#don’t tighten too much it won’t fit had me SCREAMING

[rainba]

Erased

TWs/Tags: yandere, violence, spoilers for Sumeru + angst

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He’s got you right where he wants you- your throat within his grip. He’s cackling maniacally with a freakish grin plastered on his face, but there’s also tears pouring out of his eyes. He looks like a beautiful, broken porcelain doll.

Under the cover of darkness, he chased you, grabbed you, and trapped you in the cage of his arms.

The way the moonlight illuminates your beautiful face drives him to insanity.

“I know you’ve forgotten me, you- you don’t know who I am at all… But…” He grits his teeth and sneers. “Tell me, what’s my name!? Say it!” He strangles you in a fit of sheer desperation, but you can’t choke out a single word. Even if you were capable of speaking, you wouldn’t know what to say. What are you supposed to say? 

This stranger is scaring you.

His grip loosens when he sees your face changing colors. As you gasp for air, you scream. “Let go of me, freak!” You kick and squirm as harshly as you can. If you don’t escape him now, there’s no telling what he’ll do to you. When you shriek those words, they tear away at him, shredding into him like razor blades. If he had a heart, it would be bleeding. 

He doesn’t move for a second. He just stares with shaking eyes.

Scaramouche did this to himself, he knows that very well… So why?

Why does this hurt so fucking bad?

Before he erased his past from this world, the two of you were attached at the hip. It was utterly strange. Scaramouche hated humans to his core, but he had made an exception for you. You were just so different. You loved him deeply- you had once accepted him. He would bark insults at you, but you always bite back. And he loved that about you. It was always a playful game to see who would win, even though it always ended with Scaramouche coming out on top due to his unbearable stubbornness. After all, you’re just a human, and he’s so much more.

Yet he despised how much he missed you.

And he loathed how much he craves your love.

He misses the way you would run your fingers through his dark purple hair. He misses the way you would kiss his nose and steal his hat to wear it, even though it always annoyed him. What he once thought were inconveniences turned out to be his favorite parts of life. He hated you, but he loved you too, and he could never understand it. He also would never say any of it out loud.

In the past, he never told you that he loved you, but somehow it was like you knew anyway. He constantly called you stupid, but he was always lying through his teeth.

But now… Now you stare at him with terrified eyes as you scratch and kick at him. It’s so painful, it hurts so bad, and because of that he continues to sob. He’s never cried like this before… He feels fucking pathetic. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. How is it even possible for him to feel this way? How did he let himself get so attached? He just wants it to stop.

He wants it all to go away.

He just wants you to– no, needs you to remember him, even though he knows it's impossible.

The fact that he did this to himself without thinking twice is what makes everything much more frustrating.

Does he regret erasing himself from irminsul? No, he doesn’t. But… Still…

His mind goes numb as his hands tighten around your throat a little more. At this point, you’re shaking like a leaf, worried that you won’t make it out alive. “I’m not a freak, you lowly human.” He seethes and instinctively hurls back an insult. Scaramouche hardly cares about what others think of him, but hearing you call him such a thing with genuine malice bothers him.

Meanwhile, all you can do is think about how to escape. You’ve never met this man before a day in your life… Why is he doing this? You wonder if he’s mistaking you for someone else. Perhaps he’s going through a psychotic episode. You try to reason out the situation, but there’s really no point. Your heart is beating so fast that it might just burst. 

“S…Sc… Sca… Scar…” You murmur out fragments of a word, and Scaramouche’s eyes widen. Scar? Are you going to say ‘Scaramouche’? Without thinking, he lets go of you and lifts himself up a little, giving you ample opportunity to escape his clutches. You shoot your leg up and knee him as hard as you can before crawling away. “Scared…” You finish your word. 

“I’m scared… Please, just leave me alone!”

Tears start streaming down your face, and that makes two of you. Scaramouche is too stunned to move as he watches you run the other way. When he realizes that you’re no longer in his grasp, he freaks out. “Get back here!”

It can’t end like this…

No, it absolutely can’t.

He won’t let it.

He’ll hunt you down to the edges of this earth. He’ll grab you, cage you, embrace you until the warmth of his presence is the only reason why you live and breathe. Scaramouche jumps to his feet and begins to chase you.

Your feet burn as you race across the grassy forest of Sumeru, desperate to escape with your life. You jump over roots, dodge stray rocks, and dash through little streams of water. Your breathing grows so heavy that your lungs burn, and your head begins to spin. You run for what feels like hours, and unwillingly, you collapse onto your knees. 

You clutch at your chest and cough. Everything burns so badly… 

Everything hurts… Why does everything hurt?

But at least you’re free now.

Or so you thought.

“Did you really think you could run away from me?”

A violent voice rang out from the darkness. Before you could even react, you were pinned down to the ground again. It was futile- so utterly futile to think you can escape him. You’re so dizzy that you can’t make out the words that he’s saying. He’s yelling something- you can tell from the way his mouth is moving. All you can make out is the word ‘remember.’ 

But you stop looking at him- opting to look at the stars instead. They’re so beautiful… So far away.

Scaramouche notices the way you’re dissociating and backhands you. He brings you back down to earth. “Are you ignoring me?” His anger boils into pure rage. The past you would never ignore him… The past you would never dare to run away from him. 

Scaramouche shakes your shoulders as he yells more obscenities at you.

He’s shaking you so harshly that your head hits the ground multiple times.

He shakes you so hard that your skull collides with a stone beneath your head.

When he sees blood, his eyes widen.

“W-wait,” his breath hitches. “I didn’t mean to do that.” His voice comes out barely above a whisper as he watches you black out from beneath him.

“(Y/n)?” He calls out.

“(Y/n), wake up.”

He shakes you just a little more, careful to not hurt you this time.

“I order you to wake up!” He uses one hand to grab your face tightly, trying to get you to react, but you don’t.

Scaramouche panics before placing his ear against your chest, searching for a pulse. When he hears the soft beating, he can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. All he does then is hold you close to him, refusing to let go. You’re just as warm as ever… So, so soft. He’s trembling like a leaf.

He can’t help but think that this is so unlike him.

When you’re around, it’s like he becomes an entirely different person.

He closes his eyes and buries his face in your neck while breathing in your scent. Even though he erased himself from this world, you remain mostly unchanged. 

All he wants is you.

Scaramouche doesn’t care that you hate him right now. Yes, it stings, but he’ll get you to love him again… You don’t have a choice. He’ll spend day and night getting you to fall for him. It’ll be just like before. You’ll smile at him, whisper sweet nothings into his ear again, and tease him until he gets red in the face. Just like usual. 

God, he fucking hates how you make him feel.

But he needs it so badly.

As he rises to his feet, he holds you gently in his arms, taking special care of your head. Your blood drips onto his arms, but it doesn’t bother him. He’ll get you patched up and healed in no time. Then he’ll keep you by his side… Forever… Just like before. 

You’re not allowed to forget about him.

You’re not allowed to live a life without him.

You belong to him…

And he belongs to you.

#scaramouche/reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #angst

[sanchoi21]

Sleepless Nights

Alhaitham x reader

Warnings: Detailed mentions of smut, with fluff. I don’t play Genshin Impact but am weirdly attracted to Alhaitham, so forgive me there is any wrong information. Not for minors.

He visits you in the middle of the night through the open window, which you kept open anticipating his visit. It was dark outside with the moon adorning the night sky with it’s ethereal glory. You got up from your soft covers and made your way towards the scribe, who had ghosted you for your own safety. You missed him, all the time he was hiding his presence from the elders, you just couldn’t shake off the discomfort in your mind. As your lover strides towards you, you reach him in middle of his track and hug him tightly, as if to never let go. After all you had missed him a lot, without spending a second devoid of his thoughts.

Alhaitham: How are you, love?

Y/n: I should be the one asking!! You worried me, Alhaitham!

Alhaitham: Don’t worry I am fine. You know I am the strongest right?

Y/n: Still!! Don’t leave me behind like that again.

Alhaitham: I won’t leave you alone anymore, I promise.

He shut you up with a kiss before you could argue any further. Alhaitham deepened the kiss, after all he missed you too. Your hold on his neck tightened. He took it as a que to lift you up and take you to bed. You instantly wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. You just gasped at the thought of how your legs perfectly fitted around him. You could easily feel his hard bulge under you, which made you a little nervous and excited all the same.

Alhaitham gently laid you down on the bed and peered your face with kisses. You giggled in his arms as he softly kissed you. First your forehead, then cheeks, then nose and finally your lips. He was addicted to the way your lips taste. As he immersed himself in your presence, you too basked in his warmth which you longed for. His hands roamed over your body and located themselves on your hips, swiftly removing the material and exposing you to his predacious gaze. You too, tried to remove the buttons of his shirt. Seeing you struggle Alhaitham swiftly removed his shirt and threw it away. You gazed fondly and worriedly over his exposed form as he had more fresh scars than before. You traced your fingers over them earning a soft hmm from the scribe. Alhaitham took your hand towards his lips and gently kissed your knuckles. Taking your ring finger and biting it down, till it had a pretty imprint of his teeth adorning your finger like a ring.

Soon you found yourself beneath him, as he gazed at you licking his lips, like you were a feast for the starved beast in front of you. But you weren’t scared in the slightest. As you wanted this beast to completely devour you. As the long night went on, you found yourself lost in the way he perfectly and mercilessly thrusted into you from every possible position and angle. Each time his length was plunged into you, it hit your cervix, making you scream his name.

He was not teasing you today, as he lost his control after feeling you for the first time in a long while. He was lost in the feeling of you wrapping around him in the tightest way possible beyond his imagination. He missed you too, so let the teasing be kept aside. He let his facade slip off, and showed you just how much he needed you too. He never shows his vulnerability for you, but today he did. As you stared at his messy form, sweat beads dripping from his forehead and how wonderfully he shimmered in the dim moonlight entering your room, he just looked ethereal, sometimes unreal, someone not belonging to this mortal world, you wondered how lucky you are to have him.

Unbeknownst to you he too thought the same thing. How such a beautiful angel like you was his, he wanted to corrupt you in every form possible, as he indeed was your cute demon. You mewled his name all night as he endlessly kept pounding into your now abused cunt. He filled you up with his warm seed for the nth time now. You couldn’t even remember or count just how many times you came and flooded his cock with your juices.

Once you both were tired, he slowly pulled out of you, cleaned you and himself, and layed beside you. He gently kissed your forehead, ironic to his previous self while he was inside you. You both stared at each other eventually falling asleep.

Next morning when you got up, you were worried to the thought of him going somewhere again. But all your worries ceased as your eyes met his turquoise ones. You instantly relaxed seeing him still in your arms wrapped around his waist. He was staring at you, which meant he got up a while ago. You leaned forward and pecked his soft lips. He ruffled your hair and patted you, like a parent patting the head of his child and said...

Alhaitham: See, didn’t I told you? I won’t go anywhere now without you.

#al haitam x reader #Alhaitham x Y/n #genshin x reader #Alhaitham x reader smut #alhaitham smut #genshin smut #genshin imagines #Alhaitham dendro #Alhaitham x reader

[jihyocentric]

for mohyo! Momo is super hung and is trying to fuck jihyo but she literally can’t fit herself all the way in and jihyo is determined but just takes as much as she can because if momo fully fucks her then she won’t be able to walk at all

momo whines, unable to stay still as jihyo pumps her shaft.

she’s been asking jihyo to stop, warning her she’d come if she didn’t, but jihyo keeps giving her the same answer.

“hold it. i’m getting it ready for me.”

there was nothing else jihyo could do, really. momo’s shaft was coated with lube, flushed from the stimulation, more than ready to be inside her girlfriend — but this time, jihyo wanted to make it really fit.

she has never been able to momo all the way in. they’ve been dating for months and it’s still a struggle to take all of momo inside. none of the toys she owned were as big as momo, making jihyo frustrated even when momo assured her that everything was alright.

momo could still feel pleasure, even if she wasn’t balls deep the way jihyo stubbornly wanted. jihyo’s hands, mouth, thighs when she was too sore to take momo in, even her tits when she was in a good mood — those were more than enough to make momo come, fully sated no matter which way jihyo managed to get her off.

“shit,” jihyo mutters, perched on momo’s lap, her wet core drenching momo’s length as she rubs herself on momo, shivering when the leaking tip brushes against her clit.

jihyo was prepared this time. she had tried out bigger toys throughout the week, telling momo she was busy, avoiding to meet her, wanting to keep momo needy until the weekend. and so jihyo played with herself, testing her own limits, learning to accommodate a bigger shaft like momo’s, wanting to surprise her girlfriend.

“enough,” momo flips her on the bed, a couple strands of hair glued to her sweaty face, shaft nestling over jihyo’s pussy. “you’re teasing me.”

“didn’t mean to,” jihyo laughs, arms wrapping around momo’s neck, legs spreading just enough to let momo settle between them. jihyo pulls momo’s head closer, slyly biting momo’s lower lip, pecking her lips then, wetly. “put it in.”

momo looks down, palming her own shaft, slippery with how coated with lube it was. they didn’t use it regularly, as jihyo was always wet enough to receive her, but momo doesn’t mind it, slipping the head in and then pushing her length slowly inside jihyo.

it feels easier than the other times. jihyo was still overwhelmingly tight, making momo hiss and grunt as she sheathes herself deeper. jihyo whimpers, a weak, unexpected sound that comes out naturally when momo clearly reaches the furthest that she’s ever been, a bump marking on jihyo’s tummy.

“fuck, sorry,” momo apologizes, worried, moving as if she wanted to pull out, afraid she’d hurt jihyo. “i-i’ll be careful.”

“don’t you dare,” jihyo all but growls, hooking her legs around momo’s waist. “i’m ready for it, momo. all. the way. in.”

momo throbs inside her and jihyo feels it, smiling smugly while momo blushes. momo doesn’t move, aware of their failed attempts to make her fit that only made jihyo get sore and hurt, but jihyo pushes her in devilishly, tightening her legs around momo to coax her to fill her to her utmost.

“don’t want to h-hurt you,” momo whimpers, looking down one more time, moaning when she realizes how far in she is already. “f-fuck, so pretty like this…”

jihyo hums, knowing momo was already giving up. “and you’re the only one who gets to fill this pussy like this,” she mumbles, pressing her lips against momo’s neck. “so fill me up. all of me.”

that’s all momo needs to keep pushing in.

jihyo claws at the sheets to release the tension, gasping as momo fits snugly inside her. she lets out a raw moan when she realizes momo was deep, probably the deepest she could with how stretched jihyo felt.

jihyo thinks momo might want to take it slow, but as soon as momo hilts she takes off, making jihyo scream with how fast she takes, surprised with the sudden greed.

“momo!” jihyo whines, momo rocking her hips with wild abandon, blinded with lust. “so d-deep, f-fuck!”

“too g-good,” momo replies, needy, never able to take someone that deep before. “c-can’t last.”

jihyo squirms under her, the sheets soaked beneath them, wet with slick. she rasps out something entirely unintelligible, clenching hard around momo, a strangled moan escaping when momo gets suddenly rougher, clearly nearing her edge.

“come inside me,” jihyo asks. while it’s not the first time she does it, it still makes momo grunt in surprise, thrusting faster, wanting to grant jihyo’s wishes.

jihyo comes first, walls fluttering around momo, grasping onto her cock hungrily. her entire body trembles as the orgasm pulses through her, moaning loud enough to make sure they’d get complaints from the neighbors — not that they weren’t used to hear her scream.

momo comes right after, lost in her own need as she fucks into jihyo, crying out helplessly as she plugs jihyo with more cum than jihyo could keep inside. she stays there for a while, lightheaded with the amount of cum she released inside jihyo, only pulling out because she’s curious, wanting to see what she’s done to jihyo.

she stares proudly at jihyo’s quivering body, stretched and absolutely fucked out, leaking with her cum as she regains her senses. it’s quite the sight, and momo is only aware that she had gotten hard again when jihyo palms her cock, pumping her slowly.

“m-more,” jihyo says, her voice barely coming out. “give it to me again. need to feel it.”

the both of them knew they shouldn’t give in to the temptation, because if jihyo already got sore when she took half of momo’s shaft, the aftermath would be even worse now that momo was fully in.

but it doesn’t matter — not for the time being, because jihyo couldn’t bear to feel empty again, not after having momo fully inside, and momo wasn’t strong enough to refuse indulging jihyo in.

#anon #momo #jihyo #mohyo #g!p #fill

[ateezreactionsandscenarios]

Kinktober Day 10 - Breath Play

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: Smut

CW: Choking, creampie.

Word Count: 1045

Summary: Seonghwa wasn’t the type to randomly choke you during sex, but once you ask him to, it seems you’ve unlocked a new side of him and possibly introduced him to his new favourite kink.

Prompt List               MasterList         Kintktober 2022        Buy me a Coffee

“S...Seonghwa?” You breath out between moans trying your hardest to string together a sentence as your boyfriend railed into you like it was the last time. He didn’t verbally answer you, breathing too heavy to talk properly, so he looked you in the eye showing you had his full attention. “I want to try something.” You manage with a smirk before a moan ripped through you. His pace faltered slightly as intrigue took over him and his cock twitched at the thought of trying something new, anything to add a bit more spice drove him insane. “And what would that be baby?” His voice low and rough in your ear.

You toy with his hand lightly as you think it over to yourself if it was a good idea, but with the way his thrusts hit you harder you could tell he was getting impatient. Looking him in the eye you slowly brought his hand to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it. His eyes widened a little unsure if you were asking what he was thinking. “I want you to choke me.” You whisper lifting your head a little to give him a perfect view of the way his hand looked wrapped around your throat, how perfectly it fit, the prettiest accessory. “Are you sure? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.” His voice full of concern and his thrusts slowing down to an almost complete stop. You sit up a little resting on your elbows, your nose inches away from his. “I trust you.” Those words made his heart flutter and melt inside but he couldn’t shake the slight uneasiness. “I don’t want to hurt you.” You smile sweetly at him before leaning in to give him a gentle kiss. “You won’t, I promise. But if you don’t want to that’s fine.” You didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, it was just an idea you had, you didn’t need it you just felt it would be fun to try with him. 

Seonghwa seemed to warm up to the idea rather quickly as his fingers tightened around your throat as he pulled you up for a hungry kiss, a suffocated moan left your lips only to be swallowed into the kiss. It was short lived as he let go of your throat dropping you back down to the bed as you take small gasps for air. The way your eyes were glazed over after only a slight bit of choking flipped a switch in Seonghwa, the sight turning him on even more, maybe he actually liked choking you. 

A small while of his rough thrusts continuing you started to think he wasn’t into it and wasn’t going to do it again and you were okay with that, but your thoughts were cut short when his hand reached for your throat once again and his grasp this time around was tighter, cutting off your air supply leaving you to only manage a squeak if you were lucky. Your mouth hung open, silent moans being the only thing you can do at this time, but as soon as your vision went the slightest bit fuzzy his grip loosened letting you take in big gulps of air. The rush it gave you made your walls flutter around him which certainly didn’t go unnoticed. “My baby likes being choked?” Seonghwa asked with a little bit of cockiness seeping through. “Fucking...love it.” Your voice raspy as you pant trying to take in as much air as you could. The smirk he gave you meant trouble, something awoke in Seonghwa that night and you were living for it.

Seonghwa continues to rut into you, grazing your sweet spot with every thrust bringing you closer to your high. A loud moan starts to leave you but just as it starts it’s cut off by Seonghwa’s grip tightening again, only a strangled scream being able to leave you as your eyes roll back in bliss. He held you in his grip a little longer this time before letting go, the blood rushing back to your head and the adrenaline ripping through you brought you to your high. Voice still gone from the choking your moans of his name as you came sounded like pathetic whimpers and babbles of nonsense as you tried your hardest to gain oxygen to think but the orgasm taking your breath away at the same time.

Your orgasm hit you harder than it ever had before, your walls clamped down around him like a vice making his hips stutter as he was suddenly now closer to his own high than he’d planned. “F...Fuck.” Was all he could pant out as he put all his concentration into not cumming yet, but it was to no avail, your moans and your fucked out face mixed with the way your walls fluttered around him had him too far gone. For the last time of the night his hand found purchase around your throat again pulling you back up into a kiss, and that is where he held you as he chased his high, his grip getting tighter and tighter the closer he got to cumming. His brows furrowed and eyes drifted closed as a sweet moan left his mouth making him break the kiss momentarily. His hips stuttered as he rode out his high, loosening his grip on you slowly allowing air to get back into your lungs. 

Once his grip was completely gone from your throat he moved it to the back of your neck leaning forward gently lowering you to the bed again before pulling out and flopping down right next to you. You both take the well needed time to catch your breaths, mostly you, as you took deep breaths and swallowed heavily trying to get your voice back as much as you could. “Wow.” Seonghwa panted turning his head to look at you. “I think I’ve unlocked a new kink.” His statement made you laugh, you couldn’t help it, the way he said it so nonchalantly and out of breath it was just too funny for you. “I guess you enjoyed it then.” You finally say after your small fit of laughter rolling on your side to face him. “Baby, next time can you choke me?”

Tag list:   @kpopcrossworlds @kpopjust4u   @littleparkseonghwa   @whatudowhennooneseesyou​  @8tinytings​  @jenotation​ @grim-adventures58​  @owjohny​  @ker1​  @hellomingi  @ate-ez @steponmesannie​  @azeret98​  @queenwiinks​  @wubbster​​ @eternalhongshine​ ​

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa smut #seonghwa hard hours #park seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa smut #park seonghwa hard hours #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop hard hours #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #ateez kinktober

[pom-seedss]

On being “afraid of pain”

It can be very frustrating when people, especially doctors but people in general too, assume that I’m ‘afraid’ of doing things. If I hear one more person talking about how I must be “afraid of pain” I am going to start sobbing.

First of all, I have a pretty good grasp on my capabilities and limitations. I know what will cause me more pain not because I am anxious, but because I have done these things before and experienced the fallout. I am not afraid that I will be in more pain if I do this activity, I know for a fact I will be in more pain if I do this activity.

Choosing not to do an activity that I know will cause me more pain isn’t anything more than choosing not to touch a hot stove because I know that will cause me more pain. It has nothing to do with fear, it’s about knowing the consequences of an action.

Second of all, I have an excellent grasp on how my body is feeling at any given moment. Because 1. I live here, I’ve lived here for 34 years and counting and 2. I have been consistently told throughout my life to chart how I am doing, so self-reflection and self-assessment have been drilled into me from almost every health professional I have had contact with.

Doctors who work with me, rather than just on me, consistently confirm I know what I am talking about. When I say “x is feeling tight, but I think the problem actually stems from y”, I am usually right. At least as far as muscles and such, internal organs are out of my league and usually need more in depth tests to know what’s wrong anyway. But as far as the basic mechanics, first aid, general fitness acumen, I know how my body works and how things are connected.

Third of all, I bare more pain on a daily basis than most of these people will feel in a lifetime. I do not care that there is no ‘objective’ measure of pain, no way to really say what is painful because one person will react differently to stimuli than another. But I know what pain feels like because I am in it constantly. From the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep, there is never a time I am not in pain. It ebbs and flows, of course, and sometimes I ignore it or can flood myself with endorphins on a really good day so i don’t feel it, but it is never not there.

It becomes quite insulting how people infantilize disabled folks who have chronic pain. Especially fat disabled people.

When non-pained folks work out they experience some pain, soreness, aching and eventually healing. They assume that this is the kind of pain that will be felt and they tend to encourage people passed the aches and pains because their bodies will heal and be better for it.

For a lot of people with chronic pain, however, the cost is much higher. It’s not just ‘regular soreness added to our existing pains’, it’s less a simple addition and more a multiplication. 

The general ache and soreness of working out may tip an already tired muscle over the edge into constant clenching. It might pull the joint out of place because there was too much tension on something already near the breaking point from strain. It can mean your core muscles tighten up and make your stomach clench and disrupt your food intake and cause bouts of nausea. It could mean having to take more pain medication that can have other adverse side effects like acedominaphine being hard on the stomach, which can cause long term digestive issues and further pain and complications.

So when all these factors and considerations and extra risks are all chalked up to “being afraid of pain” it really makes me feel like no one is ever actually listening to people in pain. Not just me, but any one of us.

When we say “that won’t work, I’ve tried it” or “that won’t work, I’ve tried something extremely similar to it” we are told we are just afraid to get better, that we’ve built an identity around our pain and we have to stop. I just want to scream at them that nothing is 100% effective for 100% of people and that people with adverse reactions to this thing that might help most people still exist and deserve to be treated as well.

I am not afraid of pain. I can and do deal with more pain than most people can even fathom. I can deal with more pain on top of my daily pain.

But only I get to decide what is worth the pain and the risks.

Just because I do not choose to spend my ability on whatever you think might help me does not mean I fear pain or am identifying too much with it.

It just means that I don’t find touching a hot stove to be worth it.

#disability #chronic pain #spoonie

[pls-let-me-out]

It officially was the worst day of Nico’s life. First he woke up late, thus he arrived extremely late to the Coral Moon celebration, which gave his father a fit. Then he lost his mother’s bracelet. But all this was nothing to what he’d just done.

After twenty years of carefully avoiding the surface, he’d finally decided to disobey his father’s rule and see what was so captivating to his sister Bianca, to the point she’d renounced her tail. So of course he got tangled in a fisher’s net.

“Look what we just got!” One of the men screamed. “Can’t believe it!”

“Jackson, where are you?” Another shouted. “Come take a look! A mermaid!”

Nico sputtered. “A what?”

“It’s clearly a mermen,” another said. Nico was ready to bite his head off, when he took a look. And what a look. “And we should really get him out of the net, before he decides to sing.”

“Will, you’re a spoilsport,” a young woman said. She had bright red hair, but the ends were tinted green. Nico’s lips curled. What a weird choice.

“He’s right,” Nico said. “You should really let me go.”

One of the pirates screamed. They all took a step back.

“And take this horrendous net off me, before I start biting and clawing it.”

The one named Will stepped forward, but he was thrown back by another men, dark skinned and with arms as big as Nico’s head.

“Let me,” the muscled one said. “It’s not safe, and we need our healer.”

They’d just taken the damned thing off Nico, when two people reached them: a blond woman and the one, only and damned Percy Jackson.

“You!” Percy shouted, pointing his stupid finger at Nico.

So, thinking back on it, Nico might not have been such an exemplary son and mermen prince. He might have ignored his father’s rules a couple of times, and he might have enchanted a pirate or two with his voice. One of those pirates was Percy Jackson, and that happened four years back. Of course even then Percy was in love with this Annabeth girl, who he spent most of his time talking about, and all he ever saw Nico as was a younger brother. Unfortunately, Nico fell in love in the worst of ways. He might also have gotten resentful at angry, thus selling him off to his father, and his father may have tried to kill Percy.

But all well’s that ends well.

Nico swallowed his bile. Percy could kill him on that pirate ship. “Missed me much?” He asked with a smile.

