snap away from the balcony door when he looks up, missing the smirk playing on his lips as he greets your father.

Flinging your phone across the room, you scour your wardrobe for a cuter outfit, settling on a cute, white mini skirt and a pink jumper to go over. You know they’re probably here to discuss business with your parents, Jimin maybe came along to hang out with your brother, but you’d love to make your presence known.

As if Jimin would think you’re anywhere else but your parents’ place on a hot summers’ day.

Rushing downstairs, you survey your appearance in the hallway mirror, reapplying your lip gloss, before perching yourself on one of the couches in the lounge. The door to the conference room shuts just as you sit down. You curse – now you’d have to wait ‘til they leave so you can see him.

From your place in the lounge, you can hear the room fill with masculine laughter, your mother’s voice tinkering over theirs. It’s been like this since you were little, but after Jimin left, you didn’t care to make an appearance each time Jimin’s dad would come over to meet his business associates. Younger you was disheartened that he had chosen to complete his schooling abroad, and a major part of you resented your mother. She always prevented you from going out and living your life.

Sure she was just trying to protect you, but now you’re a fully grown adult and her behavior hasn’t changed. Like always, you’d have to search for the hidden motive behind her actions. But your conscience wouldn’t let you do that when it came to her over-protectiveness, since you’d label yourself as ungrateful.

Another quality she ingrained in your mind whenever you would complain about the smallest things.

However, you’re a hypocrite for saying that she hasn’t changed, when you’re none the better.

“What are you doing here?”

Your step brother, Doc, stands with his hands in his pockets at the top of the staircase, inquisitive stare burning into your face.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?” He chuckles, the sound echoing in your home, “I highly doubt that you left your room to come out here and do nothing.”

You level him with an exasperated stare, tucking your feet under your thighs.

“Can say the same for you.”

Busying yourself on your phone, you attempt to avoid his questions by looking away, but he’s merciless, sitting down next to you on the couch with that sickening perfume of his invading your senses.

“I think I know why you’re here.”

Startled, you look up from your phone screen, keeping your face as expressionless as possible.

“Do I need to have a profound reason every single time I step out of my room?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, corner of his mouth quirking up, “yeah, you kinda do.”

Rolling your eyes, you go back to scrolling through your messages when you hear the door to the conference room crack open, your step-father calling your name with his head tilted toward the staircase. You leap to your feet, shuffling around the pillars over to him.

“Oh, you’re here,” he chuckles, hand resting on your shoulder, “your mother and I have something to ask you. Come on.”

When you enter the room, sunlight beaming across the walls, your gaze falls on Jimin immediately, heart twisting in your chest…and another heartbeat thrumming between your legs.

He’s sat next to his father at the other end of the rectangular table, while your mother sits near the projector, wearing a sour expression. As usual.

Your father pulls out one of the grey chairs for you, “take a seat.”

Tentatively, you sit down, wondering why they’re being so formal.

“As you know,” your father begins, fingers slotting together, “Mr. Park’s company is currently undergoing a restructuring process. Planning a relaunch by the end of the year.”

Your eyes shift to Jimin, unable to see his expression since he’s covering the bottom half of his face with his hand, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“…Yeah.”

“Your mother and I have decided to manage the finance department until Mr. Park is back on track, so we were wondering if—”

“Listen,” your mother interrupts, reaching across the table for your hand, “you don’t have to say yes. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’ll only work four hours a day, Monday to Thursday,” your father informs, shooting a subtle glare, one you don’t miss, in your mother’s direction, “there won’t be much for you to do, since Jimin will be there to split the load.”

You gasp.

Then play off your gasp by laughing.

“Jimin…will be working with me?”

“Yes, dear, you have nothing to worry about. We just thought it would be nice for you to get some experience before you graduate and maybe,” your dad winks, “make some extra cash?”

You were sold when they said you’d be working four hours a day alongside Jimin. But you’d also be getting paid?! Now, this is an offer you can’t refuse.

“We’ll give you some time to—”

“Yes.”

Your mother’s brows shoot up to her hairline, clearly unhappy, “are you sure? You don’t have to do this.”

“Leave her,” your father beams, smacking his palms together, “at least she’d spend this holiday getting to know the ins and outs, eh? Since you’re joining us next year.”

You snort, “not sure about next year, but I’m perfectly fine working temporarily.”

“Good, your mother will be around to supervise, and we’ll negotiate the rest later,” he grins, nodding in Mr. Park’s direction.

Your palms are clammy, neck a little stiff as you all rise from your seats, Jimin’s dad and your parents’ exchanging formalities while Jimin watches you from behind them, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you, but you swear you see his head jerk in the direction of the door, eyebrows lifting as he winks.

“We’ll see you on Monday, Ms. ___.”

You throw Mr. Park a quick smile, standing to the side as he and Jimin exit the room. Heartbeat accelerating, you’re trying to come up with an excuse to get Jimin alone. To talk to him. To get a good look at him. Anything.

Jimin falters in his step, hand held over his chest as he turns to your father, “before we go, can I use the bathroom?”

“Sure,” your father smiles, “___ will take you upstairs to the guest bathroom. ___?”

“O-Oh yeah,” you startle, hands clasped in front of you as you march toward the staircase, “come on.”

Hair at the back of your neck raising, you can’t shake his stare as he follows you around the house. And once the guest bathroom comes into sight, you stop, pointing to its general direction.

“There it i—”

You yelp as you feel your arm being yanked to the left, tossed into your own room with the door slamming behind you. Back pressed into the wall as he towers over you with his hands set on either side of your head.

“Hi.”

You swallow thickly, “hi.”

His gaze rakes down your figure, bottom lip tucked between his teeth – as if stripping you of your clothes with his siren eyes alone. Your blinds are open halfway, illuminating sections of his face which you think makes him look nearly angelic.

“How have you been?”

