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#acid fools day
virgamsysxvolumes · 4 months
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Idea: Okay so this idea stems from a mix of the Lazarus Pits being "rancid ectoplasm", ectoplasm being able to "revive" food, the idea of "liminality" due to ecto-contamination, and Danny being able to produce his own ectoplasm.
What if Danny can heal others with a touch of Green Hands(ectoplasm) like an RPG healer, but the cost is that the more often he heals you the more liminal/ghostly that person becomes. They become reliant on ectoplasm which is mostly fine for those only lightly liminal but those that are extremely liminal need ectoplasm rich environments or they start getting sick and lethargic. Their human body slowly slips into a coma until they completely shut down and become a full ghost so they can produce their own ectoplasm. Though if they don't have enough emotion/will they won't turn and will just pass on as normal.
All of this is relevant because Danny discovered his New Power to heal his friends and sister after they got hurt during fights fairly early on, unfortunately they only discovered the consequences for it when Sam's little stint with Overgrowth was over didn't actually get rid of her plant powers, she just had to relearn to control them herself. The four of them extensively studied what was happening to them and Danny definitely felt pretty guilty about it once they figured out that Sam and Tucker had become so liminal because of him healing them that he would need to either keep providing them ectoplasm directly or they would only ever be able to safely live in heavily death touched places full of ectoplasm. Jazz had always been technically "doomed" to this because of their parents but Sam and Tucker were pretty 1 to 1 Danny's fault. Sam and Tucker are actually really cool about it because it means they'll be best friends forever and they get cool powers.
For Danny's sake though they do look up ectoplasm rich environments/towns so he doesn't feel like he trapped them to his side. As it turns out there are actually a lot of places all over the world that they could live without ever needing to rely on Danny's ecto. Which is relieving to him right up until Jazz decides she's going to fucking Gotham for college!! Jazz no! The evil clowns and crazy people are there! It's cursed!!! Danny gets so stressed out about it that he develops portaling just to check on her every day because despite his misconception of his obsession being Protection in general it's more accurate to say that it's more along the lines of "Love" both platonic and not. Danny doesn't want to suffocate his sister but he loves her so much and that place is so dangerous!
The first fool that tries to hurt her is landing themselves in a coma.
But! The bats don't actually have these two on their radar at all right up until Danny and Jazz spot one of the bats knocked the fuck out with a serious head wound during an attack he was trying to get his sister out of without letting Phantom be seen outside of Amity.
"Oh cheese Danny that looks pretty bad. I think they might die! You can see the split." Jazz hissed her voice trembling as she hovered over the costumed hero. She looked a little sick.
"Okay, shhhhh, it'll be fine just don't let anyone see." Danny said quietly after looking around quickly.
People were panicking and not really looking over at them so he kneeled next to the vigilante and reached out gently to them, his hands glowed a bright acidic green producing a strange gravity defying goo which he squished to the injured area. The goo was cool and soothing as it ate away the pain and sluggishly mended the meat and bones back together. They would not die today, but they already felt oddly liminal so he was unsure if they would begin to have side effects. The injury had been pretty horrible.
"Someone's coming! We have to go." Jazz hissed quietly in panic just as the vigilante was regaining consciousness. "C'mon we can't let anyone see you or the government will try to dissect you again."
Jazz was not one to just randomly air past trauma like that so it jolted Danny out of his thoughts. The hero would be fine, they wouldn't be if caught. Danny abandoned the hero and took his big sister's hand the two running away together far more quickly than most humans could have.
This was fine...everything was fine.
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zylev-blog · 4 months
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Villian AU. Fentonworks is a multibillion company, and the head of the company, the Fentons, are supervillains. But nobody knows this because they wear full face masks, lab suits, and use voice modulators. They’ve been active for years, and their two kids even joined into their crimes. The Bats can’t get ahead of them or figure out the identities of the villainous family because they had a hacker of their own named Technus. (Tucker). Sometimes another young girl hangs around them: Undergrowth. (Sam). The Bats constantly were trying to get ahead of them, but never could. But the same thing worked in reverse: the Fentons couldn’t figure out who the Bats were.
This began their attempts to demask the Bats. The Bats were skilled at this, and beautifully dodged all demasking attempts for years. It became more of a cat and mouse game for both parties after a while. Neither had an advantage over the other.
That is, until the Ghostbusters(Fentons) disappeared into the lab for a week. Danny had an idea. An idea for a type of acid that wouldn’t harm against skin, but would dissolve any type of clothing. It took them a few days to stabilize the formula, and by the end of the week, they had multiple vials of the stuff. The Bats were antsy; they knew the criminal family were planning something. They just didn’t know what they were planning.
The Ghostbusters plan works beautifully. Jack got Bruce, Maddie got Spoiler, Danny got Red Robin, and Jazz got Nightwing. After that, it wasn’t hard to figure out the identity of the rest of the Bats.
The next day, the Bats continued their lives as normal, but they were looking over their shoulder all day. They were antsy, and fully expected something to happen. But nothing did. No new random person started stalking them, nothing out of the ordinary happened. But they kept their guard up because they knew better. They knew the Ghostbusters would eventually do something. They just didn’t know when or how.
Danny had been best friends with Tim for two years, and Jazz had been dating Dick for six months, so they were both blindsided by the identity reveals of Tim and Dick. Jazz loved Dick so much by that point, but hated heroes, and had tried to kill Nightwing more than once before. She was torn on what to do.
Suprisingly, it was Sam’s idea that they went with. Jazz already had a date with Dick scheduled for that Saturday, so as a test to both Dick and Nightwing, they were going to kidnap Jazz in broad daylight. Jazz couldn’t be in two places at once for the attack, so they used a hologram to fool everyone into thinking she wasn’t one of the Ghostbusters.
Phantom(Danny) broke through the window of the restaurant that Dick and Jazz were at. In a matter of seconds, Phantom had a knife against Jazz’s throat. Jazz played the scared victim, and Dick tried to reason with Phantom for Jazz’s safety. Jazz was thrilled about the outcome, but still allowed herself to be kidnapped.
Unfortunately, none of the Ghostbusters planned for the Justice League to get involved.
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wttcsms · 1 year
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for the last time ; simon “ghost” riley.
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pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 2k synopsis simon is greeted by an image that haunts him the most: you, completely still and no longer breathing.   content contains death mentions, mentions of blood, slight angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, the two of you are married, obsessive!ghost notes takes place in the same timeline/au as this fic! ; title is inspired by miss taylor swift’s line in ‘anti-hero’ (stream midnights, btw) where it goes “i wake up screaming from dreaming one day i’ll watch as you’re leaving and life will lose all its meaning for the last time”, so do what you will with that information! 
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Is it possible to be so afraid that you can taste the fear on your tongue?
Simon Riley finds himself questioning this as he takes one step further into his home — your home, the empty residence that has never known warmth in between its walls until the first time you graced them with your presence — the foyer eerily quiet.
Usually, you have the TV playing in the background for company when he’s away. Maybe none of the shows airing were to your liking; that’s fine, he reasons. There’s no need to panic. No need for his heart to bang against its ribcage barrier, almost as if it’s trying to break free to search for you itself.
The house is dark, but after years of tactical operations held in worse places, his eyes easily adjust to take in these familiar surroundings. His eyes dart around the room, looking for any sign of trouble. He doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or not to find nothing out of the ordinary.
He moves quickly through the house, searching for any sign of you that he can. You’re not a quiet person — not when you’re in the comfort of your shared home, not when you know that you’re safe to live as freely as you want because Ghost will always see to it.
When he put that ring on your finger, he had promised to always keep you safe. Even before it, you were always going to be under his protection, and ever the honorable soldier (and lovesick fool), it’s a promise that he intends on keeping.
When he doesn’t hear the familiar sounds of you humming in the kitchen or the running water of your hot showers, he starts to feel the panic rising in his chest. It’s fine. You’re fine. He’s a rational thinker, quick and calm in a battle. He doesn’t lose his cool, never loses true sight of his mission.
He’ll find you, he reassures himself. He’ll find you, because to lose you is to lose himself, to lose the last remaining shred of humanity he has left in him. Burned, betrayed, abandoned — every moment of suffering he’s endured throughout his life has left him hardened and cold. Perhaps the universe is a merciful thing; after all, it gave him you. You, who only needs to give him a smile meant just for him to reverse all the pain he’s accumulated over the years.
He never thought he would be able to feel again. And now because of you, he’s feeling entirely too much.
He heads to the last room left: the bedroom.
He’ll find you there. You’ll be sleeping peacefully, tucked into the sheets that will cling with the scent of your body wash, blissfully unaware of your husband’s silly anxiety. Nothing could possibly happen to you — no one even knows you exist, save for the select few who Ghost finds himself able to trust.
He turns the knob, slowly and gently opening the door out of fear of interrupting your slumber, only to be greeted by the sight that haunts his every dream.
You’re lying on the bed, eyes shut, but there are thin, red rivulets running down your face — the face that he can perfectly envision in his mind, down to every eyelash and minuscule mark — and instead of the steady rise and fall of your chest…
…There is no movement.
The acidic feeling of bile rising up his dry throat burns, but he swallows it back down, ignoring the acrid taste in favor of forcing himself to approach your still body. He reaches out for you, noticing the erratic, shaky movements of his hands. When was the last time he had ever been so nervous, so scared, that his hands started to shake?
He doesn’t want to believe it. Your body is cold to the touch, and he finds himself daring to grip you tighter. He doesn’t want to leave a bruise, darling, he promises. He’ll apologize tenfold when you wake up. He shakes you, not as gently as he wants to, because he needs you to wake up. You have to wake up.
“Love?” His throat feels so choked up, he’s surprised he can even manage to speak. He shakes your body again, his knees almost buckling to the heavy weight of immense grief. Your blood stains the otherwise crisp, white sheets of the bed.
He’ll never sleep again if you don’t wake up.
He takes a hand to rest against your baby bump, desperate to feel the familiar kick of his son sensing his father’s presence.
“C’mon, kid.” He pleads and he begs, only to be met with nothing but silence.
He chooses to cradle your face instead, taking in your sweet features and trying desperately to pretend like he doesn’t see the blood spilling, ruining your otherwise perfect visage. The syllables in your name are broken up as he tries to say your name but finds himself struggling to speak properly.
Did you know that Simon rarely cries? Of course, you do — you know everything there is to know about him, down to every traumatic experience that has shaped him into the man he is today. You know that the last time Simon cried was because of his father, and it was very early in his childhood. Even as a baby, Simon was considered to be a very quiet child.
But now he feels the corners of his eyes watering, and he’s not ashamed of the tears — he’s ashamed of himself. You’re not breathing, your body’s gone cold, and he will never get to meet the boy fated to be his son. Is this why the universe had tried so fucking hard to keep him from making attachments? Had fate known that he was undeserving of having a family?
He couldn’t protect you, either of you.
The anger comes — he’ll track down whoever is the cause of this, and he will slaughter every single person involved, knowing that it’ll never be enough, even if the streets are permanently stained red from the amount of blood he’ll spill. But even those thoughts can’t chase away the agonizing grief that is crushing him from the inside out; it takes root inside of his heart, and he feels a part of himself snap.
Rage and agony blend together as the reality of his situation tears him apart. He will never love again; you’ve taken all of what he had to offer straight to the grave. Despite the persistent beating of it, he refuses to acknowledge having a heart, cold or otherwise. There’s nothing. There is no meaning to his life anymore if he cannot share it with you.
His pained screams seem to reverberate around the four walls of your bedroom, and his eyes are instantly open. He sits up, gasping for air, cold sweat dousing his body. He needs several seconds to calm down, and the erratic beating of his heart only quickens its pace when he realizes that all of it was merely a nightmare. But if it was only a bad dream, why does he turn his head only to find your side of the bed empty?
“[Name]?” He calls for you, throwing off the blanket from his body and leaving the warm bed. “[Name]?”
He sounds desperate and frightened — feelings he normally doesn’t display because he usually doesn’t experience them.
He’s gone about most of his adult life knowing that he doesn’t care about what happens to him, but now — now, he actually has something to live for, something to lose. He’s given up so many parts of himself, all for the sake of survival or for a mission. Whatever he hasn’t given away has been stolen from him (boyhood had always been a short-lived concept in his household; his father made sure of it). And then you came into his life — or rather, he infiltrated the building you were held captive in, and suddenly, the world had color again.
He didn’t ask you to fix him, and you never saw him as someone who needed it. You always tell him that he saved your life, even going so far as to call him your hero. You know everything about him; everything but the fact that you saved his life, too.
More accurately: you brought him back to life.
And now his life will go back to being nothing but static and self-sacrificial motivations.
He calls out your name in the darkness of the house, only to be greeted by the sound of his own heart beating against his chest. He stumbles through your home, only to find you rummaging through the kitchen, the light inside of it glowing against your skin and making you appear as an angel.
Breathing becomes significantly easier for him now.
It takes him little to no time to erase the distance between the two of you, and the familiar feeling of your husband’s strong arms wrapping around your body envelopes you. His embrace is comforting albeit a bit suffocating, and you choose to lean into his warmth, allowing him to bury his face into the mess of your hair.
The scent of your shampoo mixing with your own natural scent overwhelms him, and he only attempts to bring you impossibly closer to him.
“Simon?” The sound of your voice is his favorite thing to listen to; even more so when it’s you saying his name so sweetly and softly.
“Simon, what’s going on?” You don’t sound scared, but you take a hand to put over his, massaging his knuckles. It’s nearly one in the morning, and while you know that Simon is secretly clingy, especially when the two of you are sleeping, the way he’s hugging you… It’s almost as if he’s scared that you’ll evaporate the moment he’s not touching you.
“...You weren’t there.” You can feel the movement of his mouth and jaw, his head still very much buried in between the space between your neck and shoulder.
“I wasn’t… Oh.”
The turning point of your relationship had been the fact that Simon was always there every time you had nightmares. It wasn’t until the two of you moved in together that you realized he suffered from some of his own, as well. They’re few and far between nowadays, but sometimes, he’ll thrash in his sleep, tiny, pained groans waking you up from your slumber. You know the memories of watching his former teammates die in front of him haunt him in his subconscious when exhaustion leaves his mind defenseless. Those bad dreams have stopped coming for a long time.
He refuses to tell you about his new nightmare that’s been plaguing him, but either he’s an open book or you’ve just gotten too good at reading him because you think you have a sneaking suspicion as to what’s been scaring him.
“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper softly, and it should be impossible, but his hold on you only tightens up at your words of reassurance. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.” You take his hand, and he allows you to adjust it to where it’s resting against the swell of your belly. “Nothing bad is going to happen to us.”
He refuses to go back to living that bleak, miserable existence that was his life before you. It’s okay to starve when you don’t know what you’re hungering for; it’s torture when you know you’ll never have what you truly need to survive.
“Let’s go back to bed, Simon. Please?” You plead with him, and after a minute, you feel him nod in agreement.
“You’ll be there when I wake up?” His words come out rough from having not spoken in several hours, but there’s something in his voice that reminds you that there are still remnants of that little, heartbroken boy Simon had to destroy in order to survive his childhood. Those fragments of himself are buried deep through layers of tough skin and pseudo-heartlessness, only coming out in his most vulnerable moments. So far, you’re the only person to witness it. If he has it his way, you’ll be the only one who does.
“I promise. I’ll always be there.”
True to your word, as long as he’s sleeping in the safety of the walls of your home, Simon Riley doesn’t have to find himself waking up alone ever again.
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nvirskies · 2 months
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sand - c. la rue
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idea taken from one of @star-girl69 's asks about married clarisse and immediately went to think about how the vast majority of greek demigods didn't get to live past their 20's or even teen years... and the survivor's guilt that would come with being one of the few lucky enough to live longer.
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, traumatic nightmare flashbacks, descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood + war, spoilers for TLO, set after both reader and clarisse leave CHB about 6-8 years into the future, google translated Greek term of endearment, crying, survivor's guilt, platonic RueGard, ooc Clarisse, she's matured more over time and more articulate with her feelings and words
summary: clarisse wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare in the middle of the night, reader comforts her through a breakdown
wife!fem!demigod!reader x wife!clarisse la rue
word count: 2.2k
καρδιά μου (kardiá mou) - my heart
Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου (I kardiá mou eínai i kardiá sou) - my heart is your heart
"but you have more pieces of me than than desert has sand, and I have less pieces of you than I can hold in my hand" sand, alchemical: vol. 1, dove cameron
taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @azrielsdiary @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover
men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni
Greek demigods fell in love hard and fast with an unmatched intensity. They normally didn’t live long enough to even envision themselves in their adult lives, and why would they? Every day was a struggle to stay alive with monsters coming in from all angles and quests most didn’t come back from.
And that was why, as soon as the two of you graduated high school, Clarisse got down on a knee and proposed with the knowledge that you were the one she would want to spend the rest of her life, however long or short, with.
When you two had graduated college, the next thing in the books was to make it official in the courthouse, and that was what you had done. No extravagant party or ceremony, just a quiet day in the courthouse and a night in to celebrate.
But no matter how far the two of you ran from Camp Half-Blood, the nightmares never went away, never got better. As the years passed, more of the people you had considered friends died. One after the other, falling like cursed dominos, helplessly standing by as they all tumbled down.
Soon, the nightmares became more about the people that were lost than the monsters themselves. Nightly plagues of searingly painful memories from watching the life drain from so many demigods’ eyes burned themselves in both of your psyches.
All you could do was hope Charon would be kind enough to ferry them across the Styx without his payment of a silver coin.
And tonight certainly hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary with the two of you and your limbs interlaced in a protective embrace while sleep claimed your minds, as if the both of you could protect each other from the monsters both in and outside.
Your head, nestled into her chest. Her deep, rhythmic breathing made your hair flutter ever so slightly as she exhaled. Her arms, wrapped loosely around your waist, hands not-so-sneakily under the baggy shirt of hers you had stolen to wear as pajamas for the night. It was all perfect. Too perfect.
You would be damned fools to think that peace would last for so long. Demigods didn’t get peace, they didn’t get tranquility, and they especially didn’t get uninterrupted domestic bliss.
Unbeknownst to you, Clarisse’s face contorted into one of distress. Her arms pulled you in closer subconsciously as the all too familiar face of Morpheus greeted her with a sly smirk on his face in her dreams.
In moments, she was transported back to the Battle of Manhattan.
She was seventeen again.
Blood was everywhere. Abandoned weapons lay on the floor, the hands that once gripped them tightly, now loose and limp. Shrill screams echoed throughout the air, all cut short by gut-wrenching sounds of fatal injury. Metal cut through flesh. Acid burnt through metal. Flames licked and greedily consumed anything and everything as fuel.
Her feet felt heavy, her hands numb. She could do nothing but stand and watch it all unfold before her own eyes, forced to relive the carnage and devastation that had ripped through Manhattan on that fateful day.
Morpheus’ voice whispered in her right ear, the sound of it sending an uneasy chill down her spine. “Daughter of Ares. A fitting dream, no? Your father must have been proud of you for the way you fought after… well, I’ll let you relive that, too.” Before she could blink, she was transported to the moment right after Silena had been sprayed by the Lydian Drakon.
Clarisse was too late. She had always been too late.
She was back on her knees, choking and weeping bitterly as Silena lay in her arms, watching as life slowly left her once-lively eyes.
What kind of a warrior even was she? So weak that she couldn’t even protect her friend? Too weak to protect the girl who had adorned her armor and led her siblings into battle?
Just as Clarisse reached out to touch Silena’s face to wipe away the one mark of smudged eyeliner that the Aphrodite girl normally would never have even allowed to happen in the past, she was jerked back to consciousness, eyes flying open and arms almost crushing your sleeping form momentarily as she came to.
No longer was she in Manhattan, instead sheltered in the familiarly adorned walls of your shared bedroom. Upon the walls hung framed pictures of joyous times past and her sword collection, among other things.
Familiar faces stared back at her, some faces that would never age again. Immortalized memories of times that would never happen again. Everyone was dead or scattered across the globe.
A particular picture caught Clarisse’s eye. It was a portrait of Silena that she had commissioned one of the Apollo kids to draw for the daughter of Aphrodite’s seventeenth birthday.
She never lived to see that day.
Her eyes locked with Silena’s in the drawing for a moment, and that moment was one too much as hot tears began to prick in the corners of her eyes.
She had inadvertently woken you up with the way her arms tightened around your waist in a near vice grip, slowly coming to your senses. No longer were her breaths slow and rhythmic, their steadfast pattern replaced by one that was erratic and shallow. The once-steady thumping cadence of her heart as it beat in her chest was now quickened, all of which you could hear with your head having been nestled into her chest.
Craning your head to look up at her, you were greeted with the sight of Clarisse desperately trying to silently blink back tears and control her own breathing.
Hurriedly, you pushed yourself up off her chest and tugged the blankets off the two of you before sitting down on her lap. You took note of the way her hands had never left your waist, holding onto you as if she were drowning and you were the last life ring thrown out.
It wasn’t anything you and Clarisse hadn’t dealt with before. The nightmares had been a part of your lives as far back as you could remember, it just came with the territory of being a demigod. But they never got any easier as time went on.
She watched silently with eyes brimming with unshed tears, pleading wordlessly with you to do something, anything to make it all go away.
“Let’s switch, yeah? You can lay on me and completely cover me if you want, love,” you offered up, a melancholy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Wordlessly, she nodded and you slipped off her lap, laying back where she had just been moments ago.
Gently patting your chest, you motioned for her to rest her head on it, knowing that the rest of her body would soon follow, completely engulfing your form with hers. After she had positioned herself, her arms snaked around your waist again as she simply held you for a few moments, her face pressed into your chest as tears slowly soaked into your shirt.
One hand reached out to gently run along the length of her back, the motion meant to soothe. A few beats passed in silence before you spoke in a hushed whisper, the bedroom devoid of sound beyond the two of you breathing in tandem with each other.
“You hear that, love? That’s my heart,” you murmured softly, craning your neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “It’s beating, beating for you. Η καρδιά μου είναι η καρδιά σου.”
She didn’t respond beyond releasing another shaky sob into your chest and tightening her grip around your body, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t need her to talk just yet.
“You’re also η καρδιά μου, you know that, right? My heart, my wife, my love, my everything. And I’m yours. Entirely yours, and I”m not going anywhere.” You craned your neck again to press another kiss against the crown of her head, hand never stopping its path of running gently along the length of her back.
“I would go down to the depths of Tartarus for you. I would challenge Hades himself to a fight if it meant I had even a glimmer of a chance in getting you back.”
Never once did you try to rush her into talking or shushing her tears. You knew her better than you knew yourself, and giving her time to let everything out was the best thing you could do for her at the moment.
You were her safe space, the one woman that she could let her walls down around. She wasn’t Ares’ star daughter in your arms, she was just Clarisse. No expectations dangling over her head, just open arms and understanding.
After another few quiet moments, she finally spoke up in between half-choked sobs, whispering so quietly that her voice was nearly inaudible, “Silena… Manhattan… should have been able to save her,” before letting her face fall back down onto your chest, releasing another pained cry.
“She’s gone- a-and everyone else too- why me?”
Her question left you speechless, mouth partly opened in an attempt to come up with a reassuring response, but nothing seemed to come to mind immediately. It was rare for this to happen, as you normally had just the right words at the top of your tongue, weaving them as Arachne once wove tapestries on her loom.
“They’re all gone and- and- ”
“Shh, love…” you cut her off, gently pulling her head up to look her in the eyes, your other hand leaving her back to wipe the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks with the pad of your thumb. “Please, don’t go back into that self-sacrificial spiral. Talk to me, tell me what the dream was about?”
She only shook her head in response, unwilling to divulge details of the memory that had shattered your night of otherwise perfect proportions.
Deflating back on top of you, she whispered, “They’re all gone, and we’re one of the only ones remaining. It was like every time another one of them died, that small part of myself that I gave to them died as well.”
Her arms that were wrapped around your waist tightened for a moment before going limp along with the rest of her body as she lay atop you, her head pressed against your chest.
“Love…” you began softly as one of your hands found its way to her head and carded gently through her curls. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. None of it was your fault. We didn’t ask to be born, to be thrown into this mess of a world and tossed around like pawns in the gods’ game of chess with our lives.”
“We didn’t ask for this life, and we were so young at the time. For fuck’s sake, we were only seventeen- we hadn’t even made out yet. We hadn’t graduated high school yet, there were so many things we couldn’t control.
“None of it was your fault, I promise you. You were so brave, and you did everything you could.” She stayed silent as you spoke, the only sounds coming from her were the soft, shaky breaths as she sniffled and burrowed her face further into your shirt.
“I can’t explain to you why so many things had to happen, that’s up to the Fates. I can’t give you the pieces of yourself back that you lost when we kept losing everyone,” you murmured whilst your hands kept on with their idle motions.
It shattered your heart to give her such an incomplete answer when you knew it was tearing her apart inside to live with it all, but there was nothing you could do beyond offer solace and comfort. “And for that, I am so, so sorry. But the one thing I can do is keep the piece you’ve granted me to keep, safe and sound.”
She only nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak in fear of her own vulnerability. Her tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that was important was that Clarisse was here, in your arms, and slowly calming down.
Clarisse knew just as well as you did that everyone had done the best they could with the circumstances given, and that the loss affected you just as deeply. But she didn’t dig into that, it would be a can of worms to open for another time, another sleepless night where your own troubles caught up with you after running from them for so long.
And so, the rest of the night stretched on into early morning, the two of you half-awake, seeking silent solace in each other until sunlight crept into the bedroom through the cracks of the curtains the next day.
The two of you might have been running from your trauma like runners to a marathon, but at least you were running hand-in-hand with matching strides.
