#such a relief to write characters who will just say 'cock'

[glowingbadger]

Just saw you’re taking some requests! I’m fairly new to your blog and so I’m not too familiar with how you like to receive requests - specifically if you prefer them to be super detailed or open-ended - so feel free to just look at the character and number and go with what you think of and ignore my thoughts on possible plot. Your writing’s so much fun to read it doesn’t matter what comes out tbh

If it floats your boat, Claude with #11 (daddy kink) would be fun to read (his timeskip design does Things to me). I’m not sure if he’d get a thrill on being called daddy, but if he found out it was a turn on for his SO, I see him exploiting that endlessly because he’s so damn good at teasing. Any gender reader is fine.

I'm glad you enjoy my work, dear Friend Anon! And for sure, I mean, Claude absolutely is daddy, so it's only fair~ And I actually don't think I've ever written a daddy kink before? Anyway, I enjoyed this one, and it's actually the length I wanted these kink prompt drabbles to be for once lol

Claude (FE3H) x AFAB Reader

Kink prompt list #11 - Daddy kink

NSFW 18+ V

"Ohh... Mm, fuck, Claude..." you try to hush your breathless moans, but your body tenses, your touch quickens, and you can feel you're close- just a little more, "Daddy..!" you gasp, trying to smother your voice in the pillow that smells so perfectly like your lover, "Daddy, please, gonna- gonna..!"

~

Claude's hand is firm as he cups your ass from behind and fondles it while you lie exposed beneath him. You bite at your lip and glance over your shoulder at him, only to be met with a gaze that drips with hunger, yes, but also the same cool confidence you've seen on him during strategy briefings and diplomatic negotiations. Remembering the compromising state he'd found you in brings a flush of hot humiliation to your face. Your fingers slick between your thighs, your heart racing, and worst of all, Claude's name and more spilling from your lips.

"Come on babe, you know that if you're feeling lonely, you can come to me about it," he would sound rather generous if he weren't purring his words into your ear, "I'm always more than happy to give you what you need."

The head of his cock presses to your opening, your slickened lower lips parting around him. But he doesn't enter you just yet. Instead, he runs his tip between your labia, coating himself in your juices, occasionally even rubbing firm along your aching clit.

"Didn't... wanna bother you... all your- your meetings and..."

"I'm never too busy to spoil you a bit," his teeth graze the shell of your ear, and you shiver. His hand comes to hold fast at your hip, and when he speaks again, you recognize that teasing lilt in his voice.

"Still, there is one thing I just can't seem to get out of my head," he pauses as though gathering his thoughts, but you know he's stalling merely to torment you, "I know I heard my name while you were, well, keeping yourself busy," he gives a low laugh that tickles the back of your neck, "But you said something else, too. I wonder what it was? I hope you don't have some other guy on your mind..."

"No-!"

Claude chuckles at your frantic response. The head of his member pushes against you, granting just a bit of friction, the slightest bit of pressure as your body longs to receive him.

"Alright, alright," he says, "You'll just have to tell me what I heard then, so there's no room for doubt. Come on, I'm all ears."

"Claude..." you whine his name, glancing back at him with pleading eyes. That lopsided smirk of his makes your heart thud heavily, but it's simply too embarrassing. Then, you gasp aloud as he pushes his cock into you- just a little, nowhere near enough to satisfy. Just enough that you feel the ridge of his crown rubbing gradually in and out of you as he waits for your reply.

"Come on, babe," he whispers, his tone the slightest bit more insistent while his thumb rubs fond circles at your hip, "Let me hear you say it."

You bury your face in his pillow and mumble,

"Da... Daddy..."

Claude's cock throbs. He groans, leaning over you, his warm and toned body pressing you to the sheets.

"I can't hear you, cutie."

"Daddy! I- I said 'daddy,' okay?"

"Mmm, that's my good little Y/N," his voice is husky at your throat, but before you can reply, you're filled all at once as Claude drives his length into you to the base. Your body arches against him, you whimper into the pillow. It's too good- he's so thick, stretching you perfectly around him, and the skillful yet impassioned sway of his hips has him grinding into you at just the right angle.

"Why don't you say that again for daddy, hm? Nice and loud, now."

You're already panting for him, trembling as he pistons into you. Each stroke of his thick member sets sparks off in your head, and you're clinging to the bedsheets for dear life. Still, you force the words out.

"Daddy... ohh..! Puh- Please, daddy, it feels... so good-!"

"Mmh, that's it, baby," his hand squeezes at your hip, his thrusts coming faster, deeper, "Just be good and take daddy's cock. I've gotta make up for being too busy to take care of you properly, afterall."

[hannieehaee]

HOT TO GO! (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: moving into a quiet apartment complex you expected to find nothing but solace, not your most entertaining situationship to date OR the three times you kept it casual with your new neighbor vs the one time he made things serious.

content: neighbor!jungkook, strangers2lovers, situationship (kind of), fwb, jk's a lil bit of a himbo in this fic, afab reader, smut, three smut scenes lol, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 461 (teaser); 7.1k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: september 12th

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: this is mostly word vomit but i enjoyed writing jk's character for this one<3

masterlist

"Oh, wow, uh, hey."

"Hi?", you looked at the stranger in curiosity, though still very shocked by the adonis of a man who had suddenly knocked on your door.

He cleared his throat and shook his head as if rebuffing himself to speak again, "Fuck, okay, that was such an uncool first impression. What I meant to say was 'Welcome to the neighborhood,' but you just caught me off guard. Sorry."

"I caught you off guard? You're the one who knocked on my door."

"Yeah, not gonna elaborate on that," he chuckled sheepishly, extending his hand, "Hi, I'm Jungkook, your neighbor," he introduced himself.

You chuckled in return, letting his ambiguity slide as you briefly shook his hand, providing him with your name, "Hi, Jungkook. I'm new here, if that wasn't obvious."

"No, yeah, you can really tell the difference between you and the old lady who used to live here. She was- wait, fuck. Did she-"

"No, Jungkook, she's not dead. The landlord told me she just moved into some retirement home," you clarified.

"Thank god," the boy sighed in relief, "Me and Mrs. Louis go way back. She used to bake me cookies on Sundays."

"Oh really? Well, you won't be getting any cookies from me. Sorry," you joked.

Cocking his head to the side, he lifted his eyebrows, "We'll see about that."

"What does that even mean?"

"I can be very convincing."

Was he flirting? Through a cookie euphemism?

"Are you-"

"Anyways, if you need any help with moving in, let me know. Maybe coming over to help build some furniture?", he suggested, "I like to be on a friendly standing with all my neighbors," he smiled as he disregarded his prior flirting, almost as if it had never happened.

"I'm your only neighbor. There's only two apartments per floor," you recalled, still amused by his oddity.

"Exactly," he winked, and with that, he turned to leave, heading back to his own apartment, "See you around."

It was through that very short interaction that you first met your neighbor, Jungkook. Despite how odd he had seemed, he carried a charm that intrigued you (though his pretty appearance also drew you in).

Closing your door, you went back to what you had been doing previously, a smile of disbelief on your face as you tried to come up with some believable reason to scout him for help – as he had offered – just to see him again.

Unfortunately, most of your stuff had not arrived yet, so you truly had nothing you could possibly use as an excuse to get him to come into your apartment so soon. It was nice, though, to know that your new neighbor was as friendly as he was (and as attractive, might you add).

...

you can check it out today on my patreon by subscribing!

reply if you'd like to be tagged!

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: ITADORI

A/N: Quarterback Itadori with #20 on his jersey realizes he has a little (big) problem with a certain cheerleader turned Chem tutor (who also happens to be just a little bit older 🤭). Anon this one is for you! I hope you enjoy 💋

S/N: I’ve never giggled so much writing a piece. This one was so funny to me.

C/W: Aged up characters (19+), college AU, Mature, 18+

“ITADORI!”

Oh for fucks sake.

Yuji can’t drag away from the pyramid of cheerleaders right of center field.

“Coach?”

“IF YOU WANT TO WEAR A SKIRT AND BACKFLIP FOR THE BOYS THEN JUST SAY THAT?!”

His teammates erupt in a chorus of laughter. Coach Yaga is an ass.

Fact.

But he is also living, breathing, comedic relief.

“I would coach, but they aren’t my type!”

Yuji yells back, eyes still lasered to your back. He knows it’ll sear Yaga’s skin right off the bone.

Whatever.

What’s a few more seconds, right?

You are just so…hot.

In a mind-bending kinda way. An optical illusion. Or desert mirage.

A fresh water oasis in a destitute wasteland. Always just a few more steps away. No matter how long he’s been crawling on his knees.

His knees.

He’d kill to be on his knees for you. Diving head first into—

“SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET BACK ON THE FIELD. PINK TOP IDIOT!!”

“Yes sir!” Times up.

“Dude, she’s a smoke show.”

The team’s starting running back (#14) rests his arm on Yuji’s shoulder. Just as four bodies fling you so far against gravity it is questionable whether you’ll come down.

“She’s perfect.”

“And a junior.” #14 reminds him, tugging his helmet back over his head.

“So?”

“Okay, freshmeat. Someone’s got mommy issues.”

Yuji bursts into full belly laughter. Stealing one last glance at you before pulling his helmet on.

His teammates never fail to remind him that he’s the only freshman in Tokyo University history to make starting lineup.

Not to mention quarterback.

“#14, #20 IF YOU DONT STOP RUBBING DICKS ILL WEAR BOTH OF YOUR ASSES TO THE BONE THIS AFTERNOON.”

Yuji promptly takes position at center field. He knows better than to push his luck. Two-a-days are already brutal enough, he has no intention of making his life harder than it is.

But you do.

You are setting flames to the hoops Yuji has to jump through to get through study hall and afternoon practice.

Why else would you wear those yoga pants?

They’re a second skin, for Christ’s sake.

Might as well be body paint. Outlining every tantalizing, serpentine curve. Pretty, full hips. Plump, tight ass. The mouthwatering, puffy rose between your legs just begging to be watered. By his tongue.

Yuji’s palm digs into his crotch. Trying to force his pulsating length from tenting up into the table. Cursing himself for changing out of his compression shorts.

“Hello? Yuji?”

Your dulcet voice echoes between his ears and curls around his dick. Jerking him back down to earth.

“Y-yeah? Hi.”

Yuji forces an acknowledgement through the sharp edges of his voice box. Sitting fully erect in his seat. Scrambling to find the pencil that was supposed to be mirroring your work on the whiteboard.

Because not only are you a perfect 10 on and off the field; you are a prodigy when it comes to chemistry.

And currently in the middle of trying to diffuse some of your excess knowledge into his very deficient head.

You toss your head back. Your laughter is definitely why tales of fishermen being lost at sea exists.

Light.

Breathy.

Soprano crescendo that’s rutting against the few folds in his brain.

“Why are you so distracted today, Yu?”

“Distracted?” His voice cracks.

“Ha—no, I’m not distracted. Sorry, walk me through it again.”

But before Yuji can retreat back into his daydream, you catch him in the Venus fly trap of your gaze. Tilting your head slightly.

Yuji swallows thickly. Frozen in place. Hand pushing down on his cock with all his might. As if you could see through the table.

Did you know he was staring at your ass? Can you tell how hard he is? Is there drool on his face? Shit, there must—

“Woah, the way the sun is catching your eyes right now, Yu.”

You take a half step to the side, allowing the full beam of light to caress Yuji’s already hot face.

A shaky hand swipes along the back of his neck.

“H-huh?”

“Your eyes are so pretty. Warm. Like hot chocolate with cinnamon.”

Your full lips curl into a soft smile. And Yuji bites down a pitiful whine.

“I—thanks.” You don’t hear him. Because he whispers through a wired shut jaw.

Yuji lets his erection tent up, grazing the table. He fists his base through his athletic pants. Ears fiery hot with embarrassment. His hand glides up and down his clothed cock without his permission.

Did you know?

That you snapped his self-control in half?

And shoved him into the darkest recesses of his mind?

Where his most depraved thoughts (and the King of Curses) lives?

Because all Yuji can see is the way your ass ripples and bounces while you scribble hieroglyphics on the whiteboard.

His mind’s eye is currently picturing him fucking you dumber than he is.

Fist full of hair in one hand. Both of your wrists behind your back in another. Mesmerized by the way your plump, fleshy mounds slam against his hips.

Maybe he’ll fuck you in front of a mirror?

So he can make you repeat how pretty you think his eyes are while he brands the shape of his cock into you.

Then he’ll tell you how pretty you are. Creaming all around his length. Drool raining down from your lips in sync with his thrusts.

Maybe he’ll stick a dildo on the mirror so he can watch your mouth get stuffed while he violates your insides?

You’ll look so pretty. When he fills you up with something warm. A little thicker than ‘hot chocolate with cinnamon.’

“Yu? Are you okay?” Genuine concern knocks his lust-drunk thoughts loose.

Yuji blinks himself back to this dimension. Chest heaving. Cramps blooming from his fingertips to his biceps from grasping his sex so hard. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained blood red. From chin to hairline.

“I-uh. Sick. I’m—I feel sick. Be right back.” He takes off to the male locker room at inhuman speed.

Yuji nearly doubles over the porcelain sink, glaring at his blown out pupils. Olive skin flushed like he just finished a marathon.

He can’t believe he was just groping himself like that in public. In plain sight.

All because you complimented his eyes?!

Who the hell is he?

“Sukuna, give it a rest.”

Yuji hisses poison at his curse. Because he surely wasnt responsible for those lewd actions.

“Oh, I’ll rest you PERMANENTLY you asinine little b—“

“I’m serious. Quit it.”

Yuji darts around the empty locker room. Accidentally raising his voice.

“Quit what, brat?”

“Quit…making me think..things like that.”

Sukuna’s bellowing laughter sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Deafening between Yuji’s ears.

“That’s all you kid. I’m only 10 fingers in. Don’t have that power…yet.”

Sukuna retreats to Yuji’s subconscious. Leaving him stunned. Disbelief crashing into him like tornado winds.

Yuji has never been a pervert.

Sure, he’s had crushes. But he knows how to control his impulses.

He might be dumb like one, but he’s not an actual dog…right?

Wrong.

Yuji dives into an empty stall while his teammates file in. Study hall is complete and afternoon warm-ups are starting soon.

And his neglected, weeping sex is clamoring for attention.

Missing it’s muse — your soft, curvy frame and the ways he wants to fill you.

One hand clamps over his mouth. While the other one tugs his pants down. Thick, heavy length springing free. Sticky and slick with his precum.

His head meets the cool wall. Hips thrusting against his fist. Broken whimpers pushing through the web spaces of his fingers that are digging into his cheek. Choking himself quiet so no one hears his pathetic hormone driven state.

“Mnnhgh f—fuck.” Muffled curses slip past his hand.

His cock is red and engorged. Angry from his abuse. But his hips can’t stop rutting into his hand. Picturing abusing your pretty, swollen cunt.

A hot tear rolls along his cheek, between his fingers. Salty on his tongue.

Curtains start to shade his vision and Yuji’s hands move to cup his bulbous tip. His muscular core tenses and strings of warm, thick seed fills his hands.

The world slowly starts to piece together. His heart rattling in its cage comes to a normal pace. Choppy, incomplete breaths gradually replaced with deep, relaxed ones.

Shit.

He’s in trouble.

Because he needs to pass chemistry to play football. And he needs you to pass.

But he can’t ever look you in the eye again after this display.

After one measly compliment.

How will he act if you bend over in front of him?

Or lean over a little too far?

God forbid you touch his arms or brush against him.?

Then a lightbulb goes off.

Yuji has the perfect solution.

He scrambles to clean up. Putting on his street clothes. Ignoring the quizzical looks from his teammates. He’s going to fix his little problem.

“Coach Yaga?” Yuji is met with an open office door and his coach’s nostrils flaring. Vein along his temple pulsing.

He draws in a steadying breath.

“I can’t play football anymore coach. I quit.”

“….YOU WHAT?!?!”

[mysicklove]

CW: Aged up character, sub! Yuuji Itadori, dom! gn! reader, mentions of cock rings/cock cages, heavy orgasm control, reader likes to mess with poor yuuji, dacryphilia, fingers in mouth

WC: 1.2k

A/N: i made this to (hopefully) get out of my writers slump. idk. it was fun to write tho LOL. i neeeeed to work on my WIPs tho.

"Oh Yuuji, I'm disappointed."

His eyes widen at the tone of your voice, soft and defeated, like you truly were upset with him. The idea makes his mouth go dry, and he bites his lip to hold back his tears.

"I-It was an accident, I swear!" he stammers, clinging onto your arm to hopefully convey how panicked he seemed to be. Even an ounce of disapproval from you made him want to sing apologies, and the way you were frowning at him made him sick to his stomach.

You brush his cheek, and he tries to nuzzle into it, but you pull it away before he can, earning a pitiful whimper from the pink-haired boy. He tries to chase your hand, but you give him a warning glare, and he backs down immediately. “You weren’t supposed to cum. I told you no.”

“Imsorryimsorryimsorry!” Yuuji yelps, gripping at his boxers as tears begin to threaten to fall. “I got too excited. It felt too good. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to disappoint you!”

You shake your head at him, pulling away from him. “I don’t like playing with boys who don’t listen.”

The noise that falls from his mouth is pitiful, and even you flinch at the sound. His only goal was to please you, and hearing your words made his heart throb. “No, no, no,” he pleads, “I-I’ll be good again! I’ll listen this time!”

You were sadistic, and he knew you were, so when he saw you smile, more tears cascaded down his face. Alas, you wipe them away and say, "I don't believe you. Do I need to put your ring on again?"

Yuuji hates his cock ring. It was his second least favorite toy you have bought for him. Not being able to cum was one of the most frustrating feelings, especially when he always had so much of it to give.

"No. No I-I dont need my ring," he begs, pawing at your arm. His body was caving over himself, and at this point he was borderline clinging to you, shoving his face into your neck. It was an act to look smaller, more pathetic, and if hopes that he looks meek enough you may take pity on him. "I'll do good this time."

It works, surprisingly enough - you rub the back of his hair and trace his back muscles. He slumps in your hold, knowing well what the affectionate touches meant. Slowly, you move away the arm on his back to his groin, where his cock is already half-hard again.

"You won't cum until I allow you to, yes?"

"Yes," he breathes, relief washing over him at the fact that he isn't going to be punished. "I won't. I promise I won't this time."

Your tongue drags over his neck, and he shivers, eyes shutting and letting out a small gasp. Then, you begin your movements on his cock, sliding your nearly closed palm up and down. His previous cum acts as makeshift lube, and almost instantaneously he grows hard again. It makes you grin at him. "You are quite eager, aren't you, Yuuji?"

"S-Sorry. I just...like it. A lot..." he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut as his mouth drops open.

You lean forward to kiss the scar beneath his right eye, and he lets out a small breathless moan at the soft touch of your lips. "What do you like a lot?"

Yuuji, in return, gulps, flushing a shade of red. He looks at the hand pumping his cock, watching the way your thumb rubs at his plush tip as if daring him to cum again. But still, he manages to respond. "Um-When you touch my...c-cock."

The word was always so embarrassing to him, so lewd sounding. But it was the way you wanted him to refer to it, so he abided by the term that made him feel like he was straight out of a porno.

"That's it," you praise, tilting his head to plant another soft kiss on his mouth. "Will you cum then?"

Yuuji knows better by now, and so he rapidly shakes his head. "No. Not until you allow me to."

He was speaking in between kisses, eyes closed and leaning as close to you as possible.

"And what if you are to wait a week to cum? Make you get out your cage as punishment."

The man's entire body goes rigid, and he quickly pulls away from your mouth, eyes owlish. The hand moves away from the spot between his legs, and he clenches his fists to restrain the urge to force it back.

He seems to be at a loss for words, biting the inside of his cheek and furrowing his eyebrows. A fresh new set of tears slides down his face, but he is quick to wipe them off with the back of his hand.

Although the cockring was torture in the moment, chastity was by far the hardest thing for Yuuji to do. He had a high sex drive, and even going a week without cumming sounded torturous. The longest he has gone is four days without an orgasm, and he was practically pawing at your feet like some sort of attention-starved puppy to get you to touch him.

To trick him into thinking he was going to get another orgasm was cruel, and he was incredibly frustrated. His cock was so hard it was borderline painful, and knowing that he was not going to be granted a release made him unreasonably upset.

But he did disobey you, and you were known to be cruel to him. He looks at your knees and bites his lip. The words come out in a low whisper as if he were almost afraid of them. "I'll go grab m-my cage."

Yuuji begins to pull away from you, heading to the closet to where the devilish toy is located, when suddenly a hand grips the back of his hair and pulls him back to you. His lips forcefully lock onto yours, and immediately your tongue slides into his mouth. He gets so distracted by the suddenness of it all that when he feels the hand back on his cock he lets out a guttural moan that is swallowed by your mouth.

And then you pull away from him, leaving him hazy-eyed and breathless as you lick at the saliva coating your lips. Your other hand thumbs at his lips, and you grin at him, leaning forward. "You're such a good boy, Yuuji. Makes me want to tease you till you run out of tears."

Your thumb has made its way into his mouth, and it presses onto his tongue. The only noise he can make is a low whine, not liking that idea at all but not daring to try to speak with your finger pressed inside his mouth.

But then, much to the boys suprise, you lean forward till you are inches away from his ear and mutter, "You have my permission to cum whenever you like."

And just like a kid in a candy store, Yuuji's eyes lighten.

[constantmourning]

Stress Relief

[Price/Reader/Soap/Simon]

Summary: Headcanons (almost an imagine) on sleeping with the three and how it turns out for you!

Warnings: Minors DNI! NS/FW, 18+!, M/M/M/F, Foursome, not too descriptive but still nasty, let me know if I forgot something! (haven't done this in a while)

A/N: This is my first time writing for these guys! I hope you enjoy! I'm still getting a hang of these characters but I had this idea so I went with it. I kinda fucking ran with it actually... Hope you all enjoy. Kinda wanna make it a full blown fic.

It started with Soap. Really, you didn't think it'd go much further.

You were sleeping together most every chance you got. To the point where Soap started to brag about his nights he'd spend with you to TF141.

Price began probing about who, genuinely curious. Soap would never say your name. However, you gave yourself away after a briefing and heard Price being curious about who had Soap acting that way.

"It's me." You walked up and smiled at Price. Soap was slightly shocked you had given yourself away. And was even more shocked with the next thing you said. "If you ever wanna feel just as great, give me a call." You winked at him.

Soap wasn't jealous by any means, in fact sharing you with Price was something he really didn't mind. He had not expected you to be okay with it though.

So, you started sleeping with Price.

Soap and Price were much different lovers in the best way possible. You would spend the night with Soap, him going absolutely feral over you. Then you'd spend the next night with Price. Who was not as ravenous, but just as passionate.

This went on for a couple weeks. Just you, Price, and Soap. Never had the three of you fucked at the same time. But Price had plans to change that. And Soap had something up his sleeve as well.

"Soap." Price had approached him a questioning look. "I have a question."

"Good, just who I was looking for," Soap smirked, "'cause I do too."

You were in your room when a knock came from the door. It was a free night, neither Soap nor Price were supposed to come over, so you weren't sure who the knocking could be.

When price and soap entered your room as soon as you opened your door you grew hot. "you're both here?"

"We have a proposition." Price seemed serious but Soap seemed too excited to be serious.

They both stood in front of you, so you could assume what it was. "threesome?"

Soap shook his head, and held up four fingers. Your brows knitted together and you cocked your head. Before you could say a word your door pushed open further and you turned around. Your heart jumped into your throat.