Fighting the urge to clench your thighs together, you can’t help but notice the sudden rasp to his voice, different compared to how he sounded earlier.

“I’ve been…good.”

He hums, index finger pushing back a chunk of your hair, “have you been thinking of me?”

You lick your lips, so parched.

“Mhm.”

All you can feel is the blood rushing through your veins, pressure pooling in your lower abdomen.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “of course.”

You scoff, “liar.”

His eyebrows furrow, a single strand of hair falling over his forehead.

“You haven’t texted me yet.”

“Oh,” he tuts, ringed fingers caressing the side of your face, “sorry princess. I’ve been busy all week.”

Something in your belly stirs after hearing that pet name – something he used to call you back when you were a child. The position you’re in right now gives it a whole different meaning.

“It’s okay.”

“They’re probably wondering why we’re gone so long,” he husks, cherry breath wafting over your face.

You stand upright, attempting to wiggle out of his hold – because you can’t have any of them banging on your door like the last time. The fear you felt that night when you heard your brother on the other side of the door. His hand flies to your waist, pulling you flush to his chest.

So close you can feel his heart thrum against your own chest, just as unsteady as yours.

“You’re not gonna give me a kiss before I go?”

There’s a slight whine in his voice, pouting as he keeps his gaze on your lips. It’s driving you crazy.

You’re doing the same, unable to tear your eyes away from his glossy mouth – trying to remember what they taste like despite having him right here for you to devour all over again.

“Should I…give you a kiss?”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, tongue darting out, “only if you want to.”

You’re breathless, fists pressed to his chest awkwardly but so comfortable at the same time, melting in his embrace.

“Why should I give you a kiss?”

His eyebrows lift, shiny teeth cracking through his smile, “because I know you want to.”

Your clit pulses, core clenching incessantly as he continues to undress you with his sinful gaze. But again, you’re doing the same – wishing you could feel his heated, bare body on yours. That’s all you’ve been thinking about after that night. Since all you saw was his dick. The main part – but there’s so much more you want to see. Want to taste.

“You said you’ve been thinking of me,” he purrs, cupid’s bow grazing your own, having your eyelashes flutter, “what have you been thinking about?”

“What we did…the other night.”

“Yeah? What else?”

Your gaze drops to his lips, thighs tensing when you remember the filthy things he did to you.

“Oh,” he grins, the hand that was on your waist lowering to grab a handful of your ass, “I bet you couldn’t stop thinking of that, huh? I bet you got so needy you couldn’t help but play with that pretty pussy.”

You nod weakly, gasping when he pinches your ass, “mhm.”

“Really?” He laughs wickedly, head cocking to the side, “tell me, how many times did you cum since that night?”

Shaking your head, you mumble out ‘I lost count,’ watching as awe sparks in his eyes, both hands grabbing at your ass now.

“How did you make yourself c—” he groans, eyes falling shut as he inhales a deep breath, pupils blown out once his eyes reopen “—I’m gonna be home all day. Alone. You can come over and maybe…we can talk about that kiss? Hm?”

“Okay,” you smile, palms lying flat against his padded chest, “your parents’ house?”

“No, my apartment. I’ll text you the address, okay?”

Hearing footsteps just outside your door, you send him a panicked look.

“Okay, I think you should go now,” you say begrudgingly, feeling up his chest.

He nods, making a move toward your door, then slowly spinning around to face you again, bending over to leave a peck on your cheek, one that has your whole face heating.

“See you later—” he gestures to your legs with his eyes, tongue wetting his lips “—wear that skirt when you come over.”

“O—kay.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves you in a state of confusion - panties drenched in your own slick.

After five minutes, you stand at the balcony door again to watch as they leave, hearing your phone vibrate on your dresser. Grinning to yourself, you save his number, excitement building as you think of what could happen after you two talk.

Despite how your fingers itch with nerves, your shoulders feel a bit lighter. After finding out that it wasn’t just a one-time thing with Jimin. You don’t know what you expected, but you know it would’ve been incredibly awkward if you just went on with your days, seeing each other now and again whenever he would come over, without addressing what happened that night.

But you know Jimin isn’t that type of guy. He wouldn’t act as if nothing happened, knowing that it was an experience for you since it was your first.

That’s why you’re driving over to his apartment, after mentally and physically preparing yourself for what might happen tonight. Things went so far with you, and it’s not like you’ve been ‘saving yourself’ for marriage or anything like that. You just haven’t found the right guy. Since you’ve been focusing on yourself and your career these past few years.

Maybe Jimin could be the guy you were looking for – the one who would be able to satisfy your needs without wanting anything more.

You’d just have to be careful of that silly crush you had on him in the past.

‘You have reached your destination.’

The parking lot next to his apartment building is packed, so you had to park across the road, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you jog over to the front doors. There’s a small booth to the side of the glass double doors, a burly man wearing uniform sat inside.

You’re wondering why Jimin isn’t staying over at his parents’ house if he’s just down for the holidays. Or maybe he’s not…just down for the holidays. Maybe he has an apartment in this swanky building because he’s choosing to work here. Back home. Forever.

“How can I help you?”

The sulky man sitting inside the booth calls with a slightly annoyed tone, gesturing for you to step closer.

There’s a bunch of buttons behind him, each with a different number tagged next to it.

“I’m…here for Park Jimin.”

He doesn’t blink, pitch black eyes boring into your soul.

“What number?”

“Err—” you pull out your phone from your purse, seeing that Jimin didn’t provide you with a number but just the location of the building. Chuckling sheepishly, you shake your head, “he didn’t give me a number. I’m Park Jimin’s guest.”

Just then, a couple, giggling and skipping, make their way over to the booth, completely disregarding your presence as they lean on the mini counter outside the booth to speak to the guard.

“Buzz us in.”

Surprisingly, a smile splits his face as he spins around and presses one of the buttons with his thumb. A loud beeping sound following the soft whoosh as the glass doors swing open.