“About as much as I miss malaria,” Percy replied. He watched over at the men on the ship. He had to be the captain. “This is the deadliest creature you could get on Annabeth’s ship.”

Oh, good. So now Nico was on mysterious Annabeth’s ship. Just his lucky day.

“No worries, I’ll just get off,” Nico said. He winked at Will, the only one who’d wanted to free him. Will’s cheeks turned red. Good, Nico still had it, then.

Percy unleashed his sword. “I don’t think so.”

Annabeth put her hand on Percy’s arm. The light caught a golden band on her finger, and sure enough Percy had an identical one on his. “I suppose this is the famous Nico, then.” She tilted her hair, her grey eyes seemed to read Nico like an open book. He hated it, almost as much as he hated her.

“He hasn’t done us anything,” Will said. He stepped over Nico’s tail, to reach Annabeth.

What was he on that ship? Clearly he wasn’t just anybody, maybe he was Annabeth’s advisor, as Thanatos was to Nico’s father.

“If you know who I am, then you know who my father is,” Nico said. “And you are in his territory.”

“Nobody owns the ocean,” Percy replied.

Nico laughed. “You remember how it ended last time you told him that?”

Percy’s lips tightened in a white line.

“Enough,” Annabeth said, when Percy was about to reply. “We won’t kill Nico. We’ll use him to pass through the Neah Cascades. If he tries to drown us, we remind him we have his son.”

“It’s too risky,” Percy said.

“It’s worth it. I want somebody to always guard him.” Annabeth stepped closer and closer, until her shadow was over Nico. God, how he wanted to lounge at her. “And you won’t allure them.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked. “You want to kill me, for what I did to your boy. I want to live. So I’ll allure everybody as soon as I get the chance.”

She was so quick he couldn’t react. She took one of his scales, which was painful as hell. She used it to cut herself. “Because now it’s a blood path. You help us, I don’t kill you.”

“You don’t, but what about the rest of your crew.”

Her lips tightened. She’d thought of it, too, then. Good. Nico wasn’t such a fool.

“None of us hurt you,” she said. Then she passed around the scale to her crew, and they all cut themselves.

When it was done, Nico held out his hand. “Let’s shake it, as you do, then. I help you, you help me.”

Annabeth smiled. “Done.”

When her hand tightened around Nico’s, he used it as leverage. With his fangs out, he lounged for her throat.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo fic #riordanverse

[xxresi-rotxx]

Hy can I ask you a Leon x Ash fic. Fluffy. smuth and maybe some love or obsession.

Thanks. I have no rush... Only if you want and can't.

Joy

Kisses

Hello hello!! Of course you can!😘

I’m gonna say this is fluff☁️& angst⛈

(I’m going to kind of chop up bits & pieces of Re4 to fit this story better so if you’re thinking “that’s not how it happened, you’re probably right lmao)

——————————————————————————

Leon had been trailing Ashley for a little over ten minutes, completely unbeknownst to her.

‘Where is she going?’ The agent thought to himself.

Overall his mission had been going relatively good. His sole purpose was to save the President’s daughter; his top priority being her & her alone. He was keeping her safe. Which all things considered wasn’t very easy to do in this hellscape, so why would she try and lose him?

All of the sudden Ashley stopped walking, now was his chance. If he approached her too quickly she’d run, but if he snuck up behind her she’d probably scream and alert every other creature around of their location.

Leon slowly got behind Ashley, and in one quick motion put his hand over her mouth and his other arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t panic, it’s me.” He whispered against her ear.

Ashley turned her head slightly and visibly relaxed when she saw Leon.

“You do know I’m trying to help you right? Where is it you’re planning to go?” The agent questioned.

He let go of Ashley and went to stand in front of her now; being certain he wouldn’t let her get away this time.

“I know you got infected.”

“And? I promise you that won’t affect your safet-”

“My safety? Do you not get it Leon?! You’re infected! Who knows what that thing will do to you; how long you have until it does? I’ve gotten us no closer to getting out of here than when you first found me.”

The gears in Leon’s head started turning. Was this why she ran away? She feels guilty. Leon let his body relax a little; knowing this, he didn’t think she’d run away again.

“Ashley-”

“No Leon, call of your mission. You need to get help before whatever that is takes over.”

She was staring him down now, arms crossed over her chest. The President could have warned him about how stubborn she was.

For a split second, she reminded him of himself. The amount of survivors guilt he felt after raccoon city was overwhelming. He’d have to try a different approach to get her to come with him. Survivors guilt wasn’t easily talked away. He’d make a mental note to talk to her about it later.

“Don’t bother Leon, take out your little phone and call off your mission.”

Leon took a slow step closer to Ashley.

“Do you really think I’m going to do that?”

Another step.

“Did you really think you’d get away from me? I’ve been behind you the whole time and will be if you try it again. I’m not returning to your father empty handed Ashley.”

Another step, this one resulting in Ashley backing herself up against a tree.

“Besides,” Leon caged Ashley in, placing both of his hands against the tree “wouldn’t you rather spend time with me now? I’m sure I won’t be as nice of a person once this infection takes over.”

“Scare tactics won’t work on me Leon, believe it or not you’re probably the least scary thing here.” She said looking up at him.

Leon held her eye contact for another minute before backing off the tree.

“I know what you’re feeling Ashley, trust me I do. And as much as I’d like to help you, right here right now really isn’t the place.”

Ashley glanced around at the dark patch of forest they were in; anything could be around them.

“I’m not the only one here who got infected, wouldn’t it be smarter for us to stick together?”

Leon could tell he was starting to get through to her, he silence was an indication of that.

“Trust me?” Leon held his hand out for her, waiting for her to take it.

“Completely.” Ashley responded, grabbing onto Leon’s hand.

“Good.” The agent responded. His grip on her hand tightening, hers doing the same. “Stay with me this time, we’ll have a lot to talk about once we make it out.”

#leon kennedy #resident evil #re4 remake #ashley graham #re4 ashley #re4 leon #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy angst #leon x ashley #leon kennedy fic #re4 remake Leon #ashley graham re4 #leon scott kennedy #asks are open #reqs open #thanks for reading #resident evil fic #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x ashley graham

[galaxywhump]

[SV-240 AU Masterlist]

Part two of Berkeley's Revenge AU.