The man you had found the mysterious since coming onto base was standing there. Simon 'Ghost' Riley. You swallowed hard turning towards Price and Soap.

"Is this a joke?" No way was Simon joining in...

"No, love," Simon grunted, "it isn't. Soap 'ere won't shut up about you, so I thought I'd see what the raving was about."

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Had Soap been seeing how you were staring longingly at Simon? Yes, yes he had.

"Is this okay?" Price asked. Soap and Simon waited on your answer. When you nodded, things were most definitely getting loud.

You thought Soap and Price were great? It is Simon's mission to show you how much better he is at everything.

Soap amazing at eating you out? Simon is going to one up him. Price really good at taking his time fucking you? Simon is going to show you just how much time he can to take care of you.

They let Simon do whatever he wants, Price and Soap just watching (and jerking it). But after Simon experiences you for himself, they decide to all have a go at it.

They take turns teasing you and eating you out. Seeing just how far you could go before they get down to business.

You're sandwiched between three very strong men and its very hot.

Soap is a freak (enduring) and loooooves watching Simon's large form pressing against yours while Price takes you from behind.

The guys don't leave without their dick getting sucked.

You are almost crying (positive) after they're done with you.

Super duper big on aftercare. Simon carries you to the bathroom. Soap would literally give you a bath if you wanted/needed. Price is telling you how good you were. All of them are the best...

At the end Price is ready to ask for this more often. It's a nice stress reliever for everyone. He may even ask if the others could join, for team bonding. Only if you're comfortable of course.

[cupids-archives]

Hellooo! How about if you do a Dom fem x sub lmk boys like monkey king, macaque, mk, redson and azure lion. Whatever lmk character you can write I'm alright with it😁

requests are open !!!

only macaque, mk, and swk.

(part two) 🍒

━━━ ₊contains, teasing, edging, and slight degradation.

SUN WUKONG 💋

WUKONG, adores being on top, being able to see your cute fucked out face and how your pussy takes his cock. just adorable. buttt, he also loves when your on top of him, taking control of him is easy, making him take you seriously not so much.

though your sitting on top of him, his dick sitting inside you. both of you care, he can’t help but chuckle at your degrading words, even though he’s on the submissive position. your hands slide to his mouth, covering it with your fingers. “do you want me to keep going”. he shakes his head, staying quiet now.

now your the one chucking, moving your hips back to taking in his cock, your pussy already well prepped, he lets out a sigh and grabs at your waist in which you promptly smack it off. “no touching” he whines at that , arguing back until you stop moving. he lays his head back and places his hands on either side of him,

you lean forward as well, sliding up and down as you lay on his chest, both of you moaning. you lift your head up to kiss him, now letting him grab at your butt, helping you move. your skin feels nice and warm as you both cum, kissing and continuing through lewd bodies, “well baby, who knew you had that strictness inside you”.

MACAQUE 💋

MACAQUE, who also gets that tingling feeling in his stomach whenever your on top of him, riding his face, resting in the taste of you, your pretty cunt all for him. he can also appreciate you taking your time with him.

your hands hold onto his shoulders, skin touching skin, your body is weak from the usts inside you, macaque weakly begs, not for more but for you to kiss him. he looks so cute under you, body hugging you as you bounce on his cock.

“please baby, i want you so bad”, he cries, angling his hips more onto you. “I love you so much” he says, clinging on to your body, with every roll of his hips, you both fall undone. Lips coming together and kissing and holding. “just a little bit more, okay?”

MK! 💋

MK, is never really dominant, always giving into your demands whenever hes trying to be teasing, always stopping and slowing when you ask him too, and always letting you on top of him as well,

“mm please I wanna cum” Mk whimpers slightly, your hand is wrapped around his dick, moving it up and down until your hand is covered in precum then when he’s about to cum, you pull away.

tears start to well up in his eyes almost, begging for you to let him cum, just once, please he needs it, he feels like he’s going to die without the sweet relief of an orgasm. “just a little more baby, and after I’ll even suck you off.” he stops his whining immediately, giving into your demands and throwing his head back. “okay okay, anything for you,”

[rodolfoparras]

share the angstttt

-⚰️

Thinking about sexually repressed Price | 18+ MDNI

Pairing: John Price x Top Male reader

Content tags: angsty porn, internalized homophobia, closeted character, angst with a happy ending, masturbation, anal fingering, pining, slow burn

A/N: this isn’t meant to be a proper piece of writing, consider it a stream of consciousness author was clearly working through something here 💀 and bear with the awful grammar spelling mistakes ooc moments etc , also this wasn’t supposed to be this big nor this angsty but I was listening to hozier so things took a turn also to really set the mood I’d suggest listening to from Eden by hozier, work song by hozier, like real people do by hozier and then finally treat yourself with willow by Taylor swift to ease any remaining pain

Sexually repressed Price who’s the only one on the team without a spouse, who likes men but is deeply closeted, who’s starting to think that the liquor and tobacco smoke is starting to taste a bit more like loneliness

Sexually repressed Price who’s got grays in his hair, lines on his face and crow feet around his eyes when he finally meets the type of man he’s always desired

Sexually repressed Price whose hands shake and heart pounds every time your knees knock together or your hands brush, whose face burns and he stutters every time he tries talking to you, who’s so acutely aware of every glance every touch every word he says who gets so in his head about every interaction that he decides to keep himself locked in his office just to avoid any more awkward interactions, who’s never had this issue before because he’s never been attracted to the other men in his circle, attracted to men the words prickle at his throat like whiskey and cigar smoke

Sexually repressed Price who does his best to keep your relationship professional, who treats you no different to how a captain would treat his subordinate.

He’ll send you out to a strenuous training session during heinous weather conditions without thinking twice about it, even though he’s trying his best not to pull your shivering form in his warm embrace.

Price wont think twice about scolding you when you mess up during a mission, will grab onto the scruff of your neck and get all up in your face, even though he’ll also visibly get nervous once he realizes he’s just a hair away from your lips

Price will only speaks to you in a professional tone, words sharp and tone firm but then there are instances where he’ll catch himself slipping up, sharp words rounding out, tone softening up by just looking into your eyes.

Sexually repressed Price who somehow ends up with one of your belongings in his hand whether it be a shirt, a glove, a mask and can’t help but notice how well the tangy smell of your sweat mingles with the sweetness from your cologne, can’t help but think how much it smells of a man and God knows he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in that smell so he press his nose against the fabric of your shirt, glove or whatever and just loses himself in the scent.

He promises himself he’ll return it but it ends up staying in his rooms for weeks, and he smells it when he needs comfort, when he goes to sleep, when he’s being reminded of the fact that it’s there with him, til it no longer smells like you

When the last trace of your scent lingers on the fabric, he ends up doing something stupid. During one of those nights when he’s drinking liquor like it’s water and inhaling tobacco smoke like it’s his last day on earth, his eyes will land upon your shirt or glove or whatever it is and he’ll make a bee line to the material, before taking it to bed with him

Sexually repressed Price who doesn’t even like to masturbate, who just squeezes his thighs together in hopes of getting some relief or rubs his cock against the sheets until he’s spurting ropes of cum all over it, who doesn’t know how to finger himself properly, experiences it painfully even but can’t help but sneak a hand down his pants while pressing the fabric of your shirt or glove or whatever it is, against his nose.

You do a lot of things without thinking when horny or so Price has heard so he justifies that as being the reason as to why he presses the material against his nose while jerking off. It’s so strange, this new feeling, it feels like you’re there in bed with him, shallow breathes escapes his lips as he imagines you pinning him down to the very same bed, squelching sound getting louder as he imagines you grinding your clothed cock down on him, he’s never had his scenarios be this vivid before he can even see the flush upon his own cheeks, the way he bites down on his bottom lip as you continue to grind down on him and within seconds he’s spurting ropes of cum all over his fist, the fabric still pressed up against him

It’s weird- the sensation that he feels, a humming sensation strumming though his body and mingling with the ever lasting guilt he feels

Sexually repressed Price who ends up with the army catalogue in his hands, who flips to the page where your picture lays, one hand holding a glass of whiskey while the other traces over your features

You look like everything Price had dreamt of in his younger years, smart, handsome and with a promising career in the army maybe if he’d met you back then things would be different maybe he’d be open to dating you, maybe you’d want him too even. Back then he’d been fresh faced and eager to drink up the knowledge of the world not knowing it was eager to swallow him whole. He tears out the page, for reasons he doesn’t even know but it’s the very first picture of a man he doesn’t crumble and hide under his bed but instead neatly folds up and keeps in his wallet.

Sexually repressed Price who ends up breaking one of his rules who treats you more than a captain treats a subordinated when he invites you out to a bar with the rest of 141, it’s a celebratory event for a successful mission, but it feels anything but that, because you get so drunk out of your mind that you start spurting nonsense, stumbling upon the topic of masturbation, and sharing how to get yourself off properly, how to use your hands or mouth when with someone, mind too drunk to register what you’re saying, going in such far detail Price feels his ears burn and hands shake as he runs off into a dirty bathroom stall, splashing water on his face and staring down his reflection,

He thinks about the words you said when you’re cleaning your weapon, skilled fingers easily disarming something that’s presented as untouchable, can’t help but think about them when he sees you pinning soldiers down during sparring sessions, caging men under your weight without actually hurting them, He thinks and thinks and thinks until he breaks his rule again, lays down on his side on his bed, feels the cold sheets sending chilies down his spine only for the sensation to intensify once his chilly fingers touch the cleft of his ass,

Price doesn’t like fingering himself but he still circles his puckered rim with his slicked up fingers, relaxing the muscle just like you’d suggested that one drunken night. Price doesn’t see a point in fingering himself when his cock is hard and weeping between his legs but he still slides the tip of his finger inside the tight ring of muscles, gently grazing the wall of nerves like you’d slurred out that one drunken night. Price knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he continues to work his finger deeper inside of him, eyes fluttering shut and teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, even managing to working himself up to a second one as moans escape him, continues to work himself til there’s no point in stopping despite knowing how wrong it is because he’s teetering closers to the edge before finally cumming all over his hand.

Sexually repressed Price who’s almost broken all of his rules when he starts spending more time with you, beyond ways that are considered normal for a captain and his subordinate. It’s not like you’re forcing your way into his office and it’s not like he’s dragged you to sit next to him yet for whatever reason you’ve decided to do paper work next to him, claiming it’s the most quiet room on base and before he can argue you’ve already put down your pen and papers.

The very first time you do this he’s hyperaware of your presence, wondering if he’s being too obvious with every glance, hands subtly shaking as he adjusts his own papers, wondering if he should say something when the silence goes on for too long, wondering if he’s disturbing you when you’re the one doing work in his office.

Slowly but surely he gets used to your presence, doesn’t glance as much but instead looks at you properly and manages a soft smile even, his hands no longer shake and he can now comfortably offer you his cigar without embarrassing himself, and soon the long pauses of silence turn into comfortable conversations where you do anything but paper work and sure he still blushes when your hands and knees knock together as you’re passing cigars back and forth and he still messes up a sentence or a word when trying to make casual conversation with you but it’s comfortable, that is of course until the universe decides to laugh in his face.

It’s when you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to prep his cigar for him. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything you just thought you should do it for him since he’s kind enough to share them with you but he can’t help but notice the way your fingers gently roll the cigar , the way your lick your lips when trying to cut it precisely the way your half lidded eyes and lazy smile will meet his gaze as you’re playfully blowing the smoke in his face

Once the paper work is finished up and you’re back in your room, he’s still seated in his office chair, his cigar tucked between his fingers and he can’t help but remember the way you’d prepped the cigar, how you’d put the tobacco between your lips, can’t help but remember the playful smile on your face, eyes falling closed as you took a break from the draining paper work and all of sudden he feels himself harden in his pants

His eyes wander to his office door, it’s locked he knows it’s locked, then his fingers wander down to his zipper, undoing his pants and easily wrapping a hand around his dick, and gently pumping it

Thoughts of you whirl around in his head much like the cigar smoke that had whirled in the air and before he knows it he’s cumming all over his fist, the same feeling of shame and guilt bubbling inside of him

Sexually repressed Price who once again finds himself in a dirty bathroom stall, hands shaking and ears burning as he stares at his own reflection.

You’d casually mentioned you were seeing, someone no, casually mentioned that you were seeing a man, there was no shame on your face no hesitation in your tone when you said the words, said it like you said how to please yourself the night you were drunk, but this time around you were stone cold sober, price pukes into the toilet bowl like he’d been the one drinking

Sexually repressed Price who can’t help but think of your attraction towards men, who stares at himself naked in the mirror, keeps wondering if you’d ever want someone like him, who becomes so hyper aware of your existence, who scoops and digs for any sign that you’re attracted to him only to bury it as far as he can into the ground when he finds hints of it

Sexually repressed who has his room next to yours, who can hear whomever you brought home for the night, who can hear its a man, who can’t help but sneak his hand down his pants and imagine it was him pinned on your weight, with you showing him how to take your mouth, how to take your fingers, how to take your cock, what it’s like to have a man in bed

His mind fills with thoughts of you pinning down the man as if he were another soldiers, but those arm would continue to trace down his shoulders chest and abdomen. His mind fills with thoughts of your fingers, who so easily takes apart deadly weapons, taking apart the man in the very same way

Sexually repressed Price who finds himself back at the very same bar, this time with just you alone, drunk out of your minds and talking about something other than cigar liquor or paper work, who gets so drunk you have to sling an arm over his shoulder and carry him to his room and somewhere on the walk back, between the steps the drunken talks the heavy breathes from trying to carry a full grown man he slips up, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes and before you know it the two of you kiss

He feels scared once he realizes what he has done eyes wide and mouth agape, desperately trying to explain himself but you’re ever so calm collected a gentle smile on your face , briefly pecking his lips before pulling away

He’s still drunk as he were moments ago but sober enough to pull you in for another kiss and it’s clumsy teeth clashing, smacking sounds echoing loudly smiling so much you’re practically barely kissing but he loves it so much at one point you fall down onto pavement and stay seated there, maybe it’s the liquor maybe it’s the adrenaline but for the first time he doesn’t feel any of the guilt brewing inside of him as he interlocks your hands and rests his head on your shoulder

The next morning there’s just a tad bit of guilt at the back of his throat but it may very well be the liquor and tobacco smoke, he wakes up next to a glass of water and pain killers for the headache that’s already making itself known

When he arrives to the first meeting that morning he thinks you’ll confront him about that night, pulse roaring in his ears and hand shaking as he takes a seat at the table but nothing of that sort happens, you carry a conversation with soap, you listen through the debriefing and you part ways after the meeting

Later that night he seeks you out on his own, voice soft, gaze avoidant as he leads you to his office under the disguise of doing paper work and of course you take him up on that offer

You barely do paper work instead you share a cigar til you’ve smoked for so long you’ve lost interest in the tobacco leaf and there’s only a silence lingering in the air for a good couple of minutes. Finally he says something apologies tumbling past his lips hands gesturing for what he doesn’t dare say

It’s okay, you explain to him, there’s no need to worry about it, but he won’t stop apologizing til you ask him if you can kiss him again and he halts his movements and falls silent, you can almost hear a pin drop before he nods his head and you lean in and cup his face and gently slot your lips together

You kiss and you kiss and you kiss til you’re caging his body against the sofa like he’s dreamt of so many times, hands racking alongside of his ribs like dissembling one of your weapons and eagerly kissing his lips and he looks so blissful so at ease soft gasps escaping his lips with every kiss as he claws at the sofa under him finally his eyes flutter open hands cupping your cheek and the biggest smile overtakes his face as you kiss again and again and again

And that’s how this thing starts This relationship that really isn’t a relationship where you and him do everything two lovers would do but he’s not yours and you’re not his but you don’t seem to mind despite the thoughts that plague him at night

You’re always so patient so understanding don’t mind sharing kisses and caresses in hiding but it eats at him and eats at him but doesn’t make him any more braver

You deserve something more and when he finally thinks he’s ready to give you that the opportunity is taken away, and he’s sent out on a mission in which he almost doesn’t return

But you don’t give up hope, you sit outside even and wait for him to come home you don’t know how much time has passed but you’ve slept and showered and eaten a handful of times until you finally see a figure making its way towards you

It’s price

It’s your John

Funny how the sky cries just as tears fall down your cheek and within seconds you’re holding him in your embrace and you’re both crying before he finally cups your cheeks and you kiss, under the night sky, in front of the base, in front of the whole world to see

[enhafilthandfiction]

enhypen hyung line reacting when you get needy while they're playing games on their computer, so you straddle on their lap (and possibly grinding on them immediately :p) ??

You getting needy when Hyung Line are gaming </3

A/N : Hello! I rly enjoyed writing this, thanku for requesting anon! Ngl, i felt horny re-reading Jake's scenario lmaoo. Happy reading!

Pairing : Bf!HyungLine X Fem!Reader

Warnings : Reader is needy/horny, tittes, kissing, making out, boners, grinding, mentions of fucking, thigh riding, fingering, cockwarming, Hoon is a little mean, degrading names, oral (m.receiving), simp rant in Jake's (which is why it is longer).

Word Count : 1,690 Words (about 425 words each)

Masterlist

» Lee Heeseung « The one that's just as needy as you so he gives up on playing and just fucks you

Bored out of your mind, you go up to your boyfriend's room only to find him sadly glued to his stupid game. He barely even acknowledges you, eyes squinted as his fingers move over the joystick.

You pout and move closer to him, but he still doesn't take his eyes off the screen. You decide to take matters into your own hands, walking over to his gaming chair and sliding under his arms until you're in his lap.

He jumps when he feels you on him, your view suddenly blocking his screen. "Oh hi baby" he smiles up at you, leaning up to give you a small kiss. You kiss him back, grinding your needy hips down on him.

He notices in an instant, realising that you must be horny and he furrows his eyebrows. "Just one last game okay?" he asks you with a small smile, making you roll you eyes but nod.

You let him play another round but it takes too long, every time his hands which were around your waist squeeze you a little too much or his tongue darts out to lick his lips in concentration, you find yourself squeezing your thighs together helplessly.

"Please Hee" you beg when it gets too much, but he doesn't seem to hear you, the sound of gunshots filling his headset. As soon as his character is on cool down (?) you gently grasp one of his hands and bring it up to you chest, making him feel your braless tits. "Fuckkk" he groans at how soft your tit feels in his large palms, his cock already twitching in his pants.

You grind on his growing bulge at his groans, wanting some relief. He mutes his mic and leans up to kiss you, his hands letting go of the controller to slide under your shirt, feeling your tits. His tongue enters your mouth and with the game long forgotten, you two start making out.

He can hear his friends yell at him from the headset but he shrugs. "You know what, fuck this" he says, taking off the headset and turning off the game despite his bandmate's complains.

He wraps his hands around your waist and lifts you up, gently throwing you on his bed as he starts removing your clothes. "Gonna fuck you so well baby" he promises "That's what good girls get for being patient"

» Park Jay « The one that won't give up on his game just like that, so instead he lets you use his body to get some relief

"Jayy" you whine for the millionth time "I need you".

He's been telling you to wait for the longest time now, being too addicted to this new game. All you could do was roll around on his bed and try to not touch yourself at the sight of his skilled fingers moving smoothly along the keyboard, wishing they were inside you.

Your panties were practically soaked and you couldn't take it anymore. You got up and walked over to his chair, climbing on his lap. You slid one side of his headphones back, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "Jay, I'm so wet for you" you practically moaned, kissing the side of his neck.

"I've promised them I'll play baby, they'll never let me live it down if I break my promise" he explains with a pout, referring to his playful bandmates who acted like children sometimes. "Here" he placed his hands on your waist, moving you so that you were partly straddling him, you core right on his firm thigh.

You got the message and started grinding against his muscular thigh, your hands on his shoulder for support. He goes back to his game but checks up on you sometimes.

"That's it baby, there we go" he grips your hips helping you move until the new game starts. You close your eyes in pleasure, letting him guide your hips harder on him.

You clench around nothing as your clothed clit brushed against his flexed thigh, the pressure of your body feeling too good. He kisses the side of your neck praising you some more until you cum in your panties. "I'll take proper care of you when I'm done, princess".

» Sim Jake « The one who's just as needy but still loves his stupid game too much so he ends up making you cock-warm him

You couldn't help but admire his side profile and wonder how perfect his nose is for grinding against it as you ride his face.

You couldn't help but watch as he bit his plush lips proudly when he won a though game, wondering how good they would feel kissing your neck or wrapped around your clit, sucking softly.

You couldn't help but observe his hands and the way he held the controller, thumbs circling the joystick just like they circle your nipples or your clit. You watch his prominent veins as he grips the controller harder, wishing his hands were griping your neck instead.

You couldn't help but listen to his little mumbles in that sexy Australian accent of his, remembering how deeper his voice gets when he's whispering all the filthy things he wants to do to you.

You squeeze your thighs together as your face heats up thinking of all these things. You're suddenly feeling very (very, very) needy and horny for him and his thick cock. So, you make your way over to his gaming chair, hopping on him and hugging him close to you.

As he continues mindlessly playing, you take a deep whiff of his expensive cologne as it fills your nostrils. Fuck, he even smelled good. "Jakeyy" you start off, voice muffled in his hoodie. "Want you" you admit shyly, hoping that he heard you.

"Hm? Is my baby feeling needy?" he teases, looking up at you softly. You nod your head, looking at the ground as your cheeks heat up. "Aww baby, you're so cute"

One of his hands slides down your body to your heat, rubbing soft circles to your clothed core as you squirm on top of him. "Take these off for me baby" he orders, referring to your panties, not quite paying attention to his game anymore.

You hastily slide them off your hips and lift one leg at a time to remove them, straddling him again once they're off. "Good girl, now spread your legs a little wider" his hands grip your inner thigh, parting your thighs a little more. "Yeah, just like that"

His rough fingers make their way to your clit again, rubbing quick circles as you moan out and squirm on his lap. He thanks god that he's not playing online with his friends, cause they would've heard you for sure.

When he notices that you're wet enough to take him, he lifts his hips up, sliding down his sweats along with his underwear to his ankles. He positions his cock at your entrance, making you whine out when he rubs his head along your clit. "Now listen to me baby, you're not going to move until I tell you to, kay?" he warns, making you pout "I still have a game to finish"

You slide down on his cock and sigh out in pleasure, gripping his shoulders. His breath hitches as he grabs the controller again and resumes his game. You bury your face in his neck and try not to clench around him too much or he won't let you cum. The longer you hold back, the more you wish his stupid game was over.

» Park Sunghoon « The one who tells you to shut up because his friends will hear you, but when you don't, he ends up shutting you up with his cock

"Hoonieee" you whine again and he lets out another sigh.

"Gosh baby, you're so needy" he says rolling his eyes. You knew he was just teasing you, loving how desperate you were for his cock. "Can you at least quiet down? You don't want my friends to hear what a desperate slut you are now, do you?" he asks with a muted mic.

Before you can say anything you see him unmute his mic, making you roll your eyes as he focuses back on the game and pretty much ignores you.

Sometimes he was difficult like this, taking his teasing a little too far. You were envious of his self control, until you realised that he had a prominent boner; he wasn't as chill as he thought he was.

You wanted revenge. If he didn't want his friends hearing you, they were going to hear him. You grinded down, purposely right on his hard on, making him let out a chocked moan as he looks at you with wide eyes, soon giving you a dark stare, warning you.

You did it again, even let your hands wander down to his crotch, gently palming and squeezing him. "That's it" you see him mute his mic again as he takes off his headset. "Get on your knees now or your punishment gets worse" he said with a stern look.