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buckets-and-trees · 6 months
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Devour: ACID
Fandom: MCU Collection: Devour Title: ACID Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x f!Chef!Reader Word Count: 5.1k
Summary: A month since SALT and three weeks since FAT, your situation with the mob boss who bought your restaurant is still evolving in unexpected ways - including an unexpected episode after work tonight.
Content Warnings: explicit smut, oral: female receiving, analingus: female receiving, vaginal penetration/fucking, some light drinking, mob boss Bucky is kind of dom
Logistical Notes: I had planned for this to punch the ticket for week 10 of my Hot Bucky Summer 2023 collection for the prompt "Long day at work?" and so this is late for the @buckybarnesevents event itself, but I'm a completionist and am marking it off on my personal list for my own satisfaction. Also ticking off the U3: "Kink: Concubine" square of my Bucky Barnes Bingo, Round Five card for @buckybarnesbingo.
Additional Notes: @mlibbydp and @goldylions were so benevolent in doing some beta work on this so HUGE AMOUNTS OF LOVE TO THEM for what they both contributed to the piece and to me personally. This chapter is much longer than the previous two and just as part two evolved their relationship, part three makes some more significant moves and ... I needed the notes on making sure this still felt like Devour. Also... @biteofcherry you might see something interesting in here that's definitely included because of a throwaway comment you made earlier this summer.
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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When you walked out into the garage, there was a black luxury SUV idling near the exit with Sam Wilson leaned up against it. Seeing you, he slipped his phone into his pocket and pushed off the side of the vehicle.
“Hey, Chef,” he greeted you with a grin.
“Really?” you sighed. “Now?”
He shrugged. “Please?”
“And is that you asking nicely, or him?”
“You know I just do what he says.”
You huffed. “You don’t always do what he says, but he knows you’re the most charming one and I wouldn’t refuse you.”
Sam laughed as he opened the door to the backseat. “Don’t let the charm fool you, honey, if you said no, I’d throw you in the back regardless, it would just be less fun for you.”
You knew that, too, which is why you simply got in without a fuss. Bucky, Sam, the rest of his men? They were all mobsters running mob business, dangerous beneath the surface.
As the door closed behind you, you looked to the front to see who was driving, then clucked your tongue. “He sent both of you?”
Steve smirked. “Buckle up. And of course he sent us. You don’t think he trusts just anyone with his girl, do you?”
Oh. You bit your bottom lip and looked away and out the window, a small warmth stirring in your belly. As inconveniently annoying as this ordeal seemed to you in this moment, there was that piece. Being his. You were starting to feel it.
You had told Bucky that second night in the restaurant that you needed more than gifts and sex.
He had taken your word seriously.
There had been walks in the park, an auction, brunch on his yacht, a gallery opening, a rooftop wine tasting, even a dinner party at Sam’s place where he ended up proposing to his girl. You had enjoyed all of them, but except for the night at Sam’s, the time with Bucky had been last minute – sometimes there was a text, but most times it was him showing up or – like tonight – someone sent to fetch you without notice. He seemed all too aware of your schedule, so none of these instances were logistically inconvenient, but with it happening once more again tonight, you couldn’t help but notice this pattern of behavior was clearly becoming a habit – being summoned. In general, you didn’t mind, you saw that he was demonstrating that he wanted to spend time with you, but if you were his girl, you didn’t want to be treated  like one of the droves of people who were at his beck and call and certainly not like a concubine kept solely for his whims.
The SUV slowed and pulled up to the curb of an incredibly unremarkable building that spoke to money for how unremarkable it was – the kind of money that demanded magnificence but privacy. You’d never stepped in a place of residence quite like this before – you hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, but even in the darkness you already knew.
Both men slipped out of the front seat. Sam opened your door and offered his hand to pull you to the sidewalk. “No frowns needed tonight,” he said.
“Says you.” You didn’t realize you were frowning.
Sam grinned, then headed around to take the driver’s seat just as Steve appeared at your side.
“I’ll walk you up,” Steve gestured for you to enter the building with him.
“This is his place?”
“One of them,” Steve responded.
You took a deep breath and followed him in.
Sharp looking doormen, green marble floors, golden elevators.
Chatting with Steve was always easy, and it was no different on the fifteen-floor ride up to the penthouse at the top of the building. However, you did feel a touch of nerves as this was your first time at Bucky’s place. You weren’t quite sure what to expect but were keen to learn more about this enigma of a man by seeing where he lived.
And there he was, ready to meet you as the doors of the elevator opened, hands in his pockets, tired smile on his face, but his blue eyes dancing with excitement, and that stirred the storm of butterflies immediately in your stomach. He reached out a hand to pull you into him.
“Thanks, Steve,” he said, though he didn’t take his eyes off you.
“Sure thing, Buck.”
Once the elevator closed, Bucky brushed his fingers over your cheek, cradled your head in his hand to tilt your jaw up, and then his lips were on yours, your back pressed up against the wall. Within moments you were breathless.
In the intervening weeks since seeing him at the restaurant he’d also kept his physical contact minimal, only a few light touches, an arm around you when it seemed natural for the occasion, except for two lingering kisses. One of those instances was after a walk in the park when he’d kissed you full on in the afternoon daylight, then deposited you into the car he’d arranged to take you directly to work, where his heated kiss had distracted you throughout your shift. The second was three nights ago, the last time you saw him, and that had been only a ghosting of his lips against your ear, along your jaw, and then a soft kiss pressed to your mouth before withdrawing and leaving you at your door, but it had gotten your whole body humming for him and haunted you as you went to sleep and in your dreams.
This, after so long, so much wanting, was like a wave crashing over you. You moaned softly, you let him pull you in, melting against him, and you nearly let him sweep you away, but then you pressed insistently against his chest.
“James.”
“Yes?” he did move back, but only enough to look into your face fully.
“What is this?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“So, you just summon me?”
You knew he didn’t miss the tenor of agitation in your tone because he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the smirk before he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture at your shoulder. “I was hungry for you,” he said, completely undeterred. And as his lips moved solely along your throat, your core begged you to forget the conversation you were attempting to have.
“Why?” you barely managed to ask.
“You know why.”
“Do I?”
Bucky pulled back again, frowning this time, but you put your hand on his face to soften his reaction. “Steve and Sam said I’m your girl, but…”
“I told you you were mine. Surely over the past few weeks, you can’t doubt that.” His stare into your eyes was steady, straight.
You didn’t doubt him.
You did need to hear those words said just that way though. You didn’t know how much you had needed to hear them.
It gave you the surety to say what you needed to say to him. “I’m not just another girl. No more summoning me, Barnes. I’m not one of your people, I’m not your plaything.” With your hand now resting on his chest, you let your fingers brush soft strokes up and down over his heart. “If you want me, want all of me.”
He hadn’t interrupted your statement. He’d let you finish without argument. You could see the way his face changed, and the shift of the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch. He drew you in closer, encircling his arms around your waist. “Oh, I want everything, don’t doubt that.” He brushed his lips softly on your forehead. “I was only waiting for you to want this.” 
Your chest tightened at those words, but the next moment you couldn’t think because then he kissed you again.
And that kiss, though brief, was thick with heat, and when he pulled back he said, “I see your point about the summoning. Just know that I was eager to have you around at any opportunity.”
You smiled because he smiled. “I can forgive you for that – I guess I can be a bit irresistible,” you teased. Somehow his confidence made you feel steady enough with him to be direct, to be flirtatious, to simply be around him.
He brought a hand to your cheek again. “I’ll mend my ways, but let’s be honest… a little bit of you likes it – the spontaneity of it.” His smile turned to a truly wolfish grin.
You sighed but rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe a little.”
He stepped away, taking your hand. “Come. You can have a tour later.”
Rather than asking where you were going, you simply let him lead you through the grand apartment. You didn’t take in every detail, but it was big without being too big. Rich and luxurious without being cold or opulent. There were sleek lines, but also elements of warm and comfort folded into the power that was also clearly on display. But your focus was on the way he held your hand and led you through his domain. He had no question that you would follow.
Were you so easily his?
No.
Your mind wasn’t made up.
You weren’t all in, but you weren’t reeling to run away.
He stopped in front of a mahogany door and looked over his shoulder at you. You arched your brow.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“Alright.” And you did.
He opened it, and you let him lead you inside, through a room, clearly walking you past some furniture. You heard the sound of a fire in a fireplace, then you heard another door opening, and he ushered you in front of him and through that door. “Take your time,” he said softly, lips against your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind you.
You opened your eyes to the sight of a large jade green-tiled shower enclosed with glass and four gleaming gold showerheads. Turning around, you couldn’t help a soft giggle falling from your lips. The lavish bathroom was sheer perfection. Showering after your shifts at the restaurant was ritual for you. You toed off your shoes and began peeling off your clothes. Off to the side of the palatial shower, there was a gorgeous clawfoot tub, and next to that a plush navy settee with what looked like some silky things set out for you. After inspecting the knobs and heads of the shower, you got them running, adjusting them to the perfect water temperature easily, and stepped under the streams, a sigh falling immediately from your lips.
One of the shelves was stocked with some of the skin and haircare products you used, some you hadn’t but certainly knew the name and reputation of (but hadn’t indulged in for yourself), and the other shelf was stocked with men’s products. It reminded you of the significance of where you were – in his home – and the element of intimacy it evoked, being naked where he had been and would frequently be again. Where he likely would be naked with you. You bit your lip. You pulled down the bottle of his shower gel, popped the top open, and inhaled. You hated how much you already loved that smell.
No, you didn’t.
You inhaled deeply again, then set it back on the shelf.
After that, you set to reveling in the flow of the water over your body, and got to washing, unsure of the time, only focused on the smooth feel of the soap and textures over your skin, feeling more and more relaxed, and ultimately refreshed and clean.
Once you had shut off all four showerheads, you reached for towels more plush than any you had ever used in your life and dried yourself off before wrapping the large bath sheet around your torso. You padded over to the settee to discover a short black silk robe waiting for you.
And nothing else.
You shook your head but grinned. “Audacious bastard,” you whispered.
But you didn’t bother with anything else.
At the vanity there were more hair, face, and body care products and tools clearly stocked for you – again some familiar and some you’d only dreamed of, none of this really a shock given your experience with this man. You weren’t certain how long you’d taken in the shower, having lost track of time, but here you suddenly did find yourself trying to take more time, a small fluttering of nerves in your stomach, because though he'd had his way with you in the kitchen of the restaurant and discreetly pulled an orgasm from you at the table in the dining room, this would be different.
Tonight, your body would be his, no restrictions. There was no worry for privacy, no limited amount of time.
There were also emotions now.
You had set the terms – that you needed to be more than a body to him – and he’d met them, courting the rest of you these past weeks, and putting the physical on the back burner.
He had made his intentions for tonight expressly clear.
And you wanted him, too.
But you were still nervous.
When you put your hand on the doorknob, you closed your eyes for a moment, taking one deep breath to steady yourself. Then you stepped out and into the next room, which – to no surprise – was a grand and spacious bedroom. Bucky was sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace you’d heard earlier, but immediately set a book aside and stood when he heard you. You were happy – and feeling a little more heat in your core – to see he was out of his earlier clothes and down to only a pair of silk pajama bottoms.
“How was your shower?” he asked, standing up and beckoning you over.
“The shower was glorious. You’re a bit wicked to only leave me a robe, though, aren’t you?”
He placed a kiss to your forehead and motioned to get comfortable on the couch while he moved over to a small bar cart nearby to get you a drink. He shot a smug over his shoulder. “I plan to get lucky.”
You snorted. “You brought me here late at night, kissed me like you did earlier, sent me to shower, left me only a very slinky silk robe to wear, and then greet me again looking like this,” you gesture at him, “fixing me a drink, and you call that ‘planning to get lucky?’”
He shrugged, his smug grin only growing. “Do you think there’s any way in hell I’d be where I am if I hadn’t strategically hedged my bets? Absolutely I plan to get lucky. I make sure I don’t give luck any reason not to go my way.”
You didn’t need alcohol. He was beyond intoxicating. He had been from that first night.
“And I’m assuming I don’t get a choice of drink tonight, either?”
He looked at you again. “I let you choose a lot of things, but I want you to try this. I think you’ll like it.”
You bit your lip and tucked your legs up under you, draping an arm over the back of the couch and facing him as well as where he would return to sit once finished mixing your drinks. His back was to you now, and you were not surprised he seemed to want to keep his preparation a mystery at least for a few more moments.
“Long day at work?”
“Work?” You weren’t expecting such a normal inquiry about it.
“Yes,” he chuckled, “work, my beautiful, talented chef.”
He handed you a wine glass with clear liquids over ice, garnished with fresh mint and slices of lemon, while he had what looked to be a whiskey smash in his other hand. You took an experimental sip as he sat close to you, angling his body to face you, resting his arm over the back of the couch as well. The citrus and mint blended with something floral and…
You swished the contents of your drink in your glass before taking another sip. It was bright and refreshing and not quite the evening night cap you would have expected.
He watched your face, gaging your assessment as he sipped his own drink.
“What is this?” you asked.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” you countered, “but what is it, James?”
Your name on his lips ticked the corner up in a half smile. “It’s a Hugo cocktail.”
“It’s not a predictable choice for the middle of the night.”
“It wasn’t my intention to bring you hear and tuck you in straight away.”
You laughed. “There’s no question what your intentions were. We established that.”
He tilted his head slightly. “You’re not picking up on all my intentions.”
Your brow furrowed. Then you let out a little yip of surprise as he pulled you closer, you clutching your wine glass to keep from spilling the drink.
He had already positioned himself close to you, but this was even more intimate. You were nearly in his lap, and he did pull your legs up to drape across his thighs.
“Now tell me about your day.”
“Oh, you were serious.”
His hand settled on one of your bare thighs, just next to your knee.
“If I didn’t want all of you, I would’ve fucked you in the foyer and let you go home. I want this, too. Now talk.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but you smiled. This really was him – demanding but not inflexible, and certainly giving you more than you expected.
So, you did talk, just as you had been really starting to the more he had brought you around to spend the time with him these last weeks. However, there was no getting around that this was more intimate. No others around, no distractions, no functionality of a thing you were doing together, only the two of you.
His line of inquiry was genuine, and he listened intently.
Almost too intently.
You were his singular fixation, and you knew he was thinking of nothing but you as you spoke.
And his fingers brushed idly over your thigh as you conversed.
The soft, repetitive motion wasn’t distracting at first, but it wasn’t long before it was an overwhelming tease of what wasn’t happening.
The physical touch you hadn’t experienced at his hand in weeks.
He was asking questions about how some of the new members of your kitchen staff were integrating, and all you wanted him to do was glide that hand down between your thighs.
You sipped at your drink, and as you continued to talk, you let your other hand drift to rest on his arm still draped over the back of the couch, and your fingers traced along a vein on his forearm. Although it was difficult not to let your eyes drop to his bare chest, you kept his gaze. If he was going to continue talking like this proximity and the lack of clothing between you both wasn’t affecting him, you were determined to match him.
Finally, he moved his hand from your thigh, but it went straight to your waist to curl just above your hip. “Kiss me,” he said.
You leaned forward and pressed your lips hungrily to his without hesitation. He set his drink to the side, then grabbed yours to do the same. With both your hands free, neither of you wasted another moment. Your hands went to his neck while one of his hands traveled slowly up your spine, the other holding your face. As impatient as you were for him, both of you kissed to savor, but there was no rush to it. His lips moved against yours, your tongues explored together, tracing, memorizing, exploring. It wasn’t enough, the tenor moving from savoring to consuming, and you shifted, moving into his lap.
He broke off the kiss briefly, turning his head to the side, but his left hand remained firmly against your back, keeping you close, and you rested your forehead against his temple. His other hand reached to the side table, and he plucked one of the slices of lemon and some mint from your drink. Curious, you lifted your head away. He brought the mint leaf to your mouth first, pressing it along your bottom lip. Then he pinched the fruit against your lip. The mint played with the acid of the citrus deliciously as he kissed you again, this time each of you nipping and licking intermittently through the kisses. Your hands explored the broad planes of his chest now, and his hands raked up and down your sides, thumbs skimming over the side swells of your breasts.
Keen for more, you pressed your body closer to him, pushing your core directly against the hardness of his cock. Rocking your hips, you drew a debauched moan from him that made you swell with pride and made your pussy ache even more for him. You needed him, each moment driving that need exponentially now.
The thick arms and broad chest you were getting to explore freely for the first time held only some of the rippling muscles that made it seemingly easy to push up off the couch while still holding you close with one arm, and it made a broken whine escape the back of your throat. You wrapped your legs around his torso, and his other hand squeezed and held your ass against him as he moved you from the seating area across the room to the bed. He tossed you down on the mattress, then pushed the silky robe – which was naturally already askew – off your body and flung it away. You pushed yourself back a bit more on the bed, and he was only a half second behind crawling up after you.
He pushed your legs wide open, and dove immediately for your dripping cunt. You laughed, a little flushed, but also more than ready for him to bury his face between your thighs. You let your head fall back against the soft bedding, closing your eyes. Then you yelped as there was a sharp slap to your pussy instead of his lips on your folds. You jerked up to look at him, and the devilish grin on his face, the darkening of his eyes made your heart stutter.
“Don’t laugh, Chef, I told you I was hungry for you. Keep your eyes on me,” he said.
You took a deep breath, leaned back on your elbows, and gave him a solemn nod.
He pressed kisses slowly along your inner thigh, his deep blue eyes locked on yours. The fluttering in your stomach rose steadily, your pussy desperate for his attention. When he planted his lips in the crease of your thigh, he left his mouth there. A broken whimper leapt from your throat, and you pushed your hips up. 
He pushed your hips back down with one of his large hands and moved his mouth the opposite direction and bit at the tender flesh of your inner thigh, making you yelp.
“Please,” you murmured.
“Eager for me?”
“Yes,” you answered without hesitation.
“Good.”
And then he worshiped your cunt, kissing it with as much fervor as he had kissed your mouth, and you moaned openly, no worries over anyone but him hearing you here. You didn’t look away, completely captivated because this was also a new level of intimacy that you felt both ready and unprepared for. Receiving oral sex from other partners had never felt so purposeful. This man in this moment was so avid in the way he was pleasing you, making you watch him, you brain was having a hard time recalling if sex with anyone before him had ever been so intense. You didn’t think it had – that first night when he’d demanded it from you in the kitchen, the next time he’d coaxed you into a few moments of pleasure in the dining room, and now inviting you here to have you without restraint – each encounter had been unlike anything before.
The pleasure was overwhelming as his lips and tongue licked, sucked, flicked your clit, delved into your folds, and he kept a keen eye on your every reaction. You began to feel lightheaded with the mounting waves of bliss, your toes curling, breaths coming in short gasps until your head fell back because you simply couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t do anything but feel, ready to fall over the edge because of him again.
But then he pulled his face away, jerking you back from that edge of ecstasy and you would have whined, but he was already manhandling your hips to flip you over. One of his rough palms smoothed slowly and firmly up your spine, applying delicious pressure, but you still felt the lack from the orgasm he’d dangled then withdrawn. “James,” you moaned. “James, please.”
He drew his palm slowly back down your spine. “You’ll have me, Chef, don’t doubt that.”
You whined again, but he pushed your thighs apart and slotted himself again between them, holding you splayed open for him with his broad shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable, stretching your legs, but you settled and breathed through it anticipating what was coming next.
His tongue teased at your clit for a moment, then slowly licked up and between your folds to dive into your cunt, lapping inside, and you shivered. But then one of his hands pushed at your ass cheek and his tongue continued moving up, and you gasped and tried to move away when the tip of his tongue teased your tight, puckered hole.
“Easy,” he said softly but firmly, his other hand moving beneath you and hooking at the juncture of your thigh to pull your hips back flush against him. He pressed a kiss to your round ass cheek.
“I’ve never,” you admitted enough, he knew what you meant. He kissed the same spot on your ass cheek, but then he shifted, and you felt him moving up over your back, his body pressing lightly against you until he was up at your shoulder. He pressed a kiss there, and then looked at you.  
“Then I won’t give you more than my tongue tonight, but you know I’ll make you feel good, don’t you?”
You nodded.
He smiled, then left the ghost of a kiss to your temple and slipped back down behind you.
Resuming his exact same positioning, his left hand curling under to anchor at the juncture of your leg, his right pressing you open to expose your ass, you pressed your cheek into the pillow and took a deep breath. You reached your left hand down to meet his, and he twined his fingers reassuringly with yours as they sought him. Then his mouth pressed in, and his tongue darted out, swiping over the tight ring of muscle.
“Just relax and feel,” he instructed.
You concentrated on breathing and then the new sensation. Unexpected. Then a different kind of pressure, then pleasure. It wasn’t awful as had always been insinuated. It was debauched more than anything else, and he soon had you moaning and panting and wriggling back against his tongue which alternated between lapping at the hole and teasing in and out. It was when you pushed hard back against him that he pressed a kiss again there and pulled back.
“I know what you like.”
It wasn’t a brag; it was a statement of possession that sent a shiver through your body. Because he was right, and you couldn’t deny that.
“Now come here,” he said, pulling you by your hips up to kneel, presenting for him. “Such a pretty folds.” His fingers circled your clit, then slipped briefly inside your cunt, drawing a happy gasp from you.
He grabbed his thick member and brushed the tip up and down over your sensitive parts a few times as you pushed up on your elbows, your back arched in a beautiful bow for him. When you looked over your shoulder at him, he finally sunk his cock into you. His hips pushed forward against you slowly until he was completely buried inside you, filling you, pressing so intimately into you. Fully sheathed, he stayed there for a moment, and he ran his hands over your hips and your lower back, caressing, relishing in the fill. He pulled back slowly, but only a couple of inches, then pushed back in, clearly wanting to relish in this for a moment. You had no desire to rush him either.
When his hands gripped your hips, you dropped your forehead to rest your forearm on the mattress, and then he began to fuck you, building a steady rhythm. He built up bit by bit, and you both let words and sounds fall out of your mouths as the physical feelings increased in intensity. Having been so close twice, when he finally moved a hand to rub expert circles into your throbbing clit, your body quickly responded in releasing your orgasm, and your spasming walls pulled him right along with you, and he came with a shout over your moans, a stuttered thrust, and then he continued a few more pushes, his hot spend coating your walls.
He wrapped an arm around your stomach and pressed kisses into your back, and you curled up into him with a hum of contentment.
When he pulled out, he reached over to the bedside table to retrieve a waiting damp hand towel – you shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d prepared to this detail – and then cleaned you up and then him before tossing it away. He stroked your back once more, then scooped you to your side, and pulled your naked and spent body to him so he could spoon up against you. You put your arm over his, and he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
“Stay?” he murmured simply into your ear.
This you didn’t answer immediately. You let your chest fill and empty with a few breaths, weighing your answer between your head and your heart. But neither of them fought to leave.
“Okay,” you finally breathed.
He settled in even closer, then reached for the sheets to pull up over the both of you. “I told you that first night that you would warm my bed.”
“Don’t be smug,” you protested.
“I’m not,” he insisted, and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “I’m only pleased I’ve finally got you here.”
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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year
Text
WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A SMILE? (ACT 1)
YANDERE! BATFAM x JINX (ARCANE/LEAGUE)-ESQUE! READER
A lil’ platonic yanderes harley and joker in the mix too hehe
gender neutral reader.
cw/tw: mentally ill reader. reader has schizophrenia. reader has a massive fear of abandonment. harley and joker only feed to that. a r s o n among other crimes. gaslighting. manipulation. implied r*pe (by reader im so sorry you guys) reader is interested in all genders.
summary: meet jinx, gotham’s loudest, most explosive villain. no one knows who they really are, or if jinx is really even their name. but one thing’s for sure — they’ve got a lot of people chasing after them and their reasons aren’t so noble.
status: unedited
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Considering Jinx was inspired by Harley Quinn. You’re probably her protégé. Her darling little child with Joker.
YOUR ORIGINS:
She saw you in the aftermath of the explosion. Cold and alone. Fire roaring behind you despite the heavens pouring its heart out, as if it was desperately trying to wash your tears and pain away.
She saw your bruises and a girl a little older than you walk away.
Her heart ached for you. No child deserved to be put in that kind of position, so she stepped in and made herself known.
“ I . . . I only wanted to help . . . Don’t leave me . . . Don’t . . .
You muttered.
Joker, who came here to marvel at the chaos such an explosion would present smiles maniacally.
You. You were the one that did this.
This beautiful wreckage and an equally beautiful child.
You were practically begging to be moulded into a weapon.
You charged at them both as they got closer, and while Harley was ready to defend her man - even hurt you if she has to - they did not expect what came next.
You just, held unto Joker’s right leg.
“ She’s not my sister . . . No . . . if she was she wouldn’t leave me . . . “
You were far too emotional for his liking. But nonetheless. A boon can always be found in a curse. That is, your desire for revenge.
He takes one look at Harley before picking your small body into his arms.
“ Who cares about fools like them, little one? They don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”
His smile never stopped widening, yet even as a kid you never saw it as creepy or unnerving. In fact, it only reminded you of the smiles you used to draw on your nail bombs.
“All we ever truly have is ourselves. “
“So, smile. Don’t let your tears bring you down.”
Moulding you into the perfect weapon was easy.
Having a psychiatrist as a partner did help a lot in your development.
All it took was a few reminders of that fateful day before you began obediently following their rules and instructions.
You were a genius and since Harley kept protesting against it. You weren’t baptized into a vat of acid like the couple was.
Now, Harley and Joker are the worst possible parents you can ask for. So unlike Arcane’s Jinx. You are way way more unhinged. Not to mention, horny and materialistic.
As you grew up, you began to take interest in intentionally hurting people just for the sake of it. Stealing things was just a normal Tuesday for you. Being successful in your endeavors for once, and having bigger stacks of cash felt exhilarating.