contents: recapture, defiant whumpee, tied to a chair, death threats, past fingore/amputation, traumatic haircut, shock collar.

~~~

Berkeley winces, picking up Wren’s severed finger through a tissue, which instantly turns crimson, soaked with blood.

“It could still be attached back,” he sing-songs, smiling at Wren before tossing the tissue into a bin. “Whoops, nevermind.”

Wren barely hears him, his wide unseeing eyes fixed on the ceiling, his breathing ragged, his forehead lined with cold sweat. His finger is gone, it’s been cut off, and its absence, once it finally registers, feels so weird and so wrong. He flinches and gasps when Berkeley grabs his left hand and starts playing with his fingers, smiling to himself.

“I guess when I feel like hearing you scream again, I can just take my pick.” He lets go, circles the table, and gets to cleaning and dressing the wound on Wren’s right hand, chuckling a bit at his instinctual attempt to wrench his hand free. “Try not to get an infection and die, but it should be fine. You'll live. You’re so tough, after all.” He glances at Wren’s face, listening to his frantic breathing. “Why so quiet, Rackham? No more jokes? Figures,” he scoffs, shaking his head. “We both know how pathetic you really are.”

“You cut off my fucking finger,” Wren rasps.

“And I can do it again if you don’t stop swearing.” The terror in Wren’s eyes when his head jerks towards Berkeley makes him smile. “Yep, I think that’s a good idea. Cutting off a finger every time you swear.”

“Y-you’re-”

“I’ll let that one slide, though.” He gives Wren a bloody pat on the cheek. “Cause you didn’t know, you poor thing. But from now on you better keep that in mind. Got it?”

Wren hates himself for his immediate feverish nod.

“Good. You have your moments of obedience, don't you? It's a shame Daniel never enforced it more, but now he's gone, you are mine, and I'll change things up a bit. No swearing is a good start." Berkeley cocks his head. “Yeah, feels good to say it. You’re mine, Rackham, and I can do whatever I want to you.”

His words chill Wren to the core more than Daniel’s similar musings ever did. He knew what Daniel wanted, and after a year or so surprises had become scarce. All he knows about Berkeley’s wants is terrifying.

Kill you. More modifications.

And who knows what else.

“Alright, let’s get you off this table for now.”

Wren follows Berkeley with his eyes as he crouches down next to a duffel bag on the floor and rummages through its contents, which Wren would rather not imagine, suspecting he won’t like whatever Berkeley’s about to take out now.

Sure enough, he retrieves a shock collar.

“What the-” He stops himself from finishing at the last possible moment, but fear still sets in and he shivers. It was obvious what he was going to say, and if Berkeley considers it enough to…

“Good, you’re learning.” Berkeley smiles, standing next to the table, right by Wren’s head. “You know what this is, right?” He dangles the collar, made of flexible metallic material with a tiny box attached on one side, in the air. “Daniel had one of these too. Tell me what this is, Rackham. Three.”

“A shock collar,” Wren rushes to answer, not wanting to find out what would happen if Berkeley had counted all the way down.

“Very good!” Berkeley coos and snickers. “So I take it you’ve had to wear it before?”

“Yeah.” It was once or twice, really, but Wren chooses not to specify. He’s already obediently answering Berkeley’s questions way too much for his liking. 

“Not enough, in my opinion, but we’ll fix it.” Without further ado Berkeley treads the collar under Wren’s neck, making him jolt in place when the cold metal touches his skin, then brings it around and tightens it until it fits snugly. “Mhm, much better. You’re a natural. I’m going to untie you now, but you will stay nice and still, cause if you so much as make a move to attack me, I’ll click this little button-” he waves the small remote in the air “-and then cut off a finger or two, unless I come up with something more exciting.”

“Okay,” Wren says, contemplating the ceiling and trying not to cry. The collar doesn’t stay cold for long, but it’s still uncomfortable, and swallowing makes him shudder, and… it's going to stay now, for however long Berkeley wants. 

At least Daniel-

Shut the fuck up.

He can’t completely silence the thoughts, though. At least Daniel never cut off his fingers. At least Daniel didn’t want to collar him for good; the few times he’d done that he almost looked disgusted and made sure to take it off as soon as it was no longer necessary - as if a shock collar was ever necessary for a human being.

He quite literally jolts back to reality when the collar activates, sending a bolt of electricity through his body. It ends as soon as it started, as if it never even happened, and once the initial shock wears off, he remembers Berkeley’s warning and his heartbeat picks up, his blood running cold.

“B-but I-” He looks at Berkeley, who’s watching him with a smirk, his finger resting on the button of the remote. “I didn’t even move!”

He can’t cut my finger off, he can’t, I didn’t do anything wrong, but he can do anything he wants, no, no, no-

“I know, idiot.” The insult sounds almost affectionate. “I wish you could see the look on your face right now, so terrified. But you’re right, you didn’t move. I just wanted to see if the collar works.”

The relief that overwhelms Wren makes it hard to breathe, as if the collar wasn’t making a good enough job of that.

Berkeley struggles with the sturdy knots of the restraints before finally untying them and motioning for Wren to sit up, nice and slow, no sudden movements. He grabs him by the arm and helps him get off the table, and his grip tightens when Wren sways on his feet a little.

Wren’s forced to take a few shaky steps, his legs barely cooperating with him after being immobilized for… however long it had taken him to wake up. With a push he finds himself sitting on a chair, which seems inconspicuous until Berkeley presses a button under it, causing armrests to slide out of the back. When his wrists are grabbed and slammed down on the armrests, it turns out that the chair is also outfitted with metal restraints, which snap closed, bringing Wren’s temporary freedom of movement to an end.

“I’d stay still anyway,” he sneers when Berkeley crouches down to tie his ankles to the legs of the chair, this time with regular rope.

“I know,” Berkeley says as he straightens up and smiles at Wren. “But I just like seeing you like this, and I’m sure you missed being tied up.”

“Not really.” Wren rolls his eyes, but he can’t ignore the sense of familiarity at being restrained like this. A feeling of resignation creeps up on him, but he tries to fight it, push it away, because he’s not resigned.

Right?

There’s an unpleasant scraping sound when Berkeley grabs the chair, turns it, and pushes it forward a bit, grimacing with effort.

“Maybe,” Wren says, looking up at him with a mocking smile, “you should’ve put the chair where you wanted it to be before, you know, strapping me to it.”

“Or it should’ve been a hover chair,” Berkeley snorts as he lets go and walks up to the closet in front of them. “But we’d already modified this one, so.” He shrugs, pressing one of the buttons on the side of the closet, causing its door to convert into a mirror, then walking away.

Wren wanted to keep his eyes on Berkeley at all times, but once he sees his reflection, he can’t look away, staring at it with wide eyes, his lips parted a bit, an attempt at another snark shut down in an instant.

The collar around his neck and the bloody carved word on his chest are jarring, mocking him, and his hand… He forces himself to look up from it when nausea creeps up on him. The worst part, though, is his face. His eyes are hollow, with tears glistening in their corners, and his expression is both familiar and new - familiar pained tension, new pure terror caused by the prospect of imminent death.

He never wanted to look like this again.

He closes his eyes only to flinch and open them when he hears a series of sharp sounds. In his reflection he locks eyes with Berkeley, who grins, standing behind him, wielding a pair of scissors.

“What…” Wren trails off, but realization dawns on him and his heart sinks.

“Come on, even you should be able to figure out what I want to do.” He snips the scissors again and can’t stop himself from laughing when Wren shivers. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m pissed that I had to cut my hair off thanks to you, so it’s only fair you get a haircut too.”

Wren tenses up, his heart beating fast, his mind a mess of protests he can’t say out loud.

It’s just hair.

But it’s not, and waiting for the first cut is unbearable.

“You cut your hair yourself on SV-240, didn’t you?” Berkeley runs his fingers through Wren’s hair to untangle any knots, not caring enough to try and avoid pulling. “And then you regretted it.”

“A little bit,” Wren says through gritted teeth, looking down only to wince when his gaze stops at his bandaged hand, he cut off my fucking finger, it’s gone. “It’s just hair.”

“Bullshit. Don’t lie to me.” Wren gasps when Berkeley closes his fist in his hair and wrenches his head back. “I can’t wait to see you cry, Rackham, cause you will cry.”

He swallows, which every single time only serves to remind him about the collar and his throat being squeezed tight, when Berkeley grabs the sides of his head and forces him to look straight ahead. The scissors are freezing against his cheek, but when they disappear, it’s anything but a relief.

“Did you cry?” he asks, trying not to shiver when Berkeley separates a strand of his hair and puts it between the blades of the scissors; before he can brace himself, they close, making him flinch.

It’s just hair. It’s just hair.

“A little bit,” Berkeley sneers, cutting off another lock - not completely short, much to Wren’s confusion. “But I had no choice. With some time it’ll just grow back, right? Of course, you don’t have that kind of time.”

As much as Wren wants to respond, he doesn’t. His impending death is something he’d rather not protest against, not wanting Berkeley to take it as a reason to kill him sooner. He stays silent, doing his best to hide his shivering and forced breathing as brown hairs keep falling to the floor, some clinging to his skin, tickling and annoying him, and he can’t even brush them off.

“I’m afraid it won’t be a flattering look on you.” Berkeley clicks his tongue, not pausing his work for a moment.

“How tragic. Are you telling me you’re not a professional hairdresser?” Wren raises one eyebrow even as he struggles to hold back tears. It’s not just hair, it’s a part of himself that Berkeley is taking away from him with a promise of taking so much more.

“No, but I mostly don’t give a shit whether you’re a pretty corpse or not.”

There it is again, and Wren is sure that the reminders will only get more and more frequent, harder to ignore. Even now he can’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario, someone finding his body, maybe barely recognizing him after Berkeley’s done with him-

Pull yourself together.

I won’t die here.

The scissors keep cutting.

I’m going to escape or be saved, he’s going to get locked up, I’ll… I’ll…

“Alright, let’s see.” 

Berkeley grabs him by the hair and cuts a little bit more off.

Leaving just enough length to be able to get a good grip.

“Perfect.” Berkeley leans down to rest his chin on Wren’s shoulder and smiles. “We’re short-haired buddies now, how cool is that?”

He doesn’t get a verbal reply, but the tears glistening in Wren’s eyes are enough of an answer for him.

“Remember what this means,” he says quietly, laying his hands on Wren’s arms and giving them a light squeeze. “You may have gotten a taste of freedom, but now you’re back where you belong, as someone’s property, tied up and collared, and I can do whatever I want to your body, understand?”

A second’s pause makes it clear he’s expecting an answer, and Wren nods, averting his gaze.

“Ah-ah, look at yourself, Rackham.”

When he obeys, hating himself for it, Berkeley gently wraps his hand around his neck, teasing with his thumb just above the collar, smiling when Wren shudders.

“What do you see?”

When Daniel put him in front of a mirror, he did his best to snark. He was so different back then, scared, but determined, having only experienced being restrained, silenced, and beaten, which now seems like a laughably mild treatment. He’s still determined, he’s still hopeful, the last thing he wants to do is give up, but he recognizes that in his current situation, and with his current captor, following his spark will only lead to retaliation that he might not be able to handle.

And so he lets his despair talk instead, his voice barely audible, giving Berkeley the answer he probably wants more than all the others that come to mind, captive, idiot, pathetic crybaby.

“Property.”

"That's right."

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpvp @wibby-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump

#captivity whump #defiant whumpee #recapture #traumatic haircut #tied to a chair #fingore #shock collar #wren rackham #peter berkeley #sv-240 #sv-240 au #berkeley's revenge au #my writing #aka 2 berkeley 2 revenge #apparently sometimes i need a mix of a change of surroundings nicer weather and polish music to be able to write #so this wip finally worked #and i hope y'all like it

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒯𝓇𝓊𝓉𝒽 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: addiction, drug crash, narcissistic collapse, PTSD flashback, crying, dissociation, canon typical violence, smut scene (frot)

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

The crash flooded into the vacuum left by the adrenaline. Despair. Vincent’s body lay limp under a blanket across the backseats of Marjorie’s well-worn SUV, bumping over every pothole in the empty Pennsylvania back roads, a repeat of three days ago. The moon emerged from black clouds to illuminate a corner of his face and one glassy eye. He was back to square one. How exhausting.

John had not changed either. Despite the wear of two car crashes, his voice remained level - only it was, perhaps, a fraction more tired. The car slowed into the curve of an off-ramp. “Gas station.”

“Are you trying to get me shot again? That’s where all of this started.”

“Not much choice. It won’t be crowded this late. If I need to clear it out, I can.”

Vincent’s chest tightened fit to fracture into thousands of pieces. “Just because you’re used to living recklessly doesn’t mean you get to drag me into it. I’d like to stay in one piece.”

But John didn’t listen. “We need gas. I’ll keep you safe. And I’ll get extra, so we don’t have to come back.” The sky turned to the white field of electric lights spanning the overhang above the pumps. “Has your French ass ever heard of Bonnie and Clyde?”

“Who?”

John chuckled, a rich, rolling sound. “Legendary bandits robbing roadside shops across America in the 30s. Just pretend we’re like that.”

“Wait, I have heard of them…weren’t they shot to death?”

“Don’t think about that part. And don’t go anywhere.” Then the driver side door opened in a rush of cold, petroleum scented air. The pump clicked into the side of the SUV, and out again, and then John vanished. Vincent could do nothing to stop him – not without sitting up and showing his own face, which he could not risk. He was completely powerless.

Cans full of gas dropped into the trunk. Someone was yelling outside. John’s low grunts of effort were punctuated with distant thuds. Gunshots, nearer and nearer to the vehicle. Vincent wanted to sit up but couldn’t seem to move or scream. He was floating somewhere, disconnected from his body, feeling the bullet strike his sternum over and over for eternity.

The car door opened again. “I’m back.”

“You fucker. Why did you do that? You trying to shell shock me? Or are you just a show-off?”

John looked back over the seat at him. “Are you okay?”

Vincent sniffed and refused to meet his eyes. “Stop fawning. Take me somewhere where we can rest.” His heart had gone very hard and blackened again. Despite his best intentions, the spark of gratitude he’d felt in the shower, and the resulting promise to treat John well, had fizzled out so quickly. “I don’t need concern from someone too incompetent to keep me out of danger. It’s hypocritical.”

He growled and shook his head. The engine lurched to life again. “I should have made you pay for this car.”

Why did I say that? Why am I like this? He hated himself for already wanting another hit. God, what is wrong with me?

This man, that was what the problem was. John always had to go and make a show of having everything so…together. This nameless orphan breezed through life-or-death situations unscathed while Vincent’s own lifetime of carefully cultivated charm and talents and social networks failed him. It pissed Vincent off, to see him acting like none of this bothered him. Acting superior. It would feel so good to take him down a notch.

They turned down back road after back road as the terrain turned rougher and rougher until finally they rolled to a stop off-road. “Here you go. This should be remote enough. You can sleep.”

The Marquis sat up in alarm. “Bah!? This is not what I had in mind! Not all of us are feral children who grew up roughing it in a Ruska Roma summer camp. Take me somewhere with a bed.”

John took a deep breath. “Motels are out now. This is as good as it gets.”

“That sounds like a problem for you to contend with. Do your job.”

“I have. This is where we are sleeping tonight. Understood?”

“I give the orders. If this is how you behave, I don’t need you.” Vincent forced his aching limbs to move and managed to pop the door open. Everything felt bruised, but he stumbled out into the night air, his lungs filling with petrichor. By the light of the moon, he could see that the sky was still dappled over with clouds topping dark pines, the Earth and sky merging into a single void. It stirred up some primal sense of danger and aloneness and he suddenly wished he were back in the car. Maybe it was the comedown still at work, but everything looked hostile. The world had been personally designed to piss him off.

John pursued him. “Marquis, please get back inside.”

“Non.” He realized how childish this was, but he was done caring. He couldn’t stand to be next to John for another minute.

Then he was tilting towards the forest floor and strong arms rose up beneath him. John was fucking carrying him again, and peering into his face with that desperation. “Your nose is running. Are you sick? Is this still part of the overdose?”

Great. He covered his face with a hand in embarrassment. “No. This is just what happens after, plus a crashing feeling. It feels…kind of like having a cold. I didn’t make a big deal of it, last time. Because it’s fine.”

“Stay warm. Sleep.” John’s brain seemed to have regressed to caveman sentences from the intense protectiveness that overtook his features in response to that information. He lowered Vincent back into the car and pulled the blanket over him. It felt so…nice. But he refused to give in, still irritated even as he accepted a tissue packet John had found in the compartment of the door.

“I can’t sleep anyway.” And if he did, he’d just have more nightmares.

“If you want company – “

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

John nodded, a maddening brick wall of patience, and got back in the front seat. They didn’t speak again until morning. But Dog made his way over from the front passenger seat, and Vincent pulled him close.

What an agony of a night. He woke up from nightmares at least three times, grateful each time that Dog licked his cheeks in concern, but disturbed by the thoughts that followed – that it was hopeless, that he could not escape the High Table, that he had made a total disaster of his life. By the time golden sunlight broke through the window, Vincent’s mood had nosedived somewhere below the Earth’s mantle. He just wanted everything to stop. Please.

The clearing where they’d parked looked hardly less dismal by daylight. The thin, leaf-scattered undergrowth gave out into wiry, dark bushes.  But a few steps beyond it, Vincent found a view. A cliff overlooked a forested valley where the pines were interspersed with brilliantly yellow aspens, alternating between gold and greenish black to make for a striking picture. The blue ribbon of a river cut through both in a bright, arcing line. After a breakfast of supermarket and gas station food, Vincent sat on a boulder by the ridge, wrapped in a jacket that John had stolen from the gas station. It was cheap clothing meant for truckers, but it was warm enough that he could sit there as long as he liked, staring into the valley and painting landscapes in his head.

John was leaning against a tree, not far away. Not letting him out of sight for a second. He could feel those dark eyes on him from behind but said nothing, so John spoke instead. “I need you with me.”

He didn’t answer.

“You can’t keep doing this. I thought we made progress. What happened? Did I offend you?”

“Rich of you to make this my fault.”

A sigh. “No. Not your fault. I get that it’s hard to talk.” He seemed to struggle for words even now. “I’m just…asking you to try me. If I knew why you’re upset, I would help. I wouldn’t think less of you, I promise. Have I yet? Even once?”

“…No.” He stared deliberately into the valley, where the river wound its ceaseless course between aspens, until words began to flow out of him. “I…am worried that some of what has happened to me over the past few days is permanent. I don’t know if I can be okay again. Like at the gas station. It took me back to that moment so strongly, of being shot…both a few days ago, and by you, before that. I don’t know how to escape from this fear that people will destroy me. That everyone has seen through me and I’m going to die because of it.”

John’s voice came to him softly from out of sight, a priest on the other side of a confessional booth. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought about that, about the gas station. It hurts. I know. I felt that way, after the first few times I got seriously injured. …Or killed someone. It was there all the time.”

“How do you deal with it? How do you stay so…sane?”

“I’m not. It might look like I’m okay, but…after you see a certain amount, it gets…not easier, just more complicated. I’m detached. I can’t even name my dog because I know he’ll die. I’m always numb.”

Vincent felt…uncomfortable. He should say something to that, but he’d never been good at comforting people. He knew how to say polite little niceties when open displays of grief made them necessary. He even knew how to make grand gestures that would be remembered and later, repaid. But how to say something that would make a person actually feel better? He had no idea, and it irritated him that he wanted to try doing so for John. Why did he have to go and say things that made Vincent care? “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” It sounded so inadequate.

“That’s okay. This isn’t about me. Anyway, you have another problem – that feeling, like people are seeing through you. Like it matters what everybody thinks. I don’t get that.”

“It does matter what they think. We talked about this, remember? To not be adored is to be blotted out of existence. To not be remembered is to disappear.”

“What about you, the strength within yourself? Your own identity. You still feel what you feel, whether or not anyone else is around.”

“Yes, I still feel, I feel like an abyss, like the space between universes! I feel like a failure with no one by his side!” Vincent was shouting before he realized it. He had never admitted that to anyone. “Everything is so simple for you, you’re so damned normal. Maybe you can just not give a shit what other people think, but I can’t. You’re asking too much of me.” The light of those blazing yellow aspens was suddenly stinging his eyes.

“Okay. Easy. You don’t have to go any farther.”

John’s arms were around him from behind, draped over his shoulders. He leaned his head back and let his eyelids flutter closed, melting into the emotion. “Thank you.”

“For now, just tell me how to help. What do you want most?”

“I want…” He waited a very long time for the next words. If he waited long enough, maybe he wouldn’t have to say them. He let himself go remote from his body, the way he had at the gas station. Only then could he speak. “I want to be high right now, honestly. To shut it all out. Because I want…I want to not feel so pathetic. I want the respect I deserve. And I – “ Fuck. This was so difficult. “I’m starting to doubt for the first time that I deserve it at all. I feel like everything is crumbling. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“…Thank you.” John’s voice came to him so unbearably tender and sad, and followed by a long silence. There were tears on Vincent’s cheeks, and John reached down to brush them away. His fingers seemed to leave an echo that spread deep into his skin. Then, “I’m going to try something. It might be stupid.” He cleared his throat. “You’re the most wanted person in the world right now. More than even me. You’re special.”

It took a second for the whiplash from this sudden change of topic to give way to suspicion. Vincent almost laughed. He shifted out of his slump on the boulder and turned to look at John. “That is stupid. What are you doing?”

“Saying true things.”

A rush of confidence went through Vincent for perhaps the first time in days, accompanied by a soft blush. “Well, I… well, don’t stop.”

“Umm…you’re breathtakingly pretty. Your charisma is off the charts. I can barely look at you.”

This one earned a half smile. “We both knew that already.” But he slid out from under John’s arms and stood, taking full advantage of his figure in a sweeping contrapposto, a hand on his hip.

John looked him up and down and took a slow step forward, bringing them close enough to touch again. He fixed that sweet, smitten look unshakably on Vincent. “You’re a genius. I’ve never met someone who draws like you do. I’ve never met someone as cunning or as ruthless as you, and I’ve met some very cunning and ruthless people. You’re genuinely intelligent.”

John Wick thinks I’m pretty. John Wick thinks I’m smart. Vincent had to force himself to breathe in order to answer. “And?”

“You’re brave. When we met, I didn’t realize that, but I was wrong. You haven’t given up, despite infuriating circumstances. It’s as tough a situation as any night I’ve spent crawling through the underbelly of New York, and you’re still going. I’m proud of you.”

Liquid euphoria inside his veins, strong enough to tighten his throat.

“You know how to flatter, John.” His voice came out more gravelly than he’d intended. “Do I deserve my High Table seat?” he challenged.

A long pause, their eyes locked together as John considered his answer. “You deserve better.”

“This again.” He was already hyped up to the point of recklessness. “I told you not to speak of retirement. Make it up to me. Tell me more. What is this ‘better’ that I deserve?”

“You deserve to have someone supporting you when you feel low. You deserve to not worry one way or another over whether you’re respected.” Another step forward. Their faces were inches apart, and his voice had gone so quiet that it mingled with the distant sounds of birdsong. “And right now, you deserve a distraction.”

“I – “ His words drowned in John’s lips. Extraordinarily gentle, almost chaste, touched by stubble at the edges.

John Wick kissed me. John Wick kissed me. All else vanished. He was swaying slightly when John pulled away, leaving a steadying hand on his waist. On his waist, on his waist…those echoes sang forth again, a buzzing remaining in his body wherever John touched him. “Prends ce que tu veux. Utilise moi. [Take what you want. Use me.]”

Vincent’s breath was caught in his throat. “Me fais-tu confiance? [Do you trust me?]”

“Non.” John admitted. “Mais je m'en fiche. [But I don’t care.]”

This fool…Vincent kissed him back. The way he kissed everybody, the only way he knew how to kiss: pulling too hard, biting, sloppy, slutty. French.

He let his teeth trail off of John’s lip. “Déshabille-toi pour moi [Undress for me.]”

John obeyed, systematically. He tossed the suitcoat onto the boulder for a bedsheet. His big, rough hands undid his buttons one by one with all the care of a well-trained butler, glided that shining, polished belt through half a dozen loops and let it hit the forest floor.  Vincent petted over the bulge that was becoming too urgent to ignore, rubbing over the cloth, feeling the blood rush through him. John’s shoes were kicked aside as he stepped out of a pile of black slacks and boxers, barefoot on the mulch and not minding.

“Putain, tu es un specimen. [Fuck, you’re a specimen],” he said, breathy.

“Laisse-moi te servir, Marquis. [Let me serve you, Marquis.]” His hands went to Vincent’s waistband to free him as well.

Vincent dove a hand into his hair and wondered at him, this person who was offering him everything. His body, his protection, his life. This powerhouse of muscle that had made him feel so safe again and again. Did John feel safe now? John’s words drifted through the cloud of lust: No. But I don’t care. “If I hurt you, stop me.”

“Believe me, I will.” A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. Was he touched by that? “…Don’t tear stitches, please.”

“Ta gueule. [Shut up.]” And John listened, those flat eyes set with resolve. He went silent and offered no resistance when Vincent took him by the shoulders to shove him down onto the rock. His back lay against the suitcoat, but his exposed ass now lay bare against the dirt and moss and the cold stone. A moment of sucking in his breath, that was the only response. He was a vast, rippled, flawlessly obedient block of marble, at once both muscled and soft, toned not by long days at the gym, but by fighting. By killing. By doing what had to be done and taking what he had to take.

The perfect submissive.

Vincent let himself forget everything and lay over him, pressing their whole bodies together, invading his mouth with tongue, devouring him. It amused him how John shuddered each time Vincent grinded them into the rock. One leg hitched up over his hip, the better to press them closer.

It wasn’t fair that John was bigger than him, on top of everything else. With that delectably soft wall of warmth pressing into his from the side, he could easily tell. But at the moment, that wasn’t what mattered. John’s cock was his cock. This was a claiming, damn it. This was him taking back control.

He rolled forward again and again, lost in the sweet, sticky hollow between their bodies. It was an awkward position, one hand bracing himself upright so as not to slip down, and his chest burning from exertion, sweat pouring into the wound. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He wanted to grind John Wick straight into dust, to consume him entirely. He found himself pulling John’s hand to his lips and sucking two fingers, letting John touch the curve of his tongue and think how it would feel along his shaft. By the way he growled, the sight seemed to overwhelm him, and Vincent felt a spurt of precum flow down both of them as John let out a string of unfamiliar words that died in a moan. “Боже, ты выглядишь таким невинным...[God, you look so innocent…]”

“Je – ahhh – je ne parle pas russe [I – ahhh – I don’t speak Russian],” said Vincent, and kissed his fingers goodbye to focus on the friction that was screaming for his full attention.

He huffed a laugh. “Bien. Ensuite, je pourrai vous dire toutes les choses trop sales pour qu’un prince au sang précieux et noble comme vous puisse les entendre. [Good. Then I can tell you all the things too dirty for a precious, noble blooded prince like you to hear.]”

“Putain… Oui. N'arrêtez pas de parler. [Fuck…Yes. Don’t stop talking.]”

“Мне кажется, я влюбляюсь в тебя. Я никогда не думал, что снова влюблюсь, но это так. [I think I’m falling in love with you. I never thought I’d fall in love again, but I am.]”

Vincent didn’t know what he said, but the tone was so sumptuous and sincere that he had to stop moving. He refused to let himself come this fast.

But John wasn’t letting him off that easy. He thrust upward from below, with an energy that caught Vincent off guard and set him moving again before he could stop himself, accelerating into an indulgent frenzy from which there could be no return. As his thighs started to spasm, one of John’s arms went around his waist protectively, keeping him from slipping downward, and that touch, at the small of his back, was the final straw.  He collapsed with ecstasy, hiding his face in the crook of John’s neck, and shattered, spilling across that perfect chest. John wrapped his other arm around him too now, his whole body tightening around Vincent, and followed.

Vincent was pinned against him, but he didn’t try to extract himself. He just let himself be held. Supported, while his breathing slowly calmed back to normal and the small sounds of the forest returned to his awareness. He could feel John’s heartbeat slowing underneath him. John was petting his hair. How many times had they already held each other this way? Dominating John, ha. As if. This was just another instance of John holding him together, saving his life. But for some reason, that did not bother him.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” he sighed happily. “I needed that very much. Thank you.”

He did. The dismal mood of the morning was washed away. He felt good about himself, powerful. His heart soared with a hedonistic euphoria. But he didn’t feel that he had conquered his wonder for John. He didn’t feel released from this deep longing that pulled him so distractingly towards this man’s body, refusing to let him pull away.

If anything, he wanted to go again.

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #crying #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers #// drugs #// addiction #// withdrawals

[sinfulcries]

your son ajax is the prettiest thing

you weren’t there for him when he was raised went with his mother after you two divorced he just turned five at the time then after she died he came to live with you, he was around sixteen and came to your house with a volatile attitude and penchant for violence, alas you weren’t giving up on him and starting trying to bond with him fucking him open with your fingers and eating him out after some progress he wanted you to fuck him but you weren’t having it “baby i would love to fuck you but you can barely take my fingers at the moment let’s wait till your older” but he wouldn’t budge spewing some bullshit about how “you probably aren’t that bigger than your fingers” and “if daddy loves me like he says he does why won’t you fuck me?” so you sigh and you do your usual routine of you fucking him open on your fingers but as soon as you pull your cock out he looks nervous and looks to you with big doe eyes moving away from you but your little boy isn’t running not after all that big talk so you tsk and grab his waist and shove the tip of your cock into his little pussy the reaction is immediate tears fall down his cheeks and keeps on sobbing on how your cock is too big and will never fit you coo at him “my baby boy isn’t so confident now huh? where’s all that cockiness from earlier hm?” he tries to push you away legs kicking at your chest you tsk and wrap your arms around his calf’s while his ankles rest on your shoulders you give a little thrust and try to go deeper his whole body gives a spasm and he screams more tears running down his face you shush him and tell him to relax his body a bit “the only reason this is hurting so much is because your overreacting “ after a couple minutes you finally get your cock all the way in and god does ajax look pretty he lost all the fight he had one minute in and just went limp but his thighs are shaking and quivering there are still tears rolling down his cheeks his eyes look puffy and red so of course you lean down to wipe the tears of his cheeks and kiss him on his eyebrow “you’re okay baby, you wanted this remember? daddy tried telling you you bit off more than you can chew but you didn’t listen” voice soft but tone disappointed and exasperated the reaction is immediate “d-daddy i’m sorry i’m sorry” his voice is shaking as he lets out more little cries and apologies you kiss his cheeks and whisper little comforting nonsense “ajax darling won’t you let daddy fuck your pussy? you were so bad not listening to me” ajax let’s out little sniffles and nods a yes anything to make up to daddy, finally beginning to thrust into his pussy it’s so fucking tight and god does it make your cock feel good your pace is slow you can tell ajax is trying to relax and his sobs are finally turning into moans of pleasure as soon as he starts to loosen up your pace gets faster and ajax is so fucking loud you wouldn’t be surprised if your whole neighbourhood could hear his pussy starts to tighten again you let out a little laugh it sounds somewhat mocking even to your ears “gonna cum darling? go on make a mess” and ajax comes with a loud scream it soon becomes more cries as you continue to fuck him even after and gives you a look of confusion through his teary eyes “daddy hasn’t come yet baby, i’m getting close though and then i’ll fill your pussy with my cum don’t you like that thought? you can already see my cock bulging you’ll just get even bigger with my cum filling you” after what feels like hours you bury your cock all the way inside your sons pussy and cum, and god is it the best orgasm you’ve ever had not even your ex-wife’s cunt made your cock feel the way it does around ajax’s pussy groaning as you come down from your high you look down to ajax and he looks so fucked out his eyes are still teary but he’s not crying anymore his arms are laying limply by his head you let his legs down a long time ago to rest on the bed but they’re shaking letting out a little apology you lift his legs and back so they’re in a mating press position ajax makes a noise of confusion “daddy isn’t satisfied yet darling”