You plastered a victorious smile on your face, taking your time to get down on the floor in front of him and opening your mouth before he even told you to. His dick twitched at the sight of you knelt before him with your mouth wide open, ready for him.

He led his cock towards your mouth, placing it on your tongue like some sort of pacifier. "Yeah, just like that, suck." he ordered, shutting you up and going back to his game. You sucked on his tip, then tried to fit him all in your mouth, stroking what you couldn't fit in.

If you weren't lying, you weren't bored anymore, his precum and soft sounds being satisfying enough for you. Once he was done playing and turned off his game, he gently held your face, his hips thrusting into your mouth, fucking your face. Not long after, he came in your mouth, being already stimulated from before. Without him even telling you, you swallowed all of his release, making him smile proudly.

"Good fucking girl, you earned a reward"

Hellooo, thanks for reading to the bottom, I hope you enjoyed it! This might be the last post I'm posting for now, but i'll be back soon dw :) Have a great day/night and remember that ily <333

If you enjoyed reading this post, you can support my blog by tipping me here! Anything is really appreciated :)

[dilfs-bitch]

Tìnew | Tsu'tey (NSFW)

Pairing: Tsu'tey x fem human reader

Warnings: oral, slight edging, size difference.

Kinktober prompt: Eat you out.

Initially, I wasn't going to participate in Kinkytober challenge, but at the last minute, I decided to write for some avatar characters even though I'm a few days late.

Sorry if there are grammatical errors. English is not my first language.

It was a tawtute thing.

Immoral, but just the idea was tempting, and the thought of what it would be like to experience such a thing was nothing but exciting.

And like all exciting things, it made him act sloppy, doing and wanting things that should be wrong and were, but the way your back was arched made Tsu'tey forget about them at all, leaving him focused only on the moans that came out of your parted lips each time his textured tongue licked your clit.

It was sloppy, like he didn't know what he was doing, but the feel of his tongue against your bundle of nerves made your body shudder and your mouth open, and though nothing came out, the moan stuck in your throat at the way he grinds his face against your cunt, and a groan came out from his chest reverberating against your core that clenching around nothing, a silent plea for more. However, Tsu'tey didn't seem to mind, perhaps too lost in at the feel to taste you again, as if he were indulging in the most delicious of fruits that he hold the sides of your cheek to keep it wider than before just so he could have his tongue delve inside you.

“ Oh fuck, yes, it feels so good, Tey " You moan, throwing your head back.

He hums, his pupils dilate at the sound of your tearful, breathless voice, the taste that remains on his tongue causes an urgency that takes over his body to suck your clit and, so he does, with so much enthusiasm that your body shudders, your knees get weak because the feeling of him sucking your clit is simply too good. It's messy, but you're soaked, still clenching around nothing wanting more, more of that feeling of his hot, rough tongue inside you, it's like he can read your thoughts, his tongue presses against your entrance slips once more, and then he goes in and it feels so good almost too intense that you almost come.

Just like him, who desperately rolls his hips against the soft mat of his tent for anything, but everything just get worse because his cock is so hard, leaking from the bulbous tip that glowing insistently, wanting some kind of relief so he continues to rub himself relentlessly on the mat, grunt with little moans of appreciation of how good your taste and that goes straight to his lower belly that coil tighter and tighter that's sight surprisingly exciting having you like that, on your knees with your legs wide open while he eat you out from behind, it's the size difference that makes him growl once more, and then he pulls away grunting as his hands kneading and squeeze at the soft flesh of your ass as he says breathlessly.

“This Tawtute thing is good.” He lets out a groan as his lip curls over his teeth. “ Your pussy tastes good”

And just as quickly as he pulls his face away, he found himself back sucking on your clit so hard that you could feel the pleasure building inside you, in your spine and behind your eyelids, as your eyes closed and your back arched against him, moaning with each touch of his wet, rough tongue as he slurpings your swollen, sensitive pussy.

”I, come ”

It's all you can force out before your eyes roll back and your heart pounds in your chest as you feel him slide two of his fingers into your soaking cunt and curl them perfectly, and then it feels too much as you're pushed to the edge, legs shaking as the orgasm flows through your body. Your orgasm almost knocks you out, makes you shake, moaning his name like a little scream. Your muscles are spasming and you're writhing bordering on overstimulation when Tsu'tey pulls away from your hypersensitive clit, but his digits keep pumping into you in and out through the clamping of your walls, stretching out your orgasm making your body go weak with pleasure.

“ That's it demon, now I'm going to fuck you” He snarls grins wild.

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ 20: Trapped in limbo

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 22.8k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️ warnings: lots and lots of crying; grief; medical stuff i am only pretending to understand; hidden doors; anxiety, panic, fainting, & PTSD; mention of past abuse; dream gore that borders on romantic; graphic & violent nightmares; recreational drinking & drug use (mdma, cocaine, weed); miscommunication & lack of communication due to emotional distress; smut (oral and vaginal sex; not quite somnophilia but almost; orgasm denial thanks to medication; sex while on drugs; fingering; use of restraints; a hint of booty play; cum swallowing); every smut scene is a fucking mess.

🗡️ note: grief is a deep sorrow that we experience for so many more reasons than when someone passes away. sometimes we grieve people who are still with us. other times, we grieve a relationship before it has come to an end. this chapter, and every remaining chapter of Collateral, is going to deal a lot with grief. this chapter was tough to write, and then i couldn't stop. all it was meant to be was a handful of scenes with heavy dialogue interspersed with anxiety and adjusting to medication and messy smut, and somehow we reached that bonkers word count. i didn't once stray from the outline, i am just incapable of being brief, these days. anyway, there will be some time skips/blurs because of the medication, and between one and a half and two weeks pass.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on sept. 2023 | read on ao3

It is unclear what time you hear a knock at the door. You are unsure where your purse ended up in last night's scuffle, the hints of sun that would be visible are blocked by deep burgundy curtains, and your vision is so blurry from exhaustion and tears, that it is hard to parse whether or not there is a clock amongst all the strange antique furnishings of Seokjin and Hoseok's living room. 

The sound of footsteps scampering behind the couch, presumably from the kitchen, surprises you, and you wonder whether you truly have been awake this entire time, or somewhere in an in-between of consciousness and unconsciousness. 

Voices chatter low and hurried, and then a figure rushes over and sits at your side. It takes two heavy blinks to realize that the man settling in beside you is Taehyung dressed dapperly in all black, and when you cock your head to the right in question, his plastered smile falls into a frown.

"I'm so sorry about everything that happened," Taehyung begins. You want to shake your head and tell him that it is not his fault, but all you can bring yourself to do is stare and blink. "Let me start off by saying everyone is alive."

"Everyone," you mumble quietly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. With a heavy exhale, you attempt to smile. 

"Jimin was shot in the shoulder, and it was the impact of hitting the ground that knocked him out. Although he has not suffered too much blood loss, and his vitals are stable, he has not woken up, and I am unsure when we can expect him to, but there does not appear to be any brain damage."

These are a lot of words—too many words, in fact, for you to follow along with, and you simply nod. All you hold onto is the fact that Jimin is alive; for now, that is enough. 

"Yoongi," you mutter, elongating the vowels. Once more, Taehyung frowns.

"Yoongi has a gash across his eye, starting above the brow and extending to the apple of his cheek." As Taehyung describes the wound, your heart pounds, and nausea fills your insides. He continues, "But, luckily, his eyeball is intact and unharmed. There does not appear to be any vision impairment."

"How…" you begin, brow and lips falling into a frown, but the words die on your tongue. 

Taehyung says your first name, low and slow, like someone gently regarding a child. Hearing your name spoken aloud, rather than a nickname, causes the hairs on your arms to stand, and you swallow a lump of worry. 

"What do you remember, after Jimin was shot?"

You search Taehyung's face while the events return in fragments. Once Jimin fell, you reacted by shooting his assailant multiple times. At the time, you were worried—in fact, convinced—that Jimin was dead, and all you could feel in that moment was rage. Once your bullets ran out, you wanted to bash the man's face in, but you were held back. Then you took out your knife, which was pulled away from you. 

"I emptied my clip but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to stab him," you say. "The man, I mean. But my knife was taken away."

Taehyung leans close and reaches for both of your clammy hands, holding firmly while rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles as he speaks very softly. "When Namjoon attempted to pull your knife away, Yoongi was—" Taehyung sighs, "—he was standing too close. You and Namjoon both yanked at your arm, and in that motion, the tip of the blade sliced his face."

It takes several tense, quiet moments before anything Taehyung says fully computes. You stare at him, searching his face while the synapses fire inside your brain in an attempt to communicate what you see, feel, and hear. And then, like a thin layer of dust settling over all it can touch, the information begins to trickle down and shroud you.

"I…" you mutter, feeling tears well and fall. You have cried so much that you neither sniffle nor tremble as your cheeks grow wetter and wetter. And then, you say it. "I cut Yoongi."

"It was an accident," Taehyung is quick to add, and you rip your hands from his grasp and ball them in front of your face, feeling your chest tighten and tighten, squeezing the air out. 

This cannot be. You cannot be responsible for injuring Yoongi. How will you ever face him again, knowing what you have done?

"I'm dreaming," you mutter, suddenly feeling hysterical. Laughter works through your chest just as quickly as panic rises, and you shake your head, unable to control your emotions. "This is just a bad dream. There's no way—"

"Would you like to see him?" Taehyung asks, snapping you back to reality. 

With a sniffle, you shake your head, horrified at the prospect of facing Yoongi after what you have done. 

"How could I?" you mutter uselessly into your balled fists. "How could I face him? How could he ever look at me again?"

Again, Taehyung says your first name as he gently reaches for your hands and attempts to remove them from in front of your face. You allow him to, sighing as they fall into your lap. "It was an accident. He does not blame you. None of us do."

But you know that at least one of them does. "Jeongguk," you mutter, remembering his snarl as he told you, You've done enough.

With a sigh, Taehyung shakes his head. "Jeongguk was just scared. He was angry in the moment, but he does not hold it against you."

With a scoff, you shake your head in return; there is no way Jeongguk would forgive you so easily. It took months to get on his good side and only seconds for him to turn on you. Your voice is weak and soft as you rasp, "I doubt it."

"Come with me to the mansion," Taehyung says, sitting up and scooting a fraction of an inch closer. "Yoongi and Namjoon want to see you, and our family psychiatrist Christopher is on standby, should you need to talk to him."

"What I need is to be sedated," you grumble as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your eyes momentarily shut. "I couldn't sleep. Just kept seeing the man's head explode—the man Hoseok shot."

Taehyung's lips twitch upward as he says, "We can figure something out."

Looking down at yourself, you see Hoseok's black pajamas and sigh. "I'm keeping these," you say, resolved not to change into your dress again. 

"They're yours," Taehyung responds with a soft laugh, glancing over your shoulder for a brief moment. You wonder whether Seokjin or Hoseok are standing back there, but you also don't care enough to turn. 

"Alright," you concede with a huff and sit forward, stretching your back and letting out a deep, low yawn. "We can return to the mansion, but I'm not…I don't know how much I will be able to talk. I'm so fucking tired."

Taehyung smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. It is the smile of someone who is exhausted but pleased with the way things are going in the present moment; the smile of someone glad he does not need to convince you any further to go home. "Christopher can recommend something for you to take, and we can get you straight into bed, if you prefer."

"My purse," you grumble, looking around. 

"It was in my vehicle," Taehyung says. "I gave it to Namjoon for safekeeping."

With another nod, you shift, sitting forward, then you stretch your legs from where they had been bunched and pretzled beneath you. As you stand from the couch and stretch again—this time extending all your limbs, twisting your back, breathing deeply—it hits you that you are returning home, and anxiety swells. 

But you know that there is no way you can stay away from home. No matter how badly Yoongi has been injured, and how guilty you feel about what has happened, you need to face it. You need to return to your home, to your bed, to your men. 

"Ready?" Taehyung asks softly, rounding the couch toward the front door. 

Only then do you turn to your left and find Hoseok leaning against the banister at the bottom landing of the stairs, barely out of view from where you had been sitting. Although he smiles, it is a sad expression, and he watches you silently. 

"I'm ready," you respond, gaze lingering on Hoseok before dropping to the floor. 

Your limbs are heavy as you shuffle toward the door. On the arm of the couch, your black dress is folded neatly, and you take it in your hands, rubbing your fingers over the soft satin material. 

"Thanks for the pajamas," you say softly with a hint of a smile, doing your best at humor despite feeling lower than you think you have ever felt. 

Hoseok smiles when you glance back up and catch his eye, responding, "My pleasure. I hope the garments treat you well."

This makes you laugh, but it also forces more tears to work their way out with a soft sob and a sniffle. With an arm gently wrapped around your lower back, Taehyung guides you to the entrance, where you slip on your ballet flats, and head out the door. 

The sun is high and bright, signaling late morning, and you squint and lift your hand to block the light. To your surprise, parked beside a large black sedan is a little white golf cart, and Taehyung steers you toward it. 

"Sick ride," you grumble with an attempted grin. 

Taehyung's hand drops away as you lean forward and step into the cart, taking a seat on the little white plastic bench. It only takes a moment for Taehyung to round the front and enter, and then you are off, making your way from Hoseok's home down a short gravel and dirt road tucked away in some trees, to Yoongi's mansion. 

The driveway is packed with vehicles, making you substantially more nervous than you already had been, and you swallow thickly while attempting to steady your breathing. Rather than driving to the front door, Taehyung takes an immediate right and stops the cart on the side of the mansion. From here, there are no clear paths to the gardens or the pool, and you are confused when Taehyung gets out of the vehicle and begins to walk toward where there is a shrub wall that intersects with the side of the mansion.

It takes a moment to process the fact that you are in charge of manually moving your limbs, and with a sigh, you step out of the cart, hugging your black satin dress tight to your chest. Taehyung walks to the intersection of shrubbery and building, and then he reaches into the greenery at chest height before pushing a section of it open and revealing a hidden door. 

"I bet you have no idea how many secrets this place holds," he says with a grin, and you shake your head before scurrying after him, through the shrub-covered door. 

A narrow path between shrub wall and dark brown wood greets you, and Taehyung walks toward the back, to where a door can be found against the side of the house. He punches in a code, leans forward to scan his retina, and then twists a knob, gaining entrance. 

"Yoongi is currently meeting with the security team and some others, hence all the vehicles," Taehyung says as he holds the door open for you to enter. "They should be finished soon."

As you step inside, you are greeted by a set of stairs that travel down under the mansion. Although there is a light that Taehyung switches on, and the steps are carpeted in a welcoming royal blue, there is something so foreboding about a surprise set of stairs leading down into the earth.

"Where are we?" you ask as Taehyung closes the door tightly behind you and begins to descend on your right. You do your best to keep up, loosely holding onto a wooden railing on your left while your other hand grips your satin dress close to your chest. 

"Beside the kitchen," Taehyung responds. "Between the kitchen and living room, to be exact." 

Once you reach the basement level, Taehyung flips on another switch and turns off the stairwell light behind you. There is an large room carpeted and furnished in blues, blacks, and tans, and you are surprised as you look around at the space. It smells somewhat musty, and you wonder when the last time anyone actually came down here may have been. 

"We don't use this space anymore," Taehyung says as if reading your mind. "But when Yoongi's parents were still alive, this was where he would spend a lot of his time."

You hum and nod, glancing around further. Along a back wall is a wooden bar, now empty, but you imagine it stocked with bottles of whatever liquors a younger version of Yoongi may have liked. There are also recreational table games on the far end that look unfamiliar, as well as a pool table. A dartboard and pool cues share the same wall with the bar top, and you try to imagine Yoongi and Namjoon, and probably also Ryujin, spending their evenings down here as teenagers. 

"Our group used to come down here to party and debrief in the early days," Taehyung adds as you continue to walk through the space toward a door along the wall ahead. "But that was before Yoongi owned hotels, casinos, nightclubs, and all that."

"Oh," you mutter, trying to imagine a Yoongi who did not own half of Seoul. You wonder how much of his empire he inherited from his father versus how much of it he built himself. 

You almost feel remorse over never knowing that side of Yoongi—a younger man who was not so tied down to his duties as a mafia king. But then you remember the scars along his sides, chest, and stomach, and you wonder whether there was ever a carefree man in Yoongi's skin. 

"Just a little further," Taehyung says, holding his hand up toward the door at the far end. 

"Where does this lead to?" you ask. 

"We are going to go up one more set of steps and end up on the other end of the hall, " Taehyung explains, voice soft, deep, and measured. "From there, we will tip-toe up the stairs and wait for Yoongi and Namjoon. Although this is the scenic route, I thought having to walk through the front door might be too stressful for you. I also thought it would be in your best interest to become well acquainted with these more hidden parts of the home."

This gives you pause, and you stumble on your next step ever so slightly, catching the toe of your right ballet flat against the soft carpet beneath. "Oh?"

With a soft sigh, Taehyung stops and turns to you, and you halt, doing the same. 

"Just in case," he says, regarding you with a hint of a frown. "I don't want to worry you or anything…but I feel like these are secrets you should know because, well, you never know."

The two of you stand facing one another for several quiet seconds, and then you nod and heavy-blink, turning your attention back toward the door. Everything feels so ominous, even simple gestures of kindness, and you attempt to swallow down the fact that this is your reality. 

"Thank you," you mutter quietly, clearing your throat to speak more clearly as you glance at Taehyung once again. "I appreciate it."

Taehyung cracks a smile, then holds his hand out to the door, sing-songing a corny, "Ladies first," and you chuckle, hesitating before reaching for the knob and turning it. It opens to another dark stairwell, and Taehyung steps forward and rubs along the wall before light illuminates the narrow space. You note that the light switches seem to be along the same wall on both ends of the room, just in case the information may one day come in handy.

As you begin to ascend, Taehyung closes the door behind you and steps in line to your right. You make your way further up, closer to your destination, and your heart begins to pound. Faced with the opportunity of seeing Yoongi and Namjoon again has you feeling so many ways, and they all swirl uncomfortably in your gut. You know they are likely not angry with you…but what if they are?

Rather than go straight up, this stairwell stops halfway and curves around, much like a standard building stairwell, only carpeted. At the top of the stairs, Taehyung reaches in front of you and very gently, slowly pulls on a large metal handle. 

He opens the door just as slowly, and you realize that he must be attempting to be as silent as possible. Although you are unable to detect any sound coming from whoever must be meeting in the main hall, you are surprised that Taehyung is going to such great lengths to be silent. 

Or maybe, you consider, he is not doing this because he feels you need to be silent in this moment. Maybe Taehyung is doing this to show you just how silent this door is so that you can store the information for later. Although you certainly feel paranoid for considering the notion, it does make sense that he would both reveal a somewhat secret passage to you and showcase just how secret it may be. 

And you nearly question how secretive a door presumably at the end of a hallway could possibly be, until you step out into a room that is certainly not the hallway, and Taehyung closes a panel of wall that does not look at all like a door. His fingers pass over a section along the very well-concealed crack about chest height and press in. Silently, the door unlatches and pushes forward, and you watch with your mouth hanging agape as he demonstrates opening and closing it. 

The dining room you stand in is the larger of the two. During your tour with Felix and Changbin all that time ago, you never came to this room. It was simply described as the much larger one at the end of the hall.

The scale of this room is rather enormous. It appears as if more than twenty people could sit around the long dark wood table, and the décor is very similar to the smaller room—brown leather-topped chairs with intricately carved patterns, dark wood wainscoting and blood-red wallpaper, with brass sconces and crystal chandeliers. 

You stand in the far corner along the wall containing the entrance, which is mid-way through the room, to the right. The door hangs open, and now you can hear the faint voices of men coming from down the hallway. As you step out, you realize you are at the very end of the hall. Ordinarily, this door is closed, and it is one you had never considered going into, before. 

"Come, now," Taehyung says quietly, toeing out of his shoes and bending to pick them up. 

You do the same and scurry ahead as he begins to make his way toward the large stairwell ahead and to the right. Now that you are in a part of the mansion that feels like home, your nervousness turns to nausea. 

Taehyung is no longer attempting to be silent, and he walks ahead, seemingly blocking you from the view of others as he waves to the men from over the banister of the stairwell and then straightens out. You have no desire to be perceived in any way just yet, so you prance up to the landing on your tiptoes. Listen as you try, you do not hear a familiar voice speaking. 

"Should I join you for the time being?" Taehyung asks as you reach the top, and you turn toward the master suite, swallowing thickly. 

"Yes, please," you mutter, somewhat embarrassed by how small you sound.

A warm, gentle hand rubs over the small of your back, and it is all the encouragement you need to continue forward. Although you cannot confidently guess how the others must feel about you at the present moment, you are at least grateful to have an ally in Taehyung. 

The two of you drop your shoes outside the bedroom door, and you walk ahead into the space that you have come to know as your haven. Floral and musk are light in the air, but you can only detect traces of Yoongi and Namjoon lingering. 

Taehyung walks ahead, straight to the sofa, and he reaches for the remote. It is so casual and domestic that when he turns to you with a soft smile and pats the cushion beside him, a wide, happy grin tugs at the ends of your lips. 

"I heard you like Ghibli films," Taehyung says as you walk over, and as soon as you plop down to his left, he swings his legs up onto the cushion and leans ever so slightly closer. His scent is subdued, but it is the spicy, earthy blend you remember from the night he carried you close to his chest.

"I do," you respond, staring ahead at the black screen of the television while attempting to get your bearings.

"Which have you seen, so far?"

You think back to the private jets, to Yoongi and Namjoon, and also to Jimin. Your lips fall to a frown before you school your expression and wet your lips. 

“Howl's Moving Castle and Spirited Away,” you respond. “And part of Princess Mononoke, but we fell asleep.”

Taehyung shifts beside you excitedly, lifting the remote and clicking through menus as he says, “Princess Mononoke is my favorite.”

This calm, gentle side of Taehyung might just be your favorite. While snarky Taehyung has been entertaining and quite suggestive, mafia Taehyung has been deadly and protective, and doctor Taehyung has been an actual savior to the family and to you so many times, this Taehyung is patient and considerate. This is the same Taehyung who held you gently in his arms to take you to a bath and to check in to make sure you still felt comfortable and safe with everything that had transpired in his sex room. This Taehyung feels like a friend.

"How long will they all be meeting?" you blurt as Taehyung finds the title and presses play. 

He shifts forward to set the remote onto the table and then sits back, placing his hand upright and wiggling his fingers. You take the invitation and slowly lower your hand into his, which he gently caresses with his fingertips. A voiceover introduces the film, but Taehyung does not seem to care about pausing or lowering the volume. 

"Hard to say," he responds softly, eyes on the foggy opening scene. "When I came to get you, they were still pretty deep into their conversation. Things like this can sometimes take all day."

"All day," you mutter unhappily under your breath. Sure, you may worry about seeing Yoongi and Namjoon, but not seeing them fills you with the same amount of angst. 

Taehyung sighs, and rather than continue delicately playing with your hand, he grabs it and twines his fingers between yours. The gesture makes you frown despite how warm your chest becomes. 

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” he says, eyes still on the screen but inattentive. Perhaps this is his way of consoling someone; perhaps, for once, direct eye contact is too much for him. 

You scoff slightly and shrug, looking down at your hands. “I’m not really sure how I’m feeling,” you admit. 

Taehyung shifts beside you, and you turn to look at him. His eyes are wide and caring, and they peer straight into your heart. All at once, you feel shy, and you rip your gaze away, to the wall just below the television as you realize he was likely not avoiding eye contact for his sake but for yours. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, filling you to the brim with sadness. 