The women and men were amazing. Your pseudo parents being who they were, didn’t really care if you were a sexual deviant or a pervert. When your hormones started kicking in they let you do whatever you want. Even giving you some of the people he held hostage as a toy to play with. If you have the capability of getting someone pregnant/or getting pregnant yourself they wouldn’t really care about the baby but you knew them well enough to know they’d use the kid as a way to manipulate you so you were careful in that aspect anyhow.
Harley noticed that when laying with women you’d often call out your sister’s name or call them sis by itself.
Sick. Disgusting. Is what a normal mother would think after finding out such a fact.
But to her you were just growing up so quickly. She had convinced Joker to go ahead and kill your sibling a long time ago behind your back and was growing anxious with the thought of you hating her and ruining this happy family dynamic (she had in her head)!
So she starts bringing you to more heists in disguise. Always keeping a close eye on you so that if any of those stupid heroes and vigilantes get any close, and you too far. She’d know as soon as possible.
It’s safe to say you grew up pretty spoiled, but even then you were hungry for more.
You see, even if they (Harley and Joker) weren’t careful with their “parenting” approach. They were careful with keeping you hidden from the Dark Knight himself.
Not that they were scared you’d get hurt. They could always nurse you back up again. Harley actually enjoyed the times you’d gotten in the cross fire. More time to take care of you in her arms.
They were mostly scared of the Dark Knight stealing you. Afraid that he’ll take you away and turn you into a goody-two-shoes they wouldn’t recognize anymore.
So as much as you were more involved it still felt like they were babying you.
It was your situation with you family all over again
But this time, this time you’ll show them…
You weren’t weak. And it’ll do them good to remember that.
YOUR RIVALRIES:
You made your debut at around the time Tim was still Robin.
You were his very own Joker. A menace deal with. A person that only cared for the thrill that came with hurting and killing masses.
You were terrible. Evil. A demon he had to exorcise from this world.
A demon he fell hopelessly in love with.
He didn’t know how his feelings came to be. It may have been the amount of stress and pressure he was facing coupled with having to deal with your ass every damn day whether directly or indirectly. But he found himself yearning to see you at times. Getting warm when he thought of you. He felt solace knowing that no matter how many times he’d attempt to tear you down completely, you’d still come back to face him once again.
He was so guilty of his feelings. How could he fall for someone as heinous as you? You were the worst of the worst. But somehow that made things so much more better.
You were a taboo. A vice he couldn’t have. The thought of entering such a forbidden relationship excited him just cause it was just that — forbidden , a temptation that should always stay like that.
He somehow manages to gain the self control to stay away from you for a while.
But then came Damian and he was set to replaced. Just like that.
“Wow there Timmy Boy. You look like shit.”
“J-Jinx?! Why are you here? How do you know my name?!” He asked as if he didn’t know every single detail about you himself.
“I have to know my little birdie well don’t I?”
“What kind of archnemesis would Jinx be to their little Robin if they didn’t do a lil’ research?” You spoke in a higher, cutesy voice as if you were your handgun that you’ve affectionally named Zapper.
“Right you are Zapper! I would be a terrible rival. That wouldn’t do for a hero as great as Timmy!”
He thought that all his work was all for naught. All the hours he spent trying to prove himself was gone so fast.
But you reminded him of his place in this world. Of his position as a hero. Your rival.
The warmth in your eyes when you looked at him sealed the deal. There was no coming from this. He was yours as you were his.
“Only I can hurt you like this, toots. Don’t forget that.”
Little did you know that Tim took those words to heart and never let anyone else hurt him (and stay alive).
“Big Bat can replace you but you’ll always be the Robin in my heart !” You winked at him, signaling with one of your manicured fingers for him to smile. Which ended up almost scratching your cheeks.
Tim was confused (incredibly flustered, not to mention har—), why were you so kind to him all of a sudden. He knew you were the playful type but you were usually ruthless when it came to battle. You weren’t one to play with food for too long. For you to excuse him, much less help him in such a state.
Who were you and what did you do to his Jinx?
“OW hEy! I swear if you put that there Pow-Pow— I’ll—“ Tim heard you screeching out of view.
Scratch his doubts. Yep, you were definitely still his Jinx.
The Dark Knight knew who you were from the beginning.
He had his suspicions even before you came into the scene. With your knack to tag everything with neon spray-paints.
At first he thought you were a simple thug that Joker and Harley picked up. But the way they were sheltering you made it seem otherwise.
The regret he felt knowing that you were basically a child in their filthy hands and was now far too gone to save was immense.
If only he knew. You wouldn’t be in this situation.
While he was “dead” he found himself looking into you more. About the death of your biological parents and the way your sister abandoned you to Harley and Joker.
He felt pity for your childhood and a sense of kinship. Sure the incident may have been your fault but you were a child. How could you have known your actions would have such terrifying consequences.
If only you knew him when you were younger.
If only.
He was sure you’d be one of the greatest vigilantes alive.
“I knew you were alive.”
You looked down at Batman, staring while both of you were being doused by the rain. Thunder accompanying the sound of conversation.
He takes a defensive stance.
“I’m not going to fight ya, that’s Joker’s thing. And I know he’ll grill my ass if I stole his archnemesis.”
“What a loser!”
“Hey! He took us in. We should be more grateful!”
Bruce looked at you as you talked with a new, rather large, shark shaped gun. He had memorized the names of all your “companions” by now and was oddly excited and slightly unnerved by the new one.
“So, why’d you leave? Was it . . . was it on purpose?”
“No.”
“Then come back.”
He almost dropped all his plans with the way you told him that.
“Tim needs you . . . and your other sons too or whatever.”
“Come with me.”
“You crazy, old bat? Why would I—“
“I know what it feels like to have no family. Harley doesn’t love you. Joker doesn’t love anyone.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Well tough luck man. I don’t give a shit about love.”
You dropped down to his level. A thud resounds, loud enough to cut through the rainfall and thunder.
“Cause love never gave a shit about me.”
“We’ll have to refuse. Just get back to your sons, hero!”
“I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make it clear enough—
— I don’t think you have a choice in this matter, [Y/N].”
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Act 2 with Jason, Dick and Damian coming soon! If you’d like to be tagged just reply to this post ^^
You like my writing? Follow my blog and maybe take a look at the fic linked below!
WHAT’S UP DANGER : Yandere Batfam x Miles Morales! Reader
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hwaightme · 8 months
Text
Use me (part 2)
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THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR LEO KING'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut)
(part 1) (masterlist) (perma-taglist)
🥂 pairing: non-idol!mingi x fem!reader (implied yun... x reader - i wonder who...) 🥂 genre: smut, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers-ish 🥂 summary: you try to forget and return to what you know best, but what is on a sober mind quickly turns into a drunk phone call and a life-changing confession. 🥂 wordcount: 22.5k 🥂 warnings/tags: language, alcohol/drinking, over-drinking/being drunk, toxic behaviour, risky behaviour, unhealthy coping, trauma, implied past abuse/assault, flashbacks, numbing, one night stands, learning to love, learning to feel, mingi driving through the night, implied psychologist!mingi as job, fools in love and lust 🥂 taglist: at the bottom of the fic~ 🥂 a/n: this has been long in the works, first as a haunting thought, then as what you may see here. i'd love to dedicate this fic to @byuntrash101 <3 thank you for your continued support, for our love and friendship <3 to everyone, i appreciate you all, any and all reblogs, notes, thoughts appreciated, much love!
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🥂 nsfw tags: dom-leaning switch!reaader, sub-leaning switch!mingi, protected sex, thigh riding, fingering, handjob, blowjob, facial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, implied squirting, dirty talk, pet names (darling, doll, gorgeous... others...), loving talk/pillow talk, mentioned aftercare and general gentleness, reader is sober atp, explicit asking for consent, wearing mingi's t-shirt, a lot of kissing because they are all over each other, a whole lot of doting, sex that is like a hug
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"I love you..."
A slam of the door.
Where it all began.
You. Left in a loud solitude. Ceasing to stifle your sobs with your tee and letting out an animalistic cry. An innocent creature who trusted unconditionally, only to be shot at point blank and abandoned once the fun chase was over. There was no one out there except yourself to mourn your loss. Trapped in a dark room for what you believed to be the rest of your years.
Harsh reality collapsed on you under impossibly strong gravity, and trapped you with one brutal swipe. Your heart was being eaten away by your acidic mind that kept on replaying, replaying, replaying the moments that had led to your metamorphosis. A catharsis in reverse, an autonomous inflictor of agony festering in every crevice. 
It was funny how one's thoughts could be so lucid, come the worst. You could clearly recollect just how grateful you had been that your mother, as always, was out of town, and upon her return would be in oblivious bliss, and how ‘wonderful’ it was that there was nothing to look forward to for the next day. Or perhaps ever. You did not want to lift your hopes again and again only for them to descend faster than light to the pits of hell signed with your name. No need. There was enough time to prepare your space, invite and get to know your unrelenting demons before the alarms reminding you of basic social functioning would ring, and your body would be torn from your whirlpool of torment to enter the hustle and bustle of crowds. Not one person was aware of who they were walking with. Who they were walking past. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and you tore yours out in an effort to distort and move on.
The luxury of time before the ringing of the digital bells. You could cleanse yourself until your skin was no longer yours, until what remained of your willingness to perceive could spot the etchings of a body. You could cut out every part of you that served as a reminder. Subject each one to the savage ritual, until you were pure. The perfect angel once more, no longer decorated in shades of blue and maroon inside and out. You could remove each lobe, each cortex of your brain and douse it in the strongest agents, and to the rhythm of the rippling waters from the sink submerge them in the illusion of bliss.
And yet, you had not moved an inch, choosing to remain as a stranger in your own flesh.
You could fight back. You could rise above and spit the venom of the scorned and those isolated by societal hellfire, raise the flag and tell the story of those who could not. Be larger than yourself, a self-starting role model, redefine yourself as someone who used their past as motivation, as a foundation for unshakeable morals that would lead you to a humanity-changing greatness.
But what good was it when you stopped feeling? What happened? Who were you?
It was a wave that took you in, providing you the satisfaction of prolonged sensory suffocation, suspending you in senseless attitude, order, and disposition. The self-hating rebellion that had reared its head and manifested itself within you, turned you into something out of a nightmare. But you had never realised just how intricate and terrifying was the persona you had materialised within yourself. The cavities and taboos that had now become intricacies and embellishments of the scarred soul would have been repulsive to you before. To the one who existed before that damned day, hour, minute, second.
Numb. You were numb. Always numb. Cruising through your years, silencing any possibility of truly healing. Because no. You were not damaged - you would spit at anyone who dared to call you that. You were not hurt - no signs of weakness could be found on the surface, and this was how you were surviving. You were above it. Nothing happened. What were you talking about? Nothing. Nothing at all. That was what you kept repeating to yourself until the mantra turned into the truth. Truth be told, you were not sure what you were mourning anymore, except that if you did not, out of habit, it would hurt until you would be twisted limb by limb into submission. And the life you had chosen would begin again - new day, same mistakes.
In the process of your radical renaissance into a fatal night-time goddess, you did try to find love. Those had been the last cries of a helpless bird plummeting from the sky. But it all cycled back to the same old thing. Besides, if nobody around you knew what love was, how could you be expected to comprehend, let alone give it? You could not be bothered to believe that there were outliers, nor delve into the reasons why things like ‘friends’ ever stuck around. You lived, you breathed, and that was good enough. You wanted to purge yourself of love.
That was how the three little words, in that haunting sequence, came to be your personal poltergeist; a curse to summon a despicable demon that you vowed to never utter. Bloody Mary, Beetlejuice - sure. Just not those three words. They had lost their significance aside from being the root of your troubles and despair. The words did not mean a person would stay. The words were not a promise that you would not be hurt. The words were not a shield that you could hide behind. So instead, you took to sharpening knives, being a spiteful hedonist in search of the last laugh.
Little did you know, love was a creative sadistic monster, and had been by your side all this time. It chose to attack you during the most pleasurable high – one that you had crafted and followed in perfunctory resistance.
"I love you, Y/N..."
It was almost the same. Only this time, it was you shutting the door. Running from yourself.
Your getup appeared almost comical now, as you sat, doubled over on the sofa in Wooyoung’s and San’s apartment. What had been a stunning pair of pumps was now a miserable member of the abandoned shoe society, piled in a corner right by the entrance and masked by an ancient collection of plastic bags, courtesy of San’s resourcefulness. The black dress that was threatening to ride further and further up your thighs at any moment was nothing more than shame vehemently clinging onto your skin.
While you were combating the whirring tornado of short- and long-term memories with a bouncing leg and a zoned-out stare into the carpet, your friends remained equally silent, knowing better than to disturb. Over the years they had never asked why you did things the way you did. They merely learned the patterns and accepted you as you were – an action for which you could never repay them, so you simply hoped that, at least sometimes, you were doing the same if they needed it.
Your cryptic sequence was broken only when you felt a warm fabric being draped over your shoulders, making you instantly stiffen, alert. The rush of foreign sensations made you gasp as your eyes darted up, to be met by San’s, who was sitting across from you on a faux leather ottoman. You had no recollection of when he had moved it from its original position by the wall, between the TV stand and an indoor palm tree, and it made you strangely guilty. You really had a knack for not paying attention to those close to you.
When San noticed your unfocused gaze, he slowly raised both of his hands, palms up, inhaling at the same time, and then lowering them, along with an audible, level exhale. You chuckled, making him break into a small grin – you were coming back. Not quite ready to touch what appeared to be a jacket or cardigan that was now embracing you, you put your own hands between your thighs, feeling their miniscule tremors as the adrenaline high subsided.
“You’re literally shivering, Y/N. Do you want me to, uh, bring you a blanket? We have a nice wool throw; a gift from San’s… mom… so you know it’s going to be cosy.” Wooyoung cautiously explained to you in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. He was standing off to your right, arms crossed.
The last time you had heard him use such a soft tone was when you had come with him to visit a friend’s newborn – and even then, he had to have been reminded to ‘shut it or he would be on nappy changing duties for a week’. It made you want to scream, act out, anything to push away this coddling and belittling that was passed off as sympathy. Oh, how you despised when people seemed to walk on eggshells around you. There always existed a desire within you to prove to others that you never needed help, or at least would never ask for it explicitly. That was why, even now, during your rather turbulent departure from the first night in a while that you knew you would not forget no matter how much you might want to, you did not want to play it cool. You needed to.
“That’s because you guys appear to be saving on your electricity bills. I told you: an apartment with heated floors is a bad idea.” you attempted to keep your voice level, but it remained airy and weak, wholly ignoring your efforts. It was as if somehow, your body was physically worn from the marathons you ran in your mind.
“But it keeps my feet nice and toasty.” Wooyoung whined and wiggled his toes demonstratively
“Which is why you… ah nevermind. Cool apartment, either way. I knew you guys were secretly interior designers.”
The topic change helped you get more comfortable in your skin. You finally managed to find the energy and courage to grab onto the edges of the jacket, which had turned out to be Wooyoung’s beloved grey fleece zip up hoodie and pull it tighter around you. It wasn’t so hard to recognise the relief that had washed over your friends’ features as they saw you carry out the simple motion. It really was cold. Though you had no way to distinguish between the internal and external.
As you transitioned from reliving the past to inching through the present, step by step until you found yourself leaning against a kitchen counter with a mug of hot coffee cradled in your hands, your habitual mindset returned. The lines, turned stark and agonising after hearing those forbidden words had regained their hazy infusion, reinvigorating you with a pleasant buzz of numbness, reminiscent of the prickly sensation when muscles just began to wake up, albeit more lulling, something only a person who was alive in the soul was capable of experiencing. It was not long until your friends’ suggestions and extensive monologues began to fall flat on your ears, drifting through your body and expelling themselves to never be remembered. You watched their lips move, their hands paint pictures of a future for you in the air, and yet it all turned to darkness. You swiftly turned the lights off to their reprimands, their comfort, just like you had done before. It was clear that they did not expect much from you either, otherwise why would they sound so well-practised? A sense of deja vu washed over you; as if you had been in the same place before, with the same heavy weight in your chest, cradling the same mug and drinking the same beverage. Were you ever going to change? 
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Wouldn't it be funny if you knew how to follow advice? Technically you did. For an entire two weeks thanks to Wooyoung and San forcing you into a movie night with them on the Friday in the middle of the madness - you do not remember a single one of the movies watched, all of them having turned into a blur, and you: a jittery mess. You needed your weekly diversion, your sensual fix that you had ingrained into your routine as if it was yoga or pilates. Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to. Your version was just a lot more exciting than the average physical exertion in the name of wellbeing. So as you had sat between your two friends, with San having his hand lazily thrown over your shoulders, serving as your head rest, and Wooyoung having made your lap into his pillow, you envisioned a different comfort for yourself. All this cosiness was making you choke, suffocating you as an anaconda would at an astonishingly fast pace, and you could feel that another second more and you would prefer to call your closest friends - strangers. You needed out; at least one day of the week, like you three had done previously. You had tried to hint to San that maybe returning into the swing of things would let his heartbreak pass more quickly, but he only patted your head and gave you a melancholy smile. Though you had returned it, just to soften the blow and reassure him through his romantic solitude, behind your cheek was a bitten tongue, acting as the last straw between your molars and preventing you from making matters worse - at least for San and Wooyoung. You had nothing to say for yourself; actually, you never did. You were never one for self-descriptions or elaborations, preferring to show and not tell. Another reason why in this platonic silence, you were being driven into craving your favourite meal of depravity, where the only language spoken was that of action and seduction. If you were to succeed in moving on from the mistake that still lingered on your skin - kisses trailing the mazes of your body and ghosting over your lips, you needed to erase them by the same method. Time to take matters into your own hands, and that meant a new dress, a new pair of heels, a new club and a new accessory for one night.
You could not hear anyone nor anything. Most importantly, you could not hear your erratic heartbeat, nor the thoughts that were looming over you and speeding around your mind palace. No - if anything was going to take your breath away, it would be the lips of another stranger. Anything to erase the ones that were too laden with emotion, too laden with affection and infatuation for you. A toxic poison that had transferred right into your bloodstream and was beginning to eat you alive. You needed to escape, find a cure to this turmoil before you succumbed to the idea that anyone could care about you more than for a night. There was satisfaction in routine, in a fluorescent madness that was systematically established in your life as a way to let go, thereby gain control. You needed a hit, badly, and one so strong that the weekend would not exist for you, and Mingi's lingering touches would be fully wiped from your body. How dare he spill his darkest secrets to you, mixing nightmare with the ultimate fantasy? He was going to pay for thinking that he could control you in this way and spin threads out of your soul, not by confrontation, but by your sheer indifference. He was just a man, you had repeated to yourself like a mantra as you stepped into a club in a completely different part of town, looking ever so stunning in a deep burgundy dress; he had no influence over your actions and you owed him nothing, not even an explanation. Obviously, he was the one who had overstepped boundaries that he was supposed to sense were there, so why should you consider his melancholic eyes, the sunny smile that had set as soon as he would wake up to see you gone, the- 
No. No more Mingi. Only the beautiful stranger who was devouring you with his alluring orbs, looking past his friends and making you feel as though you were the sole being in that hall. This was the man who could help you forget, at least you hoped he would. Sauntering straight to the bar, you did not spare him as much as a glance when his figure drifted past you. You could sense more gazes following you, just how you always liked it, burning away those adoring caresses that made your skin crawl; you needed a sensory and sensual apocalypse, a purgatory for the damned, reducing your life back to that familiar sin that tasted so sweet and was a stone cold bitch in the morning. You were not some frail creature waiting for a proclamation of love for the sake of validation, nor were you a seeker of such types of closeness - if anyone, it was you who knew it was more fleeting than a good fuck. At least there was satisfaction and sport to gain from the later, and the heart remained caged and untouched. It was not hard to be animalistic, all you needed to do was to give up ruminating those classic "do they like me do they not", and slam the door to social niceties shut. There was no room for feelings when you needed to fly from the tormenting earth, for they were too heavy - a ballast that you needed to rid yourself of as soon as you could. The haze, you needed to give into the tipsy haze; one drink, another, and the world was beautiful. Stunning, even. The blur was an acute desire, accentuating sensuality and letting you transform into the killer queen of the night. 
In this wondrous dissociation, you could not care less about who you were nor who the people around you paraded themselves as. It was all a play-pretend, and may the most talented actors win. No one came to the club to fall in love, and if they did, they were sure to have their heart broken and stomped on, over and over, and over again. Finishing the last of your old fashioned - a drink which you had been introduced to by none other than your friend Wooyoung, you decided that it was time to let yourself go on the dance floor, only to be followed suit by the tall man whom you had subconsciously beckoned. Clearly, he was interested in the same exact thing, and took no time in approaching you, disregarding all other people, and laying a hand on your hip to lead you in a sultry, rhythmic dance further igniting your hope and anticipating desire. You chuckled to yourself as you felt that familiar buzz once more, and studied the way in which your temporary partner's muscles moved in an unbelievably enticing manner under his shirt - material for your lustful imagination. The heat from his body was addictive, and the adrenaline and dopamine-fuelled pace at which you moved to the intense beat left you even more determined than usual. You needed him. You needed this stranger, depended on him and trusted him more than any of your friends, and definitely more than a certain someone who thought he could be something more. As you took your so-called saviour by the collar and tugged so he would be only an inch away, you finally asked his name. His eyes revealed a flash of lasciviousness, just how you wanted, and he sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered back: 
"And with what purpose, sweetheart?" Chuckling airily, you pulled him even closer, until he smirked and wrapped his hands around your waist, more determined, more aggressive and expectant of a continuation in this dangerous game. 
"So that I know what I'll be screaming tonight." 
For a second, you felt him falter, breath hitching as he took in your words, causing fear to rise in your chest as a flash of the timid lovesick angel ran across your vision, and you could almost picture Mingi instead of the canvas for a good night who you were seducing. But this did not last nearly long enough for you to back down, and a line of kisses along the jawline, intimate yet loveless, purely carnal and revering your determination confirmed your selection. This man was on your wavelength, and this man was: 
"Bold of you to assume that you’ll be able to, sweetheart. I dare say it won’t be usef-." 
Use me.
The phrase flashed in your mind just as the attractive man closed the space between you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Without as much as a pause, he tilted your head slightly, giving himself a better angle to lightly nibble on your lower lip, sending a shudder down your back. Fingers digging into your skin as he swallowed another sigh - a fragment of your tainted soul for him to keep, he was the embodiment of addiction. The luminance from the neon hallucinations that surrounded you were decorating your and his skin in vibrant greens and purples. He was confident, self-assured, leading despite possessing the hints of an otherwise reserved man. Your thoughts involuntarily drifted to a certain bashful someone who had ended up with you at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and you - in the wrong mindset. Tonight, you wanted to be used. This much you deserved and required in order to purge yourself of this newfound tendency to reminisce and compare everything against Mingi. Who were you? The one you chose to entertain yourself with tonight had his teasing tongue against your lips, not exactly asking for access - demanding it, and it reeled you back into the whirlpool of a daze that came with the deafening drumming of desire, growing louder and louder until nothing else would exist.
His touch - you were caught ablaze as you let him guide your footing off the dance floor and into the dimming lights towards the edges of the club’s main hall. His torso pressed against you, strong arm hooked around your upper body as he kissed the side of your neck. One blink, another and your back was pressed against a cool wall in the corridor that ran around the establishment’s perimeter, rarely traversed, often used by the likes of you and evidently, him. You could not bear to open your eyes out of fear of finding someone you did not want to see - the intensity of your recollections growing stronger with every arousing movement. The same high that you normally would be building up towards was nowhere to be sensed while your nameless lover reached for your breast, cupping and kneading it with an open, salacious wanting. There was little left to the imagination, just as you had initially wanted, and yet something was missing from the series of events that the universe offered to you; the storyline that you had crafted was beginning to get dreary. Squinting down to force yourself into this darling’s passionate kisses, you still struggled to rid yourself of the monologues, the fears and most importantly, the terror-inducing phrase that had pierced through your heart and left shrapnel in every organ, turning into butterflies in your stomach and flowers in your lungs. It hurt to discover yourself in the same situation as before, always looking for something and someone better. Clearly, your stalling and rapid cooldown had not gone unnoticed as the man pulled away, hands back on your hips, one lifting to readjust your dress a little. What had been the glare of a predator was replaced with an almost friendly concern, and the danger which you had craved a mere few minutes ago evaporated, leaving behind an approachable gentleman, the swiftness of the change nearly giving you whiplash.
“Trying to forget someone?”
The question was jarring, somehow more jarring than how he was now presenting himself. With a glance to either side, he took you by the hand, leading you away from what was about to be your scene for a one night stand and back to the main hall. Stumbling over your feet you barely kept up with his pace, his taste, his scent still consuming you and rendering you to move and think slower, the combination with the ringing of alcohol in your bloodstream proving to be reckless, nearly deadly. As the thrum of a hip hop track reset the heart’s pace, jolting you awake and clambering for any kind of reassurance, your eyes met the tall beau’s gaze once again. He had smoothed the locks that you had ruffled, his slightly swollen lips, curled into a lopsided grin being the only sign of what had just unfolded. You could not help but raise an eyebrow, only now registering his question and deeming the gesture to be an appropriate response.
“I don’t exactly fuck emotional baggage, if you get what I mean.”
“Ouch, but fair.” breathless, you squeezed the answer out of your throat, unsteady.
“Glad we understand each other, uh…” he trailed off, attempting to recall the name you did not give. You tilted your head, trying to do the same for him, but failing to find an answer. Did it slip your mind? The recent past turned to centuries, accelerating into emptiness. 
“Hm?”