THIS IS SO FUCKING HOT IM SPEECHLESS… no thoughts just daddy’s boy childe <3

#childe thirsts

[pennylanewrites]

could you do 12 with goth!mikasa?

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.” + Mikasa Ackerman

cw: mean dom!mikasa, some biting, choking, clit slapping, public sex (no one sees), Mikasa has a strap-on, humiliation.

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“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

When you heard those words come out of her mouth, you didn’t think it would mean she would be dragging you all the way to the changing rooms. You thought it was something more along the lines of ‘I’ll punch you till your nose is broken.’ Truth be told, you were always really mean to Mikasa. The cliche of the popular mean girl and the goth chick.

Well, right now that goth chick is locking the door to the locker room and taking off your posh private college’s green and black tie. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a huge crush on Mikasa, but it would harm your popularity, so you remained silent about it.

“You think you’re all that, don’t you?” She grins as she unbuttons your white collared shirt, letting it drop to the floor. She leans down, shimmying your skirt down your hips, lifting each of your legs so you can step out of it.

“Answer me.” She says through gritted teeth, hand wrapping around your throat, black fingernails digging into your skin.

“I-I don’t.”

“Who would have thought, the great queen bee would be at my mercy?”

“Shut up!” You blurt out, eyes growing wide as realization hits. Mikasa looks up at you with a surprised smile before she unclasped your bra, throwing it to the pile of discarded clothes.

“I’ve had enough of your shit for a long time,” she says, grip on your hair tight to pull you closer to her, “it’s time for you to get punished for it.”

“Wait-wait! What do you mean?” You gulp. Mikasa leans closer to you, making sure there isn’t a single centimeter between the two of you, and kisses your lips softly. You melt into the kiss immediately, hands wrapping around her neck before she slips her tongue in your mouth and you just let her. What would people think of you if they saw? Disgusting. Yet there you are, taking her college sweatshirt off, unclasping her bra, wasting no time.

“Okay, you had your fun. But I made a promise before, didn’t I?” She grins and turns around, opening what you assumed was her locker. She took her skirt off and you almost whine at her beautiful curves and the sight of her bare ass. You can’t believe she was going around with no panties on, even the mere thought brings a wet stain on your own underwear.

“What’s that?” Your eyes grow wide. You’re not stupid, you know it’s a strap-on. The only problem was that it was huge.

“Shh. No talking.” She orders as she ties the belt around her waist, coming over you to kiss your lips again. Her hands take off your underwear, letting the fabric fall on the floor. You shiver at the contact of her hand with your clit, but it feels oh-so-good, the way she’s so rough, doesn’t even care if you like it or if it hurts; spoiler alert, you love it.

Mikasa still has a hold around your throat as two of her fingers work their way into your tight hole, making your moans echo in the empty room. Her hold tightens, she wants to make sure there are some marks that your expensive concealer won’t cover. Black-stained lips meet your neck and collarbones, no space left without a red mark.

“Mikasa, fuck, I’m-”

“No, you’re not. Hold it.” She orders as her fingers pick up the pace with which she was thrusting them in you. The squelching sounds of your pussy fill the room, until she stops and releases them with a distinct ‘pop’. She probs your bottom lip with them before forcing them in your mouth, making you lick them clean. Which you do, sucking so desperately in two fingers, the way she gags you with them making you squirm.

“I can’t wait to see how you take my cock.” She giggles in your ear and flips you over, breasts pressing against the cold surface as she spreads your ass cheeks wide, taking in the sight.

“I don’t think I can take it.” You mumble, embarrassed at the way your body reacts at every touch of her. Mikasa wraps an arm around your stomach, bringing it down to your clit. The little slaps have you moaning again, hole fluttering around nothing.

“I wasn’t asking.” She bites your shoulder one last time before straightening her stance again.

“N-no, wait-oh, fuck!” The tip of her cock slowly stretches you open, the sensation overbearing. Her hand finds your hair, always in that perfectly tight preppy ponytail, which she grabs for leverage. Slowly, more and more of her strap-on fits inside you and you can swear you can feel every single one of the resin veins as your walls clench around the length of it.

“Mikasa, fuck! I’m-I’m coming, God, let me...let me come!” Your nonsense makes Mikasa laugh at you, her hand meeting with your sensitive clit to slap it again. Her rough thrusts send your head to hit against a locker, the dizzy feeling only making you want more.

Your orgasm sends you over the edge, legs shaking uncontrollably, mouth left agape for some drool to run from the side and you could swear some of your cum dripped down to the pile of clothes.

“You ruined my shirt, bitch.” The hold she has on your hips is too tight, her cock is milking your orgasm in a painfully, unbelievably good way and everything feels sore.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim, eyes blurry and burning as another orgasm slowly builds up. Mikasa leans back, now not even the tip inside you, before she rams into you unexpectedly, tip reaching your cervix to make you scream her name.

“Come on, I’m not doing all the work here.” She grins and sits on the bench. You straddle her lap, cock slipping into your hole easily, as you set a slow pace. Mikasa pays more attention to your breasts, fondling with one as the other is in her mouth, teeth grazing against your nipple as her other hand comes to your clit. “Faster.” She mumbles, leaving more marks on your body, making sure you would be humiliating yourself at some point soon.

“I said faster, bitch. Can’t you do one thing right?” She looks up at you through her eyelids, smoky eyeliner slightly smudged, yet she still looks incredibly hot.

“So-sorry .” You mumble, but your thighs are burning and it’s so hard, but it feels so good. You want to please her, make her feel good.

“Get up.” She orders and you do so, watching her remove the belt around her and setting the strap-on to the side. Legs spreading wide, she leans back a little and looks down at her pussy, then back at you. You get on your knees, hands wrapped around her pillowy thighs, before you look up at her.

“I’ve never have...”

“Well, better make it good then.” She shrugs, hand pushing your head down until your face meets with her clit. Her hand guides you to the right spots, and you’re licking, sucking around her folds, taking your time to explore her. You can hear her moaning softly, deciding to help a bit more, you slip a finger inside her wet hole, the way she sucks you in almost intoxicating.

“F-fuck!” She whines, her sweet release leaving you messy and wet. You look up at her, wondering what her next move is. Will she leave and never say anything of it?

You didn’t expect her to just ram you against the lockers and start fingering you again, as her other hand groped your breasts.

“Too much, please! Mikasa, ‘s too much!” You whine, moaning desperately. The third finger that she adds has you creaming around them, gasping for breath as she kisses your neck.

“This is what you get for being the biggest bitch on campus.” She whispers in your ear before removing herself completely off you, having you trying to catch your breath desperately. Mikasa gets dressed quickly and hides the strap-on back where she took it from. With one smirk thrown your way, she throws your bra and panties at you, leaving you to wonder why she’s holding on to your clothes.

“Let’s see how you get out of here. I told you I’d ruin you.” She laughs as she leaves with your clothes shoved in her backpack.

~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~

request a prompt !

#mikasa ackerman smut #mikasa x you #mikasa smut #mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa x reader #mikasa x reader smut #anime smut #aot smut #aot x reader smut #snk smut #snk lemons #snk x reader smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader smut #mikasa aot #minors dni

[dropsofletters]

runaway silhouette [jjh]

—summary: no one asks about that polaroid picture of a woman yoonoh keeps in the depths of his wallet.

lace, measurements, models—jung yoonoh has worked for the world of fashion for a little too long, but he’s as unknown as the person next door. with his inspiration dying down and his designs getting cheaper by the day, yoonoh has changed his ways. no longer is he the best lingerie designer in ‘silhouette’, the company he works for, neither is he the playboy he used to be and the dulcet-mouthed man that got his way through success.

bad luck has settled in his life, much like it has done on hers. the manager of a hotel that slipped his fingertips when one night she denied him all—the world, her hold, her smile, and just left him with a picture on his wallet.

only when he has to prepare one of the biggest fashion showcases of his life does he meet her again, and he realizes things could never be easy between them.

why is he, a man of fashion, infatuated with such a lovesick, monotone, blazer-sporting hotel manager? no one will ever know.

a runaway has captured him, and he’s not sure how to get his heart back.

maybe, he should start by forgetting that night.

—title: runaway silhouette  —pairing: jung yoonoh x reader  —genre: lingerie designer!au ; hotel manager!au ; strangers to lovers to enemies!au ; slowburn!au ; slice of life!au  —type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; drama ; suggestive —word count: 19,326 (i said slowburn and i meant it) —warnings: mentions of sex (the act is never on paper or narrative)

Jung Yoonoh is dressed to succeed.

With folded white sleeves and a black vest that becomes a second skin, he merges into the office like it belongs to him. It might, at some point in time; an associate after a few years and then, onto another business that was his own—vision, designs, everything. That’s the plan. His suitcase hangs, paces back and forth in the hook of his fist while all eyes cast on him while walking through the cubicles.

Today, Yoonoh is becoming the one in charge.

Silhouette is the lingerie line everyone wants to have cladding their skin. Expensive, intricate and elegant. It’s one of those things people put on when they need to feel their best while also being comfortable. Garments that enamor the buyer and the people who see them. His home for the past two years, Yoonoh has broken his ass to get to the manager position in the design department.

When settling his suitcase on his cubicle, he shares a smile with his neighbor. Johnny, part of the social media team, with his long-curled hair framing his rounded face. Fixing the collar of his shirt, Johnny interrupts him to say.

“Big day today, aye?”

Redemption, he likes to call this day. The payment for the parties he didn’t go to and the obnoxious nagging he stood from his boss, Mrs. Kang. This tall woman with atrocious so-last-season fluffed out coats in bright pink who screams at the mere sight of beige underwear. As she says, it’s tacky and simple, the kind of clothing you’d want to wear when un-turning someone on.

Yoonoh can’t wait until he can make decisions, organize collections, make bigger and better options for Silhouette to expand.

“You see, John, once I become your boss…I’m making you the leader of the PR and Social Media Team.” This place is a nest of snakes. One bite on his first day and he already became smarter. “Can’t be trusting anyone else with these babies.” With that, he opens his suitcase, sketchbook pressed to his chest just as Johnny claps his hands.

“Better position means better salary.” Johnny conquers, as casual as ever in his baby blue sweater

There are a few rules to Silhouette. To any workplace, really, and Yoonoh thinks about this just as he swings his long legs with Johnny following after him like a dog and his tail.

He had written them down in a portion of his brain that keeps his coffee order and his mom’s birthday. He’ll never forget them.

1)     Never trust nobody—never say where you come from in business, where you’re headed, what your dreams and aspirations are. Copycats exist everywhere, and they’ll do anything to follow your track if you’re doing good.

2)    Say goodbye to friendships but hello to hypocrisy. A smile is needed, but is it real? Not at all.

3)    Differentiate your works from others. Being special is the only way you’ll stand out.

One push of the door spreads a smile on his face, brown hair pushed back to showcase his plush, rosy lips and his gleaming eyes. What’s rule number four, you may ask?

Don’t let them see how tired you are.

Mrs. Kang sits at the very end of the meeting table. Always early, never late. Her face is dense with makeup, each wrinkle becoming more apparent as she applies a third layer of bright pink lipstick. Yoonoh knows Mrs. Kang has been the biggest dictator of all—giving him more work hours, destroying the designs she didn’t like from him, and making him get jittery fingers from how much he had to sew and unsew with the sewing machine to show her what his mind had captured. Now that she had found a way younger boyfriend that is eager to give a trip to the entirety of Asia, he’s over the moon.

Because that means old and grumpy Mrs. Kang will be gone for a while, and whoever becomes manager will be, then, the one in charge.

“Mrs. Kang!” Yoonoh greets in a tone that is much too faux, his dimple becoming apparent by the second. The woman looks up and away from her compact, stopping the conversation he is having with his biggest rival in the office. Not worth even thinking about. “Classic always goes best. You look beautiful today.”

She can barely even move her features in a smile. That’s how obstinate this woman is, but one of her wrinkly hands comes up to hold Yoonoh’s bicep when he leans down to press two kisses on each of her cheeks. The old European greeting. “I know, Yoonoh.” She adds, extending her hand towards him. “May you show me your designs? I got here earlier than expected and I have something to do right now so—”

That makes Yoonoh’s smile falter the slightest, just as he opens his sketchbook and splays it in front of Mrs. Kang. “Well, Mrs. Kang, if you let me have a few of your minutes, I prepared a PowerPoint presentation and a video for the collection I have in mind as my desire to become head of the designing team—”

“Silence, Yoonoh.” Mrs. Kang interrupts, going through his lingerie designs for both men and women. It’s not the kind of job people think about when designing, but there is something about seduction and comfort that just works well for him. “I’m in the midst of planning my engagement and I don’t have the time for whatever extra thing you have in mind.”

The room is silent, but if features could talk, the woman seated next to Mrs. Kang would have burst out in laughter. Siyeon is a 4’11 piece of shit that dared steal one of his designs when in his beginnings in Silhouette.  A fuchsia baby-doll that turned viral in the blink of an eye once it appeared in runways. Comfortable, sexy, with the right number of straps and the comfort of wearing it at any occasion, companion or not.

Yoonoh had left his sketch at his desk, only to find it gone the next morning. Mrs. Kang was over the moon, both from the money she got and about the audacity of the design. Siyeon had turned it in as hers.

No wonder her husband doesn’t stand her. She’s the devil reincarnate, and slips in Johnny’s DM’s every once in a while.

Yoonoh can’t say he doesn’t have some screenshots saved on his phone just in case he needs to blackmail her. This is the kind of man he has become.

“Done before.” Mrs. Kang flips onto another one of his designs. “Done before.” And then, she continues with the rest. “Vulgar. Boring. Ugly. Done before. Jesus, Yoonoh, did you even try to do anything?”

Yoonoh is used to praise. He has got it from women, throughout his time in college and even at his previous jobs. As an intern, he was refreshing and a nice sight in the designer area. Now, he is the floor Mrs. Kang steps on with her Louis Vuitton’s.

“I—” The meeting room is silent, everyone in the designer team trying to peek at his sketches. A short laugh leaves his lips, though awkward in tone. “We’ll compete against brands like Savage with designs like this. They’re brave and fitted and—”

“Boring.” Mrs. Kang completes, and Siyeon actually laughs at that moment, playing with one of her curled bright red strands of hair. “Yoonoh, I’m being serious. If the women you’re sleeping with are wearing lingerie like this…I’m worried about your sexual health.”

More laughter, and his jaw finally tightens. He tries to tell himself to smile, but he doesn’t, instead, snatching the sketchbook from her.

Mrs. Kang notices this, pushing her reading glasses down her nose before sighing. “Yoonoh, you need to learn how to take constructive criticism. You’re not perfect and I’m here to make you grow.” Says the woman that steps on him each time she can. At this point, he’s practically plastered on the floor. “I’m sure you’ll get to divert these boring ideas into something creative once Siyeon becomes the head of the department. You two have been so close since the beginning and I am sure she will work magic on you.”

“No.” Yoonoh shakes his head just as he plasters a faux smile on his features. “Ah, I—Well, I won’t—”

Siyeon stands up from her seat, fixing the sleeves of her white dress before clearing her throat. “I’m glad of getting the position and being the one, remotely, in charge of Silhouette as Mrs. Kang goes find true love.” This is not happening. Yoonoh rubs at his eyes in case he is dreaming. He has been preparing for this presentation for five months— “All I have to say is…I wouldn’t have been able to do this without the support of everyone here. My team. My heart. I have grown to have a family with you, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re together and…of course, it’s nice to continue down this path.” She hums. “A woman in charge and then, another woman. Isn’t that the whole point of Silhouette?”

His tongue scalds his palette when he takes a seat next to Mrs. Kang, closing his sketchbook with a harsh slap of his hand. Siyeon’s eyes connect to his own, fluttering her dense mascara-coated lashes before sighing.

“I had the pleasure of seeing Yoonoh in his first few days here and he has lost that spark, but I’m sure we’ll find it again.” Oh, everyone gets roses but he gets a few, too. For his social funeral, that is. He really wants to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m thankful.”

There go the tears, and Siyeon covering her face with her hand, a smile hidden behind the action.

…Has he ever said he hates working in Silhouette?

“You’re going to make me cry, too.” One of the members of the manufacturing team says in between big sobs and Yoonoh can’t help but roll his eyes.

Fuck this place.

After an elongated meeting with tearful hugs and looks thrown his way, Yoonoh is ready to find somewhere else to work in. Keep to himself until he dares get his curriculum somewhere else and stab this company straight in the back. Not because he didn’t get the job…but…

Let’s be honest, it’s because he didn’t get the job and he lost it to Siyeon.

Johnny slips around a few hours later with some cheeseburgers in a plastic bag, dense in cheese and stinking the two conjoined cubicles before he says:

“She’s the devil.”

“An exorcism wouldn’t be enough for her.” Yoonoh replies, tongue itching to say something when he unleashes the cheeseburgers from their confines. He’s only five minutes away from lunchtime, after all. “I can’t believe they gave it to her. Her designs are…I don’t know, like lace over lace. That’s not elegant, that’s not what Silhouette stands for—”

“Here’s the thing,” Johnny says, smacking his lips as he speaks with a mouthful of burger in his mouth. “You never had a chance.”

A pang rests in the pit of his heart when he scoffs. “Yes, I did.”

“No, you don’t.” His friend replies. “Everyone in this office hates you but me. I believe it is a Freudian theory. The Jung Yoonoh Effect.” Voiced out like a movie trailer, Johnny extends one of his hands in the air.

“Sorry for not caring about anything but business. Everyone here are suck-asses and crybabies. Why should I care?”

“Because people feel disconnected to you. They don’t to Siyeon.” Johnny conquers. “The Jung Yoonoh Effect is simple.”

“Stop it. You don’t even know who Freud is.”

“That one psychologist that compared everything to sex. That’s who he is. Hence, why you’re there.”

Yoonoh quirks an eyebrow, playing with a slice of meat that had gotten out of his burger. “What are you even talking about?”

“Interns always thirst over you. At least, five out of every nine people in this office has had a wet dream about you, liked enough of your Instagram pics to look like a freak, or would have your dick in a second if the second step of your effect wouldn’t come around.”

“…I’m not that bad of a guy.”

“But you’re bland. Work. Work. Work.” Johnny moves his hand as if it’s talking. Now he’s playing marionettes. Great. “We’re selling lingerie, and you are always about competition and work. We need you to be passionate.”

“Passionately suck up to people?” Yoonoh shakes his head, huffing in the process. “No thanks, man. I’m not going to lower myself to Siyeon’s standards. Not sure I want to get pink eye from kissing so much ass.”

“Been there, done that.” Johnny sighs, a smile displayed on his features. “I’m just saying, bro. Maybe, change the game—”

Something Yoonoh is…stubborn. He’d die with that title, and it is only enhanced when he feels a long nail tapping on his shoulder, making him turn around. He expects to see one of those interns that try to stumble out words when asking him for his e-mail to send him the summaries or designs they have worked on, but this time around, he is met with Siyeon’s face.

“No eating until lunchtime.” She tuts, shaking her finger in the air.

This means war.

Yoonoh points at the clock on his wrist, showing it to her. Rolex, maybe, he’s spoiling himself with the benefit of showing her he has also earned some money, designs mediocre or not. “It’s already my lunchtime.”

“Not to me.” Siyeon answers, straightening her back. “Maybe, you’d like to listen to me before I kick you out of the team, don’t you, Yoonoh?”

With that, he pushes the burger onto his desk, covering it just as Siyeon smiles.

“Good boy.” She coos, laughing when she turns around and returns to giving a run-around the office.

“That’s it.” Yoonoh whispers, running his hands through his hair, not caring if he messes it up in the process. “I’m designing the best fucking collection one could ever find and showing everyone in this goddamned office that I have talent.”

“Ooh, and where do you think you’ll get inspiration from?” Johnny tries to gossip, and Siyeon’s soft touch for him is shown when she doesn’t even spare him a glance as he munches on his burger.

“I think I have someone in mind.”

###

She’d color-code her life if she could. Hence, it’s still a mess, and while she is as organized as she could be, her mind is still trying to process how to keep the hotel she works in safe and sound and quiet.

One would think that being the manager of a hotel would be easy. A three-star-hotel, no celebrities, no paparazzi’s, definitely not enough rich people who care about their environment. As long as she made it homely, clean, and nice to stay in, it wouldn’t be much of an issue.

The problem is…everything is a mess.

For one, her boss, Sachiko, has not appeared in the last two days into the hotel. None of her well-prepared summaries, in Times New Roman twelve, with enough punctuation to make it look like a contract, have been read. The maids keep talking amongst themselves, gossiping instead of cleaning. They got a bad review on their restaurant because the head of the cooking team had decided to shout to one of the clients about how ‘they didn’t have an ounce of taste’ because they disliked the taste of his Ratatouille and oh, how to forget? The fact that her duties as a manager transcend to something else.

She rushes through the kitchen, heat and smoke accompanied by the sizzling of veggies and meat. She doesn’t care that there are flames around her, or that she bumps into one of the cooks in the process.

Sachiko has a mini version of herself, gift of a getaway with her ex-husband to try to make her marriage work. Then, came the five-year-old that had slipped her hold as she was attending one of the residents in their hotel at the entrance, granting them information about the type of rooms they offered. Erika, in all her round-faced glory with grabby hands and too much energy, had slipped from her line of sight and her hold.

She has roamed the entire hotel and she can’t find her.

Oh, then, she should change her statement that she hasn’t seen Sachiko in two days. She has. Sachiko’s heels have clicked against the tiles of this hotel. Only to leave Erika with her, spitting out excuses about having to get on another meeting for the expansion of the hotel, before she’s off the hook of being a full-time mother.

She doesn’t even get more payment for this.

“Have you seen Erika?!” She asks out loud, voice strained from so much shouting, only to watch the head chef speak, his moustache moving with each word he says.

“Oh, little Erika?” Well, seems like he has a soft spot for someone. His eyes glimmer, just as he wraps his hand around his mouth, as if to utter a secret. “She’s in one of the tables. She asked for two milkshakes already. Oreo milkshakes. She’s starting to jitter.”

“Mr. Oh!” She whines, throwing her head back with a groan before splaying her hands on her hips. Navy blue uniform as a simple suit giving her the most boring yet comforting outfit she could come up with. “I am the one that has to get her to sleep, and if she has sugar before bed, she won’t even close an eye—”

Mr. Oh shrugs. “What am I supposed to say? She’s my boss’ daughter.”

“I am your boss as well.”

“You’re getting me fired?”

She can’t even answer to him, hearing the Baby Shark song spoken at the top of someone’s little lungs. Her feet are rushing out of the kitchen by the time she notices it, blazer opening up when she gets to the table Erika is in. Red walls and marble tables don’t scare her, playing with the straw of her drink and grabbing someone’s phone to listen to that fucking song again.

“Erika…” She tuts, voice stern, hands spread out on her knees. This cardio routine has been enough to make her burn all she has eaten this month. The little girl’s short hair caresses her cheeks when she turns towards her, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go to your room and wait for mommy to get here.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, Erika. I am not playing.” Her voice levels itself, only to have Erika staring back at her. Big brown eyes blinking, playing with the edge of her pretty pink dress before sighing.

“But you won’t let me…let me watch my shows.” She takes in a breath, shuddering it out as a pout splays on her lips. “Y—You…mommy said you’d be with me, but you aren’t with me at all—”

Tears wield her eyes and she has to rush to cage her in her hold, hoisting her up before a big wail left her lips and she lost her job. “I’m sorry, Erika. I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t realized.” She mumbles out, pressing her cheek to the top of her head before sighing. “Do you want to give a walk around the hotel and go back to your room to watch as many shows as you want?”

She has to play good cards here. She’s not raising this child, after all, so if the long hours of TV-watching make her turn out bad when she’s a teen…that’s not her business.

Erika nods continuously, engulfing her arms around her shoulders. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

At least, she has found Erika before Sachiko arrives the next morning, but her body practically glues itself to the floor in tiredness by the time she slips out of the restaurant.

The best part of being a manager is when she gets back home.

###

“So, you’re saying you practically lost your job?”

Yoonoh’s life revolves one thing. Those four walls of his cubicles, the connections he has gotten from his workplace and his elongated list of explanations that always go unheard. In any other occasion, he would have been delighted of being given the benefit of lying. Casual relationships are more of his thing and explaining his every insecurity, recollection of time or worry isn’t part of the plan. Carnalities? Sure thing.

A hook-up turned friend with benefits pushing him by the chest and practically gasping when he sighs? He didn’t think it’d end this way.

“Mia,” His voice rasps out, leaning back on his calves while hovering over her. Her bed is as pristine as always, the rosy satin sheets from last week turned into beige, deep fibers that do sound too elegant for them to do whatever they are thinking of in the bed. “I didn’t lose my job, I just didn’t become the head of my department, okay?”

He’s trying to spell it out, but the model is just as confused. Mia had modelled for Silhouette a bunch of times in the last two years, and that’s how he met her. Fitting one of his designs to her will had led him to be asked out on a date and then, the contract came about. Just sex, nothing more.

Mia scrambles away from underneath him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if repulsed. As if she had kissed an ogre itself. “Yoonoh, you’re practically jobless—!”

“I am not.” He sighs out, trying his hardest to concentrate on anything around the room. The tall ceilings, the conversation at hand, anything but the obvious problem in his boxers right now. “I swear, I will just be working for Siyeon but it’s for a period of time. I’m sure I’ll get her position soon enough.”

“Oh my God,” Mia pushes her long brown hair away from her shoulders, widening those innocent eyes of hers, sharp cheekbones lifting in distaste—not even a smile of comprehension. “I can’t believe I almost slept with a good for nothing. You told me you’d get that job and now you didn’t?”

“A good for nothing?” Yoonoh stands up from that bed, hands on his hips when Mia nods, once and then twice.

“Your dick is good, but not that good.”

Is this the day Yoonoh’s ego gets bruised to shattered little pieces that poke at his feet like glass? Perhaps.

Is this the day Yoonoh lets that pang of pain in his chest become visible? Not at all.

“Were you just with me because I was probably going to be a manager?”

“Silhouette is—listen, they are established, but it’s not what I had in mind.” Mia puts on her robe, covering her Goddess-crafted body before picking up a glass of the wine they had been sharing. “If you became manager, I’d have more connections with other teams. I would probably be in better runways and—”

“I’m not your manager or your little linking buddy, Mia.” Yoonoh complains, chest flushed when he seethes, pushing the strands of his dark hair away from his face. “We’re just having fun. I wasn’t going to bring you as my plus one when we had already established—”

“I don’t know if you notice,” She starts, licking her lips in elegance. “But you’re…you’re going to end up alone, Yoonoh. All you do is work, you’re always tense and silent and…a little bit boring, if I’m being honest. I am definitely the closest thing you’ll ever have to a relationship.”

Oh, no. That’s the thing he hates the most. How the world has been divided in romanticists and hard-workers. You’re one of the other, can’t ever be both, and sometimes, he feeds into that stereotype. He knows he doesn’t have time to fully sit down and talk to someone about his interests, let his heart be wandered about like a museum, but somehow…hearing anyone tell him that he’s tense, silent, boring…doesn’t sit well with him.

He shrugs, eager to poke just like done to him. “Good thing I never wanted a relationship with you to start with.”

Mia gasps at that, plush lips parted before she’s opening the window of her one-floor home. Elegant, but still not the grandest thing out there. “Oh, is that so?”

“You happen to be presumptuous, superficial and now, a complete opportunist—” He says, walking behind her until she turns around, her robe falling off one shoulder when she points at the window, crisp air whisking the tension around.

“Then, leave.”

“Okay.” He’s about to turn around and grab his clothing, when he feels her tugging at his taut forearm.

“Not through the door. You don’t get the benefit to do that.” Once again, Mia is pointing at the window and that catches a chuckle out of Yoonoh, that rises and rises in tone.

“I won’t get out through there.”

“I didn’t ask you. I told you to.” With that, she’s pushing at his chest, trying to get him out as he scrambles to get a hold of her.

“Mia! Are you fucking insane?!”

“Tired of your bullshit, Yoonoh. That’s it.”

Mia is, perhaps, not stronger than him, but for someone who walks on runways…she’s mad strong. Maybe, it’s the necessity to get him out of her home or the flying atrocity of her train of thought that has him stumbling backwards in one of those moments. In just his boxers, the prickling of the grass and the flowers in Mia’s garden caress and poke at his skin, tickling in enormous amounts just as he falls into the most embarrassing position he has been in.

The moonlight seeps over his skin, a groan ripping from the depths of his soul at the ache on his back when he hears the window closing, not without a few words from Mia: “And don’t you dare call me again, asshole.” And maybe, he would have laughed at the stupidity of the statement, because throwing someone out of a window is definitely not a reason to call someone back, but now, he’s much too surprised and in pain.

### 

She wishes she was back to being a kid.

It’s a thought she has when the days are tough and uncertainty fills her, like a vase that is neither half full or half empty, but just stuck. In this town, with a job that she had wished for years ago, that takes away every ounce of will and thrive that she ever had. Days are tiring, nights even more so, and sometimes, she wishes the lake would stop being so calm. For it to be some movement, some waves, some dance of life that tells her: ‘this is something new and I give it to you because you deserve it’.

Instead, she’s walking alongside Erika, whose little feet in her elegant tiny boots are kicking a rock on the sidewalk. They had decided to walk for another block near the hotel, houses scattered in their glow in this enchanting night. It’s a moment of quiet, and she relishes on it, sending a look to the rock and to the little girl, just in case she’s not warm enough or she’s tired.

Oh, how she wishes she was tired.

Erika calls out her name, soft and through a pout, in a way that makes her sound like her age. Very much little a baby. “…Why do…why do girls your age never like boys?”