You heavy-blink and attempt not to cry, muttering, “I injured someone I love. What’s there to talk about?”

Taehyung is quick to say, "It was an accident," but not in a way that is placating or defensive. 

"Accident or not," you begin, eyes falling to your entwined hands as you imagine all the ways in which you have caused Yoongi harm with one simple accident. With a sigh, you continue, feeling the tremble that works its way through your words. "What if I had blinded him? Or cut him somewhere life-threatening? I could have caused so much harm, I could have—"

"But you didn't," Taehyung interrupts insistently. "You did none of those things. And dwelling on all the what-ifs is not going to do you any good."

Taehyung is correct, and you are thankful for his calm, assuring presence. "I know," you utter, defeated. 

Sure, it does no good to dwell on all the possibilities, but knowing that does not make it any easier not to. 

"You've been through a lot in these past couple of months," Taehyung speaks over the movie, eyes once again watching as characters move across the screen. You see light, movement, and color, but you do not fully register anything taking place. You are not sure you could if you tried. 

As Taehyung's words settle over you, you scoff, muttering, "That's a fucking understatement."

To your surprise, Taehyung chuckles softly. Barely any sound emits, but you can feel the rise and fall of his shoulders beside you. Although levity is nice, you cannot ignore the glaring truth. 

"Is it always this way?" you ask. 

This is not the first time you have asked a question like this, but you feel the need to, anyway. And when silence hangs between the two of you, speaking volumes louder than anything Taehyung could offer, unease settles deep. 

With a sigh, you close your eyes, feeling tears build. And when you admit aloud, "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this," you feel the grip on your hand loosen and then tighten.

"Do what?" Taehyung asks, although you cannot imagine he requires prompting; Taehyung knows damn well what about this situation you cannot withstand. He has been present for each moment during which your foundation has been forced to crack little by little. 

"All of this," you respond through another sigh. You pull your hand away from Taehyung's and lift your feet to the cushion, wrapping your arms around your shins and resting your forehead in the valley between your knees. 

"I love Yoongi," you mutter into the small space that warms with each of your exhales. "And Namjoon, and to an extent, all of you. But this lifestyle is killing me, and I can't take it anymore."

"Killing you?" Taehyung asks somewhat teasingly, making you crack a smile over your dramatics. 

You lift your head just enough to turn and face him, returning his fond smile with a weak one. "Emotionally, yes. I feel like I am dying."

Taehyung's smile only dips some, but his eyes remain just as bright. "Trauma tends to make us feel heavy or a little numb, but it will all pass."

"I don't want that," you bite back, feeling a burst of annoyance. "I just want to live a normal fucking life. How hard is that?"

This time, when Taehyung laughs, the sound is deep, playful, and perhaps a little mocking. "What the fuck is a normal life?" he asks, sounding just a bit defensive. 

"I don't know," you admit. "Something that does not involve gunfire and hard drugs. I can't keep watching men die. And I can't keep watching as my loved one get injured."

Taehyung opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes drift up and widen. His posture shifts, sitting up only slightly taller, and you hesitate before turning, scared of who you might find. 

"Knock, knock," Namjoon calls, and your heart kicks up hard and fast between your ribs. 

All trepidation you may have felt about seeing him melts, and you throw your legs to the floor and stand-spin with such a start it makes you dizzy. Namjoon stands in the doorway with a loving smile, wearing a black tee tucked into black jeans—surprisingly casual, considering he seems to have come from an important meeting. His hands, which are in his front pockets, slide out, and he lifts his arms high, asking without words for a hug. 

You run over on bare feet and hop up, throwing yourself into Namjoon's chest as your arms wrap around his neck. He bends and holds you in a tight, firm hug, groaning softly against your forehead as he squeezes and releases. 

"Moments away from you always feel like a lifetime," Namjoon utters softly, tugging at your heart and ripping the air from your lungs. You wish he wouldn't say shit like this. 

"I missed you too," is all you can bring yourself to say, and as he releases from the hug, you slide your hands to his chest, gently grip at his shirt, and bury your face against him, breathing in his scent and blocking out the rest of the world. 

The way Namjoon rubs his hands over your shoulders and arms, giving gentle squeezes, feels like gestures of impatience and makes you think he would like you to stop this sorry attempt at an embrace, but you hold on tight and close your eyes even tighter, silently insisting on just a little while longer. 

"Are you watching Princess Mononoke?" Namjoon asks over your head, resting his chin against you. 

"Watching is a strong word," Taehyung responds in the teasing tone you have come to expect but have not heard from him yet today. "Doll was mostly sitting here being sulky."

"Wow!" you respond defensively, finally releasing your hold on Namjoon to turn and glare at your so-called friend who stares back with a wide, playful grin. 

Gently, Namjoon places the side of his finger under your chin and motions for you to turn to him. "There you are," he utters sweetly as you meet his gaze.

Your heart sinks as you take in his sweet, welcoming expression. Namjoon, standing here like this, is the epitome of love, and all you can think about is how badly you need to get away from the lifestyle he is a part of before you have to watch another one of your closest friends get shot. 

Namjoon's smile falters, and he cocks his head so slightly, it is hardly a movement. Anguish rises, and you swallow it down, then make your best attempt at a smile. 

"I'm sorry," you utter weakly, nibbling on the inside of your lip as you attempt to sort out what exactly you want to apologize for this time. "I, uh…I don't feel very good. I don't want to…I'm scared to…"

See Yoongi. 

No matter how many ways you attempt to formulate precisely how you feel, there is no way to finish that sentence, and you close your eyes in time for tears to break. 

How many more times are you going to feel hopeless and sad over Yoongi? How many times will Namjoon have to console the two of you? You are certain that the two of them—that everyone in this family—would be better off if you were not here. Clearly, this lifestyle does not affect them the way it does you, and there will only be so much that they will be able to tolerate until you become more of a burden than you are worth. 

"Don't want to, what?" Namjoon asks gently, hands rubbing from the tops of your shoulders down to your elbows and back up. 

"What if he hates me?" you mutter, tears becoming hot streams pouring down your cheeks. 

Namjoon chuckles, and you frown; now is not the time for him to be making fun of you. But his voice is soft and kind as he asks, "Sweetheart, how many times are we going to have to go over this?"

Although you know his question comes with good intentions, it only makes you feel worse. Because yes, indeed, how many times are the three of you going to have to go over this? How many times is Yoongi's lifestyle going to cause crushing grief and sadness? How many fucking times are you going to have to fear facing him? 

It's not fair. None of this is fair. 

"Yoongi is not upset with you, or with me," Namjoon insists. "So we gave him a little cut, so what? He already has plenty of scars."

"That's not—" the point, you fail to say. "I don't want—how can I look at him knowing I've given him a scar?"

Bile rises, and you feel sick. All you can picture is blood seeping from between Yoongi's fingers, blood splattering against concrete, blood staining all of your hopes and dreams a deep, menacing red. 

Taking two steps back and spinning to rejoin Taehyung on the couch, the blood seems to leave your head, causing you to wobble on your feet and crash back against Namjoon. The room is stilted and tilts to a fro, and you swallow a lump, closing your eyes tight while two warm hands steady you by the arms.

"Sweetheart?" Namjoon asks, but his voice is too distant, and although you know that he is directly behind you, holding onto you, you fear that if you responded, he would be too far away to hear you. 

Firmly, Taehyung says your first name, hand holding your jaw at an upward angle while your limbs sink heavily into the couch. When did you approach the couch?

"I'm gonna…" you mutter, mouth dry and full of cotton, body feeling a million miles away from your head as you feel the urge to faint. You attempt to look around, but light and shadow only trail and smudge uselessly. You feel like you are going to be sick, and you squeeze your eyes closed.

When you open your eyes again, you are lying on the couch, on your back. Your lower legs are propped up by pillows, and a violent shiver rocks through you.

"Ah, here you are," Taehyung says, and you turn to find him sitting on the floor beside you. His kind, disarming smile returns as he says, "You fainted, buttercup. How are you feeling?"

Sweat covers you from head to toe, making you cold and clammy and uncomfortable. "Shitty," you reply. 

"Hmm, yes, fainting takes a toll on the entire body. But at least you are shitty and alert." Taehyung holds up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Your voice is rough as you croak, "Three."

"Very good," Taehyung responds, reaching to give your cheek a tiny pinch, which you attempt to flinch away from. 

It occurs to you only now that you neither see nor hear Namjoon. When you look around for him, Taehyung softly clears his throat, pulling your attention back to find him frowning. 

"They left the room."

"They…" you begin, watching as Taehyung tongues the inside of his mouth.

"Namjoon seems to think you don't want to see Yoongi. And Yoongi…well, he's not too pleased."

"Oh."

Taehyung sits up a little higher on his knees, and in a rare moment of uncertainty, he knits his brow. "What I mean to say is, his feelings were hurt. But he isn't angry."

"No, no," you mutter, rolling onto your side and pulling your knees as high as they can go. "I get it."

"The thing is," Taehyung continues, "Yoongi has to leave town for a little while."

At this, you flinch, attempting to quickly sit up. "Wait, where? For how long?"

"He didn't say."

Although you know Yoongi is not present in this room, you look around and ask, "Has he left already?"

Taehyung frowns once more. "I'm not sure, but I don't think so."

Everything is happening too quickly, and you brace yourself to get your bearings and steady your pounding heart as you slowly stand from the couch onto your feet. Taehyung raises and holds his hands out as an offer to assist, should you need it. 

"You good?" he asks, and although you do not feel a modicum of anything you would consider good, you nod and slowly turn toward the door. 

And then you run. Your feet are sweaty and they slide against the floor, but you push forward as hard as you can, ignoring the whorl of nausea in your guts. Once at the door, you shove at it with all your strength, and when it flies open, revealing Yoongi and Namjoon standing close, muttering sweetly, you gasp; you were not expecting to find the two of them this easily. 

Namjoon stands to the left, gently cradling Yoongi's chin with both hands, and Yoongi stares up at him, hands lifted to Namjoon's sides. In contrast to Namjoon's more casual attire, Yoongi is in his usual black button-up and black slacks. 

You mutter, "Yoo—" and halt in place when he turns his attention to you, smile faltering as his one visible eye holds you in its gaze. 

Although Yoongi's hair is down and wild, you can see the black eyepatch covering his other eye. Above the patch are little black stitches that rise up to his forehead, and you worry you might faint once more. 

"Darling," Yoongi says, dropping his arms from Namjoon's sides to fully face you. 

Namjoon's hands only fall to Yoongi's shoulders, and the look he gives you is indiscernible and a little cold. You feel childish and small standing before them in Hoseok's pajamas, which are a little too big.

"I'm sorry," is all you can say as your right leg twitches in an attempt to continue forward, held back by the full-body weight of your fear. 

"I'm so glad you're awake," Yoongi says as he smiles. The ends of his mouth flinch twice, and you wonder just how forced his smile is. "Taehyung said you fainted."

You hum and nod in quick, shallow movements. All you want to do, in this moment, is run. Run toward Yoongi, but also run far, far away, and never look back—run and run until your lungs threaten to explode. But you stand paralyzed in the doorway of Yoongi's bedroom, staring at the two men who seem intent on keeping their distance.

"Where are you going?" you manage to ask, swallowing a ball of saliva and anxiety. 

Yoongi hesitates, and as Namjoon drops his arms from his shoulders, Yoongi straightens his posture and slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

When was the last time Yoongi has held this much distance? When has Yoongi been this reserved and shut away? You regret not wanting to see him before, and now that he is holding so much space between the two of you, you cannot, for the life of you, move your feet forward. 

"I have important business," Yoongi simply says, licking his lips and saying no more. 

"Ah—are you…will you be gone long?" you try, chest trembling and terrified. 

Yoongi merely shrugs. "Hard to say."

"Oh."

Yoongi stares a moment longer, back tall and straight and hands tucked away. The hair on the left side of his face falls slightly over his eye, encasing the eyepatch in a dark shadow, making him appear far more dangerous than he already is. 

And then, as if a switch is flipped, his shoulders relax, his smile softens, and he pulls his hands from his pockets. You let out a deep, shaky exhale and silently beg him to step toward you. 

"I'll miss you," you try, knitting your brows in desperation. 

Yoongi smiles widely and finally takes a step. "I will miss you, as well," he says as he closes the distance, and all at once, your legs turn to gelatin and wobble beneath you before stepping forward. 

You all but throw yourself into Yoongi's embrace, body sagging and crashing into him as he wraps his arms around you, pinning yours uselessly to your sides. Yoongi's musk is strong and overwhelming, and you nuzzle against his chest and neck, breathing deeply enough to choke on it. 

"I'm sorry," you mutter into him, feeling tears well once more. "I'm so sorry, Yoongi."

Yoongi whispers, "Shhh," as his hands rub over your back, and you lift your hands just enough to let your fingers catch at the fabric around his hips. 

"I'm sorry I have to leave so abruptly," Yoongi says, "but the guys here will take good care of you. I shouldn't be long."

"Please be safe," you beg, horrified of what could happen to him while he is away. 

"I have a team coming along to look after me," Yoongi says. "But I can assure you, I will be fine. I can't say much for now, but I will be meeting with the Hong Kong crew, and we will be working on a deal of sorts so that an attack like that will not happen again."

"A deal? In…in Hong Kong?" 

Yoongi releases the hug and takes a small step back, then lifts one hand to the bottom of your chin. Looking up into his one eye makes your heart squeeze, but even with an eyepatch covering the other, he is the prettiest man alive. 

"Please don't beat yourself up with worry while I'm away," he mutters sweetly. "I'm not upset with you. Had I gotten to that man before you, I would have done far worse to him for hurting one of my best friends. And besides," Yoongi chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side, "this is going to make for an amazing story when Jimin wakes up."

"Stop," you grumble, lifting your hands to shove at Yoongi's sides, but not hard enough to make him do more than sway. 

"You are so brave," Yoongi says, smile widening. "You shot that man right between the eyes. And I know it had to have been traumatic and horrendous, but I'm still proud of you."

As it stands, watching the man who hurt Jimin die by your bullet is so low on the list of traumatic events that play through your mind. Perhaps you have compartmentalized the event, and once the dust settles and Jimin wakes back up, you will begin to fully process the weight of the event. Or, perhaps you are already becoming as numb to being a killer as the rest of the family. 

"Did it hurt?" you ask, feeling the urge to lift the patch and see his wound.

Yoongi shrugs. "Nah, my adrenaline was so high, I didn't feel a thing. I had no idea I was cut until the blood began to cloud my vision."

The thought of Yoongi's beautiful face dripping with blood makes your stomach churn, and you mutter, "Oh my god."

"It only hurt a little while Tae was stitching me up."

"Why the eyepatch?" you ask, despite feeling nervous to know the answer. But you were told that Yoongi's vision had not been altered.

"Taehyung felt that the stitches along my eyebrow and lid would heal faster if my eye remained closed as often as possible."

Again, your stomach tosses. Did he say lid? As in his eyelid?

"Oh."

"And it makes me look cool, right?" Yoongi adds, waggling his one good eye, making you laugh despite how sad the entire situation feels. "Don't worry, darling. I couldn't dream of being upset with you two."

You exhale deeply and wrap your arms around Yoongi's ribs, throwing yourself once more into his chest. Yoongi chuckles deeply and drapes his arms over you, cradling your head and shoulder gently in his large, warm, familiar hands. 

"I won't be gone long," Yoongi insists, pressing a kiss against your temple. "But I will miss you deeply while I am away. So please text me as much as you want to, alright?"

"Alright," you respond, feeling tears build once more. Yoongi insists he will return safely but you fear for the worst; how could you not?

"Seokjin and Hoseok will be coming with me, which leaves Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jeongguk here with you. We have shut down Paradise for the time being, and there will be a strong security detail on the property, but don't feel like you have to stay cooped up inside. The streets of Seoul are safe."

"Hmm," you utter, finding it hard to believe him. But you do not press him. Yoongi said he would reveal more about what deal he has struck once he returns home. 

A single-note ringtone chimes loudly, and Yoongi lets out a deep sigh, wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

"That's Seokjin," Namjoon says, and you remember that Namjoon has been standing here the entire time, causing guilt to pang within your guts. 

"Time to go," Yoongi mutters sadly against your temple, attempting to pull from the hug, only for you to squeeze tighter. Yoongi chuckles as he adds, "I'll be home before you know it."

"I miss you," you complain, overwhelmed with sadness. You are so sick and fucking tired of crying, but more than that, you are tired of missing Yoongi.

This time, when Yoongi pulls away, you allow it, tilting your head to slot your lips together. Yoongi holds steady against you, kissing slow and sweet and only skirting his tongue across your bottom lip after several long, warm seconds. You sigh, dropping your mouth open, but Yoongi kisses your temple and backs up further, giving your arms a squeeze before releasing you. 

"I love you, darling," he says, and your heart sinks as you all but whisper, "I love you, too."

Yoongi spins on his feet and takes two steps to Namjoon, giving him a chaste kiss and muttering something deep and indiscernible. Namjoon responds with, "Of course, baby," and then Yoongi leaves, taking the steps two at a time without turning back. 

Something feels off, but you are too exhausted to dwell on it, so you turn your attention to the man who is still around, stepping forward and reaching for him. Only Namjoon takes a step back, halting your movements as he clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. 

"Sorry," he says, eyes on the floor and not on you. "I just need a moment. I'll be back."

Without another word, Namjoon runs down the stairs, and you watch as he disappears around the banister, toward the front door. Your right arm is slightly lifted, hovering near the empty space Namjoon had just occupied. 

As the seconds tick by, you struggle to fully comprehend what is happening. Clearly, both Yoongi and Namjoon are upset about something, whether that upset is directed at you or not, and they are not doing the best job of convincing you that things are fine. And, truth be told, you do not need everything to be completely fine. But you expect them to be honest with you, or at the very least, to not shut you out. 

Your hand drops to your side, and you spin on the balls of your feet, listlessly allowing your arms to fan out in the motion, making your way back to Yoongi's bedroom. Rather than return to Taehyung and Princess Mononoke, you hang a left toward the large window that overlooks the front driveway. 

Standing forehead to forehead, Namjoon's face is angled just slightly, looking down at Yoongi, whose expression is somewhat unreadable with his eyepatch. He appears to be smiling as they kiss, and the urge to cry increases. You remind yourself that the two of them share a past and that they deserve tender moments without your presence, despite how badly you wish to be included. 

"Everything alright?" Taehyung calls, and you sniffle, blinking away the tears that threaten to break. 

As you turn to face him, you take a deep, fortifying breath and nod, doing your best to smile. Your had been balling your fists inside the long sleeves of the pajama shirt, and you open and close them, wiggling your fingers as if attempting to release tension from your limbs. 

"I guess so," you admit, not fully willing to say yes or no.

"I imagine Namjoon is trying to convince Yoongi that he should go along," Taehyung says. "He always does."

"Ah," you respond; that does make sense.

"The two of them used to be inseparable and now Namjoon seems to get separation anxiety easily."

You begin to return to the couch, feeling somewhat lighter. Of course, Namjoon would want to join Yoongi on whatever this trip is; it sounds like it might be a big deal. "He should go."

Taehyung hums and regards you quietly, then pats the cushion where you had been previously sitting before he returns to watching the movie. With a little more pep in your step, you join him, plopping down on the couch as you sigh and swing your legs up to the left so you can lean your head against his shoulder. 

Although you watch the screen, nothing fully registers. Only Taehyung's warmth and gentle musk hit your senses and linger. Briefly, you even close your eyes. 

Outside, vehicle doors shut, and the metal gate scrapes open. Moments later, two heavy feet stomp up the stairs and into the bedroom. You keep your head on Taehyung's shoulder but open your eyes, watching a confrontation between the two lead characters on screen while Namjoon comes into view in your periphery. 

"Mind if I join you?" Namjoon asks, and you shrug, offering a brief smile while you say, "Sure."

Namjoon walks in front of the television, rounding the small wooden table in front of the sofa, then plops down at Taehyung's right. Although you keep your eyes ahead, gaze barely on the actual movie, you can see and feel Taehyung lifting his arm and shifting his legs to accommodate Namjoon curling up to his side. 

"How did I get stuck with the children?" he teases as his left arm gently wraps around your hip. 

You smile, unable to hold back a little chuckle. "Pure luck, obviously."

"What's the other child up to, today?" Namjoon asks. 

Taehyung asks, "Jeongguk?" and Namjoon hums. 

"He's become obsessed with working out again."

"He doesn't wanna join us?" Namjoon asks. 

Taehyung sighs. "He likely will eventually, but I think he's struggling to deal with everything that has happened. With Jimin in a coma and Paradise temporarily closed, he feels directionless. And, of course, he worries about Jimin." Taehyung squeezes your side as he adds, "He also feels guilty for taking his anger out on you that night."

Jeongguk undoubtedly did appear angry, but considering the circumstances, you can hardly say you blame him. You suppose you are willing to accept that Jeongguk may not be upset with you.

"I get it," you mutter, letting your gaze drop to the wall below the television. "I don't think any of us were in our right minds."

Seconds pass, then Taehyung quietly adds, "He will be very happy to know how you feel."

As the three of you sit and watch the film, your eyelids grow heavy, and it takes almost no time at all for you to fall back asleep.

The events of last night play in your mind once more, and as soon as the man's head explodes from Hoseok's shotgun shell, you flinch awake, gasping for air. As the room comes into focus, you realize you are lying on the large sofa with Namjoon, who is behind you with his head propped up onto his hand, watching television. You sigh into wakefulness, heavy-blinking and yawning, and Namjoon pauses whatever drama he has put on and gently wraps an arm over your hip. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he says just above your ear, and you groan as you stretch your legs out, then begin to wiggle around until you are facing him. 

Namjoon still wears the black tee, and you reach up and gently trace along the exposed skin of his bicep with your fingertips, playing with the hem of his sleeve. 

"What time is it?" you ask, staring up into Namjoon's warm, dark eyes. 

"Evening," he responds, leaning to place a kiss on your forehead. "You knocked out."

"Did Taehyung go home?"

Namjoon nods, humming, "Mmhmm. Christopher wanted to meet with him, and check in on Jeongguk."

"Surprised I slept that long," you grumble, feeling another yawn work its way through your chest. "I keep dreaming about last night."

"Taehyung mentioned he would speak with Christopher about sleep aids. I am always happy to supply Xanax if needed."

Although you are unsure whether you want to create a dependence on Xanax to get you through the night, the prospect of getting restful, dreamless sleep is wonderful. 

"That would be nice," you say, burying your face against Namjoon's chest. 

You half expect Namjoon to continue watching his show, but silence hangs as he settles his head down onto a pillow and wraps both arms around you with the bottom one sliding under your neck. 

"Sorry if I seemed a little cold earlier," Namjoon finally says. "Letting Yoongi leave on his own when we are in the midst of a showdown between both families is just…a lot. I know he's a grown adult and can take care of himself, but I also hate not being able to be there."

Just as Taehyung had said.

"Why didn't you go with him?"

Namjoon seems to hesitate and then says, “He asked me to stay with you.”

“Oh.”

“I don't mean to suggest that I don’t want to be here with you,” Namjoon adds quickly, and although you believe him, it is clear that he would rather be by Yoongi’s side. 

“I get it,” you say, feeling no need for Namjoon to explain himself. “But you could have gone with him,” you add, feeling Namjoon stiffen. 

The air feels tense and awkward, but you make no move to give either of you space. Even if Namjoon would rather be comforting Yoongi, you still crave his warmth. 