“Yeah. Just, glad we’re on the same page, I guess.” he cleared his throat, looking back at the vibrancy of dance and sensuality unfolding before you. The music changed once more - once again, another song about a body count and about substances that you would never mention in the daytime. At least not yet. Your head began to hurt, perhaps only a little more than your heart.
“Y/N.”
“Mm…ha. Nice to meet you. You can call me… Yun.” he deliberated for a while before giving you what you assumed to be either a nickname, or a parting gift of a syllable just for you. 
“Nice to meet you, Yun.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, it was clear that he was looking for the right words to let you down slowly and make a swift escape back to his own life, his own friends, his own respective path that was far from yours. Very likely, as it should be. With a sharp exhale, you smiled, making it your turn to induce perplexion. With every vice came sacrifice and risk, and this type was far too common. Be it from starting on the wrong foot or losing the rhythm and steam in the process, two people under the cover of night with nothing tying them together were bound to drift away, it was simply a matter of when. Evidently this was happening sooner rather than later for you and what you had been hoping would be a solution to your anguish. It had to have been your fault, you told yourself while an unreadable gleam settled on your features and you gave the man a single wave to suggest that he need not bother with excessive politeness - after all you had gotten to know each other well enough for that, at least in your books.
“Guess I am right then.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your reaction.”
“Meet quote unquote emotional women often?”
“They seem to be my type.” you chuckled as he shifted his stance and took a step closer to you, only to turn his body to observe the dance floor while standing by your side. As friends would. An involuntary memory stabbed at your side one again as you mumbled back:
“Maybe you’re a magnet.”
“I don’t mind when they look so good,” with a look to the side, Yun regarded your pose - leaning against the wall, arms crossed, previous aims for allure forgotten as your eased into a more comfortable back and forth, the rush ebbing away to be replaced with an anxious dissatisfaction, “Alas, you are in too deep I fear.”
“Am not.” you hissed out, brows knitting together as you desperately clung onto the present, only to hear and see the same voice, the same words, the same man who you were so adamant to erase. With every sentence uttered by the man, Mingi became more prominent. A laughing stock to the self and to all others - you shook your head. What had gotten into you?
“I don’t like to be called other people’s names during sex, sorry, not my kink.”
The out of pocket line, completed by a realisation at his own choice of words coaxed a chuckle out of your otherwise progressively crumbling state. Even though you had tried to remain below your limit, the alcohol in your system was hitting you with an inexplicable force, the pounding of your chest travelling to your temples, getting stronger until you could barely focus on Y- was it Yun? Yang? Yeong? You needed something to dull this. Remove this. Cut it out of your system so that you did not have to think.
“Fair.” you forced out, the neutral smile remaining on the lips, lingering traces of a falsified passion becoming your new tint, a colour you liked to wear so often it could be your favourite.
“Have a good night, yeah? Sorry things couldn’t be more fun, darling.”
There it was, you could read it on his face. Embarrassment, pity, the hope to never encounter you again. The reason why you always left first, turned around and strode away into the darkness from whoever it was you were to pick for the night. Including the one man who had revealed his soul to you; his innermost thoughts. And just like an automaton, a faulty machine, you blended his heartfelt words with the filth made for a landfill of lies and dread. The back of the failed thrill, whose name was just out of reach, growing smaller and blending into the scenery was a slap across the face, even though you had told yourself time and time again that you had seen enough of the same to not be affected. It had to be the lights, you told yourself. Definitely the lights. And how they reminded you of Mingi, how his eyes reflected the hues as he stared into yours so tenderly, like he was seeing an angel. How he gently held you, your fragility becoming his eternity as he whispered the words that acted like the flutter of the butterfly’s wings that caused the storm. Logic was struggling to keep up with your rumination - this was a different club and a different man, nothing about this could ever amount to the night you had felt like a goddess. If anything, the abandonment was gnawing at your flesh like a foul, feral beast, exposing you more than your dresses ever could.
An airy laugh accompanied your amble towards the bar. You should have known  - after all, if you were told to not think of the pink elephant, you would only think of the pink elephant. Same with the ‘no Mingi’ rule. It was an endless cycle that you were trapped in, and as days stretched out into two weeks, the avoidance was becoming unbearable. Your hand moved on its own as you called the bartender over, mouth and throat working together, far removed from your mind as they ordered champagne. Why? What was there to celebrate? There was no way of knowing, but the bubbles were your closest friends tonight, and you wanted to forget what just happened and whatever was supposed to happen until Saturday were to roll around - tomorrow could be the day you took care of the dirty laundry.
It did not take long for the beverage to transform you, and in a matter of a quarter of an hour with two or so glasses down you were back on the dance floor. But the vigour, the style and the soaring supremacy were nowhere to be found. As you tried to find your place among the sweaty bodies, nudged around by sharp elbows and tugged away by grubby hands, the sensation of belonging was but a mirage. Slow, you wanted to be anywhere in this cesspool of limbs, move along with the rest of the masses and get lost in the action so you did not have to consider your own movements, giving yourself up to the inertia of a wild crowd. One push, another, you were crammed between one figure and another, another push and a snag at your hair and you were flinging yourself wildly to an illusion of freedom in a different section of the floor. A phone flying beside you, barely an inch away from your cheek, flicking your earring and momentarily blinding you with a flashlight that had been left on. What were they looking for, you wondered. Perhaps the same thing as you. As you spun your head around, the pounding getting louder once again, the shoving had become more aggressive and two rough hands landed on your waist, supported by a lewd greeting. Jolted awake from chaotic musings, you grabbed a fistful of someone’s shirt, screaming out until the bubbly was rendering your speech incomprehensible - someone had to help you. Commotion unclear, breathing unsteady, the hands, the legs the torsos and heads all morphed into one creature who you were battling in your last fit of rage. Another pull, earning a yelp, and you were encountered with a familiar face. Y, or was it A, or I? Something or other, his name was a mystery to you. Tall. Handsome - you thought. In the blur it was impossible to detect. You remembered that he tasted sweet. Or maybe not - the champagne had taken over your system, your miniature party for one. Pushing yourself off the man you stumbled towards what you remembered to be the emergency exit. At least you were careful enough to avoid dragging yourself out of a club in shame from the front entrance; you were not that inexperienced to allow yourself to do that. 
Cursing under your breath you put one hand on the black wall of the corridor that would lead you to your freedom. Passing by a place your instinct was telling you was significant, you paused, only to shake your head and step forwards. One, two, three, four - congratulations, you could count. The coolness of the metal on the door was a relief as you leaned over unceremoniously to press your forehead against it, not caring if someone were to see you. You sighed into the sensation as the metal absorbed some of the heated rush, a portion of clarity returning to you and reminding you of your initial mission. That was right, you needed to get out. And ‘needed out’ in general.
With one quick shove the door swung open, spitting you out onto the sidewalk of, much to your fortune, a less crowded street, occupied for the most part by equally inebriated party-goers, celebrating the miracle that was a Friday night - a time that was slowly turning into your nightmare. A cacophony of beats and melodies from one club, another, all accumulating in a sonorous hellscape to render your senses almost fully numb. Feeling the air in front of you, you swore you could touch every particle, tendrils of wind brushing past you like a busy stranger. While there were not that many people, some yelling, others laughing wholeheartedly from the belly to the heavens, others simply enjoying the drinks that they carried out from their venues of choice, they most certainly had enough of a presence to leave you pitifully shattered. All eyes, of all hues and intensities, rolling and glaring and focusing on you. Poring over your miserable form and minimising you into a vermin under observation, a bacterium trapped on a petri dish under a microscope. They knew, they had to know about what had happened - about everything. They could read you from one year to another and were ready to tear you apart. They knew that you were a slave to the escapism, knew that you were a creature of lascivious habit, knew that you were thoughtlessly hurting the people you loved-
Loved. Nausea caught up to you as the word crawled into the forefront of your dazed mind, settling like a viscous tar over every subject matter and memory, over consciousness itself. Though it was nearly impossible to finetune your movements, you managed to locate the pole of a streetlight without having to slam a swinging hand into it for guidance, and slide down onto the edge of the cold pavement. Narrowly avoiding a discarded bottle, caked with unrecognisable substance and pulp from the wet and tarnished label, you felt your weight press into the stone, hoping that you would dissolve into the painfully rigid material. Elbows on your legs and hands on your face, you desperately tried to wipe the word away - you did not mean it, did you? You never had to say it, why say it now? Your familiar monster reared its head, drinking every last droplet of your sobriety to combat what you had admitted. Who did you love? Two legs drifted past you, stopping for a second to let a voice call out to you before you waved them off. Click-clack, click-clack away and away, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. Who did you love? The pounding of your heart was overwhelming you, and you could barely hear yourself over its chaotic drumming. Who did you love? While it was easy to imagine your closest friends, the same ones who had tried to protect you from yourself and who, undoubtedly, were now cursing your name and the ground you walked on, your brain decided that there was another, less welcome character that should join the scene. With a groan, you clenched your hands into white-knuckled fists and hit your temples, once, twice as though that would help in getting rid of the precious image.
This had to be happening because Mingi said it first. The reason why Mingi was the one to persistently sway you, haunt you even when you were purposefully trying to drown in yourself and others, had to be because he planted those words in your mind when you least expected it - forced them upon you, an unwelcome gift. This was how it always happened: drawn in by the attention, promised a future and wholehearted adoration, you gave your all, only for the one who dared to utter the words to step away, having fulfilled their needs. ‘I love you’ was an exchange token, and apparently, your local currency. Like a penny out of rotation, those words should not hold any meaning, but they did, and you hated yourself for it. You hated how easily they had rolled off Mingi’s tongue, hated how they replayed in your head more times than you could process, hated how they were the words you wanted to hear again. Out of all the words in every language, these were the ones that introduced pain to the world.
He needed to answer for himself, your mind decided. Your rationality would consider the consequences later. Now, you needed answers. To what questions? That, too, could be decided at a later time. Clumsy hands searching in your purse, roughly pushing aside a slim card wallet and keys to take out the device which was now illuminating your fatigued features, the glare of the screen making you squint, every number and letter barely legible due to an intense blur that dominated your vision. If only you could wipe it away - a hand reaching to rub at the eyes, not caring for the eyeshadow nor the mascara, more darkness, friction, light again. As you moved the phone closer and further away from you in an attempt to find a golden distance that would give you better focus, as if you were operating with a broken camera, the thumb kept on searching for the right number. Contact after contact names flew by, turning into one continuous line, with the surnames and nicknames twisting and turning like snakes, colliding trains in your brain until finally, you found him. Not in the contacts, but in the myriad of messages you had left on read - another pattern characteristic of yours. It was not that you wanted to leave people behind, but your hands never felt strong enough to respond, and your thoughts could never tie together a satisfactory response. So you stayed silent.
He had checked on you, apparently. Asked if you were okay. The first time was two weeks ago. Then ten days. Then, radio silence. Probably was mad at you. You could not blame him. There had been no explanation, nor any wish to contact from your end - while it was what you usually did to strangers, not catching their name beyond the bedroom, nor ever seeking them out after you used their bodies, Mingi had been a friend. Not anymore, at least that was certain. But still, habit could not cut it here. This was why you needed answers - why could he not act like everyone else and fall in line, into the clear cut moulds? Finger hovering over the call button, now burning into your skin, you could not stop yourself from shaking. Biting your lip, all hints of colour replaced by a rekindling fire, you took the step over the edge, repeating his name in your head like a mantra as the call connected, and you imagined his phone starting to ring, somewhere out there in the city. Suddenly, your thoughts could not be more lucid, and you could almost see how the device would be vibrating on his bedside table. Right, he had to be asleep by now, surely. Just as you were about to end the call, however, the screen changed, and the time began to climb from zero.
“Uh… it’s… midnight or something… Y/N?” his husky voice, husky, warmer than the summer sun answered you. You remained quiet, afraid of letting this moment go, “Y/N? Are you okay?” he was asking if you were okay-
“Where are you?” a new harshness snapped you out of your temporary stupor.
“I- uh… I- am…” you tried, but could not find the right answer, however much you tried.
“Are you at… a club?” The pause was nearly lethal. You focused on the rustling in the background - it seemed that you were right and he indeed was in bed. Not anymore. A sigh and a thump, more movement. He was disappointed, wasn’t he? But he was listening. He had to listen to you.
“Not… not anymore.”
“Did someone hurt you?” The question felt foreign, unexpected. You raised your head, hugging your knees to your body, a terrible frailness seeping to your very bones.
“N-no…”
“Where are you?”
You could not believe that you were talking to Mingi. After all this time he was still talking to you, answered your late night call and was asking how you were. An angel in human form, so precious, so cute. A giggle escaped you as you found a slightly less dirty spot on the concrete to lean back and rest your hand on. Feeling some tension in your back unwind, your muscles were given freedom to turn restless. You wanted to scream, but that was bound to make Mingi end the call, and you did not quite want to stop listening to that voice of his - your strange addiction. Eyes closing, you let him repeat the question again, accompanied by jingle that could only be his keys. 
“I…”
“Street? Sign? Anything? Y/N,” he paused, exhaling, “...talk to me.”
“About…?” you asked, not catching onto what he meant.
“About the damn location. I am coming to get you.”
“Wait… really?” you slurred, fighting the desire to pass out, weighed down by another wave of tiredness.
“Yes. You are drunk. It is the least I can do.”
“What’s the most?”
“Location, for fuck’s sake. Check the street name or something. Can you walk?” he shot back, louder than before, speaking right into the microphone, the last bits of sleep evaporating from his tone, leaving behind the deep vocal ocean that you wanted to drown in.
“Uh huh,” whether you were lying or not, you were about to find out. Clambering for the street light once again, you heaved yourself up, barely catching yourself before tumbling back down, unstable on your heels. Clearly, your heavy breathing was caught by the phone as you heard Mingi asking if you were okay, again, “...just peachy, darling.”
The pet name never sounded more natural and comforting than now, flying to and through Mingi like lightning. The silence over the line was a terrifying suspense, making you wonder about what you said. You could not find anything particularly wrong. Wasn’t this how people who cared about one another spoke? Blinking away the stars in your eyes that were ceaselessly twirling in flashes of white and black, you wobbled towards a rectangle on the corner of the small street, which had to be the sign that Mingi was asking for. Mumbling the words on the board, half to yourself, half to him, you commended the otherwise laughable victory of being able to pick out the characters and interpret them.
“Okay… not too terribly far. I’ll come pick you up. Do not wander. Did you hear me?”
“Mhm…”
“What did I say?”
“...uh something about wandering, right?” An exhale. More footsteps. 
“Stay where you are. Stay. Heard me?”
“Yes Mingi darling, I did.”
“Good I- yeah. Just. I’ll be right there.”
Beep. Silence. A car in the distance darting past. Laughter. A flicker of the streetlight. The breeze caressing your legs. People walked past as you hugged your form, aware that it would not do anything to help you. You were counting the threads, the pieces of cloth sewn together to form what you had considered armour with the tips of your fingers, every groove accentuated as you swayed in your solitude, convinced that what had just happened was a dream. It had to have been. Who would listen to you in this state? It had to be your mind playing tricks on you, feeding you more and more visions until you would snap under them.
Fine. You were going to call him tomorrow, yes, that was right. When you were feeling better, you would call Mingi, apologise. Maybe over a coffee - yes that was better. Did he drink coffee? Was he even in town? Questions climbed up the walls of your consciousness while you, frustrated with the way in which the straps of your high heels were digging into your skin, crouched to take the culprits of your physical pain off. One shoe, another, and you were freed from the localised dolor. Stillness transforming into an amble, you made it a mission to walk to the larger street. There, you could get a taxi - there were always many of them around night time in neighbourhoods like this, kind drivers with kind metres if you gave them a pretty enough smile. 
Stay where you are. I love you. Stay where you are. I love you. Stay where you are.
Who said that? You froze mid stride, losing balance onto to have your back hit the brick wall of the building to your side, just under the sign you had read out to - 
So it did happen after all. You had talked to Mingi. Moaning out in frustration, you slid down the rough structure and onto the ground beneath you, throwing an empty water bottle and a fast food wrapper away from you in anger. Unable to recall what you had said to him, you settled for piecing together his voice, hands emulating the linking of a jigsaw puzzle in front of you. Purse having long become a bracelet, and phone clenched in one of your hands as if it was permanently linked to your body, the only thing that existed was every phrase that he had uttered into your ear, like he was standing by you. So much for not thinking of Song Mingi. Way to go. What a treacherous night this was. Head feeling heavy, you began to give into the signs of oncoming slumber, nodding off, cheek approaching shoulder, earring brushing over bare skin.
Mingi was not one for breaking the law, but his accelerator most certainly was. Rushing past every traffic light as though each one was a checkpoint, he sped through the city’s sleepless streets, only the final destination being his priority. Heart pounding, he barely looked at the navigator on his phone as he slammed on the gas. Ridiculous. Radical. If he were to ever tell his friends about this, they would call him a fool. After two weeks of nothing, for him to jump at the first call - he was clearly making the same mistakes, every turn a wrong one. If scouting clubs for the next pleasure hit was your addiction, burning himself on your flames was his. In the icy silence his days had been serene, and he hated it. There was no expectation, nor any hope for him to cling to. In the morning after you had left, even though Mingi had anticipated this and promised himself that he would not be upset, his preference was clear: it was better to live in an illusion rather than face the fact of not being wanted, and never standing a chance. You had turned your attention to him when he had asked for you to use him - that was the place he should have known and stayed if he wished for you to ever look in his direction again. 
That was why when his phone lit up with your name, and a photo filled the screen, one that he had taken of you when you, him, Wooyoung and San had all gone to a nature reserve for a spontaneous weekend getaway which you probably did not remember but it was precious to him, he threw sleep out of the window. It was easy enough, considering his recent pre-sleep routine of rationalising the events of that night. His mind was already trained on you when he finally got you to speak. You were floating, not quite like yourself, but your feelings were clear - not a hint of malice towards him, dreamy, rendering him breathless.
Mingi blamed himself for not being persistent enough, instead choosing to take a step back and give you whatever space you wanted or needed. He had done that in university when you were still friends, he had done it right up until that night, it was nothing new. Let you forget him until you suddenly craved his company, or felt it necessary to invite him to whatever function you had scheduled. Running a hand through his hair, short and strawberry blonde, hints of pink across the strands giving way to darker roots, he tried to calm his nerves. It was torturous to picture you in a vulnerable state, on a night when you normally felt and looked invincible. But since you called him, it was his duty to ensure that this held true.
Only a couple of minutes later, Mingi found the required street and, upon making a turn he slowed down and halted beside a figure curled up by the side wall. He cursed himself for not being faster. Panic shot up his spine and across every limb. He made a beeline towards you, shutting the door to the driver’s seat particularly hard in his distress. Assuming the worst, Mingi was in front of you in the matter of seconds, crouching down to peer at your face, noticing the smudged mascara, lipstick traces trailing onto your skin, flushed cheeks, sickly, glazed over and half-lidded eyes. Scowling, he regarded you in your Friday night glory, wondering why you thought you deserved this self-treatment in the first place.
“Y/N.”
No response. You remained stationary, with only your head occasionally threatening to fall to the side, hair snagging on the rough, eroded bricks behind you. Carefully, Mingi reached out, balancing himself on his bent knees, and pushed back a lock that was obscuring your face, convincing himself that you looked better already. Heart aching, he tried calling out to you another time, and then another, naively hoping that you could ascend from your state in an instant. As he put his hands on your delicate shoulders, gingerly tilting you forwards and away from the freezing, disgusting wall, he bit back his logic and chose to listen to the senses that you had so easily manipulated. 
Was this really the same person who had him wrapped around her finger? Malleable, putty in his hands you sank into his hold as he wiggled back to try and get you to find your own footing. Rising into a standing position, he lifted you up, sighing in relief when, even if only automatically, you followed the movement. He wanted to be mad at you - his brain was yelling for him to leave, return to the comfort of his home, alone, and let you figure things out for yourself. That was easy - just forget about you and have no morals. Sure. You were in a dangerous situation. But did you not have any friends who could take care of you? Where were they? Head turning side to side as if that would give him an answer, Mingi checked his surroundings. Only a collection of strangers, some of whom were enjoying the free entertainment, at least until they felt his glare settling on them. Quick feet on the pavement, dissipating into the midnight darkness.
“Oh… oh…” you groaned, as though waking up from a restless slumber. In his surprise Mingi nearly slipped, only just managing to support you again by hooking his arms around your torso instead of under your arms.
“Y/N, you are like, drunk drunk.”
“Just a lit-tle tipsy… is all, Mingi darling,” you answered slowly, lifting a hand to pinch your thumb and index finger together to show just how sober you were apparently - if only the move was coordinated, then maybe at least it could have given a good laugh. 
The affectionate pet name was ringing in his head, and no matter how much, and with what strength he was trying to brush it off, the buzzing persisted. Clinging onto him, a vexatious beast, echoing the weeks that had gone by after he had so willingly given himself up to you. If he were to be honest with himself, he would not be able to forget you even if by some futuristic miracle, he would be able to reset his consciousness. You were his nightmare and his dream, a haze in which he was lost for as long as he was alive. Cursing himself over and over, he opened the rear door closest to the two of you, whispering his sequence of moves out loud, knowing full well that you were probably not observing, nor listening.
The only thing on your mind was the comfort that was Mingi himself. How he had pulled you closer, and your hands landed on his broad chest. Hands snaking under the varsity jacket he put over a cotton tee, you felt your fingers warming up, the toned, sculpted beauty underneath turning into an alluring stability. There was nothing stopping you from closing the space, was there? Squinting, you took in his face, gasping as he turned away from you, revealing his side profile. Glasses, perfectly perched on the bridge of his nose, ever so slightly parted lips, a determined scrutiny of whatever it was that was in front of him. You could almost taste it. Apparently, it was easy to forget prior losses when the one you had been searching for in other bodies appeared before you.
Certainly, it had to have been him at the club however long ago. It had to have been, you were only looking for him and got lost, right? Fully convinced that you were right, despite Mingi being dressed more for a late night walk along a river bank rather than for a night of clubbing and hedonistic debauchery, you mumbled, cowering while he was trying to turn you and get you to take a seat:
“I missed you… Mingi.”
Eyes still half closed, you tilted your head to look in the approximate direction of your saviour, or companion… friend? It could not be. There ceased to be any lines that you could cross, and you were, for the first time in a long time, okay with it. You did not need nor want the barriers, not when his perfume was your salvation, not when his strong hands were rubbing your upper arms, not when you watched him take off his jacket and wrap it around you in slow motion. It was warm. He was warm. But he was not responding. The quiet was deafening as he nudged your legs, motioning for you to hop further into the vehicle - so you were in a car, huh? A couple of thuds somewhere below you, and a pair of heels manifested themselves on the floor of the salon. Obliging, you fell back inside and saw the light shutting itself away from you. A click, and you were alone. Trapped. There was no Mingi. 
Wrapping your hands around the edges of the thick material, you pulled it tighter around you, emulating an embrace. Why were you left alone? Was this a prank? Was Mingi tricking you? Question after question, there were too many to answer in the midst of an oncoming headache, but you knew that you needed to leave this instant - Mingi was outside and he had to be waiting for you. After all, you needed to give him back his jacket. You were done running backwards. Just as you ran a hand over the door, looking for the right handle or button or whatever the car could possibly have, another door opened, revealing the same man, your same Mingi, still dressed in the same outfit as you had just seen, still in those glasses that suited him so well. 
Through the gap between the headrest and the main seat, you gleamed at him, reassured that you were no longer abandoned in the metal box. The corner of Mingi’s mouth twitched upwards, though the majority of his response was evidently suppressed. He had to be hiding something. He must be mad at you. This was because you had been gone for too long, and then reappeared drunk out of your mind - he had said so himself. His voice boomed in your ears, blooming into a deafening echo that muted the car’s engine. Only once the car started did the realisation hit you - you had no idea that he even drove. The last night you had been together, you had taken a taxi, and he was sitting right next to you - you could recall every touch on your skin, over your dress, his ragged, shallow breaths. You needed to sleep, this was a dream… a dream… it had to be a nightmare… you were planning on talking to Mingi tomorrow… you would call him as soon as you woke up from this discord…
Crawling through the metropolis, the car stormed farther and farther from the district which you had decided to mark as your place of shipwreck. It was not the same location as before, he noted, now having more of an opportunity to piece together what had unfolded. If he was any more cynical and any less in love with you, he would have made it a case to point out that probably you intentionally had selected a spot that was a considerable distance away from your usuals because hell or heaven forbid your friends would stop you. Mingi had no clue as to what occurred in the time you were non-existent in his daily life, but evidently it had taken a considerably negative toll. Passed out on the back seats, you were exhausted by the world in which you lived, the world which was mercilessly testing you and draining you for all you were worth.
Stopped at a lonely red light, the hue crept through the windshield, settling over the salon and the two lost souls contained within. Quickly taking out his phone to check the time - no longer needing it for navigation after having the route imprint itself in his memory, he pinched the bridge of his nose, careful not to let the glasses slip. It was almost one in the morning - the commotion and additional steps because of your inebriated state had accumulated, long leaving the last day of the so-called work week behind. Happy weekend - with a bitter aftertaste, he uttered the words under his breath, shoving the phone back in the pocket of his jeans and shifting to turn around to take a quick look at you. You were peaceful, your features fully relaxed. Your purse had turned into something of a pillow, and while your legs could not exactly rest comfortably on the seats, you appeared to be blissful how you were, nuzzled into his jacket. Drifting in his musings, studying your every detail Mingi almost did not notice the lights change, relying solely on instinct to switch gears and move forward. With one last glance, he continued his journey, realising that he was not sure where your home was. Driving you to your closest friends was not an option either, considering that you did not mention nor call them - and if you did not want to see them, he should not be the one to orchestrate a falling out. There was always time for drama, but he did not want to extend it for himself.