You huff, “can you buzz me in?”

His smile has disappeared, lips in a frown

Cursing internally, you shoot Jimin a quick, irritated text.

His reply is instant, and the doors swing open just as he responds. Sending the guard a smug look, you saunter into the building, finding an elevator just behind the reception area. Jimin sends you another text, informing you that his room is on the highest floor. Room 13.

The ritzy interior goes from the chandeliers to the wallpaper down to the carpets. The scent of sandalwood follows you as you pad across the plush floors, coming to an abrupt stop when you find his apartment at the end of the hall, a large window to the corner of his door giving you the perfect view of the city, the sky a pale blue, bleeding into black.

Your attention is brought to the door when you hear shuffling on the other side, gold lettering glinting in the low lighting as the door creaks open. Revealing Jimin, boyish smile tilting one side of his mouth.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you mumble, annoyance replaced with thrill.

He steps to the side of the door, gesturing for you to enter, “come on in. Nice car.”

“Thanks,” you reply, holding up your car keys, “was a birthday gift.”

Hovering about the entrance, you kick off your shoes and wait for him to guide you further into his home. The quaint space so…Jimin. Cosy and warm. You plop down on the white couch he has situated opposite a TV set, curtains drawn, and magazines scattered across the coffee table.

“That’s just for decoration,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head as he adjusts the corners of the magazines to be in line with each other, “do you want anything to eat? Drink?”

“No thanks,” you smile, waiting for him to sit down next to you. But he doesn’t, instead holding your gaze, arms folded.

He’s wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt now, hugging his body in all the right places. His attire complementing the rest of his home.

“I’ll be right back,” he announces, turning on his heel as he disappears around the feature wall painted in a dark, mysterious blue. But what catches your eye is the markings on his neck. The tattoo – breath stalling in your lungs.

A crescent moon. Right at the center of his neck. You need a better look at it. How did you not see it before?

He returns holding a pair of white sandals, dropping it at your feet before sitting down on the couch with his knee brushing yours.

“It’s cold, wear those.”

You’re wearing stockings, the pale pink fabric coming right above your knee, but you slip on the shoes without protest, thanking him.

“What is it you wanted to talk about?”

You snort, turning to look at him with your hands slotted between your knees, “you invited me over.”

He rubs his bottom lip with his index finger, elbow propped up on the backrest as he laughs.

“Right…we were supposed to talk about what happened,” he sighs, folding one leg under his thigh.

You refocus on the white bow sitting at the hem of your stockings, nodding slowly.

“Listen,” he begins, scooting closer to you so his hand rests on yours, “I’m cool with it if you’re cool with it…but I’m really not in the right mindset for a relationship right now.”

Spluttering, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your lips, the serious expression he’s sporting so hilarious.

“Who said anything about a relationship?” You giggle, holding a hand over your mouth as you watch him join in your laughter.

“Oh,” he snorts, moving away slowly, “I’m an idiot. I just thought…”

“You thought what?”

He gives a one shoulder shrug, poking at the button on his pants, “I just thought that what happened between us that night would…mean something else for you. Since it was your first and all.”

“Jimin,” you snigger, reaching for his hand, “it’s really not that deep. I wasn’t gonna wait for the one to do any of that.”

His lips part in an ‘o,’ eyes going wide.

“I thought you were.”

“No,” you scoff, “what made you think that?”

He rakes a hand through his blond hair, shrugging again, “I guess…I got that idea since you waited so long.”

“I only waited that long because I didn’t want to mess around with any of the idiots on campus," you deadpan, “or worse…Doc’s friends.”

He smirks, “I was Doc’s friend.”

“Well, you’re an exception,” you blurt, seeing his smirk go even wider.

“I’m an exception, how?”

“I-I don’t know,” you mumble, eyes on your stockings again. But you do know, you felt comfortable around him. And you allowed yourself to go that far because you once had a crush on him. At least that’s what you think it is.

He hums, reaching over the armrest to grab his vape and place it between his pink lips, a cloud of airy smoke puffing out of his lips along with that same cherry fragrance, all while holding eye contact. Finally, he releases you from his stare, looking over to the window which has you noticing another tattoo behind his ear – and another on his wrist when he lifts the vape pen up to his mouth again.

“So what you wanna do?”

You know exactly what you wanna do. You want to stick your tongue down his throat and let him fuck you.

“I don’t know.”

He narrows his eyes at you, setting down his vape before patting his thigh twice as he manspreads, crotch jerking upward.

“Come here.”

Your heart sinks to your pussy, beating like a drum.

“T-There?”

He grins, cheeks puffing out as he smiles, “yes, here. On my lap.”

Hesitantly, you leave your bag on the coffee table and move an inch closer to him, heart racing.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” you mutter, resting your hands on his shoulders, “I want to.”

Once you’re sat on his lap, legs resting on either side of his thighs, you move your palms further down his chest sneakily, getting a feel of his toned abs under the thin material of his shirt. You chance a glance at his face, finding his eyes on you – watching intently.

His chest undulates beneath your touch, lips snagged between his teeth before he finally cups the back of your neck and brings your face lower to meet his lips. Your eyes slip shut, moaning into his mouth as he locks your lips with his, tongue swiping out as a silent request. Parting your lips, you feel yourself gush as the wet muscle swirls around your own, shifting on his lap when he cups your ass in one hand, moving his head this way and that to deepen the kiss.

Your lungs burn for air, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away from the intoxicating taste of his lips, drunk of each graze, each suckle, each nip he gives your lips.

He moves away slightly, and you think you can catch your breath – but his kisses trail downward, you tremble as his tongue darts out to caress that sweet spot under your ear, teeth joining the mix to have you sigh out his name.

All you hear is the loud smacks of his lips against your skin, captured by the delicious sensation. Then you feel his hands come to the front of your blouse, eyes flying open when he begins to undo the buttons from the top.