“I guess what I mean to say,” you continue, “is that I have the others here, too. Of course, nobody compares to you and Yoongi, but if you need to be by his side, I’m happy here with Taehyung and Jeongguk. Don’t feel obligated to babysit me.”

Namjoon scoots back, and you look up to find a somewhat angry, sad expression on his face. "Why would you say it like that?"

Without thinking, you roll your eyes, watching as his eyes go wider before you add, "You know what I meant."

"You think that the only reason I am here is because I feel the need to coddle you?"

Your patience is wearing thin, and despite finally getting a little sleep, you feel far too tired to be bickering with him over something like this. 

"Namjoon—"

"No, don't Namjoon me. I'm not your fucking babysitter, I'm your partner. I'm here with you because I enjoy being with you."

"You're here with me because Yoongi asked you to be," you clarify, speaking from his earlier words. "Which is fine, I don't mind that being the case. But if you're going to be miserable with worry, you may as well have joined him."

Namjoon sighs and begins to pull away entirely in an attempt to sit up. Feeling resolved, you slightly roll away, giving him space to do so. You are not, however, willing to let him walk away before you are done speaking your mind. 

"It's fine if you want to go with him, and I don't understand why you chose not to. You and Yoongi have a history, and I get that. Not everything you do will include me."

Namjoon sits sideways with his legs outstretched because you have not bothered to move in any way that will actually allow him to escape easily. You prop your head up on your hand with your elbow bent against the pillow and watch as Namjoon's expression oscillates from frustrated to contemplative. 

Finally, Namjoon speaks up, voice sounding small as he says, "If you don't want me around, just say so."

At this you huff, drop your hand and head to the pillow, and begin to roll away, letting your leg drape over the edge of the couch before you steady yourself enough to sit up. Namjoon has not moved, and you are in no mood to face him. It feels like anything you say will be bent to suit whatever this emotional streak of Namjoon's is, and you do not have the energy to play along. 

But then petulance rises, and you stare at the dark blue fabric of the sofa beneath you as you say, "I wanted you around last night. And Yoongi. But I was shut out, and now he's gone."

"Sweetheart—" Namjoon begins, and you shove what is left of the cream-colored blanket that covers your legs, eager to get it the fuck off you as you stand and disregard him.

"I don't want to talk anymore," you grumble as you make your way to the ensuite. 

You never bothered to wash your face or tend to your hair after last night, and you decide in this moment that you would like to shower. For all you know, the blood of some unknown dead man could be on you. 

To your surprise, Namjoon says nothing. You don't bother closing the door behind you as you begin to strip from your borrowed black pajamas and find a fluffy white towel which you hang on a hook beside the shower door. Not bothering to close this door either, you walk to the back wall of the shower and turn it on, feeling a cold blast of water that quickly turns scathing hot before you turn the nob and make it a more reasonable hot.

Although your movements are slow, you take care of your hair and wash your body, standing still periodically with your face tilted up to let the water rinse over you. You know that whatever this tiff you have with Namjoon is, you will need to talk about it at some point. You just wish that things could be calm and easy, in the meantime. After last night, you desperately need things to be calm and easy. 

Finally, when you are just about to shut the water off and get out, you hear a belt buckle hitting the tile floor, followed by a quieter sound of a soft garment being dropped alongside it. Your pulse quickens, but you do your best to seem unaffected by Namjoon's presence—at least until you are able to gauge what kind of a mood he is in. 

"Mind if I join you?" Namjoon asks, voice soft and calm—deep.

You turn just enough to find him standing in the doorway nude, and you rove your eyes down past his pecs and tummy—along the curves and scales of his dragon tattoo—to his glorious thighs and the thick cock that hangs heavy between them.

"Be my guest," you respond with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as you turn back to the stream of water.

Namjoon enters and begins to wash his hair. He uses the tangerine shampoo that reminds you of Yoongi, then he slathers a cloth with the same citrus floral soap that also reminds you of Yoongi. You have no reason to linger in the shower, but Namjoon is close, the steam filling the room leaves you a bit dizzy, and you are touch-starved. 

"Baby," you mutter, turning to lean your back against the cool tile wall and get out of the hot stream of water. 

Namjoon is washing his legs, bent in half, and he looks up with wide eyes. There are so many things you want to say and ask for and command, but all that falls from your lips is, "I miss you."

Namjoon cracks a smile, then he bends further to finish washing his ankles and one foot after the other. And then he straightens out, chucks the cloth to the side, and steps forward, into the stream of water, pausing a moment to rinse. 

"I miss you, too," he says with his eyes closed and face tilted up against the stream, rubbing his hands over his hair and causing a waterfall of suds to cascade over him. 

Feeling overcome with emotion and resolved to put whatever transpired earlier behind you, for the sake of your sanity if nothing more, you reach out toward Namjoon, who is close enough that you are able to graze your fingertips over his tummy. 

"Let's just…not argue, okay?" you practically plead. "We've both been through a lot. We need each other."

Namjoon continues to rinse off a moment longer, then he steps through the stream and looms over you, dripping wet with a blazing fire in his dark eyes. His voice is deep and insistent as he says, "You have me, sweetheart."

"Dizzy," you mutter, reaching to trace your fingertips listlessly over his skin. "Let's get out."

Namjoon nods and shuts the water off, then he leans in close and presses his body against yours, capturing your lips with his. When was the last time you and Namjoon kissed? It feels like a lifetime ago, despite it probably only being last night, and you sigh into the feeling, overcome with a surge of affection. 

His movements are languid and firm, pressing and claiming but in no hurry. You grab Namjoon's ribs with both palms and gently squeeze at his skin and muscle, rubbing slowly, allowing your eyes to flutter closed. 

As soon as all you see is darkness, the images return in quick, nauseating succession. A man's head explodes from Hoseok's shotgun shell and another from your bullets, turning into red and brown and greyish-pink mush against concrete. Blood seeps from between Yoongi's fingers, and you gasp, opening your eyes and mouth wide as your hands hover at Namjoon's sides. 

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm sorry," you sob, hot tears pouring from your eyes as the black and gold bathroom returns to view and Namjoon's dripping wet honey skin greets you. "I can't—every time I close my eyes, I see—I'm sorry."

"Shhh," Namjoon whispers, wrapping his arms around your head and shoulders and pulling you close, engulfing you in wet warmth. "It's okay, don't apologize."

"I feel like I'm going insane. I can't keep reliving this."

"Want me to call Christopher?"

You nod as you sob, holding Namjoon close and doing your best to keep your eyes open. 

"Let's get out of here and put some clean clothes on."

Namjoon's hands slowly caress over your back and shoulders, and you allow yourself to breathe into the feeling and relax. You have tensed up so much that your shoulders are raised high, and you inhale deeply, attempting to calm your nerves and work up the energy to leave the bathroom. 

"Okay," you finally breathe, sniffling and taking deep, slow breaths. "Yeah, let's go."

Slowly, steadily, you are able to leave the shower with one of Namjoon's arms holding firmly around your waist. He towels you off, kneeling on the rug and tile floor, making sure to get every last drop, and then he wraps his clean towel over your shoulders and uses yours to very quickly dry himself. 

His phone is sitting on the countertop beside the sink, and he picks it up, thumbs around for a moment, and then takes your hand to lead you out into the bedroom and into Yoongi's closet. By the time the two of you are dressed, the doorbell rings. 

"I'm going to go answer that," Namjoon says, turning his body fully toward you and taking your hands in his. His thumbs rub over your knuckles, and although you mostly feel emotionally drained, his touch is nice. "Do you want to meet on the couch in here, or the one downstairs?"

"In here," you respond automatically, disinterested in fussing with the stairs or sitting in the huge, empty main hall of Yoongi's home.

"Alright," Namjoon says. "Go have a seat and we'll be right back." 

The world tilts ever so slightly as you move from the closet to the couch. The cream-colored blanket hangs halfway to the floor, and you bend to lift it and drape it over your legs, holding it close to your chest once you sit. Perhaps this is an unprofessional way to meet with the family psychiatrist, but you care more about your comfort than his, if you are being honest. 

Moments later, a man dressed in family blacks enters the room with a bow, greeting you warmly. Although Namjoon enters with him, he leaves almost instantly, insisting that he will be right outside if anyone needs him. 

You feel nervous to talk to Christopher, but he has a kind smile and soft giggle, and he speaks with an accented lilt that reminds you of Felix, instantly easing you into conversation. And even though you are nervous about this process and what it may entail, you do your best, if only for the sake of getting some goddamn sleeping pills. 

Kitten: Landed in Hong Kong. How is my darling?

You: I miss you a lot. It feels like I hardly saw you before you left. 

Kitten: I know, and I'm sorry for that. But I will be home in a few days.

You: I look forward to it. I spoke to Christopher earlier and he recommended an antidepressant to help me sleep.

Kitten: Have you been having nightmares?

You: Yeah, he says it's PTSD. It's been really bad. Even when I close my eyes while fully awake, I see flashes of what happened. I just want to stop remembering. 

Kitten: I know what you mean. I'm glad you are taking healthier steps toward blocking those memories than I have, in the past. 

You: Yeah, well, I have Namjoon's Xanax supply on standby, just in case. 

Kitten: Good, good. Is Namjoon there? I want to give him a call. I would like to hear your voice, too.

You: He's here, watching over my shoulder like a needy little hawk. Please call before he drives me insane. 

Kitten: :] Will do, darling. Just give me a few minutes. 

You are in Seungri's penthouse once again, only as soon as you get into his bedroom with the glass of whiskey in hand, it is Yoongi who slaps you across the face and commands you to get undressed. 

Your empty hand twitches above your thigh, itching to grab for the switchblade, and Yoongi's hand lingers over your cheek, thumb pulling down on your lip. 

“Have I said something to anger you?” you ask, and Yoongi laughs as he drops his hand to his side. 

“You no longer fear me,” he drawls as he turns back to his drink and grabs onto the glass with his lithe, pretty fingers, repeating the words Seungri once said. “Used to be I could put a little scare into you, but now you stand your ground. I like that about you.”

Yoongi skips all the chit-chat that Seungri usually dives into and instead downs his drink and begins to undress. His scars shine brightly when hit by the golden light of the room—his bedroom—and you undress without removing the blade from your thigh or trying to conceal it at all. 

“What a pretty girl,” Yoongi mutters as he approaches.

You step aside and pat the bed—Yoongi's bed—with your hand, purring, “Hop up, sir.”

Yoongi is hard and leaking, cock pointing to the heavens as he settles against his black and gold comforter, and you get up onto the bed and seat yourself in one swift movement, pressing him so deep into you that a shiver works its way along your spine. 

Slowly, you rock your hips, reaching with both hands to drag your fingertips over the scars closest to his heart. "Pretty," you moan as your blunt fingernails turn sharp as talons and catch on the raised skin. 

Then, in a flash, you reach up and slash over Yoongi's eye, quick as a serpent and sharp as glass. Yoongi groans and writhes beneath you, and you—somehow holding your switchblade—continue to fuck him hard and fast while you press the tip of the blade deep into his skin and drag it down over his eyelid, to the apple of his pretty cheek. 

"Mine," you snarl like a beast, thumbing over the pooled blood and smearing it over his face, watching as it mats in his hair. "Forever mine."

You wake up gasping, covered in sweat and stuck in place under warm, heavy limbs. It is still dark outside, and as you pant and attempt to sit up, Namjoon groans and slowly twists away, removing the weight that holds you down. 

"Fuck," you mutter, frustrated. You had taken one of the pills Christopher prescribed and it made you somewhat loopy and very tired—a promising prospect, at the time. 

Namjoon lifts an arm and points to the bedside table to your left, grumbling something incomprehensible before his breathing returns to light snores, and you turn to find two boxes sitting next to a tall glass of water. First, you grab your box of medication and put it back. Then you grab the other, made out to Namjoon, and you pull out a packet and rip it open, freeing one large white pill and gulping it down with a mouthful of water. 

Rather than lying back down to sleep, you roll back toward Namjoon and begin to shimmy down into the sheet, yanking his legs to spread and crawling between them. You can still feel Yoongi inside you from the dream, and you want Namjoon in your mouth now, before you lose your mind. 

Namjoon hums and yawns as you paw at his semi-soft cock, and once he cracks an eye open and moans his consent, you yank his briefs away and swallow him down into your throat, eagerly sucking and stretching your lips, moaning and humming as he trembles and groans beneath you. 

With eager hands, Namjoon yanks at your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside before gripping at your shoulders and arms in what feels like an attempt to get you to stop sucking his cock.

"Fuck me," he begs, and you do as you are told, grinning with drool-slick lips as you crawl and crash into him, needing to be held up while you angle his tip just right and begin to fuck yourself on him. 

The stretch is so intense, you shiver and fall forward, palms sliding against his sweat-slicked chest and gripping onto the pillow beside his head. Namjoon takes your hips in both hands and begins to fuck upward, holding you in place to use as you bob and moan like a marionette built only for pleasure. 

Namjoon changes positions and holds you tight, fucking you from behind while you lie half on your back and half on your side. By the time you cum, you are dizzy and sinking deep into a drug-induced fog, lulled by the feeling of lips and warm breath against your neck. 

"Don't stop," you mutter as you slip from consciousness, just as eager for Namjoon to cum but unable to hold on and see to it that he does. Although you think his movements have halted and he has repositioned you to rest against his chest, you could also be imagining it as everything fades to black. 

"I wonder how Jeongguk is doing," you mutter, holding your steaming cup of tea to your lips and staring out the bedroom's back window. Namjoon has purchased two new chairs that match the couch because last night, you said you wanted to be able to look out at the gardens.

"Ask him," Namjoon responds somewhat flatly. 

When you look at Namjoon, his brow is knit, and he stares out the window as if he is looking at nothing. He spaces out like this from time to time, and although you are curious about what is on his mind, you feel a bit too disconnected to ask. The antidepressants work wonders for your anxiety and post-traumatic stress symptoms, but they are also anti many other things, including happiness and concern. Christopher insists you need a few weeks to a month to adjust. 

"Fine," you respond with a sigh, disinterested in talking to Namjoon if he is going to be so short with you. 

You pick up your phone, which you keep nearby at all times in case Yoongi reaches out, and you dial Jeongguk's number. The last time the two of you spoke was the night you sliced your boyfriend's pretty face open, and although you are somewhat nervous to hear his voice, you try not to overthink it. 

Jeongguk picks up on the second ring, and you can hear him panting as he says, "Doll. Hey."

"Hi," you respond, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, your mouth feels really dry. "Am I interrupting anything?"

There is a pause, and you hear the bubbling sound of him drinking from a water bottle, followed by a low Ahhh. "Nah, just working out. But I could take a break. Do you need something?"

"No," you clear your throat and sit up, repositioning your legs on the large blue chair. To your right, Namjoon sighs and gets up. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't spoken since the—"

"Right," Jeongguk interrupts, voice low and rough. "Listen, I'm sorry for—"

Disinterested in apologies, you mutter, "No, it's fine. I get it."

Silence hangs. You want to see Jeongguk again. You want to ask him to come over, maybe ask whether he would like to take a walk through the garden or drive into town for some ice cream. You miss his smell and the way his eyes brighten up like tiny galaxies when he smiles nice and big.

"Do you—" you begin just as Jeongguk says, "Hey, so, I was thinking—" and you both stop, chuckling and waiting for the other to speak. 

"Go ahead," you urge him. 

Jeongguk hesitates, then says, "I don't even know. If I finish that sentence, I will probably regret it the moment the words come out of my mouth."

You glance over your shoulder when you hear the sound of a belt being buckled and find Namjoon getting dressed in blue jeans and a tan sweatshirt near the closet. He keeps his eyes down as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and does not say a word as he turns and leaves the room. 

"Just tell me," you respond, eyes on Namjoon's retreating form. 

"I was going to say that I think we should spend some time apart," Jeongguk says, voice sounding somewhat sad.

Your chest clenches, and you feel the air sucked from your lungs, returning your gaze to the window. "Oh."

"But even as I say it, I don't believe it. I would sprint over and see you right now if you asked me to. I miss you all the time."

This makes you feel shy, and you nibble your lip. "It's only been a couple days."

"A couple of really shitty days," Jeongguk responds, to which you scoff. "This isn't a conversation to have over the phone, but, I don't know, I guess I just wanted to say what you did when Jimin was injured…it was pretty incredible. And mildly horrifying. And really fucking sexy. All accidents aside."

This makes you laugh, and you stare out the window, at the familiar statues, fountains, and trees. You think about how easy it would be for Jeongguk to come see you, and you almost beg him to. 

"I miss you too," you finally say, feeling a lightness in your chest that hasn't been there for days. "I wasn't planning on telling you that, because I didn't want to inflate your ego, but that is the reason I called."

"Come see me tomorrow?" Jeongguk asks, voice high and hopeful.

"What happened to spending time apart?" you tease.

Jeongguk chuckles. "I told you my conviction is shit. I fucking miss you, alright. Don't make me say it again."

You would love to see Jeongguk. "Alright. Any particular time?"

"Nah," he responds easily. "Whenever you feel like it."

"Okay."

The deep, sultry tone you know all too well returns when he says, "Wear something slutty," and your cheeks warm instantly. 

"Jeon Jeongguk!"

"Come on, doll. It's been almost a fucking week. I need that pussy."

How easily Jeongguk cycles through his moods gives you whiplash, and you shake your head, chuckling quietly. "Forget I said I miss you. I take it all back."

"Nah," he teases, "you miss me."

With a sigh and a smile, you mutter, "Thank you," feeling a fuzzy warmth in your chest. 

You think you hear Jeongguk scoff. "For what?"

Namjoon comes into view outside, walking along the rightmost garden path. His steps are slow and meandering, legs swinging and kicking at gravel, and his left hand is in his jeans pocket while he holds his phone to his ear with his right hand. 

"For making me smile," you respond, feeling a sadness that is hard to pinpoint as you watch Namjoon. "It hasn't been easy."

"Namjoon hyung not keeping you company?"

Namjoon turns to the left and crouches down in front of a rosebush, tilting his head and smiling as he speaks into the phone. It is a smile that reaches his eyes and, even from afar, the prettiest you have seen in days. 

"Nah," you sigh. "Namjoon's in his emo era. I think he regrets staying with me while Yoongi is away."

"Don't put it that way," Jeongguk interjects, and you are quick to say, "I get it. It's fine. I can't have the same history they do, especially not overnight. But it's hard, you know? We both have this gaping wound from missing the same person—worrying over the same person. And instead of turning to one another for peace, we're growing sick of each other."

"There is no way in hell the Kim Namjoon I know is sick of you; he loves the shit out of you. But the love he has for Yoongi is going to be a little different. I have definitely seen the way he shuts down when forced to worry from a distance."

You hum, watching as Namjoon glances up to the window. Although you have no idea whether he can see you, you stare back, hoping that he can. And then his eyes squeeze closed as he laughs and spins on his heels, making his way toward the hedge maze. 

"I miss him and I spend every day at his side."

Jeongguk hums. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

"I started medication, too," you continue, rambling somewhat because it is nice to have someone to talk to. "And it's been great to stop feeling so anxious all the time, but I also feel kind of numb."

"How's your sex drive?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "God, why is that your first concern?"

Jeongguk laughs. "Look, I've heard that it can be a side effect!"

"You're so fucking annoying."

"Well?"

"I don't know," you respond somewhat petulantly. "I guess I have an okay sex drive, but it's hard to gauge when the person I would be having sex with is being so distant."

"Fair. Well, we'll have to test it tomorrow if you're up for it."

Another scoff rocks through your chest, and you shake your head at his audacity. "Fine. If I'm up for it, we'll test it."

"Good."

With a sigh, you decide you have nothing more to talk about. You still don't really know Jeongguk very well in terms of his hobbies or interests, and you have no clue what else you could discuss casually as friends. "I'm going to let you go. Maybe I'll see what my emo Joon is doing in the garden."

"Sounds good," Jeongguk says. "Call me whenever you're up for it, and come by tomorrow if you want to."

"Okay," you smile, biting your lip. "I will."

You: I took a nap today and dreamt Namjoon became a forest sprite, and that he lived in a big, sturdy tree. These medications make my dreams super vivid and strange. 

Kitten: That sounds like our Namjoon! :] What about the nightmares? Are they helping with that?

You: For the most part. But sometimes one sneaks in.

Kitten:  Well, I'm glad you are finding at least a little relief, darling.

You: Talk soon? I miss your voice.

Kitten: I'll call tonight. 

Namjoon gives up trying to get you to do anything for the rest of the night, frustrated by how intent you are on keeping your phone clenched in your hand with the ringer turned high. You check the screen periodically to see what time it is, and eventually fall asleep on the couch, clutching your phone to your chest, waiting for Yoongi to call. 

When the morning comes, you wake up and check your phone, feeling an instant surge of sadness from the lack of notification. All you want is to hear his voice for five minutes, but you are afraid to initiate a call in case he is busy. You're afraid of getting in the way or being annoying. So you wait. 

You: You never called. :( I hope to hear from you today, if you have time.

"You should try to eat something."

Slowly, your eyes blink from your phone to the bowl of fruit in front of you, to Namjoon. He sits across from you on the bed cross-legged with a wooden tray of breakfast foods between you. You hardly remember him bringing it into the room or sitting in front of it, and you really have no appetite, but you lift a cube of watermelon to your mouth just to appease him. 

"Not hungry," you mutter as you wrap your lips around the fruit and bite. It is far too sweet, but it is also refreshing, so you chew and swallow, then reach for another. 

Namjoon sighs, making you feel inexplicably worse. "Is it the medication?"

With a shrug, you stare ahead at the various cubes of melon and the plain omelet that has undoubtedly gone cold. "I guess. It's everything."

"Yoongi?"

You hum. "And you. You're distant. It sucks."

"I know," Namjoon responds somberly. "But so are you."

"Yeah."

Slowly, you lift a piece of melon to your mouth, stopping as your phone dings.

Kitten: Sorry, darling. Been busy. Talk soon! 

With a frown, you pop the fruit into your mouth, slowly chewing as you type your response.

You:  Are you coming home soon?

Then you fall back onto the mattress with your legs bent and feet planted. You should probably let Jeongguk know that you aren't in the mood to hang out today. 

You: Namjoon says the meetings are going well and that the deal is looking good. I hope this means you'll be coming home soon. 

More than a few days pass in a fog. The medication has you feeling so disoriented some days, that all you do is sleep. And when you sleep you dream. 

Sometimes, you are in a library, but it bends and twists and becomes shaped like the many mansions you have spent time in over the years. Men who have used and harmed you in the past are there, always attempting to win you back and claim you for themselves, always chasing you through rows and rows of bookshelves, and you are always searching desperately for Yoongi. 

The worst dream that comes is one wherein Yoongi is dead. News breaks that his body has washed up in the Han, and before he can even be buried, Ryujin and Hyungseo are at the front door surrounded by men strapped with guns, pulling heavy suitcases behind them, moving their things into the master bedroom and throwing your belongings out the windows. 

But at least you no longer dream about the night Jimin was shot. You no longer watch Yoongi bleed. At least you can be thankful for a little reprieve. If only Yoongi would answer your messages, maybe you would stop worrying so fucking much about him. Maybe you would stop searching endlessly for him.

You barely register Namjoon's face buried between your thighs as you stare at the ceiling, feeling the Xanax sink in deep. Tonight, you want dreamless sleep for a change. You just want to forget about Yoongi, and about everything else. 