Making one final, decisive turn that would take him to his neighbourhood, Mingi gripped the steering wheel to curb an accumulating nervousness. It was a sudden pang, a memory lifting itself up from the chaos he had brushed under the carpet after you had spontaneously left. He had not been fully asleep, simply spent and trustful, but everything stopped him from following you. As if a spear had mounted him to the bed - he was nothing more than a feeble bug on display, rotting. There was nothing he could have done, he was sure, except maybe not saying what he had said. In retrospect it was easy to see that those three words had been the final shot in the torn up heart. So, for the better, he was not going to say them, and pretend he never did, if that was what was going to let you sleep better and recover. That night was long in the past, and should be treated as a spectre. As weeks would go by perhaps you could look at him again, and be genuine in your feelings towards him. And he would not have to put himself up for sacrifice to gain your attention. 
Soon enough, his apartment building was in sight, and the wheels rolled him closer and closer to his next dilemmas. Letting out a trembling breath, Mingi clicked a button on his keys once he approached the gates to the underground parking. You were as still as ever, consumed by your slumber. Coming to a halt at his designated spot, he killed the engine and fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The noises that had crawled out from the club turned into wisps of risk and melancholia, clinging onto your otherwise gorgeous dress and filling the vehicle until that was all he could sense. Hands on the steering wheel, Mingi attempted to plan his next moves, thinking of the trip to the elevator, the ride up, and just how he could convince you to be lucid enough to help him in getting you cleaned up. Love and confusion aside, you were a person who needed help and support, and he was the one you had trusted in your last moments before losing sobriety.
It was a long trip. From you not quite being able to make it out of the car, to you nearly tumbling into the elevator and dragging Mingi down with you, the young man was sure that he had never had to be on such high alert ever in his life. Not even when he had to act in the role of a sleuth to figure out where your lectures had been back in university, and whether there was any way in which your paths could cross. It seemed that now he did not have to force fate’s hand quite as much. With one final stumble over the door frame that marked the entrance to his apartment, you were in, safe and secure from the outdoors, and Mingi could begin thinking more comfortably. Kicking off his own shoes, he ignored the feeling that arose when you intertwined your fingers with his as you waited. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, there was something endearing about you, pleasantly childish qualities protruding through the hardened exterior of an experienced seductress. Like there was still some vulnerability left, and Mingi was the only one to see it. Adjusting his glasses out of habit, or perhaps to mask his growing concern due to your spontaneously peppy disposition, he tugged on your arm, making you follow him past the living room and towards a breakfast bar that served as a divider to the kitchen. Stopping mid-stride, he turned and pointed for you to take a seat on the sofa.
You had vague recollections of the interior, but the lighting, which remained dim, prevented you from making out any details. After Mingi left your side, you curled your legs under your body and flopped onto the decorative pillows that occupied the right corner. Huddling as if it was your nest, you made yourself comfortable. Without him being right next to you, the sensation of being embraced remained. He was in every thread and every space; you could finally inhale and exhale tranquillity. Clinking of glasses and the sound of pouring piqued your inquisitiveness, albeit fuzzy in the half-consciousness, and you called out to Mingi’s approaching figure, a loopy grin plastered on your face.
“He-hey, let’s get the party started… is that champagne?”
“Oh, so that’s what’s got you… like this?” with the hand that was holding the full glass, Mingi gestured over your body.
“Like how? How am I now?”
“Like a bar after a football match.” he deadpanned, carefully taking a seat next to you and grabbing your hands. Upon ensuring the cup was secure in your grasp, he fell backwards to rest his head on the back of the couch, momentarily shutting his eyes. He was curious if you would be able to figure out that what you were about to drink was water.
“Huh? You’re mean…” mumbling to yourself, you lifted the beverage, taking a tentative sip. The cool liquid soothed you, eliminating the burning that occupied your mouth and throat for however long you had been in and out of the handmade turmoil. Greedily you took a gulp, another, until nearly all the water travelled to nourish your dehydrated, fatigued self. The cup, too, possessed a welcome coldness, refreshing, a change to the static that was rolling like thunder in your cranium. You could not resist the temptation to put the glass against your temple, sensing another wave of the dull ache returning to you.
“How much did you drink?”
“Interesting question. Just drank a whole glass,” you teased, aware that Mingi was likely after a different response, but you were all for omitting the truth as much as you could.
“I mean out there.”
“Where?”
“The club.”
“Oh… uh… a… a couple here and there.”
“Knowing you, that is like a whole bottle.”
“What can I say? I have a high tolerance.”
“If only you had a better tolerance for other shit,” his comment caught you off guard. Said to no one in particular, but staying suspended in the air, the phrase was less supportive than what you would have hoped for. He was definitely mad. The anxiety that had been resting on your shoulders like a foul beast stirred awake, digging its nails into your skin until the question you asked far too often slipped away from you, throwing you back into your antique patterns, ones you thought you had buried for good.
“Are you mad at me?” you sounded timid, and a hand instantly flew to your mouth, clumsily covering it. Mingi’s eyes shot open, him giving you a once over from his leaned back position. Sitting up, he raised an eyebrow.
“Say what now?”
“I… are you mad at me?”
“Wh-... why would I be?” he cleared his throat, curious as to what you had conjured and were proposing as an interpretation of his actions.
“I… well I… I am too much aren’t I… I am here, you are - wait what time is it? It should be so late, or early… ha, ha, I don’t even… wait so are you not mad at me? But I am just so all over the place and now I am… wait - what time? Is it? Are you supposed to be sleeping, oh my goodness yes you are I am intruding aren’t I, I should be home, wait how did you find me? Were you there with me? Was I doing anything weird oh why did I go tonight I was not supposed to go but no I had to go and forget you know I wanted to forget everything but you kept on coming back are you ma-”
“Y/N-”
You were speeding up, forgetting air, forgetting that you were safe. You imagined yourself to be in the middle of the ocean, clambering for anything to hold on to. But the more you struggled, the less you could see, and yet you could only continue speaking. Faster, faster, filling the emptiness with your every thought as if there was no space neither in your heart nor your mind to keep them close and safe. As if this was a bargaining token or a confession, and Mingi was the one to deliver a final judgement, or to pardon your every sin. You were afraid of what he could do, or maybe not do. The only thing that was vivid enough for you to grasp was the idea that you did not want him to go, and so you were desperately trying to catch every word you had uttered in your past that could possibly deter him. Oxygen was not an option when Mingi, your 'not quite a friend anymore', was on the line.
“Mad at me and I am not even sure why this is happening actually I know exactly why and I am sure this is a dream right now I mean you definitely hate me now maybe not before but surely now I did everything to make you hate me and I am just a mess I probably look the part I am sorry I am sorry I am so-”
“Y/N BREATHE.” with a raised voice, he cut you off. You had not noticed him lift himself off the sofa and move in front of you. He pushed the coffee table further back to give himself more space, and kneeled on one leg while prying the glass from your shaking hands. Though you had ceased to barrage him with sentences of raw dread, your breathing was still shallow, barely spaced out, lungs roaring for more, praying for relief.
Glass left on the table, Mingi’s hands clasped over yours, his gaze unwavering, searching. You could not read him. Everything you possibly wanted to say was bouncing around your skull in a painful flurry, inducing a lump that started to grow in your throat, accumulating mistakes and emotion. You did not deserve to face the man who was in front of you, but even when you tried to break away from his touch, he held on, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Breathe. Let’s count, shall we? Focus on my voice, okay?” Now, inhale, two, three, four-”
Switching approaches, Mingi distracted you. After a couple of rounds of counting, noting your darting glances he asked for you to point out three colours you could see. Three pieces of furniture. Slowing you down, gradually, grounding you until you were only the slightest bit unsteady. 
“I am sorry.” you mumbled, doubling over, forehead against his hands. In shock, Mingi did not retract them, instead staring at how your hair cascaded over your shoulders and down, down like a waterfall, glimmering softly in the night lights that crawled into the room through every window.
“For what?” barely a whisper, only a hint of curiosity in anticipation of hearing something less than pleasant. 
“For leaving,” he replayed the words in his head in utter disbelief. Never had he heard you apologise for disappearing, abandoning, making decisions that put you first. He had gotten used to it, considering it to be a trait that was normal to you, one that those close to you simply had to deal with. The two little words shed a new light, making him wonder just how you felt two weeks ago. You were not done, however, feeling the need to spill the secrets you had been holding, in the intimacy of night, of not having to look at him, “for going out and for thinking strangers could… could-”
“It’s okay… I-”
“How is it okay?” lifting your head, a portrait of misery was revealed. The makeup that had already travelled across to other parts of your face was now starting to etch streams down your cheeks, the tears being the only ones to confidently make their way. Mingi was at a loss, never having been able to predict that this night would end, or begin, like this.
“Well…”
“How? Please… I am… disgusting… Why do I always do this I-”
“Hey. Hey, listen to me,” hands on your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the rolling droplets, Mingi was reaching out for you, calling you back from the abyss into which you wished to fall, “first of all, no behaviour is quote unquote disgusting, you hear me?”
“Uh huh… but… but I hurt people- I… I hurt you…”
“Look, I know we have never had any deep one on ones before, but I know you are hurting. I think that answers quite a few things, doesn’t it?” trying his best to remain rational and calm, Mingi recalled phrases that he had been told many times, had said before, only now they held colossal meaning, weighed down by what had happened. 
“But why are you…”
“What I do is my choice, just like what you do is yours, yeah?”
“But I choose badly… like today at the club I-... I-” you tripped over your words, the recollection forcing you to shudder. Sensing the buildup, Mingi diverted your attention by holding your hands once more.
“So how can you choose better? I mean, let’s think about tomorrow. What were you thinking of doing? Take me through the day. Say, you wake up, you…” he gestured for you to continue after him.
“I… brush my teeth, fix my hair and clothes… make breakfast… call you," you stopped, staring into his dark eyes, shining with bittersweet tenderness. For the first time, he wanted to believe that you indeed were drunk.
“Call me?”
“...I was planning to…”
“Even if you found someone?” The comment stung, but was not unfounded. Mingi knew you far too well for you to deny that you would at least attempt to fill the weekly void.
“I only kissed him… I promise…”
“I,” tightening his jaw repeatedly, Mingi resisted the urge to snap, or to make any accusations. It was obvious to any fool that you had lived through enough without him adding fuel to the hellish fire, “like I said, your choice.”
“I don’t want to make it anymore.”
“Then make another. And keep trying until you find the one that’s right for you.” 
Dumbfounded, you could only look, and wonder if the man in front of you was real and was not figuring out ways to throw you out of his apartment. The idea could not be further from the truth. While he had to admit that the circumstances were not particularly romantic, nor was Mingi about to take every word and action as gospel, but this had to be the most candid he had ever seen you be, and the most open with him. Behind the gloss of a night fuelled by percentages, shots and bubbly, garnished with regretful actions and hopes for a restart, you were easy to read, your intentions and actions honest and benevolent. 
“I was going to call you,” you reiterated with conviction.
“Tomorrow,” Mingi responded, switching his positioning to sit down on the floor, one hand still holding onto you while the other flew to find purchase on the carpet, offering balance. His thumb traced patterns on your skin absent-mindedly while he waited for you to continue.
“Yeah.”
“And what were you going to do?” there was no way to know whether the answer he would hear was one he wanted to, or was ready to hear. Of course, he liked to believe he was used to you, but not to your new feelings.
Had it hurt when he realised that he had been discarded, just like he had anticipated? Of course. Had his closest friend given him an earful after finding him wholly zoned out during their scheduled mid-week lunch? Definitely - the words still stung him. But was Mingi in any way angry with you? He could not be even if he tried. You had stayed true to yourself, and he should be happy that you did. And yet, the hope he had been living with remained persistent, and your present actions were not helping him in getting over it.
“Apologise…” you leaned closer to him, drowsy, freed from inhibition. 
“And?” his voice dropped into a whisper as he could not bear to take his gaze off your and his hands.
The usual you, the alluring, domineering you who had one mission and one mission only on this night: to have a good time at any cost, was starting to resurface. You were grappling with your inner conscious, hoping to resurrect what you had previously labelled as confidence.
“Kiss you,” your act dropped quickly enough as you read the sadness in Mingi’s form, from the droop of the shoulders to the loosening of his hold on you, to the half-hearted joke that made you flush an embarrassing shade of pink. Awful, inducing the desire for the ground to disappear beneath you, but you could not stop.
“Through the phone?”
“No… on… like… a date?” shy, you proposed the idea to him.
“What’s with the questioning tone?” leaning back on both hands, Mingi regarded you. His black-rimmed glasses had slid down allowing him to look over the frame and into your soul, making you shiver. There was a seriousness in the gesture, a cold air of professionalism that you knew Mingi was capable of, but never experienced being directed at yourself. 
“I don’t know… I haven’t dated in a while I guess…” finding interest in the hem of your dress, you fiddled with the thick fabric.
“What’s got you so into it now?”
“My choice,” you echoed his words, earning an amused smirk. After a meek pause, you pushed out the inquiry, barely audible, “Would you kiss me back?”
“Depends on what you’re feeling when you kiss me.”
“But you said you loved me, didn’t you? Mingi?” you straightened yourself up, feigning nonchalance, pretending to not be hurt by the passivity that rested on Mingi’s face as he studied you. 
He wished he could make this easy and lead the conversation to a happy end, but that would only end in turmoil. Whatever you remembered, and whatever was so fresh in your mind could change in the blink of an eye, and later, in the morning, sober you could begin to despise yourself, and him in one go. The last thing he needed was for you to disappear from his life. So, it was better to restart. He bit his tongue for a couple of moments, swallowing every phrase that he had ceaselessly been repeating like mantras meant only for his walls to hear and hold no judgement towards, and selected denial, for your own benefit.
“...No such thing.”
“But I swear I-”
“I think it’s time to clean up and sleep, yeah?” he cut you off with searing neutrality. Rising from the floor, he flicked his hands for you to follow his actions. Though you had recovered enough to balance on your own, at least if you were to take everything slow, you were stuck in place, wanting to hear what you had been secretly longing for to spill from his lips.
“But, wait I-”
“Sleep time,” adamant to move past the painful hurdle, Mingi reiterated the implied command. Moving to grab your hand, he lifted you from the sofa, only to let go once you were on your feet. Taking the opportunity, you took small fistfuls of his t-shirt, pulling the stunning man towards you. If he could not speak the words, surely he would want to express them?
“Kiss me now?” The question sounded more like an offer. Like you were placing your attention for sale, thinking that this was enough to establish a connection.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
Mingi wanted to collapse. Your eyes, the tremble in your voice, how you looked with his jacket still draped over your shoulders had him wrapped around your finger. He did want to kiss you, a little too much, if he were to be honest. And that was exactly why he backed away. If you had meant what you confessed, you would be able to say the same thing in the morning, and to his face. If you had been meaning to call him, you would be able to call out his name and be honest in wishing to see him, to be with him.
“I’ll kiss you when you’re fully sober, okay?” The negotiation seemed to work as you visibly relaxed and let him guide you to the bathroom, where he began to point out the makeup wipes, the towels, ignoring the fact that you had figured out the layout on your own some time ago and probably had some rough recollection.
“What a gentleman,” you uttered while roughly smudging your makeup with remover, not caring for the audience of one who was leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, watching you to make sure that you did not hurt yourself nor ruin anything too badly.
“It’s the bare minimum.”
“I suppose… I… uh… shower? Yeah?”
“Oh yeah… wait I’ll bring you some clothes or something. Do you mind what?”
“Whatever you are okay with giving me, darling.”
Hissing to himself, Mingi adjusted his glasses and clutched the jacket you returned in his right hand. He ambled to his bedroom in search of something that would inevitably end up smelling like you and serve as another reminder of just how easily he could give himself up for this kind of closeness. If he were to let his eyelids fall like a protective blanket, he could pretend for a split second that this was how it had always been - domestic, sweet, uncomplicated. Head turned away, Mingi returned, only to see your clothes not so neatly strewn about on the heated tiles. His eyes moved on their own accord, to settle on your silhouette, moving slowly behind the shower curtain. Despising the fact that he knew your body and craved it like water or air, he left the t-shirt and sweatpants that he had picked out lying in a folded pile by the sink.
Mingi was restless, storming from bedroom to living room and back again, his instinctive decision-making finally catching up to him and crashing down on his consciousness with full force. He had acted rashly, listening only to his heart, and in every point along the turbulent path back home when he could have let go of what was inevitably going to be more pain for you and for him, he selfishly refused to. While moving a pillow and throw to the sofa, he was in awe of his own dedication, and how, for you, he could thoughtlessly abandon everything that his studies had attempted to instil in him over the years, from university to clinical practice.
With a tired hand he took off his glasses, giving the lenses a half-hearted wipe with the edge of his tee, more out of habit than out of need. According to the lazy clock on his wall, it was nearing two o’clock in the morning. He shuddered, and heat rushed to his face. What was he doing two weeks ago at this time? It was best to ignore that and start anew. You were just a friend who by some twist of fate he ended up getting to know a little too intimately. But if exes could become friends, surely you two could work out, even if in your drunk state you were exposing feelings that were potentially resonant with his - obviously far from platonic. Mingi shook his head, ultimately failing to banish his optimism. He needed coffee, anything to get his mind off things, maybe his work emails.
In the middle of his preparations, also known as remaining idle while the coffee machine worked its magic, you reappeared from the bathroom, freshened up, cheeks pink, and dressed in his clothes, which, he hated to say, looked too good on you. The t-shirt he had picked out, originally oversized even for him, perfectly draped over your curves; hinted at everything, revealed nothing. A couple of dark spots where water from your hair had dripped onto the soft cotton made the scene all the more homely, comfortable, and the only thing holding him back from sweeping you into an impossibly tight hug was the grey that befell your unlabelled relationship with him. Mingi was a man of logic, preferring to set things up onto metaphorical shelves, and in his work he was known to be a brilliant theorist, consulted on matters of analysis and diagnostics. The idea of a situationship, no strings attached and any other synonyms irked him, and the more he looked at you, and how you gazed at him so serenely, the more he wanted to put his foot down and ask you to decide. But if you had set your mind on tomorrow - or as the clocks were saying later today, he had to do what he did best - wait. It had been two weeks. What would a few more hours do except give you time to sober up and figure out what it was that you wanted from him and yourself?
“All better?” Who was he asking? Thankfully, you interpreted it as a question directed at you. 
“Much better… sorry I am so out of it. Probably saying shit.”
“Don’t worry. I am just glad you are safe.”
“Mingi,” his name on your lips, the sweetest poison for his heart, “...thank you darling, really. I… hm, just thinking about what could have happened…”
“No need to think. About that, I mean.”
“And what should I think about?” raising an eyebrow, you captured the accidental slip of his musings in your delicate hands, subjecting it to scrutiny.
“Sleep.”
“You said that before. Besides, coffee? Really?”
“For me. I sleep better with coffee.”
Sure.”
“You can uh… I moved my stuff so you can sleep in the bedroom.”
“What about-”
“I’ll be right here.”
“I mean… we… didn’t we…” you wanted to allude to the bed having been shared before.
“I am here. You are there. Cool?” With the last of the americano having dripped into his cup, Mingi raised the hot beverage to take a careful sip, wincing as the liquid nearly burned his mouth. At least it served as a good distraction, just as he wanted.
“Mm… sorry. ‘Night.”
Spinning on your heels, you made a beeline for the bedroom, not waiting for Mingi’s response. Rejection after rejection; you smiled to yourself as you regarded the white sheets, decorated with a silvery sheen from the lights outside, washed over by a warm glow of the reading lamp positioned on the bedside table farthest from you. Welcoming, kind. Like the man who was now drinking coffee at hell o’clock in the morning, all because of you. The man who gave you his own clothes without a second thought. The man who kept on giving to a person who kept on taking. As you collapsed onto the sheets, crawling underneath the covers with an unprecedented exhaustion, you fell into a dreamless slumber with the thoughts of yourself being like a certain character from a famous animated film that you had watched with your friends, only to rewatch it on your own that same night once you got home. A spirit with no face, only an insatiable appetite, a rage that could not be extinguished - always more, taking from everyone, taking everything. Cloaked in black, a creature of darkness, without a place in society and meant sink into its own misery. You were alone in this world, wishing for the skies to clear, praying you would find the strength to fight for it.
He could not sleep. With the coffee finished but not the slightest hint of drowsiness approaching, Mingi stretched to grab the laptop that had been lying on the coffee table, choosing to go over his work emails that had accumulated from the time he had logged off just a night ago. Chain mail, Friday newsletters, reminders, rescheduling, appointment bookings, cancellations, conferences, journal updates, editor reviews… so much noise that settled like ash on his eyes, amounting to what appeared to be nothing. Segments of an imaginary success that drained him of any desire to show up on Monday. After answering what he could, Mingi pinched the bridge of his nose, and lied down on the couch, balancing the laptop on his stomach. He had foregone the throw, finding it to be more of a hindrance to his constant movement. What was it that he had told quite a few of his patients? Sleep was essential for a sound mind? Comical. Perhaps it was time to consult someone for his own troubles. He was good enough at solving things for others, but unfortunately that did not seem to apply when the ‘others’ was himself. If only he could stop concentrating on your presence in the room right next to him, on whether you were sleeping soundly and if you needed anything.
It was a quiet rustling that had woken Mingi up from a quick nap that he had fallen into. After a moment of disorientation, he registered the sound as being your footsteps, inching around the sofa in the approximate direction of the kitchen.
“Escaping?” recoiling as though you had been struck, you halted. After having been buried under a cosy duvet, the apartment felt cold, and you could barely hold back the shiver that was threatening to run over you. 
“Water… sorry did I wake you up?”
“Nah, wasn’t sleeping anyways. Here let me get it for you.”
Without another word uttered, nor any glances which could plant seeds of doubt in your head about his intentions, Mingi was right there with you, leading you to your target and pouring a glass. You did not mind how he watched you handle the item, nor how he took it out of your grasp as soon as you were done. He was gentle, even though each move did appear to be pre-calculated and strictly bound by a larger, all-encompassing decision. You tried to reach out for him, and when he stepped away after noticing you in the peripherals, the point was proven. Mingi was seeking distance. Biting your lower lip, the echoes of an earlier anxiety bubbled, manifesting itself in your classic black and white thinking.
“I am a mess,” like a coin dropped in a well, the phrase bounced from every wall, right back to you.
“Break that down for me,” crossing his arms, Mingi turned around and leaned against the counter.
“Are you going therapy mode on me?” you tried to joke, but the words came across more as an accusation. You felt weak, exposed. The shiver escaped, goosebumps now decorating your flesh, causing what you interpreted as pity to flash in Mingi’s eyes.
“I’m assuming that is what you’re seeking now, no?”
“...no.”
“Okay.”
As if the conversation had never begun, Mingi returned to drying his hands, leaving you alone with an unpleasant sobriety. With the early morning returned fragments of memories - a highlight reel of things you probably should not have said, but now that you had to own up to and either confirm or keep running away from. Inhale, exhale, and the words poured by themselves.
“Can we… talk about something?”
“Something?”
“I think… I… you know how I… wait I did say I was planning to call you right?”
“Mhm,” Mingi turned back, regarding you with an unreadable expression.
“So I have said a lot of things,”
“Yeah, and, what do you want to say to me?”
“I’m… sorry.”
“You already said it.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. What else?”
“Help me.”
“With… what?”
“I am afraid.”
“Of?”
“How I feel.”
“And how is that?”
“Well…”
You paused, throat drying. Your body recoiled from what you had settled on admitting. But it had to happen, even if the result would be you never seeing Mingi again, because at least you would have done something to try and defeat yourself. After hearing the three little words, and having them repeat over and over again, the light in which you saw your own life and saw Mingi had shifted. He could not be that same happy, naive, angel-like friend from university who had somehow ended up in your company of misfits and comrades in melancholy to you anymore. For the first time, you wanted to place a significance on a relationship that was beyond one night in a stranger’s bed. 
“I am afraid… that I- I-”
“What you are about to say, did you weigh it up? Did you consider it? Evaluate it? Are you sure that what you are about to share, and will be unable to reverse, is done with a clear mind?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to say it to me.”
“Yes, Mingi.”
You reached for his hands, worry making you play with his slightly cold fingertips. Intertwined, swinging side to side the tiniest bit, like a swaying of a sleepy willow; either the beginning, or the end. Mingi took a deep breath, as though preparing himself to be brutally smited.
“Then, um, as you were saying?”
“I want to fall in love with you.”
A laugh involuntarily flew from his chest, like a slap across your face. When you tried to slide past him, however, his arm wrapped around your upper body, pulling you close.
“Want to? What does that mean?” With prior seriousness being replaced by a more playful tone, the calm evaded you, “hey, take your time, it’s fine. You are already doing really, really well.”
“May I hug you?”
“Sure, c’mere,” he was the sun in late summer, the rays lulling, soothing. A glistening gold palette illuminated by a well-paired cologne that you were already wearing after resting in his bed, a masterpiece that you wanted to sink into and never escape. The horrors of the night that never stopped repeating were crawling away into their putrid caverns, providing at least a temporary relief and returning you to the waking, beautiful world. Mingi was comfortable in the best sense of the description, a stability that you had never dared to dream of. You pressed your head against him, shutting yourself away from cacophonous intrusions that had been leading you every Friday.
“You said you loved me.”
“Don’t remember,” the vibrations across his torso as he spoke soothed some of the pain inflicted by his answer. You could not blame him. Perhaps you two were much more similar than you had initially thought.
“I like you.”
“I like you too.”
“A lot.”
“A lot.”