“Jimin,” you call breathlessly, thoughts dwindling to halt at one. What if he doesn’t like the way your body looks? What if he gets turned off after seeing you naked?

Pushing him back slowly, you expect to find him mad, or annoyed. But there’s none of that, he looks just as crazy as before, bulge pressing into your knee when you sit back. He eyes the sliver of skin poking out from the buttons he had opened, white bra peeking out.

“I’m sorry did I—”

“No, no,” you object, voice small and uncertain, “you’re good. I’m good. I just…don’t—” You struggle with your words, but he nods it off, grabbing your hands to place them back on his chest.

“It’s okay. We’ll just go with what you’re comfortable with, hm? Do you want to stop?”

You nibble on your bottom lip, shaking your head timidly.

His grin is back, eyes sparkling with mischief, “okay, I have an idea.”

Taking hold of your waist, he lifts you swiftly and readjusts your position on his lap. You go willingly, realizing what idea he was talking about when your skirt fans out behind you and his thigh presses into your clit, the sudden pressure having you fall forward onto him.

“That okay?” His voice is gruff, just above a whisper, lips kissing the shell of your ear as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

“Mhm.”

“I want to hear you, princess.”

A gasp tumbles from your lips when he rocks your hips forward with the hold he has on your waist, thigh flexing under your swollen clit.

“Yes.”

“Tell me if I should stop.”

“No,” you whine, leaning back to speak against his lips, “don’t stop. Feels so good.”

“I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to princess,” he husks, teeth snagging on your bottom lip, “you sound so fucking sweet.”

You’re spurred on by the rasp in his voice, capturing his lips in a fervent kiss as you follow his rhythm, grinding your clit against his thigh shamelessly. He tastes every inch of your mouth, guiding your hips with one hand while the other travels up to your neck, tilting your head whichever way he likes as he ravages your mouth.

“So fucking pretty grinding on me like this, have you thought of this, hm? Grinding on my thigh to make yourself cum?”

You shake your head, the idea so fresh and…nasty to you.

“You haven’t? Fuck,” he speaks through gritted teeth, lifting the hem of your skirt up slowly to take a peek under while you’re fucking on his thigh, pussy soaking through your panties and his pants, “does it feel good? I bet it does, you’re fucking dripping. Ruining my pants.”

“Jimin,” you moan, moving upward which has your knee pressing into the side of his clothed cock, hearing him groan as you rut into his thigh.

“Shit,” he growls, eyes half-lidded as he bounces his thigh, the sensation hurling you closer to the edge. You roll your hips faster, clit pressing into his skin deliciously as he buries his face in your neck and cradles you to him, his cock twitching in its confines.

The coil tightens in your lower belly, tumescent clit rubbing up against him as you throw your head back when he sinks his teeth into your flesh, suckling and nipping at the skin just below your collarbone.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you shudder, thighs quaking around him as you slide your hips back and forth, body erupting in a wave of goosebumps.

He bounces his leg faster, fingers buried in your hair as your nipples poke through the thin fabric of your bra, rubbing up against his chest.

“Fuck, you’re gonna cum all over my thigh? Hm? Get me nice and messy? Cum for me, princess.”

The euphoric sensations, coupled with his dirty mouth covering yours all tips you over the edge, eyes rolling back as your head lolls forward then back, lips parted in a silent moan – cumming with a trembling sigh. He kisses up the column of your throat, helping you ride out your high before you begin to twitch and quake, wrapping your arms around him to plant another feverish kiss on his doll lips.

He helps you off his lap, fingers pressing into your thigh as he sits up and pulls down the zipper on his pants, taking out his thick, veiny cock. You watch in awe as he spits into his palm, eyebrows furrowed when he begins to stroke his cock at a fast pace, rolling his hand around the tip before sliding back to the base.

“___,” he moans weakly, thumb digging into your calf through your stocking, “let me see that wet pussy.”

You can’t look away from his girthy, weeping cock, licking your lips as you see a translucent pearl bead at the top.

Another thing you’ve been thinking about is how you can return the favor, give him the suck of his life. Of course, you’ve never done if before – but you’ve read enough erotica to know exactly how it goes, right? What could be more detailed than that?

Maybe you can add your own twist to it.

Inhaling a deep breath, you comb your hair over your shoulder and sink down to the floor, gaze latched onto his as you sit between his legs.

“Fuck, you sure?”

You nod, that thick, opiating scent of his a lot stronger from this angle.

“I’m sure.”

He nods, hiding his excitement poorly, “okay—” he jerks forward, resting his sticky hands on his thighs. His cock springs up, hitting his shirt before you wrap your fingers around the base slowly. You watch as he slides the beige rug toward you with his socked foot, gesturing for you stand up so he can place it under your knees.

You wet your lips again, guiding his hot and heavy cock to your mouth as he caresses the back of your head, moving closer to you.

“Don’t take more than you can hand—oh FUCK!”

Jaw unhinging, you wrap your lips around the tip and push forward, gagging when the dark mushroom head hits the back of your throat.

“Princess,” he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “go easy, okay? You don’t have to take it all. Just…put your mouth on the tip for now, hold it here.”

You grab the base again, lips hovering over the sticky tip, “like this?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Mimicking his movements from earlier, you slide your palm up and down his shaft, lips suctioning around his tip, tongue darting out to flick his frenulum, all while keeping your eyes on him. Heavenly sounds slipping from his lips with each stroke.

“Fucking hell,” his voice strains, gasping as you begin to twist your palm from root to tip, stopping at the area your mouth doesn’t cover, “so fucking good.”

His head hangs from his shoulders, eyes opening a crack.

“Faster.”

Eager to please, you follow his instructions and move your hand faster, bobbing your head over the tip to feel your own spit leak down the sides of your mouth, veins twitching in your hold. You split the tip with your tongue, doing it again and again because you love his reaction, how he can’t help but push his cock further into your mouth by snapping his hips.