“What do you mean?” She questions, a smile on her face when sparing Erika a glance. A shrug is given. “I think boys are cool. Not all boys, but some are.”

“Mom doesn’t like my dad, and he’s a boy.” That must be the way she explains her parents’ divorce, but how she’s involved in that? She has no idea. “You…you don’t have a boy. I never hear you talk about boys.”

You see, she hasn’t dated in a while. A while as in…years. Comes to be, building trust into someone after having another person shatter it for you is not only difficult, but somehow near impossible. A plane ticket had said farewell to her in-person relationship and she had embarked in this immense long-distance relationship with too many tears and too much longing. He was distant after a while, and she blamed it on time differences…

Time differences that were proven to be someone else when she called him to tell him she had saved money for seven months just to visit him, only to hear him with another woman.

Another woman who claimed to be his girlfriend of four years.

Not one. Not two. Not three. Not even three and a half. Four.

“I don’t know.” She starts, trying to find the best way to say this. “We don’t always need a boy, Erika. Us girls, we don’t. The only people we need are our family, our friends and ourselves. Princesses can still be pretty and have a lot of people looking up to them without a prince.”

“Like Moana?”

“And Merida.” She completes, a smile on her face when she tugs the little girl up to scoop her in her hold. “Your mom has a hotel and she takes care of it very well without a boy. That doesn’t mean your daddy is not important, but they are happy even when he doesn’t have a girl and she doesn’t have a boy.”

“Then,” Erika plays with the collar of her white button-down. “We all have to be in pairs?” She stops.

“You mean couples?” Erika nods. “Oh no, honey, not all of us have to be in pairs or be part of a couple.” She chuckles at Erika’s innocence. She must be a bit insufferable, but still a kid. With the nightly air blowing at her face, she sighs. “We can all be with anybody, depending on who we like, girls…boys…your mom has told you that, right?”

Humming, Erika opens her mouth to speak up. “Yep.”

“Good girl.” She coos, smiling in the process. “Do you know what decision means?”

“Yes.” Erika conquers. “Carrots or potatoes, like that.”

“Exactly. What you choose is your decision.” She’s trying to make this easy for her. “Your mom doesn’t have to love a man, because that is her decision. As long as she loves herself and you, she’s already complete.”

“And you?” Erika questions.

She hadn’t thought about it in years. It didn’t feel right to be next to someone else, and she doesn’t know if that falls on her a little bit. Loneliness is inherent, this wandering thought that comes to her when she stops and wonders if there is someone out there. Not to complete her, because she’s already full by being on her own, but to support her.

“I am complete, too.” The answer is simple, tucking a strand of Erika’s hair behind her curved little ear. “So are you.”

“I am complete!”

“Yes, you are.”

Something interrupts them just as they pass by a cream-colored house. A groan comes from the flowers planted in the front-yard, and that has her stopping. Flowers don’t talk, obviously, but if someone is hurt—a dog or a human, she has to check.

More groaning and then, she sees a peak of milky skin under the moonlight, paired with tousled black hair. A man is standing in between the bushes, with his lower half thankfully covered by the plants, a short small nose, decently sized lips and a face that speaks anything but a good time.

And he’s half-naked. Only in boxers.

Her hand comes upwards to cover Erika’s eyes just as a loud gasp leaves her lips and she screeches: “Pervert!”

“No, no, no!” The man in question shushes her, lowering his body until even his taut chest and abdomen are covered. His eyes widen comically, and she has to shut her mouth to hear him speak. “I’m not a pervert, I promise! I know this looks wrong but—”

“You’re hiding in the bushes without clothes on, sir. This is definitely something illegal—”

“I was with a woman,” He sends a look towards Erika, levelling his words just because a kid is there, trying to snatch her hand away, but its grip is tight like iron. “And she threw me out because we had a break-up. Kind of. Not serious enough to call it a break up but…my clothes are inside and she won’t let me in. I’ve tried for such a long time. I was hiding until someone passed by but…no one did.”

Still far away from him, she quirks an eyebrow. This relatively, conventionally handsome man had been kicked out by a woman…almost ass-naked?

Talk about an attitude.

“Well, I’ll call someone over to help you out—” She’s about to move again, not completely trusting the man in the bushes when he calls her over with a hiss from his lips. A mix of ‘psst!’ and ‘hey!’ that obnoxiously makes her stop to turn around, still covering Erika’s eyes. “What?”

His eyes glisten when he says: “Help me.” He must be some kind of boss. The stranger says these two words like she has to do it, and she would have turned around again had it not been for those plush lips saying: “Please.”

“What do you want?” She questions, only to have him smiling.

Oh, there is a dimple there. A very profound and albeit, a bit attractive, dimple.

“Clothes.” The stranger adds. “Can you buy me some clothes? I promise I’ll pay you. I just need to get out of here. I think a cockroach bit me in the ass.”

“Language.” She spits out, just as Erika tries to wiggle away from her hold and repeats:

“Ass!”

“Erika!”

“Sorry.” He says again, bringing his hands together in a plea before sighing out: “I need them right now.”

She fixes Erika’s hold around her body, before rolling her eyes hard enough so she cans see the back of her head. “Fine. I’ll find you some clothes.”

###

Erika won’t take care of the family business. She’ll be a stylist, for sure. 

The only thing opened at this hour of the night that doesn’t cost her a big portion of her salary is the thrift store and after endlessly explaining the situation to a very eager Erika, she is watching the little girl moving around the store as if she owns it, grabbing clothes here and there in a hassle.

“Erika, be careful. We can only pick three pieces of clothing!” Not that the teenager by the counter cares, popping his bubblegum in between his thin lips, looking down at his phone and tapping on it with a speed that a piano player would envy.

“We have to make him look cute.” Erika tries to say in her most professional voice, and she has to sigh. She will definitely not become a mother anytime soon.

“Yes, but we also have to make it cheap. I don’t have much money in this suit.”

“Yes, yes.” Somehow, she feels like Erika is not listening, pulling at a t-shirt on a table nearby, only to unfold it and give it to her. Her body is so small that she couldn’t see the imprint on the front. As her babysitter of the night, she expands it over her chest, only to watch something within Erika lighting up. “I like it!”

“Good,” She checks the price after muffling a laugh at the words written at the front. “It’s cheap. We can get it.”

Small steps patter against the tiles of the grand store before she’s tugging at the leg of a pair of pants she found on a rack, too tall for her to grab.

“This, this, this, I want this!”

Those ones are a little bit pricier, but when she gets them out of the rack, a smile finally spreads through her features. She has to get it. “You have a gut for styling, little one.”

Erika straightens her back in pride, fisting her small hands before nodding. “Thank you. Want me to buy one for you?”

She chuckles at her words. Definitely not, but she masks it by saying. “We don’t have enough money tonight. Another time.”

### 

Props to the man whom now she knows is called Jung Yoonoh…he doesn’t look half as bad in those clothes as anyone else would.

The milky way spreads on Erika’s pupils when she leans on the table that she had taken up in the hotel’s restaurant a little bit over an hour ago. Her line of sight is filled with none other than Yoonoh, whom she had practically cried to just to invite him to have dinner with the two of them. Erika has practically eaten her weight in Oreo milkshakes, but she can’t quite say she is not starving by the time she slips into the leather seats and she smells the delicious cooking from the kitchen.

Compare that to the bland sandwich she has in her locker.

The little girl talks even out of her elbows. Yoonoh, however, patiently listens, trying to keep up with the grand story she has for the outfit she had picked for him. That explains why people take second-glances towards him. Not that he is not handsome enough; the lighting at that house his girl had kicked him out of did not do justice to his chiseled, quite carved face, but there is something about his clothing that captures most of the attention.

A pair of pink flip flops that Erika had picked up at last after they both forgot about shoes. Tight red leather pants that showcase the strength and curve of his thighs, quite lean, elongated legs that she had taken a second look at when seeing him out of the bushes with some clothes on. And, how to forget the old, quite used black tank top that reads: ‘With a body like this, who needs a personality?’.

She had laughed when she saw him.

Her fingers dip her fries on some ketchup by the time Yoonoh does so, sparing her a glance over Erika’s shoulder when the little girl says:

“My friend doesn’t need boys.” The girl adds, wrapping her hands around her mouth before saying. “But don’t feel offended, she still finds boys cool.”

“Some of them.” She corrects, connecting her gaze with Yoonoh’s just as the man leans back on his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh, words from a broken heart. Who hurt you?” He questions, quirking one of his eyebrows before taking a bite of the fried chicken he had insisted on getting. Something about those brown eyes seem to capture her perfectly, as if reading her like a book…and she doesn’t like it.

“I’m just too busy to care.” Her voice wavers the slightest when letting out her excuse and then, she scoffs. “You know, that happens when you’re the manager of a hotel.”

“Understandable.” Yoonoh nods a few times before that dimple appears again. “Too busy to care or too busy to date?”

Her face burns by the time Yoonoh asks that question, pleased with the way she widens her eyes. “When did we decide to make me the subject of our conversation?”

“You saw me half-naked, I get to know something about you other than the pressed suits and the obvious distrust issues.” Yoonoh’s tone is playful, that smile never erased from his features, while her frown deepens. She can’t say he’s not correct, but he’s also poking at her nerves with his words.

“I don’t have trust issues.”

He hums. “Your first reaction is to say no to everything. You deny every word that is thrown your way.”

“Because I happen to think guys like you just feel like they know it all.” She comments, taking the same position as him while crossing one leg over the other. Erika just looks between the two, trying to understand this conversation to no avail. “You read and read people, but I can read you well, Yoonoh.”

He expands his arms, showing that ridiculous shirt. May be half true, his body is great, and his personality may be a little bit insufferable. “Read me.”

“Bachelor with a good job who has that ‘rise and grind’ mentality. Don’t take relationships seriously. Can’t look past what’s in front of him and oh, trust issues, too.” She relishes on leaning over the table, watching as his eyes concern the rest of her face, taking in her every feature before his gaze delves down to the fold of her shirt, no buttons opened, but he’s trying to see something there.

“You want me to look at what’s in front of me?” He questions. “It’s you. Didn’t know that was your way of flirting with me. Guess I really do have to thank you for the…outfit.”

“And me!” Erika raises her hand, waiving it in the air happily.

His tutting tone changes when smiling at her. “Thank you, Erika.”

“Who hurt you, Jung Yoonoh?” She questions, mocking the tone he had used on her and trying to stop a smile from appearing on her lips. So, playing around with him is fun, as it seems.

He stops for a moment, as if thinking. The curve of his mouth falls down the slightest and she hears a breath-in that she overthinks about, noticing that there is pain in even the brightest of people. Instead, he shrugs. “I haven’t gotten my heart broken.” Yoonoh says, playing with the strands of his hair, curves of his arms contorting. “Want to be the first to break it, sweetheart?”

“You wish.” She scoffs, only to have Yoonoh dipping more of his fries in ketchup.

“You wouldn’t even kill an ant.” Yoonoh swats without importance. “I doubt you’d break my heart.”

“I wouldn’t want to break your heart, and that’s what differentiates us.” She points between them. “Good cop, bad cop.”

“Excuse me.” A tender voice cuts through the air around us, a young-looking guy with innocent features and glasses too big for his face waves a Polaroid camera in his hold when nearing them. “May I take a picture of you? I have a photography project for a class I’m taking in college and I need to take pictures that bring nostalgia and warmth. I happened to think your little family could be the perfect subject.”

Before she could fully deny they are a family, Erika is wrapping both her little arms around their shoulders as she settles at the center of the table, smiling at the camera. “Cheese!”

Two pictures are taken before she could fully bring a smile to her face, her eyes connecting to Yoonoh’s over the table in a look that she can’t quite recognize. His smile has erased but still, he’s the one to take the picture when the college student says:

“One for you, one for me.” He says, bowing slightly. “Thank you.”

With that, he is gone, but the effect of his picture lingers when she realizes where she is. A complete stranger sits at the same table as her, trying to figure each other our while she should have put Erika to bed long ago, continue with her job and not even look to the sides to see whose lives are coexisting while she’s just working.

“Sorry.” She stands up, shaking her head at her own antics. Helped him, she had already done, and now she has no business to sit with him, grab a bite and just pretend that she doesn’t have things to do. Yoonoh looks up from the picture, eyebrows furrowed when she grabs Erika by the arms and hoists her up. “I—I have to work. I don’t…I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be here with you.”

“Why?” Yoonoh questions, voice softened when she shakes her head.

“I just shouldn’t.” She finishes, not knowing quite well what this feels like. Casually flirting with a man like him means trouble. “Goodbye, Yoonoh.”

She says those words with the harshest weight of the world, turning around and rushing out of the restaurant while Erika screams out Yoonoh’s name in need for more fun in the night. Nonetheless, she feels someone’s eyes trailing after her, but she knows one look over her shoulder would only bring more questions to her head.

What was the universe trying to do when putting him on her road?

###

There is a picture in his wallet that doesn’t even begin to answer the questions roaming his head. As confused as in the beginning, Yoonoh remains.

He doesn’t know why he stares at it after finishing his meal during lunchtime, the office emptied out of people, flicking at the corner of the Polaroid he would not show anyone even if they paid him a billion won. He just wouldn’t. That ridiculous shirt and those obnoxiously tight pants that definitely gave him a carpet burn that he’s still feeling two days later, should have been enough of a reason not to wonder about the sudden change of mind the hotel manager had. 

Maybe, he had offended her. Though, she had kept on playing his game—and he half meant what he said. People like her are easy to read. Definitely an organization freak, perhaps a bit nerdy, with enough worries in her mind to fill an entire book. She wasn’t wrong about his trust issues either, but as he splays his fingertips on top of her placement in the picture, the only one who is not fully smiling, he ponders…

What’s about this girl that has his mind bringing her back all the time?

He closes his wallet just as he opens his sketchbook. A new one, because in his hassle, he had ripped the other that he had filled with all his dreams and hopes. He had crafted bodies, all in different sizes, to design something…and nothing had come to mind, not until he saw her again. That treasure hidden under baggy suits and clothes that he would have never looked at twice if only he hadn’t been captured by the naïve elegance in her face.

His eyes had tried to look, capture a glimpse of the curves around her body, and his imagination gave him more than what he could actually perceive. Yet, it had been enough. Flipping through his color scheme cards, he compares it to the vision he had inside his brain. Conservative, but still enough to feel powerful…

Violet. He doesn’t know why he picks it, but he does.

His fingers can’t stop sketching over the model he has on his sketchbook. He imagines lace and stain, draped thin pieces of clothing over the shoulders. Enough coverage for a one piece…and it comes to him in the form of a muse he would have never imagined. Someone who did not even show him anything, never gave him a chance to talk or fly, because that’s what he had never tried. What Silhouette had never stood for.

The people who are too shy to wear something like what they design.

Attractiveness is a feeling most people should get used to. Being looked at in an adoring light or have a flower thrown their way in the form of a compliment is desired, but has been lost in the eye of lust. Every word of adoration these days has been related to something—the imminent stoppage of the moment for the promise of sex. Never had Yoonoh thought of his designs as something more than a form of self-seduction, with the portrayal of self-love as a higher force for lust, but now, he sees it again.

Lingerie shouldn’t be seducing. It should be a weapon of beauty; a piece of clothing to be taken into consideration, colors that merge well with one’s personality. Not everyone is ready to fully unveil themselves in the light of the sexualized society we live in. Sometimes, people just want to feel nice fabrics against their skin or a glimmer of gorgeousness without showing everything.

The magic of designing is in delicacy.

The ideas come to him then. What was once a two piece for Yoonoh, now is one. What was once see-through, now makes up for riskiness in designs and curves, fabrics added to give more structure, instead of more nudity. Lingerie doesn’t have to be a thin layer of clothing—it can be beautiful, crafted and built.

His e-mail dings with a new entrance, stopping him on his third design as he envisions what must be under that suit—what would fit her and other working people for needing a boost, without actually showing the clothing to anyone but themselves, but soon enough, his face falls at Siyeon’s e-mail.

Subject: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Greetings, my beloved Yoonoh,

Silhouette has been known for its strong stance in the fashion community, and I have been pleased to land a runway show for us in, specifically, twenty-nine (29) days. In light of this, I send you the list of things you have to do:

1)   Design a set for the main male model of the runway, Kim Jungwoo. It has to be a showstopper if you want to keep working with him. I need this to be sent in 6 days.

2)   Find a nice and not as expensive place for the publicity photoshoot to take part on. I don’t want simple. I need ravishing visuals.

3)   Talk to the newbie models and make sure that said day, the stylists don’t screw up.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Yoonoh rolls his eyes before starting to type a reply. The devil must be in front of her computer.

Subject: [RE]: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Hello,

I had already started working on a female set. I’m a female lingerie designer. I think I am not the one in charge of Jungwoo’s outfit.

Sincerely,

Jung Yoonoh.

The response comes just as he begins scrabbling his ideas into paper once again.

Subject: Who asked?

I want you to work on Jungwoo’s outfit. See if you get better while working on boxers instead of bras.

Not as sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Spreading one hand on top of his sketchbook, he rubs the bridge of his nose before he breathes in deeply. Okay, now it seems like he has to craft something for a model that he doesn’t even know about, as well as finding the place for a photoshoot. An assistant, he seems to be now, and Siyeon’s, nonetheless.

But a place comes to mind, soon enough.

###

Devastation comes short to the wails that leave the kid’s lips. That speaks of pleas and pain.

Over a week of Sachiko coming up with different meetings had led up to an expected, yet somewhat uncalculated, road trip to where she hopes to build her second hotel. That said, she won’t stay for a day or two, but for the entirety of two weeks away from Erika. The daughter that now clings onto Sachiko like a koala, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, black hair matching her own as she cries uncontrollably.

Sachiko is at her apartment’s doorstep, luggage by the side of her elongated legs, as she shushes her daughter with a worried gaze. “You’re going to be okay, baby.” Then, she calls out her name, trying to wipe the tears in her eyes with just one hand. “You’ll be taken care of…and I will be back before you know it.”

“Why do you leave?!” Erika screeches, and Sachiko tries her best to reason with her, but her own whines are stopping her.

So, with her pajamas and tiredness lingering within her, she places a hand on top of Erika’s back. “Because your mom wants you to have a great life, Erika. She wants to buy you all you need and for you to have dreams as big as hers.” Maybe, she won’t get it now, but it’s the best she can do to explain the situation.

It manages to make Erika turn around, blinking her tears onto her cheeks. “I don’t want her to go.”

“We’ll mark the calendar…and she’ll come soon enough.” She whispers out, and it’s at this moment that she regrets saying yes to Sachiko when she asked her to take care of her daughter for a little while longer.

A little while longer shouldn’t mean two weeks.

Still, Erika doesn’t let go of her mom. She’s glued to her.

“I made you some hot chocolate, and I have some pudding that I prepared for me earlier.” Because sugary sweet meals seem to make her feel better in these days of uncertainty. This makes Erika widen her eyes, looking back at her mom before questioning her with a small smile.

“There you go, there’s my smiling baby.” Sachiko finishes, putting her daughter down before looking down at her watch. “My taxi is waiting for me. You can call me tomorrow, Erika, okay?”

“Yes, mommy!” But Erika is already moving towards the kitchen to grab a mug of that sweet, sweet hot chocolate.

She knows sweets are her weak point.

The only weak point she has.

“Make sure she sleeps early, okay?” Sachiko says, and all she can do is nod.

“Sure thing.” I can’t promise a thing, she thinks.

“And that she doesn’t eat too many sweets. I’ll let this one slide.”

“Only veggies.” She says as she grabs her doorframe in between her hold. Only to give her something sweet after she throws the veggies at my face, her mind replies.

“Thank you.” Sachiko adds over her shoulder, a smile to her face. “I know it’s difficult, but I really don’t have any family to take care of her and I really do trust you. I promise to pay you well after all this.”

That’s a nice start.

“Don’t worry. Me and Erika get along well.” That’s not a lie, but taking care of a kid is extremely tiring. “Just get in your taxi. We’ll be fine.”

With that, minutes pass by of complete silence, Erika’s eyes trained on her phone, blasting Peppa Pig, with one or two hiccups escaping here and there as she drinks her first mug of chocolate. She joins her, slicing another bit of cake and shrugging off whatever thought appears inside her brain.

The chocolate merges on the roof of her mouth, warming her to the tip of her toes, each aching muscle after hours of working relaxing, even a bit entranced by the show she’s not watching, but might be brain-washing her just like the rest of the kids.

“Another one, please.” Erika says after finishing her episode, extending her mug of chocolate towards her before she smiles sweetly.

She shakes her head. “Mom said no sweets.”

“Please?” The little girl drags with dulcetness in her tone, but she repeats the previous action.

“Nope.”

Erika places the mug down, head laying low before she repeats: “Chocolate, please!”

“I said nope.”

The kid stops for a moment, thinking as the sound of the dishwasher starting up as she cleans the mugs and the plates, and just then, her small voice is heard again:

“You don’t give me chocolates because you’re sad about Yoonoh?”

That makes her halter all steps. Yoonoh. The man that she had met days ago. Adonis without a shirt on, and then some weird 2011 wannabe that happened to have dinner with her and Erika. The lingering flirtations between the two had not been forgotten, those pair of eyes that somehow seemed to want to strip her of her utmost secrets, only for her to back away.

Yoonoh means trouble.

“I am not sad about Yoonoh.” She adds, turning around with her damp hands ending up over her waist. “Why do you think I’m sad about him?”

“Because he’s your boy!” Erika screeches as if it’s the most obvious thing, and she’s starting to get tired of the kid’s insane romanticism mixed with optimism. Sure, she’s a kid, but Disney should start making less princesses with a prince. “Mommy explained it to me.”

“What did she explain?” Not that she’s understanding a thing, but please, she does need to be enlightened.

“I asked mommy how people acted when they were in pairs.”

“When they are couples.”

“Yep!” The grin on her chubby cheeks is enchanting, but by what she’s saying, she’s about to ask Sachiko to pick her up again. The love talk is not her thing. “And she said boys smile a lot and they speak weirdly, like things I can’t understand.” That is a way to put it. “And the girl looks down a lot…and I don’t remember what else she said, but you did all those things with Yoonoh. He is your boy!”

“Boyfriend, not boy.” She corrects, turning around to continue to wash the dishes. Was he smiling at her? She had seen the dimple, but she hadn’t thought that he had beamed around like a madman. “And he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one.”

“But why?” Erika drags her voice.

“We already had the talk of Moana and Merida.”

“I get that. I’m like them. I don’t want to be with boys.” She utters innocently, standing up to tug at her sleeve. “But you are with Yoonoh.”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, laughter escaping her lips. “You hit your head, Erika.”

“I didn’t!” The little girl says, scratching her head just in case. “You’re a princess. He’s a prince—”

“Erika!” She stops her, interrupting her with ease before sighing. “I met Yoonoh the day we saw him, and I didn’t like him that way. We aren’t even friends.”

She juts out her lip. “I wasn’t friends with Mina either.” That’s Erika’s best friend from school. “But we became friends in a day. She put a worm in the teacher’s sandwich…” Her voice becomes soft, a blush appearing on her face. “It was awesome.”

“It’s different for adults.” That’s the best way to put it. She shakes the water away from her hands after closing the faucet before patting them dry on a towel. “What would you do if I said I disliked Yoonoh?”

“Nothing.” She adds. “You said you liked cool boys, and he’s a cool boy.”

He’s an overachieving asshole with a nice smile that could potentially enter her heart if she let him, but that should and would never happen. That’s who he is.

“Erika, I’ll tell your mom to ground you if we keep this conversation up.”

That seems to make her stop, grabbing her phone once again—and she knows the password, which is even worse, kids in this generation are geniuses—, before adding: “Does Peppa have a boy?”

“Oh my God, no!”

This will definitely be a long night.

###  

His mind is blank. Absolutely blank. Lingerie for men is even more difficult than lingerie for women. 

Jungwoo gives another walk on the stage, bleached blonde hair barely moving with each step he takes. He’s in the simple designs, the first launch of Silhouette, as bland as bland can get, and while his strut is fine, he can’t think of anything. Nothing that couldn’t be just a simple pair of boxer briefs thrown on a model. He could do that, but that’s so common, so plastered on paper. He wants to do something else, and yet, in the day of the photoshoot, he can’t think of anything.

“Why are you making me do this?” He met Jungwoo a few days ago, and he was actually quite surprised to recognize who he is. A runway model that has been around the world and all over fashion weeks. His dulcet personality and tall frame have gotten him somewhere, that’s for sure. “I should be already in my clothes and ready to take pictures.”

“I have nothing.” In the middle of the hotel’s ballroom, Jungwoo stops walking at the sound of Yoonoh’s voice. The designer looks down at his sketchbook, where he had made the drawing of a body similar to Jungwoo’s and still, nothing came to mind.

“…You have to have something.”

“A pair of black boxers.” He turns the sketchbook around just as Jungwoo slips a robe over his body and ties it securely. “Better than white boxer briefs, sexier, too. All the women I’ve been with likes them.”

“I won’t model that.” Jungwoo conquers, a lightweight laugh following after. “Those look like plain cotton boxers.”

“Well, I just don’t know what to design. Either I make you look tacky or I make you look bland. There is no in-between.”

“That bad?” Jungwoo questions, taking a seat next to him before grabbing a water bottle. “People are going to be here any minute. Everyone has decorated and I’m not sure my manager will be happy to hear that I came here just for nothing.”

A look is spared to the model, with Yoonoh shaking his head softly. He has to think of something. He can’t give Siyeon the benefit of seeing him tuck with a simple design.

His pencil taps against the drawing for a few seconds before he breathes out a few words: “You’re okay with being more covered?”

Conservative and elegant is more of what he has been aspiring for, with that peek of skin that makes the world go around. It’s what he has been drawing these days, but mostly with a muse in mind.

“Sure. I wasn’t over the moon thinking my ass was going to be out in the world.”

Yoonoh chuckles at that, turning the page around from the plain black boxers before sketching something else. “How about a crop top? With a fabric similar to a bralette, and you look better in red than you do in black.” He draws a diagonal line across the ribcage, making slitted long sleeves to showcase pieces of biceps, filling it up with the color red in a quick hassled manner that he will fix later. “Maybe some chains and garments around that wrap up to your waist.”

“I like that.” Jungwoo announces when looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll keep the black boxers. I still think they are classics, and I can talk to the management team to make them more than just cotton.” Yoonoh announces, soon after looking at the picture before clicking his tongue. “I think there’s something lacking.”

“Dunno. You’re the designer, but I’d wear this out of the runway.”

That’s something good, but Yoonoh is thinking of something else. People in real life transcending into their own confident version. That’s what he wants to portray. He draws a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, falling onto his long legs until it reaches midway through his calves, before sketching a pair of pants on the side. Loose, simple, highlighted in the waist.

“We could connect do something like…like suspenders. Office guy turns into midnight God.” Once again, he’s sketching. “You’d wear this, the crop top underneath but I have no idea how you’d show the boxers.”

“Make them low cut.” Jungwoo suggests, eyes trained on his phone momentarily when he crosses one leg over the other. “That way, the boxer’s band will be showing, and it will have Silhouette’s name there. I’d take off the jacket to show the statement piece.”

Yoonoh thinks about it, erasing the line at the waist before drawing the band, and his eyes glimmer at the image underneath him. Not as bad as he imagined it.

“Your ideas are good.”

“Thanks, I’m not just a pretty face.” Jungwoo jokes around, only standing up when the doors of the ballroom come open.

The theme of the photoshoot is simple. A party at the eighties, with beaming colors and disco balls. Darkened walls, confetti, everything has been added to highlight the idea Yoonoh had come up with. Nonetheless, his team is not the one barging in the room when the doors open, instead, he’s met with another darkened suit and a serious face that stares down at her agenda.

“Morning, people. I’m sorry I’m late. I was figuring out an issue at the penthouse, but I am here to help you with any form of decoration or with any question you may have.” The hotel manager stands there. Not that Yoonoh ever pondered they could not meet each other when he had specifically picked her hotel—he had walked through when entering the restaurant, and the three-stars help with the price, but the decorations are immaculate. Architecture its utmost beauty.

Now that he sees her, a smile spreads across his features. Maybe, a bit too soon—in a way that has him pushing it down because it is not possible to get that reaction out of him when it’s not faux. That woman had stood him up without even much of a reason, in the literal sense of the word, took those pretty legs away from the seat and walked away after they had been having fun.

He wore those leather pants. She owed him not leaving him in the middle of a restaurant with her meal and his to pay.

When she looks up at him, a few sentiments flash before her eyes, but he can’t guess any of them. He breathes out her name, capturing her off guard when she questions:

“You remember me?” Her voice is levelled as she moves forward, with a tinge of curiousness.

Yoonoh shrugs his shoulders in his fitted black sweater, paired with dark ripped jeans. “I wasn’t shitfaced. Just half-naked.”

That makes her frown deeply when she looks up at him again. “Don’t you dare say that out loud in front of anyone.” Soon after, she’s talking to Jungwoo. “I—Don’t listen to him. I’m the manager of this hotel and I have no business with this man.”

Jungwoo lifts his hands in the air. “None of my business, but please, do let me hear.”

He doesn’t know why it surprises him that Jungwoo likes gossip. “Why? You’re embarrassed of helping me out?”

“You’re saying it with double intentions.”

Yoonoh chuckles. “I wasn’t intending on anything the night we met.”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes, making him raise his eyebrows. That cynic voice in her is not something he expected. “We both know what kind of intentions you have with everyone. It seeps from you.”

“Seeps from me?”

“You had no issue going with some stranger after being kicked out of your…your hook up’s house and you were smiling and using those eyes on me and buddy,” She stops, a short laugh leaving her lips. Her index finger extends to point at him. “I’m not a charity case. I’m not in need of a man. I don’t need you to come around and cause me trouble, okay? If you’re here just to tease me instead of letting me do my job, then we’re off to a bad start.”

Offended is short for what he feels. Sure, he may not make a big deal out of hook ups, but it’s not like he’s the easiest man in the world. And if he was, why does she care?

“You’re the one talking about my eyes. I never made eyes at you.”

That makes her stop, holding her agenda to her chest before patting her ponytail in place. “Okay. Fine.”

“You just think you’re so much better than you, don’t you?” Yoonoh spites, crossing his arms across his chest, never once raising his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, you take care of your boss’ child. You’re so sweet and kind. So in synch with yourself you need no one’s company…” He trails off, pointing them out with the sharpness of his words. “That’s fine, but it’s not fine when you point fingers at people for being with other people. The twenty-first century is calling, they are here to say you can show someone your ankles without losing all sense of rightfulness.”