“Can you help me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Some things you should face yourself, I can only point you in the right direction. I can see that this goes beyond anything that either of us could mention or explore right now, and I hate to say it but there is no magic cure or something. It takes time and effort,” Mingi wrapped his arms tighter, one hand starting to pat the back of your head absent-mindedly, focusing on the sensation of each strand against his palm, “but what I can do is be here. For you. And if you want to, for us. How does that sound?”
“Like it’s too good to be true. I don’t deserve you.”
“No one deserves anyone. We just fit together, and we will make things work. Step by step,” Mingi made it sound easy. You wanted to believe him.
“We?”
“You just said you want to fall in love with me, Y/N. We kind of… need to be together for that to happen, methinks.” 
“Good point.” you mumbled, snuggling closer, hiding your face.
“May I be honest for a second?”
“Mhm.”
“I am not saying it so that we say it together when you’re ready, cool?”
“Say what?”
“You know, the L word,” you looked up to see him wiggling his eyebrows dramatically, making you chuckle.
“Oh… thank you, Mingi. I appreciate it. Yeah. Makes sense.”
In the tranquillity of the early dawn, you were not alone. Not curled up on the floor, a stranger to yourself, but in the arms of someone who cared and his feelings remained unchanged through times you thought anyone could, and would abandon you. You could finally hear your own thoughts becoming clear and level. Nothing could be better than the hope for such a bright tomorrow.
“Hmm… I think I liked when you were calling me darling in every sentence,” with a flick of your wrist you lightly hit Mingi’s broad chest, without pulling away. 
“I did not-”
“Are you not sober, darling?” he made you pause your denials, a sunny smile on his face.
“Okay fine yes I did…”
“Care to say it again?” taken by surprise by the request, you were left open-mouthed, with a raised brow.
“Darling?”
“Music to my ears,” he answered while barely being able to stifle a yawn.
This was the closest Mingi could get to a fairy tale moment with you, and he could not be happier. A grin fought its way to the surface, until it practically hurt his cheeks, and he pressed you to his chest, just so that you would not see it. But it did not take someone to be especially hyper-observant to sense his glee, capable of melting the snow in the harshest winter. Perhaps it was foolish of him to admit this, but nothing felt more right. How your body melded into his, perfectly unified. How your heart beat at a gentle pace, in time with his, and how your steady breathing tickled his skin - a constant reminder of your electrifying proximity.
“Sleepy?”
“Mmm… a bit.”
“Maybe a change of…” you glanced at the couch, “location would do you some good?” detangling yourself, the suggestion was made with a simple turn of the head, which Mingi agreed to with a curt nod, and a removal of his glasses.
Though it was his apartment and technically you were the guest, he was the one following you, like always. Shying away from your gaze as he rapidly changed into sweatpants and a tee that were other than those he had worn during his midnight expedition to retrieve you from the club, making you giggle and cover your eyes with a dramatic swoop of the hand, he was back at your mercy in these four walls. Playing with fire, he lied down on the bed next to you, counting to steady himself. Glasses left on the bedside table, he stared at the soft blur of the ceiling, admiring how soft the light of the earliest dawn looked without the myriad of details that otherwise occupied the material it fell upon. Mingi debated with himself whether what he was allowing was appropriate, and whether it would inevitably lead to what he had been secretly hoping for. He could not lie, not to himself at least - he still wanted you, and now, with the avenue towards the prospects of a relationship having been opened, the wishes were becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Not when you were right there beside him, obviously studying the contours of his face, tracing the gorgeous lines that its silhouette formed and thanking the heavens for having the ability to take in and memorise Mingi. 
Oddly enough, in the semi-darkness of the bedroom - a place that was supposed to be the most intimate and exposing, you felt confidence return to you like the gust of a reviving spring wind. With every inhale and exhale, the familiar strength regained its capability, and led you to place a hand on Mingi’s chest, and while still keeping up a coy act, to run a lone finger down its middle, stopping right at the abdomen. Muscles tensing under your touch, Mingi sighed. Clearly, sleeping was not on your agenda whether you wanted it or not. Your habits, perfected over years, were advising you to act, and do so now. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately for him, he shared the same desire.
“What’s up?” he mumbled, head rolling to the side to find you already looking right at him.
“You’re far.”
“We are literally on the same bed.”
“No, but you are far. You get me?” a tentative leg over his, hooking around and serving as a lever to pull you closer to him. It was too natural, how Mingi’s arm stretched out and let you cuddle into him, acting as a pillow.
“I suppose. What do you want to do about it?”
“This,” tracing along his jawline, you prompted him to turn. You were close, way too close for him to not hold his breath as you came into focus - the one person he could always see, even when you were not physically with him. 
Mingi resisted. As much as he was seeking the same contact, the tinge of regret for giving his heart up so easily was prominent, a scalding hot iron. It was too much - lying under the blanket of agitated stillness, pressure coiling at an astonishing speed as your eyes turned into the one universe he could care to exist in. Without realising it, he had turned towards you for a better angle, placing himself on your altar. Fingers ghosted over the sensitive skin under his ear, gently running through his blonde locks. Every brush of your hand against him was an unbearable fire, melting him into submission; nothing more than a servant in the sultry fog. It was impossible to answer how you were able to do this, and why Mingi was allowing you to, but just like everything else, it felt right, regardless of how dark the future could be. In what you had proclaimed to be a ‘mess’, he felt alive, human. For some, addiction was measured in degrees and in there being less and less memories as time went by - for him, it was in the syllables of your name, in the taste of your lips when he could not hold back any longer and closed the gap between you, sighing as the he could finally relive the sensation that had been haunting him every minute, be he asleep or awake.
The kiss was slow, deliberate, a bouquet of recollection and reminiscence as if you had been two souls torn apart for centuries. Mingi’s nose lightly brushed against your skin as he tilted his head to deepen the intimacy, his hands moving to hold you closer. The last time, each sense was charged with an undercurrent of carnal desire, and lust had revealed a palette of dark hues, while now, even with the rising intensity and Mingi’s hold drifting to find purchase on your hips, the scene was light. Instead of sacrificing yourselves to the night, you were defeating it, greeting your own dawn. It was an awe-inspiring hallucination, leaving you dazed and desiring more. Hooking your leg more tightly over Mingi’s thigh, you shuddered, the breathiest moan escaping you as an unexpected friction revealed your unwinding state, consumed by the man from whom you were done running. Breaking away to press your forehead against his and indulge in the shared oxygen, a hint of dizziness made you chuckle. Peppering a couple of kisses on his cheek, only to return to the same position, eyelashes almost touching, the lack of space proving to be the ultimate comfort, you whispered:
“I want this forever,” meaning every word, at least when ‘forever’ meant ‘for now’. You did not know yourself, or the new self you wanted to craft, so you could not make any promises just yet. But this was good enough. It was honest and raw.
“Take me on a date first,” Mingi teased with a wink. Caressing his cheek, you kissed the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it. 
“What a precious princess,” you chuckled, leaning over to close the space once again, ignited by the beautiful sounds that were muted by you, a most delectable fruit.
Desire on the tongue, truth on the teeth, love staining the lips a deeper pink as you fell into Mingi, giving into his tug at your waist to hover above him. This, however, did not last long as he grew more impatient, pressing you against his body, wriggling upwards until he was half-seated on the bed, and you, on his thigh. Your initial instincts were telling you to move, but as he adjusted his seating once more, muscle brushing against your growing excitement, you quickly decided against it, instead settling on his leg, grinding into it to check for Mingi’s reaction. Judging by the way his hand snaked to the nape of your neck, fingers lost in your tresses as he could not get enough of you, this was a welcome change. He was responsive, in tune with you, allowing you to take the lead. Momentarily standing up on your knees, you backed up to take off the sweatpants you had been wearing, feeling the heat in your core rising to embrace you in a seductive haze.
With glazed over, darkened orbs Mingi watched you, each breath an adrenaline-filled shudder. Freed from the cotton confines, with only the fine material of your panties left to contain the building arousal, you cupped Mingi’s face to give him a deep kiss until you lost all air, whispering instructions only once you had your fill. Promptly, he was in the same state of undress, more so when you cautiously hooked the base of his t-shirt, longing to see the body that was so perfect with yours. When you wanted to mirror the action, his expression changed to that of a miniscule panic, almost instantly replaced by an endearing shyness and a bitten lower lip.
“Can you… keep the shirt on?”
“You like to see me in your clothes, Mingi?” You were comfortable saying his name in other settings, sure, but in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, it occurred to you just how vulnerable the act was, capturing another’s attention with the simple collection of characters, echoing from wall to wall and resonating in the listener’s ears. But if you were to be an improved version of yourself, someone who had real control as opposed to the farce you had been parading around with, you needed to at least make a little bit of an effort to be aware of Mingi, find him in your pleasure and make him your focus. You were too used to taking centre stage and pushing others away for it. 
“More than I’d like to admit,” voice husky, he groaned as your lips found his neck, retracing, not needing pointers to find the places that drove your newly established lover wild, “Ah… if you are o-okay with it-”
His hands, now back on your hips, gave you a timid squeeze, reaffirming the rapture which your present outfit threw him into. Mingi had assumed that you were at your most beautiful when those dresses designed to seduce adorned your curves, highlighting and accentuating what he swore was divinity, but nothing could have prepared him for this sight, and the effect that it had on him. Whether it was on purpose or not, but his name being uttered so teasingly as you seeked an outlet for your sensual frustration, while you were in his shirt, in his room, having slept in his bed, it all sent him into a frenzy. He wanted to mark you, make you his, hear you say everything you never could to him while he would bring you heaven and make you see stars. 
“More than okay, darling, I love it,” nibbling at the soft skin, you smirked as Mingi emitted a groan, hands squeezing your ass. This prompted you to continue, and you sat back down, desperate for stimulation that your covered clit against his thigh could offer. 
“Is this how you want me, doll?” the pet name sent a jolt through you and you let out a shaky breath, leaving yourself to be supported by an equally taken Mingi, whose growing bulge was now poking against your knee.
“Doll?”
“Only fair I call you something pretty, hm? Unless you want to…” he trailed off, recalling the roles that you had taken previously.
“I want to take it slow with you right now,” you kissed him, lazily moving your hips, the material getting more soaked with each glide, “will you let me?” when he did not immediately give an answer, you palmed at the prominent hardness, asking again just as Mingi let out an airy moan, chasing the contact, “will you let me take care of you?”
“Fu-ck, yes…”
“So good for me- ah!” with a yelp, you shuddered when Mingi’s hand dragged your panties to the side to get a better view of the slick, not caring for the glistening fluid staining his leg. With a few tentative rolls of his thumb over your clit, he decided that he should help you reach your high first, attracted to how you lost yourself in his touch.
“Want to use my thigh to get yourself off that badly?”
“N-no I am going to take c- fuck,” head lolling back, you could only focus on the accelerating fingers over your sensitive nub, teasing its very tip and coated in your precum, stopping spontaneously. You whined, earning yourself a furrowing of the brows and a glint of surprise in Mingi’s gaze.
“Thought you said no?”
It clicked in your head, and the tinge of anger rapidly dispelled, instead being replaced by a warm endearment. You ran a hand through his beautiful hair, planting a kiss on his cheek before answering:
“I don’t want to make you work too hard today.”
“I like to see you like this though…” he mumbled, chasing after another taste of your plush lips.
“How? Unwinding because of your hand? Your thigh? Do you like to make me feel good?” with a few nods, you let him continue by tapping his upper arm. As soon as he resumed the action, in time with your rocking, you let yourself go fully, thinking only of the man who was below you. Nothing, nor anyone else came to mind.
Mingi was observing you carefully, your moans turning to sweet music, "Yes, Mingi, just like that-" 
"You look so beautiful, doll, fucking yourself on me. Could you be," he paused his ministrations - a light tremble of muscle a telltale sign of your approaching climax, "...any more perfect?"
Praise shot into your heart and your core, an overwhelming electric shock. You perceived yourself guilty and undeserving of this worship, and yet could not bear to hear anything else from Mingi's lips - you were sure that it would be your demise. Arms thrown over his shoulders, you attempted to speed up your movements, the action proving a challenge due to the accumulating tension. Your head fell forwards, forehead against Mingi’s collarbone as he took to guiding you, hand carefully positioned on the small of your back while the other rolled up and down your aching clit, each touch closer and closer to sending you over the edge.
“Dar-ling I-”
“Are you close, Y/N?” Why did your name have to sound so sweet when he said it?
“Ah- y-yeah…” Mingi was craving for relief to the point of dizziness, grasping at you for the most minimal support. Precum coated the inner side of his underwear, member at full mast as he toyed with your sopping pussy.
“Come over me, doll, please, beautiful, show me what I can do to you,” the request was a fire, deliciously weak and exposing. You looked up at Mingi, disarmed by the kindness of his expression, and peppered a couple of kisses around his lips, too disoriented to find the original target.
With one final rock of the hips, and Mingi’s fingers curling into you and gliding between your folds, you collapsed into unfathomable bliss, a lewd moan resonating from you while the orgasm left you shaking in Mingi’s strong arms. He let you ride out your high by keeping your hips from fully bucking, instead setting a steadily decreasing pace and soothing you through the overstimulation from your continued contact with his leg. He nuzzled against your cheek, following the action with a reassuring:
“I got you,” pulled you into embracing the angel of your life.
The hints of a rising sun began to trickle into the room, just barely leaving a pattern on the carpet and transforming the light in the room into a pale lavender and pink. This was the earliest, and the latest, that you had ever been with anyone after your ritualistic ‘night out’, and courteously reminded you of the occurrences that brought you back to Mingi. Upon your descent from the decadent oblivion, embarrassment struck and you pressed yourself against his body, sighing in relief when he hugged you tight. His hardness was impossible to ignore, and a part of you felt terrible for not repaying the pleasure he had given you just yet, but judging by the way in which you could feel his fingers trace abstract shapes on your back, and after one glance to one side, and then to the other, how he kept himself immersed in his senses, concentrating on you, he could hold out for a little longer. 
“Mingi?”
“Mm?”
“You did make me feel good. Really, really good,” uncharacteristically meek, the sentence sounded almost like an announcement, making him chuckle, but the smile that melted across his features was genuine and pure. Loving.
“Happy to hear it. And I am happy that you are feeling like this, Y/N.”
“May I…?” a ghostly caress of his erection, a shaky breath, a playful, lop-sided grin with glossed over eyes.
“And here I was thinking that you like bossing people around, hm?”
“Would you rather I did?” touch turned grasp, a finger playing with the waistband of his boxers while your voice dropped into a dangerous tone, serpent-like, sultry.
“I like new things, I want to get to know you better, gorgeous.”
“Let’s do just that then, though… I’ll need a little,” having regained full function of your legs, you slipped from the position over his thigh to be on your knees between his legs, centred, “assistance. Talk to me, darling, what do you like?”
“I-” with a swift motion, you snaked your hand into his boxers, taking out his erect member and giving it a tentative stroke.
There were no thoughts which he could vocalise aside from hoping that you would never stop. Your thumb circled over his reddened tip, coating itself in the fluid. You barely moved your hand, continuing to give special attention only to the head of his stiffened cock, making Mingi try to wriggle to get more friction. With a push on his pubic bone, you freeze him.
“Now, don’t get too impatient, first I need these boxers off, okay? I’ll help,” you let go of his member, tugging at the material and following Mingi’s quick lift of his lower half, pulled them down and off, leaving the stunning man bare and ready to respond to your every move and command. 
You truly wanted to fall in love with him. Those glistening eyes that rolled back slightly just before he closed them, unfathomable bliss revealed only to you, were a paradise that you would not mind floating in forever. He had full trust in you, breathy moans freely falling from his lips as you started to stroke his cock, having added some of your own spit to his pre-cum for lubrication. His every detail was a heavenly design that you could not believe nature had crafted, from body to mind, and here he was, giving it up to you. You regarded the telltale sheen of sweat that began to form on his smooth skin, giving him an angelic appearance in the haze of the early morning. His hands were gripping the bed sheets, knuckles gradually turning paler as you sped up with each pump of his leaking cock. In a moment where you noticed him looking upwards at the ceiling, not registering you, you stopped to give the base a soft squeeze, having an even better idea in mind.
“Mingi?” The call instantly made him dart back to you unfocused but endearingly determined.
“How would you feel about me sucking your dick, hm?”
“H-huh?”
“Only if you want to, darling,” resuming the strokes, albeit at a lazier, dangerously slow speed and making sure to give attention to every vein, you had to practically had to hold yourself back from grinning due to the perplexion decorating Mingi’s face, blended seamlessly with a blazing lust. 
“Are you sure?”
“I can show you, and you decide, deal?”
“Fu-uck yes, deal ye-” answer forgotten in the garbled, divine mess of carnal satisfaction, Mingi watched as you lowered yourself to hover above his member, and gave it a few kitten licks before taking in his tip.
You rolled your tongue over the heat, relishing in Mingi’s taste, and pushed down further until you were midway, and hollowed out your cheeks in time to sense how he twitched at the dizzying warmth. While you were more familiar with a dominant role, particularly one where you prioritised your own pleasure and used others as a form of self-relief - not exactly the most responsible approach but no one had complained yet, but even then you were no stranger to this sensual act. You dragged your tongue against his large erection, spurred on by his groan when you bobbed your head a couple of times before slipping off to give Mingi an inquisitive glance.
“So, what do you say?”
“You are… amazing,”
“I take that as a, ‘yes please, Y/N, continue’?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then say it, darling, so I know,” you grazed a lone finger up his length, admiring just how sensitive it was, “and you can touch me, by the way, you were doing so well before what’s got you so shy now?” you chuckled when a hand that had previously been hovering in your vicinity finally found its place on the side of your face, timidly moving a few strands of hair that you had not noticed threatening to cover your vision. 
“Yes… please, Y/N, continue.”
“So precious.”
It did not take long for you to build him back up and higher again. You were addicted to how he writhed under you but was still careful to not grab onto your locks, instead choosing to repeatedly run his digits through and rest them while you masterfully took him in your mouth. A wanton symphony filled the room, blending every sigh and the sloppy collision of his tip against the back of your throat into a direct stimulation. Your core was growing needy, so much so that with one finger you began to roll over your sensitive clit, echoes of the explosive orgasm still shooting through your nerves but not nearly enough to satiate your evolved hunger.
“I’m going to-”
He pawed at you, while an oncoming wave was about to capture him whole. Mingi’s breathing was ragged and irregular and his head fell back while he struggled to distinguish reality from dreaming in the wake of his crumbling state. Just like he had done in your last encounter, the second before he came stirred in him a final aggression, a desire to prove to himself that he retained some form of power, even though all the signs pointed to the opposite. At least now, you were fully prepared. Throat relaxed and eyes fluttering shut, you let yourself be pushed down onto the throbbing cock with a rough hand, and welcomed the ropes of hot, white cum when they spurted out to coat your mouth, rivulets dripping down your throat and prompting you to swallow. The light tang was suddenly your favourite flavour, and you resumed your pumping, milking Mingi of all his nectar with a greedy forcefulness. He tasted like he was completely yours.
He hit the headboard as he collapsed from the exertion, astonished at how you licked your lips, showing off the emptiness of your mouth as you had swallowed his load. Your cunt ached for more, and you drifted towards Mingi until your chest was pressed against his, ensuring he recalled the fact that you were still wearing his shirt. Not caring for the remnants of his cum on the corners of your mouth, he searched for your lips, sealing them with a long kiss. You used this as an opportunity to lower yourself just enough to have your folds glide over his only just softening member, and deepened the kiss to drown out his gasp. You needed him, and needed him now. Not caring for recovery times, you began to fist his dick roughly, making him tremble underneath you and bite down on his lip.
“Come on, precious, won’t you give me another?”
“A-ah I- please I-”
“What was that?” you separated yourself from him, a smirk dancing on your lips when you sensed a familiar rush racing under skin from the stimulation, and leaned to the side to open the bedside drawer, successfully fishing out a condom. 
“I-”
“Speak up, sweetheart, I am not sure what you’re saying,” it was so easy to tease him, play with his mind, and you liked it too much. Reduced to babble, he shut himself off from further attempts to communicate, submitting to your determination to work him until he was hard again.
When you ceased to pump him and let go, his cock slapped against his skin, leaving behind traces of prior climax and clear promise of another. You removed the condom from the packaging and carefully unrolled it, suddenly struck by how practised this felt with Mingi, as if you knew each other’s bodies better than your own. You would be lying if you were to say you did not have him memorised.
Positioning his tip at your entrance, you sighed and slid him between your folds. One rock of the hips, another, and the condom was coated in your slick, and you began to take the member in, inch by inch into your fluttering heat, mouth ajar as you felt him grazing against your begging walls, the ribbed detail of the protection only adding to the sensation. Soon enough, he was fully sheathed inside your fluttering hole, and was struggling to hold himself back from bucking his hips upwards. One leg on either side of him, you were straddling his lap, the position reminiscent of a longing embrace, intimate, personal. The centre of your attention were the contortions of his face and the arms that loosely wrapped around your torso.
If it was possible to be any closer, then most certainly Mingi achieved it when he pulled you into him, holding you tight. The movement dragged your pussy over his cock, almost making it slip out until he settled you back down again, hissing when skin slapped against skin. Not surprised by, but still not expecting the enticing demonstration of strength, you nudged Mingi’s cheek with your own, whispering words of praise in his ear:
“Do you want to guide me?”
“Sorry Y/N, I couldn’t help it… your pussy feels so good…”
“I said I want to take care of you, Mingi, tell me what you want.”
“I… I do want to guide you, if you let me.”
“Show me what you can do, darling.”
You did not need to say it twice as he grabbed your hips to adjust your seating, and took to finding a steady and breath-taking rhythm, with the two of you moving as one. Mingi left one peck, another on your shoulder when you yelped from a particularly deep pound of his cock into you, grazing your g-spot and knocking you off kilter. 
“Yes, yes, Mingi-”
“So pretty, for me?” he cut you off while he quickened his pace, starting to move up with more vigour when you found balance by gripping onto the headboard.
“For-” you stopped, reassessing the sentence. Even in the comfort of his show of power, you were hesitant to give up. Nothing forced you to continue however, as Mingi angled his thrusts to hit your sweet spot repeatedly, making your legs tremble and pussy clench around him. The heat was becoming unbearable, and the knot in your stomach was driving you mad, “Fuck, Mingi, faster!”
Your words were followed by a few violent thrusts, before Mingi tapped your thigh and growled for you to shift your leg so that you could turn and lie down on your side. You read his wishes, cautiously shifting until your back was flush against his chest. Remaining close so that his length remained in your sopping cunt, you shifted to sink into the crumpled sheets, fixated on Mingi, who was entirely in his own world, concentrated on performance and pleasure. He lifted your other leg by hooking it with his arm and, once settled, began to thrust with a totally new vigour. 
His grunts mixed with your high-pitched whines, and his pistoning caused your fluids to spill relentlessly around his cock, soaking the sheets. Mingi was in overdrive; he wanted more, needed more and despite already having already come one for you, he was ready to do it again. The pain of having his cock abused and overstimulated had subsided, instead transforming into a delightful sensitivity to the warmth of your walls, and how they started to pulsate. You unleashed a broken moan as your high accumulated and destroyed you, giving you up to Mingi entirely. Sensing the shift, he persisted, letting out his own guttural groan when the pounding into your hole had turned into pure ecstasy and brought him to his own orgasm. Cock twitching as it spilled out more of his release into the condom, the heat leaving you dizzy, you followed his change of position back into sitting, jaw slackened, vision unfocused.
Mingi kept you against him, encouraged you to say his name again while you warmed him, to which you instantly obliged - it felt too natural, meant to be. He scissored your folds with his fingers, after which he moved up to tease your pulsing and erect clit, middle finger moving over it at an astonishingly fast pace. You practically clawed at Mingi, sure that you were about to break, gasps stuck in your throat but he would not budge, holding you down until a tidal wave crashed into you, and you mewled through another climax, this time a clear liquid spilling from you and further ruining the cotton below. A wreck, you leaned back on him, unable to keep yourself up any longer from the shaking of your legs to the blankness of your mind. 
He kissed you back to full consciousness, having tilted your head so he could capture your lips again and again, each contact more gentle than the one prior. After pulling out his cock and discarding the condom, his full attention was on you. Mingi caressed your face, snaked his hands under the t-shirt to feel your skin, lowered you onto the bed and slid another pillow so that you remained in a more or less upright position.
“You okay?” he tried, worry showing itself on his features when you did not respond instantly.
“I love,” he stilled, eyes widening, “...this. I love this, Mingi,” nevertheless, he beamed, lips interlocking for what had to be the thousandth time. Not sure how to respond, he simply lied down next to you, watching as your inhales and exhales grew more level, deeper, and awareness of surroundings returned.
“We… we really should clean up, yeah?”
“Definitely changing the bedsheets later,” Mingi pointed at what was running the risk of being a stain of your release. Blush rose on your cheeks as you turned away, mumbling:
“Good point.”
“Hey, hey, it was worth it. You looked beautiful,” he tried to move you back, but you only crossed your arms, joking.
“You were literally behind me, Mingi.”
“Beautiful from all angles, doll,” you sharply turned, giving him a glare before suppressing the widest grin.
“So cheesy,”
“Do you like it?”
“Unfortunately, a little too much.” you flicked his nose with your own, the safety and adoration oozing from Mingi lulling you. The room glowed a stunning shade of pink, with hints of orange as you swam in his stunning dark irises.
“Well I have a lot more where that came from.”
“Can’t wait to hear it. Now, uh… shower?”