Despite the way your jaw begins to burn, you tilt your head to the side and suckle harder, eyes falling shut before you hear a loud whine of your name, tip of his cock pressed into your cheek as he sits at the edge of the couch, expression contorted by pure bliss.

“Gonna cum,” he grits out, fucking your mouth lightly, “where?”

You hold the base with both hands, creating a tight tunnel for him to fuck into as you roll out your tongue and rest the leaking tip there. He grunts, throwing his head back as he flexes his hips rapidly, moaning as thick, hot ropes of cum hit your tongue and throat.

The taste comes after you close your mouth and swallow it all – a little bitter and earthy. But his reaction is worth it, enraptured by the way you drink up his cum.

He pulls you back onto his lap by your elbow, pressing his lips to yours tiredly as you both catch your breath.

“Sure that was your first time?”

You smack his shoulder, rolling your eyes despite the way you blush at his words. Scrunching your face up when he goes in to give you an open-mouthed kiss, you move away, hardly enjoying the aftertaste.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

He points down the hallway, “first door on your right.”

On shaky legs, you make your way to the bathroom. Cleaning yourself up quickly then gargling your mouth and washing your face – your own reflection scaring you. You only realize that you teared a bit when you see a single streak of mascara on your left cheek.

“In here,” Jimin calls from the kitchen once you leave the bathroom, finding him scooping ice cream into two bowls. “Here.”

He slides one of the dark blue bowls in your direction, pink chunks dotting the lighter pink ice cream.

“Thank you,” you beam, sitting down on one of the stools as he does the same, right next to you.

Silence settles between you, the clank of your spoons hitting your bowls as you finish your dessert being the only sound in the kitchen, along with the refrigerator whirring in the background.

“So what do you think?” He says finally, licking the last bit of ice cream off his spoon.

You turn to him, “what do I think about what?”

“You know,” he winks, fingers dancing across your neck, “having some fun this summer. We are gonna be working together anyway.”

“Oh,” you chuckle, “right.”

You pretend to think…despite having your answer ready and he seems to know you’re only pretending too, grinning devilishly.

“Okay.”

His grin spreads wider, earrings shaking with his head as he nods, “cool…But uhh, you can’t tell anyone. It should be our secret.”

You scoff, “of course I won’t.”

Rising from the stool, you stack his bowl into yours and walk toward the sink – when a loud smack resounds in the kitchen, a stinging sensation rippling in your left ass cheek.

“Hey!” You scold, turning around to throw Jimin a peeved look, even though you liked it. Very much.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he exclaims, eyes wide with fake innocence, “did you not like that?”

You clear your throat, rinsing your hands with your back facing him, “I did.”

He’s suddenly behind you, breath hitting your ear.

“I know.”

so so? did you like it ?! please do let me know what you think! i’d love to hear from you ✉️♡

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covenofthearticulate · 1 month

Note

♆ The worst kind of neighbor they could have, and how they deal with them <- Louis!

✓ What a typical Tuesday night looks like <- I’m gonna break the rules and ask for Louis/Armand/Daniel @ Trinity Gate, you got me hooked lmao

Domestic Headcanons

♆ I'd like to think that Louis is a pretty chill guy who can tolerate most types of neighbors. If he couldn't handle the noise levels, he wouldn't have spent so much time in the Quarter lmfao so I don't think he's the kinda guy who's calling the cops on noisy neighbors. In fact, I hate to say it but as far as his house in the suburbs goes......I think Louis might be the Bad Neighbor in most instances.

I've spoken about this before, but I'm almost certain he's had the HOA up his ass on several occasions LMAO he absolutely refuses to mow his lawn so all his plants and wildflowers grow out and spill into neighboring yards, he never remembers what days are trash collection so half the time he's got bins out in the street, the neighbors get creeped out when they see him out doing chores (refreshing the bird feeder, raking leaves, taking out the trash) at fucking 3 in the morning, PLUS he just straight up leaves for months or years at a time so he's had pipes burst in the winter and trees fall over during hurricane season and he just straight up isn't around to deal with any of it LOL he's such a mess

✓ listen I love them so much asdxazngvgmcd I think a typical night begins with either Daniel barging in and flopping into bed beside Armand and Louis like a bratty kid, or Louis being passive aggressive and poking his head into Armand's room to find him and Daniel tangled up together, and doing the whole "Oh I didn't mean to intrude" act until Armand tells him to shut up and get over here LMAO but either way I think most nights start off with the 3 of them all just kinda hanging out doing their own thing in silence. Daniel got Louis addicted to wordle and a bunch of other puzzle game apps like sudoku, words with friends, etc. so he and Louis like to sit on their phones and play with one another that way.

Louis still prefers to hunt on his own, but I've always loved the idea of every once in a blue moon, Daniel and Armand convincing him to join them on a hunt and do his little Mind Gift Conduit thing so that Armand and Daniel can drink from the same guy and feel the swoon together (Louis' guilt is usually assuaged pretty easily since he's not the one doing the killing, he's just there to form the connection and maybe also make out with Armand and/or Daniel once they're all flushed with blood).

Also I know for a fact that they end almost every night watching weird movies together with Louis on one side of the sofa and Daniel on the other, and Armand lounged across the both of them. His head is always in Daniel's lap and his legs are always in Louis' lap and that is their Standard Configuration :)

#hehe ty for this :)#god the more I talk about it the more obsessed I am with louis/armand/daniel #what a weird trio they are! god damn it we're gonna have to actually write this fic huh #;answered #headcanons #headcanon

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sunshiline-writes · 1 month

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #17: Dirt and Oranges

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This chapter is a bit chunky! Hope it makes up for the wait LMFAO. word count:3.9k CW: emotional whump, gaslighting, dissociation, some amnesia, ableism, POC whump, fade to black noncon, self deprecating, hand feeding, confinement, captivity, mentions of minor whump (blink and you miss it), aftermath of hand whump, disability whump, let me know if I missed anything

The hayloft wasn’t too bad. He had a thin blanket for the night time and every few days, Xavier or Jesse switched the manacle on his ankle to the other so it didn’t chafe too much. All he had to do was behave. Wake up with the sun and when he saw the top of their hair above the ladder, he waited on his knees. His knees were bruised constantly and so was what little was left of his ego.