Namjoon's tongue is skilled and brilliant, but it does not make you cum. You warned him going into this that there was a chance it wouldn't happen, and he happily agreed to try, anyway. As you stare up at the dark ceiling, the vastness of the bedroom feels suffocating. It is too big for three people, much less two. It is especially far too big to be in when you are already feeling lonely. 

"Baby, I don't think I'm gonna cum," you groan, reaching for his head and gripping gently with your fingers. 

Namjoon's lips and tongue slow and then stop, sucking loudly at your clit and labia before letting you go with a wet smack. 

"It's alright," he insists. "Just wanted to try."

Without another word, Namjoon shuffles out from between your legs and lies beside you, turning to face away. You sigh, curve toward Namjoon's back, and grip your pillow tight beneath your head, eager for sleep. 

Sitting on the large blue chair by the window, you stare at your phone, trying to decide whether today is the day you finally see your friend. There is no reason to hesitate to call him, and yet, you do. 

"I should see what Jeongguk is up to," you mutter, mostly to yourself. 

Namjoon sighs and snaps the book in his hands shut, then he turns to you with a frown. "All you do is talk about him, so just go see him, already."

His candor surprises you, and you exhale deeply, feeling a heavy weight pressing on your shoulders. "Are you mad that I want to see him?"

"No. I'm just tired of hearing about it."

He definitely sounds mad. 

"Okay," you respond, disappointed. "I won't talk about it anymore."

As you get up from the chair and walk away from the large window and the sunshine it allows in, you have half a mind to go into your room and change into something pretty to go frolic in the gardens by yourself. It has been far too long since you have left the house. 

So you pad out into the mezzanine, doing your best to ignore how huge and quiet and empty the mansion feels, and you make your way to your bedroom. 

Although it is not your intention, you shove the door closed, slamming it rather loudly. Then you spin on the balls of your feet, walk over to the bed, and fling yourself down onto the yellow and white comforter, deciding a nap sounds good. 

You wake up to the sounds of car doors closing outside and the front door opening and shutting, muttering, "Yoongi!" to yourself. 

Unsure how or when you managed to get into bed in the master suite, you toss aside your concern and the black and gold comforter and roll out of bed, feet hitting the soft, light blue rug. Although you are in a regrettable state, unsure when you last showered because you can barely keep your days straight anymore, you are undeterred as you run through the master suite, out into the mezzanine, and down the stairs, bare feet slapping against cold marble. 

As you fling yourself around the banister and continue toward the main hall, all you see are Namjoon and Seokjin standing in the entrance, and you halt, body swaying forward before tensing. 

"Yoongi?" you ask, unable to form a single other coherent thought. 

Seokjin smiles sadly and approaches with his hands in his black slack pockets, and you feel nausea hit your guts like a brick. "Can we have a word?" he asks, holding his arm out, hand extended toward the back door. 

You glance over your shoulder, feeling uncertain; does he mean to go out by the pool?

"S-sure," you say, willing your feet to move but finding you are unable to as your gaze finds Namjoon, dressed once more in blue jeans and a soft sweater, typing into his phone with a frown. 

"Yoongi decided he needed to stay put a little while longer," Seokjin says lowly, still holding his hand out. "Mind if we step outside?"

"Outside," you mutter, nodding your head robotically as you turn and face the back doors. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."

Seokjin takes the lead and approaches the sliding glass door, unlocking it and pulling it open. It is strange to enter the pool area with it empty of an employee, and you step out onto the rough gunite and pad over to the nearest pool beds. 

The sun is bright, the birds are chirping, and you feel extremely on edge, finding that every minuscule sight and sound has your shoulders lifting higher and higher toward your ears. So when Seokjin sits before you, pulls a flask from his breast pocket, and hands it over, you quickly take it, drinking from it without bothering to ask what is inside and wincing slightly as bitter, semi-sweet whiskey hits your tongue.

You sigh through the intense flavor as you hand the flask back, asking, "Why didn't he come home?"

Seokjin takes a slow swig and says, "That is a question I am not quite sure I have an answer to. I can only surmise the reason based on the behavior I witnessed him exhibiting during our stay."

"Which is…?" you attempt to lead Seokjin to tell you before you lose your cool. Seokjin is far too calm, sitting in his standard black uniform with his outgrown, dark hair pulled delicately off his forehead. 

"Which is that he began quite optimistic, daresay, happy at times, only to self-isolate and become very quiet. We were meant to leave days ago, but he kept stating he wanted to stay and 'figure it out,' whatever that meant. When I decided I could no longer stay, he wished me farewell and refused to explain what was on his mind."

"And the deal?" 

Seokjin stares for a moment, then leans forward, offering you the flask, which you take. "Has he told you anything about it?"

You shake your head, lifting the flask toward your lips, pausing to say, "He said he would tell me about it when he came back."

"Hmm, well, then I suppose I can tell you that the meeting went well."

The whiskey is not entirely unwelcoming, but the headiness is somewhat overwhelming. You hand the flask back to Seokjin, waiting for him to continue. He takes a swig and holds the flask in his grasp, resting his hands against his thigh. 

"Hyungseo has agreed to a truce, and her group will no longer be bothering any of us. Ryujin has also agreed to the truce, since it is still largely her family in charge, even if she has allowed Hyungseo to take over. As far as the details, well…I would rather let Yoongi explain."

Although this is good news, you feel strange about what Seokjin is telling you. Were Hyungseo and Ryujin in Hong Kong, as well? Could they still be there? When you blurt the questions out, Seokjin snickers and shakes his head. 

"The ladies were present for our discussion, but, as far as I know, they both returned home days ago."

You wonder if that could be the reason for Yoongi's sour mood. Perhaps seeing Ryujin still affects him. The prospect makes you feel sick. 

"I feel like there is a lot of context I am missing here," you grumble.

"There is," Seokjin responds simply. Then he sits forward, resting his wrists against his knees. "You know, the offer to work for them in Busan stands. In fact, you could be a huge asset for us, since we need someone there making sure they aren't conspiring in spite of our agreement."

"I…don't know," you say. 

"Well, give it some thought," Seokjin responds in a chipper tone, taking one more sip from his flask and holding it out for you. 

You shake your head and hold your hand up, muttering, "Thanks."

"Seems you could use a bit of a vacation, if I may be so bold as to say so. Six months on the coast might do you some good."

"Just getting accustomed to new medications," you grumble, unsure why you bother telling him any of this, in the first place. 

Seokjin hums. "Yes, that process can be a bit disorienting. Try to remember to drink water and eat, even if it suppresses your appetite. We don't need you withering away."

You nod listlessly, barely listening to Seokjin, asking, "Do you think he's coming home soon?" before you can stop yourself. 

"Likely," Seokjin responds with a sigh as he stands. "It's hard to say with Yoongi. Once he gets in his head, there is no telling when he will come out."

"And if he doesn't?"

The sun is bright behind Seokjin when you look up at him, and you lift your hand to block the rays from your eyes, squinting. 

"If he doesn't come home, then perhaps you and Namjoon will have to go and get him."

If there is anyone in this family willing to get onto a plane and head for Hong Kong at a moment's notice, you are sure it is Namjoon. "Okay," you mutter, dropping your hand and your gaze, feeling tired and a bit empty. 

"Take care little wolf cub," Seokjin says as he turns to return inside, and you nod listlessly as you shift around on the pool bed and curl in on yourself, chasing the urge to sleep.

Tonight, even the Xanax does nothing to keep your nightmares at bay, and when you wake up screaming from the sight of the man's head exploding, you find the bed empty, causing your pulse to spike. 

You glance around, find the room empty, and then reach for your phone. Your heart sinks when you see a notification from Namjoon and none from Yoongi, and you heavy-blink, thumbing over your bright screen to open and read the text.

Joonbug: Sorry if you wake up and I'm not there. I'm having a hard time sleeping and didn't want to keep you up, so I walked home. I'll be back in the morning. <3 Call me if you need anything.

Truthfully, you find it hard to blame Namjoon. Twice, you startled him with your screaming, and he has been complaining lately about struggling to fall asleep and stay asleep. Plus, he has been seeking a lot more alone time. 

You: Woke up screaming again, so you made the right call by leaving. 

You half expect Namjoon to already be asleep, noticing it is just before two in the morning. So when he begins to type, you are surprised. 

Joonbug: Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Want me to come back?

On one hand, you think it would be nice to have someone around. But on the other hand, you are not sure it is Namjoon's attention that you crave. Although you love him dearly, the two of you seem to be on different planes of existence lately. Ships passing quietly in the night, both emotionally and physically. Spending too much time together right now might do more harm than good. 

First, you dial Yoongi. Hearing his voice would do wonders for your emotional state, and he is the first person you want to talk to about what has been on your mind. But the phone rings and rings, and eventually goes to voicemail. "This is Min," the somewhat robotic tone of your boyfriend's voice says—disconnected and not meant solely for you the way you need his voice to sound. "Leave a message."

You hang up and hover your thumbs over your screen, attempting to gather your thoughts. Yoongi is unreachable, and Namjoon is distant, but perhaps Jeongguk is free. 

Jeongguk answers on the third ring, "Hey, doll? Late night booty call?" 

You graze your teeth over your lip, laughing as you say, "Maybe. Would you be into that?"

A scoff followed by, "Fuck yes I would be!" makes you smile widely. Then he adds, "Lemme just run it by Tae, alright?"

"Of course," you respond, realizing you should probably also discuss it with Namjoon. "Otherwise, we could just…I don't know…get fucked up? Even Xanax isn't cutting these nightmares and I just wanna get out of my head for a while."

"I can definitely help you with that," Jeongguk responds happily. "Lemme text you in just a minute, okay? After I speak with Tae?"

"Sounds good."

Jeongguk hangs up, and you smile to yourself, opening your neglected conversation with Namjoon. 

You: Actually, I was thinking about finally hanging out with Jeongguk. Kinda just want to get drunk, maybe get a little high. I need to get out of my head. As long as you don't mind.

Joonbug: Understandable. I hope you don't think you have to ask me for permission. I definitely want you to feel free to go spend time with him and have some fun. 

You: If things get a little heated, though…are you okay with that?

Joonbug: If what you need right now is to fuck Jeongguk, I fully support that.

You: Thanks, Joonbug. <3 I love you!

Joonbug: I love you too, sweetheart.

Gguk: Tae is down with whatever we feel like doing. Come to mine? Do you remember how?

You: Joon gave me his blessing, too. :) I think I remember.

Gguk: On second thought, stay put, and I'll come get you. It's dark out. 

You: Sounds good. I'll put on something slutty in the meantime. 

Gguk: Oh, fuck yeah! Be there soon!

Thankful that you had the energy to shower before your several failed attempts at sleeping earlier, you jump out of bed and run to your bedroom. Hanging amongst the sundresses is a little black satin slip dress with spaghetti straps and lace along the edges, and you peel off Namjoon's oversized dark grey tee and toss it to the floor. 

The dress fits snugly, squeezing your breasts and waist, creating inviting curves and cleavage, and you opt not to wear any panties underneath as you marvel at the high slit up your right thigh. 

You apply a little eye makeup, both because it feels like it has been a lifetime since you have looked in the mirror and liked what you have seen, but also because you like the thought of it streaking down your face later, should Jeongguk find some delicious reason to make you cry.

Once you are satisfied, you begin to make your way out to the mezzanine, and you are surprised to find Jeongguk standing at the foot of the stairs; you didn't hear him come in. 

"Jeongguk," you mutter, feeling your heart pound as his lips pull into a hungry grin. He wears a white tee and black basketball shorts, and his short dark hair is unstyled and a little disheveled. You stare at him, unsure whether he is real. How long has it been since the two of you crossed paths? Far too long. 

"Dollface," Jeongguk groans, toying with his lip ring in his teeth. "God damn you look amazing."

As you reach for the railing and begin down the cold marble stairs, you feel a slight tremble in your limbs. Jeongguk watches you like a predator eyeing his prey, and you have forgotten what it feels like to be caught in a stare this hungry. 

"How do you feel about doing some molly?" he asks when you are halfway downstairs, and you hesitate, cocking your head to the side. 

"I don't know. What does it feel like?"

"Euphoric. Calming. Mixed with coke, it'll really wake you up and make you feel alive."

That does sound good, and you smile. "Alright. I'm down."

"I was thinking we could break into the pool bar and chase it down with some champagne, then walk over to my place?"

"Alright," you respond as you reach the last step, standing at eye level with him. 

Jeongguk reaches for your thighs, rubbing his hand up the sides, and you wiggle away in part because his gentle touch tickles, but also to keep him from discovering that you are not wearing any panties. If he finds out this early on, the two of you will never make it back to his place, and you are curious to see how he lives. 

As you side-step and scurry down to the landing, Jeongguk complains but obliges, turning on slippered feet and walking ahead to deal with the glass door. You are barefoot, and you tiptoe on the rough ground as Jeongguk makes his way to the bar and opens a mini fridge. 

"Bingo," he sing-songs, holding up two bottles of champagne with a wide grin, as if the task took any effort at all. Still, you clap excitedly for him as he rounds the bar with both bottles in hand. 

"I bet this dress would look great soaking wet," Jeongguk says, eyeing you once more like a ravenous beast while making his way to the nearest table. 

He plops down sideways on one of the pool beds and sets the bottles down, then pats his leg for you to join him. You make your way over and sit gingerly on his knee, keeping your legs closed and avoiding the urge to straddle him while he works one of the bottle corks open. 

"Let's keep the dress dry, for now," you bargain, reaching up to rub your fingertips along the undercut just above his ear.

Jeongguk bites his bottom lip while pulling out the cork, and when it comes loose with a loud pop, he opens his mouth wide, then grins. With one hand, he holds up the bottle and fishes into his pocket with the other. Then he pulls out a little clear baggie with six tiny capsules full of purple dust. 

"They're pretty small portions, so you can get a feel for it," he says as he hands the baggie to you and you begin to work its tiny plastic zipper open. "If it feels good and you want more, we can take more."

"Okay," you mutter somewhat nervously as you reach out and take a tiny capsule in your fingertips. 

"Ahhh," Jeongguk exclaims, and you look up to find his mouth open wide and tongue hanging open. 

Although you know he is asking for a pill, you lean in close and lick the length of his tongue nice and slow, marveling at the way his taste buds feel. Then you lift the pill and place it right in the center, watching as he seems to struggle to comprehend what just happened. 

With a giggle, you say, "Go on…swallow like a good boy," and Jeongguk takes a long swig from the champagne and then fixes you with a curious gaze. 

"Your turn, beautiful," Jeongguk says, making your cheeks blaze. "Be good for me and swallow. Or are you more of a spitter?"

Jeongguk's predictability is a perfect match for how corny he is, but although you roll your eyes, you lean close and ask, "Aren't you eager to find out?"

"Of course I am," he mutters, a hairswidth from your lips, and you turn your head just far enough to the side to pop one of the molly capsules onto your tongue. 

Jeongguk lifts the champagne and says, "Open for me, doll," and you tilt your head and part your lips, nervous but excited for him to pour champagne into your mouth. 

You expect him to make a mess, so when it spills over past your lips, you simply swallow what has been poured into your mouth and roll with it. Jeongguk licks from your chin to the crease of your lips, making an even wetter mess than the dribbled champagne, and you giggle as you attempt to stand from his lap, only to be held in place. 

"Not so fast," he says as he digs through his shorts pocket and holds up his little metal cocaine vial. "It'll take a little bit for the drugs to kick in and I want my senses heightened now."

"Oh?" you ask, cocking your head as you watch him scoop a considerable pile to snort into one nostril, followed by a second pile into the other. Jeongguk sighs and tips his head back, pressing the side of his knuckle against each nostril as he deeply sniffs inward once more, then he fixes you with a wide smile and offers you the cocaine. 

You trade him, handing off the little baggie of molly capsules, and in swift movements, you take the little metal vial with a spoon attached to its cap, and you snort a small pile into each nostril, then hand it back. As you press against the side of each nostril with your knuckle and inhale, Jeongguk watches you with eyes already somewhat glazed over, and you stand from his lap, smoothing out your tiny dress. 

"Eager to get away from here?" Jeongguk asks, gaze downturned slightly. 

With a shrug, you glance around and realize that yes, you really are eager to get away, at least for a little while. "I guess so. I've been cooped up."

"Alright," Jeongguk says, reaching for your hand. You take it, then grab the unopened bottle of champagne in the other. "Let's get out of here."

Jeongguk is careful and meticulous in the way he locks up the back door, then he takes your hand again to walk through the main hall, to the front door. He slides out of Yoongi's slippers and into some sandals, and you put on the pair of black ballet flats. 

Once outside, Jeongguk closes and checks the door, then he takes your hand once again and leads you around to the left, toward Seokjin's place. The night is so quiet you hear the sounds of crickets in the trees and the crunch of gravel underfoot. 

Jeongguk sighs and squeezes your hand, and you hum questionably, squeezing his back.

"Nothing," he says, turning to look at you. The path opens near Seokjin's home, and the two of you hang a left and continue along the side of the house to the back, where more trees separate each property. "I guess I'm just surprised sometimes."

"By what?" you ask, turning to look at Jeongguk, who turns to meet your gaze. The cocaine buzzes through your system while a nasty little drip can be tasted at the back of your throat.

"By you."

You scoff, feeling somewhat shy. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you did hate me when we first met," Jeongguk begins. 

"Because you were an asshole," you add. 

"And…I don't know. I was surprised when Yoongi and Namjoon were so open to the idea of us. Even tonight, I expected hyung to say no and keep you all to himself."

"Ah," you mutter, eyes on the ground. You begin to walk between more dark trees, enshrouded by their shadows, and you feel grateful that Jeongguk came to get you so that you wouldn't be walking this path alone. "Namjoon and I have been kind of distant, so I'm not surprised."

"Still?" Jeongguk asks.

"Yeah. Still."

"Damn. That sucks."

It does suck, but you feel awkward talking about it. "It's whatever," you lie. "He wants space and went to his house tonight, which is why I called you. Didn't really want to be alone."

"So I'm second place, wow," Jeongguk teases, squeezing your hand.

"Third when Yoongi is around," you tease back, turning to flash a playful grin. 

The rest of the walk is quiet, and when you reach Jeongguk's home, you are a bit surprised by the number of sports cars in his driveway—four, to be exact. His house is a carbon copy of the others, but there is practically no greenery in the yard, only metal workout equipment, including a pull-up bar and some other items that are tough to make out in the dark. 

Jeongguk lets go of your hand as you approach the front entrance, and he punches in a long passcode before opening the door wide and nodding for you to enter. The living room light is already on, and as you toe out of your shoes, you find a scarcely decorated room with a couch pushed far too close to a television, and a punching bag sitting in the center of the space. 

You fail to bite back laughter, and when Jeongguk takes your hand and leads you up the stairs, he asks, "What?"

"Nothing," you mutter, eyeing the empty walls that have never been painted from their original white. "Just didn't take you for such a bro."

"Shut up," Jeongguk gripes, yanking on your arm and making you laugh even harder. 

The upstairs hallway is just as plain, and as soon as he releases your hand and switches on the light, illuminating the bright white space, you squint and turn it off.

"I need fucking sunglasses if you're going to do that," you chide.

Jeongguk continues pulling you down to the room at the end of the hallway, making you wonder what might be in the other rooms. Does he have sex dungeons just like Taehyung? Perhaps a matching throne?

Rather than switching on the overhead light in his master suite, he thumbs around his phone and opens an app. "What color would her highness like the bedroom to be?" he asks with a grin, and you get onto your tiptoes to see the screen and then press where the color wheel is purple. 

Slowly, the lights come on in an inviting deep purple glow, and you nod approvingly, then enter the space. At least his bedroom is decorated with dark walls and bedding, and some photos hung here and there. 

The four-poster bed is straight ahead, and to the right are two large leather chairs. Along the far wall, beside a large window, is a big wooden x with leather restraints on each end—two for wrists and two for ankles, you surmise. 

As you step forward, your entire body feels a little off-kilter. It is slight but enough to make you dizzy, and you hold your arms out, clenching the bottle of champagne as you mutter, "Whoa."

"Starting to kick in?" Jeongguk asks as he walks past and sets his bottle on a bedside table. 

"Maybe," you respond, unsure what it feels like for the drug to kick in. 

Jeongguk approaches, takes the bottle from your hand, and you find yourself leaning and swaying slightly with each of his movements as if your body feels desperate for his warmth. 

"Will you kiss me?" you whine, watching as Jeongguk's mouth pulls into a dopey smile and then sharpens into something much cockier. 

He turns away to place the champagne bottle down, then returns in several large steps, taking you gently by the face with both hands and pressing his lips against yours. Jeongguk groans as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, making you gasp. You let your mouth fall open wide, feeling excitement and arousal simmer through you, and Jeongguk licks across your tongue hungrily, moaning and growling as he tastes and teases. 

"Fuck," he pants as he releases the kiss, pressing his forehead into yours. "You are amazing. And I'm definitely coming up."

You feel tingly and electric, filled to the brim with desire and love and the need to touch and taste and enjoy. Jeongguk is warm and floral but musky, and he tastes like sour cocaine and bittersweet champagne. 

"Thirsty," you mutter as your lips chase after his.

Jeongguk kisses you more but walks you backward, toward the champagne. Rather than reach your target destination, his ass bumps into the edge of his bed, and you giggle into one another's mouths before you peel yourself away and reach for the open bottle. 

Suddenly, you feel as if you have run a marathon, and you have to stop and catch your breath. "I feel kind of overwhelmed," you admit, to which Jeongguk hums and says, "That's normal."

With the champagne in hand, Jeongguk leads you over to the large window at the far end of the room and opens it, letting in a nice cool breeze. The view is a massive, empty expanse of land with the city in the distance, and you stare across the shadows of trees and hills. 

"I feel trapped in limbo," you mutter, unsure why you are saying it aloud. 

Jeongguk wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder. When he asks, "Why is that?" his voice is soft and sweet. 

"I love Yoongi and Namjoon…and I care a lot about the rest of you," you turn your head, rubbing the tip of your nose against his, "especially you."

"But?"

With a sigh, you turn your gaze back to the dark outdoors. "But I don't feel safe, and I have to be heavily medicated just to sleep, now. I lost several days to the fog of starting a new medication, and both Yoongi and Namjoon are distant. I feel like everything is slipping through my fingers and it scares the shit out of me."

"Maybe you need to get away for a little while. Take a trip."

You hum and consider what he says, pushing out the thought of Seokjin's words from earlier, but then scoff, shaking your head. "Take a vacation just to return to a lifestyle of violence. I don't know, I mean, what's the point?"

"Seokjin hyung says they struck a deal with the girls in Busan. That will drastically cut back on the violence."

"But there are other families in Korea," you say without having too much evidence to back up your statement outside of comments here and there made by the men while in your presence over the many months you have been here. 

"Everyone else is neutral, and we do business with them from time to time. Our only adversaries are overseas, and it is not often that the yakuza comes to fuck with us."

A small comfort considering how quickly things could escalate, should they choose to hop on a ferry and start shit, but you accept it for now. This conversation feels too heavy, and you want to be light.

You do feel somewhat light, made of overcooked noodles, but also heavy and buoyant, and you sway your hips and close your eyes. "We need music."

"What kind of music?" Jeongguk asks, grabbing his phone and holding it out for you. 

"Anything," you mutter, "pick something."

After only a few seconds, soft R&B comes on, and the music surrounds you in a way that feels like speakers are placed along each inch of the room. You dip and sway a little deeper, following the music while dragging your ass over Jeongguk until he begins to hiss and grip at you. 

"Gonna make me hard dancing like this," he groans, nipping somewhat forcefully at your neck. 