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It was Saturday. And most definitely, it was not the dead of night. Late morning light washed over your skin as you sat upright on Mingi’s bed, the same one you had run from not too long ago. Only this time, the arm lazily thrown over your stomach was impossible to move, and the gaze of the man with his head perched on his other hand was impossible to ignore. It was evident that he was waiting for your next move, purposefully silent. Aware. Even though you had made your own version of a confession, you knew that you had a long way to go if you wanted Mingi to wholeheartedly trust you, and thus you would be able to hold and protect his love in your own slowly healing heart. 
For the first time, you were looking beyond the character you had created for yourself, feeling for the essence of who you had once been far too long ago, thawing the self-protective frost you had accumulated as your last resort.  Attempting to stay still, you focused on how your breathing repeatedly lifted and lowered his arm that was still on your body. Too heavy, too intimate, too real for you to handle. According to the logic that you were trying to shed for a full reawakening, you had gotten what you wanted, right? Then why was it that you could not stand up and leave, having used him again, mercilessly and coldly? Why were you stuck? Resistance was futile. Questions turning into a barrage of artillery against your clouded mind were agonising, and amidst the colossal pause a shudder passed over your body. Mingi’s t-shirt that he had let you borrow, hanging loosely over you was suddenly not enough. Feeling bare, you grasped at the bedsheets, anything, the cold settling on your skin like fresh snow, coating you and leaving you gasping. A trembling of the lips, a breath suspended in the lungs, blooming into an ache until tears welled up in your eyes, glistening raindrops. Patterns felt like strangers as you thought of the many days that you had tried to not live through, instead succumbing to impulse and carnality, and the foreign bliss of being in the now was so acute it sent shocks through your system. A white light, a white lily, a white dove cradled in your hands. You felt Mingi’s hand pressing into your side as he moved a little closer. You could hear him, his breath, his heartbeat, feel the heat emanating from his body, and every touch imprinted on your skin once again. Celestial blessings that soothed you like no one ever could. Biting on your lower lip, you lowered your head to fight the last of yourself. Shedding your beliefs and desires, you were left bare, and you were terrified. A white chasm into which you kept on falling, and the only thing you could hear was Mingi’s voice as he sat up to pull you into an embrace, his strong arms lifting you from your position and into his lap. Heart to heart, you melted into the feeling, inhaling him, his affection that was seeking you out in the panic. A hand lulling you, slowly patting your back as your body shook with every suppressed sob. As he mumbled your name against your ear, calling out for you, the previously contained tears sprung out, travelling down your cheeks, but Mingi could not care less, only hugging you tighter until even in your loss, you could feel that he was there, and he was not planning to leave.
Once you calmed down, he continued to hold you, mumbling abstract thoughts that occurred to him, unrelated to anything that had you rolling up the walls like a penny. You knew it was on purpose - a delightful distraction crafted by psychological mastery, getting you to nod along to his plans for ‘the latest breakfast of all time’, listening to his mention of some park or square nearby, switching you off from the ghosts of a turbulent circuit that you were too used to existing in. You did not mind the chatter, the vibrations emanating across and from his chest as he spoke having turned into the most soothing sensation. 
“...a date.”
“Huh?” only having registered the last part of the sentence, you jolted out of your empty musings.
“Since we are now dating, we will go on a date.”
“Makes sense.. But… how?” he chuckled breathlessly, detangling himself a little, just to look at you.
“How? Are you asking how people go on dates?”
“I guess…”
“Well then I’ll have to show you.”
As you lost yourself in another kiss, a thought, or more accurately, a small yet persistent wish buried itself in your mind. With all your being, you hoped that on this date, in every step towards new tomorrows, it would be only you and Mingi, and the metaphorical doors would remain shut, isolating and erasing your past. After all, you did not want to use him. 
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peachdues · 2 months
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Coalescence, my secret pregnancy AU for Levi is back in progress!
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Levi spied you through the slightly parted curtains of the Trost infirmary, still and unconscious upon the cot.
With a furtive, quick look in and around the triage area for any prying eyes, Levi slipped past the curtain doors and into the small examination room that had been turned into your temporary recovery wing.
You looked like shit.
Truthfully, the sight of you was jarring; you were covered head to toe in some grayish-white dust, broken only by the dark blackish-red stain of blood that had congealed along your hairline and dripped down your face.
Like looking at a ghost, he noted grimly. And that single thought send a cold shiver violently down his spine.
“Hey. Brat.” Levi’s voice was rough as he approached the side of your cot, eyes carefully combing over your still form, taking note of every bruise and cut marring your skin so that he could remember to inflict ten times worse on the incompetent fool responsible for your current state.
“I haven’t got all day. Open your eyes.”
Still nothing. Levi felt another surge of panic, hot and acidic, that he worked to disguise as mild annoyance with your current state.
The Captain crouched beside the edge of your cot, his inner anguish concealed save for a frustrated hand working through his hair.
“Erwin has called a meeting, and there are a few garrison soldiers begging to feel my foot on their face, but I’ve got a few things to chew your ass out over,” Levi’s throat worked to swallow the lump forming in his throat.
The only noise you made were the faint, uneven breaths rattling from your chest. The sound made the hair on his skin curl.
Cursing you out wasn’t working, and a small, nasty part of Levi’s brain began to fear nothing would.
“Damn it all,” he swore, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, head falling into his hands. “What’d I fuckin’ tell you? Don’t get yourself killed.”
(3 days earlier)
Levi tugged you in for a quick kiss, though you could feel his faint hesitation before he pulled away.
“I’ll send word when I’m back.”
You nodded. “Don’t get yourself killed, Captain.”
The corner of his lips twitched up as he fastened the army green cloak around his shoulders. “I’ll try, kid. You too.”
Don’t get yourself killed, Captain.
It was what you two always said to one another before parting. Neither of you were stupid enough to promise to return to the other. Such idle assurances were for romantic idiots; returning from an excursion beyond the Walls, safe and sound and whole, was a fool’s dream.
But he hadn’t said it back; not really.
Had he grown too comfortable with your presence in his life? Had he gone soft, opened himself up to the universe to remind him once again that nothing in his life was sacred, and it could and would be ripped away from him before he knew there was ever any danger?
Levi wasn’t a superstitious man, but by god, did he wonder whether he was cursed.
He’d always assumed he’d be the one breaking that promise — he wouldn’t have allowed otherwise. But now, as Levi gazed warily upon the unconscious and unmoving form of his girlfriend — his pregnant girlfriend — he realized he’d fallen into precisely the same trap he’d spent years warning his fellow comrades to avoid, only to watch them fall for it each time.
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Part 4 - Show me those issues
Dp x DC AU: Regent!Jazz & Vigilante!Jazz
Masterlist Part 3
"Show me those issues, how you've been misused. Yeah girl, I'm with you." -Train Wreck by Divide the Day.
Previously on The Regent: 
It wasn’t as if the Pit Madness could just be gone, right?
Right? (Jason Todd was no fool, the Madness was still there.)
(Just… sedated. Like it didn’t need to boil to the surface anymore where it concerned his murderer.)
And for the first time in a very long while, Jason felt like himself again.
Until the agony began.
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In a strange synchronized motion, both Jazz and Danny twisted their bodies towards the spirits who began screeching in the air between the two, ghost speak intertwined with screams of the damned, demanding the Regent and the Prince help the Robin.
“Broken Robin, bloody bird, help, help, help. Agony, pain, corruption” 
Danny didn’t hesitate for a moment to transform into  Phantom, calling over his shoulder for Jazz to bring her last few pure ecto vials along as he phased out of the apartment. 
Jazz sighed heavily as she unlocked the safe in her bedroom, three vials remaining within. All the supply the Regent had left for the month, until Wulf was able to deliver more. 
In any other circumstance, Jazz would have refused to hand over something so vital to her health- escpecially since she was burning through her ecto-levels acting as a vigilante and a Regent, with frequent travels to the Infinite Realms to work on paperwork and attend Council meetings. 
However, Jazz felt the tugging in her chest, the instinct that she had to give up her ectoplasm for the agonized Robin. And she was not one to ignore such strong instincts. 
Vials tucked safely into her bra, Jazz summoned her ecto-sword with only a thought and cut into the air, opening a portal in the between to take her to where the spirits demanded she go. 
Jazz stepped through after a heavy sigh, bones feeling as if they were filled with cement. 
No rest for the wicked after all. 
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Danny had already arrived ahead of her by the time Jazz stepped through her portal, fussing over what seemed to be the local unfriendly neighborhood vigilante, Red Hood, without his signature helmet and sweating green droplets profusely. 
Oh.
So that’s how she’d been sensing him. He’s got ectoplasm in him and (by the rancid scent lingering in the air) corrupted at that. 
“Did he go swimming in the Realms sewer?” Jazz asked, half-seriously as she willed the portal closed behind her and leaned her sword against a wall before pulling out the vials of pure ecto. 
Danny struggled to laugh at her attempt at humor however, chirping and warbling at Red Hood’s prone form. Jazz offered the vials to her little brother, “Will these flush out the corrupted ecto?” 
He didn’t answer her, poking at Hood’s chest plate, a warble of worry-horror filling the air. 
“Danny.”
Jazz reached for her proto-core (tucked behind her heart) and chirped back with concern-worry-resignation.
Which worked to get Danny’s attention and he snapped his focus to her, “Jazz, give him the pure stuff! He’s starving!” 
Oh again. 
In Hood’s current state, could he swallow it on his own? 
No, he couldn't. He'd likely choke on it or spit it back out on reflex. One of them would have to administer it by mouth.
Jazz sighed heavily before she uncapped the first vial and tipped its contents into her mouth. The familiar battery-acid taste was heavy on her tongue as she tried not to reflexively swallow it in her hunger.
(She tried to ignore how her heart raced.)
Jazz leaned over Red Hood's prone body, gently carded one hand into his hair, and set the other onto his throat before she pressed her lips onto his own.
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To stay in my shadows you must aid my Knight, Regent.
Of course, My Lady.
I speak of the one born in my streets and unburied in my soil, hidden under Red.
The Red Hood?
The Once Bright Light of Gotham, unavenged. Care for him and he will care for you.
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Frostbite had been quite shocked at their sudden arrival to the Far Frozen with Red Hood in tow. Jazz’s sword made quite an entrance after all, and Danny’s choice to drop hood’s sweating and shivering body into the Yeti’s arm was enough to get him into motion. 
“Great One, Regent.” The Tribal Leader greeted them as he turned on his heel with his cargo firm in his grasp. 
“Hey Frosty. Gotta doozy for ya.” Danny quipped with some warmth. Being in Realms again seemed to cheer him up ever since the move to Gotham, even if it wasn’t a common occurrence anymore. 
(Jazz kept him far away from the Observants since taking the crown.)
(Nosey one-eyed bastards.) 
“Hi Frostbite.” Jazz offered her own greeting as they followed behind the Yeti into the tribe proper. 
It had been some time since Jazz had been into the Healing tents, but Danny had always enjoyed Frostbite’s company so he easily maneuvered his way around the equipment and tables towards the sectioned off beds in the back, which were Yeti sized and easily dwarved Hood’s own six foot brick house frame. 
Frostbite hummed as he examined his new patient, having heard Danny explain their treatment thus far of Hood. 
“Great One, you were correct in this regard. Red Hood was dying of Corruption due to ectoplasm.” 
“But?” Jazz proded.
“His proto-core has accepted the pure ecto and has begun to stabilize.” 
Both siblings breathed a sigh of relief. That was good news, especially to hear of a new Liminal that could survive Gotham- means Hood was a survivor in more than one regard. 
“However, there is something more concerning…” The Yeti trailed off, a soft growl left in the wake of his words. 
“Frosty?” 
“Pardon me, Great One. It seems that Red Hood’s proto-core isn’t ice-based, it needs warmth.”
Danny, despite the seriousness of the situation, laughed at Jazz’s resulting blush at Frostbite's words.
(Oh I can keep him warm.) 
Not to mention how she they had gotten the pure Ectoplasm down his throat to begin with
“Regent?” 
Jazz sighed and answered the Yeti, “I can offer him my warmth until he can be returned.” 
Frostbite pondered for a moment, “Ah, yes, the Regent has a Fire-based Proto-core. That should do well.” 
(Danny had laughed himself sick when it had come to light that Jazz was his opposite in core too.) 
(Fire and Ice) 
(Hero and Villain) 
With a passive glare at her now-chuckling little brother, Jazz approached Hood’s bed and carefully climbed in alongside him. 
(She did her best to block out how her body wanted to curl into him, grasp onto him and never let go.) 
Turned onto her side away from him, back pressed to his form, Jazz forced her body to relax and let her natural warmth seep out from her core into the vigilante at her back. 
(Little did Jazz know that she would cuddle him in her sleep.) 
(And that a pesky younger sibling would coo and take a few pictures to save as blackmail.) 
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Jason dreamed. 
He dreamed of his mother, the good days when she would read to him softly and wrap him in her arms. 
He dreamed of late night patrols with his dad, tucked under his cape when he wanted to feel safe. 
He dreamed of a red haired woman who kissed him softly, held him gently, and… chased the cold away. 
Why had he been so cold? 
Why was his heart aching? 
It wasn’t supposed to ache. 
He wanted his dad. 
He wanted his books. 
He wanted his dream woman to kiss him again and tell him her name, just so he’d have something to hold onto when he woke up. 
(If he woke up.)
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A/N:
Alright, part four! With a glimpse into Jason and Jazz's natural bond as, well, maybe... soulmates? Who knows. I'm a sucker for that trope.
If you want a spoiler for what's happening to Jason, check out the original prompt!
And make sure to subscribe to the master list when it's created.
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pokegalla · 11 months
Note
Bestie- I need this ok?!
Bad sanses with an S/O that absolutely DEVOURS energy drinks, like, 3+ a day- and they are still tired-
(I just described me fr-)
Ok gotchu✨
Sorry about late response! I thought I had finished your request…..
Then I look at drafts 🙃
I hope you enjoy!!!
The Bad Sanses (+ Cross) with an tired S/o who always drinks energy drinks!
Dust:
* How are you alive man? Like not radioactive and shit-? That is a LOT of energy drinks. And you can’t fool this guy. He’s very observant so he’ll immediately notice that you still get tired.
* He honestly might just teach you the bad causes of drinking too many. Nah really he will sit you down with all the research he did to explain everything. (Quite endearing really. He really wants to make sure you’re ok❤️)
* Now he’s not gonna force you to stop. It’s really up to you in the end. But he will still be making sure you are ok. And he suggests healthier options too! See? Now you can enjoy what you love but in a much healthier way!
* He’s not very talkative but the way he shows how much he cares for you is very sweet. Don’t worry your skellie too much! He’s quite the Worrywart!
Horror:
* Boyo is always trying to take a sip from your can. He’s just curious on why you love it so much. So much that he is literally giving you puppy eyes so that you’ll give him a sip (which I know you succumbed to the cuteness-). He found it pretty cool!
* And yet…..you still cannot get away with saying “Oh I’m not tired! Just waiting for it to kick in! 👀💦” yeah sweetie Horror is also very observant. He’ll make you get sleep. And you can ONLY get an energy drink if you get proper sleep in!
* He knows you love the drinks but he’d rather you get proper sleep first! Then you can have any you like! Why drink to get energy when you can just sleep Y’know? That’s what he thinks anyway. But he wants you happy too so you always wake up with an energy drink ready for you! ☺️
* He just wants you to be happy and healthy!
Killer:
* Bruh. You know DAMN well he’s probably the one supplying you the damn drinks- if you thought you was bad? Think again- he literally has an unlimited supply in god knows where in that room of his…..
* Let’s be honest: He drinks WITH you. Both of you happily drinking together on the couch watching anime or playing games. But he’ll drop a few hints about “Heh might wanna slow down…”
* Now just because he kind of (is) a bad influence, doesn’t mean he won’t keep an eye on you. If he sees how it affects you, he’ll try to moderate how much to give you. Because he may be a lil shit….but he cares about you a lot.
* You can always be guaranteed to have fun with this guy but also taken care of no matter what!
Error:
* Glitchy boi would be a straight up dick talking about you have an addiction meanwhile he’s on his 15th chocolate bar himself- I’m pretty sure he steals your drinks too-
* And you can bet he’s taking those drinks away if you’re overdoing it. He’ll have multiple excuses for keeping it from you…..but really he just wuvs you and doesn’t want you feeling all sluggish because he worries for you 🥺. Will he admit that? HA! No-
* Though he will easily give in with a little….convincing. Puppy eyes and promising more chocolates? He’ll eventually give in. But he also makes you promise to at least take it easy with the drinks.
* Grumpy hobo man may be a lil sassy but he means well!
Nightmare:
* He’s probably the only one who doesn’t see why the hell you like these drinks. It tastes like battery acid…..(says the guy drinking black coffee-). He didn’t really care at first but the MOMENT he sees how groggy you get? Oh you fucked up-
* He’s immediately hiding your stash and you WILL be scolded if you ask about it. And he’s dragging your ass to bed to make sure you get proper sleep. Right after he makes sure you are properly hydrated first.
* I can imagine even as his S/o, these moments can be quite unexpected but he was like…..mother henning you. And the way he stays by your side to make sure you’re ok makes your heart melt❤️
* Even the king of negativity can have a sweet side!
Cross (Lil bonus boi✨):
* Well he does like a few energy drinks himself especially for a game night or during morning training. He can drink as much as you without really realizing it then feels guilty about it but laughs it off.
* But it’s definitely a different story when he notices how sleepy you still are especially after the amount you drank. He gets a little concerned and asks if you’re okay. When he learns the energy drinks don’t work on you, he thought of a few ideas…..
* He looked for alternatives that could help you wake up much better. Like working out with him and eating a few healthier meals! But you both do have days to splurge on your favorite drink. It’s only fair!
* He didn’t want you to miss out on what you loved! So he helped you find a balance! He just loves you so!❤️
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What if silvan parties can last for a decade, but you don’t notice bc for firstimers it’s the equivalent of an acid trip (a very fun acid trip, but an acid trip none the less) and they think it ended after only, like, one evening. Only for someone to tell them that “you do know you were at that party for 10 years, right? Like, you’ve been out of contact and commision for a decade.”
And the visitors slowly get an existential crisis bc “what do you mean it’s been 10 years!?!”
It’s like waking up from a coma, but instead of being unconscious you’re partying.
It doesn’t affect the silvans, they’re fully aware that they’re partying for years on end, but that’s bc they grew up with it, they’re desensitized.
However, the first few times an outsider goes, it’s one of the weirdest experiences in their life.
It’s largely due to the environment a silvan party creates.
They take place within Greenwood, which is an acid trippy place in and of itself as a defense mechanism. Add onto this potent food and drinks, as well as the lowkey magic the silvans produce as a result of their dancing and feasting, and it’s like the guests consumed drugs that make it near impossible to maintain coherency.
Elladan and elrohir, the first time at a silvan party:
Elladan: *after the party ended* that was really fun, i’m kinda dissapointed it ended so soon though.
Elrohir: right? I thought that the famous silvan feasts would at least last a few days, not just one night.
Legolas:....
Legolas: dude, we’ve been partying for ten years, what more do you want?
Elrohir: hold on-
Elladan: WHAT-?
—————————————————
The twins return to imlardis
Elladan: ADA, HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN GONE-
Elrond: YOU FOOLS! IT’S BEEN TEN YEARS, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!?
Elrohir: WTF??
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oletus-writer · 3 months
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Can you make a 'Jealous of their mini version' with Jack, h!Melly and fools gold? (if they had one) will be so glad to read them :)
Of course!! I’ve been busy being consumed by Baldur’s Gate III so this is late by a long shot.
Jack, Hunter Melly, Hunter Norton being jealous of their mini pet version
Warnings: slight jealousy
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Jack
He’s amused, to say the least. You can’t get enough of him, so much so that you’ve decided to purchase a little version of him to follow you around when he’s not there. Unlike others, he won’t be too jealous, and is willing to pamper it alongside you, treating it like a child.
‘Oh my sweet robin, it looks like you’ve been missing me. Well, don’t you worry; there’s enough of me to go around. This little darling can’t be much of a replacement, hm?’
Of course, if he finds you spending more time with little Jack than with him, jealousy settles in. He’ll court you, all gentlemanly and saccharine. Expect flowers, poems, being treated better in matches, and maybe even a painting. Holding the door open for you, kissing your hand… you get the picture.
‘You did so well in that match… Sure, I wasn’t there, but I’m certain you did well, dove. Would you like to enjoy this wine with me as celebration? If not, may I interest you in some of my cooking?’ (You’ll have to supervise his cooking, though)
There isn’t much pettiness, as he understands why you’d buy a mini Jack, and that it’s more available to you than him, being a hunter and all. He does have a photo of you that he carries with him at all times, after all, but he might get jealous over the fact you actively spend time with mini Jack than him. Sure, it’s a pet you need to take care of, but he’d prefer it if you invite him over a bit more frequently.
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Hunter Melly
She’s a bit more possessive of you than her survivor counterpart, and is a bit ruthless. She doesn’t mind locking away little Melly so she could have the entire day alone with you, nor does she mind resorting to threatening the little pet. However, she’s not a total savage, and is willing to raise it like a child.
‘Honey, as much as I enjoy your company evermore when we’re alone, perhaps this little pet you have isn’t so bad. We should give it a proper name, not just Little Melly.’
Bitter jealousy still settles in her ribcage like acid reflux, though, and she’ll find any excuse to get you to have greenhouse dates, as the mini pet would get lost, it’s little legs and short perspective unable to find its parents in the maze. She’ll pick flowers and tell you their meanings all the while ignoring that nagging sense of guilt.
However, she finds that little Melly has its uses, such as observing small details on her insects, and finding new species within the greenhouse. She’ll treat the pet a bit better, and there are some times when you find her giving all her attention to it.
‘This little sweetheart has done wonders to my research. It was a good choice to purchase it. You have my gratitude.’
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Hunter Norton
He understands that you’re not all his, and that he should be nice and respectful of his lover, but he just has the instinct to hold things dear to him so tightly that his ribcage wraps around them. There’s an ill feeling in his throat and he can’t swallow and his rock fingers twist knobs into the table.
‘What’s going on, darling? Oh… that little thing. I see. Suppose I should leave you to it, then, since it’s obviously better company that me.’
Unlike the other two, he’s never going to accept the mini him into his life. He hates children, and having another mouth to feed is quite the annoyance.
‘When are you gonna throw that thing aside? It’s just a toy, right? Come to your rightful place in my arms.’
He simply doesn’t understand why you’d rather the substitute than the real thing. After all, as much as he doesn’t want to admit, you could always seek out survivor Norton.
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ellaa-writes · 3 months
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Henlo!! I just saw ur doctor/medic reader story and i feel like they would all want to hear the absolute crazy cases and gossip from reader
Im a student and i work in a large hospital/shadowing some doctors aswell and someday’s these crazy things happen randomly. In the least expected ways. From getting a sudden code stroke to seeing 🪱🪱on body parts to hospital staffs gossips in the med room. Its so random sometimes.
Imagine doctor reader casually telling the time she caught so and so cheating in an empty room in between 2 codes. And shes so chill about it like shes seen and heard enough but the Kortac officers r eating it up like listening to Nurse John’s podcasts😂
Reader: yk this reminds me of the time i did my trauma rotation in—
Konig: wait! Let me get my snacks and tea👀☕️
Hello!! Thank you <3 This is so silly I love it. Decided to have fun with it. It's kinda gross but hey that's what happens. Lol.
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It's going to be a rough day, you thought. Not even 2 hours into your shift you had two concussed idiots sitting in your waiting room. This is gonna be a long one, you started at noon and won't be done till 4am the next morning.
Clutching your coffee you prayed for a miracle, an alien ship or a metor. Either one would do.
Later that evening, specifically dinner time. You were the last to arrive, having to help hold down a patient as another medic stitched up a gash on his forehead.
"I know, I know." you said as you sat you lunch down in front of your chair. Running off to grab a much needed coffee. It was your turn for the over night shift. It wasn't a bad shift, just babysitting the wounded soldiers that are currently being held. Coming back and setting yourself into your spot, digging into your food without a cause to the wind.
"You guys won't believe my day." you started off, slurping down your heart spaghetti. "Some rookies decided to play chicken and now they both have a concussion. And one probably memory loss. Couldn't even tell me his name." you shook your head, recalling the incident. "Than Hutch came in, complaining that he can feel worms crawling in him. I had to explain four times to that dense mother fucker that worms can not survive stomach acid." you stopped to take a big gulp of coffee. "But he wouldn't listen, said it wasn't in his stomach but inside his skin. Ran some blood tests and no hallucinogenic. But he could have fooled me." you didn't realise you were blabbing until you looked up from your plate to see a few of your team members surpressing their laughs.
"What?" you asked, mouth full of spaghetti. "Why don't you chew a bit more." one of them offered. Making the other laugh, "Oh fuck off." you spat. "Anyways, had to give Hutch an xray just to prove there's no damn worms in him." you explained.
"An xray? Does that-" you cut them off. "No, not at all. But it shut him up." they all bursted out laughing. "It reminds me of a patient I had back at the ER. Complaining about his ass itching. The other nurses weren't taking him seriously. Just sent him to the bathroom with some baby wipes." you stopped abruptly, this might not be a good dinner story.
"Oh come on Katze, don't get all shy on us now." König said, you didn't even notice he was there. You also didn't notice the rest of the mess hall getting quiet to listen to your story.
"Oh, well we're eating." you tried to explain but was met with loud booing. "Fine, fine." you yelled back. Wiping your mouth, your food finished, you pushed the tray away from you.
"Ok, so they sent him to the bathroom and he came back later saying he can still feel them."
"Them?" Horangi interrupted, and was followed by shushing. "Damn, sorry. Continue." he slinked back into his chair.