Xavier had started to let him down in the barn to clean the stalls, start polishing the saddles, and cleaning the tools. He’d even been given a bucket and a towel, told to clean his own blood off the barn wall. Blood stained. Migel didn’t know that before he started to scrub at the wall with cramping hands. Ah yes. His hands. His hands were, quite plainly, fucked to all hell. His left hand was better off. It always felt tight and there was a scar right in the middle of his palm, circular where it always hurt the most. His right hand. His right hand was the worst of it. It had been set as best as it could, but his fingers still looked wrong. Some of them still bent a little the wrong way. That was the least of his problems though.The problem was the way his hand was curled like he was about to make a fist but stopped midway through. Straightening his fingers outward was excruciating and curling into a real fist was also painful.

Looking at them too much made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. So mostly he just avoided looking. But signing had become an arduous process too. It made him angry, even though it wasn’t allowed. Somehow, Xavier had been patient with him when he was figuring out how to grab the rake to clean out the stalls. Even offering advice and helping him figure out a grip. Xaviers mood swings made Miguel dizzy sometimes.

There was a brightside. Jesse was still mostly the same. The torment was the same. Fake sweetness followed by an angry backhand to the face. Mocking the state of his hands and then softly massaging them so that they felt better. The push and pull was familiar. He was used to that. Xavier had been oddly sweet… Just sweet. Providing words of encouragement and comfort. He hadn’t hurt him in weeks. Miguel preferred him when he was playing mind games. Maybe it was because he had stopped fighting. He didn’t know. Most of the time.. He was too tired to really try and figure it out either.

Today the rays coming through the barn window were soft and warm on his face as he awoke. He half wanted to go back to sleep. But they would have his head if he was still asleep when they came up the ladder. He pushed himself up on his cot, tried to do the exercises for his hands that Solomon had given to him. When that failed, he stared at the wall, trying to remember what got him here.

Miguel had lost time. That much he knew. There was a period of time he didn’t remember. After Jesse.. In Solomon's bed.. He shook himself free of the memory. It was better if he didn’t remember. He could stand missing time. It had happened many times before. To be honest, Miguel didn’t remember much of his first year here. The entirety of his thirteenth year of life was a distant blur, only recalling bits and pieces. He didn’t feel like trying to remember. It wasn’t worth it.

There were certain memories that stood out among the rest. A gun hot and heavy in his hands pointed at Xaviers face, burning pain on his chest, the smell of melted skin, and lots of darkness. He spent so much time blindfolded when he was thirteen, unaware of his surroundings. Moving through the darkness like drowning in a lake. Miguel mostly just accepted that he would never know exactly what they did to him that year.

He did wish he remembered some things before he was taken. He had siblings once. He knew that. His sister's faces were fuzzy. Sophia had dark hair that curled into a nest on her head and was shorter than him even though she was older. Marisol’s hair was longer and more brown. She had soft hands. He remembered Jaime the most though. He was smaller than him. The smallest of the four of them. Jaime used to run around a lot. His father used to call him travieso, but he would smile while he did. Miguel assumed that was because for all the mischief his brother liked to cause, he was harmless.

Harmless fun. When was the last time he had that? Before Xavier? Before he could remember? Miguel tried to hold onto their faces, to the way they looked when they laughed. But they were fading. All of them were fading away from him like water through his hands. The tighter he held, the more they slipped away from him. It had been eight years since he’d seen their faces or felt their touch. All of it seemed to escape from him. They never came for him. He remembered that. His parents gave him up to a devil, demiono, and never even tried. Miguel shouldn’t be thinking about them at all. Yet here he was, lost in his thoughts, wondering what life could have been if they had at least tried.

It wouldn’t have made a difference, but at least he would have known he was loved once. Real love. Not whatever Xavier and Jesse had to show him. Jesse’s constant need to be feared and loved at the same time. Xavier’s desperateness for Miguel to rely on him for everything. None of it was real love. He wondered if the two of them ever had been held or hugged. If someone had hugged them when they needed it, would they have been different? Could they ever be different?

Miguel was thinking too much again. He did that sometimes. His mind always moved faster and faster until they dug him into a hole he couldn’t get out of. Sometimes, when he thought too much, a sinking feeling would rise in his chest. Make him feel like a cave, hollow and dark. When he felt hollow, he would go to Solomon, help him with his chores. Make up new ones to keep himself occupied until the feeling passed. If the feeling didn’t pass, sometimes his chest collapsed. It never actually collapsed, it only felt like it did. Like all the emotions and memories were sitting on his chest at all times and sometimes they broke his bones. Then everything was painful and it was hard to breathe.

It happened sometimes before he came to the ranch. When it did, his father would hold him close to his chest, make Miguel feel his pulse, and hum. The vibrations were always calming, following along with the pulse, his fathers steady breathing. Solomon would hold him sometimes. But now all he felt was a sinking emptiness in the pit of his stomach the longer and longer he spent alone in the hayloft. He’d grown so used to company. To the feeling of other people around. Especially Solomon. Miguel had forgotten what it was like to feel lonely.

Loneliness was killing him. So much so that he had begun to look forward to his visits from Jesse and Xavier. Heart racing when he saw them. Even if it was just to make sure the manacle hadn’t chafed his ankle too much, give him food or water, and take out his waste bucket. Simple things like Xavier running a hand through his hair, or Jesse wrapping a hand around his throat made him ache for more touch. More anything. At least now he had jobs to do. Taking care of the barn, cleaning the saddles and boots when they came back from rides. He cherished his time down from the hayloft. Even if he was watched like a hawk all of the time. Even if no one dared to talk or look at him.