"I think the pills have dulled my sex drive, just like you said," you complain as you lift the bottle of champagne and take a drink. The carbonation cloys your senses, but you are thirsty, and you continue drinking until you are forced to stop and take a deep breath. When you turn and hand off the bottle, Jeongguk's pupils are bloodshot, and he looks a bit sleepy. "I haven't been able to cum. It's making me lose my mind."

Jeongguk drops to his knees and sets down the bottle, and you lean back against the window, body angled with your pelvis outward, in his face. As he rubs his hands up your thighs, pushing your short black skirt higher, you watch as his eyes widen and mouth drops open. 

"No panties," Jeongguk muses, looking high as shit and happy as can be. When his gaze lifts and finds you, he shakes his head and heavy-blinks as he mutters, "You are fucking incredible."

Without another word, he sits high on his knees and licks over your cunt, sucking your clit between his lips before absolutely devouring you. The surge of pleasure that rocks through you causes you to tremble and jolt forward, and you splay your hands against the wall in an attempt to hold yourself steady. 

Jeongguk is sloppy yet practiced in the way he eats you, alternating wide, wet laps and quick little flicks of his tongue. He zeroes in on your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave through you, aided by the molly to feel better than anything has felt in days.

Although the pleasure is intense and enrapturing, your high builds and builds, only to plateau at a devastatingly high peak. You want to cum so badly, you begin grinding your pussy against Jeongguk's mouth and moaning loudly. Jeongguk grips onto your thighs and does his best to keep up with your movements, slurping and humming like a man enjoying his first meal after a long fast.

"Finger me, Jeongguk," you beg, desperate for release.

Jeongguk does as he is told, plunging his fingers hard and deep. He finds your sweet spot and fucks into it nice and fast, and that is all it takes to push you over the edge, spraying your release against his face and your thighs. Rather than slow or stop, he continues to finger fuck you while lapping at your clit, forcing you to cum once more, and you scream between deep gasps for air. 

Euphoria drowns you in its tidal wave, and you begin to spiral, suddenly needing to slow down and catch your breath. "Too much," you whimper as your knees buckle, and Jeongguk stops his movements and stands, caging you in against the window. 

"How do you feel?" he asks, pressing his lips against yours and filling your senses with your own tangy, heady taste and scent. 

"Great," you respond against him, then turn your head, still finding it hard to catch your breath. "But a little overwhelmed."

"You're probably still coming up, here," Jeongguk says, taking your hand and pulling you away from the wall while rubbing his mouth and chin clean with his forearm. It feels strange to walk, and you stumble a bit into him, leaning your weight against his chest. 

"Let's just slow dance a little," he suggests with a sweet smile, and you drape your arms around his shoulders, incapable of denying him anything. Jeongguk gently grabs your hips and begins to lead you right to left in a small circle. "How is this?"

"Nice," you sigh with a smile, resting your cheek against his chest. "Thank you."

You are unsure how long the two of you stay like this, but several songs cycle, and your high continues to build until it finally seems to even out. Although you feel less jittery and heavy-light, you still feel somewhat otherworldly, finding you have an overwhelming urge to divulge all your deepest secrets to him. Evidently, he feels the same.

"Do you think you could fall for someone like me?" Jeongguk asks, breaking a long silence and taking you by surprise. 

If you were sober, you would be absolutely panicking—possibly even running for the hills. But being this high, you simply shrug and say, "Of course, I could. Don't ask silly questions."

"Shit," he mutters, nuzzling his face against your neck as he chuckles, and you wonder if Jeon Jeongguk is actually shy? "That was too easy. And probably not something I should have asked."

You laugh as you hum and mutter, "Yeah, probably not. I don't think any good could come of us confessing those types of feelings to one another, all things considered."

"True," Jeongguk says, laughing as he stands straight and looks you in the eye. He is absolutely beaming as he says, "I'll just keep it to myself, then," and pretends to zip his lips shut.

The thought that Jeongguk could be confessing to something so large should horrify you, but all you can do is smile. You are too high and too happy to unpack anything of this magnitude right now. 

After another song, you feel the sudden, aching urge to tie Jeongguk to his bed and make him fall apart. And that is exactly what you ask him with your eyes wide and pleading. 

"Let me tie you to your bed and make you fall apart? Please?"

Jeongguk gasps and grins, nodding as he says, "There is nothing in this world I could want more."

You begin to paw at his shirt, lifting the bottom hem over his head and tossing it to the floor. Your eyes linger on the black shapes etched from his shoulder down to his fingers, then you continue the task at hand and reach for the waistline of his shorts. 

As the garment falls to the floor in a heavy thud, undoubtedly from his cell phone being in his pocket, Jeongguk steps backward, leaving it in a pile, and you realize he also wore nothing underneath his clothing. Jeongguk bends and fishes his coke vial out, then begins slowly backing between the large leather chairs toward his bed. 

"No panties," you tease, closing in on Jeongguk, who continues to walk backward toward his bed. You reach your fingertips out, dancing them over his inviting hip bones. "You are fucking incredible."

Jeongguk chuckles, fixing you with a shy smile that makes your heart melt. When the backs of his legs hit his bed, he lets out a little snort-laugh, and then he begins to unscrew his vial and sniff two piles of cocaine into each nostril. He hands the drugs to you, then he turns and begins to pull a strap out from under his mattress, which you are absolutely unsurprised to see. 

"There's one on each corner," he says, and you snort two little piles into each nostril, then close the vial tightly and toss it onto the comforter. You take the hint and round the end of the bed, fishing around for another strap, and when you find it, you pull it out, and set it on the corner of the mattress. 

As you move to the head of the bed and find the last strap, Jeongguk gets onto the mattress, on his hands and knees and crawls into the center. "Want me lying down or sitting up?" he asks, and you lick your lips before saying, "Lie down."

Jeongguk settles in the center and pulls his hands over his head, and you get onto the bed on your knees and begin to restrain him, starting with one wrist, and then leaning over him with your chest hanging in his face to restrain the other. 

To your surprise, the straps seem to be the perfect length to keep Jeongguk spread without there being much give. Once his ankles are in place, you crawl up to him and settle between his legs, bending close to breathe warmth against his hard, pretty cock. 

Jeongguk whimpers and writhes in his restraints, and you lean to the side, slowly dragging your lips over the soft, supple skin of his thigh. He smells musky and familiar in a way that clenches at your heart, and suddenly, the weight of his confession moments ago begins to sink and settle through you, digging its claws in deep. 

Do you think you could fall for someone like me? Asked so simply and casually, as if one asks about the weather. 

Perhaps it is the combination of substances working their way through your system, but you begin to feel claustrophobic and nauseous, and you squeeze your eyes closed. Something simmers and sticks in the back of your throat, and all you can do is gasp for air. 

"Doll?" Jeongguk asks, voice lilted with worry, and you swallow the lump and plaster on a smile, determined to make him feel just as good as he made you feel. You must do it; you need to.

"Just a little overwhelmed," you mutter, dragging your lips and teeth over the meat of his thigh, toward the musky shaved pubes at the base of his very inviting cock. 

You wet your lips and drag them up and down his shaft, flicking your tongue out to coat it in as much saliva as you can muster, but your mouth is fucking dry from the drugs, and it stresses you out. 

"Need the champagne," you whine as you sit up quickly and turn to hop-slide off the bed. 

But you may as well be landing on the moon as you teeter and sway and stumble. You hold your arms out somewhat for balance and struggle to remember just how gravity works as you get your footing and rush over to the neglected champagne bottle by the window. 

All the while, you attempt to pep talk yourself, chugging the tepid bittersweet liquid that is so heavily carbonated it fills your mouth like a gas, until you have no choice but to burp. And then you return to the bed, repeating in your head that this is something you want to do more than anything, and that it should be okay for you to love Jeongguk, if only for tonight. 

Tomorrow you can unpack it and spiral accordingly, but tonight, you need to just enjoy the ride. You want to enjoy the ride. 

Either Jeongguk can sense that something is off, or it is written clearly on your face, because his brows are knit, and his head is tilted upward as far as it can be with the restraints holding his arms splayed up and out. 

"You're so handsome," you slur as you approach the bed, and set the bottle down on the small table, then you grip onto the comforter with both fists and hoist yourself back up onto the mattress. You mean it when you ask, "How did I get this lucky?"

You straddle Jeongguk's chest and lean forward, giving him an eyeful of a glistening wet pussy that he can't reach with his hands or lips while you lean forward and swallow his cock whole. Your mouth is still a little too dry, so you press him in nice and deep, forcing yourself to slowly gag from lack of oxygen while saliva pools and pools under your tongue. 

"Fuck, holy shit, doll," Jeongguk whimpers from behind you, urging you on further. You suck his cock forcefully, desperate to milk him, and listen to him sob. Jeongguk is vocal, moaning and bleating and begging while he writhes in his restraints, hips bucking and trembling beneath you. 

You stick a finger into your mouth to wet it, then reach under Jeongguk's balls to rub little circles against his rim, and he loses it—yanking on the restraints while singing long, pretty notes of pleasure. 

Without warning, he cums in your mouth, and you gag, letting some of it hit your soft palate before dripping past your lips. But you swallow the rest, sucking on his tip and moaning while he shoots rope after rope onto the back of your tongue. 

"Holy fuck," Jeongguk sobs. "Oh my fucking god!" 

You feel elated and higher than before, humming and pleased with yourself for making him cum in what has felt like mere minutes. 

"Please let me taste you, noona," he begs, and you sit up slightly and back into his face, shoving your pussy and ass against his mouth and only giving him enough room to lick and suck desperately, but not enough room to breathe. 

When you move away, he whimpers, and you decide that you want to be even more high than you already are. The goal was to get fucked up and out of your head, and here you are, lodged so deep in your swirling thoughts that you fear you might just go mad. 

"Mind if I do more coke?" you ask as you crawl forward past Jeongguk's torso and settle haphazardly between his legs. The vial is right where you left it, and you reach for it before he can respond. 

You snort two little piles into each nostril—four total—and then screw the lid back on before tossing it aside and turning to face your prize. Jeongguk is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes blown wide as the heavens, and you reach for his half-hard cock and begin stroking it back to life. 

"Damn, it takes you no time at all to get hard again," you mutter with a smirk, falling slightly forward as you attempt to straddle and crawl up him. 

Jeongguk's expression is a mix of desire and concern, and when you finally have your hands planted on both sides of his head, you lean low and close, breasts spilling from your dress, as you take his bottom lip between his teeth and suck hard enough to make him shout.

"You really fucked me up with what you said," you chuckle against his lips, feeling your heart squeeze in your chest. The overwhelm has returned, and you press your forehead against his, fighting for air. "Why did you—" you croak, suddenly overcome with the urge to sob. 

You do not want to fall for Jeongguk. You cannot do something so foolish.

Jeongguk struggles in his restraints, yanking his hands downward and attempting to sit up, but rather than help him, all you can do is lean into him and cry. Everything is so fucking messed up, and you need it to go back to normal. You cannot possibly stay with this family if things do not go back to some semblance of normal; being here and feeling so much worry and heartache is eating you alive. 

"Noona, undo my restraints," Jeongguk urges, yanking his wrists uselessly downward. They are only cloth straps held together by velcro, but the angle and distance of them make it hard for him to reach one hand with the other. 

Jeongguk struggles, and all you can do is sink further, burying your face into his neck while a never-ending stream of sadness pours from you. It feels strange to be this devastated because you also feel an outpouring of love and affection—happiness that is so strong and present, it fucking terrifies you. 

"I can't—" you sob, unsure what you are referring to, just certain that everything is too much and all of it needs to stop. 

"Dollface, hey," Jeongguk pleads before saying your first name, "please let me out of the restraints."

"Jeongguk," you whine, tears and snot coating your face, which smear onto his neck. "I can't do this anymore. I can't stand it."

Jeongguk groans and strains hard as he reaches to undo his wrists, and you cling to him as all the emotion drains from your face with loud heaving breaths and deep, rattling sobs. You hear the tearing of velcro, one after the other, and then Jeongguk wraps his arms tightly around you while sitting the two of you up, cradling you in between his thighs. 

"Oh, baby," he mutters lowly against your temple, hands and arms doing their best to comfort you while he gently rocks back and forth. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea the drugs would make you feel this way."

"I'm sorry," you whine, drawing out each syllable, feeling utterly ashamed and embarrassed. The sweat on your skin has turned cold, and you shiver in his arms. "I feel really, really fucking happy too, but it just…I'm so scared, Jeongguk. I'm so fucking scared."

 “It’s okay to be scared. I’m here for you,” Jeongguk says your name, placing a firm, slow kiss against your temple, making you shudder out a sob. “I’ll hold you until you feel better.”

You know that he is here for you—that he would hold you through absolutely anything. And that just adds to the ineffable pile of terrifying possibilities. 

“I’m too high to sleep,” you whimper, sniffling pathetically as your exhale shakes through your mouth. 

“Me too, baby, don’t worry,” Jeongguk chuckles, squeezing you tightly in his embrace. “I got you, don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

True to his word, Jeongguk does hold you until you feel better. For hours, you sit on his bed, muttering through half-truths about your fears and your loves, your hopes and your dreams. When you shower off the cold sweat, you lean into his chest, and when he dresses you in a sweatshirt and joggers that swallow you whole, he keeps at least one arm around you at all times.

As the sun rises high, you finally stop shivering from the comedown, Jeongguk carries you home on his back, and you smile as the sunlight warms your cheeks. The only time Jeongguk lets go of you is when you find Namjoon standing out by the front door, smoking a joint. 

Namjoon’s smile shines as bright as the early afternoon sun, and as you slide down Jeongguk’s back, setting your feet onto the ground, you run into Namjoon’s arms, throwing yourself into him, catching a whiff of welcoming musk and the skunky stench of weed. 

“Sweetheart, did the two of you have fun?”

You smile brightly and only half-lie when you say yes because, despite all the tears, your heart feels so full. 

“Thanks, Jeongguk,” you say as you release Namjoon and turn around. 

Jeongguk stares at the ground for a beat, then he looks up and smiles. There is an unmistakable sadness in his eyes, and you fight the urge to run back to him. 

“Thanks for the late night booty call, dollface,” he says with a wink, clearly doing his best to cover whatever else is going on in his mind. 

You watch as Jeongguk waves and spins on his heels, walking back to the gravel path. 

“You two are so cute,” Namjoon says sweetly as he engulfs you in a warm, familiar hug. 

"Is that so?" you ask as you spin in Namjoon’s hold and wrap your arms around his middle. 

He seems to have lightened up, and he hums in agreement, making you smile. You feel eager to enjoy your day with him. You have cried rivers in the past several days, and all you want is to breathe easily and feel happy. Even if someone important is missing. 

“I spoke to Yoongi,” Namjoon says, making you gasp and take a step back. His smile is soft and inviting, dimples creasing his cheeks with bloodshot eyes, and you stare expectedly. “What do you say we fly to Hong Kong tomorrow and bring him home?”

Frantically, you nod, feeling your heart boom in your chest. Namjoon takes one more drag of his withering joint and flicks it out into the driveway.

“He regrets creating distance and he wants to talk about it in person,” Namjoon says, eyes trailing left to right as if reading your face. “Rest assured that we have done nothing to push him away.”

You wish you could believe him, but there is physical proof of something you have done to potentially make Yoongi want distance. But you smile and accept this explanation, for now. 

“Are you hungry?” Namjoon asks, releasing his hug, leaving just an arm around your waist. 

“Starving!” you exaggerate, feeling an empty pit grumbling where your stomach should be. 

The front door is propped open, and Namjoon kicks out of his slippers while you leave behind your ballet flats, then he leads you into the kitchen. 

“I’ve been craving eggs benedict, so i had the chef whip up some hollandaise sauce. Does that sound good to you?”

You glance up with a grin and say, “Awe, I was hoping you might burn the mansion down making me an omelet.”

Namjoon digs his fingers into your ribs, making you double over and squeal, grumbling about how he is not that bad of a cook. 

With your hands held high, you shout, “I submit! You’re an amazing cook!” while tears pool in your tired eyes. 

Namjoon halts his attack on your sides and ushers you along on wobbly legs to the kitchen. 

"Are these Gguk's clothes?" he asks brightly, tugging at the oversized hoodie near your ribs. 

You nod and look up at his bright, smiling face, basking in this moment of happiness. You tell yourself that, above all, you desperately need everything to work out and be okay, if only so that you can continue to have moments like these with the people you love. 

No matter what, things need to be okay. 

It's about time we get it straight Gimme a minute if it ain't too late It sounds about right, this can't be forced, babe 대충 무리였나봐, babe It shouldn't feel like this 애먼 기분만 해친 채 Hurts too much already 버티기가 이만큼 힘든데 Stay with me 'til the end of the day

Maybe we Could be Slow dancing Until the morning We could be romancing The night away

🎵 visit the playlist

a few little side notes: i didn't want to name what drug mc is taking because she's not having the best time, so i didn't want to stigmatize medication that anyone takes irl. like...we all know Xanax is used in wack/recreational ways, so that one feels ok to say by name, i guess?

anyway...the experiences mc has while on a cocktail of medications/drugs may not look the same as how your body may react to these, and that is okay. please do not bother me about how your experiences may differ with xanax and other medications, or molly and medications. (but for the sake of argument, i will say that sometimes when you do antidepressants and molly, the serotonin high hits too hard and fast and it can cause a very fast physical and emotional crash, which is why mc does not experience the pure euphoria that you might come to know and love from that drug.) it feels so weird to me when people hit me up to argue about this kind of stuff because everyone's bodies and brains are different, so please don't. this is a work of fiction above all else.

all that being said, i know i have said it before, but i will keep saying it: this story is sad, sad, sad from here on out. the overall end goal is something happy, but it won't feel that way for a while.

reblogs and comments are the lifeblood of this site, but likes are also super appreciated!!! thank you for reading, i love you!!!

a namjoon pov scene takes place between this chapter and the next one, where he devises a plan to get Yoongi back and has a heart-to-heart with mc. you can access his pov here (or learn parts of it in later chapters from the reader’s perspective!)

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[formula1fanfiction]

Lando Norris / Max Verstappen

Title: Nothing wrong with healthy competition

Pairing: Lando Norris / Max Verstappen

Characters: Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc

Prompt: Could you write something between Lando and Max with the bottom Max? Lando gets jealous of the amount of time Max is spending with Charles.

Lando should be happy, another race, second on the podium but that sinking feeling in his stomach, it could have been first but not only that Max is openly flirting with Charles.

He stands outside his boyfriends drivers room, but Charles is still there chatting away about his boring race, his boring dog. Lando just wants to tell him to fuck off. He wants Max to himself.

"Hi Babe." Max smiles at him, when he enters completely uninvited. Lando wraps his arm around Max's shoulder. "Carlos is looking for you." Lando lies, Charles looks confused. "Is he? I'd better go."

"Bye bye Charles." Lando mocks, Max looks really confused.  Lando takes his opportunity to set the record straight, Max is his, not Charles'  "If you would rather have him instead of me, just say it Max." Lando whispers the words, while backing Max up into the wall.

"What is this all about?" Max squeaks, as his back hits the wall, he bites down on his lip and he's honestly never looked sexier, maybe Lando should let his dominant side come out more often. "I think you know Max, you want him to fuck you, am I not good enough for you anymore?"

"I think you've had too much champagne, I only have eyes for you." Lando shrugs. "It didn't seem that way to me." Lando's hands rest on them hem of Max's fire proof leggings. "May I?" Max nods, eagerly. Lando doesn't waste any time and pushes the leggings and boxers down to his ankles, revealing Max's surprisingly hard cock.  

"Thinking about Charles, were you?" Max shakes his head, it's the hottest thing Lando's ever seen, having Max so submissive for him. Max shakes his head. "Only you."

"Good, or i'd take you up onto the podium and fuck you in front of everyone." Lando takes Max's hard cock into his hand and starts stroking him. "Would you let me Max, show everyone who you really belong to?" Lando has no idea where these dirty thoughts are coming from, but his own cock is straining against his own leggings. "I'd fuck you so hard, you wouldn't even remember Charles' name."  

"Fuck me, please.. Lando." Max seems to be losing it already, Lando doesn't want to waste any more time. Lando uses the pre cum on his hand and lines as single digit against Max's hole, not pushing in, just stroking over the quivering entrance. "What do you think Max, think you can take it? You've never had me like this before"

Max bites down on his lip and moans. "Lando please, I don't want to beg." Lando smirks and slides the finger inside, Max moans a little, the angle guides report straight into his prostate. Lando slides the single finger in and out of the tight hole, soon adding a second finger. Max is impatient and needy and wriggling under Lando's hand and protests a little when Lando adds a third finger. "Lando, please." The Brit ignores him and continues to annoy Max by thrusting agonizingly slow. Lando's own cock pulses with need and it's only then Lando pulls out his fingers.

"Turn round Maxi." Max doesn't, he seems to want to be manhandled today, Lando takes matters into his own hands and roughly flips him around, pushing him into the wall. "I'm going to make you feel so good baby."

Lando pushes his leggings and boxers down to his thighs, just enough to take his own cock out. It's angry red and leaking from neglect, he gives himself a few strokes then lines up against and slowly sinks inside, both of them moan in relief as Lando bottoms out inside of him, with a few short moves.

Max clenches and unclenches around him, he's never taken Lando's cock before, so he gives the older man plenty of time to adjust to the burn. "Lando please, I want you to fuck me." Lando chuckles. "Needy little Max, never thought i'd see you begging for someone to fuck your arse." Max moans in response, it's so hot and pornographic Lando almost comes on the spot.

He really can't wait any longer, Max feels so tight, so warm, so perfect, he knows he's not going to last long. Max is perfectly, plaint while getting fucked, he throws his head back and moans loudly as Lando pulls nearly all the way out, only to slam back inside of him again.

he sets a brutal, hard pace, he might as well enjoy it for the short amount of time he's going to last. Max curses, swears and moans as he pounded into with an inch of his life. "Fuck Lando, I feel so good." He pants, in between moans.

Lando doesn't really know what he's doing, but he knows he's doing something right, when his cock bumps against something and Max is screaming with pleasure. So hits it, again and again. "Lando, please- I need to-"

Max can't seem to form words right now, but Lando thinks he knows what he wants and wraps his hand around Max's leaking cock and strokes him to the same pace as his thrusts. Robert changes his angle and slams into Joshua's prostate, fucking into him with all his might now. Max throws his head back and cries out as he comes, painting he wall with his seed. Max goes limp and floppy with orgasm, Lando has to keep him up alright while still thrusting into him.

He's close himself and fucks into Max with all his might, the sound of wet skin slapping together echo's around the room, he can't last much longer and all too soon he's coming hard, painting the inside of Max, with a satisfied moan.

Lando pulls out, and Max sinks down onto the floor, completely boneless. "Lando, I was not aware, where the fuck did that come from?" Lando giggles. "I didn't like finishing second."   

"Jesus, you get one win and you turn into a power top." Max pulls himself up onto his shaking legs. "As soon as I get you back to the hotel, i'm going to show you who's really in charge."

"I can't wait."

[tiptapricock]

Also for my love of trans guys, can you do trans Johnlaoshi ? If you don't know how to write ot3 just trans Kung Lao with anyone.

I can absolutely do those three and in fact it would b a pleAsure to.

Send me some Mortal Kombat characters or ships for some NSFW headcanons!