" So they put him in a room, told him to strip from the waist down. Another trainee and myself were assigned to this case along with a RN. She had him lay on the side has she spread his ass cheeks. Like you would a child." you stopped from dramatic affect. Watching as your tream and the rest of mess hall looked on in anticipation.
"We saw nothing. So she took a swab, had me spread this grown man's cheeks as she inserted it into the recum, shoveling out what ever was in side. Still nothing." a few people got up and left and others choking back a gag.
"She wet had him pop a squat over the trash can and cough. Sure enough a worm came shooting out. So did some green chunks, thankfully they were just some cucumbers. Guess the guy stole a cucumber from his neighbors garden not knowing it was infested with worms. He shoved the thing right up and it broke. He was like that for 2 weeks, worms up the ass. Still not the craziest thing I experienced, let me tell your that." you reached for your tray, but König took it for your instead.
"A cucumber up the ass?" Horangi asked. "I've seen people shove all sorts of thing up their butt. Idk what it is or why but it's way to common." you threw your finished coffee cup in the trash.
"Sorry I gotta get back. The results for mister chicken should be in by now." you said you goodbyes and waved to others, rushing out of the lunch hall.
"What a women." König said, hearts in his eyes.
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missmonsters2 · 1 year
Text
Request: Hi I'll need ❤️‍🩹 for Wednesday. I need it to be angsty as hell but you can make it a happy ending if you'd like. Thank you @mindingmybidness12
Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC
Warnings: angst. reunion. alluded secret relationship. wednesday is very mean :') no hea
Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3
Note: hey are you okay 😧 (sorry i accidentally posted your ask too soon & needed to get creative LOL)
Count: 0.8k
Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘
Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.
⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷
Destined to be alone—that's what Goody told Wednesday. 
"Isn't it so exciting!" Enid squeals loudly at the table, causing Wednesday to wince at the happiness in her roommate's tone. "Oh, there she is!"
Wednesday knows she shouldn't look. She should keep her head straight down—better yet, she should leave. 
"Wednesday, where are you going?" Enid asks, but her roommate has already stood up and walked off. 
There's a briskness in Wednesday's walk even if she doesn't know where to go. 
Her room? 
No, it is too likely that Enid will bring you by.
The bee farm—no, there was too much of a chance of you visiting.
Wednesday only briefly considered Xavier's studio, but then she'd have to deal with his incessant questions.
How annoying, Wednesday thought. Everything in this forsaken penitentiary was already a reminder of you when you were gone. She couldn't roam a single hallway without your memory invading her mind.
"Wednesday."
She freezes in her steps. Even now, you were an unwelcome thought that distracted her from an ambush. 
This was why—
"It's been a while," you say hesitantly. "A year in fact."
Wednesday turns around and immediately feels something constrict in her throat. You look mostly the same, but there's a growing maturity to you that's been blooming since the day Wednesday met you. Your eyes lack the dark circles and look lively, and your cheeks fuller.
You look happy, Wednesday realizes, something that you rarely did when you were with her. 
Her fists remain clenched at her sides as she remains passive. "I suppose it has. Why have you returned?"
"Ouch," you say, laughing lightly, and the sound makes Wednesday want to bolt. You're pinching the side of your skirt, an obvious sign of your nervousness, and Wednesday wonders why you even bothered to call out to her. 
You look around the empty hallway out of habit before looking back at her. "I told my parents I wanted to come back and finish my senior year. I'd like to graduate from Nevermore, and their recommendations to colleges really help."
College.
Wednesday feels the distant memory of you talking about it with her, only for her to give a noncommittal answer. You wanted to know where Wednesday planned to go, if she was even planning to go, just to see if you could follow or at least apply somewhere nearby. 
But it looks like you've already decided your next path. 
Something bitter builds in the back of Wednesday's throat, but she swallows down the acid. She doesn't have the right and will be damned if you make her a hypocrite. 
Wednesday lets out a heavy sigh from her nose. "I see," is all she says before she turns and walks again. 
"Wait, Wednesday—"
"What?" Wednesday turns around sharply, her tone callous and impatient. 
The hurt that flashes across your face makes Wednesday feel humiliated, but it's all she knows how to do to keep you at a distance. If you stay away, then you can remain how you are now—happy. 
"I just—" You swallow. "I just want to know that you're doing okay...that you're happy now."
"I don't feel anything," Wednesday narrows her eyes at you. "Did you come here to confirm something so ridiculous?"
"Yes," you put on a brave face even if you know that Wednesday is purposely being hurtful, "because I still care."
You watch carefully at Wednesday's face. Her eyes, her jaw, her lips—any sort of indication for something.
"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought," Wednesday finally says. "All I've ever been capable of bringing you misery."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it?" Wednesday says haughtily. "I kept you a secret, made you invisible as you stayed beside me. I brought you along on all my investigations to the point where you were seriously injured."
"It wasn't that bad," you tried to say, but Wednesday scoffed.
"Don't take me for an idiot. I can still see your limp."
You clench your jaw, heat rising in your cheeks, but it's not like you can deny it. 
Wednesday looks at you coolly, her expression aloof as she builds walls upon walls with spikes to keep you out. "And because you're so pathetic, you walked around suffering silently all the time but couldn't say it to my face. Even Enid had more guts than you."
There's a sharp breath from you, and Wednesday honestly thinks it's more torturing to see you try to put on a brave face in front of her. It's the same way you've always held back your tears around her. 
You were the one thing Wednesday treasured the most, but it was obvious then and now that she was only capable of ruining everything she touched—that's why she was destined to be alone. 
"So, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine," Wednesday turns away from you, beginning to walk away. "And if you want to be as well, stay away from me."
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hoseokhasmyheartxx · 6 months
Note
For the writing prompt! 2 and 135 with Namjoon!😏☺️
Come Home With Me | KNJ
*Pairing: fuckboy!Namjoon x f!Reader *Word Count: 2.4k *Genre: SMUT, fluff, FWB-to-??, non idol AU *Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, MINORS DNI. jealousy, lack of communication, honestly they’re both idiots; dom!Joon, reader just goes along with it (isn’t really sub/switch/anything); piv sex, counter sex, bathroom sex, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, breast play, nfcm, some fluffy moments scattered throughout because I can never write anything without the feels *Summary: Jealousy is an ugly emotion, especially when it comes to friends-with-benefits. Too bad you can’t hide yours any longer. *A/N: welp this is the first thing i’ve written in literal months, so bear with me if it’s terrible. i finally got some inspiration one night and decided to just go with it. also sorry for the formatting, posting on mobile sucks.
Prompts come from this post!
Main Masterlist
Who would’ve thought that you would end up here.
Staring, frozen, watching the man you love shove his tongue down another woman’s throat at a party thrown by your best friend.
The worst part of this? The worst part of all this is that he doesn’t even know you love him. Sure, you’d been fooling around with him for the better part of a year now, but you’d agreed from day one that it wasn’t exclusive.
Kim Namjoon wasn’t an “exclusive” person. He didn’t do relationships. Everyone knew that. And you weren’t any different. There was nothing special about you that would change his ways. But the knowledge of this fact didn’t change the way you felt, the acid in your throat threatening to come up.
You spun around on your heels, bumping your shoulder against the corner of the wall to your right as you fled from the room. Hissing out a few curse words, you then silently cursed yourself as you knew there was no way he hadn’t heard you. You chose to forget it, making your way back down the hallway leading to the main room.
“_____,” a deep voice from behind you called. You continued walking, ignoring Namjoon’s plea for your attention.
You only made it a few more feet before you were shoved from behind into the bathroom at the end of the hall. You stood still, silent as the door clicked shut behind you.
“_____,” Namjoon repeated.
You slowly turned to face him, not at all wanting to have this conversation. Peering up at him, you watched for any sign of any emotion on his face, but he was unreadable, as always.
“What?” you asked flatly.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his statement. Of course you weren’t supposed to see it. That’s why he did it far away from you, or anyone else who may have seen. But, as luck would have it, you did see it.
“Look,” Namjoon sighed, “We aren’t exclusive. But even so, I’m not trying to flaunt any hookups right in front of your face. I’m not that much of an ass.”
You scoffed. “Oh, thanks so much for your consideration. I’ll make sure to ask you if you’re bringing someone the next time Jimin has a party so I know to stay home.”
You moved to step around him to exit the bathroom, but were stopped by his large hand grabbing your waist.
“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Namjoon asked, eyes boring into yours.
“No.” You averted his gaze, refusing to look at him any longer. You weren’t in any position to be jealous when you knew he wasn’t yours. But you were, and you hated yourself for it.
Namjoon lifted his other hand, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him.
“Don’t lie to me. Are you jealous?” he repeated.
With a shaky breath, you nodded.
“Why?”
“I just— I just am,” you choked out.
You watched as Namjoon tightened his jaw, glaring down at you.
“You are the one who said this was just fun. You said you weren’t looking for anything serious. How can you be jealous?” he questioned.
“Of course I said that, Namjoon. You don’t do relationships. What was I supposed to say, that I expected you to change everything about yourself and make me your girlfriend?”
His fingers never left your chin, eyes never left yours.
“If you didn’t want something casual, why would you agree to this? That’s not fair to you,” Namjoon asked, stroking your cheek.
Your anxiety over him possibly finding out how you felt was ebbing. This was one of many effects he had on you. Without even trying, he could ease your mind, calm you down, with the slightest of touches.
“Because. That’s— that’s the only way I could ever have you,” you finally admitted.
He furrowed his brow, staring down at you still.
“You’ve always had me,” Namjoon said, voice lowered, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him. His lips captured yours in a desperate kiss, his other hand moving to grip the side of your neck.
You returned the kiss, hands coming up to fist his shirt. He backed you up against the bathroom counter, trapping you there, lips not leaving yours. His tongue swiped across the seam of your lips, pulling a small gasp from you as you opened for him. His tongue overtook yours, his mouth engulfing you in passion and burning you from the inside out.
As he pushed you harder against the counter, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving against you as he steadied his breathing.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
You struggled to form words, brain still foggy from his dizzying kiss. “I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way.” You traced circles on his chest, avoiding his gaze.
“I would have. I mean, I do. C’mon, think about it. I don’t stay the night with my hookups. I don’t call my hookups in the middle of the day just to hear their voice. I don’t… I don’t do any of that stuff with anyone, except you. If you would’ve just told me how you felt… you would’ve been mine a long time ago,” Namjoon breathed out.
You looked up at him, small smile curling on your lips. Standing on your tiptoes, you kissed the corner of his mouth, working your way across his jawline and down to the space just below his ear. Nipping at his earlobe, you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold yourself steady on your tiptoes.
“Shut up and take your pants off,” you whispered in his ear. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, knowing what was next.
Namjoon needed to be in control. Any hint of dominance shown from his partner, and it flipped a switch inside of him. His eyes darken, pupils blown out with desire.
Just like that, he ripped your shirt over your head, claiming your lips again as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. His large hand immediately moved to your breast, massaging it as he sucked your lower lip in between his teeth. He bit down, not hard enough to really hurt but still enough to get your attention. You hissed, and Namjoon sucked your lip back into his mouth, easing the pain.
He lowered his head, wrapping his full lips around a nipple, beginning to lick and suck at the pebbled nub. You whine, encouraging him to continue. His sucks grow stronger, jolts of pleasure coursing through you, straight down to your core.
His fingers work to unbutton your jeans, pushing them down your thighs with both hands, his lips moving from your breast down to the flesh underneath it. Kissing down your stomach, he dropped to his knees, pulling your jeans the rest of the way off, lifting each foot carefully to rid you of your bottoms.
Standing in just your panties, with Namjoon on his knees in front of you, leaves you feeling vulnerable but highly aroused. The cool air from the bathroom vent makes you shiver, goosebumps pebbling your skin. His hands trail up your thighs, grabbing the waistband of your panties and tugging them off.
Suddenly, he’s lifting you up, sitting you on the edge of the counter, draping your leg over his shoulder. You gasp, reaching for anything to help you find your balance. Your hands settle on the countertop just as Namjoon pulls you forward, pushing your other leg away to spread your center.
Before you have a chance to get your bearings, Namjoon’s mouth is on your pussy, tongue warm against your flesh. You gasp, watching as he dives in. His tongue traces around you, avoiding your most sensitive spot as he looks up at you, cocky glint in his eyes.
“Fuck,” you breathe out as Namjoon’s lips finally claim your clit, sucking just a bit before he lets go. He licks broad stripes up and down your center, lips dragging against your clit every time he passes it. He holds your thigh tightly, keeping you still as you squirm underneath his ministrations.
His other hand comes up to your center, fingers tracing around your hole. You jolt, the new sensation only adding to your pleasure. He slowly inserts one finger, then two, chuckling against you. Pulling his mouth away from you, smirking, he teases, “This all for me?”
You nod, hand coming down to card your fingers through his hair. “Yeah, just for you.”
Namjoon begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, causing you to arch your back, your shoulders resting against the mirror. You pull your free leg up to rest your foot on the counter, spreading yourself more for him.
His fingers find your spot with ease. After all, he knows your body better than anyone else. You moan, tensing as his tongue reconnects with your clit. His movements become hurried, sloppy. The noises caused by his fingers thrusting into you fill the tiny bathroom, your juices dripping down his palm and wrist.
Your whines grow higher-pitched as you cant your hips, grinding your pussy against Namjoon’s tongue. He doesn’t relent, tongue working through your folds, hitting all your spots.
“Joon—,” you gasp, feeling the knot begin to tighten in your stomach.
“Yeah? Come for me, baby,” Namjoon growls, “Now.”
With a few more flicks of his tongue, you’re coming undone, falling over a precipice that you never want to be on again. Your muscles tighten, your pussy clenches around his fingers as your moans tumble out and you grasp at his hair, tugging him closer to you.
His big hands grip your thighs, fingers leaving indents in the skin. He doesn’t stop mouthing at your folds until you’re pushing him away, overstimulated and over exerted.
Namjoon stands, letting your leg fall from his shoulder as he meets you face to face, his hands resting on the edges of the countertop. He kisses you, his plush lips brushing against yours lightly before he rests his forehead on yours. Your breathing steadies, his presence calming you just as it always does.
“Baby,” Namjoon breathes out, his chest heaving.
“Yeah?” you ask, hands moving to the hem of his shirt, lifting it to remove the garment. He backs up, letting you lift the shirt up his torso and off his body with ease.
He kisses you again, desire glinting in his eyes. You watch as he undoes his belt and works his jeans down his thick thighs, still standing in front of you. His erection is obvious, tenting the front of his black boxer briefs. He palms himself, tipping his head back as he lets out a ragged breath.
“Let me fuck you, please.”
Stepping out of his boxer briefs, he closes in on you, hands gripping your thighs as he kisses you slowly, his tongue lazily working its way into your mouth.
“We don’t have a lot of time…” you trailed off, hands gripping his waist as you pulled him even closer to you.
“I know,” he mutters between kisses, “I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
You nod against his lips, pulling his body in between your thighs, gasping softly as his length makes contact with your core.
He grips himself, rubbing the head of his cock through your folds until he’s at your entrance. You brace yourself, mentally preparing. He pushes into you slowly, inch by inch, until he bottoms out against your pelvis. You take a few breaths as you adjust to his size, resting your forehead on his collarbone.
“Can I-?” Namjoon whispers, kissing slowly down your neck to your shoulder.
You nod against his shoulder, wrapping your legs around his waist just as he pulls out and thrusts back into you. You choke out a moan, Namjoon’s hips already snapping into you at a relentless pace.
His hands latch onto your hips, pulling you farther onto his cock, hitting deeper than ever. His cock drags against your walls, the angle allowing his cockhead to touch at your g-spot on every thrust.
“Don’t-,” Namjoon begins, struggling to steady his breathing as he continues, “Don’t ever question how I feel about you again. Understand?”
You whine his name, your mouth falling open as your head lolls back. You’re almost limp in his arms, letting him take you the way he needs.
“Understand?” Namjoon repeats, grabbing your chin to kiss you.
“Yes! Yes, I understand,” you cry out. You throw your arms around his shoulders to balance yourself, holding yourself up as Namjoon pulls you to the edge of the counter. His hips begin to stutter, telling you he’s close to his peak.
“Baby,” Namjoon repeats for what feels like the tenth time in the span of twenty minutes.
“Come inside me,” you gasp out, feeling yourself near your second high of the night.
Namjoon groans, pushing his cock as deep as he can. He stills against you, his fingers bruising the flesh of your waist as he comes. His face falls to the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he pants, his hips jerking as he fills you up. He reaches between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in circular motions until you cry out, coming on his cock just like he wanted.
Your fingers dance across his shoulder blades as you breathe with him. Your chests rise and fall together, neither of you moving.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Namjoon starts.
You giggle and nod. He kisses you once more, slowly pulling out of you.
“We do, but we have a lot of time for that. Come home with me?” you ask, leaning up to kiss his jaw.
Namjoon looks down at you, pupils beginning to dilate in lust again. He caresses your jawline, pulling you closer to him.
“Let me make it up to you when we get there.”
You nod, following his lead to clean yourself up and make yourself presentable before exiting the bathroom. Before opening the bathroom door, Namjoon turns to face you, holding your hands at your waist, squeezing them gently as he smiles a soft smile.
Who would’ve thought that you’d end up here.
Staring, frozen, smiling up at the man you love, knowing that he loves you, too.
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rainbowsixreader · 1 year
Text
Wednesday Addams Pregnancy headcanons
Honestly this turned into a bit of a fic half way through. Male reader cause you’re the baby daddy.
Also just an absolutely ethereal image of Jenna Ortega
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Waking up in the morning was something that was hard enough for Wednesday. Opting to continue resting her eyes until her alarm told her it was time to get off her stiff twin mattress.
Now most mornings were full of nausea if not vomiting into the nearest porcelain throne. The prospect of acid spewing from one’s mouth was enticing to Wednesday, yet when it was her dinner coming back up that made the dawn most unpleasant.
Having caught in to the more tell tale symptoms easily, Wednesday was admittedly worried about what they may mean. The next trip she had to take into Jericho she stopped into the corner drugstore. Hood up as she looked down. Seemingly about to stick up the cashier only to plant a pregnancy test into the counter. Followed by two more. She had heard that they’re not always 100%
Despite that fact all three came up with the same results. Two lines, Wednesday Addams is officially pregnant. There is only one person who could be the father, Y/N
While trying to hide the pregnancy tests from her roommate, Enid had already found the packaging of the tests in the bathroom trashcan.
Enid was livid that her friend would hide something THIS BIG from her. Talking a mile a minute Enid demanded answers. Who was the father? How far along is she? What is she gonna name her baby? Is she gonna drop out? The one that made her shutter, “Are you going to keep it?”
Wednesday’s eyes went wide. “Of course!”
Enid’s smile grew ear to ear hearing Wednesday declare she’s having the baby.
“Does Y/N know?” Enid asked
“…”Wednesday was ashamed to admit that she was nervous about telling you. The self-assured, always confident Wednesday Addams, nervous? She hated to admit it but doubts filled and fogged her mind with the chance that you would reject that child and her.
Demanding Enid to not gossip about this to anyone, that what they say in their room STAYS in their room.
Enid eagerly noted her head and listened to Wednesday voice her many growing concerns.
Yet despite all of it, Enid was more than happy to offer her assistance. As well as reminding Wednesday that calling her parents and telling them might be easier, could probably get some good advice from her mother too.
Now the real decision was to tell her parents, or to tell the father, Y/N, first?
Wednesday spent a majority of the night planning how to break the news to you, if she was being honest she was nervous about how you may react. Not knowing if you’d abandon her or not when you found out about your bastard.
She invited you to her room during lunch the next day where she handed you a little black box. Being a rectangular shape you expected a necklace of some kind, maybe she got you one to match her pendant?
Your eyes were met with a small white object with two prominent parallel lines.
“I-i-is this y-yours?” You stuttered
“…Yes. Y/N it’s yours. I’ve only been intimate with you.” Wednesday hesitated, she faltered glancing down and away from your eyes.
You dropped the box as you wrapped your arms tightly around Wednesday’s shoulders, pulling her into your chest. She found comfort in your warmth, the only warmth she craved and enjoyed.
Wednesdays hands clung to your jacket as she attempted to pull you closer.
“I’m surprised, but I’m ecstatic Wednesday!” You declare as you press a kiss to her hair.
“I confess, you’re taking this better than I could have hoped.” Wednesday spoke against your chest.
You fall to your knees, pressing your face against her flat abdomen.
“Hey little fella. Daddy’s here, and I can’t wait to meet you.” You say pressing your lips to your girlfriends buttoned blazer.
“Don’t kiss the parasite. I’m not even showing yet, you’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Don’t call my baby a parasite Wednesday.” You looked up to meet her dark abyssal eyes, only to turn back to her stomach.
“I won’t let mommy talk to you like that. You’re not a parasite, you’re a sweet little baby isn’t that right?” You spoke nuzzling Wednesday’s waist.
Wednesday allowed a small smile to form on her lips, she wasn’t always the mushy type that was self evident. However, on occasions such as this she’ll let herself be warmed in the love you radiate for her and now your baby.
Telling her parents will be the easiest part, you know they like you already, but for some reason there is a little tick in the back of both of your minds that Wednesday’s parents may react in way you wont expect.
You and Wednesday discuss would it better to wait and tell them in person when you see them next weekend? Or go to her crystal ball and tell them ASAP?
Wednesday wanted to wait, but you know they’d be upset if you didn’t tell them as soon as you knew about your baby.
After a moment of consideration Wednesday agrees. That evening you two sat alone with her crystal ball waiting for Morticia and Gomez to do the same so you may communicate.
“Hello my little storm cloud?” You hear Gomez speak with such admiration.
“My dear child of Woe” Morticia addressed Wednesday.
“I have a parasite growing in my womb.” Wednesday held no punches. You could tell she was nervous. She did a near perfect job of hiding it, but you couldn’t have been with Wednesday romantically without picking up on certain tells.
Morticia was stunned and seemed a little lost, but Gomez’s mouth grew into a smile that went ear to ear putting his teeth on full display.
“Wednesday! You’re not allowed to call our baby a ‘parasite’ we talked about this.” You muttered.
“Congratulations my little typhoon!” Gomez was ecstatic that mist was obvious. “When can your mother and I expect to meet our grandchild?” He asked so enthusiastically.
“We still need to consult a doctor but based on when we last engaged in-“
“Wednesday!” You interrupted.
“Huh-uh” Wednesday cleared her throat. “You can expect to meet our offspring near the end of July.”
As Wednesday and her mother continued to discuss her becoming a mother while also attending school. You subconsciously reached over and started rubbing gentle circles into Wednesday’s belly.
“We can talk more during our visit this weekend. We’ll hammer out the details of my future and attending this school.”
With that Wednesday signed off from the crystal ball and turned to you.
“Are you going to be incessantly rubbing circles into my stomach all night?” Your Latina girlfriend asked.
“Sorry I was just thinking about how our future will be.” You smile looking into her dark eyes. Looking into her eyes was like gazing into the abyss, but the only looking back at you was Wednesday.
“I loath you from the bottom of my condemnable heart Y/N L/N.”
“I love you too Wednesday Addams.”
—————
During your visit to the Addams family mansion, you break off and talk to Gomez in one of the rare moments of him being alone.
“Mr.Addams may I speak with you?” You ask, your words coming out more meal than you would have preferred.
“Of course you can, you never need to ask.” Gomez gives you an infectious grin as he pays your shoulder, guiding you to nearby seats in the hallway.
“So what’s troubling you?” Gomez asks
All the emotions you felt from learning you’re gonna be a dad, to worrying about not being a good dad, to the ups and downs of your future with Wednesday, all building up into a maelstrom of doubts in yourself.
“I’m scared.” You confess.
Hearing your voice quake, Gomez was quick to bring you closer. Tightening his arms around you. Mr.Addams radiated love and comfort his warmth aided in holding back your tears.
“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. You’re family now Y/N and nothing will change that.” Gomez spoke softly to ease your nerves.
“Why are you afraid Y/N?” He asked. Gomez could list numerous reasons why you would, understandable, be shaken. Yet he needed you to speak your worries aloud.
“I-I’m just…Wednesday….What if I’m not enough?” You pull away from Mr.Addams warmth to look into his dark eyes. Dark like black coffee, his eyes held the same warmth yet lacked the bitterness of coffee.
“What if 10, 15, 20 years go by and all Wednesday can think is how she wasted her life if a guy like me? What if I’m a bad father? Set bad examples, or…I don’t wanna be the worse version of me, not for them.” You could stop the single tear from cascading down your cheek to your chin.
“You won’t be, no one who is this worried about being a bad parent would ever become one.” Gomez smiles patting your shoulders. “Y/N, You are so worried about giving my Wednesday a happy life, and you’re so concerned about being a good father for your baby. I have no doubts that you’ll be an amazing husband and father.” You stop trying to hold back the tears as you threw yourself into Gomez’s shoulder once more. Letting his signature pinstriped suit dry your tears. He was ready to let you cry as long as you needed.
—————
For Christmas you dragged Wednesday to spend the holidays with your family, making a stop to the Addams mansion for the weekend before returning for the spring semester at Nevermore.
However when summer came Wednesday’s belly had grown considerably. Every seat Wednesday used would have a plush pillow to provide more cushioning. You would frequently wrap your arms around her from behind. Placing your hands on the bottom of her stomach and gently pulling up. To aid her in carrying the weight of your baby for a few minutes.
Rarely voicing her gratitude, however Wednesday was forever greatful to have a partner that was so eagerly devoted to her. She had to admit she never wanted to be like her parents, but the farther along she was in her pregnancy. The more she felt content with starting a family. Y/N would never force her to be a stay at home mom, and she would never become one regardless. Yet the similarities she felt to her parents didn’t seem to matter all the much to her now.
Wednesday was happy to have Y/N be the father of her child
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