Scoffing, she shakes her head, a sarcastic smile appearing on her features. “Yoonoh, I know men like you.” She starts. The typical stance people have of him. Men like him. “You’re a…around with a bunch of women, and you use your good looks to your advantage, never care about anybody but you, never take anyone out on a date—”

He gets closer at that moment, lowering his eyes onto her lips before connecting them with hers. “…You wanted me to take you out on a date and that’s why you’re mad about me being a thot?”

“No!”

His hand reaches for one of her ears, laughing when he feels the heat. “Your ears are hot. Have something to tell me?”

“Where’s the person in charge of this photoshoot?” She slaps his hand away, turning to Jungwoo who has the biggest grin on his features.

“Oh, it’s him. The asshole Jung Yoonoh.” Jungwoo conquers with a flick of his finger before he expands his hands in front of them. “But please do continue. I love a good drama.”

“You?!” She gasps that word out as if it’s venom, a sharp intake coming after.

“Me.” Yoonoh retorts, a smirk appearing on his face. “And I happen to have lots of questions about this ballroom.”

He doesn’t, but he enjoys his next thirty minutes, trying to get the offense out of his body by having her carrying boxes—not heavy, but definitely bothersome when ordered by him—and giving her his phone number wrongly three times as she finished up the contract and the bill for the rent of the ballroom. Exasperation is short for what she feels, but as she’s working on that bill, he realizes something.

The shirt underneath her suit is a sunshine yellow, and he may change violet from the position of his desired color on her, because yellow makes her beam like never before. It gives her a powerful stance, standing out even in between seas of models posing around.

Though what she thinks of him has been a repetition of what he has heard before, somehow, he cares a little bit more when it comes from the one woman that has inspired him to do better with his designs. Not that she even cares about his position as a designer.

For her, he’s only another asshole who uses people to his will, and that’s only half correct.

###  

“The sexual tension was so thick I had a hard time breathing. Seriously, it was like when I used to steal rated magazines when I was young!”

The maids cheer and giggle to themselves when Blue spits out another version of the story that she and Yoonoh supposedly wrote yesterday afternoon in the ballroom. She has to play with the lettuce of her sandwich, cheek squished against her palm as she watches Erika stare in between the seas of women, following after every reaction even when she doesn’t understand them.

“Blue, don’t say such words in front of Erika.” She tells them, biting on her densely sauce-coated sandwich, before breathing out softly. How could they think of Yoonoh as a dream when he’s obviously a womanizer dressed in sheep’s clothing?

Or the devil. He’s definitely the devil.

“Whatever.” Blue, in her eighties, moves the skirt of her gray uniform before picking up one of the maids. One of the youngest and the tallest, with a long black fringe and moon-bathed features. Chaewon, she thinks her name is. “He told her: ‘Need help with those boxes’?” She lowers her voice to be a faux deep vibrato. “And she said: ‘No, I can do it myself. Thank you.’” That time around, her voice lifts up.

“I don’t speak like that.”

“And then, he retorted by saying: ‘I know, but my arms are waiting to hold something. I think you’d rather it be boxes.’”

More screeches and giggles follow after that statement, and she rolls her eyes because he did say that.

Chaewon ends up being swooped over, rolled around in Blue’s hold before she’s cooing. “I was expecting him to lower her down and give her that kiss that she was definitely asking for with her gaze,” She imitates the actions by looking down at Chaewon. She’s an actress, even at such an old age. “She kept looking at his lips before she cut him off, and you had to say the way his eyes lingered on her…”

“Where was he looking?” One of the maids asks, organizing the towels in their little eating room when Blue lets of Chaewon to let her sit somewhere else.

“He wasn’t looking.” The manager defends, ears heated up…but because of the golden lights here, definitely.

“Everywhere! There was not a portion of her that he simply did not worship with his gaze alone. He wanted to ravish her like—”

More heat, and maybe, summer is coming around earlier than expected. “Blue, stop reading those romance books with naked men on the cover. They’re getting to you.”

Blue laughs at her antics, her curled gray hair jumping around when she takes a seat in front of her. She continues to bite on her sandwich. “Aw, come on, boss. You can’t expect us not to want to see you with that man.” She covers her mouth to lower her voice before whispering: “He’s sexy.”

“Jung Yoonoh is anything but that!” She defends, leaning back on her seat and trashing the last bit that was left of her sandwich. She opens her water bottle and gulps it quickly.

“Look at that heat!” One of the maids adds, and Chaewon nods in return. “How does he look like, Blue? He sounds like a dream.”

“Pecs over pecs over pecs. He had…” The oldest woman curves her hands in the air and the manager has to scoff.

“Stop thirsting over him.”

“His girlfriend over there will get jealous but you had to see that sweater on him. That man is lean and had the sweetest, prince-like face. But not the kind of prince that wants you for his kingdom, having you wearing proper dresses and greeting the crowd.” She stops for a second, thick silence lingering in the air before she adds. “But the kind of prince that sneaks you into the castle to show you ever room—”

“More sexualization, great.” Her knees buckle when she picks Erika up from her spot in between the maids. “I have a meeting with the valet team. You better stop talking about this if you don’t want me to talk with Sachiko about your disrespect towards our clients.”

She opens the door when Erika wraps her arms around her neck, turning around to wave to the maids. “Bye!”

“Bye-bye, honey!” Blue waves back, returning to the crowd to say: “And his hair—”

She has to close the door with a bang as a huff leaves her lips. Everything has been about Jung Yoonoh these days, but what is the sudden obsession to have her paired up with someone who will definitely shatter her to pieces?

Every thought about him shall be erased as soon as possible now that he has finished with his photoshoot. She won’t hear about Jung Yoonoh ever again.

###

“And then, she went on to call me a man-whore or something. Practically drawing me as the biggest scumbag to ever exist.”

It’s way over nine at night when he finally has the time to check over what the manufacturing team had done with the design that he had sketched for Jungwoo. He still needed to take his pictures for the event, asking the graphic design team to help him out with the deadline, but that’s the least of his worries. Johnny is by his side, lost in his phone as he listened to his story, being his support for another all-nighter.

He unfolds the blood red fabric of the crop top and smiles in delight. Fitted, with slits that could pierce well into the subject of edge, and some chains dangling in elegant curves towards the waist, with Swarovski diamonds in between. He continues to look through the pieces, pants and jacket as well, when he hears Johnny speaking up.

“She’s not wrong.” He says, still engraved on his phone. “You’re a bit of an ass and you haven’t been in a serious relationship ever since I met you. Even before that, you have been single and into hook-ups. Why are you bothered?”

“Because I am not like that. I don’t have the time to embark in a relationship, okay?” Yoonoh mutters out, placing the jacket down on the table to look at it more precisely. “She has this…this air of arrogance of thinking she’s better than me. I don’t know, like…she just thinks I am some kind of douchebag that gets to her nerves—”

“Yet, still you sketch her.” That is the moment he hears the pages of his sketchbook being flickered at. Yoonoh widens his eyes, turning around to close it just as he says:

“Let go of that!”

“They’re pretty. Don’t be a nerd about it.” Once again, Johnny has taken the sketchbook, turning around to keep it away from his hold. “Are you into BDSM or something? People talking down on you? Women hating you so badly that they are kinda into you?”

Hate. That word is enormous, and he wouldn’t like to use it when plotting what she feels for him. Strong dislike, let’s go with that. “I’m not.” He denies all allegations. “…You just have to see her.”

“Ass or tits?”

“Not that.” Yoonoh feels his own cheeks heating up as a smile takes over his features. Not that he had gotten to see a lot with how baggy her suits are, but attractive is short for how he would describe her. “It’s in the way she holds herself. She’s the quiet kind of powerful. With everyone, she is kind and understanding, and yet, her action speak louder than she does. She’s independent and doesn’t let anyone else help her, even if she’s over the top with assignments and—”

“And it kind of sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention to her.” Johnny closes the sketchbook at that moment, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. “What’s with you, Yoonoh?”

The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just saying. I’m so angry that she’s like that, I just—”

“No, you’re not angry. Real angry Yoonoh? It’s the kind of Yoonoh we see with Siyeon. Not this one, talking about how he loves someone’s kindness.” His eyes trail over to his sketchbook, then to the design for Jungwoo before he’s ripping one page out and jotting down a message for the manufacturing team. It’s alright, he just wants a few more diamonds. “Come on, man. Talk about it. Mama Seo used to say there are no secrets in this household.”

“What do you want me to say?” Annoyance seeps from his voice when he looks over his shoulder. “Yes, I was interested. Yes, I guess we kind of flirted. Yes, she still ran away and yes, she absolutely despises my guts?”

“…She blew you off.” Johnny says that as if it’s the biggest announcement in the world.

Yoonoh shrugs. “Yeah, so what? It’s not like I asked her or made it known—”

“For the first time in his life, Jung Yoonoh didn’t get blown, he got blown off!”

“Johnny, it’s not funny—”

“I have to see who this woman is.” Johnny gets his phone out of his pocket, opening his Instagram app before he’s lurking for her. “What’s her name?”

Maybe, curiousness got the best of him when he stands behind Johnny, looking over his shoulder when he rasps out her name.

“There we have her.” His friend announces just as he clicks on the first account. “Private. I can’t really see her face in the profile picture.” It’s the silhouette of a woman, most likely her, in a sunset. Her hands are fisted deep in her pockets and she must be looking at the sun. “Should I message her? Something like: ‘Hi, if you don’t want to date Yoonoh, I’m single and the second-best option’?”

He’s joking around, yet, Yoonoh stares longingly at that picture. Something about her is so lukewarm that he finds himself at peace. He has always liked everything scalding hot—his relationships, his hook-ups, his meals, even the days that he spends at the beach, but now, he is interested in silence and tranquilness. In that lukewarm nature that comes within her, never too cold, never too hot.

“No.” His voice sounds unused when he finally speaks up. “Leave her be.”

Johnny’s eyes inspect his features. “Dude…there is really something about her, isn’t it?”

“I’ll never know, I guess.” Yoonoh finalizes, shrugging his shoulders before moving towards the edge of the room and turning off the lights. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

###

“I won’t take a bath! I don’t want to!”

Five days from Sachiko’s arrival and she already feels like breaking. Breaking down or breaking out of her home, one or the other. Erika screams at the top of her lungs while rushing out of the bathroom, still very much in her pajamas, to sit down in front of her TV and watch another cartoon.

She throws the towel over her shoulder, eyes half-closing from tiredness when she breathes out softly and approaches her again. “Erika, get in the bath. It’ll be quick.”

The little girl shakes her head, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes, I don’t want to either, but you have to.” She announces, taking a seat next to her to run her fingers through her hair. “Come on, Eri, it’s just a bath.”

“Nope.” The little girl mumbles, growing more annoyed by the second.

“You’ll stink. You don’t want anyone to smell your scent if it’s bad.”

“It’s okay.”

“Someone will come visit us.” She doesn’t know why that’s the first excuse she comes up with. Truth be told, none of her friends live in this city, and her family are nowhere near either. Loneliness is something she is used to, and she doesn’t like being the house’s host all that much, either. “And you really like them, so we need to bathe you before they come.”

Erika raises her eyebrows, a big smile appearing on her face: “Peppa?”

“No, not Peppa.” From the back of her mind, she can’t think of anybody who will come here that Erika really likes. She’s not entirely obsessed with Blue, and the woman is too old to take a taxi here. She is not sure who Erika likes apart from her…and Sachiko is not here. “Ah…” Think, think, think. “Yoonoh, my…uh…my boyfriend. He’s coming over.” 

The title makes her cringe, but Erika stands up in her couch, hair wild and little fists connecting to her shirt when she says: “He’s coming! You didn’t tell me!”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you to take a bath first.” She tries to sound smart, but this is the worst idea she could have. Sure, she saved his number when she was making that bill for the rented ballroom, but that has been about it. Never texted him, never planned to, much less to tell him to come over and pretend to be her boyfriend just so Erika takes a goddamned shower.

“I will! Hurray!” Erika moves away from the couch, rushing over to take off her clothes.

“I’ll go fill up the bathtub in a sec, okay?”

“Yes!”

This is the worst idea she has ever had.

By the time she hears the door to the guest room closing, she sighs deeply, going over to the kitchen to unplug her phone and look down at her contact list. Her heart is racing, eyebrows frowned in worry when she sees it in glimmering lights:

Jung Yoonoh (Never Respond. Not Even If You’re Dying).

She’s not dying, but she definitely feels like it.

Whenever she got a cut as a kid and she put a band-aid on it, she took the band-aid off in one harsh tug. It’d rip some hairs apart, but it wouldn’t hurt—it wouldn’t make her hesitate as much as she did. This is one of those decisions that need to be done that way; as if she’s drunk and she needs to call her ex, or as if buying that dress that she’ll never wear sounds like a good idea today.

The phone rings a few times and she paces back and forth in the kitchen, giving a few puffs out and jumping in place before she hears it.

“Hello?”

His voice is to die for. One of those melodies that anyone wants to hear when they are waking up, mumbling sweet nothings, promising whatever the hell sounds great at the time, and it’s so dangerous that it has her closing her eyes, trying to fight a shiver and not exactly of anxiousness.

“Yoonoh, I need your help.”

A bead of silence follows soon after, and it comes as a surprise when he mumbles her name. She hums in return. “Why are you calling me? How do you have my phone?”

“Don’t ask.” She tells him, about to start her rant when Yoonoh cuts her off with a deep chuckle.

“You stole it from my bill.”

Caught, yet, she places a hand on her waist. “I wanted to save it just in case you decided to call me and make my day more difficult.”

“Oh, if I called you, it’d be to ease any kind of stress.” He purrs out, making her groan out loud when a lighter laugh from him comes about. “What can I help you with, ice princess?”

“Stop it with the names.”

“Boss?”

“I said—”

“Stop it with the names, I know. I will.”

When there is another pause, she knows she can speak, so she does. “…Erika believes we are in a relationship.” He doesn’t scream at the idea or laugh straight at her face, so she sighs. “And she’s also like madly connected to you. Seriously, she never stops talking about you and how you were so cool and whatnot. She only agreed to bathing now that I told her my…” She clears her throat. Shit, this is awkward. “My boyfriend is coming to visit, but you’re my supposed boyfriend and you’re nowhere around. I was wondering if you could come over, I don’t know, for like thirty minutes and then leave, just to fulfill that promise.”

Another elongated silence comes soon after, but it’s followed by a hum from Yoonoh.

“You didn’t say we were friends,” He teases, and she rolls her eyes at his antics. “You still went on with the boyfriend thing. Something you want to tell me?”

“Erika thinks we are together.”

“Erika meaning you.”

“I would personally sew my lips if we were to be in a relationship, Yoonoh.”

He chuckles, though she hears some moving. “Why? You’d want to make out with me so badly that you would want to stop yourself?”

“You wish.”

“Kinda.” Yoonoh confesses and it sounds like a pin falling to the floor. It makes her anxious, because the idea of being trapped in his arms, mouths molding into each other, breaths mixing, tongue intertwining is not so bad when in theory. “So, where do you live?”

“You’re coming?”

“Yeah, but in like forty-five.”

With that, she gives him the address, only to hear Yoonoh breathing into the microphone.

“So, my dear girlfriend, my beloved future wife,” Those dramatics that come with him make her want to slice him in half, but she keeps on just for Erika. “…How long have we been together, exactly?”

“…Since my headaches started coming daily.” She responds, hearing pattering in the hallway. “Call me when you’re here, okay?”

Once she hangs up, she sees Erika ready for a bath by the kitchen’s door, waving her hands in the air.

“Let’s go!”

Kids are nightmares.

###

Epoch hats don’t fit him well, Yoonoh realizes as he sits on a little stool that barely can hold his weight, knees practically touching his chest as he plays tea-house with Erika and her babysitter. Or well, her mom’s worker that happens not to know how to say no.

Erika had gone over the top to make this a grand event, the Peppa Pig plushie he had brought with him when entering the apartment seated in front of Erika, while he stares ahead at the woman that has his mind a complete mess. She is wearing a pair of wings on her shoulders, and her clothing is different, still not letting him see much, but the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants still fit her nicely.

The roles are simple. Erika is the princess, and they are their Aunt and Uncle. Peppa Pig is her sister, and that’s about as much as he knows as he sips on the two-point-five milliliters of water with lemon that Erika dares call tea.

“More tea, please.” Yoonoh says when placing the small cup down and looking at the woman ahead of him. She is the one serving the tea, yet, she quirks an eyebrow at him.

“That’s your fourth cup.” She explains, shaking her head when he tries to reach for the tea. “You’ve already had enough. You’re doing it just to see me serving you.”

“While the sight is adorable, beautiful, this cup is the size of my pinky. I can’t even feel it going down my throat.” He waves the little cup in his pinky before trying to reach for the tea again. “I’ll serve myself if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re too sweet-mouthed…” She looks over at Erika, inspecting them with interest. “Sugarplum.”

“Sugarplum?” Yoonoh questions the nickname, pouring himself a cup of tea when snatching it from her hands before leaning his weight forward, taking a sip that has him downing the entire drink. “I’m not sweet, don’t know if you’re noticed.”

“Quite clearly.”

“May change my ways for you if you stop judging me.” His eyes trail over her features, the culprit of his playfulness spreading across his face.

“Oh, I happen to be very judgmental.”

“Get to know me,” He waves his finger on top of the cup, tracing the outline only to see her gulp soon after. “…I promise the last thing you’ll end up doing is hating me.”

Erika stands up in between the two, her little hands spreading on their chests when she says: “Princes and princesses don’t fight.”

“We’re not fighting, Eri.” She tells her, though she sends a glare his way. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He uses that same nickname, relishing on the way she seems to be seething at the name. Truth be told, he knows that she’s, at least, a bit attracted to him…but whatever is stopping her must be strong enough to have her stopping on her tracks that first night. His lips wrap up in a kiss he sends flying in the air before adding: “We actually love each other. My kingdom is now better because I have found my truest love.”

“Yeah…” She trails, looking over to the side before she takes a sip of her own tea. “How’s the collection going?”

That question surprises him. She must have supposed he was a designer, much more after all he did in her hotel, but he didn’t think she was paying attention from up close.

“It’s not a collection.” Sweetly, he corrects, voice lowered when he puts the cup down. “I—I’m only working on this one fit. An outfit. We design lingerie, as you could see. I’m normally in the women design department, but my boss which is an absolute…” He stops, looking at Erika. “Witch, changed me to the men’s department just to freak up my head.”

A small chuckle trips out of her lips at the choices of his cusses. “So, you were designing Jungwoo’s fit?”

“Precisely.” Yoonoh takes his phone out of his pocket before displaying something only for her to see. “Erika, you can’t see this. It’s…it’s not something you should be seeing, okay?”

And actually, she listens. Yoonoh can’t understand why she says that Erika never listens to anybody. Her eyes trail over to Jungwoo, and the way they scan up and down have something within him tugging his phone away.

“That’s my design.”

“You’re talented.” Those words shouldn’t weight as much as they do, but he hasn’t heard them in a while. Perhaps, in two years. “If only you weren’t so much of a butt-face whenever we speak, I’m sure that part of you would show through.”

“What part of me?”

“The part that doesn’t try to hide that you care.”

That’s the moment Yoonoh backs away, because he shouldn’t care. It’s easier to go through life without caring about the people around you. The small stool falls behind him just as he stands up, clearing his throat after a harsh swallow.

“I have to go.”

Erika stands up as well, eyes widened. “Is it because she called you butt-face?”

Yoonoh chuckles, ruffling her hair with one hand. “No, I—I think I left my stove on at home.”

He hears the sound of her picking up her keys, nodding in the process. “I’ll walk you there. Don’t worry. Erika, stay here.”

The hallway that leads to her door is far too cramped for the two of them, his shoulders brushing with hers as they walk alongside each other. The part of you that doesn’t try to hide that you care; it’s not like he cares about her past the normalcy of two people who happen to be attracted towards each other buy deny it—

He turns around, his chest expanding with each breath that she takes, oxygens mingling when he looks down at her features, those lips that he would have kissed if granted the permission, but instead he asks:

“Is that why you hate me?”

She doesn’t listen, a deer caught in the headlights when she questions: “What?”

“Because you think I don’t care. Is that why you hate me?” He questions, only to have her shaking her head. His fingers hook a strand of her hair behind her ear, feeling the heat of her skin, much like that one time he had touched it.

“I don’t hate you.” She confesses, honest and yet surprising, before she breathes out in a shudder. “…Sometimes, it’s better to not wonder, Yoonoh. Not be curious about people like you. Not because you’re bad, but because you’re not right, either.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Stop looking at my lips, it distracts me.”

Yoonoh trails his eyes up before engulfing the words in his plush lips. “And what about you?” He questions. “If I’m all types of wrong, what are you?”

“All the different types of wrong that aren’t yours.” She says, just as his chest brushes with her own again, her stomach extending, back bending, body molding closer to his just because of electricity and gravity, she opens the door, releasing a breath that feels like a million pounds of weight. “Good night, Yoonoh, and thank you.”

He nods, and while he wants to return the words, he can’t.

###  

Four Years Ago.

She never came back.

Sometimes, Yoonoh felt stupid for believing that there was someone in the other side of the computer. That said chatroom that had once started as complete curiousness had now turned into something else, tangible, present in his every day. He was young, his eyes wandered, his mind stopped thinking about the importance of his future and he thought that Dami was it. The woman of his dreams, the picture that he couldn’t take out of his head when he laid still at night and looked at his ceiling.

His friends made fun of him, because this is not the Jung Yoonoh that had gotten secret notes during Valentine’s Day in high school with love confessions and promises of marriage. This was a young man, seated in front of a computer, waiting for an answer. Waiting for the day she returned, after she said that she’d come back. It was only supposed to be a lunch break, but with no contact other than this chatroom, than what they had in social media, how was he supposed to get in touch with her?

JJH1997: Hey, did I do something wrong? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: Hello! How are you doing? Are you okay? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: I bought that one record you told me about. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: [Picture Attached]. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: Are you mad? (Thirteen hours ago.)

JJH1997: I’m sorry if I offended you. (One hour ago.)

The reply he got soon after, as he was studying for one of his finals, had him widening his eyes. She had not answered in weeks, this was the best news he could hear—

DAMISONG96: This is her husband. Who are you? (Just Now).

His hands shook, trying to find the words to say. Husband. All this time, he had been talking about a future with someone with a husband…

DAMISONG96: I’ve just read your messages. Stop talking to my wife, you fucking kid.

[This contact has blocked you].

The worst part was that he could never know if it was a catfish, if the person he talked about was real…or, actually, that he could never apologize, perhaps for ruining a marriage that he never knew of.

Love doesn’t come easy when you don’t know how to trust. 

### 

The reason why he became a lingerie designer instead of any other kind of designer is because of the subtlety. His friends think that it is because of the obvious love Yoonoh has for the human body, but as he sits on the front row of his own show, staring at the Silhouette designs his team had worked on, with harsh white lights matching the upbeat and bass-boosted songs that have models swinging their hips from side to side, he feels proud and more.

Jungwoo is the next one to come, and all signs of his beam is long forgotten as he struts down that runway. At first, he does it simply, how he’s taught, the buttons of his jacket are done, undoing them as he walks to showcase the crop top underneath, only pulling it down and turning around to throw the jacket aside and show the top and the chains, along with Silhouette’s name on the band of his boxers. It’s perhaps something not seen in the streets, but he can imagine celebrities falling in love with the design.

He’s concentrated on the faces of the people ahead of him, cheers resounding around the air as Jungwoo finishes off his catwalk. The invitees seem to be overjoyed, and just when a smile creeps up his features, fixing his stance in his tailored black suit, he feels a hand spreading on his thigh, a chuckle being breath out in his ear.

“You’ve done a great job, Yoonoh.” Siyeon speaks with certainty, and to anyone, they are just two friends congratulating each other. He does great work in feigning a smile when turning to her, but what he says is not so kind.

“Thank you. I’m known for that.”

“I know…if we don’t compare that to your organization problems and your endless witty mouth.” Siyeon starts clapping when another model comes around before a beam appears on her features.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“…And what about it?”

Siyeon’s long silver earrings move when she turns to him, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Well, you see, Yoonoh, the reason why I wanted you to craft a showstopper and to leave with a bang is because…” The acids in his stomach go up, nervousness creeping up on him, trying to keep the dimples there to no avail. “You’re no longer going to be part of our team. Out of all the designs you’ve done, this is your best, but you proved yourself right a little too late. Sorry.”

She’s not sorry, and he knows this. The smile that he has fought so hard to keep there is no longer of his interest as he stands up, pointing at her while scowling.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yoonoh, you’re making a scene.” She tries to chuckle through her words.

“I’ve been working for this fucking company for two years and I haven’t slacked once.”

“Says you,” Siyeon shrugs. “I’m in charge, Yoonoh, and I saw you’re slacking.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have heard that before.”

The air around him engulfs him in a way that almost makes him feel like he’s trapped. He’s out of the expensive hotel Siyeon had found in seconds, but yet, he feels like he has run a marathon. His eyes concentrate anywhere, hand coming up to his chest, his dream shattered when trying to give this company another chance—

The night whisks him in the face as he runs, not caring to grab a taxi, not minding that he feels like his life is falling down…because this is stupid. Life is so fucking ironic that he hates it. He trusts people? He ends up losing. He doesn’t trust them? They never believe him.

What’s the realest way to get a happy ending? He’ll never know.

### 

Eight hours of sleep feel marvelous once she gets them back.

Not only has she gotten to return her calls, but it doesn’t smell like baby food in her apartment and she gets to take a break from Peppa Pig. Erika had been sad when letting go of her, pressing her face to her stomach in a hug before she was off to holding onto her mother for dear life. Her paycheck came around, life was good, and this night was excellent with the bag of savory chips she had just opened.

The crunch is the only thing that can be heard, mingling with the noise of the romantic movie she is watching, tears wielding her vision and yet, she pushes them away. Tragedies are the best form of romance—when both characters have gone through so much that finding happiness in each other feels a thousand times more personal. Perfect, even. It’s a nice chance for her romantic comedy binge from earlier.

The air is interrupted when she hears someone ringing her doorbell, and that brings a frown to her features. First, she’s not waiting for anybody. Secondly, she had been crying just now. Grabbing a napkin, she taps it against her ears and waltzes over to the door to see who is standing by the door through the peephole.

And if there was a sight that could capture her breath away just as much as it could make her be excited about something, it’s this.

Yoonoh stands outside her door, with the buttons of his shirt half-opened, a peak of his shirt showing, his jacket thrown haphazardly over one forearm, and if only this peephole let her see lower, she would relish on the strength of his thighs. Confusing or not, as well as a bit annoying, one can’t deny that Yoonoh is extremely handsome. Taken out of a magazine, even.

She opens the door softly, unaware of why he is there. Today, the runway for Silhouette should be happening and yet, he’s here, at 10:45 at night, with his hair made a mess and his eyes trailing on her.

“Yoonoh,” He doesn’t stop looking at her eyes, a frown in his features. “Hi…uh…may I help you with something?”

“You’re right.” He starts, entering her house just as she moves to the side. He must be in a rush. The door closes behind her. “I try not to care about things. I don’t take relationships seriously. I’m an asshole at most times. I’m fake and boring and quite clearly, all kinds of wrong.” Well, that is a statement. She knows there is some good for Yoonoh. He’s always one call away, he’s organized, he’s given. He’s strong and rampant and fiery, in that way that have people shuddering in their spots.

“So?”

“So, yes, I’m fucking tired of being that because it doesn’t work.” He stands in front of her now, in that same hallway that had trapped them weeks ago and had managed to make her even more confused. “I just lost my job and I don’t know what the hell I am going to do with my life. I was used and—fuck!”

Her heart weights down when he admits that. “Why would you lose your job? That outfit you designed for Jungwoo is amazing…”

“Because my new boss hates me, just like you do.”

“I said I didn’t hate you.”

“Then why?” Yoonoh questions. “Why did you run away that night? What about me is so repulsive that you can’t even look my way without frowning when all I have been thinking about since that moment I saw you in the restaurant, in nice light, after getting me some clothes, is that you’re the kindest and most humble woman I have ever met and I would do my fucking best to kiss away every fucking insecurity you have about me?”

Silence comes to be awkward around them. Or, well, filled with tension. But this silence is of understanding. Yoonoh’s eyes that night, that had scanned her with such intricacy, had thought about the same things that she did. And yet, she had let it slide—because it’s easier to fear than to try, to run away than to stay.

“Because…you’re difficult, Yoonoh.” She states. “And I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just know…I know I would like you.” That makes her ego blot down the slightest. “And then, when you realize that kissing me is not enough, that waking up to me is not enough, that I won’t give you whatever interesting shit you were doing when I found you outside that house, you’ll leave…and I’m not at an age or time in my life where I want to see you leave without an explanation. I don’t.”

He finally reconnects his gaze with her eyes. “The explanation here is simple,” He conquers. “You’re beautiful. Each part of you I get to see and each part I don’t. Every bit of my imagination can only think about you, so much that everything I design is everything my mind gushes about and can only perceive on you. It’s stupid enough that…” He chuckles at his own antics, leaning his head back on the wall. “That I think about what color fits you best and I am certain it’s not the navy blue you like to use. It’s yellow, because you’re so bright it practically burns my fucking eyes. You’re so smart and given and you don’t even let me tell you that, because you’re always…pushing me away.”

“Yoonoh—” Her heart flutters at his words, but he doesn’t stop talking.

“And you’re your own kind of goddess and it drives me insane, because I was the type of dumbass that didn’t like the chase, but each and every time I hear you speak, I just want to tease you more and…” He stops for a second, finally fixing his position to look at her. “I just wanted you to know, because if I’ll never get a chance, at least I want to say I—”

Silences are what made them. It’s what she likes the most about him, when he’s silent and concentrated, when all his might goes to one thing and one thing only. She doesn’t know what overtakes her at that moment, when her lips clash against his in a dance that it’s much too passionate. She can’t keep up with whatever she wants to do, her hands hooked around his waist to mold him against the wall, his abdomen carved against hers when a groan traps itself on the back of his throat and he grabs the back of her head, taking more of her in, granting himself entrance, rubbing his lips in a tempting touch before he’s diving in for air…and she’s his oxygen.