Today was no different. When he saw the shocking red hair appear from the ladder, he got on his knees. At least they didn’t hurt anymore when he did it. Or maybe they did, he was just used to it by now.

Jesse had a bucket in one hand, and his other hand was behind his back, hiding something. What was he hiding? It made his stomach sink to his knees too.

Morning mutt, Jesse said, grinning from ear to ear. Walking toward him and putting down the bucket with a thud. He looked up and squinted at Jesse’s face. He seemed chipper. Happy and less angry. There was something wrong here. Miguel moved to look at the bucket but Jesse grabbed at his hair, pulling him back and making his neck arch painfully. He whined, breathing picking up. Maybe Jesse is in a mood today.

Jesse lifted Miguel to be face to face with him, making Miguel grunt and one hand wrapped around Jesse’s wrist.

Close your eyes and open your mouth for me kid, Jesse said, licking inside his ear again just to see him squirm. Miguel came to a realization of what he wanted from him. Was this the reason for being so chipper? He just wanted a hole to fuck? Open them and I’ll get out the blindfold and the bridle and I’ll leave you like that to do your chores.

It wouldn’t be the first time Jesse’s done that. Left him to his own devices when he’s blindfolded. He wouldn’t doubt that Jesse would do it again. So he just closed his eyes and tried to relax. Let his mouth hang open as Jesse slowly lowered him back down, releasing his hair. Miguel only wanted to be done. Get his breakfast, do his chores, come back and sleep. That was all he wanted. The darkness was enough to try and consume his thoughts. He waited for the salty taste of sweat and come on his tongue. Nothing came.

Not for a while at least. Miguel’s mouth was getting dry from sucking breaths in through it. Then something was placed in his mouth, soft and almost pillowy. A finger under his chin pushed slightly to make him close his jaw. Miguel bit into the citrus in his mouth, cool juice exploding over his tongue. The taste was sweet and tart, spreading into every corner of his mouth. He chewed and he let it sit a bit longer before he swallowed. He opened his mouth again eagerly, awaiting another slice. A finger tapped against his eyelids and Miguel opened his eyes, staring up at Jesse with an orange in his hand.

He was smiling. Good right? You want some more?

Miguel kept his mouth open, nodding. He wanted more of that orange, he hadn’t had much more than stale bread and water for his time in the hayloft. It was the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.

Two more slices of orange were placed in his mouth and he chewed greedily. Tongue slipping over Jesse’s fingers that sullied the taste a bit with dirt. He didn’t care. Miguel no longer cared about much anymore.The shattered remains of his dignity were on the floor in front of him. Along with drops of his blood. And the last of it was being stolen from his body from fingers that tasted of dirt and oranges.

He could barely remember what it felt to be a person anymore. If he ever was one in the first place.

You’re being real good today aren’t you? Here’s some more, Jesse said, an amused smile on his face as he gently placed another slice on his tongue. With every slice, Miguel could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into desperation. He was desperate for more of the sweetness, even if it was made slightly bitter by the taste of dirt. Dirt and oranges. Was this what had become of him? Begging for scraps.

My uncle got them for Hen. She asked for some from the market. I managed to steal some from the crate before– Miguel didn’t see the rest of what Jesse said. He had turned away from him and Miguel whined as Jesse stepped back. Jesse wore that same grin as he did, wiping his hand on his pants to try and rid himself of the juices from the orange. I don’t have any more, mutt. If you’re real good today, maybe you’ll get some more before I take you back.

With that, Jesse flicked out his hand. The man tilted his head slightly to the side. Clean my hand, you can have the last of the juice.

Miguel burned with shame as he moved, grabbing Jesse’s fingers and sucking on them.

Dirt and oranges. He wished Jesse always tasted like this. Jesse’s fingers were rough and calloused, but he did his best. Swirling his tongue around them, in between, trying to get at every last taste of orange. Jesse pulled his hand back and a trail of saliva came away, connecting Miguel's mouth to Jesse’s hand. He almost retched at the sight. Disgusted with himself.. with Jesse. With his predicament. All of it was almost too much. He was angry and tired and he just wanted to sleep.

Instead, Jesse moved to unlock the manacle from his ankle. The skin there, angry and red. It was time to switch legs when they got back.

The rest of Miguel’s day went in a blur. He was far away. Following instructions. Cleaning the horses, washing them as Jesse watched with mock interest. He cleaned the bridles, including the one that was reserved for him. He didn’t think about it. Miguel found that when he didn’t think as much, everything got easier.

Brush, clean, walk. Brush, clean, walk. Taking walks with Jesse or Xavier had become normal as well. Jesse walked with him around the ranch, taking the black draft horse with them. It walked behind them at a leisurely pace. They didn’t talk. Jesse was unusually quiet and it filled Miguel with dread. Sinking into his stomach and into his legs. They turned around to go back to the bark, a breeze making the day cooler. A minor help from the brazing sun hot on the back of neck.

Jesse waved to get his attention and Miguel looked at the other man.

Do you ever think about them? Your family before you came here?

Miguel frowned. He wasn’t allowed to think about them. Let alone talk about them. He narrowed his eyes at Jesse, cautious. Why was he asking this? Why did Jesse look so tired? What was happening outside the hayloft that was making Jesse ask questions that weren’t allowed? The hair on the back of his neck raised, sensing some sort of danger. Miguel shrugged in response to the question, an attempt of playing it safe.

Sometimes I think about my mother before I came here. Do you think about yours?

A memory shattered through the fog in the back of his brain. His mother running her hands through his hair, untangling the curls. Gentle fingers rubbing his earlobes, the soft rumbling vibrations that meant laughter. The tiredness that came from being safe in his mothers lap.

Miguel found himself nodding without his permission. Jesse nodded along with him. It was almost normal. A conversation he would have had with a friend. Precious and intimate. Miguel couldn’t let himself feel like that though. If he started to think of Jesse as more than just the person who hurt him, he’d never make it out alive.

Don’t worry. I miss my mom too. I won’t tell Xavier.

He took that sentence, those words and held them close to himself. Jesse was just another person who missed his mom. Miguel didn’t know what to do with that information. He could throw it out, leave it with the rest of the darkness he didn’t remember. Or he could keep it close, a reminder that Jesse was just a person. A bad person. But a person nonetheless. Miguel decided that he would save a decision like that for later.

The man walked on. Leading the horse back to the dreaded barn, back to the hayloft. Back to where everything would be awful again. He suppressed a shudder. Keeping his head straight, not looking at Jesse. Not ignoring him but not inviting him in for more conversation either. Miguel no longer wanted to think about mothers and fathers and brothers. He just wanted to put the horse back in the stable and make it back to the hayloft in one piece.

Something caught his eye, a movement to his left. It made his heart stop, his stomach drop. Miguel's hands tightened their grip on the lead of the horse, the pain somewhere distant. Everything else was distant. Solomon was walking out of the house, down the steps. Staring at him too. How long had it been? How long since he’d even been allowed to ask if the man was alive? Something in him compelled him to let go of the horse's lead. He took a step toward Solomon. Solomon took a step toward him. Signing something, saying something.

His face was bruised to all hell, brown skin covered in fading green and yellow blotches. Solomon's eyes looked so tired. So fearful. Miguel couldn’t help himself. He ran toward the man. The man who helped him, who raised him, who never once left his side unless he was forced to. He took only a few steps before a hand wrapped around his waist and yanked him backwards. Solomon stopped in his tracks. Literally feet away, if Miguel reached he could almost touch him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug and let himself be held by the only person who ever provided any true comfort. But the arm around his waist started to drag him backwards.

Something in him ignited. He fought, kicking and dragging his heels in the dirt. Nails digging into Jesse’s freckled skin on his arms. Drawing blood. There was a sinking feeling as Jesse continued to drag him. Solomon took a few steps forward, reached out to him. Miguel reached back out to him and their fingers touched. A tingling spread through him and he could feel his throat tighten. He was so close, so close and he was being dragged away again.

Was it worth it? To hug the man he considered a father? Was it worth the punishment that awaited him? His body seemed to act again without his permission as he threw his head backwards. Skull cracking against Jesse’s lips. Jesse’s arm around him loosened and he wiggled out of the hold, sprinting toward his caretaker until his arms were wrapped around Solomon’s waist. Breathing in his scent.

Solomon always smelled of earth and rosemary. Arms wrapped tightly around him and Miguel buried his face into the man's chest. Solomon was warm and safe. Every memory he had that was ever good of his time here included Solomon. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. If he did, he was afraid that he would never be able to see him again. Something in his chest broke. Shattered right into pieces. And it released out his eyes and mouth, flowing out of him like a river. Was he screaming? Wailing? There was wetness on Solomon's shirt and Miguel wailed harder. Hands curling into the soft fabric of his clothes. His whole body shuddered with his cries.

Slowly, gently, Solomon lowered them both to sit on the ground. Miguel in his lap and curled into his shirt. Sobbing softly at the warmth of another person. Solomon slowly rocked Miguel back and forth, holding him like a small child, until his cries stopped. When he stopped, Miguel finally found the courage to look Solomon in the eye.

Hello she’awee. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Jesse’s going to take you now. You go with him. You go with him and you live and you keep on going. Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel took in a shuddering breath as Solomon wiped his tears. Jesse’s cold and calloused hand yanked him by the shirt into a standing position. Shoving him to move forward. Away from Solomon who stayed on the ground. He forced himself to look ahead, to not look back. If he looked back he wouldn’t make it. With every step a part of him faded deeper and deeper into itself. Until when they were back into the barn and the world smelled of horse manure again, he was no longer there.

He was outside his body, watching Jesse march him up the ladder. Watching as Jesse shoved him down to his knees and locked the manacle around his ankle again.

Don’t fucking.. Come back. You asshole, Jesse said, slapping him across the face. Miguel blinked and he was back in his body. Seeing it through fresh eyes. Looking up at Jesse. You with me?

“Yes.” Miguel answered lamely with his hand, tears welling in his eyes again. A sharp pain came across his cheek.

Don’t you dare fucking cry. You fucking ran. You went to Sol, you’re not supposed to do that you fucking shit. I thought Xavier burned those rules into you. You aren’t even supposed to mention him and you fucking ran toward him.

Oh. Oh he really was in trouble wasn’t he? Xavier was going to kill him this time. Or worse, kill Solomon. Jesse grabbed his chin with a bruising grip and he leaned in real close. Even his breath smelled of oranges and dirt.

I won’t tell if you act like you want it. If you’re real convincing, I might even be gentle, he said, shoving Miguel backwards on his back. The wind knocked out of his chest. Miguel instinctively crawled backward. Are you angry yet Miguel? Jesse asked as he pulled tighter on the chain that held him. You can be angry. I promise. You wanna go back out? Go see Solomon? Come on.. he drawled, crawling over Miguel on the floor. Hovering over him. Or do you wanna stay with me?

Nausea rose in his throat and he whimpered. But he brought a hand to Jesse’s chest and looked up at him

“I want to stay with you,” he signed slowly. One hand snaking behind Jesse’s neck to pull him close. Pressing their lips together.

Good boy.

And Miguel closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden floor.

He focused on the smell of dirt and oranges. He pretended that the scent was something comforting. Something easy to stomach. When Jesse was done, Miguel was hand fed another orange. He told himself he was content with that.

He was still hungry.

Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure how much left of him there would be by the time hope came round again. But maybe it would. Maybe it would and there would still be a piece or two left of him to save. He could be a better dog for someone else. For someone kind.

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