(Btw general hcs im operating off of for myself r none of them have bottom op, Kenshi n Johnny have had top, n Kung Lao is no op occasional binding depending on what he’s up for. Words used here include cock, dick, folds, entrance, and chest)

———

In the early days when they’re all at the academy, the dynamic is focused around Kung Lao and Johnny having fun

They fool around with each other, because it’s easy and good and they get the other’s brashness, and then they stumble into Kenshi being in the equation. Maybe through him walking in on them, maybe through a bet or an argument or a charged promise of revenge that leads into hurried touching and curled toes. Either way, it happens

From there it becomes a game, a push and pull of energy between the three of them

Kenshi is in it for the stress relief. It’s good sex, and an outlet to mess around with his friends who he regrettably enjoys fucking (even if they still annoy the shit out of him)

Johnny and Kung Lao are in it for the bit, to see who can goad Kenshi into things, who can get him to bite back first and show his fun side. It’s a challenge to make things more interesting

Plus, it is hot

“Look at that, Johnny.” Kung Lao bites his lip with a smirk as he watches Kenshi enter the room, his eyes running over the two of them as he takes his coat off, the evening already well under way. “We’ve got a visitor.”

They’re in Kenshi and Johnny’s quarters, kneeling upright on the bed as they rub against each, their cocks shiny and flushed as they bulge up from their folds

Kenshi watches quietly as he gets undressed and goes casually through the movements of getting ready himself, his eyes heated as he works on the harness of his strap

“We’re comparing sizes up close, Kendoll,” Johnny says breathlessly.

Kung Lao grinds his hips forward, making Johnny grunt, and smirks at Kenshi again. “Want to referee on who’s bigger?” he asks.

Kenshi makes a low sound, stalking over and tugging Kung Lao off Johnny. He presses him down, and Kung Lao kind of laughs, smirking. “Oh no, it seems I’ve been captured by a swordsman,” he says, and then, dropping his voice all mockingly sweet, “How deep will you impale me, sir?”

Kenshi sinks to his elbows and growls in Kung Lao’s ear, “Until you make a good sheath.”

Kung Lao’s breath hitches. “Shit, Kenshi…”

Kenshi starts to work him open, and Johnny can’t take his eyes off them

Kenshi sinks his fingers in, firm and deep, and Kung Lao makes such nice sounds and—

Johnny watches intently, touching himself while they get into it

Depending on the type of night, it can go several ways from there

On days they’re on good terms, Johnny will eventually migrate to press against Kenshi’s back, feeling him over as he rocks into Kung Lao. He’ll croon over the two of them, telling them how good they look, how nice they sound

On other nights, Johnny gets punishment. If he’s dragged his feet or been too much of an ass, Kenshi won’t let him in. He just has to stay worked up, curling into himself while he’s forced to watch from a distance

The three of them don’t really have defined roles, though. They’re always experimenting and exploring with each other

Sex becomes almost like another competition, something to one up each other on just like in training

Johnny and Kung Lao find (to their delight) that Kenshi is actually up for very stupid and risky things, if they lead him into it enough

Blowjobs behind the washrooms? (Are you chicken, Takahashi?)

Groping under the table at meals? (I’ll give you Sento if you don’t make a sound)

They feed off each other’s energy and antics, sweaty arms slung over shoulders after a hard training session blending into nails scraping down thighs and over leather as Kenshi keeps Johnny in place, Kung Lao buried deep in his throat

There are still genuine tender moments here and there though, especially in the time between Raiden becoming champion and the actual tournament, when Raiden is way more removed as he trains harder and they’re all feeling some of the sting from losing

I think some of Kung Lao’s insecurities seep out a bit here, being second suddenly, and the physical relationship helps a lot

He’s always been gung ho in his masculinity, in himself, but after losing to Raiden and hearing comments that disdain his garishness… some worries sneak in that morph and rot into doubts about himself

He finds days that his confidence stutters, that he worries about how he’s perceived in his manhood. Johnny and Kenshi notice how bothered he is by all of it, and help to reaffirm him a lot in different ways

Sometimes that’s by letting him feel in control and on top by domming them both, his hips snapping into Johnny as Kenshi watches from the sidelines, restrained and still dressed with a sweaty brow, and others it is something subtle in the passive moments of pleasure they swap on rest days

“God, Kenshi, you seein’ this thing?”

Kenshi glances down from where he’s reading at Kung Lao’s side, both of them reclined casually while Johnny lays between Kung Lao’s legs, and whistles

“Nice cock,” he says. “Very handsome.”

Johnny grins in response, and Kung Lao lets out a soft breath as he starts stroking him again. “Great cock,” he emphasizes

Kenshi rolls his eyes, putting his book down and turning onto his side, one hand settling idly on Kung Lao’s stomach where his shirt’s been rucked up. “He’s got ‘Great’ everything, Cage. Told us he takes after his ancestor, didn’t he?”

“Mmm.” Johnny leans down to mouth at Kung Lao’s entrance, running his tongue up and over his dick. “That he did,” he says, kissing the tip. His hands twitch slightly on Kung Lao’s thighs, and Johnny groans, distracted for a moment. “Damn… Takes after a damn tree, too. God these legs…”

Kenshi huffs as Johnny settles down to take Kung Lao in his mouth again, his own hand wandering up to push Kung Lao’s shirt out of the way and begin gently kneading at his chest, squeezing the flesh and rolling it beneath his palm. The mix of sensations makes Kung Lao’s eyes flutter closed.

“You guys suck,” he mumbles.

Kenshi noses against his jaw, moving some of his loose hair out of the way to kiss the skin. His fingers tug pointedly at Kung Lao’s nipple. “That’s Johnny’s job,” he mutters.

That tender piece of their dynamic, that feels different from the friendship and the sex, only grows during their time in Outworld

By the time they’re post Kenshi blinding, there’s a lot more slowness and touch to everything they do, they’re not as rushed and are all more familiar. Whatever relationship this is is… solid.

Johnny gets even more touchy than he already was. Nearly losing Kenshi and learning… concerning things about different fates in previous timelines from slips and interactions in the chaos between realms has made him… clingy. He doesn’t want to lose this, either of them, and feeling both of them under him, around him, inside him, is one of the best ways to feel full and secure that they’re… ok

They feel up each others bodies, the old scars and the new, grounding each other as they grind on each other

Johnny tells Kenshi how he’s got him, how he’s always got his back as he fingers him open while Kenshi’s in his lap, his movements slow, and Kenshi lets himself relax for once, feeling safe even without Sento assisting as Kung Lao kisses all over his chest and stomach

Calloused fingers scarred with small cuts from hat practice run over Kenshi’s top scars and the tattoos that cover and decorate them, and the areas on his ribs that unsafe binding used to bite into the skin

Kung Lao leans up to suck into his neck, carding fingers through his hair only to reach past and tug Johnny a bit closer by his nape, both of them sandwiching Kenshi between them

He can hear their dual smirks as they mutter to each other, about how lovely he looks, about how good he feels. There’s a soft sound as they kiss, a little hum, before Johnny’s chin hooks over Kenshi’s shoulder, his cologne strong

“We’ve been talking, babe, and uh…” He laughs slightly, almost sounding worried, and kisses Kenshi’s neck, crooking his fingers suddenly. Kenshi makes a sharp sound, hands scrabbling up to grip Kung Lao’s arms. “I know you’re up for bein’ in my movies, but uh… would you ever wanna make a private flick?”

Kenshi groans, rocking down into Johnny’s touch hard

“Told you he’d hate it,” Kung Lao prods.

Johnny sputters. “I don’t know if that was hating it, maybe a little disapproving but—”

Kenshi makes a grunt in protest, grip immediately tightening. God they’re both idiots. His idiots, though… maybe he’s not that far behind them with what he’s imagining right now

He tilts his face up with a gasp as Johnny’s palm grinds against his cock, his mouth finding the edge of Kung Lao’s jaw. “I really—” He swallows thickly. “I really don’t hate it,” he breathes.

Kung Lao makes a sound of surprise, but it’s muffled as Kenshi kisses him, swallowing the next grunt of appreciation as Kung Lao melts forward

Johnny laughs from behind him, pushing them both down until Kenshi is laying on Kung Lao’s chest, Johnny still knuckle deep inside him

“That’s great to hear, Kendoll, ‘cause honestly?” His hand runs past Kenshi’s thigh to skirt over Kung Lao’s. “I’ve been wanting to capture this view for a while.”

[redgoldblue]

hello hello, for the ask game: 🌤️☔ and because that's sun + rain and i can never resist a rainbow emoji anyway: 🌈

thanku! 🌈🌈 we all know what wip i'm using for this

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

I was shocked, going through the doc by how little pure dialogue there is. apparently when i'm essentially writing ~30k of Emotions from the POV of a guy who hates acknowledging his emotions, a lot of it is internal/physical description. or at least mixed in with it.

actually. wait. i think maybe my favourite dialogue isn't even between Steve and Danny, it's Danny and Harry:

“Should I be offering congratulations or slapping the both of you upside the head?” “What?” “Yes, I rather thought that might be the case.” Danny spreads his hands in what he thinks is an appropriately ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ gesture, and follows it up by saying, “Harry, what the fuck are you talking about?” “Were you two ever going to discuss the fact that you’re in love with each other, or are you just planning to keep muddling along in the hopes that one day you’ll trip and fall into bed together?” Before Danny can come up with any kind of response to that, Harry raises a hand and amends, “No, sorry, you’re already in bed together. In the hopes that you’ll trip and fall onto each other’s cocks.”

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

Danny brushes his teeth, combs wet fingers through his hair, washes his hands on autopilot. Then he sits down on the closed toilet lid and lets himself shake out of his skin. It’s almost habit now, this moment after Steve is discharged where the relief that he’s not actively dying clashes into the terror that medical professionals are no longer watching him, and the resulting noise reverberates through Danny’s body and sets him falling. He has no idea how long it ever takes, just that he sits with elbows braced on his knees staring at nothing until the flood of emotions recedes and leaves him with nothing but the dirty sand of exhaustion. That’s the usual path. Except that today, there’s a knock on the bathroom door and Steve’s voice calling, “Danny? You okay?” He can’t get out more than a grunt in response, still falling, drowning. The door cracks open, and Steve repeats, “Danny?” through the gap. Danny manages something that sounds more like human language this time, but it’s still not any form of comprehensible words. Or enough to stop Steve pushing the door fully open and crossing the few steps to stand in front of him. Then he drops to a crouch, resting his palms on Danny’s thighs for a moment before he reaches for Danny’s hands where they press hard against his own jaw and temple. Danny lets him take them, lower them, then slips his fingers down until he can find Steve’s pulse on both sides. It’s there, strong and steady, and Danny shuts his eyes and curls further towards Steve. There’s a reason he does this alone. He’s just having trouble remembering what it is right now.

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

I can do one better - I can do soft and fluffy. mwahaha

Danny tucks the flower through one of Steve’s buttonholes to free his hands up. Steve, of course, looks down at it first like he’s baffled, and then rapidly like his pupils are on the verge of turning into hearts and popping out of his skull like a deranged cartoon character. Danny snorts. “You’re such a fucking romantic.” “Wh- hey,” Steve says, abruptly defensive, and Danny waves a hand at him before he can get any further up in arms. “Calm down, buddy. It wasn’t an insult.” Steve raises his eyebrows doubtfully. “Much of one,” Danny allows. “Not really. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

wip asks

[chaos-monkeyy]

❦ ➷ get to know your fellow fanfic writers better ༊ ✧.*

Tagged by @dewdropreader and @mirilyawrites , thank you!!

1. when did you post your first ever fanfic?

February 2019!

2. first character you wrote for:

Ben Jones my beloved (from Midsomer Murders)

3. main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

I don't know if I'm even allowed to answer this one 😂 Probably my own characters for original works, aside from that I really am just all over the map.. I'll say the ones I'm most likely to come back to regularly these days are Captain Pike, Mobius, and Dalinar Kholin (along with, y'know, people for them to get it on with).

4. character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

Pike's sex toys 😏

But uhhh actual people I haven't already written? 🤔 I am still toying with the idea of writing a little Jordi x Erin scene for Who Is Erin Carter? but it's anyone's best guess whether I'll actually get around to it 🙈

5. fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

The main culprits lately have been Stormlight Archive, Star Trek Strange New Worlds, the Loki series, Stargate, and original fiction! Honorable mention to OFMD and Good Omens who've popped in there a couple times as well and may or may not continue to make occasional appearances 💖

6. platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

.....let's say Ortegas & Pike since I did technically write them recently 😆 and also I love them.

7. romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

All the things

Though let's be real, it's just straight up sexual pairings as opposed to romantic most of the time 🍾 But yeah, there's just.. so many to have fun with ✨

8. your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

PWP, Omorashi... and in third place is a three way tie between Masturbation, Watersports, and Blowjobs 😂

9. your current platform where you post your works

Fanfic:

Original work:

With occasional cross-posting between the two 😊

10. snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

..alright well here's hoping I do wind up actually finishing the big-dick-Mobius fic I started ages ago to go with @natendo-art 's hot fucking artwork 🙈

“May I?” Loki was asking— and he was trailing one hand downwards, fingers teasing along the line of Mobius’s belt. 

Mobius’s breath caught in an embarrassing little whimper, but he nodded anyway, a little distracted from wondering… Should he tell Loki he didn’t have any idea what he was doing, not really? Should he keep quiet and hope maybe Loki wouldn’t notice how woefully inexperienced he was beyond his own hands? Or— 

Mobius’s nervous train of thought was interrupted by Loki’s fingers finding his stiffened cock through his suit pants with a little squeeze— 

…And then Loki stopped, pulled back, and stared at Mobius with wide eyes and a slightly shocked look. 

“Wh… what is it?” Mobius asked, face flaming, instantly certain he’d done something wrong. “I’m sorry—” 

“Sorry?” Loki breathed, and to Mobius’s tentative relief, that slightly slack-jawed expression twisted up into a grin of delight instead. “My dear Mobius, you should definitely not be sorry about this.”

Tagging @trainofcommand , @d--dandelions , @cosmereplay , @might-be-a-lynx , @confuzing , @knight-of-skyloft , @cordeliaperry , @frankthesnek , @cuillere , and anyone else I missed who wants to do it - consider yourself tagged too! 💙

[funtimefloof]

Another day, another rant <3

Trigger Warning: Niragi, mentions of attempted r@ pe, being sick in the head

MY opinion on this

Okay, so let's start; we all know Dori Sakurada is exceptionally handsome and a slayer with his dashing good looks, and he may or may not have given Niragi pretty privilege, by playing his role, that's for sure.

Yet, I really like Niragi. He's one of my favourites, I won't deny that. I sure as fuck know, that I'm proabbaly gonna get bashed for this, because I've read comments on Instagram and tik tok saying "ppl who like niragi are sick in the head" and yada, yada, but I don't care.

Listen, I fucking LOATHE him for trying an attempt to r@ pe Usagi, twice, I would kill him for it, ffs, but there is just something about his crazy, careless, bad character additude, that I really like.

I've read comments which are like "You can like his actor, but not his character" or for example, someone wrote that they like Niragi, because he's hot and they like that he has piercings and such and someone else replied "Yeah you can like the style the character has" and more stuff like that.

Then, people start to bring his past into it, that just because he was bullied, doesn't justify his behaviour/actions. Like come on, I get it, it doesn't, I completely agree, but bullying changes people. Now I won't elaborate on that anymore, because the rant I'd have for this is way to not thought through enough.

If Niragi wouldn't have been bullied that hard, he'd probabaly have a nice degree, would've made some nice friends in the future and his life would be good, and we all would love him. But not everyone can turn out to be a good bean, man.

Some people need to realise that the world ain't all flowers, rainbows and innocence. Some people just are fucked in the head and like this toxic, walking red flag. Me included.

Like I said, I don't condone his actions in any way or form, if I would be in the show I'd kick him the the guts everytime he would try to do something like that, alright.

That's why I'm glad tumblr exists and is a safe place for those people, who do like Niragi, because here they can write fanfcition about him and live in their own fantasies and I am reliefed to have tumblr in my life, because that's where people can be who they are, without being judged by the 'normal' rest of society.

Besides, without the SA part he would proabably (surely) be just another bad, psycho, killer character everyone loves, lbh.

And with that being said, I, myself am on my way to write a oneshot about Niragi because I love him. Suck my fat, juicy, non existent cock, haters <3

For all the Niragi lovers, the oneshot may take a lil while ♡

[wordborne]

All for Us

Jerome Valeska finds someone new to torment.

That someone is, unfortunately, you.

TAGS: Jerome Valeska/Reader, alternate universe, unhealthy relationships, bad decisions, canon-typical violence, major character death, eventual smut, Jerome can only be classified as nuisance to lover. CHAPTER: 1/?

Inspired by Are You Going to Write Your Report About Me? by Magnetic_Stars .

It was the third night the city was at war.

Breaking and entering. Murders. Fires everywhere. The non-stop sound of sirens screaming outside was almost dulled out by the loud music playing from your TV. Only one channel had kept its regular scheduled programming, and you tuned in every single time the city went to hell again. The volume was cranked up so loudly you were sure the poor speakers were going to burst one day, but you wanted to keep up the charade. Pretend you were masking something instead of doing the dishes while occasionally throwing dollar store ceramic plates out the window or into a wall to pretend someone was looting your apartment.

Was it a sound strategy? No. But, so far, you hadn't met the fates of some of your neighbors who’d stumbled out of their homes the morning after, faces with patches of black and blue and missing a few teeth after someone decided they were an easy hit. 

They hadn’t bothered to cut off the lights the last couple of times, making everything eerier. Light was comforting. Kind. But not this one. This one was tainted with bloodlust and pain, offering no relief if you were caught in the crossfire. Still, the city had to go on. Schools were open. You had to go to work every day. The little corner shops had their ‘open’ neon signs on because this couldn’t go on forever.  And, to the city’s defense, they did try to bring some sense of peace. Have more cops around. Big, yellow buses designated to take people home after work or school -as if they’d forgotten what happened the last time one of those maniacs took a hold of it. You’d rather risk it and walk -or rather, run- home. Lock yourself up, chair under the doorknob, music all cranked up, and pretend Gotham wouldn’t be like this forever. You grabbed a pink ceramic plate with a cartoonish princess on it and threw it out the window, hoping it wouldn’t bonk anyone in the head on its way down before continuing the tedious job of doing the dishes that’d been piling up for the last couple of days. The music was catchy, but after hearing the same thing over and over again, it was beginning to get a bit… dull. Still, you tried to make the best of it. Humming the choruses of the ones you kinda-sorta knew, bopping your head to the songs that were growing on you, and all would’ve been fine if you hadn't felt something metallic at the back of your skull followed by the sound of a cocking gun. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Shit. 

You brought your soupy hands up and slowly turned around, feeling your stomach drop when you realized who was at the other end of the barrel.

Jerome fucking Valeska. Just your luck.

TV didn’t do the man justice. He was positively terrifying. All scars and sewed-up tissue dotted his face, stretched strangely here and there, distorting the freckles peppering his skin. He was pale. Paler than you ever thought he could be. His eyes were a strange shade of green that didn’t match the uncontrolled fire behind them that burned just as bright as his hair. 

“It’s rude to stare, y’know?”

“And it’s rude to just… invite yourself into my home, isn’t it?”

His brows furrowed, lips turning into a snarl before he started laughing, waving the gun around as if it was a toy and not a loaded murder weapon.

“So, here’s the rundown.” He started, hopping on the counter and leaving bloody hand prints on the faux marble. “In about…” He glanced at an invisible clock on his wrist. “Three minutes, Jimbo is gonna come knocking on your door asking if you’ve seen me. And you are gonna say you don’t know what he’s talking about ‘cause you just had a wonderful dinner with your handsome boyfriend who just got out of work and desperately needs to get the blood out of his hair.”

You simply stared.

“Okay, don’t say the last part.” He quickly added, and then hopped off the counter. “Point is, I’m not here. Got it?”

He got a nod in return after a very, very long sigh.

“Good.” He replied, a smile etching on his face that seemed bigger and far more malicious with his mouth stretched like that. “I need to use your shower. Hate it when my hair gets sticky. Which knob is for the hot water?”

“Left. Bathroom’s over there.”

“Thanks, doll.” He started to walk away before he suddenly turned to face you again. “By the way, no funny business. I have a gun, I have your phone, and you’d hate if mommy got a call from me, wouldn’t you?” He waved the little device with his free hand before stuffing it back in his pocket and shutting the door behind him.

You stared at the door, chest rapidly rising and falling, waiting for him to come out, gun pointed straight at your forehead and laughing at your gullibility before taking the shot. But he didn’t. The only thing that came out from the bathroom door was steam and the smell of what was probably half your bottle of shampoo going down the drain. 

Three pointed knocks at the front door snapped you out of it, making you quickly turn your head in its direction.

“GCPD!”

It was showtime. You tried to pick yourself together. Get your heartbeat to slow down the tiniest bit as you wiped your hands on the back of your shirt, briskly lowering the volume on the TV and dragging your trusty chair back before opening the door.

“I’m Detective Gordon and this is Detective Bullock,” A man said, flashing his badge and motioning to the one beside him. “Jerome Valeska was seen in this area, and we noticed your window was open. Have you seen him?”

“No. No, I haven’t.”

“Are you alone?” 

“Yes.”

His eyes traveled behind you, looking from the open window where the wind was softly moving the curtain to the ceramic mess on the ground. Bullock did the same.

“What’s up with the mess?”

“I break dishes so people think I’m being robbed.”

“Does it work?”

“It has so far.”

Bullock hummed, and gave you a little impressed nod. And, then, Valeska had to ruin everything by loudly whistling some obnoxious fucking tune now that the damn volume was down.

“Thought you were alone.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You sighed, trying to let out the panic into that single exhale, eyes darting away from the pair before looking at Gordon directly in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m- I’m not. My boyfriend just came back from work and is taking a shower.” You said and, after a small pause, motioned around you and added. “This whole thing has put me on edge. You know how it is.”

It was hard to tell whether he bought it or not. His face wasn’t giving much away, the lines on his forehead and brows were still knitted together with no sign of softening any time soon. If he asked to come inside, you were done. There was blood on the counter. Probably some on the windowsill if they decided to check it out. 

After a couple of seconds, Gordon nodded. “Give us a call if you see anything.”

“Will do.” You offered them a small smile before closing the door and leaning against it, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

Right on cue, Valeska came out of the bathroom, whistling still as a puff of steam burst out behind him. He was using your towel to dry his hair. Your white towel that was now stained pink and red.  

 “You better leave by the time I wake up.” You hissed, walking past him in a huff, aiming to hit his shoulder but thinking the best of it last minute before heading towards your room and slamming the door behind you. 

The lock was in place. A chair under the doorknob. And, just for good measure, you dragged your nightstand in front of it as well.

“That won’t stop me if I wanna get in there.”

“Fuck you!”

“Come out and do it yourself.”

His laugh echoed through the apartment, making your blood boil. You should be afraid. Fucking terrified, actually. But all you could feel was anger. Keeping the window open was stupid. Letting Valeska do whatever he wanted was worse. But lying to the cops when you could’ve subtly nodded at the bathroom door and whisper he was there? That should’ve been your one-way ticket straight to Arkham because covering up for someone like Jerome was insane. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when you heard him pacing outside. Flipping TV channels. Moving this and that on the kitchen. Acting as if it was his damn place. By the time you cracked your door open the morning after, he was gone, leaving a path of mayhem in his wake.

Dirty dishes. Empty food containers. Wet clothes on the bathroom floor. A cartoon channel playing old favorites on the TV. And there, on the counter, your phone with an unsent message that said see you soon.