Yoonoh’s hold is not strong, overly passionate, tumbling. In his own way, Yoonoh is delicate. It’s just when she kisses him that she realizes there is a beautiful thing to Jung Yoonoh. The delicacy he portrays in lingerie, that translate into his utter fears. The pristine glass he is when she caresses his neck with a touch of her mouth and he shudders while grasping the back of her shirt, asking to see her—to be seen.

When heartbreak happens, there is always a dot. That one finalization of a chapter in your heart that aches insufferably. Her dots connected to him, in one way or another, in the moles in his face or the way he begs to connect to her lips again when she pulls away. He’s gravity when she asks to be taken to her room in one simplistic glance and he’s smiling by the time he puts her down on the sheets.

Over all, Yoonoh is a lover of beauty, and maybe, for once in her life, she feels like art, just when he throws her shirt over her head, staring down at small portions of her body being shown before showing that dimple that she had trained herself to hate.

But who is she kidding? She didn’t hate it at all.

“…You were forbidding me of this.” He points at her body, earning laughter from her, ears heated up under his gaze. “And for that, I’ll never forgive you.”

That night, it’s not a promise of love—it’s lust mixed with something else, that fluttering feeling of having a crush, maybe, or the start of something…how he calls it…beautiful.

###

Normally, Yoonoh doesn’t text. He hooks up with someone, leaves it in the air, then moves on to working. Awakening in his lover’s bed, having breakfast with her, arguing in that way that only they know how to do—playfully, of course—and then having to see him himself off just so she can go to work, however, is completely different.

Just as he lays on his bed midway through the day, he looks at her contact. Missing her would be a statement, and it would be absolutely correct. His gut twists, not knowing exactly what to say—new and yet old in this dating thing.

Uh, can he call it that? They haven’t even gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: We haven’t gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: Do you want to?

She must be near the phone, because she replies quickly.

Beautiful: If I slept with you, I obviously want to go on a date with you.

Beautiful: Duh.

There is the bite that he likes, enough to bring a smile to his face before he’s biting down on his lip.

Yoonoh: You didn’t sleep with me when I was employed, wearing suits, confident and flirty. Your standards? Very low.

Beautiful: You’re complaining? Because I could not do it again.

Yoonoh: Who said I was complaining? I was trying the whole time and just when I’m a huge loser, I get the girl.

His life seems to be twisted in circles, cycles that he don’t know how to stop, but a text from her gives him hope that he’ll figure it out.

Beautiful: You’re not a loser. I don’t date losers.

Beautiful: Dinner tonight? I brought a sandwich, but that’s bland.

Yoonoh: It’s a date.

A few seconds pass by before he’s typing again.

Yoonoh: Wait, how do you have me saved in your phone?

A screenshot comes soon after, and he doubles over in laughter when he sees ‘Sugarplum (DNI)’.

###

She has forgotten how to say it, and it’s not like it’s another language, but nervousness clads her every pore just as she sits down by a table at Erika’s seventh birthday party.

Five months into this dating thing, and she doesn’t understand most of it. What she knows is that it feels great. Waking up next to Yoonoh—her place or his—, being kissed on the cheeks, on her forehead, only to be ravished by one of those kisses that he only knows how to give. To watch him grow away from his fears and create his own lingerie line, obviously with the support of his model friends that were eager to take pictures with his pieces and make do with what they have.

It’s difficult, but just as Yoonoh lowers Erika after hoisting her up in the air, always charming with her and with anyone, she doesn’t know how to say it. You know, those three words that have captured her ever since Yoonoh smiled at all her baby pictures, or when he spends some extra time in the kitchen making her favorite meal just because he feels like pampering her.

Three words that she has said before, even jokingly, and yet, she’s petrified.

The trees are tall in the backyard of Sachiko’s home, yellows and reds contrasting the feeling in her heart. It’s pure pink, just like the glow on Yoonoh’s cheeks or that set he had once sewed himself just for her, the one that he never gets enough of and still groans at. Childish music and cake should be enough to calm her down, but just as Yoonoh plops himself alongside her, resting his head on his forearm on the picnic table she’s by, all words she had practiced are lost.

How does he have that effect after five months?

“Erika loved the gift.” Even their gifts had been united. From Uncle Prince and Aunt Princess, they had written on the note. A doll that she had been screaming about months ago when they had visited her.

That word, even he is saying it. If Jung Yoonoh is capable of spitting it out, why couldn’t she—?

“You look like you’re sick.”

That makes her sigh. “Thanks. I don’t see you complaining.”

Yoonoh’s smile grows wider at that, rolling a piece of her hair in between his index finger. “I like the sick look.” He replies. “Something about the sight of a girl who wants to throw up on me. So sexy I could take you to a bathroom right now and just—”

“Yoonoh!”

“There it is, not so sick anymore. Now you’re angry.” He has his ways, she has to admit, and even when finds herself laughing when he changes that glimmer of his eyes that always gets him what he wants. “What’s with you?”

She opens her mouth, placing a piece of cake inside of it—just a little bit too big—when she says: “I love you.”

Or whatever can be understood in between a mouthful of cake.

Yoonoh quirks a perfectly styled brow. “You what?”

“I love you.” She utters out, swallowing soon after before giving him a smile. “Okay, alright, I’m done here—”

His hands gravitate to her hips before she could stand up, sitting her down on his thigh and bringing her face to his by her chin before asking, much too close and too softly for her to ever resist him. “You what?” He repeats, much more delicately, and finally, she finds the reason to stop being nervous.

Those brown eyes look from her eyes to her lips, never getting enough of her, never knowing how to battle the thoughts that show on his features. That kind of adoration she has never gotten before, and that is worth trying for.

She hides her face in his neck, breathing in his scent before spitting out: “I love you.”

It brushes against his skin, tickles him in a way that has him tightening his hold before he replies: “Sounds so good when someone means it.” And that confession is only meant for her to be understood, before he’s pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.”

#jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #jaehyun au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au

[gingersnaaps]

tetraphobia

maybe seijoh's revenge doesn't always have to be on the court. maybe seijoh's revenge can come in the form of fucking kageyama's sweet little girlfriend.

wc: 3.3k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, gangbang, mindbreak, victim blaming/guilt, forced infidelity, hints of sadism, anal, double penetration, deepthroat, cunnilingus, sorta overstim? idk this is very nasty, fem!reader with inner genitals, timeskip!characters

a/n: this is for @somecravings' gangbang collab! this work features the seijoh four.

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

“I wonder where Tobio-chan found himself such a cute girlfriend.”

The words freeze you in your tracks.

A tall, well-built, man leans against the wall of the hotel hallway, the cramped space making him loom large in front of you. You think he’s a stranger at first - but a closer look at the waves of his chestnut hair, his molten hazel eyes - and memories of the pictures Tobio had shown you flood back into your mind.

Oikawa Tooru, he’d told you. Teammates at Kitagawa Daiichi, and then rivals at Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. I took away his last chance to make it to nationals in high school. Now he’s on Argentina’s national team. Looked up to him a lot, but we had a… strained relationship.

His eyes flicker back to the faded yearbook photos, an unmistakable note of bitterness in his voice.

The very same Oikawa Tooru from his pictures stands in the hallway leading to your hotel room, arms crossed and eyes glittering with amusement.

Almost as if he’d been waiting there for you.

“He’s out celebrating his win, isn’t he?” he says, cocking his head to one side. “Along with the rest of his team.”

He steps closer, walking towards you until he’s mere feet away. You can see where the hem of his blue jersey peeks out from beneath his jacket, the white of his teeth glinting as he grins. Up close, he’s even more intimidating, and you suppress the sudden surge of discomfort that crawls beneath your skin.

Your eyes flit back and forth, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Is there something you need?”

“Yes,” he says, his hand reaching out to stroke gently along your cheek. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor, sweetheart.”

Panic seizes you when his cold, calloused, fingertips brush lightly along your skin, your heart thudding as discomfort rips through your body. You don’t know what his intentions are, but his words scare you. There’s nothing genuine about his tone, nothing kind, and years of too-close encounters with men have left you wary and alert. His touch is invasive, contemptuous, mocking, and you jerk away from his hand in an attempt to backpedal-

Warm hands clamp down around your shoulders in an iron grip. Your heart sinks as you realize you’ve got nowhere to go, dread seeping into every vein in your body.

“I’m a little late. Sorry.”

The voice at your ear is a low rasp, his tone nonchalant, but you can hear the message that undercuts it as clear as day: you’re not going anywhere.

“Don’t worry about it, Iwa,” Oikawa says, fingers curling around your chin, tilting your face up forcefully until you’re staring directly into his eyes. “You got here just in time to help me out. She looked like she was about to run away for a while there. Can you imagine?”

The man behind you - Iwaizumi Hajime, you recall - chuckles. “Wouldn’t get very far.”

Your blood runs cold at the implication of his words. Your stomach churns, an awful, nauseous feeling that makes you feel sick, shoulders tensing as you struggle against Iwaizumi’s hold.

“Hey,” he warns quietly. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

His words almost make you want to laugh; he says them like he’s trying to help you, like he genuinely cares about your well-being. You remember the late-night talks you and Kageyama would have, the ones where he’d describe his days spent in middle school, secluded and walled off from the other players on his team. There was always one name he spoke with a particular reverence: Iwaizumi Hajime. Tough. Strong. Kind. A good man, he’d emphasized. I’m glad he was there during those years.

Well, this certainly was a reality check, wasn't it?

He removes his hands from your shoulders and wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close to his side, as if a reminder of you how powerless you are in this position. “Come on, baby,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“It’d be rude to keep Makki and Mattsun waiting any longer."

Oikawa slides his fingers into yours until the two of you are holding hands, humming happily as Iwaizumi escorts you down the hall towards your own hotel room. It takes every last ounce of self-control to stop yourself from crying and screaming on the spot, to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over, to save yourself the embarrassment of breaking down pathetically as these people - these assholes - watch.

You get the feeling that they’re not going to leave you alone out of pity.

They escort you to your hotel room, passing by rows and rows of rooms that blur as your vision tunnels. Their presence is suffocating; Oikawa’s fingers brush against your wrist, rubbing tender circles into your skin, and you can feel Iwaizumi's warm breath on the crown of your head.

Oikawa grabs the key card from your purse, sliding it into the scanner, and pushes the door open when it lights up green.

Your heart stills with fear as they drag you inside, flicking the light switch open until the room glows softly.

There’s two more people sitting in the bed.

A tall, lanky man waves in acknowledgement, nudging his companion in the side as his eyes flicker appraisingly over you.

The other man looks up, tossing his phone aside, blowing aside a stray strand of strawberry-pink hair.

“Hmm. I hate to say this, but Oikawa was right,” he says, a wry grin on his face. “What a pretty girl.”

You feel so vulnerable with four pairs of eyes roaming over every inch of your body, your mind running rampant with fear and anticipation as they admire and scrutinize. And you’d be right to be scared, because there’s so much they can’t wait to do, so much of you they’ve been dying to explore, so many of their little fantasies that they’ve been waiting for the right girl to help them act out.

You’ll help them out, won’t you?

Without warning, there’s a pair of hands on your waist insistently pushing you downwards, applying steady pressure until your legs collapse and you’re forced to your knees.

“So impatient, Iwa.” Oikawa clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “You won’t even let her get settled in?”

There‘s a huff of annoyance above you. “The more you talk, the less I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Alright, alright.”

Oikawa slides a hand onto the back of your neck, the other moving to grip your hair. His touch is gentle, fingers stroking along your pulse point, but you know it won’t last if you misbehave. You have no illusions about the kind of person he is, not when his hands maneuver your mouth and throat into nothing more than a warm fleshlight for his friend.

Iwaizumi palms himself in front of your face, hands skimming over the bulge in his jeans as he groans in pleasure, and pulls out his half hard cock, veins throbbing and flushed with arousal. Cupping your face in his hand, he fits the tip to your soft lips and tilts your chin upwards to meet his piercing, lust-filled eyes, his gaze swirling with want.

“Open up for me like a good girl, okay?” he growls.

You can’t help the way your cunt pulses at his tone, an intoxicating rush of fear and desire that leaves your mind hazy and mouth dropping open. He doesn’t waste the opportunity, pushing his cock into your warm, wet, mouth, a moan falling from his lips as he thrusts his hips forwards. You retch at the intrusion, instinctively jerking your head backwards, but Oikawa’s grip on your neck tightens as he holds you in place. He crouches down, lips finding your ear as Iwaizumi starts sliding in and out of your mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “If you take it like you’re supposed to, he won’t last too long.”

At those words, his hands push your head forward, impaling your throat on his cock, holding you down as you choke and drool and retch. Your eyes redden as silvery tears drip through your lashes, panic rising, vision turning to static, the pain in your lungs growing unbearable as Oikawa’s smile turns razor sharp. “Atta girl,” he encourages softly, his thumb wiping away one of the tears running down your cheek. “I think he’s gonna cum soon if you keep this up.”

If you keep this up. As if you have a choice.

Iwaizumi’s thrusts grow more erratic, fucking you rougher and faster as he slams in and out of your throat. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “Such a good fucking girl for me. Got such a - such a perfect little mouth, taking me so well,” he says, breath catching.

Just like Oikawa had predicted, he doesn’t last much longer after that, hips stuttering when he spills down your waiting throat. He tastes warm and slightly salty, the last few drops of his cum dripping down your chin as he presses a thumb to your lips and wipes away the drool collecting at the corner.

There’s a horrible, sinking, feeling settling inside you as he grabs the collar of your shirt and hoists you up with him onto the bed, your limbs going limp as you let him press an open-mouthed kiss to your trembling lips, his tongue slipping inside of your slack mouth.

You feel used.

Up close to Iwaizumi, you can see the flush of arousal coloring his bronzed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, all the physical evidence of just how good you made him feel, and your stomach churns.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel fingers softly stroking at your clit, light, teasing strokes back and forth that leave you whimpering. A twinge of arousal pulses in your cunt as you hear words murmured against your inner thigh.

“Didn’t even try to fight back, did you?” There’s a gentle laugh from the pink-haired man beneath you, soft and terrifying, and the light brushes turn into more insistent circles. “It’s almost like you wanted it.”

Iwaizumi’s tongue curls deeper into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, leaving you gasping for breath.

“I had no idea you’d turn out to be such a slut,” he hums, mouth latching onto your thigh. “Although I’m really not complaining.”

“C’mon, Makki, don’t be so mean to her,” Iwaizumi chuckles, his teeth scraping roughly against your lips.

“I’m only telling the truth.”

The fingers circling your pussy creep upwards, grabbing onto your hips and pushing you down against the mattress. “Keep those legs spread nice and open for me, okay?” Makki says, voice sweet and cloying.

When the flat of his tongue brushes against your clit, his breath huffing warm on your folds, your thighs twitch involuntarily. It’s as if he’s made it his mission to eat you out as slow and light as possible, his kitten-licks and teasing strokes sliding along your folds and circling around your sweet spots without ever truly giving you the satisfaction that your cunt craves.

And he can tell you’re starting to break.

As Iwaizumi’s mouth moves down to suck at your neck, lips brushing along the erratic heartbeat of your pulse point, your hips jerk upwards against Makki’s waiting mouth as a moan slips out from between your lips.

He sucks at your aching clit, the steady, constant pressure making you writhe in his grasp. “Cute little cunt wants more, doesn’t i?” he coos.

You don’t dare say a word, face flushed with embarrassment as you bite your inner cheek in embarrassment. Makki’s right.

He’s right, and you hate that he’s right, hate how good he’s making you feel with every long, languid, lick, with every brush of his lips that leaves your walls throbbing in search of more.

A hand picks up your limp wrist, guiding your fingers until they wrap around something warm and hard, something incredibly thick and so, so, long -

You freeze as you realize it’s a cock.

“Mattsun’s blessed, isn’t he?” Makki laughs from between your thighs. “Maybe now you’ll understand that I’m really trying to do you a favor. We want these sheets stained with cum, not blood.”

You swallow nervously. That monster cock, so big you can barely fit your hand around it, is going inside you.

You’re paralyzed with dread, not even bothering to fight back as he maneuvers your palm up and down along his length, wrapping his much larger hand around yours as he uses your fist to help jerk him off.

All the revulsion in the world can’t stop the slow, mounting, wave of pressure building inside your core, growing stronger as Makki sucks with more force against your clit. Crooked fingers push inside your slick, needy, hole, his nimble digits searching and prodding, the pads of his fingertips rubbing insistently at your g-spot.

“See?” he murmurs. “‘m making you feel so good. You’re gonna be nice and ready when I’m done with you.”

You want to scream. You feel like a whore for enjoying anything at all; bile and guilt rising in your throat as white-hot arousal throbs in your cunt.

You’re strung out along the edge when you feel another mouth descending on your body, a tongue flicking out to tease at your nipple. You see a flash of chestnut brown hair as Oikawa looks up at you, a smirk curving at the corners of his mouth, almost as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, knows where your limits are and how to push right past them.

It’s too much for you to handle, too much for you to take. Three mouths ravage your body, tongues flicking out to lick at your neck and suck at your nipples and drag along your clit, silky and sensual against your soft skin, all while your slack hand pumps steadily along the shaft of a huge cock.

When an orgasm rips through your body, it’s like something stolen, something taken from you, and as your hips buck and thrash wildly, an emptiness settles in your stomach after you’re all fucked out from their ministrations.

What’s wrong with you?

At this point, you don’t feel like much more than a sex doll for the four men, all spread out and useless as you lay your head in Iwaizumi’s lap. He strokes gently at your hair, brushing a stray strand out of your face.

You barely even react as Mattsun manhandles you up, large hands positioning your hips until the head of his fully hard cock sits at your entrance, sliding just the tip into your loosened, clenching, hole.

“Ready?” he asks, his half-lidded eyes glinting with amusement.

He doesn’t really care about your answer.

“One… two… three.”

He forces you down on his cock, pushing your hips further and further down as you squirm and struggle and moan from the stretch. Your mind goes foggy as you feel the drag of his cock against the front of your walls, burying itself so deep in your cunt you can almost feel it in your stomach.

Mattsun likes it when his dick makes girls feel good, of course, when he fucks them better than their boyfriends, when he makes them cream and gush after barely moving.

He likes it better when he makes girls go stupid.

As he looks down at you, a warm rush of arousal twists in his gut. Your eyelids flutter in pleasure, mouth open and panting, small hands fisting at his shirt as you moan softly. It’s just too big for you to take, isn’t it? You can't handle being used like a pretty fuckdoll, or eaten out until you cream, or to be impaled on a cock so nice and big you can barely think straight. A string of drool falls from the corner of your mouth, but he doesn’t bother cleaning it up. You look better ruined, he thinks.

You’re dragged out of your fucked-out daze when a voice crawls into your ear, taunting and cruel, and a warm dick presses and slides along your ass.

“Bet Kageyama’s never tried this before,” Oikawa says.

A spurt of terror grips you as you hear the thinly-veiled anticipation in his voice, his fingers trembling with excitement as they grope at your ass.

He holds back a laugh at the way you freeze, shuddering in a mixture of fear and pleasure as Mattsun rolls his hips up and thrusts his cock even deeper. He knows he guessed right, judging from your cute little reaction, a high-pitched, pathetic whimper dropping from your lips as brushes his cock against your hole.

He hopes it hurts.

When he presses in, it’s a slow, aching, stretch that leaves you feeling raw and split wide open. Unlike the dull pain from Mattsun’s cock, this one is a searing, brutal, torment, a stinging intrusion in your tight hole that forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

“Wish your boyfriend could see us right now,” he breathes, pressing a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck. “Feels so good squeezing my cock, so fucking nice and tight.”

Tobio.

Panic races along your veins. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, breasts bouncing slightly as your breaths come shallow and rapid.

“I can’t imagine how he’d feel - seeing his perfect little angel getting stuffed so full in both her precious holes.”

The tightness in your chest bursts as tears stream down your face, cries and moans coming out thick and stuffy as you sob. You know he’s right. It didn’t matter that it was forced, that you said you didn’t want it - you already came once, didn’t you? And judging by the tense pleasure pulsing at your clit, you were due for another sooner or later.

Oikawa laughs. “It’d be awful if he came back right now, wouldn’t it? Just in time to watch his precious little girlfriend getting raped by his former senpai.”

Mattsun snickers, bring a hand up to swipe at your clit. “Look,” he says softly, tilting your head until you lock eyes with Makki.

He’s fisting his cock rapidly, a hungry, predatory, expression on his face, tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he lets out a pleasured groan.

It’s better than almost any of his gross little fantasies. He’s not sure his favorite porn videos will ever be able to compare to the sight of you being fucked stupid and split in two by his friends, two cocks sliding in and out of your tired holes as you cry.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the first waves of the orgasm begin to roll over you. Mattsun’s deft, long, fingers toy with your clit, stroking you insistently through the wild jerking of your hips as he feels your walls fluttering and creaming around the base of his dick. The pleasure is intense, unbearable, almost impossible to hold back, even as disgust crawls beneath your skin at the feeling of being stretched wide open.

Maybe they were right.

All those times you’d thought about what you’d do if this happened, every single night when you’d lie awake and tell yourself, i’ll fight back. i’ll resist. i’ll make them regret ever forcing me -

They were all lies.

Oikawa feels a sick sense of satisfaction as he watches the turmoil in your expression. He can tell by the slump of your shoulders, the bitterness in your gaze, the way you turn over to your side and curl up into a fetal position - they broke you, turned you into a mindless, slutty, fuckdoll, showed you who you really were.

Kageyama can have you back now. He’ll come into this hotel room, horrified at the sight of you passed out and naked, and call the police. Maybe he’ll help wash you up, bring you a cup of tea as you sob and insist that it wasn’t your fault. Maybe he’ll even believe you, despite the way you’ve stained the sheets.

But things won’t ever really be the same for you.

They made sure of it.

if you liked this, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! my inbox is always open :)

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa smut #matsukawa x reader #hanamaki x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi smut #matsukawa smut #hanamaki smut #yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere iwaizumi #yandere matsukawa #yandere hanamaki #haikyuu #hq #dark haikyuu #lin.n*fw #fem!reader #haikyuu imagines #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #matsukawa issei #hanamaki takahiro #hq yandere

[gavin-plz-call-me]

Trust in Him

TW: Depictions of sexual harassment and sexual assault

You love your job, so when one of your coworkers begins to harass you, you're scared that you'll have to choose between your job and your safety. Luckily, Artem is here to support you.

This is my first time writing about sexual harassment/assault, so I apologize in advance if it's not a perfectly accurate portrayal.

AO3

Word Count: 3.3k

You needed this job, those words alone were all that kept you from doing something rash, but your resolve was growing thinner and thinner by the day. Every day you worked in the office, which, luckily for you, grew less frequent after becoming partners with Artem and joining NXX, one of your co-workers in particular was bound to come speak with you. This wouldn't be an issue if he were speaking to you about work issues, or a case, hell, even the weather but he, Julius, never came over for any productive reasons. The two of you had worked a case together a few months ago, but other than that, you should be complete strangers.

You could see Julius approaching from the corner of your eye, a nasty smirk plastered on his, and you hated to admit this, conventionally attractive face. While others might swoon at his good looks, you had to hold back a gag as he placed his hand firmly on your shoulder, enveloping your senses in his stale scent. He then slowly leaned down, his lips almost touching your ear, and whispered "That shirt makes your tits look great," his disgustingly wet breath sent shivers through your body as he gave your shoulder a squeeze and headed off like nothing happened.

As far as you knew, you were his only victim. The other ladies in the office swooned over him, speaking highly of his good looks and "great" skills as a lawyer. A few who had witnessed his advances towards you and misinterpreted your blush as shy interest complained of how envious they were that such a handsome, successful man was interested in you, and you kept quiet. You had heard enough horror stories of women who had come out about work-place harassment who were fired, never given or even considered for promotions, and even sued for slander, and you couldn't let any of that happen to you, you had to tolerate it. A job at Themis law firm is a dream for many law students, you included, and you wouldn't let that slip away. Even if you had to endure harassment, even if you had to leave your desk to escape to the bathroom some days because you couldn't keep the tears out of your eyes, even if you couldn't fall asleep some nights because images of what he's done to you and what he's capable of doing to you infect your mind, even if you had to start wearing ill-fitting clothes to hide your figure in an attempt to get him to leave you alone, and even if you were terrified to be in a room alone with him, lest he become bolder, you had to persevere. If everything in your life went right, you'd become his boss one day, and when that day came, you could fire his ass.

Of course, though, you weren't the boss, and you had to listen to what yours said. So, when your manager approached you a few days after Julius's latest incident telling you you'd be assisting him in a case, there wasn't much you could do to get out of it. Artem and you weren't working on any urgent cases at the moment, so he gave them permission to steal you away for the case. You were very skilled in working the case type Julius was "stuck on" so your manager said you the obvious choice for the job. There was no way out.

Julius invited you into his office with a sickly-sweet smirk and an almost impermeable wink as a knot settled in your stomach. Something in you screamed at you, don't go in there, it yelled, anywhere else. Just not his office.

"Well, I wouldn't want to intrude in your personal space," You said, trying to keep an aura of professionalism while also trying to protect yourself. There were still others around, if you start to show your discomfort, you'd be found out. You felt like you were lying, in a way, maybe you were? Guilt ran up and down your spine, and you hoped the feeling didn't translate to your expression.

"Oh, MC." His voice was outwardly cheery with an undertone of something, though you couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was, "You could never be an intrusion to me. Let's use my office, I insist."

No, no no, the voice within you screamed again, you felt your breath hitch slightly, but you forced your breaths to be normal, despite how badly your lungs wanted you to gasp for air. "I would prefer it if we worked somewhere else, Julius." His name tasted disgusting on your tongue, "My desk for example," the two of you squeezed together, trying to work at the same small desk, his smell surrounding you, "or an empty conference room," still alone in a room together, his hands reaching out to touch your body, "or-"

"Mc, this would all be much simpler if we just worked in my office, I promise you, I don't mind." There was a hint of aggravation in Julius's voice, but it disappeared the longer he spoke. "There won't be any meeting halls open, now come on, let's go to my office."

You stood still for half a second, debating just running away, job be damned, but you didn't have time to start walking. You hadn't even decided which way to go, towards Julius's office or towards the main exit, when a voice rang out, "Mc, Julius, conference room six is open." You turned around, eyes meeting the bright sapphire eyes belonging to Artem. His brows were slightly furrowed, looking you up and down.

"Great," You said before Julius could say a word, "thank you Artem." You turned back to Julius, his eyes were much less kind than Artem's, and all you wanted to do was turn back to face the man with the beautiful eyes and put Julius in the depths of your memories, but you plaster on a fake smile as you say, "conference room six it is, then!" You quickly passed Julius, feeling two sets of eyes burning into you as you walked away. Julius's office was past conference room six, so as you entered the room Julius walked towards his own office instead, muttering something about needing to grab his case files.

You were glad that you didn't end up in his office, but the conference room wasn't much better, panic began building up in your chest again. There were large windows leading out into the hallway, which you sat right in the middle of giving anyone who walked by a perfect view of you and whatever you were doing. Conference room six was the most open of the conference rooms, but the hallway around here was never too busy. The windows also left a few blind spots, places he could back you into if he really wanted to. With slightly shaky hands you opened your laptop, opening an audio recording app. There weren't any security cameras in this conference room, and even though your gut stopped you from telling anyone about Julius, something within you told you to record.

The door to the conference room quickly opened and shut. You minimized the recording app, the pulsing red dot indicating that it’s recording disappears along with it. Julius throws a few case files onto the conference table before walking around to sit directly next to you. You rolled your chair away from him slightly, trying to escape his revolting stench. You began speaking about the case, reading the case files, and making comments about the stranger details, details you could use to defend your client.

The two of you continued to talk about the case for a while, the anxiety that had grown so high before began to dwindle, maybe you were wrong. Maybe Julius wasn’t going to take this chance to do something horrible to you, maybe he never was going to do anything to you. Had you just imagined his threats? “Mr. Johnson’s embezzlement of the school’s funds could be grounds for-”

"Tease," Julius interrupted you, his voice much darker, almost an inhumane growl, than what it was when you were surrounded by your coworkers. Darker than it was even a few seconds before when you were talking about the case.

"E-excuse me?" you asked, your professional front slipping, anxiety raising in your stomach once again.

Julius inched closer to you, holding the back of your chair to prevent you from rolling further away from him, "I said, you're a fucking tease Mc. Making me go back and forth like that." The undertone you couldn't pinpoint from before was back, but it was much more pronounced now. Anger mixed with desire, his unkempt nails dug into the skin of your thigh as he pushed himself onto you, "but you're not gonna tease me anymore."

Desperately, you pushed your feet against the floor as hard as you could, propelling your chair into the one behind you, allowing you to stand up and try to make it to the door. Julius's hand violently grabbed your wrist, yanking you back towards him. “Come on, Mc,” he growled in your ear, “everyone in the office knows you’re whoring around to get to the top. You can’t refuse me.”

You struggled against his grip, but every movement you made had him tightening his hold around your wrist, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Julius.” you gasped as the pain of his hand on you became too much.

This seemed to enrage Julius, who suddenly stood up from his chair, forcing you against the wall furthest from the door. Your head smacked violently into the wall sending sparks of pain through your vision. “Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone knows you’re putting out for Artem. Why else would he choose some sub-par slut of a lawyer to be his partner?”

“I-I didn’t-” Julius put more pressure on you as you tried to speak, stopping your words completely.

“Let’s put it this way, Mc,” Julius's hands snaked in opposite directions, one reaching your throat, putting suffocating pressure on it, the other gripping your ass, pulling you unwillingly closer to his body, “You put out for Artem to advance your career, and if you’re a good little slut for me, you can keep your career.” He pulled you somehow tighter into him, his mouth ghosting your ear before delivering a harsh bite into its flesh. “If not, you can kiss being a lawyer goodbye.”

The knot in your stomach twisted, the job you were passionate about, the coworkers you loved, Artem, your senior partner who had already taught you so much, could he really take all of that away from you? Was it really worth it to lose all that to him? Maybe you should just let him have you, once to save your job. But, as Julius’s hand moved from your ass forward, threatening to touch you in a much more intimate place, something in you broke. No. You wouldn’t let him take your career away, but you also wouldn’t let him have you. Throughout your career as a lawyer, you fought and fought and fought for your clients, day in and day out so they could find justice, and it was time for you to fight for yourself.

You thrust your knee upwards into Julius’s groin, and in the split second where he was caught off guard, you used all your strength to push him off of you. You ran for your laptop, his angered cries of pain filling the room as he stood motionless in the spot you left him in, grasping at his groin, trying to ease the pain. You took the opportunity to haphazardly grab your laptop and head for the door. Julius’s hand grazed your arm again as he regained some of his movement, but you were too far away from him at this point. He couldn’t reach you.

Escaping the suffocating air of that conference room could have been the happiest moment of your life. You saw Julius staring at you from the corner of your eye, still standing in the conference room, slightly doubled over. He wouldn’t dare chase you through the office, and he was out of sight before you could figure out what his next move would be. Adrenaline pumping through your body, you made your way across the office. You weren’t sure where your legs were taking you until you were already knocking at the door you sought out, Artem’s office.

The moment you saw Artem as he opened the door, his face going from stoic as always, then softening at the sight of you, and finally, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he got a better look at you all in a matter of seconds, the emotions you had kept hidden for months suddenly broke free. Tears threatened to escape your eyes, so you broke your gaze away from Artem, opting to look down at your own shoes instead. You really didn’t want to cry in front of Artem. You so desperately wanted to be a great lawyer like him, famous for winning countless cases. He wouldn’t be so vulnerable as to cry in front of a coworker, and you wanted to follow in his footsteps. You tried to push them back, but they refused.

Artem put a gentle hand on your upper back as he led you into his office, closing the door behind him, and placing his jacket on you. It smelt strongly of him. You could detect hints of vanilla from his cologne which made you want to envelop yourself further into the cloth. He led you to the sofa in his office, Artem himself sitting down on the coffee table in front of you. His kind, gentle movements, so contrasting from Julius’s threats, made the tears stream down your face harder. You began to shake from the loss of adrenaline, and you buried your face in your hands.

Artem was at a loss for what to do. He’d never seen you cry before, he felt helpless as he watched you heave from your tears. One thing was certain in his mind, however: Julius had something to do with this. He could sense your discomfort earlier when he’d suggested the two of you use conference room six to discuss business. He could tell you were trying your hardest to suppress the feelings, but they were prevalent enough on your person for him to detect, but his actions had failed to protect you further. A part of him wanted to leave the office immediately, find Julius, and beat him to a pulp wherever he stood, but a more sensible part of him knew you needed him right now. Julius could be dealt with later.

Slowly, Artem stood up from his place on the coffee table and sat down on the couch, a good few feet away from you in order to give you space. You finally looked up at him when you felt his weight on the couch. Your eyes were red and irritated from the tears, makeup running down your face in light gray streaks. You desperately wiped away at them, but it didn’t make a difference. Artem’s soft voice finally broke the silence between the two of you, “Mc, can I hug you?” The hysterical part of your brain was surprised by his words. In your emotional state, you expected him to reject you, and act disgusted by your emotions. You nodded slightly, desperately wanting his comfort.

Before you knew it, Artem had slid closer to you on the couch, taking you in his arms, and gently pressing you into his chest. This simple action started your tears anew. You began crying harder than before, gasping for breath. Clumsy words spilled out of your mouth as you tried to tell Artem what had happened. You thought he deserved to know why you came to his office crying, but Artem simply gently shushed you, rubbing comforting circles into your back. “You don’t need to say anything yet, Mc,” he whispered

The two of you stayed like that for a long time until your tears eventually slowed to a stop. At that point, you pulled away from Artem, desperately missing his warmth as soon as you did so. Artem slid his hand in yours, giving it a gentle, supportive, squeeze before speaking again, “If you’d like to tell me what happened, I’ll be here for you, okay?” Artem’s comforting words, his warm hand in yours, and his beautiful blue eyes made everything that’s happened with you in relation to Julius spill. You couldn’t look at him as you told him about everything: the case you worked on together, how he’d continue to go to your desk even when the case was over, how that escalated to the harassment you had to endure, what just happened in the conference room, and the audio recording of the incident.

When your gaze finally settled back on Artem, he was wearing an expression you had never seen on him before. It was anger, it was concern, it was... it was something else you couldn’t quite place. Artem pushed himself up from the couch, his eyes on the door to the office. You tightly grasped his arm, stopping him from moving towards the door. The door meant he’d tell, the door meant all your fears would come to fruition, the door meant you’d have to face the world outside Artem’s warm embrace again, and you didn’t want that. “Please don’t,” you whimpered, new tears stinging your eyes, “don’t tell anyone, please.” A sob escaped your throat, making Artem sit back on the couch next to you. “I love my job here, I love working with you and Kiki. I love being your partner and working on NXX cases with you. I don’t want to lose it all.”

Artem was back to rubbing circles into your skin, this time at the base of your shoulder. “You won’t lose your job, I promise.”

“B-But, so many people have b-been fired because they r-report assault, I-I can’t l-let that happen.”

“Mc,” Artem said, his voice slightly stern, but still gentler than you’d ever heard it before, “please look at me.” Your eyes trailed up his body, which was still holding you, and finally met his eyes. “I won’t let that happen, okay?” His hand found your hair, gently combing through it with his fingers, “I promise you that you’ll be okay, that your job will be okay. I’ll put Julias in jail if it’s the last case I ever take, just please, please let me help you.” Before that day, you could never imagine Artem crying, but you knew the sight of his eyes filled with tears was real. He allowed you to see his emotions just as you’d allowed him to see yours. He wasn’t some emotionless lawyer who would allow his coworker to be fired because they told the truth. He was a man who’d openly share your emotions with you, even if that meant sharing your tears. You could trust him, you knew that now.

“Okay,” you let the word with a shaky breath, “I trust you, Artem.”

Artem stood up from his place next to you, not letting your hand go quite yet. He leaned over you, giving your forehead a gentle kiss, before looking into your eyes, determination filling his own sapphire ones. Your body slightly tensed when Artem finally removed his hand from yours, you quickly grew cold at the lack of his warmth, but you let him go. You watched his figure as he reached the door, taking one more glance behind him towards you, and left, shutting the door behind him. Eventually, you knew, everything would be okay again.

#tears of themis #tears of themis fic #tears of themis fanfic #tears of themis artem #artem x reader #artem wing #angst #hurt/comfort #tw sex assault #tw sa #tw sex harrasment #artem wing x reader

[mandos-sluts]

The Prisoner's Dilemma

The Mandalorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: There’s a bounty on your head and the Mandalorian Din Djarin picks you up. Boba Fett informs Din of what he does with bounties like you.

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, explicitly non con!! (but reader is into it), fingering, daddy kink, bondage, lots of dirty talk, degradation, exhibitionism kink

A/N: Please don't hesitate to message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list, or add yourself via Taglist sign up!!! Feedback is always very much appreciated <3

PLEASE please heed the warnings!!

Masterlist

Din has been hunting with Boba Fett ever since the Razor Crest was destroyed; they travel from planet to planet together collecting bounties. While he would prefer to work alone, Din doesn’t mind Boba’s company— the two are very similar people. Both are cold, stoic bounty hunters who don't take shit from anyone.

You struggle and resist when Din picks you up. Sending endless punches and kicks at the Mandalorian trying to cuff you. You attempt to flee but to no avail, your strength is nothing compared to his.

He cuffs your hands behind your back and roughly walks you to the ship, maintaining a firm grip on your upper arm as he drags you alongside him.

The first thing you see upon entering the rusty ship is another man in Mandalorian armor. “Ahh what the fuck? She’s your bounty??” Boba says to Din as he tugs you up the ramp of Slave I.

Both men are fully covered from head to toe in beskar. The one handling you is taller than the other, and has a deeper voice.

“Yeah. Where’s yours?” Din responds casually.

“In carbonate.” Boba says nodding to the chamber. ”Damn. You’re lucky, Djarin.”

“Lucky? The price on her head is the same as your bounty’s.” Din replies.

“I'm not talking about the payout. Look at her, man! She’s yours to take.” Boba says locking his stare on your increasingly confused expression.

“What do you mean?” Din says flatly, looking down at you.

Boba takes a deep breath. “Ohhhhh Din, so innocent.” He laughs. “….You get to fuck her!”

Did…. did he just say what you think he said?

Din scoffs. “You fuck your bounties?”

“Well if they look like her! Shit, how could you not?!” Boba takes a step closer to you. “Damn. I've never seen a bounty as pretty as this one.” He says grabbing your chin and lifting your face up.

You’re standing there silently, still in Din’s grasp with your hands clasped behind your back. Din looks down at you and you turn your wide puppy dog eyes up to meet his gaze, anxious to see what he will do with you.

Boba takes a step away from the two of you. “If you don’t fuck her, I will. I’m not letting a pretty thing like that go to waste on my ship.” He pats Din on the back. “C’mon Djarin, you deserve it pal.” Boba says as he exits the room.

You stand there, almost in shock, waiting for the Mandalorian to do or say something. Part of you suspects all of this talk is just some nonsense to intimidate you.

But then after a moment, he finally speaks. His voice is low and rough, tone firm with a hint of condescension. “Well…..you heard him darling. You want me or Boba? I’ll give you the choice.” Din lightly chuckles.

Your heart drops. He can’t be serious. There’s no way bounty hunters are allowed to fuck the bounties they collect. Then again, why would he not, whose gonna stop him? You’re the criminal.

You’re scared, but not as much as you would expect yourself to be. And that’s because your fear is clouded with arousal. Why aren’t you scared shitless? Perhaps because this is lowkey one of your fantasies? And maybe because you’re also incredibly attracted to this big strong Mandalorian manhandling you. Shit.

“Yo— wait, no please don’t.” You say the last part mechanically.

“You want Fett to fuck you?”

“No!”

“Alright.Then I’ll be fucking you, princess. Consider yourself lucky. Fett would make it all about himself, but I'll see to it that your needs are met as well.” Din says softly as he runs one hand through your hair and grabs your waist with the other.

“What? Wait…. I….I….wait– please.” You say, your body trembling underneath his hold.

Din takes a deep breath. “You’re getting fucked baby, you may as well enjoy it.” He says as he grabs your ass with both hands and practically lifts you up, pressing your body flat against him.

“Ah! No. Just– just let me go…. please!” You plead trying to shake free of his clench, your glassy, scared doe eyes staring right into his visor.

“Ha. Keep struggling, sweetheart.” Din pushes his helmet right against your ear as he tightens his grip on your ass. “Just turns me on more.” He whispers in your ear.

“Mmph!” You squeal out, shaking your shoulders as he spins you around and pushes your torso down, bending you over a table.

One of his hands is on the back of your neck, forcing you down on the metal surface. The other is on your waist, right near your cuffed hands. Your ass is waggling in the air as you try to resist his advances and rid yourself of his grabby hands.

You can barely move, however, under his sedulous grip. He shoves your pants down, leaving you bent over the table with your ass in the air in nothing but the unfortunately racy thong you’re wearing.

Your whole body shudders as you feel two of his thick fingers trace your clothed folds.

“Hahahahahahaha…..” Din maniacally laughs as he feels your gooey wetness through the fabric. “Nowwwww I see. Now I get it. You fuckin like this, you little slut.” He growls in your ear. “Pfft. I was gonna say, the fight you’re putting up is pathetic, but now I see why.”

Din isn’t wrong. He has seen you actually struggle and resist when he was capturing you, and the weak shaking of your shoulders and your little pouting is clearly not everything you have.

“Damn, I’ll give it to ya princess, you had me fooled for a while.” Din coos as he grinds his unbelievably large bulge against your ass.

“N-no! I don’t want this!” You contend. Your jolting only serves to make him shove you against the table harder, essentially inhibiting all your movements.

“Baby girl, your pussy is fucking sopping wet, drop the act.” Din scoffs. “You are literally leaking through these panties.” He says as he slips his long thick finger underneath your soaked underwear, running it along your slick. Your whole body shutters under his touch as pressure darts in your core.

“I—”

“Tell me, pretty girl.” Din interrupts. “Have you ever had a cock as big as mine?”

He loosens his grip on your neck, allowing you to crane your neck and look back at the monster cock he is rubbing up and down your glazed valley.

“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself, unsure how he is going to fit in you.

Din slaps your ass. “Answer me.” He commands in a deep tone.

“Ah!” You cry. “No. N-never.”

“Yeah?” Din purrs right before he shoves his entire length into you.

You scream out. “Ah!!” Never have you been opened so much before. He lets his cock sit in you a moment once it’s fully engulfed, leaving you stuffed to the brim with his member.

“Holy shit.” Din breathes out. “Oh fuck yes, this is some good pussy.”

With that he starts rocking his hips back and forth, driving his massive girth into you each time. Your mouth falls open as disgusting moans fall out of your throat. His grip still harsh around your neck as he holds you down hard, pushing his hips against yours and delivering you the best pleasure you’ve ever felt.

“Ha. Knew it.” You hear Din chortle behind you.

You open your eyes and realize that you are pushing your hips back into his, trying to pound him even harder into your G-spot. You curse at yourself for being this brazen with your actions and not hiding your pleasure and yearning better. At this point, you know you’re not fooling him, but you’re not ready to completely give in.

“Now— now that my cock’s in you, you gonna finally behave? Be a— a good girl for me, huh? You little whore.” Din pants as he plows into your hole.

Your cheek is pressed hard against the table and you bite your bottom lip, trying to muffle your lewd moans as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Din chuckles at your pathetic attempt to remain silent. “Don’t respond and I won’t let you cum. Which— well…. you don’t even want to cum, right? Cuz— cuz you don’t want this, right?”

Your eyes shoot open. “Wait….N-no! Ple– please!!!” You cry, turning your head to look back at him.

“Mmmf, please what?” Din growls.

“Please….ah— please let me cum!” You finally relent.

“Ahhhhhh there it is. Keep beggin’, baby. You’re gonna have to earn it after being such a naughty little bitch.” He remarks as he moves both hands to your hips and pulls you into him each time he drives into you.

“Please! Please let me c-cum daddy!” You cry. “I wanna cum so badly, I wanna— wanna cum all over your cock. Please, please daddy!”

“That’s it. Look at you being so obedient now. Ha. Looks like I've fucked the good girl right into ya.” He says, slowing down his thrusts. Din bends over so that his helmet is right against the side of your head and whispers in your ear. “You like playing an innocent little brat don’t you? Pretending tha— that you don’t want to get fucked. But you’re such a dirty fuckin slut, you just couldn’t resist my big dick could ya? You— you’re just too fuckin desperate to get your tight little hole stuffed full of cock. Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes! Fuck! Your cock hits me— hits me so deep! S-stretches me out so good!” You whine out as he thrusts into you.

Din spanks your ass again, sending a fresh wave of arousal to your core and making your cunt clench around him.

“Oof. I felt that. Ya like being spanked too? Fuck. You are a whore.” Din chuckles.

Your moans have turned into downright vulgar screams that you have no control over. He’s pounding into you so hard that your vision has gone blurry from the tears falling out of your eyes.

“Gah. You look so f-fuckin pretty when you cry baby.” Din mutters.

You hear a bang at the door and panic momentarily.

“Goodness, Djarin! It sounds like you're torturing her in there.” You hear Boba yell on the other side of the wall.

“Nahhh, I’m taking good care of her, isn’t that right sweetheart?” Din calls out, leaning over to your face.

“Y-yes!” You scream in response.

Din then grabs your shirt and for a moment tries to pull it over your head. Upon realizing that your cuffed hands pose an obstacle, he rips it right off your body, causing you to jump a bit.

“Come see for yourself, pal.” Din offers to Boba after discarding the ripped fabric on the floor.

The door slides open and Boba is met with the crude scene of you bent over a table, completely naked with your hands cuffed behind your back, mouth open wide with tears rolling down your face, and Din standing behind you, holding your hips tightly while plowing into you.

Boba stands in amazement. “…Holy fuck.”

“Say hi to Boba, pretty girl.” Din orders.

“H-hi sir.” You manage to spit out, lifting your head slightly.

“Shit. You hit the jackpot, Djarin. How’d you get this little one to submit?”

“Ohh, she wasn’t hard to tame. Ah— Needy whores like her never are.” Din responds while continuing to drive into you.

“Well, bye princess.” Boba says looking straight into your watering eyes. “Be good now. Din can get mean if he doesn’t get his way.” He remarks before existing.

When the door closes, Din yanks you up by your hair, spins you around, and lifts you onto the table. You’re sitting straight up on the table with your hands still clasped behind your back, a fully clothed Din standing between your legs, holding your trembling thighs wide open as he sinks his length back into you. You instinctively wrap your legs around him.

He grabs a rough hold of your face, hooking his thumb in your agape mouth while the rest of his long hand wraps around your head, forcing your watering eyes to look right at him as he pounds up into you. Strands of your hair stick to your sweaty face as you’re unable to brush them away.

His other hand trails down your sweating skin to your clit and starts drawing tiny circles on it. You wish you could wrap your arms around his neck and hold on tight to him as he drives you over the edge.

“Alright, pretty girl, cum for me. Show me what you’ve got, baby, come on.” Din encourages, swiping his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your cuffed hands are in tight white fists with your nails digging into your palms. Your whole body tenses up and your back arches as you squeal out. Din’s grasp on your face stops your head from falling back as your orgasm shatters through your body.

Din is hardly pulling his length out of you while thrusting fast and deep inside of you, feeling your cunt flutter on his cock makes him moan and you can tell he’s going to cum soon.

Just then he lifts you off the table and shoves your head down. “On your knees and open wide, I’m gonna cum in that pathetic pretty mouth.” Din breathes out as he rapidly strokes his cock over your face.

You sit up tall on your knees and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out while looking up at him with wide watery eyes. Din grunts as he grabs a hold of your hair and tilts your head up, positioning his cock right over your quivering mouth. Warm streams on white cum shoot from his length and fall on your lips and tongue. He keeps pumping it as he sprays the rest of your face with his seed.

“Damn baby, I thought you were hot before, but you look even better on your knees with your face covered in cum, sweat, and tears.” Din remarks while putting his softening member in his pants.

You slowly rise from the ground, your legs shake and almost give out as you bring your self to your feet. You’re panting and strands of your hair are stuck to your gooey face, as your cuffed hands prevent you from wiping your face.

You stand there awkwardly and silent, naked and disgusting as Din buckles his belt.

“Your pussy is so fucking good. I think I'm gonna have to keep you.”

“W-wait, what?”

“Yeah. I can't turn you in. Can't let a cunt like yours go to waste.”

“Bu— but then you won’t get paid.”

“Oh, having you around to fuck at my leisure is worth way more than the bounty on your head sweetheart.”

You gulp. “I thought—”

“Come on princess.” Din interrupts. “You can either stay with me, or go rot in jail. What’ll it be?

“But I— I….” You have completely forgotten about the foul fate that awaited you. You haven’t had time to think about what would happen once you were turned over. You have no idea of what life is like in a New Republic prison, nor did you have any knowledge how long you would be incarcerated.

“....I wanna stay with you.” You say softly looking down at your feet.

“That's what I thought.” Din says walking up to you. “Get yourself cleaned up baby girl.” He spins your nude body around and unlocks your hand cuffs, nodding in the direction of the fresher. “I’m going on a supply run and then it’s my turn on the flight deck. And my cock could use some warming while I pilot the ship.”

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Masterlist

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[bestiesenpai]

and there was only one bed! - Sukuna

Wow who would have guessed my first curse!Sukuna fic would be this? Not me lol so sorry if it sucks! Femme reader, everyone is aged up 18+

TW: dubcon, somnophilia, overstimulation, one (1) use of the word daddy, squirting

You and Yuji were great friends. Ever since he came to the school you were joined at the hip. Bugging Fushiguro, getting into crazy schemes with Inumaki and Panda - there was always something the two of you could get into together. Being so close throughout the years, it was only natural that the two of you would go on missions together as well as you got older. Spending a few days away from the school was all fun and games, and the added luxury of having your own private hotel rooms didn’t hurt either.

And the fun didn’t stop after you graduated, with Gojo still being in charge of booking your accommodations even though you’d been out of school for a while.

“Oh, so there’s only one bed this time…” Yuji mumbled as the two of you walked into the Airbnb that Gojo had booked for you. The house was nice enough, a quaint one bedroom on the edge of the city you were to be working in in the morning.

Through the open bedroom door you could see that there was indeed only one bed.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Yuji announced with a slight sigh under his breath.

“We’re here for three days, no way will that be comfortable.”

“Well I won’t let you sleep on the couch.”

“We can just share the bed then.” Taking his suitcase from him, you dragged it and your own towards the bedroom.

“No, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Getting a hand on his luggage before you got too far, Yuji stared at you with narrowed eyes.

“Yuji, we’re best friends, it’ll be fine.” Swatting his hand away, you shuffled a little bit closer to the door. “We can put the couch pillows between us, plus look!” Getting into the room, you gestured towards the massive mattress. “This thing is huge anyway, we’ll have plenty of space to spread out!”

“Well…” Worrying his lip, Yuji looked between you and the bed. “Alright, but you have to tell me if you get uncomfortable.”

“Please, it’ll be fine.” You waved off his concern. There really was no reason to be nervous about anything; Yuji was a respectable guy and you knew he slept deeply anyway. The only real concern you had was if he would violently toss and turn like Fushiguro said he did.

Hours later and the sun was down, you and Yuji had both showered and were now climbing into bed. There was a good wall of pillows from the couch between you two, and Yuji had insisted over and over that you tell him if you weren’t comfortable.

“Goodnight bestie.” You giggled childishly, turning your back to him and closing your eyes.

“Night.” Yuji giggled as well and the two of you got quiet, taking slow and even breaths until you fell into a rhythm and went to sleep.

A few hours later, the feeling of hot breath on the back of your neck and something molding to your body from behind had just slightly roused you from sleep. Something was poking the spot right below your ear, forcibly quiet breathing just barely audible at the edge of your mind.

The sweat collecting on your skin from the heat of what you presumed to be Yuji’s body attempting to smother you in his sleep was beginning to drown you, and you threw the blanket off your chest to gain some reprieve.

Settling down again, you didn’t feel the hand creeping up your sleeping shirt and grabbing a handful of your breast. Deft fingers rolled your nipple as another hand slid across your hips and pulled you flush against another body.

Pushing past the band of your bottoms, the hand pushed your thighs apart slightly and dipped between your folds, slowly rubbing your clit. The pleasure was beginning to reach you and your unconscious body reacted in kind, rolling your hips against the friction and eager to get more.

What woke you up, however, wasn’t the slick gathering between your legs, it was the body beginning to crush you from behind.

“Yuji...roll over…” You slurred sleepily, attempting to push away the heavy arm that lay across your body. A deep, shuddering breath sounds in your ear, but the arm didn’t move. “Yuji, you’re crushin’ me.”

“Sorry baby.” A voice much deeper than Yuji’s replied, and a kiss was placed on the back of your neck as the pressure was released.

“S’okay.” Yawning softly, you were about to let sleep overtake you once again, and then the squeezing fingers on your breast got a little tighter, and laughter resonated behind you.

“Such an easy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” Rolled onto your back, you opened your eyes in time to be face to face with Sukuna. Your mouth opened to scream, but instead of a piercing cry, you began to choke; Sukuna had shoved two fingers into your mouth.

“Quiet now, don’t want to wake the neighbors.” Even in the low light of the bedroom, you could tell it was him. The voice, sharp nails attached to the fingers in your mouth and the overwhelming amount of cursed energy were enough.

Your clothes were ripped off in an instant, leaving you completely bare before him. Withdrawing his now wet fingers, Sukuna brought them down to your cunt, using the added lubrication from your saliva to push into you.

The stretch made you hiss between your teeth, the slight burning sensation that came with nearly completely edging out the pleasure you’d just been feeling a few moments ago. Sukuna sunk his fingers in halfway before withdrawing and beginning a languid stroke.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up.” He chuckled, using his other hand to go back to your breast.

“Stop!” Grabbing his wrist, you tried to pull it off but it was no use.

“Aw c’mon baby, don’t act that way! You were enjoying it a minute ago!” To punctuate his statement, Sukuna brought his thumb up to your clit and smirked when you jumped, your walls clenching around his fingers. “See, this pretty pussy seems to be enjoying it.”

“Sukuna let me go!” Your feeble cry was music to his ears and Sukuna nearly moaned at the sound. He could see the frantic desperation on your face mixing with the arousal that had seeped into your mind.

“But if I do then you won’t get to cum! And that wouldn’t be very nice, would it?” Letting go of your chest, he smacked his hand onto the pillow beneath your head and leaned over you. He kissed you before you could answer, his hand coming to wrap around the back of your head.

Shoving his tongue into your mouth, Sukuna overrode any thought you had in your brain. He was domineering, forcing your lips to stay locked with his as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth.

His other hand refused to lay idly and all it took was a few flicks of his wrist and a firm thumb pressed on your clit to get you to start whimpering into his mouth. Your knees knocked together at Sukuna’s sides, hands gripping his shoulders as he finger fucked you.

Sucking your tongue into his mouth, Sukuna pulled away slowly, thin strings of saliva connecting you two together before breaking off and dropping onto your chest. Sukuna kept his face close to yours, close enough that the breaths from your exasperated moans warmed his face.

“S-Sukuna stop-” You whined as you came, moaning pitifully as your cunt spasmed around his fingers.

“After that, I don’t think I can stop now.” Pulling his fingers out, Sukuna used two to rub your clit in tight circles, hurtling you into overstimulation and making tears prick at your lashes. Your knees pressed even harder into him as your thighs tried to squeeze together to get him to stop.

“It- it hurts- Sukuna!” Tossing your head back, another orgasm was forcibly brought forward. This one was edged with pain, and embarrassment slowly trickled in as your cunt clenched around nothing and you found yourself wishing his fingers were inside you again.

Smoothing his hands on your inner thighs, Sukuna smirked down at your spent form. Just watching your chest heave as you calmed down had his ego boosted. Reaching a hand down to fist his cock, he let out a shaky breath as a bead of precum dripped out and onto your skin.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this.” He mumbled, pushing your legs further apart so he could get closer.

“Wait, it won’t fit!” You didn’t know the size of Yuji’s cock, but you could tell it had been made much bigger by Sukuna’s appearance. Pushing your hands onto his chest, you couldn’t keep Sukuna at bay for very long.

“Don’t worry baby, daddy will make it fit.” The tip of Sukunas cock pushed into you as he spoke, the bulbous head already much thicker than his fingers. Your nails dug into his chest the further he went, nearly drawing blood as he slowly bottomed out.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sukuna smirked, holding himself still to not only allow you to get used to the stretch but to bask in the moment as well. Forcing air through your lungs, it was a struggle to try and get used to the feeling of almost being split in half.

Sukuna clamped his hands on your hips as he slowly dragged his cock halfway out. Snapping forward, the light slap of skin against skin began to build in the room, muffled only by the light gasps leaving your mouth.

“S’too much!” You whined, screwing your eyes closed and shaking your head a little. “Too big, Sukuna- please-” Laughing under his breath, Sukuna pressed his fingers on your clit again, circling in time with his thrusts.

“You’re so whiny, baby, I bet you’ve never taken a cock this big before.” With every swipe of his thumb, he could feel you tighten up around him and the drag of his cock against your walls got easier.

Letting go of your hip, Sukuna slid his hand down your leg, hooking it under your knee and pushing it up toward your chest. The added angle allowed him to get deeper, practically hitting your cervix every time he pushed in.

You let out a loud, girlish squeal at the change and your hands scrambled to push against his lower stomach. The new position felt too good, immediately assaulting your senses with a toe curling pleasure.

“Sukuna, no!” The tips of your fingers pushed at him, stopping him a little short of completing a full thrust. Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Sukuna grabbed both your wrists in his hand, forcing your arms straight and keeping your hands away from him.

“Quit your whining, you can take it.” Pushing your knee down even further, Sukuna dug his knees into the mattress and slapped his hips against yours, ignoring any further squeals or whimpers.

Giving your wrists a bruising squeeze, he let go to grab your other leg and hike it up as well. He wouldn’t be stopped by the hands pushing against him, begging him to slow down or to change positions again.

“I’m gonna- Sukuna-” Your orgasm was building quickly, getting rid of any rational thought as pleasure shot up your spine and had nearly all the muscles in your body tightening up. You were so close to cumming, but there was another feeling behind it as well. “Sukuna stop, I’m gonna- pee!”

“Ha, you nasty girl. Go right ahead then.” Putting all his focus into his hips, Sukuna pounded into you, making sure you felt every inch of his cock. He nearly had you bent in half, his upper body leaning dangerously close to yours.

Whatever cries you had left were reduced to mindless babbles, overwhelmed tears threatening to fall as you came again. There was the rush of an orgasm coursing through you, making your cunt spasm and milk Sukuna for all he was worth.

But there was another feeling, one much more wet than you anticipated. With every forward thrust of Sukuna’s hips, a gush of liquid was forced out, coating everything within reach.

“Dirty girl, squirtin’ all over me like this.” Letting your knees fall back down to your sides, Sukuna pulled his cock out and stared down at his body, dripping with your release. “Even made a mess of the bed.” Sitting up on your elbow, you could see the dark stain forming on the bedsheets and feel the moisture begin to seep into your skin.

“M’not...not dirty.” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, about as heavy as your head and you fall back down onto the bed, vaguely aware of some stray tears that have fallen onto your face.

“Yes you are.” Sukuna immediately counters, a sick smile on his face as he pushes his cock back inside you, a low whine emanating from the back of your throat at the stretch to your sensitive walls. “You’re my dirty girl, and we’re gonna have a fun three days together.”

#tw: dubcon #tw: somnophilia #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios