#it's easier once you first cross that barrier but crossing it is like. pulling teeth

[willowser]

no really bc i think intimacy with dabi is probably so...........frustrating and awkward, in the beginning like. he does NOT want to dive into that. he does not want to open up that way and he doesn't even know how

#i've been thinking about it all day you dont understand #it's easier once you first cross that barrier but crossing it is like. pulling teeth #i've literally talked about this already but it still drives me insane #✿ thoughts: dabi/touya

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 7

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

Chapter Warnings: Blood, experimenting, abuse. This chapter contains explicit content on how Yoongi was treated back at the facility. Please skip the bolded parts if you feel uncomfortable. 

A/N: Bold is for flashback. 

WC: 4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @codeinebelle @ldysmfrst

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The moment Yoongi heard your bedroom door close, he moved your hair aside as he continuously scented you. He nosed the crook of your neck and you ruffled in your hair, effectively covering you in his scent. Once he deemed that it was enough, he walked around the room to clean up the mess. It would be best that you wake up to a clean, clear environment so that it wouldn’t put extra stress on you. 

Yoongi wasn’t dumb nor was he deaf. He could clearly hear the ongoing conversation about him outside. Sooner or later, he will have to go out there and confront them. It was not a choice.  

Yoongi pulled the curtains back and opened the windows wide, letting the fresh night air into the stuffy room. He had added more ice into the pail beside your bed just as you started fussing. By now, Yoongi could read your body language with ease. You were not tough to read in the first place but now that you are sick and your barriers are down, it was even easier. 

He wrung the cloth and placed it on your forehead as he adjusted the blanket to cover your legs. Yoongi heard footsteps getting closer to your door, stopping just outside. Before whoever was outside could knock and potentially wake you, Yoongi shot up and crossed the distance in an instant. He yanked open the door with teeth gritted and bared. 

An unknown man stood there with a tray of food - a big bowl of fruits, a few scoops of porridge, and a plate of grilled… Is that beef? 

“Hello. I had hoped to meet you under better circumstances but it seems that lives don’t weave that way.” The man with plush lips said. “I’m Seokjin. Y/N told me quite a lot about her troubles with you and the company is swarming with whispers of you as well.”

So this is Seokjinnie. He could see why you liked him. Handsome, plush lips, broad build, and someone who won’t cause you trouble. Yoongi sighed internally, he had no fight with somebody like him. He opened the door wider, letting the man in. 

Seokjin surveyed the room and nodded. “You sure did clean up well. Sorry for the mess earlier. I was too busy trying to get everyone to stop crowding.” 

Yoongi nodded silently, eyes trained on Seokjin as he placed the tray of food on the bedside table. 

“This is dinner for the both of you. Her medications are on the tray as well. The prescriptions are written there too. Come down once you finish and I’ll take over. The boys want to speak to you downstairs.” 

Yoongi nodded. He knew what was coming. 

Yoongi walked down out of your bedroom with the tray of empty plates, save for the bowl of fruits that were unfinished in one hand. Seokjin immediately got up and took the plates from him, pushing him to the loveseat he sat on a few seconds ago. 

Yoongi’s eyes scanned the people in the living room. Other than Seokjin, he seems to have seen everybody before. Dr. Park waved for him to sit, taking the bowl of fruit from him and taking a piece out before putting the bowl on the table. The two doctors’ scents are merged together. His mate smacked his arm, making him flinch and rub the spot. 

Yoongi was surprised to find out that Dr. Park is a hybrid. He didn’t see any traits of one when he was in his care at the hospital. Yoongi tilted his head, confusion swarming his senses. There were two Dr. Parks in this room and Yoongi needed another way to address the second Dr. Park. At this point in time, Yoongi can’t differentiate one from the other. 

“Jimin! That’s not for you. You already had your share!” The other Dr. Park in this room said - Dr. Ji-Hyun would be better. 

Yoongi sighed and curled his legs up to his chest as they started bickering. Hoseok cleared his throat, effectively shutting the couple. 

“So Yoongi,” Hoseok started. “I am aware that Y/N has yet to inform you about her group of friends and what they do so here we are going to give you a slight introduction. As you know, I’m Hoseok and this is Zurie.” Hoseok pointed to his hybrid. Yoongi nodded. “Dr Park Jimin is your doctor and Dr Park Ji-Hyun works as a veterinary.” Yoongi also knew that, coincidentally being treated by both doctors. He should apologise for puking at her workplace soon. “And that is Kim Seokjin. Y/N’s boss and brother.” 

Yoongi’s eyes bulged out. Wait, brother? 

His head whipped to the threshold of the kitchen and back to the closed bedroom door. Hoseok nodded, catching his attention. “Yep, brother. They don’t often go around saying their siblings and they do not look alike at all. Everybody took a while to figure it out anyway. It’s okay.” He continued. “As of who Y/N knows in this room is only me, Zurie, and Jin. She has not met Jimin till the day she brought you in. So now, to address the elephant in the room.” 

Yoongi gulped, this is it then. 

“As you know Jin and both Dr Park’s occupations, I won’t bring that up. I work under the NIS, Korea’s National Intelligence Service. My team and I have been tracking the sales of illegally sold hybrids so as to find out the mainstream line and put a stop to it.” Hoseok placed a folder and a business card on top, pushing it across the table. “It would be the most effective shall you choose to help us in our cause.”

Yoongi’s eyes drifted to the thick folder but never made any plans to grab it. The air turned charged as the Park’s eyes drifted between the both of them. 

“I don’t want to see it. I will tell you what I know and be done.” Yoongi challenged. 

Hoseok held his arms up in a surrender position. “I shall leave this here just in case you want a look.” Hoseok slid it under the table and opened a drawer, slotting it inside. He sat back, holding a pen and paper, motioning for Yoongi to start. 

Yoongi breathed in a deep breath. 

12 years ago

Yoongi didn’t know the first thing about good deeds. Oh, how would he? 

Loud footsteps sounded and his ears twitched as hands shot into his cage, harshly pulling his ears and scruff. He lay limp, letting the scientists do as they wish. He was born within these four walls of white - has never seen the world outside. He couldn’t remember much of his time with his mom, ripped away from her at a young age.

Yoongi grew up in the faculty, soon learning the horrors of the world he unwillingly plunged into. Every night, screams and screams could be heard from rooms and wings away. The scientists would always come back with bloodied hands and grab another one of them. In the morning, these hybrids would then be returned to their respective cages. 

However, the states of these chosen hybrids were not a pretty sight to see. They always came back bloodied and in pain - either crying for help, fighting to rebel, or completely passed out. It was only with time that Yoongi knew he would be chosen. 

He desperately tried to find a way out of it, rebelling against the scientists and disciplinary masters in hopes that they would find him too troublesome and throw him off. Yoongi soon realised that it only got him into more trouble and an early note to being chosen. 

So Yoongi stayed silent, letting them do what they wished. Injected him, touched him, cut him open and then stitched him back - he endured it. He knew he couldn’t get out of there, already submitting to his fate every time they pulled him out of his cage. He didn’t understand why he was born into this horrid truth but he fought and rebelled in the way of living. 

He wouldn’t let them take away his life - even if this was his life. 

3 years ago 

Yoongi truly tried to fight. But after so long, he started to grow tired. Started to grow hopeless. Rebelling was no longer a strong enough motivation for him to live. He was awake before the scientists came to get him. He turned and looked around the room. He was the only one of his batch that survived. All his friends and family…

Yoongi curled back into a ball at the end of his cage, refusing to cry. A few stray tears leaked out the sides of his eyes as he sniffled. He turned quiet the moment noises could be heard from the other side of the room. 

“I swear, Mr Robbinson. He is a fighter - the last living one of his batch. And because of that, all procedures went through. He is only one of our most successful mutated hybrids his age.”

Yoongi didn’t know what was going on. His ears strained to listen in on the conversation. “I promise to you that he is all you will wish to have.”

Yoongi could hear the sickening click of the key and soon after, he was being grabbed out of his cage. This time, he was faced with a man he had never seen before - well-kept hair, a beard nowhere in sight, and an expensive suit. Yoongi could smell the cologne he used but moreover, he scented the malice coming off this man in strong waves. 

Yoongi looked up and made eye contact with the man, instantly cowering back from the death he saw in the man’s eyes. He started to whimper and struggle from the hold of the scientist. Unfortunately, the collar on his neck did not allow him to go far. Injecting hormones into his body, it relaxed against his own will. 

The last thing he heard was, “I’ll take him” before darkness engulfed him. 

“I was the faculty’s favourite experiment and Mr Robbinson’s daughter’s favourite toy. Things were alright for a while until his daughter took an interest in me. But I refused and rejected her. She would whip me as long as I was not obedient. From that day on, nothing I did was good enough and I would constantly be scolded. Soon, she got enough and sold me off to one of Robbinson’s dealers. I ran away after the fourth deal during the transportation to the fifth.” Yoongi curled deeper into the couch, hoping that he could get this over with. He just wanted to go back into your room and curl up beside you. He didn’t want to be talking about this topic. “Back then, there were many hybrids in one truck and they lacked the manpower so a few of us were able to sneak out. But most of us who did end up getting caught halfway through. Some of them were shot and others were left injured. Only a few of us were lucky to escape.”

“This Mr Robbinson,” Jimin suddenly talked, surprising Hoseok into looking up to observe him. “Does he look like this?” Jimin whipped out a photo from his phone. 

Sure, many years passed and everybody changed. However, Yoongi could never forget the malice in his eyes and the way he commanded the world around him. “Where did you get that picture?” Yoongi hissed, shooting up into a leaping position. In the picture, Jimin was smiling widely beside Mr Robbinson and his instincts shot up high. 

Jimin shut off his phone and raised his hands in a surrender position, showing his neck as a form of submission. “It happened during one of the conventions held earlier this year. He was one of the sponsors. The convention was on medication advancements for hybrids. He owns many hospitals and a large amount of the market share as well. His companies are dominant in every firm he enters.”

Hoseok shifted on the sofa, whistling. “Well, shit. We can’t just barge in with a warrant like that then.” He shifted his gaze to Yoongi. “Approximately how many hybrids do you think there were?”

Yoongi kept silent. “I- I honestly don’t know. In the truck, perhaps a hundred over. But we were not all from the same dealer or facility. In the facility I came from, we are ever one kept within our own batch. However, each batch is split apart between males and females and then further split upon their breeds and types.” The males in the room nodded. It was expected as so. “In my room, there were about 150 hybrids in total. We were placed in cages, stacked on top of shelves. There were a total of 15 rows and 10 columns.”

“We were never allowed out of the rooms unless it was for experiments. Even so, we are taken out of our cages and wheeled to our respective rooms. During the rides, there isn’t much to see. Just white walls on white walls.” Yoongi shrugged, slowly getting to his feet. 

“All right, thank you Yoongi. We will update you if anything happens. I hope to see you healthy soon.” Hoseok flashed him a beaming smile, easily lightening the atmosphere. 

“I’ll see you soon for your check-up.” Jimin placed a business card on the table. “If Ms. Y/N is busy or is still feeling unwell, you can call this number and I’ll arrange for an in-house check-up instead.” 

Yoongi nodded, heading to your room. Seokjin had come out a few minutes before the talk had finished. Yoongi closed the door and walked over to you, picking up the thermometer on the way. 

37.4°C.

Yoongi sighed in relief. He was glad that you were getting better. The past few hours talking about his past has drained him. He quickly wiped you down one last time before shifting and snuggling on the other end of your bed, hidden within the tiny pillow fort but enough space to sense you in distress. 

With a small meow, Yoongi allowed your scent to cover his, lulling him to a deep slumber. 

#bts smut #bts x reader #its x you #bts fics #bts au #hybird bts au #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #yoongi angst #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi fic #yoongi series #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x oc #min yoongi x you #bts x oc #its angst #bts series #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x oc #fic : So What? #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x y/n

[drxwsyni]

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you. 

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons. 

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black. 

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere yuuta #yandere yuta #jujutsu kaisen smut #yuuta smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #tw noncon #tw somnophilia #tw choking #tw stalking #tw virginity loss

[whosscruffylooking]

Promotion (Aaron Hotchner x Reader)

oh geez...this is my first time ever publishing my writing, especially a reader insert. a little cheat sheet: any time the writing is in bold and is italicized, it’s the readers inner monologue (aka my thought process while writing 🤪)

Warnings: None. Angst? Maybe? And then some fluff at the end.

Words: 1.4k

“Although Freud said happiness is composed of love and work, reality often forces us to choose love or work.” -Letty Cottin Pogrebin

Perhaps it was the speed at which his heel was tapping against the floor of his office, the pale color of his knuckles as his grip tightened around his pen, or the way he anxiously kept running his hands through his hair.

God, I'd love to run my hands through his hair. Now is not the time.

For the past twenty minutes, you've found yourself captivated by your boss's troubled appearance. Aaron Hotchner is notorious for being stoic and virtually unreadable. He once stared down the barrel of George Foyet's gun and boasted that he wasn't afraid of him. But here he was, visibly distraught, and all you want to is run to his aid. That's all you've wanted to do for the past three years that you've been a profiler with the BAU.

In all fairness, Aaron was a very closed-off man. He rarely brought his work home with him and never brought his home life to work. Somehow though, you've managed to break that barrier. Even if only slightly. You'd been there for him in his darkest hours, refusing to let him push you away because you knew that if you'd allowed that, he'd suppress himself to death.

Much to your surprise, he didn't put up much of a fight. Instead, he opened himself and his home up to you. He let himself be vulnerable, and he let you help him explore the dark inner workings of his mind. You did so without trepidation, and slowly, you found yourself falling in love with him. You knew the feelings weren't reciprocated, though. At least, you told yourself that. In some twisted way, you'd reasoned that if you refused to acknowledge that he may feel the same, it would make it easier to deny yourself the ability to love your superior. It's wrong. Unprofessional. It could only end in disaster.

Yet, here you are, timidly knocking on the door to his office. Your heart is beating out of your chest, your hands clammy, your teeth drawing blood from your bottom lip.

"Come in," his husky voice mumbles.

Opening the door, you make your way to the chair across from him at his desk. You cross your legs and anxiously pick at the skin around your nails. He looks up from his paperwork, his bloodshot eyes meeting yours, "Can I help you?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, "I can tell somethings wrong, Hotch. You finished your reports an hour ago, and for the past twenty minutes, you've been staring at the same piece of paper, agonizing over it. I haven't seen you like this since-"

Since the divorce papers.

You shake your head, choosing to gloss over that thought, "Is everything okay?"

Silence pierces the air. A pit forms in your stomach. A glossy haze clouds Aaron's eyes, and a small gasp escapes your lips as you notice it.

"Aaron? Aaron, what's the matter? What's on the paper?"

"It's my letter of recommendation for you. You've been chosen as a candidate for the Counterintelligence Division."

You freeze and stare at him with wide eyes. Unable to gather your thoughts or formulate the right words, or any comments for that matter, you sit in silence with him.

Wait. His eyes were watering. Why would he be tearing up?

He's the Unit Chief; his job is to lead his team and hopefully mentor them into a position where they can advance when fit. In fact, he told you after your first year with the unit that he could see you achieving the goal of progressing to Counterintelligence and eventually to FITF.

Is he not happy for me? Proud of me? Of course, he is. He's always wanted me to succeed. This couldn't possibly be because...oh. Me too, Aaron. Me too.

You take a deep breath. Someone has to break the silence...again.

"When would I find out whether or not I got the promotion?"

"First, you would go through a series of interviews and tests before solidifying your position. My recommendation is merely to give my stamp of approval for your transfer."

You let out a stumbled scoff, "Right. You are just giving me your permission to leave. And that's what you want? For me to leave?"

He furrows his brow, "That's not what I meant. You know that."

"Do I, Aaron?"

The honorable and upright team leader reluctantly turns the piece of paper around, pointing out the empty signature line.

"This is what I've been agonizing over. I'm torn y/n because, on the one hand, all I want is for you to live your life with no regrets. To achieve all that you've worked so hard for. And on the other hand, all I want is for you to stay here with me..." he stutters, "With us. The team."

Did SSA Aaron Hotchner just say he wants me to stay with him?

A pink hue paints his cheeks, and you feel yours heat up to match his. You're in disbelief. In one night, it's as if all of the things you've ever wanted have come to fruition, and yet you realize that you can't successfully have them all. Being in Counterintelligence would take you away from your home, your family, the man you're in love with. But if you stay with the BAU, you can only imagine the repression of dating your supervisor; Strauss would not make your life and job easy. You need to make a choice.

Tears sting your eyes, and you can feel your heart yearn for the man sitting across from you.

"Aaron, can I do something wholly unprofessional and beyond all sound reason?"

Aaron narrows his eyes, trying to read exactly what your motives are; his posture straightens as he recognizes your shared longing. He quickly nods and stands up. You mirror his actions and meet him halfway.

Whoa. He's tall. Very tall. And his face is very close to mine.

With bated breath, you gaze into each other's eyes as if asking for permission one last time. It's now or never. As if in complete synchronization, you both lean into one another, claiming each other's lips. He gasps softly, earning a slight chuckle from you. Your entire body tingles, and his hands find their way around your waist, squeezing your hips softy.

He's good at this. Too good. I'm not complaining though.

It's as if his lips are a paintbrush and yours are his canvas. You should pull away, but you're being held captive by his touch. It's as if you both have been starved for year's and your hunger is finally being satisfied. Nothing could taint this moment.

Except...lungs. Stupid, lungs gasping for air.

Forced to separate yourself from him, you touch your forehead to his, determined not to break all contact.

His smile glistens as a small laugh escapes his lips, "You have terrible timing. I had finally convinced myself to sign the document."

You adamantly shake your head, "No. No, I don't want you to sign it. I want to stay. Stay here with the team. I want to stay here with you."

He clears his throat, his voice hoarse, "This job opportunity is too good to pass up y/n."

"No, Aaron Hotchner, you are too good to pass up," you say, pressing your palms to his chest and peering into his beautiful chestnut eyes.

"Well then," he pushes a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, "Looks like I get to boss you around for a little while longer." A devilish smirk spreads across his face.

"Not too fast. I do have an idea of something else you could sign for me."

"And what's that?"

"A check for a raise?"

A hearty laugh echoes from his chest through his office, "I'm gonna kiss you again instead."

"Oh yeah?" You smile, lacing your fingers around his neck.

"Oh yeah." He encloses his lips on yours once more.

It's in that moment when his scent is filling your lungs, his touch imprinting on your skin, and his lips leaving you addicted and craving more that you realize you made the right choice.

No job or promotion could ever give you the feeling you have right now in Aaron's arms. You have never felt more alive than you do exploring your love for Aaron. The best promotion is going from being on the outside of his life to being the one that fills his heart.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner imagine #Aaron Hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds angst

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 16

The Chapter is finally out my Guardians 🐉

Chapter 16 : In the deepest memories of the last of the dragons

My hands would follow their path taken for several minutes, forming various abstract forms of their weak caresses. Many chills arose from time to time with my fingers when I explored new areas but no protest was ever heard, which prompted me to venture out again and again, savoring this almost suspended moment in time.

Blinking hard with white lids in the dim daylight streaming through the curtains, my gaze fell for a moment on the long locks that partially obscured Lance's sleeping face. With his head resting on my bare chest, he didn't seem to want to wake up from his deep sleep, an arm slung over my request now firmly pressed against him.

I directed my caresses a little higher until I reached a scaly area on his shoulder. Fascinated, I drew each outline as if to come to memorize them, surprised to feel them vibrate with each passage of my fingers.

It had been some time since I realized one thing. One thing who, each time he let me see it, filled my heart a little more with new feelings.

More and more often in my presence, Lance seemed to forget his barriers. So sometimes the young man let an infinite number of improbably colored scales run over his skin while, at other times, his ice ran through my body without any logic, drawing complex and involuntary shapes. I’m always surprised at the sweetness of these manifestations, yet they are born of a raw, primitive nature. Because despite his human appearance, Lance was nonetheless a dragon whose instincts he had and, beyond the brutality that accompanied some, I loved to see him let go. I had the impression that in those rare moments when the barrier between his two forms was weakening, he could finally relax, really be himself.

But to share with him this moment of physical intimacy In purely instinctive outbursts, he loved to mark me with his presence, ranging from his powers to his scent and at times, to his claws. Lance had been unintentionally brutal at times, but was it strange if I admitted that I absolutely loved every moment ?

The dragon pulled me out of my reveries, stirring lightly. Lifting his face with still sleeping features, he arched an eyebrow as he analyzed the situation, his gaze drifting over our still naked bodies. My breath quickened as one of his hands lingered on the slope of my hip as his eyes were already dark with desire. Without warning, he tightened his embrace and rocked over me. His long hair tickled my face as he leaned down to explore every inch of my neck, making me moan in spite of myself with languor.

- Hello, my angel, he said in a hoarse voice against my skin.

I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders as a weary smile stretched my lips.

- Hello, my great dragon.

Lance laughed in the crook of my collarbone as he let his icy hands rest on my thighs, causing goose bumps to grow in the grooves of his palms. His lips entered the slope of my jaw, and when they finally met mine, it was with some authority that he lifted my legs on either side of his narrow hips.

We kissed for a long time, our tongues meeting without delay to deepen our embrace. Between my legs, I felt him pulsing more and more vigorously, increasing with maddening speed the desire that had not left me.

- You do well not to forget in whose arms you find, he amused himself in a voice with a much deeper sound than usual.

I dug my nails vigorously into his muscular back as his hips pushed against my lower abdomen.

- How could I, exactly ? I questioned him with difficulty, so much the least of his gestures obsessed me. You don't really help me forget it...

- It's true that I can't keep my human form completely, with you.

- I don't mind, you know, I said with a laugh.

A gentle smile lit up his face, which features often so harsh. In a light mood, the dragon lifted my chin with his fingers to orient my face in his direction. I plunged without hesitation into his eyes which had occupied all my thoughts for several weeks.

Becoming serious again, we didn’t say the least for several long seconds, we observe with a heavy look of meaning.

- Andraste...

I knew what was going on in his head.

We.

Our relationship, our past, our present... To be in each other's arms was absurd, totally unconventional and we were both deeply aware of it. What would become of each other once we got out of this room ?

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing we could become for each other. And we knew it.

Deciding to stop our respective paths of thought, I crossed the short distance between us, feverishly pressing my lips against his. I kissed him with anger, despair, envy. I placed my fears in those powerful hands that encircled my hips, those greedy lips that devoured mine as if to come and seek some breath. I needed to feel him losing control, needed to drown in his eyes that screamed at me that they loved me.

Or at least, during these short, resolutely forbidden moments.

- Please, don't say anything, I said between two kisses, starting to move my pelvis against his. We'll have plenty of time to worry about this later.

Seeming to consider my words at first, Lance suddenly planted one of his hands on my hip as I shifted more and more vigorously under his weight that crushed me. Not giving me time to think, he shamelessly slipped two fingers inside me without ever taking my eyes off suddenly feverish. Reaching my guard, he stirred slowly but confidently, torturing me with his thumb a little higher. My God, I had never wanted someone so much, I was sure.

Each of his movements made a myriad of sensations explode in the pit of my stomach, making me turn my head with his precise gestures. My pelvis quickly accompanies his fingers, guiding them silently while each of my moans is found drawn to his lips. When a multitude of stars erupted in my field of vision, I firmly grabbed his throat as he led me over the edge of the precipice without warning.

As I lost ground, I noticed with a blank eye that my light was diffused into him. Starting from the base of his neck just under my palm, it illuminated him tanned skin with its bright, warm colors. In this story, it wasn't Lance who lost control the most.

I think it was me.

Not that I ever really had control over my powers, that would have been lying. But I no longer control anything. My emotions, my fears, my desires; I was constantly jostled, tossed about between everything.

When the dragon in turn realized that I was marking him without permission with my light, he groaned in satisfaction before promptly removing his fingers from my privacy. I didn't have time to figure out what was happening to me as I already found myself astride him, Lance having grabbed me to reverse our places, his hands feverishly running my back as his tongue attacked my chest. Tilting my head back, I let his hungry mouth move up to my ear, biting my skin with his suddenly sharper teeth until it slightly marked me.

With one hand, I pushed him away in order to come and press his back authoritatively against the mattress. His gaze darkens again as I lean over him, starting a slow descent from his abdomen. Another gasp escaped him as my palm met his erection, slowly working its way up from the base to the end, never taking my eyes away from his. Lance slid his fingers in an inordinately gentle gesture through my hair to achieve my face, making it easier for me. His hands began to shake slightly when I finally took him in my mouth, unable to fully accommodate him as long as he was imposing.

His breathing quickened as I started my task, fascinated to be able to discover him in my turn as he had done that night with my body. Very soon, I heard him utter several quiet moans which excited me to the highest point before he hastily tugged at my hair to make me lift my head. Bluntly, he pulled me up to him while vigorously grabbing my lips, framing my face with his large hands.

- I think I want you too much, my angel.

*

The water hit my head heresy, hitting my long hair hard against my shoulders. How long have I been wandering here ? My eyes narrowed at the force of the rain that fell on me, I moved forward as in a kind of constant blur.

My gaze was followed by a small shadow which is quickly in front of me. Running under the downpours, she didn't seem to feel them, moving freely in the surrounding darkness. I put a feverish hand in front of my face to try to make out something around, having lost the figure between the trees. Sailing blind, a childish laugh catches my attention as I push two branches in my path. Deciding to follow the sound of that unfamiliar voice, I sank deeper into what looked like a real maze.

The closer I got to the shadow, the more it seemed to take shape before my eyes. Very soon, I could make out rainbow-colored hair that blended into pale skin, accompanied by two small horns. The young girl was running innocently, as light as the air despite the brutality of the force of nature that fell on me. My heart skipped a beat when I thought I was losing sight of her again, which prompted me to pick up my pace even more. I stumbled many times, sliding across the muddy ground, hitting oversized roots. The thundering sound of the rain covered the sound of my frantic breath, my hair clinging to my face, entering my mouth, sticking to my eyelashes. My sight was diminishing, darkness absorbed me with its cold arms.

I didn't know what to do anymore, I was lost.

But suddenly the little girl's big silent eyes appeared in front of me. An arm outstretched in my direction, she invited me to join, as bright as the sun. When my fingers made contact with her skin, the scenery changed completely, making my head spin at breakneck speed.

The movements finally calmed down. I immediately recognized the Crystal Room, but it wasn’t the one I knew now.

Several people with unfamiliar faces stood in front of me. With serious faces, they were discussing without seeming to notice my presence.

- He will be the one we send there.

- A Guard Chief, when the situation is totally out of control there ?!

- He's far too young !

- Bring him in, cut in the man who seemed to be the decision-maker here.

A shiver ran through my back as the door opened wide, letting slow, sure footsteps echo through the room. When the young man in question passes close to me, brushing my right arm in the process, a sharp sensation marked my skin under my sleeve. He seemed to feel it too, for the expression on his face changed for a brief moment, almost flustered. His gaze caressed mine without actually seeing me.

- Lance, we were expecting you.

Continuing on his way, a confident smile widened the full lips of the dragon with such youthful features.

- Please excuse me for being late, Master Kaze.

Completely caught up with what was happening in front of my eyes, I was surprised to find the young girl's little fingers wrapped around my forearm. When I turned my head in her direction, the world shifted once again.

A companion collapsed at my feet, spurting blood against my legs. A violent gag took hold of me when its organs fell from the gaping wound that sawed through its stomach. Horrified, I backed up several meters when my attention was signaled by a huge dragon crashing into the rocks not far from me, all with a thudding noise. In a last rattle that comes back to my stomach, the creature collapses to the ground before taking on a semi-human form. Tears flooded my cheeks as I rushed over to him.

- LANCE !

My voice creaked, broke in my throat. I could only see the red puddle that gradually spread around his neck like a macabre web when my vision changed once again.

I was sitting on a bed in a windowless room. Beside me, a small gas light glowing faintly in the dark. Looking down, I noticed I was perfectly dry. No more blood stained my clothes.

- So if I understood correctly, you want to help me break this damn Crystal ?

A harsh laugh shook the broad shoulders of the young man as his interlocutor didn’t move a millimeter, perfectly stoic.

- You understood me very well, Ashkore. Do you want to make this deal, yes or no ?

Lance's gaze shone with a gleam that made my blood run cold. A carnivorous smile crossed his crazy-looking face.

- Very well, my dear deamon. But don't think you'll get me right.

The light suddenly went out, revealing once again the bluish color of the great Crystal.

Serenity reigned in the room. This time, no sound comes to disturb the religious calm of this atmosphere. A movement at the back of the room made me turn around anyway, revealing Lance once again.

Alone, casually assisting on the floor, his gaze didn’t seem to want to leave the luminescent jewel.

His eyes had never been so dark.

- That was the last time he was here, until you woke up.

I jumped at the sound of the small voice behind my back. The young girl stands there, motionless. I hesitated for a moment.

- Ophelia... where are we ? I questioned weakly, having her decide to disappear again.

Her expressionless gaze was lost for a moment in the void behind me. I thought she wouldn't answer me.

- In the deepest memories of the last of the dragons.

- But why ? What are we doing here ?

Walling herself in silence, she walked straight ahead until she crossed my body and passed to the other side.

- You have to find the answer for yourself, Andraste.

The recommended image to blur around me. No, not now, I had to catch up with her !

- Ophelia !

Abruptly opening my eyes, I woke up sweating in my bed, breathing heavily from my parted lips.

I was dumbfounded when I realized that tiny ice crystals were forming under my astonished gaze.

Damn, what happened to me ?

(Chapter 17)

#eldarya #i am not your enemy #eldarya new era #eldarya lance #lance #lance eldarya #eldarya the origins #ashkore #beemoov #eldarya a new era #eldarya fanfiction #eldarya fanfic #eldarya lance fanfiction

[stutterfly]

Snow, Don’t Tell (M) | PJM

Granny Park’s Gossip:

Jimin is the sweetest boy around, no comparison. Always ready to listen to my stories, visits me regularly and tells me all sorts of tales about those friends of his. Might as well adopt them all, I know so much about them! Jiminie’s the best grandson anyone could ask for, really, a little angel, and his little gang of friends is quite the hoot. He’s been a little quiet about himself lately, though. Kept going on and on about that neighbor of his, how cute she always looks and how he likes to help her with her groceries, but I think maybe I teased him just a little too much about that crush of his. Maybe he’ll figure out a way to get closer to her this holiday season, because who knows how much longer he’ll pine over the girl if he doesn’t. 

       ❄  Word Count: 27.2k

       ❄ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

       ❄ Genre:  Neighbors AU / Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Smut / Humor

       ❄ Rating: 18+ / Explicit

       ❄ CW and other tags: heavy sexual tension, grinding, groping, swearing, kissing, biting, hair pulling, fingering, masturbation, teasing, edging, hickeys/ bruising skin, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, love kink, mentions of threesome, hinted foursome, penetrative sex, protected sex, pinching, pierced nips, tiddyfucking, dirty filthy talk, whiny Jimin, Jimin is a Snake spilling all the tea about his friends, angst, mentioned alcoholism, mentions of toxic parents, some negative self-talk which is quashed by the prince himself, feelings of self-consciousness, insecurities about education, basically a slowburn speedrun that’s wet and wild, second-hand embarrassment, exhibitionism/voyeurism, Jimin is everyone’s therapist, reader is a mess, jimin is a mess too The Snowball Effect Collab Masterlist  This is the first fic the series/project The Snowball Effect. Please click the link above to see the summaries and genres for each fic! Also, while each of these fics can stand on their own, they all end up at the same place, occurring simultaneously. There are also little easter eggs and secrets for the other fics woven throughout each of these! For the biggest, fluffiest Snowball Effect experience, we highly recommend you read each of them! Do not repost.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

‘Thank you’ is a powerful phrase. It can hold so much joy, affirmation, and even love. True gratitude is more than a word; it's a feeling. It's those unexpected, kind gestures when everything is falling apart: the small smile across the room to ease the tension, the jokes shared to lighten the load of a stressful existence, or the quarters spent drying a neighbor's laundry.

There's nothing quite like being appreciated, nothing quite like someone else being thoughtful for once, nothing quite like someone saying, "I know you didn't have to do it but you did, and I can't express what it means to me." Okay, so sometimes they don't say it, but it's strongly implied.

Around this time each year work grows incredibly stressful. Everyone is trying to push their work onto someone else's desk and leave the office in hopes of enjoying some time with family and friends. Taking off the last two weeks of the year seemed like a no-brainer. So why is it so hard to turn off the screen and actually do that?

Click. Click.

Another email answered, another client getting their response before the new year. Dark, tired eyes lazily drift across the computer screen, fluttering a moment until he catches his head leaning forwards and sits up straight with a shake of his head. How many more emails can there possibly be? Jimin stretches his arms towards the ceiling and slowly rolls onto his back, resting his head against the plush carpet of his living room. Aren't vacations supposed to be a time of relaxation and fun? Isn't he supposed to be able to turn on his out-of-office message, leave the post-it note on his monitor, and trust in his coworkers? A heavy sigh escapes him and a frustrated groan rumbles in his throat. "Why can't I just turn it off?"

Stifling a yawn, he pulls the phone from his pocket to check the time. Six fifteen. Why am I so tired already? Should I get some dinner?

He blinks a few times, feeling his eyelids grow heavier with each pass they make across his eyes. Still holding the phone, his hand slowly descends until the device is pressed flat onto his chest. He's teetering into a dream when the unmistakable jingle of keychains clattering against one another echoes in the hallway. His eyes immediately snap open, and he brings his phone up again. Oh shit. It's Thursday.

The device slips through his fingers and smacks against his forehead. As he rubs his temple to soothe the dull ache beginning to form, he ponders whether the phone is to blame or if work is the true culprit. Resting his head against the plush carpeting, he blankly stares at the ceiling and loses himself in quiet meditation, thoughtlessness consuming every second that passes. A small sound pokes through the barrier of silence, a muffled humming just barely passing through the wall beyond the couch.

Jimin lifts his head just enough to peer down his body, focusing just beyond the laptop at the wall separating his apartment from yours. The humming continues and he curiously tilts his head towards the sound, as though he can make his ears listen harder than they already are. What are you singing tonight, Snow?

He rolls over, twisting his torso just enough to rest on his elbows as he closes his eyes, hoping turning off one sense will heighten the other. Instead, he begins to imagine you frantically ripping off your work clothes in an attempt to enjoy your evening as fast as possible, quickly donning some thin tanktop you've saved as your last article of clean clothing for the week. You're always braless in the laundry room, your cold, hardened nipples poking out from beneath the flimsy fabric stretched tight around your chest. But it's never thin enough to be as transparent as he would like. His tongue darts out to wet his lips briefly before dragging his teeth over his bottom lip.

The humming wavers between louder and softer as you run between rooms, no doubt collecting everything as fast as possible in case he beats you there. Should he let you win this time?

"Baby, you're a fiiiiiiiiirework!" you belt out, very off-key before mumbling the rest of the lyrics you clearly don't know and slowly going back into a hum.

Laughter spills from Jimin's lips like a water fountain in hopes that it's loud enough for you to hear. When you continue on your tune without missing a beat, he leans back, his laughter dissipating into a wide smile as he slowly rises from the floor.

The laundry bin sits by the door, a pitifully small amount of dirty clothes resting in the bottom of it. He presses his lips together a moment before gathering clean clothes from the hangers in his closet and tossing them on the pile. Opening the door, he grabs the basket, casually strolling past your door and down the hall into the laundry room.

No one else seems to do laundry on Thursday nights. It's no doubt why you chose it as the time to do yours. One of the two washers is always busted. Tonight, however, both seem to be functioning. That won’t do. Jimin hoists himself on top of the machines, giving himself enough leverage to unplug the one that’s always falling into disrepair. Luckily the service ticket has been discarded recently. He pulls it from the top of the exposed trash bin in the corner and places it on top of the “broken” washing machine. He quickly starts loading his laundry into the functioning machine, humming the same tune he heard you singing earlier.

You don’t mind working during the holiday season. Everyone has somewhere to go, family to see. You gladly volunteer to work the shifts no one wants to distract yourself from the fact that you don’t. Overtime pay doesn’t hurt either. It’s easier to take your mind off of the disappointment that family-oriented holidays bring when you have cute little customers to send home happy and clean. Unfortunately, you always seem to get filthy in the process of making that happen.

The pile of dirty fabrics layered in your laundry basket tells you that you should probably start a load before showering if you want to have anything semi-clean to wear tomorrow. Plus, if you want to beat your neighbor to the good machine, you’ll need to hustle. Despite the sweat dripping down your neck, you don your favorite zip-up hoodie to attempt to hide the fact that your bra is in the bin with all the other items slated for a good wash.

You catch yourself in the mirror just before picking up the basket, oversized jacket sliding one of your shoulders and exposing your skin to the chill of the apartment. You’re torn between wanting Jimin to see you like this and hoping that you’ll only see him after showering, as you’re fairly certain you still smell like wet dog.

There’s an undeniable tension cutting through the air any time you’re in a room together, but you’re too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it. You’ve convinced yourself that there’s no way someone as perfect-looking as Jimin could be actually interested in you. You want the flirting and the nights spent watching garbage TV together to lead to something real, but fantasizing about how you’d knock on his door simply to confess your attraction is a lot safer than actually doing it.

Down the hall you go, lifting the heavy basket just past the threshold and dragging it across the carpeted hallway. You pop out one of the headphones in your ears so that no one can sneak up on you as you round the corner to the laundry room. Kicking the basket with your foot, it smacks into the door and you awkwardly reach over the pile of clothes to swing it open. The plastic scrapes across the tile and your field of vision travels from the floor to the machine currently filling with water.

Jimin sits on top of the washer with one leg crossed over the other, hands folded around his knee. A smug grin adorns his features as his eyes roam over your form, drinking in the surprise you offer so freely.

"I beat you again this week, Snow," he teases, bouncing his crossed leg a few times with a mischievous tilt of his head.

A puff of hot air passes through your parted lips, clearly not expecting the man to be waiting so patiently for your arrival. Your nose scrunches up in disapproval as you take a few steps towards him, hands on your hips. "You know I get home late on Thursdays. Can't you let me win for once?"

"Oh, you want me to take it easy on you?" He tuts, tongue poking into the side of his cheek for a moment. He uncrosses his legs and uses his palms to lean forward, raising his eyebrows. He pauses once he's inches from your face, letting the shallow space between you build the tension you've become accustomed to. "That doesn't sound like any fun."

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to close the distance between you. "What sounds like fun to you then?"

The way his smile falters as his eyes fill with devious wonder causes your heart to skip a beat. You swallow hard as his gaze blatantly drops to your chest and his tongue slowly rolls across his lips. Your first instinct is to cover the nipples you know are practically poking holes through your tanktop, but you power through the shame burning your cheeks long enough for his eyes to finish their journey down your body. When they settle on yours again, they definitely seem darker, full of hunger.

"I can think of a few things," he murmurs in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "But they're a secret." He giggles, a shy smile cutting the devilish tone from his words.

It's a deep enough cut through the thick tension that you can take a step back and release the breath you've unknowingly been holding. You roll your eyes and sigh as you note the repair ticket on the machine beside him. "Well, looks like I'll have to wait until you're done." You hoist the basket of dirty laundry onto the seemingly broken washer beside him, carefully taking out the small container of detergent stuffed towards the top. The words come out before you can stop them. "Do you have a big load?"

He drags his teeth over his lips a few times and allows his smile to grow impossibly wider. "You're talking about laundry, right?"

You clumsily fumble with the bottle of detergent until it hits the washer with a loud bang, trying to recover from your poorly-worded question as you position the container upright and eye the empty bin beside him."Yes. The load! It looks! ....Big... A big... Load. Did you stuff it all in there?" The thoughts pricking your tongue are short and choppy, full of regret and horny confusion.

There's no way to hide the mental images playing in your mind of Jimin taking you from behind, emptying himself into you. There's no way to hide the way you want to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth until he gives you the load you can't stop talking about.

He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows at you again, offering another chance for you to rephrase. You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing you could phase through the floor instead of dealing with the meltdown your brain is obviously having. "I just... Don't break it by stuffing it too full, y'know?"

Jimin snickers behind his hand. "Don't worry. I was able to fit everything in, but it's a reasonable size."

"Knock on my door when you're done," you say quietly, ashamed by the lack of bloodflow in your own head.

You turn to leave but Jimin grabs your wrist, causing you to spin back towards him. "Wait..."

He leans in, strawberry blonde hair falling across his face as he tries to get your attention with eyes that threaten to pierce into your very soul. His head swerves left and right and you mirror his movements to avoid eye contact.

“Look at me,” he pleads, throaty whine ripping through the base of his chest despite the smile on his lips. “Please?”

Your eye flicker to meet his, a pout staining your features that you hope will mask your embarrassment long enough to return to the safety of your apartment. “What?”

“Would you… Like to come over and watch a movie?” Despite the cheesy grin on his face, his voice falters and the tips of his ears are bright red. “I ordered pizza. I don’t think I can eat it all myself and I don't like leftovers.”

You know he has his shy side, but any time it peeks out from behind his confident persona, it still manages to catch you off guard. You do your best not to sound too eager, but you can feel the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and traveling up your chest. They’re telling you to screech your answer until your lungs quit burning.

It’s not like he’s never invited you over his apartment before. You've shared many pizzas, and takeout boxes over trashy reality TV for the past few months. But this thing you two have been dancing around is finally pushing your hormones to a breaking point. He seems interested, but always hesitates, letting moments pass that would be better spent pressing himself into your body or running his tongue across your neck.

It occurs to you that maybe he just likes to tease for some harmless fun and the prospect of things going any further with you isn’t part of the game. Maybe you’re just projecting your desires onto him. His jaw goes slack as you lean towards him, melting beneath his gaze. Dark eyes drift across your chest again, shamelessly spacing out when they settle on the pebbled nipples beneath your shirt.

Then again, maybe you think too much.

Every conversation is deeply rooted in lust, but the flirtatious banter is always coated with a fine film of pleasantries that mask your true intentions. Could he feel the same? If you can just get the static in your brain to subside long enough to form a coherent thought, to allow you to properly express your feelings, maybe you could get an answer out of him. Pushing down the excitement brewing in your gut, your eyes dart away and you nervously clear your throat.

“I… have to clean mastiff spit out of my hair,” you begin, your heart snapping in two when you catch the smile fade with the light in his eyes. “But… I’d love to come over when I’m finished.”

He visibly perks up and hops down from the washer, casually gesturing at the digital timer on its screen. “Meet back here in twenty?”

You unconsciously bite your lip, grinning like an idiot as you make your exit. “It’s a date.”

As the door to the laundry room clicks shut, Jimin bobs his head in disbelief a few times. This time you used the word ‘date.’ Tonight can’t be another movie night where he freezes up. No horror. No action movies or thrillers. It’s time to pick out some cute rom-com for you both to giggle along to, hopefully with an extra mushy scene he can use to set the mood. He jumps in the air, unable to contain his excitement. His cheeks are beginning to hurt with how much smiling he’s been doing, but he doesn’t care. You said it’s a date.

A shiver wracks his body as he closes the door to his apartment. He frowns at the number on the thermostat, quickly pressing the button to raise the temperature until it's obnoxiously higher than it should be. There. It should warm up in no time. He seeks the instant gratification of warmth, however. When it doesn't come he decides the next twenty minutes will be best spent in a hot bath.

He grips the edge of the cold fiberglass surface with his hands, sinking into the steaming water slowly with a satisfied sigh. He tilts his head back, resting it on the tile behind him. The sound of water rushing through your showerhead carries through the wall and he stills all movement, careful not to disturb the surface of the water until he hears the sliding of curtain rings along a metal rod. The pressure of the water pounding against the tub dulls in volume, clearly finding another target to assail. You hiss a string of curses that indicate the temperature is too hot for your liking, but it's far too easy to hear sin in each little gasp you take.

Jimin submerges his hand in the water, leaving the other gripping the edge of the tub. His fingers squeeze the inner flesh of his thigh before forming a tight fist around the base of his hardened cock. He stills, feeling the familiar needy pulse echoing against the grip of his palm, urging him to offer some kind of relief in the form of movement. But he’s determined to listen, straining his ears for any indication of your body’s positioning; what he wouldn’t give to be able to see you right now. What would you do if this wasn’t here? Would you watch me too?

Realizing he’s not going to get much more out of the wall behind him unless you decide to sing, he closes his eyes. It’s almost too easy to imagine the water pelting the tender flesh of your breasts. He can thank the thin fabric of your tanktops for that. The cleavage and pebbled nipples constantly drawing his attention away from your face has created a mirage in his mind that’s almost believable. Stray droplets roll down your body in places he knows his tongue could do a much better job covering. His thumb brushes up and down preemptively against his cock, doing everything he can to show restraint just in case you decide to part those pretty lips of yours and sing for him.

Finally he drags his palm up his shaft, finding a rhythm that begins to ease the throb building in his abdomen. He thinks of standing in that shower with you, strands of sopping wet hair sticking to his face as his mouth collides with the delicate skin of your chest. He thinks of tonguing one nipple and licking a stripe to the other. He thinks of using his hands to massage and squeeze at the heavenly mounds of flesh before him as the water beats down on the pair of you. Most importantly, he thinks of you pleading for more. All restraint he previously showed comes crashing down for a fraction of a second. The moan that rips itself from his throat is shameful enough to bring a blush to his own cheeks, and it’s absolutely loud enough to carry through the walls. Did you hear that? ...Did you like it?

Before he can consider pausing to listen for a subtle response, the loud thud of what sounds like a heavy plastic container hitting your floor breaks him from his daydream. Did I catch you off guard? Jimin does nothing to subdue the cackle spewing from his mouth. You certainly didn’t earn your nickname for your grace. Gradually he picks up the pace, allowing his fist to glide from the base of his cock to the exposed tip poking out of the water. The wet sloshing sound his fist makes as it bobs up and down is enough to drive him over the edge, imagining what it might be like to fuck himself down your throat. A growl starts low in his chest and builds into a whine as it tumbles from his mouth.

The glistening studs in his nipples rhythmically heave with each greedy breath, already cold and hard from the exposure to the air. His free hand instinctively moves to pinch the bit of flesh trapped between one of the studs. The sting adds a new wave of pleasure to the way his hand plunges down into the water and up again. He pants into the air, wishing you were the force guiding the hand over his shaft, creating the pressure and wetness trapped between his fingers.

He thinks of you on the other side of this wall, soapy suds running down your perfect tits, your stomach, your legs. What he wouldn’t give to be on his knees between those legs, latching onto your pussy and performing sinful tricks with pressured flicks of his tongue. You might want to get clean, but he wants to make you filthy, even as soft citrus-scented suds dribble down your body and onto his face. Would your legs buckle under the pleasure? He considers hooking his arms around your legs and leaning you back against the wall for better leverage, sucking on that sensitive, swollen bud as the water cascades down his back. What do you sound like when you really sing?

Almost perfectly timed, a moan breaks through the sound of his frenzied pelvic thrusts sloshing up into his fist. A particularly jagged exhale leaves his lips as he slows, the water undulating like angry waves crashing into one another. Click. Click. Click. The sound of the water pressure in your shower changes drastically. Jimin’s whole body convulses as he realizes what you’re doing. He plants his feet on the wall above the faucet, bending his knees so he can sink down into the tub up to his jaw.

He’s been in your apartment. He’s seen the handheld attachment. Closing your transparent shower curtains for company doesn’t mean it’s suddenly invisible. He holds back a curse as you cry out in pleasure again. This time you sound close to the wall beside him. Too close. You’re doing this on purpose. Do you want me to listen? Two can play at this game, Snow.

He drags his teeth over his lip and pumps himself fast, water spilling from the tub and flooding the cold tile flooring. Loud, unrestrained groans fill the air as the water sloshes between his palm and cock, creating a very wet, obscene squelching sound. He straightens his legs against the wall to bring himself up to a relaxed position as he gasps for release, trying not to drown in the water rolling back and forth in the tub.

It’s almost too cute the way he imagines your face is changing color right now. To his surprise you immediately retaliate with a slew of vulgar curses and frantic pleading. Electric butterflies pulse through his abdomen, quickening the pace at which his climax is travelling. It’s so close now; he can’t even pretend like that didn’t just affect him.

“Y/N…. Please… Come over… Ah...” he moans against the wall, knowing you’re panting just on the other side.

“Oh, fuck… I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum,” you warn in a shrill whisper, volume growing with each repetition until you’re practically shrieking. Just at the peak of your frenzied inhales, your voice dips into a low breathy whimper that he can barely make out. “Jimin… I’m cumming. Fuck...”

He slows his movements so he can better listen to you reach your climax, hearing his name on your lips just before losing the ability to listen to anything over his own thrashing in the water. His palm glides down his cock and back up, desperate to meet his own release. He’s got your voice in his head notifying him you’re about to cum on repeat. It drives him over the edge.

He groans, using pressure and strength to stroke himself one last time as ropes of white begin to shoot straight up towards the ceiling like a fountain and land back in the water. He pumps himself through it, riding each wave of pleasure until he’s sure he’s milked every drop of cum from his cock and the fountain of white subsides. He falls back and lets his arms go limp in the water. Now he’s the one who needs a shower.

Despite wanting to show off a little skin for your date with Jimin, there’s a chill in the complex that seems to permeate deep into your skin, digging straight down to your bones. Even the memory of your bold behavior in the shower can’t keep the heat circulating through your body. By the time you realize how long it has taken you to will yourself from the steamy bathroom, apply some “low-effort” makeup, and wiggle into a pair of fleece-lined leggings, you’re ashamed to have missed the window for your meeting by ten minutes.

You sprint down the hall in an oversized hoodie, desperate to apologize for your tardiness. The electric hum of the dryer greets you, and the washing machine previously occupied by Jimin’s belongings thrums nearby, but he’s nowhere to be found. Your laundry bin sits on top of the washer, its contents within the machine below. The backside of the repair ticket has been scribbled on and left beside your bin. ‘Are you still coming, Snow? ;)’

The ticket crumples in your palm as you stuff it in the cavity of your sweatshirt and make your way back towards Jimin’s door, holding back the nerves swirling in your chest. You want to scream in excitement, but that’s probably not an acceptable reaction, even though you reason with yourself that it is a very human one considering how long you've waited for an opportunity like this.

The door swings open before you can knock, a very bundled up Jimin puffing his cheeks out at you. For a moment you mistake his expression for one of annoyance at you. "The heat is out. Can you believe it?"

"What?"

"I just got an email from the leasing office. They don't know when it will be fixed. They're urging people to buy heaters and get reimbursed for them later," he mumbles, looking down at his phone and re-reading the message as you brush past him, immediately discarding your furry slippers as you go. The carpeting in his apartment feels so much better than yours.

"That explains why I can't stop shivering," you sigh. On your next inhale, the smell of pepperoni wafts into your nostrils, and you make a beeline for the small dining room table across the room, noting the closed box on top of it.

"At least they're offering to take money off of rent 'due to inconvenience.'" Jimin scrunches up his nose, shuffling his sulking form towards you. "But I don't want to go buy a heater."

You already have a slice of pizza stuffed in your mouth when you absentmindedly try to answer. "Ihaabwon." The words are a garbled mess.

His eyes meet yours and you nearly choke, embarrassed for trying to speak with your mouth full. The hand still clutching his phone falls to his side and he grins at you with devilish intent, eyes crinkling in the corners. "You're so cute when your mouth is stuffed."

You chew a few times and swallow hard. When you find the nerve to speak, your voice comes out smaller and softer than you'd like. "...I have one. I'll go get it."

Damn it. What happened to being bold? Maybe you'd be faring better if your heart wasn't pounding so damn fast. Despite this, none of your blood seems to be circulating properly to your fingers, your toes, or even your brain at this junction. You're suspicious it's all being funneled into your swollen clit, which has only just stopped tingling from the barrage of pressure you'd exposed it to. Regardless, you gobble down the rest of the slice as you exit, telling yourself you can't let your nerves get the better of you again. Tonight has already proven you can be braver than you think, and it's time to embrace it.

It's about twenty minutes into the movie when you finally work up the courage to place your hand on his, finding it just as cold and clammy as yours. He gives it a gentle squeeze and twines your fingers together without looking away from the screen. Your rapid heartbeat threatens to give away every ache his touch soothes. You do your best to focus on the flimsy plot of the film, but all you can think about is how nice it feels to finally have his palm pressed against yours.

The space heater across the room rattles, fruitlessly pumping out a stream of hot air that never quite makes it over to the pair of you. It’s now that you’re just noticing the soft glow of yellow string lights, creating a cozy atmosphere that you wish could be half as warm as it looks. You chew your lip as you pretend to watch the screen, feeling the weight of his head coming to rest on your shoulder. You try to avoid the thought of how badly you have to pee right now, resisting the urge to bounce your leg to stave off the sensation. The universe is too cruel.

Suddenly Jimin’s pocket begins buzzing. He pulls out his phone and silences the vibrations, groaning as he turns his face towards your shoulder. “Ugh. Laundry is done. I need to go get it...”

As he rises you feel his hand turn over yours a few times, gently caressing the length of your fingers as though he’ll never feel them again. You move to stand but he presses his palm into your shoulder, encouraging you to stay put. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it, ok? Keep my seat warm.”

You melt into the cushion, grinning foolishly at the wink he gives you before wrapping a blanket around himself and leaving. Trembling hands fumble for the remote control, pausing the movie to hopefully drag out the time you’ll spend with him tonight. You have ample time to relieve the pressure on your bladder, nearly breaking your neck on the wet, slippery tile of the bathroom.

Despite the crumpled proof sitting in your pocket, or your aversion to speaking on what you suspected was only a fucked-out fantasy, the amount of water lingering on that floor confirms its authenticity. Can you really pretend like you didn’t get off just listening to him moan and touch himself? Can you really pretend like he didn’t get off listening to you? You settle down in front of the space heater, warming your fingers on the hot air with a satisfied sigh and spacing out as you lose yourself in the memory.

Jimin returns from laundry duty after a few minutes, but you’re focused on the heat, closing your eyes and trying to get the chill out of your bones. He waddles his laundry bin to the corner of the room, setting it down before creeping up behind you. Soft fleece wraps around shoulders along with his curve of his arms. It’s warm, incredibly soft, and it smells of fresh linen fabric softener.

“You weren’t keeping my spot warm.” The chiding nature of his tone is undercut by the breathy whisper and pillowy lips thawing the cold shell of your ear.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise, eyes still closed when you turn your face towards the tickling sensation.

"Oh? Really?" Supple lips skim against your cheek, but he doesn't move any closer. "How?"

You exhale a ragged breath, trying to find the will to close the distance between your lips. All it would take is a nudge, just a subtle turn on your part to do so. But, like always, you freeze. How ridiculous is it that you can mutually masturbate, but sharing a kiss is somehow beyond your courage?

"I'll... keep you warm now. I'm all toasty, see?" Your palm, now slightly less frigid but still equally clammy, cups his chin as you tap your fingers against his cheek.

"I see..." he hums in disapproval, weight of his chin resting on your cold hand. "It seems like you need more time to defrost, but if you come back to the couch with me we can share this blanket I threw in the dryer with your clothes for a few minutes.”

"Hmph, are you saying I wouldn't do a good job keeping you warm?"

You can feel the twitch of his lips against your palm, shy smile forming. "Your hands are still so cold! I'm sure you have your ways. But..." He pauses, gentling bringing his thumb and forefinger across your jawline before pressing them together below your chin. "I'd love to see what they are."

You half-giggle, half-scoff at him. He’s laying it on thick tonight, but it’s not like you mind. In fact, you don’t want the night to end because of it. You both settle in on the couch with Jimin draping the soft blanket across you, remnants of a faint heat in its fibers. Just as the movie resumes, Jimin starts curling the blanket in his fingers, which causes the material to billow in his lap. It’s not like it’s a small blanket, but over the course of a few minutes you’re left with practically no coverage.

“Thief,” you finally accuse, fingers clutching the remaining edge slipping past your shoulder.

He blinks and stares back at you with a surprised smile. “Hmm? We’re sharing aren’t we?”

You roll your eyes and snuggle closer in an attempt to siphon back some coverage. Still his fingers twine the blanket in circles, inching the material further off the slope of your body. Your fingers slither across his chest and down the curve of his arm in search of the hand robbing you of heat. Neither of you are even pretending to watch the movie anymore. He tries to slink back into the cushion, smiling at your futile attempts to free the fabric from his grasp.

“You stop that,” you whisper, leaning against his chest and losing yourself in the way his eyes seem to twinkle in the golden glow of the lights circling the room. When you finally make contact with the fist curled in the blanket, he immediately drops the fabric and clamps down to lace your fingers with his.

“Make me,” he pleads through half-lidded eyes, tongue swiping a quick line across his lips.

You return the pressure on your palm with a squeeze of your own, pressing the back of his hand into the cushion beside him. “Fuck,” you breathe.

Your eyelids flutter for half a second; the electric chill running through your body may be caused by the temperature or simply the way his neck dips to lower his face down to yours. Either way, your breath hitches and you hook your leg over his lap. He takes this as an invitation to slide his free arm around your back, ready to press you even further into his body should you give him a signal to proceed.

You lean further across his lap, arching yourself up into him. “Is that what you want? You want me to make you?” you whisper curiously, lips grazing his as the questions spill from them.

“Please,” he whines breathlessly, voice cracking.

You close the gap with a sly, teasing smile, hungrily smashing your mouths together as though tasting every bit of him will sate that hunger. The hand currently sinking into the couch flies up to his jaw, thumb tracing a line over its contours as you’ve been aching to do for ages. He uses the opportunity to cradle the back of your head, gently positioning it in a way that puts less of a strain on his neck while the hand at your back coaxes you desperately towards him in a lopsided embrace.

The ebb and flow of your kisses have your heads bobbing in time with one another. He inhales greedily over your mouth, immediately coming back down to suck your bottom lip between his teeth. A small satisfied sigh lingers in your throat, and you feel his hand clamp down on the thigh you have spread over his lap.

Just as gravity starts to drive your form further from his embrace, you shift your weight and shimmy your arm out from where it’s trapped against his body. He allows you to pull away for just a moment, your lip snapping back to you with a soft, wet smack. You flit your tongue out to savor any sliver of himself that he’s left behind, already missing the way his tongue tastes when trading exploratory flicks with yours.

Planting your palm into the cushion beside his head, you gain enough leverage to fully straddle his pelvis. You tower above him, relishing in the wonder carved into the way he watches you, mirth creasing thin lines into the outer edges of his eyes. Your thumb glides across his cheek a few times as you lightly cup his jaw with your fingertips, your gaze darting between the reflections of light dancing across his eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you admit.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he confesses, maintaining steadfast eye contact as he fights the blush prickling the tips of his ears.

It takes all of your self-restraint not to immediately ask why. Instead a joke forms on your tongue before you can quell it. “It’s the smell of wet dog, right? Drives you crazy?”

He giggles, throwing his head back with a loud inhale. “Irresistible!”

A shy smile parts your lips and you descend on him, crashing your mouth down on his to mute the sound of his laughter. Those gentle giggles quickly morph into muffled moans as your tongue dives into his mouth. It takes less than a second for him to counter your intrusion by sliding his tongue against yours rhythmically and you lose yourself in that hypnotic tempo.

His hands settle the top of your knees before his palms start running up to the crease where your thighs meet your hips and then back down again. Your hips involuntarily begin rocking to combat the need building between your legs, but your leggings have pulled away from your skin in the area you crave friction the most.

A staggered whimper breaks out between your frenzied panting. Whether the sound came from him or from you, it’s hard to tell. The few times you’ve opened your eyes to make sure you haven’t been dreaming, he’s looked just as fucked out as you feel. He starts drawing deep circles along the inside of your thighs with his thumbs and your need for him challenges your need to breathe. Gasping for air between wet, sloppy kisses, you card your fingers through his hair, knotting them in place as you roll your body in time with the tongue gliding against yours. This time he blows a puff of air as he moans into you, greedily latching onto your lip and biting down as the sound leaves a croaky trail in his throat.

Sliding his hands along the tops of your thighs isn’t enough. He spreads his fingers; the edge of his thumbs flare towards the inside of your legs, forging a path up towards your clit. The way the material stretches away from your body causes him to abandon his route in favor of following the fabric tucked in that v-shaped channel leading up to your hips. His touch is too light with the layers you’re wearing, but you don’t have time to file a complaint before he slides his fingers beneath your sweatshirt, clamping them down on your skin.

“Ah!” you hiss between kisses, hips wiggling at the chill creeping up your spine. “Your hands--” You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s biting down hard again and dragging your lower lip through his teeth. “--arr sho--” Your lip snaps back to you, breaking away just long enough to speak in broken gasps before he closes the distance again. “-cold!”

He laughs against your whine, gripping your back and sneaking both thumbs beneath the waistband of your leggings. “Weren’t you going to warm me up?” You can feel him guiding your hips, dragging them in asymmetric loops over his lap.

“Weren’t you going to share the blanket?” you chide, breaking the kiss again.

He grins, gripping a corner of the blanket and throwing it over your shoulder. “I did. Now come back.” He eagerly tries to goad you back to his lips, but you pull back just a bit.

“There are better ways I can warm your hands,” you mumble, yanking his hair to the side to expose his lovely neck, golden skin riddled with goosebumps. Your mouth gets to work kissing and sucking on the sensitive, uncovered bit of flesh, gushing a little bit when he groans beneath you. But it’s not enough. If only your pants weren’t in the way, you could certainly warm more than just his hands.

He gives your hips a firm squeeze, digging his fingers into the soft flesh at your sides. “What ways are those?”

“Take off your sweater,” you tempt in a whisper, dragging your tongue up to his ear. “And I’ll show you.”

He frowns as you lean back, giving him space to do as you’ve suggested. Instead, he tugs at the hem of your sweatshirt, frown morphing into a devilish smile. “You first.”

“I… don’t have anything on underneath,” you admit, shying away from him.

He slips his hands around your jaw, pulling you forward. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“There’s no heat,” you remind him, mimicking his movements and tapping your fingers against his cheek.

“So you want me to take off mine?” he asks, feigning offense. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, dipping his head forward and following your movements. “That seems kind of unfair, don’t you think?”

Your confidence wanes and you squirm under his scrutiny, feeling particularly stupid for trying to be sexy. Sexy isn’t your thing. Floundering under pressure and saying something dumb is definitely your thing. Sweat runs down your neck, despite the fact that you’re still a walking popsicle. In your defense, the art of botching conversations is a skill that runs in your family.

"You're right," you agree, shaking your head. "I'm sorry. It's freezing. I'm an idiot."

You begin to climb off his lap, but his hands catch your hips and bring you back down. "No, no. You're not." He gently presses his lips against yours. "Don't worry. I know you've got me covered."

With a shit-eating grin, he tugs down on the blanket half-draped across your shoulder. You feel him wiggle beneath you before he leans back and shrugs his arms through the holes of his sweater, hastily working the material over his head. At least he has a t-shirt on; you don't feel quite so bad now. The flicker of static charges the air around him, strawberry blonde hair fanning out like it has its own sense of gravity. Without a second thought he moves back in to kiss you and an electric shock zaps the place where your lips connect.

"Ah!" you recoil at the sensation and he giggles between peppering your jaw with kisses. It takes all of your willpower to push him back against the cushion. He even gives you a little pout, his bottom lip protruding.

"You're worse than my clients," you tease, flicking your tongue out at him. "Be a good boy."

"I am," he insists while cupping your jaw and trying to drag your neck low enough to latch his lips onto. When he realizes you aren't having it, he snakes his hands down to your ass and gives both cheeks a firm squeeze.

"Liar." Grinning like an idiot, you grab his wrists and pin them to the cushions while you descend, watching his eyes as long as possible before you press your lips against his neck. You catch a bit of skin between your teeth and he hisses like steam is about to start pouring from his ears. Pressing down with the flat of your tongue, you explore the expanse of his neck for the sounds of pleasure you yearn to hear.

"This..." he exhales a lazy moan, trying to fight his body's will to give in but you can already see his resolve is flimsy. "...isn't fair..."

A deep, throaty moan vibrates beneath your tongue; your pussy throbs at the way the croaky sound crosses over into a melodic hum as you massage wet circles deeper into that spot where his collarbone and neck meet. Another moan escapes him between shaky breaths, higher pitched this time, and twice as needy. His wrists twitch against your palms, fingers digging into the cushion beneath him. Yeah. You want to live in this spot indefinitely.

"Hey..." he trails softly, head falling against the back of the couch. "... You're... Don't leave marks... Snow... hey... Ah... Y/N..."

Your lips smack as you come up for air. He's too drunk on the endorphins swimming through his veins to see your hesitation at the use of your name in lieu of the cute nickname you've grown accustomed to hearing. "You want me to stop?"

He whimpers, self-control buckling faster than you can even get the question out. "No, don't stop. Please, don't stop, Y/N."

He doesn't need to say it twice; you’ve been waiting far too long for this. Your tongue is back on that sensitive spot right by his collarbone and he's moaning against your ear in less than a fraction of a second.

“Mmm… you're gonna make me wear high collared shirts, aren't you?" he whispers, half shaming your actions, half just thinking out loud. There's a subtle attempt to grind his pelvis up into the space between your thighs.

You can’t help but laugh against him, tilting your head back just enough to inspect your handiwork. There’s a criss-crossed reddish-purple mark marring his skin, a placeholder to remind you where to place your tongue later. “It kinda looks like a heart if you squint. Don’t worry. It’s low enough the only way anyone will see it is if you’re walking around shirtless.”

He sighs, picking his head off the couch and trying to peek down at it. “I guess I’ll look at it later when I’m thinking of you on top of me like this.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as he smiles innocently at you.

“...Are your hands still cold?” You’re already dragging his limp wrists up your thighs to the hem of your oversized sweatshirt

The hoods of his eyelids shade the glaze in his eyes, but do nothing for the way his jaw falls open as you continue dragging his hands upwards. You hiss as his fingers apply pressure to your body as they travel upward, leaving chilly streaks in their wake. Without hesitation, you chew your lip and cup your hands over his, pressing them into your tits. You look into his eyes for comfort as blood rushes to your cheeks. His pupils are completely blown out and you feel his labored breathing quicken.

“Is this okay?” you question, experimenting with a slight roll of your hips.

His eyelids flutter a moment as he massages your breasts, squeezing, pushing, pulling them. Your hands fall away to let him explore the hidden shapes beneath your sweatshirt.

“Is this okay she asks…” he giggles mockingly to himself before kneading his thumbs across your hardened nipples. “Do you want to know how much I’m enjoying this?”

He drops one of his hands and uses it to place yours over his pelvis. You press down with your fingers, feeling the solid erection tucked into the band of his pants.

“I tried to hide it, tried to get it to go away,” he hushedly admits, teeth briefly nipping at your earlobe. “But I’ve been like this since you walked in here.” He pauses, savoring the way you whimper when he drives his tongue into the valley behind your ear. “And everything you’re doing is making me harder.”

“Jimin…” you moan, feeling his cock twitch under the layers of fabric beneath your fingers.

“You sound like an angel saying my name like that.” Both his hands are back on your breasts, fingers digging into your flesh in ways that have you arching your back.

“An angel? Me?” Your lips curl into a crooked smile. “No one’s ever called me that before.”

As you rub two fingers back and forth over the hard shape in his pants, he clamps down on your ear with his teeth and lets a muffled moan escape with his breath. “You’re right. You’re corrupted. An angel with horns. I swear I can see them.”

“Oh, so I’m a devil now? Make up your mind, will you?” You press your lips into a thin line, trying to conceal the satisfaction in your expression when he pulls back to glare at you. Good thing looks can’t kill. His stare is as icy as the room. Is he legitimately pouting at you for teasing him? He’s the king of teasing; he’s just mad you’re just dishing it back in heaps tonight.

“No, you’re an angel with horns,” he insists, glowering as you continue to stroke him through his pants using just your fingertips. He responds by pinching both of your nipples hard, causing you to cry out and grind yourself down on his thighs. You think about slapping his hands away, but the way his fingers now work soothing circles around the sensitive nubs has you leaning into his touch, aching for more. You roll your hips forward, grazing his dick with your pelvis. But it’s not enough and he can tell.

“You won’t get what you need that way.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leans forward.

You instantly cling to his shoulders, feeling like he’s about to push you off the couch. His hands clutch your back as he safely dips you onto the floor. The way he towers over you as he drops to his knees has you regretting your decision to not wear panties underneath your leggings. The wetness that just gushed out of you is definitely soaking through. You lean back on your elbows, giggling like a schoolgirl as you inch yourself backwards, closer to the heater. Your eyes never leave his form as he grips his t-shirt by the collar and pops it over his head in one swift motion.

You blink, exhaling a held breath as you catch the glint of silver studs protruding from both sides of hardened brown nipples. The piercings come as a surprise, but you’re excited by the thought of clamping your mouth over them. Your eyes continue hungrily scanning the smooth expanse of his chest as he drapes the blanket across his back with a small shiver. A tattoo lines his ribs, scrawled in hasty bold letters: ‘NEVERMIND.’

He smirks, crawling over you and slotting a knee between your legs. Your fingertips gingerly brush across the inked skin in wonder, not able to take your eyes off of it. “Is there meaning behind that?”

You verbalize the thought without thinking, knowing he’s probably been asked that a million times. You know not every tattoo has to have some deep profound meaning, and you feel a little foolish for asking what might be a personal question. But every thump of the heavy beat in your chest tells you that the more you ask, the more you learn, and the harder you fall. You’ve been falling for months now, but at least it’s not such a lonely descent anymore.

He plants a gentle, chaste kiss on your lips before pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s a reminder to not care what other people think.”

“Does it work?” you ask while trailing fingers through his hair. “I feel like I could use that advice daily.”

He laughs, although you swear he looks sad as he thumbs your cheek. “Do you think I would have waited so long to have you like this if it did? I care too much about what others think. I always have. I was scared you’d see what a mess I am and you’d never look at me again. I couldn’t bear the thought.”

Your stomach does a somersault. “I think… You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Definitely the hottest.” That pulls a shy grin from him. Your heart is soaring, telling you now is the time to be honest. “Jimin, I... feel happiest when I get to talk to you, even for just five minutes. I love hearing you talk about your granny because it gives me hope that families don’t have to be so messed up. I don’t have parents to call and talk to about my day. I used to be sad about that. Then you started doing laundry on my night. And you always make a point of asking about my day. It’s such a small thing, but it makes me so happy.

“Because you listen to my rambling and instead of calling me dumb or hurrying me to the point of my stories like everyone else in my life, you always look at me like…” you pause, trying to push down the tears you can feel building, but you know your eyes are going glassy because his brow furrows in sympathy.

A subtle frown takes hold of his mouth and his eyes soften, leaving an ache in your chest that makes it harder to go on.

“...like you actually like listening to me. I can’t describe how much that means to me because,” you continue, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time, “I’m used to being ignored or talked over. You’re the first person in a long time to make me feel like I’m not a burden. Or… a grade-A fuckup.” A choked laugh escapes with your held breath. “You think you’re a mess, Jimin, but look at me. I’m a mess. And yet, when I’m with you, I feel like it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something about you that makes me feel...”

Goddamnit. You’re blowing it. Jimin’s hovering above you, shirtless, after just making out with you and now you’re turning things into a sob-story. Tears well up in your eyes and your throat closes, forbidding you from saying anything else. Are you shaking because you’re cold, or because this is almost too much to handle? You should get up. You should go back to your apartment and cry it out and apologize in the morning.

You push him back and sit up, intending to do just that as the tears in your eyes use gravity to their advantage. You move to wipe your eyes, but Jimin’s fingers catch them right as they begin to streak down your cheek.

“Complete? Less alone?” he wonders, trying to get you to look at him. “I listen to you because you deserve to be heard. You’re funny and cute and smart. And you always have a good story about dogs. How can anyone not want to listen to you?”

He throws his arms around your quivering shoulders, bringing you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry that people have been so cruel, that life has been so unfair to you. But I… will always ask about your day. Not because you need to tell me, but because I want to know.”

He sniffles loudly and your hands fly to his back to comfort him. “Maybe it’s okay that you’re a mess because I am too. Let’s be a mess together, okay?”

He pulls back and now it’s your turn to wipe the tears from his eyes. You share a warm smile when your eyes catch the flash of red lace on his shoulder, making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach.

You gulp as his eyes follow your gaze to your favorite pair of red panties clinging to the fleece blanket. You immediately try to snatch them, but he beats you to them and closes his fist around the lacey material.

“Wow you already took these off for me?” he asks with a sly grin, knowing damn well that they must have stuck to the blanket he briefly tossed into the dryer with your clothes. You stumble over your own knees as you reach out to take them back.

He puckers his lips and feigns surprise, forcing air through his teeth as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, they’re a little wet!”

You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole as you snatch them from his grip.

“Don’t be so embarrassing,” you mumble, stuffing them into the pocket of your hoodie.

“But you’re so cute when you get shy.” He goes in for a kiss, but misses your lips as you turn your head away. Not to be dismissed, he moves towards your ear, ghosting his fingertips around your hairline.

“Besides,” he continues, lowering the usual melodic tenor of his voice to a sultry bass, “I know that’s nothing compared to how wet you are for me now.”

He knows. Of course he knows. Ashamed by the truth in his statement, you bury your face into the warmth of his neck, letting a high-pitched whine flee from your throat, which quickly turns into a muffled screech against his skin.

He laughs at the ridiculous sound. You’re so weird. How can you be so weird and still turn him on? “See? You’re so cute. Hey, don’t hide from me!”

He takes the opportunity to slide his hands under your sweater again, fingers pinching the soft flesh of your waist. You bolt upright and grip his wrists like you’re about to snap them in half.

“Such a brat. I take back all the nice things I said,” you whisper, rolling your eyes. Even as the words are coming out, you’re bringing his hands to your chin and kissing the brim of his curled knuckles.

“You can’t,” he weakly drawls, losing himself in your touch.

He walks his fingers over your bottom lip and drums them against the inside of your mouth, watching your lip snap back to you with each slow, alternating swipe. You dart your tongue out to coat the pads of his fingers, wanting to tease the wet heat of your mouth closing down on him. But the way his eyelashes hopelessly batt as he tries to close his eyes and compose himself has you sucking his fingers into your mouth in an instant. Hollowing your cheeks, you trap him in the slick pressure chamber between your cheeks and your tongue. His jaw hangs open as he watches you slowly glide them in and out of your mouth.

An uneven breath hitches in his throat. “Don’t be a tease,” he pleads.

You pause, chest burning as his eyes bore into yours. His fingers coast out of your mouth with a gross popping sound and you kiss the tips of them before speaking, “Then don’t be a brat.”

Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, he wraps an arm around your neck, the weight of his body pressing you back. The distance between you quickly fills with muffled moans and the wet smack of your lips hungrily sliding against one another.

“I want to feel you,” he murmurs between open-mouth kisses, fingers diving under your sweatshirt and slowly working the material up your stomach.

“Me too,” you say, brain short-circuiting as his mouth licks a hot stripe down your neck. “I mean, I want you to feel me too. Not that I don’t want to feel you. I want to feel you. A lot.”

He smiles against your skin. The fabric of your sweatshirt bunches up just below your breasts and he pauses, waiting for a possible objection. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Please,” you breathe, already wiggling your arms out of the sleeves. Between the chill of the air and Jimin’s sharp inhale, your nipples grow rigid. You’re pretty sure they’re hard enough to cut glass. His eyes roam your chest, drinking in the sight of your beauty just as you finish dragging the sweater over your head. He forces himself to tear his eyes from the sight of your pebbled nipples heaving up and down with each shallow breath your lungs take in.

Blinking a few times, he drags his eyes up and giggles when he sees the static in your hair.

You recoil and quickly criss-cross your arms to cover your chest, mistakenly believing he’s mocking your body. You think you’d be used to people laughing at you by now, but it still catches you off guard. It’s like a swift punch to the gut when you consider your foolish optimism. Armed with knowledge of the meaning behind his tattoo, you truly hoped Jimin could see past the years you spent ripping yourself apart in attempts to please others.

It’s been tough, but you’ve been able to pick up the pieces of your shattered self-esteem since moving away from the city. Leaving behind the hate and negativity binding you back to that world seemed impossible at the time, but you’ve made such progress, such strides away from all that. You’d like to think you possess a resilience, a hard shell that protects you from cruel people now, but it turns out you’re just as soft and vulnerable as ever.

It’s been years of tying ribbons decorated with hope and cheerfulness over the despondency branded into your core. And it feels like everything you’ve worked so hard to become unravels in an instant. You feel like melting into a puddle of tears. You feel like an idiot.

“Are you okay?” His smile falters and the laughter previously ringing throughout the room dies on the tip of his tongue. Anxiety drenches his face as he looks upon you, his stomach flip-flopping with the concerns building in his throat.

“Sorry,” you apologize, unable to hide your shame for not living up to whatever expectations he might have had. Still, you cling to the shred of dignity that remains lodged in the back of your mind. “I know I’m not… Like… The best looking, but it was kind of mean to laugh.”

“Oh…. Oh no… Y/N, I wasn’t laughing at… I would never… I was laughing because of this…” He drops his finger to your nose and you’re shocked by sharp a jolt of electricity. He makes a big gesture around his head to try and explain. “Your hair was fluffy. It was cute.”

He does his best to hide the tremble of his fingers as they brush the hair from your eyes and slowly trace jagged lines down your body. “I think you’re beautiful. And I will never. Ever. Be cruel to you. I will never hurt you.”

“Promise?” you ask, feeling foolish for falling apart so easily under a false assumption.

“I promise,” he insists, innocently brushing his lips against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into both a deeper kiss and embrace. The cold sting of the metal studs at his nipples gives you goosebumps, but the skin-to-skin contact has you moaning into him and craving more. Your tongue plunges into his mouth and he responds with an enthusiastic grind of his hips.

“Fuck,” you pant, already not-so-subtly yanking the fabric of your leggings down.

“Let me help you,” he offers.

Your hands, which have been trying to work the material down your hips without lifting your ass, abandon their efforts in favor of groping the small of his back and lightly massaging the back of his neck. He smiles sweetly, lifting himself up enough to trail a hand down between the two of you, letting it take a detour along the curve of your breasts as it goes. When it finally meets the fabric still gathered just above your sex, he pauses and then dives his fingers below the material instead.

You gasp as he rubs his fingers along your folds, seeking access to the prize hidden beneath. The slick, sticky coating now drenching every bit of your cunt allows him to glide through almost too easily. Suddenly he’s rubbing small, quick circles against your slippery clit and your can’t help but throw your head back against the floor. Lucky for you the carpet softens the blow.

“Does it feel good?” he asks with a pleased hum as his lips close around a pebbled nipple and swathes his tongue over it.

Your head lolls from side to side as you massage your fingertips into the base of his scalp. “So fucking good, Jimin.”

He moans at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, deciding it’s time to rub your clit with his thumb instead so he can dip his fingers inside you. His knuckles rub against the damp fabric of your leggings as he teases your obscenely wet entrance with a finger. Quickly deciding two is far better than one, he plunges them inside your dripping cunt while keeping a steady pressure on your clit.

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as he curls his fingers up to experience the contraction of your walls before he starts languidly pumping those delicate digits in and out of you. Digging into his back with your fingernails and knotting your other hand in his hair, you cry out a sound that makes his cock twitch against his belly.

He drags your nipple through his teeth as he pulls back, watching the jiggle that ripples through your breast before turning his head to rest on it. Suddenly his fingers disappear from your cunt and your walls spasm, weeping at the loss.

“So wet…” he whispers, sliding all of his fingers along your folds and gathering as much of you as he can.

You’re so fucking embarrassed. You’re not just wet, you’re salaciously wet, like a goddamn waterfall of pussy juice. Just as you’re about to apologize, he drags a wet, sticky trail up your belly with fingertips that have been drowned in your essence. You lose the will to speak as he looks up from his resting place on your tits.

“Is this all for me?” he inquires with a face of stone, eyelids half-closed as he spreads his fingers apart to let you see the glistening trails connecting them.

You manage to squeak out a pitiful, “I’m so sorry!”

Why you’re acting like you’ve physically harmed him in some way has him beyond puzzled. “Sorry? But, why?” He blinks, furrowing his brow. “I’ve never had someone this wet for me…. From now on…” he shyly trails off, bringing his fingers to his kiss-swollen lips and flicking his tongue across each one. His voice drops an octave. “I’ll be thinking about this every time I cum.”

With that he dips one into his mouth, eyes fixed on yours. You can’t look away, can’t even blink when he moans, eyelids fluttering as he deeply inhales your scent. “Delicious….”

You watch, speechless as he takes turns plugging his fingers into his mouth until he’s licked them all clean. “You taste sweeter than I imagined, Snow.”

When you don’t react, and stare at him like a terrified deer in headlights, he leans forward and hovers above your mouth. “You okay?”

Smelling yourself on his breath, your eyes close and you pull him into a deep kiss. He already tastes so fucking good. But he tastes heavenly when he’s wearing you on his tongue. “You’re... ” You try to shake the stupor out of your eyes, but you’re so smitten. “Amazing.”

He grins, pressing his lips to your cheek, then your neck, then your collarbone. He swipes his tongue across an area that makes you tense and he decides to revisit it, sucking a red mark of revenge into your flesh.

“I want you so fucking bad. Please, Jimin,” you whimper his name like he’ll take pity on you and climb back up your body to give you another taste of his mouth dripping with your juices.

Instead, your fingernails claw channels into his back as he forgoes the spot at your neck. He descends, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he can around both of your tits. “I want...” He laps the sticky trail he previously made with his fingers, following the path from your nipple down to your waist. “To make…” His tongue makes a lazy circle around your belly button before coasting down to the band of your leggings. “You cum for me.”

Your walls try to clamp down on something, anything, but there’s nothing inside your cunt to satisfy the craving driving you mad. You don’t have time to ruminate on this because he’s already yanking your leggings down your thighs, pulling them off and tossing them across the room. Your first instinct is to lock your thighs together to hide yourself from his gaze, but his palms catch your ankles as he moves to slot himself between your legs.

“Finally,” he breathes, running his hands up the inside of your calves, past your knees, slowing when he reaches your thighs. “Can I...?”

He seeks your approval, but you’re already throbbing with need, nodding and biting your lip to keep yourself from screaming yes. “Please, Jimin. Please.”

You tense as he presses his palms into both of your thighs, spreading you wide so he can see your glistening pussy. “Beautiful.”

Your cheeks are on fire, but you don’t have time to dwell on that either because Jimin is diving his tongue into your cunt like a man starved, lapping up your juices with a shameless slurping sound. And it feels like you’ve reached fucking nirvana.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, tone laced with whiny need. All you can do is twist your fingers around strands of his hair as your head slams back against the floor. If it weren’t for this carpet, you’d probably have a concussion by now.

The more you whimper, the harder he pushes his jaw into you, swiping his tongue into the entrance of your cunt and collecting as much of your sweetness as he can. He flicks his tongue in messy circles along your labia, taking his time as he works his way up to that sensitive bundle of nerves above.

You swear that he must have some sort of supernatural gift for eating pussy because you can already feel the orgasm building in your gut. You flex the muscles of your stomach, trying to will yourself to hold on just a little longer. Clenching your jaw, you tighten your grip in his hair and swallow hard. He groans against you as you tug at his golden locks, sending soft vibrations straight to your core.

The forgotten movie continues playing nearby, but all you can hear are the deep inhales he's taking through his nose as he keeps is mouth clamped down over your clit. The wet squelching of his tongue mixing saliva with your own bodily fluids should be grossing you out, but it fills you with a new wave of desire that pushes you closer to the edge. You've only ever gotten close this fast when you're alone. How much of his soul did he have to sell for this sinful ability?

You moan his name again as you slide one hand to your tit, groping and pinching your freezing nipple in multiple directions. He lifts his mouth to hungrily gasp for air while continuing to sweep his tongue over your vulva. When he catches the movement of your hand tweaking your nipple, he groans and passionately moves his lips over your clit like he's trying to make out with it. Your eyes roll back and you whine loudly as he pulls himself off you long enough to speak.

"You taste so good, " he whispers, sounding out of breath, like he might have been suffocating himself in your cunt for fun. "Does it feel good?"

He brushes his fingertips over your swollen clit, knowing damn well you're pulsing with need. You prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at him. He cocks his head to the side, allowing his hair to fall across his face, waiting for you to answer.

You answer with a roll of your hips, trying to increase the pressure of his fingers on your bud by wrapping your legs around his back. He obliges your need for a moment, basking in the feel of your body desperately grinding onto his fingers, but he pulls them back and tuts at you with a sweet smile on his face. It's subtle but Jimin can feel it: the tremble of your thighs.

No matter how much you try to hide it, he knows. You're already so close that you're literally shaking. Will you beg me, Snow?

His eyes settle on yours as he slowly moves his fingertips back to your clit, only granting featherlight touches until you answer his question. When you push your hips back down for more, he moves his hand away again, grinning like a madman at the frustration staining your features.

Maybe you forgot what he asked. Raising his eyebrows, he trails his fingers up and down your thighs in teasing repetitions, always retracting them the moment he starts to give you what you want. "Tell me it feels good."

"You know it feels good," you whimper as his thumb swipes over your entrance.

"How good?" He stills, hovering his fingers over your clit. You can feel him teasing faint circles over it, denying you any sort of pressure until you answer.

"So fucking good."

He licks his lips, and spreads your folds open with his fingers. "Tell me how much you want me."

"I want you so fucking bad. I can't think about anything else. Please, baby."

A mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Baby…" he parrots back in a whiny voice, mocking you while kissing a line down your inner thigh. He swipes his tongue slowly up your entrance, quickly licking your clit like it's his new favorite flavor of lollipop.

"Jimin, please," you protest, throwing your head back so you don't have to look at him.

"What?" He slows his pace, kissing your swollen bud and rolling it against his tongue, pausing to whisper into you. "Tell me, baby."

With all mockery removed from his tone, the innocent word sounds absolutely sinful falling from his lips. If you're being honest, you never want him to stop saying it.

"You're evil," you breathe. "Please, don't stop."

You squeeze your thighs around his head as he massages his tongue against a particularly sensitive spot.

"Ah…! There! Right fucking there!" Your elbows ache as you try to stay propped up to keep your view of his beautiful face buried in you. "Jimin… Jimin, you're gonna make me cum."

Dark eyes peer up at you, sucking your labia through puckered lips before pausing to pant against you. "I know… Will you touch your pretty body for me, baby?"

Your thighs twitch at the request. He takes the opportunity to slide a finger inside your cunt while he tongues your clit. You lean back even further, mouth silently hanging open like you're about to start wailing. Instead you grab at your breast like it's your lifeline, catching your nipple between shaky fingers. Finally you give up on watching and throw your head back, resting it on the floor and running your fingers through your hair to keep from shoving his head down.

The quiver in your thighs grows stronger and you find yourself involuntarily bouncing to fight the sensitivity mixed in with pleasure. He clamps a hand on your hip to try to keep you from bucking him off the wonderful spot he's found. You clench around his fingers, aching for his return when he lifts his mouth from your clit.

"Look at me," he pleads, reaching his thumb up to tease the place he's left covered in spit.

You struggle to perch yourself on your hands, running on pure adrenaline from the most intense edging of your life. Fingernails dig into the carpet on either side of you, arms shaking like they're made of jello. "Jimin… I can't. Not when you're looking at me like that."

He cocks his head to the side curiously. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

You beg, not as a "please," or "come on," but his name expressed as a hopeless sigh; it sounds criminal when you say it like that.

He cracks a smile. "Let me help you."

He slides the hand currently at your hip around your side and presses against the curve of your back. Slipping his fingers from your cunt, he shoves them into your mouth and forces you to bend forward and watch as he descends to replace them.

"See how good you taste?" He whispers it like it's some forbidden secret he's chosen to share. Not giving you a chance to respond, he works his tongue along every delicate fold he can, savoring the tremor of your form as he turns his attention to that wonderful spot he found earlier.

Release is closing in fast as he batters his tongue against your clit. You mindlessly suck your taste from his fingers, letting a culmination of saliva and your own juices seethe from the corners of your mouth to coat your chest in a messy drizzle.

"Fuuuck," you whimper, bobbing your head over them like they're the cock you're craving. The pleasure between your legs is all-consuming, causing your eyes to water as you clench them shut. You feel your orgasm cresting with each quick swipe of his tongue. You force your eyes back open, fearing he might stop and tease you again if you don't.

"Ahhhhm," you moan as his fingers tug your jaw down and you grind your clit hard against the velvety smooth comfort of his lips. "Gonna cum."

Keeping his dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, he releases a groan that vibrates into your core. Your hips stutter against him and suddenly tense. The only form of movement your body offers is the violent tremor deep in your core as you give in to the crashing waves of your orgasm.

Your sharp intake of breath and heavy, spit-soaked moan is almost enough to make him cum on the spot. The quick battering of his tongue never falters and he lets you ride out the high until your body can process movement again. Aftershocks wrack your core until you're bucking your hips in an attempt to free yourself from the overstimulation.

He considers standing his ground to try and give you another, but he climbs up your body instead. Your arms wobble as he presses himself against you, lips and chin glistening in the low light. Despite the sweat running down his forehead, he shivers when you run your tongue over his lips to commit to memory how good he tastes when he's wearing you.

You reach down, palming his length through his pants, feeling the leaking tip poking out the band at his waist. "I want to make you feel good. Please let me make you cum."

He takes in a ragged breath against your kiss, "I'll be right back."

Before you can process the words, he's gone, leaving you as a panting mess on the floor. The heater sends a flow of hot air towards you but you can still feel the cold nipping at your sweaty skin.

Jimin practically sprints back to you, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth. When he sees you lying naked on his floor, he pauses to take in the sight. This better not be a really vivid dream.

You look up and he's looking back at you, smiling in a way that melts the chill off every part of your body. You grin like a smitten fool, unable to focus on anything but his kind eyes, even as he's tugging his sweatpants off and rolling the condom down his shaft.

By the time you realize you have a chance to look at his dick and commit the sight to memory, he's already slotted himself between your legs. He pulls the forgotten blanket over his back and lets the weight of his chest come down on yours.

He brushes the hair from your forehead as you wrap your arms around his form in an intimate embrace. He studies your face a moment, wondering if it's too soon to tell you how much he cares about you. It's the little things over the months he's fallen for, small pieces of you that have burrowed into his heart to build a larger, stronger form of affection. This feeling is more than just a shallow attraction, but will bringing that up make you run away?

It's worth the risk. If you don't feel the same, then he can't bear to have you like this even if his body is screaming for it. It can't be meaningless. Not with you.

He offers a gentle kiss, fingers trembling as they cup your chin. He lets the whisper rest against the surface of your lips. "I love you."

Your heart skips a beat and you hug your arms tighter around him. Love is a strong word. Especially for you. Growing up, you experienced what two people called love for the sake of outward appearances, but it was really only a mask they wore to conceal their hatred of each other. How can you say you love him when you don't even know what real love is like?

He waits for the response buried in your throat, trepidation taking hold of every thought outlining the possibility of reciprocation and twisting it into a mental lashing. Has his sensitivity on this matter really messed it all up? His eyes flicker between yours, pursing his lips and holding back a sigh when the answer doesn't come. He can’t tell what you’re thinking but heaven knows he’s trying to nurture the power of telepathy right now.

You know he wants the truth, whatever it may be. You swallow, chest tight as you try to form the words. You think of the kindness shown by others in your life, all the good experiences mixed in with all the shit life has thrown in your face. Jimin falls into the extremely good category, like the "I didn't know I could feel this good" category. You can't imagine a day going by that you don't talk to him. You don't want to.

"I don't have a good example of love-love to go by," you begin, watching him try to hide the disappointment in his face. "But I'd like to think this is what it's supposed to be."

Tears sting your eyes. Vulnerability is hard, but you're willing to take a chance on him and he realizes how big that is for you. Salty sweet tears of relief run down his cheeks as he kisses away your shared insecurities.

He could spend forever tangled in your embrace, innocently kissing away your worries and fears. Your fingers drag their way through his hair and you rut your hips into him, grinding your pelvises together. Being this intimate is new and exciting, but it's leaving you too vulnerable and is becoming an increasingly prominent source of anxiety.

Gripping the edges of the blanket at his back, you pull it across his shoulder blades as though it will cover the goosebumps speckling your chest. "Mmm. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

He steadies himself on his elbows, fingers dancing with strands of your hair against the carpet. He rolls his hips against you a few times with a smile, letting his dick slide against your soaked, sensitive clit before lifting back and lining himself up properly.

“Tell me you want me,” he whimpers, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance with shallow taps. You try to lure him in by contracting the muscles in your pussy touching the head, hoping the feeling is enough rather than words. You’re having a hard time with those right now.

“Aaah…” he moans, dipping his head to your neck a moment. “You really are impatient.”

Slowly, he glides himself in about an inch, feeling you tense at the intrusion. The stretch makes you breathe a moan into his ear, causing him to snap his head back up to make eye contact with you. His chest is heaving as he waits, trying to give you time to adjust without blowing his load immediately. The way you’re trying to torture him by squeezing your walls around him is not making things easy.

“More, please,” you sigh, gripping the thick meat of his ass and pulling him towards you. “I want you.”

Finally, he gives in to the pleasure. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he bottoms out in one smooth motion. You squeak a brief sound of satisfaction, enjoying the dark hunger blazing in his eyes when they focus back on your face. He tries to reel the self-control back in, dragging his cock out at a leisurely pace before slowly working it back in. The last thing he wants is to hurt you, for this to be an unpleasant experience. But god. You feel so good. Too good.

“I always want you,” you breathe, hooking your legs around his waist and rolling your hips up to meet his as they come back down.

It’s difficult to think when you’re such a gorgeous mess beneath him. With your eyebrows knitting together, jaw hanging open, an apologetic look in your eyes as your hand shoots up to grip the back of his neck for better leverage to thrust yourself back up at him: you’re the epitome of perfection. His pace quickens with a spike of adrenaline surging through his veins. Soon his mouth hangs open, mirroring yours as he’s overwhelmed with the sensation of your tight, wet hole squeezing his cock like it’s the only place it’s ever needed to belong.

“J-Jimin,” you whine, looking down to catch the way your own tits press together, bouncing in unison with your writhing bodies. You try to see past your tits, hoping to catch a glimpse of his length disappearing inside of you, but the shadows cast by the blanket make it hard to see much of anything. So you drag your eyes back up to meet his, absolutely destroyed by the wonder painted all over his features. He’s looking at you like you’re the most perfect human he’s ever seen.

Because you are.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, bringing his open mouth down over yours.

With your tongues duking it out with each other, he pistons his cock into you with a vigor unlike anything you’ve experienced in your life. The squelching of your pussy while being mercilessly pounded is background noise to the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You groan a garbled sound into his mouth, trying to remember how to breathe and process pleasure at the same time.

He moves to your neck, latching onto a sensitive spot immediately. This combined with the weight of him pressing down on your chest has you heaving, exposing more of your neck for him to explore. Your sweaty bodies slide against each other and you roam your fingers through his damp hair, savoring the feel of his tongue gliding up and down your neck until he settles on a place that makes you curl your fingers around those strawberry blonde locks.

You never thought you’d feel safe like this, and yet here you are. You’re about to lose yourself in the emotional implications of your progress when he slips right out and thrusts up against your clit, immediately apologizing. You cry out at the loss, wishing he could fill you up all day every day for the rest of your life. Because without him you feel so empty.

He chuckles nervously. “Slippery… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You smile, placing a small kiss on his lips. “I’m fine. But I think you’re working too hard. Why don’t you relax?”

You place a hand on his chest, facilitating the switch in your positions. Jimin rolls flat on his back with a grin, blanket trapped beneath him. There’s nothing to hide behind now. You finally take in the sight of his cock standing at attention, its beautiful girthy form being suffocated within the cream-covered condom. It’s a perfect size. Not too big. Not too small. Most of all it’s wide enough to fill you up, and so fucking delicious-looking. You could pop the condom off and take him into your mouth right now. He must see the thought cross your mind as you lick your lips because he grabs your wrists and guides you up to meet his face.

“Come back to me. Your Prince Charming would like to kiss you,” he coaxes in a cloyingly sweet tone. “There will be time to kiss me elsewhere later.”

“Oh, you’re my Prince Charming?” You can’t help but smile. He makes your heart swell with joy, even when he’s being a brat. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”

“Since the day I decided you were Snow White,” he says breathlessly.

“I told you that animals don’t actually like me as much as you think they do. Birds poop on me all the time.”

“And I told you Granny says that’s good luck.” He presses his lips to your cheek and grabs your waist. “I just wanted to sweep you off your feet,” he sheepishly admits, eyes darting away for a moment.

You straddle his waist, aligning yourself with his cock. “And tell me, what do you want now?”

“I want…” His eyes glaze over as he feels you sink down, grunting a weak “please” when you’re flush with his pelvis, unmoving. His hands link themselves with yours as you lean over him. Instead of looking anywhere else or trying to get you to move your hips, he stills and looks deep into your eyes. “I want to be your happily ever after, my lovely princess.”

His words catch you off guard and tears begin falling with your stunned blinks. He’s always looked at you like a princess, hasn’t he? It doesn’t matter how screwed up you may feel, or even how screwed up you actually are. He loves you. He cares for you. And he wants you to see what he sees so badly that he will point the mirror on the wall towards you every day until you see that you truly are the fairest of them all.

“Please don’t cry,” he says, wiping the tears from your cheeks. There are already tears forming in his eyes too. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” you smile, lowering yourself to press your chests together. His arms wrap around you, offering comforting strokes with his fingertips against your back. His cock is still buried in your pussy and it’s distracting. He would love nothing more than to thrust up into you and spill himself in your guts.

“Tell me you love me,” you beg in a hushed whisper, kissing him like he’s the only form of oxygen you’re going to get for the rest of the night.

“I love you,” he whispers back between greedy, sloppy kisses.

You roll your hips, granting the movement he’s been craving as you slowly bounce on his cock. When he groans you clench around him and pick up your pace, hoping that you’re not as sloppy as you feel. Between the tears and the emotions swirling in your chest, your hips are a stuttering mess. If you are being a terrible top, he doesn’t say anything. He rocks himself with your slow, fucked out pace, hitting a heavenly spot inside you with each pivot your hips make to meet his again.

“I love you,” he repeats into the air as you lean back and steady yourself by placing your palms on his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as you begin a new, rapid tempo that threatens to make him cum in seconds. He slurs out a whine of incoherent sounds, indicating you’re bringing him closer to the edge of release.

The shy, proud grin spreads across your face like wildfire as you watch him physically struggle to compose himself. “Got a big load for me, Charming? Or is it reasonably-sized?”

His face is flush and those big black pupils are dilated so wide you can’t tell them apart from the irises anymore. He wants to tell you to slow down so he can drag this out some more, but his climax is racing the words trapped in his throat. He grabs your hands and pulls you down close to him so he can kiss you again and again.

“Y/N… Ah…. I can’t....” He’s sucking air through clenched teeth between kisses, trying his best to push back the tightness in his balls.

“It’s okay, Jimin. Let go. Cum for me.”

With that he quickly wraps his arms around your waist, digging his fingernails into your sides as he takes control from beneath you, fucking you hard and fast as he chases his release. Your body shakes as he relentlessly thrusts those sinful hips upwards in quick, powerful strokes, holding you in a tight embrace like you might float away if he loosens his grip. You moan into each other’s mouths, the muffled sounds mingling as you crash your tongues against one another.

“I love you,” he whispers again, desperately this time.

“I love you too,” you respond breathlessly, doing your best to keep up with the insane tempo he’s set.

“Oh,” he quickly gasps, unable to fight the curse on the tip of his tongue. “Baby… Fuck... I’m cumming.”

The rhythm of his thrusts somehow increases in speed and you’re relieved to hear him gasp out the affirmation of his release. A small part of you is worried you won’t be able to take much more, even though you really want to; it’s been some time since anything has been between your legs that didn’t run on batteries. This is so much better.

Needy moans spill into your mouth with your name on repeat between breaths. He pumps himself into you with one last burst of power. Once. Twice. Three times. His hips shake beneath yours and fall limp against the floor as he chews on your bottom lip. Jimin cumming is hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced in your life and tonight you’ve heard it twice.

He allows your lip to snap back to you and plants a kiss on your forehead before rolling you over onto your back and slipping himself from inside of you. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You nod with a tired smile. “If you still want me.”

“I always want you,” he whispers with a shy kiss to your cheek. “The bed’s a bit more comfortable though.”

“I really didn’t mean to say it,” Jeongguk whines, face buried in his hands as he sits on Jimin’s couch.

Jimin puffs his cheeks, sparing a glance at the clock on his phone. He made plans to watch a movie with you once you got home from work. And by watch a movie, he means to disregard the movie as background noise and fuck you senseless. What he didn’t plan on was his friend stopping by for an impromptu therapy session; it happens often enough that he usually is prepared for such an event. But there’s only been one thing on his mind for the past week, and it’s been bent over every surface in this apartment every day the moment you get home. He’s eager to keep that streak going.

You’ll be home soon and Jeongguk doesn’t show any signs of leaving. Jimin decides to text you, letting you know the door is still unlocked, but he has company so don’t come running in while tearing your shirt off unless you want to entertain them both. He smiles when he hits send, eager for a response. It’s at this moment Jeongguk looks up at his friend, realizing he’s enamored with his phone.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Jeongguk looks crushed, sinking back into the cushion and rubbing his thumbs over the yellow plush dog Yoongi had constructed for Jimin at work. Its silky fur is comforting to Jeongguk, but not enough to soothe the ache in his heart. He fucked things up with this new teacher and he really doesn’t know how to smooth things over. Where does he even begin?

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, quickly pocketing his phone and making sure Jeongguk knows he has his full attention. He places a hand on his knee and squeezes. “It’s okay. Just apologize to her.”

"How can I do that when every time I talk to her I can't even think straight? I mess up everything that I do when she's around," he groans, clearly resigned to his own hopelessness.

"How can you possibly mess up two words?" Jimin asks, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. He reaches for Jeongguk's jaw and begins practicing ventriloquy as he opens and closes it in time with his advice. "I'm. Sorry."

Jeongguk playfully slaps his hand away, "It's not that easy and you know it." He sighs heavily. “Besides. You know me. I already messed up an apology. ”

The smile falls from Jimin’s face. “What happened now? Don’t tell me it’s worse than the balls conversation.”

Jeongguk tents his fingers on either side of his temples and inhales deeply. On exhale he screeches, memory replaying his most recent mistake one more time.

“...That bad, huh?” He frowns, crossing the room to get him a beverage.

Jeongguk runs his fingers through his hair a few times before he snatches the banana milk from Jimin. He’s just gotta focus on something else. Anything else. He starts chugging the bottle, milk spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, slow down. I’m gonna be sick if you throw that stuff up.”

Jimin reaches for the small, plastic jug but it’s already empty by the time Jeongguk allows him to take it.

Jeongguk whimpers, “Not even banana milk can fix this.”

“Jeongguk. Tell me what happened.” It’s rare that Jimin ever gets stern with any of his friends, but sometimes they have a habit of getting in their own heads. He can pull them out by telling them what they need to hear, even if it isn’t always nice. He’s got a nagging feeling in his gut that this might be one of those times.

His friend leans back into the couch with palms pressed against his forehead. “I whipped a tennis ball across the court, but it fucking went out the door to the hall and hit her while she was walking by.”

“It was an accident!” Jimin insists.

“I know! But she! Doesn’t!” He pounds his hands into his forehead like it can knock the memory from his brain.

“Why not?” Jimin asks, suddenly suspicious. “What did you do when you realized you’d thrown something at someone? You apologized, right? Right?”

Jeongguk grits his teeth a subdued screech in his throat. “I ran over when I heard her scream and I was panicking so I just! I said ‘I’m so fucking sorry!’”

“That’s good--”

“And ‘Are you okay?!’”

“Sounds like you did fine---”

“But my brain couldn’t decide which one to say first so it merged them together! And I screamed at her!”

“Oh no.”

“Are you fucking sorry?! I screamed it Jimin. Are you fucking sorry! All of my students standing there watching me have a mental breakdown when she’s the one hurt.”

He’s practically in tears, damn near hysterical. Jimin offers a sympathetic grimace before going in for a big, comforting hug.

“Jeonggukie, it’s okay.”

“Not it’s not! I can never face her again. I can never face my students again. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”

Jimin squeezes him tighter. “You’ll get through this though. You know how I know?”

“How?” The words are muffled when spoken into the crook of his neck.

Jeongguk has buried himself dangerously close to the spots you’ve been claiming for yourself. He hopes his friend doesn’t notice the red bruises you’ve left behind.

“Because. I can think of a million other things that you’ve done that are way more embarrassing than this. And you’ve lived through them all. If anything your students will see you as someone they can relate to.”

“And Frizzle?”

“You have to do something genuinely nice for her and express your sincerest apologies. Take her somewhere nice for dinner. Admit you screwed up and you want to make things better. Explain how your life is a chain of embarrassing experiences. Tell her some stories of your other fails so she doesn’t think you’re being cruel. If you can’t think of any, I can make you a list. I really do remember things you’ve done that are worse than this, you know. ”

“No! No. I guarantee I’ve blocked them out for a reason.” The black-haired man sighs. He seems to at least be comforted by the thought that the situation isn’t totally unsalvageable. He stands with a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Jiminie. I love you.”

Jimin’s mouth curls into a smile as he goes in for one more hug. “You never forget to pay me, Jeonggukie.”

Jeongguk steps across the threshold and is greeted by the very woman he’s been complaining to Jimin about for the better part of an hour. Every muscle in his body tenses and freezes in place. She’s just come out of the apartment next door. Jimin cocks his head at his friend, curiously watching the blatant change in body language.

“What is she doing here?” Jeongguk hisses at Jimin like the woman isn’t standing close enough to hear.

“Of course you’d be here. Don’t worry, Mr. Jeon, I’m on my way out, unless you’ve got something else to pile on to my hazing?”

Jeongguk clamps his mouth shut and tries to move out of her way, but she moves in the same direction. Both of them immediately try to go around, mirroring each other’s actions. This must be her. Jimin rubs his temple as he watches the awkward dance Jeongguk and “Frizzle” do as she tries to move past him. For a tall, muscular guy, Jeongguk seems to shrivel in stature the longer he stands there looking at her, stuttering out half of an apology before finally gripping her shoulders like he’s going to pick her up.

“Please let me go,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, despite the fact that he’s the one with his hands on her.

Jimin runs his fingers down his cheeks like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jeongguk’s aloof nature seems to have been amplified tenfold by the presence of this woman, which is an impressive feat. He’s got it so bad for this girl he really can’t think straight.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath and books it down the hallway, forgetting about his friend entirely. He gets to the stairwell and hunches over the bannister to screech like a pterodactyl, hoping to release some of the anguish tearing at his chest. He sighs, composing himself as he ascends the steps, patting his pockets for the comfort of escape. His heart drops. That familiar jingle of keychains and metal is missing. “My keeeeeeys!”

It’s then he realizes he’s going to have to walk back past you in shame to collect the missing item from Jimin’s apartment. Jimin wishes he could undo all of the secondhand embarrassment he just experienced. Being that this will be burned into his memory for some time, he slinks into your apartment for a healthy dose of distraction.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla hang in the air. You've been baking to keep yourself busy. You thought about asking your guild if anyone wanted to play online for a bit, but you really weren't in the mood for video games. You knew what to expect and yet you still find yourself disappointed by the lack of Holiday cards and letters.

Even if they don't give a shit about you, you still find your heart breaking, wishing you could know if your parents are doing okay. Maybe they're finally getting better. Maybe they're finally getting that divorce they desperately need. You whisk the batter, losing yourself in a sea of possibilities, regardless of whether it matters in the first place.

Then again, maybe they're doing better now that they don't have you around to use as a point of contention. They could be happy now that the supposed source of their misery is absent from their life. Your jaw tightens along with your grip on the mixing bowl cradled in your arms.

They probably don't think about you at all. How many times had you walked back from school alone in the dark because they forgot to pick you up? How many times had they straight up forgot you existed? They don't care. They don't even think about you. In fact, they're probably so drunk mom is passed out on the couch and dad is in a similar position in his office with a bottle of scotch and a nub of a burnt out cigarette hanging from his mouth.

You're mixing quickly, scraping loudly against the ceramic bowl in an attempt to drown out the anger in your head. It might not be enough to cover your incessant thoughts but it sure as hell camouflages Jimin's approach.

You bite your lip, white hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes. It's stupid. Why do you care so much when they obviously don't? You feel manic having the day off of work. There's too much time to think now that you don't have your customers to dote on and care for. You don't realize how slippery your fingers are now that they’re coated in a layer of sweat. The bowl slips from your hands and shatters against the floor, coating your floor and feet in a pasty splatter of dough.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks, scooping his arms around your waist and dragging you away from the mess.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel his embrace pulling your backwards, voice vibrating in your ear. You stumble backwards, losing traction over the spilled batter. He’s careful to get you away from the shards of glass littering the kitchen tile as you fall.

“I thought you had work to do,” you say, embarrassed by your lack of finesse.

“I finished up early. I… knocked but you didn’t answer,” he replies, taking a moment to inspect your face.

The mixture intended for cookies haphazardly sprinkles your cheeks and your eyes are still glossy from the tears gathered in them moments ago.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern dripping from the two simple words.

You hate making him worry so you force a counterfeit smile to split your lips. “Nothing!”

“I can tell you’re lying,” he insists, wiping your face with his fingers. “It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

You hang your head low and press into his shoulder. “I was just thinking about my family. Please. It’s not important.” Another phony smile adorns your features as you look up at him. “But I’d like it very much if you could take my mind off it.”

He offers a warm smile and decides not to press further. He knows enough of your past to know you’d rather not speak on it unless you’re the one offering information. Despite the curiosity nagging at the corners of his mind, he plants a kiss on your lips instead. “Any requests?”

“Take me away from my own brain.”

He giggles, ready to make you forget every word you’ve ever learned that’s not his name, but he pauses, briefly recalling the reason he stopped by in the first place. “Oh wait. I wanted to ask you about that.”

You half-laugh, half-scoff. “It’s okay. I’ve accepted there’s no escape.”

Jimin shakes his head at you. “No, I mean would you like to get away from here for the night? My friends and I go to Taehyung’s parents’ cabin every year on New Years Eve. It’s like a little tradition.”

You blink at him. “Oh you mean Mr. Kim--er,” you correct yourself when he cringes. “Tannie’s dad? Wouldn’t it be weird if I showed up? I don’t want to intrude… And I would feel so awkward not knowing any of your friends.”

“They’re all really laid back. They’re like an extended family. Let me tell you about them,” he suggests, twining his fingers in yours and waving your hands around. “The drive to the cabin takes a couple hours. That’s plenty of time to give you a history lesson.”

“I don’t know…”

“You know,” he begins, swiping his batter-coated finger with his tongue. “Granny says it’s good luck when you kiss someone you love on New Year’s Eve at midnight.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the cheesy grin you feel coming on. “Is that so?”

He nods enthusiastically, sparing a glance at the shards of glass and spilled batter scattered across your kitchen floor. “Besides, what better way to keep your mind off of... everything?”

The man can be subtle when he wants to be, but you still follow his line of sight to the mess creeping down the slight slope in the tile.

“I have to sweep this up,” you mumble, ignoring giving him a finite answer as you cross the room to gather cleaning supplies.

There’s a protest caught in his throat that dies the moment you bend over to search for the dustpan in the closet. He saunters over, licking his lips and letting his fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips. Your eyes go wide as his length presses against your ass, already half hard. He offers a playful thrust as a joke, but if you drop your pants then the joke part of that thrust is totally cancelled. You sigh loudly and arch your back, slowly rising to looking over your shoulder at him. He swears time stops for a moment as half-lidded eyes chant his name without you saying a word.

“I really have to clean this up. It’s wet. The-The spot on the floor is wet.” You stumble over raspy and frantic words, all the moisture missing from your mouth. He tests your resolve by sneaking a finger below the band of your jeans, skirting his digits just outside of your underwear before pressing the silky fabric into your clit. With just a few slow circles, he has you moaning and weakly leaning back against him for support.

“You’re right. It’s a little wet. I should help you clean this up, don’t you think?” His breath is hot against your neck as he dips his hand lower, sneaking along your pantyline before pushing the barrier aside to dive in your cunt without warning.

You’re practically melting as he pumps his fingers into you, tongue dragging over your neck in a teasing swipe. It takes all of your willpower, but you grip his forearm with a groan. “You’re evil.”

“I’m Charming,” he insists with a grin, complying with your unspoken request to abandon his endeavors.

“I need to clean this before it gets in every last crack.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something crass but gets distracted by your smiley kiss.

“We’ll get to that later. Go. Sit over there,” you instruct, pointing to the empty chairs on the other side of the bar-style counter.

He sulks over to the counter and sits with a huff, planting his elbows on the edge and resting his cheeks on the flat surface of his palms. It’s hard to ignore his bottom lip protruding in a pout as you get to work cleaning the mess you’ve stupidly made. Hard, but not impossible.

When it’s clear you’re ignoring him, he sits up straight and folds his arms over his chest, a puff of air passing his lips as he takes in his surroundings. Suddenly, his eyes zone in on the familiar form of a package containing delicious pastries only made in one shop.

“Mistledough? You went to Mistledough?” he asks excitedly. You must have met Jin, if that’s the case.

You laugh, “Oh yeah. I stopped in to get some baked treats for the pups a couple weeks ago and this smooth-talking guy comes out from the back with a big smile. His shoulders are so big and his waist is so tiny that he looks like a dorito. Right? Anyway he’s doing this whole bit about how good this stuff is and how happy he gets when pretty girls come into his shop to order it. He definitely knows how to advertise because I bought a whole package of them without even trying it first. It’s… so good though. Have you ever had it? What I have now might be a little stale, but I’m sure it’s still fine to eat. Do you want some?”

You poke your head above the counter to see Jimin’s arms crossed over his chest. He isn’t looking at you but he definitely looks annoyed. Is he seriously still pouting because he has to wait ten whole minutes to put his fingers back in you?

“No,” he pouts quietly, entire demeanor flip-flopped in an instant. “I don’t want any. I know what it tastes like.

You frown, thinking maybe it’s something you said. “Do you not like that place?”

Jimin puffs his cheeks out and removes the thick black frames from his face to clean them with his shirt. “No, that place is fine.”

Anxiety races in your chest, heart snapping in two at the sound of his cold tone. “I’m sorry,” you say, gripping the dustpan tightly like he’s going to break things off. “Is it… Did I do something wrong?”

He catches your eyes, immediately filling his gut with guilt. “Ah, no, no. I’m sorry.” He licks his lips and rolls his eyes away, not wanting to look at you when he admits this. “It’s just… That handsome, wide-shouldered guy... That’s Seokjin. He’s my friend, but--Ah the way you talked about him just now, I got jealous. I’m sorry.”

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. You cock your head to one side and stand to lean over the counter. No one’s ever been jealous of you before, or in regards to you; it’s kind of baffling that you don’t have the brain capacity to be flattered. “Jealous? Why?”

He spares a look at you and darts his eyes away. “Because.” He sighs loudly and slinks back in his chair. “He’s tall and those big shoulders let everyone know how strong he is. People can look at him and say wow, that guy is so handsome. He just… exudes manliness. Do you know what people say about me?”

The slow blink and the way he swallows tells you that he’s having trouble expressing the distasteful things he must have heard over the years.

“Jimin.” Your fingers grip his chin. “Nevermind what people say. They don’t matter. Do they?”

You tilt your head, trying to get him to look at you, gaze remaining steady on his eyes until he meets it.

“No…”

“You matter. But you’re hard on yourself. Do I matter?”

“Yes…” he breathes, offended that you’d even ask such a question.

“Well then you should listen to me. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re sweet and cute. I think you’re sexy and fun. I think I love the beauty of your soul as much as I love your handsome face. I think your height is not a measure of your worth and I’m not sure why it’s important to you, but I will hug you all day every day to remind you that you’re the perfect height to always bury your face in my tits.”

He laughs, visibly relaxing despite the blush creeping in his cheeks. “You’re good to me.”

“I think,” you continue, suddenly feeling shy yourself. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about. This world only has one Jimin. One who is perfect as himself. And I care about him so much that I want to go with him to a cabin where I won’t know anyone because when he’s around, my heart hurts less and the world feels less cold and when I’m with him, despite my paranoia and concerns about being murdered... he makes me feel safe. I love him.”

He smiles sweetly, leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips. “Who’s that Jimin? He sounds amazing. But I’ll have to teach him a lesson for stealing your affection.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, nuzzling your nose close to his. “You dork.”

“You’re coming with me then?”

“It’s a date, my prince,” you reply with a grin.

“Thank goodness. I already cancelled my ride.”

The snow whips against your windshield wipers. Heat blares through the vents, the radio playing softly in the background. Jimin looks over at you, placing his hand on your thigh. You smile, giving it a firm squeeze and pressing it to your lips while your eyes squint through the blinding white obscuring the road.

“Do you see a sign to get back on the highway?” you ask, trying to bite back the anxiety brewing in your belly.

The “EXIT ONLY” sign responsible for your detour had been obscured by the heavy snowfall. Being that the inclement weather has put you in an unfamiliar area, you’re hopeful that the poorly plowed backroads are a short-lived side trip.

“Don’t worry. There has to be a way to get back on,” he assures you, giving your fingers a squeeze as he squints out the passenger side window. “Oh! That sign says there’s a gas station ahead. Maybe we could ask in there?”

You eye the instrument panel of your dashboard. The needle indicating the fuel level of your tank hovers two lines above “E.” You promptly go back to watching the road, wind whipping snow off nearby trees. You’re taking it slow as you come around a curve, but your tires spin when they hit a patch of ice.

“Oh shit!” Releasing his fingers, you throw your arm up to shield Jimin’s chest as do your best to turn your steering wheel into the skid as the vehicle veers off the side of the road.

The car makes a skewed slide to the shoulder of the road and continues to glide onto the snow-covered grass, coming to a complete stop before hitting any of the nearby trees. You exhale a ragged breath and look over at Jimin.

“Are you okay?”

He nods, carding his fingers through his hair. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Your response is sturdy, composed, but its foundation is a lie that could come crumbling down at any moment. Shaky fingers reach over to click the hazard button in the unlikely event that anyone else drives by. You haven’t seen another car in over twenty minutes, but it’s still best to err on the side of caution.

“Just icy. Gas station?” you ask, trying to get your bearings. You don’t think the car did a 180 but you’re a little shaken up and could use a break.

Jimin points in the direction the sign indicated. “Not too far, I think. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod silently, checking your surroundings as you attempt to back up. The wheels beneath the car spin in endless cycles, bringing you nowhere. You swallow hard, turning the wheel in the opposite direction and trying again as you apply more force to the gas pedal. When the car doesn’t budge, you fear the worst and place it in park. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you slip on a pair of thin gloves and open the door to inspect the terrain.

With your first step outside your stomach drops with your legs on the slippery surface below your boots. You clutch the door but it’s too late; your legs split and you fall to the ground with a painful smack. You can’t help the pained whimper that spills out of your mouth in short, embarrassing bursts. You’ll be fine. You just need a minute.

“Snow! Are you okay?” Hearing your cries, Jimin quickly dons his mittens and gets out of the car.

As soon as he rounds the front of the car, passing the light on the driver’s side, his boots lose all traction. He stumbles forward a bit, trying to regain his footing before his legs finally slip from beneath him. The impact his ass makes on the ground beside you makes you wince. He grimaces, sucking air through his teeth as he leans back. Even still, he reaches out and touches your cheek with a puffy red mitten, opening his mouth to ask if you’re okay but not able to manage anything other than a broken groan.

You look up at him as he leans over you, feeling the fingers trapped beneath the fuzzy mitten at your cheek. Suddenly you start to giggle. Despite not knowing the source, seeing your amusement causes the groan in his throat to transform into a breathless laugh.

“We really are messes, huh?” you say, pulling down on the red scarf adorning his shoulders to bring him down to meet your lips.

His mouth is hot, leaving behind breathy vapors in the air as he sucks your bottom lip, turning the innocent nature of the kiss into something more passionate. Before your brain can register the action, his tongue already propping your mouth open. If the wind wasn’t whipping snow on your exposed cheeks, he might have been able to keep you warm and make you forget your surroundings completely.

Reluctantly you push him back. “Jimin we have to get up. What if another car comes and rear ends us? We would die.”

He sighs, wincing as he struggles to stand on the slippery surface. “Okay, but be careful getting up.”

He circles the car, inspecting for any signs of damage as you crawl on hands and knees towards the front of the car. Placing your cheek on the ground you look beneath to see if anything might be caught underneath. When you both come up empty, you carefully get back in the car.

Jimin looks over at you suddenly, an expression of realization coating his features. “Did you turn traction control off?”

You slowly close your eyes and run cold, wet gloved fingers down your face. “I’m an idiot. I should have thought of that.”

Jimin shrugs and kisses your cheek with a proud smile. “I just passed my driver’s test so it’s all fresh in my mind.”

Before long, you’re back on the road and rolling up to a pump at the gas station. Jimin disappears inside while you work on filling the tank. It’s filling painfully slowly so you start playing with the layer of snow on the top lip of the pump. You begin to gather snow, picking some from the ground and rolling it around to form a tiny, perfect snowball.

The bell on the door jingles as Jimin exits, a look of concentration on his face as he looks up and down the road beside the lot. An abrupt wave of cold shocks his system as a snowball disintegrates against his chin. He looks around for the culprit, but the only person in the parking lot is you. He blinks a few times, realizing you’re cackling like a witch as you screw the cap back on your tank.

Instead of forming his own snowball to throw back, his bottom lip protrudes in a pout and he puffs up like a bird who’s had their feathers ruffled one too many times. He must still be sore from falling. You start to feel guilty and start to apologize as he draws near, pulling him into an embrace. He leans into you, walking you back until you’re pressed against the car. You blush, feeling the weight of his body trapping you as he pushes his mouth onto yours. He removes a glove to fist your hair between his fingers and gives a sharp tug. Once again, he takes the warmth you offer and turns the heat up. Is this what he’s like when he’s annoyed and horny? You’ll remember to be bratty if this is what it earns you.

You pull back a moment, searching the darkness in his eyes for the need buried in them. Pulling his scarf aside, you latch onto his neck with the heat of your mouth, making sure to suck and tease the spot you know drives him crazy. You feel him lean into you with a moan as he swipes his hand erratically over your car. Feeling pleased with yourself, you grind your hips up into him.

You don’t see the snow he’s gathered into a pile on the top of your car, but you sure as hell feel it when swipes it all over the edge with one hand and holds the collar of your coat open with the other. The snow transforms into water almost immediately, leaving icy trails down your back and soaking into your clothes.

You screech against him just as he takes off running across the parking lot, giggling like a madman. He played you. You wiggle what snow you can out of your coat and give chase, gathering snow in your hands as you go. He holds his hands up as if to surrender and repeating a slew of “sorry”s, but something about the way he’s laughing the whole time makes it feel a bit disingenuous. Soft snowballs smash against his legs. You wish you had better aim.

As you move to gather more snow, he’s already firing off the ammunition he’s secretly gathered, pelting your coat with white. Running up to him through the barrage, you find he’s empty and he puts his hands out again. Seeing the snowbank behind him, you push him back into it, allowing a cushion of cold to break his fall. The melody of his laughter rings through your ears as your climb on top of him and sprinkle what’s left of your fistful of powdery snow all over his face.

You’re both laughing so hard you’re crying. After taking a moment to calm his laughter, he sits up on his elbows and removes a loop from the scarf at his neck to drape it around yours.

“Come on. Let’s get to the cabin so we can warm up.”

You wet your lips, the cold immediately freezing your spit. “What you’re not warm?”

“You pushed me into the snow. I’m cold,” he whines.

“You covered me in white,” you say, not thinking about the words until they’re out.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow with a knowing smile. “I thought you liked that. You were begging for it yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“You’re friends with Hope on the Street? J-Hope? Really?” you ask in disbelief. The guy is somewhat of a celebrity so it’s a little unnerving knowing he’s going to be at this cabin. The segment he did on puppies recently really brightened up your day.

“His real name is Hoseok,” Jimin says with a nod, crunching into a potato chip. “He also goes by Hobi.”

You can’t stop yourself from asking. “That whole dildo thing everyone says? Is it true?”

Jimin coughs out the chip he had been chewing and you immediately apologize, but he laughs. “What have you heard? I’m not much of a gossip.”

You shake your head defensively. “I’m not either! It’s just… There are so many rumors. I’ve heard it was a vibrator, cucumber, a cordless mic… And it’s always an absurd length, like twelve inches or something like that.”

Jimin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh my god. No! Okay, I’m going to tell you the truth, but you can’t tell anyone I told you, okay?”

“...Okay,” you agree, not realizing the pit you’ve fallen into.

“If you promise you won’t tell…” he trails, looking out the window.

“I pinky promise,” you say as you stick out your little finger. You’re too curious now. You have to know.

“Don’t let on that you know, either,” he continues as he links his pinky with yours and looks over at you. “Promise?”

Your eyes dart over to his for a split second before focusing back on the road. “I promise, my prince.”

He smiles, taking the opportunity to hold your hand while he talks. “Hmm. By the time we get there hopefully you’ll feel like you know them a little. I’ve told you some pretty tame stories so far but… The truth is that we’ve all known each other since we were kids. So I know all of their dirty laundry.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you even though you can’t pay attention to his suggestive facial expressions. Why do you feel like you’re getting more than you bargained for?

“You’re such a dork. Just tell me about J-H--Hoseok.”

“So impatient,” he teases with a sigh. “I mean honestly it’s not that bad. Hoseok and his girlfriend, Cat, have been together for a while now. They were… experimenting in the bedroom together. The dildo they were using was pretty small and she lost her grip on it. That’s really all there is to it. Someone must have heard him talking to the nurses.”

That makes total sense. Of course everything gets blown out of proportion. Poor guy.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t let it get to him at all. He keeps a smile on and can talk around pretty much everything. But when you put him with Cat, together? They have no shame and if you’re not careful they’ll drag you into their filthy games.”

“Have they dragged you into them, Jimin?” you ask with a smile, genuinely curious with a side pang of envy. Whoever is dating someone as fine as J-Hope must be hot as hell. Just imagining Jimin being thrown into that mix has you salivating, wishing you could have been the meat in that sandwich instead.

“Maybe,” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “B-But that was a long time ago.”

“Too bad,” you suck your teeth. “Sounds like it could be fun.”

Jimin’s eyes go wide and he swallows a nervous laugh, not wanting to accept the possibility so easily if it was only meant as a joke. “I mean if you’re interested I can always ask if they might want to.”

You laugh nervously, not expecting that possibility. “I… haha, let me meet them first. They might hate me for all you know. I tend to talk when I get nervous and then mess everything up.”

“It’s part of your charm. You’re cute when you get shy. You have this… innocence that’s endearing. They’ll love you. You’d probably be their new favorite... toy...” he trails off into a breathy whisper, losing himself in some daydream.

“Are you sure you won’t get jealous?” you ask, snapping him back to reality. “Mistledough man had you so moody.”

“Ah, Seokjin. You know, I once caught him jerking it to a muffin.”

You blink a few times. “Seokjin is the bakery dorito,” you affirm, keeping your eyes on the highway. “And you caught him jacking it … Jimin. Tell me mistledough is cum-free.”

He laughs. “Seokjin would never. Don’t worry. It wasn’t at the bakery.”

“But… why…?”

“I don’t know. I never received any context for it and I was too afraid to ask. Honestly, I think it’s his messed up relationship with his ‘not girlfriend.’” He uses air quotes to signify his distaste for the situation. “Pumpkin. At least he calls her that. Everyone else calls her Grump.”

“Oof. She a bitch?”

“If you were at the shop, you must have seen her.”

You pause to recall the day you’d stopped in. “There was this one girl that was staring at me but I figured it might be someone I knew from high school so I avoided eye contact. Got this chill down my spine though.”

“Yeah that’s her. She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s secretly soft on the inside. She just needs time to warm up to people. I think she has a hard time showing affection. We’ve all known her almost as long as we’ve known each other. She just needs to get laid. Scratch that. She needs to get laid by Jin. They’ve been dancing around it for over a decade, Snow. Imagine if you and I never… for over ten years.”

You exhale air through puffed cheeks. “I’d have moved on after two. You’re lucky you made a move when you did.” You give his hand a playful squeeze. “Why haven’t they yet?”

“They’ve both been in love with each other for so long I think they’re blinded by it now,” he guesses with a shrug. “They’re so in love that they can’t even see it anymore. Maybe they never did. But there’s always this air of jealousy that makes it impossible for either of them to be happy with anyone else. I should probably sit them both down and talk them through it, but sometimes Seokjin… Ah, he closes his ears to anything he doesn’t like. Maybe this year will be different. She always comes so if you think she’s glaring at you, she probably is, but don’t take it personal.”

You nod in quiet contemplation for a moment before moving on. “Tannie’s dad?”

“Ah. Taehyung. He’s probably my closest friend. Don’t tell the others. Him and Star have been together since college and are so perfect for each other it makes my heart ache. They’re really… unique. It’s okay if you think they’re weird because they are. But that’s their charm. They listen to really old records and wear vintage clothes and talk about art all the time. It used to make me cringe at first but now it makes me happy. It’s probably because I don’t live with him anymore.”

You spare a curious glance at him “You lived with him?”

“Roommates right after high school. Before he went off to art school and got his degree. Then I went off to uni for business and marketing.”

“Ah, right. College. That thing that most people do after highschool. I’m dumb.”

Jimin frowns, knowing it’s a sore subject for you. “You’re not dumb. Be nice to yourself. It’s not your fault you never got a chance to go.”

Your fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, enough so your knuckles pale. “I know I’m not dumb. I could have been a vet by now. I was smart enough for it. I could have done it.”

He reaches out to place a reassuring palm on your shoulder. “You can still go back, you know.”

You shake your head, swallowing the bitter pill that you missed your chance for that kind of life. Things are different now. You like your job. You like your life. You don’t need to use schooling as an escape from your home. Maybe it’s time to let go of the resentment. You can still be smart and not go to college. You can still enjoy a job that doesn’t require a degree.

“I need to work on not being so bitter about my past,” you answer with a shake of your head. “I like where I am now and if I don’t, I can always change. Thank you for helping me remember that. So.. where were we? Taehyung?”

“Ah, I caught him sucking on her toes once,” he says very matter-of-factly.

“What?!”

“When he moved out and told me about his roommate, I thought he’d be living with another man. He invited me over to meet them. Imagine my surprise when I came by. The door to his room was wide open and he’s sitting there licking up the bottom of her foot, putting her toes in his mouth.”

“What did they do when they saw you standing there?” you purse your lips, wondering if Jimin had been a part of this couple’s sex life as well.

“Oh, they tried to laugh and play it off like ‘Oh no we were messing around... it’s not like that... Why would be doing something like that? Da da da.’ All the excuses, you know? But I saw it and I can’t unsee it. He had a boner and she looked like she was enjoying it.” He shakes his head.

“I still think it’s funny you know him. He pampers Tannie. A lot. Like he spends an absurd amount on that dog. He loves him so much. It’s so cute. Wait… Does that mean you know other Mr. Kim? Moni’s dad?”

Jimin looks over. “You know Namjoon too?”

“This isn’t so bad. I’ve at least seen these people,” you say, mostly to yourself as a comforting thought. “Actually, I gave him a dog treat for Moni and he just… Jimin, he ate it right in front of me. I didn’t know what to do so I just smiled.”

Jimin start roaring with laughter. “That sounds like Namjoonie. At least that was edible. I watched him drink perfume once. He said it smelled so good he wanted to see what it tasted like. I’m not sure how drunk he was, but he had to be pretty far gone. You know he’s really intelligent, but he makes some really bad decisions. He will deny this until the day he dies, but I was there for his ‘bad boy’ phase back in high school. He purposefully failed classes because he thought it made him look cooler and he’d always brag about blowing off dates with girls and pretending to be a loner. Not to mention he always wore some kind of black t-shirt with a fake deep quote on it, he had a leather jacket, painted his fingernails black, had a mohawk...”

“Really? That guy? Did he have a motorcycle too?” you snicker. “That would really sell it for me.”

“He may have painted blue flames on the side of his bicycle,” he jokes. “Do I have to worry about him stealing you too?”

You roll your eyes. “Tell me about another one and I’ll tell you who’s the most dangerous. Right now, you’re still winning.”

“Yoongi looks the most intimidating. He looks like a bad boy, covered in tattoos and piercings. He even has his dick pierced. I’ve seen it. Yes, it looks painful. People say he comes off as cold, but he’s really not.”

“Like Grump?”

“Hmmmm… Different. Have you ever heard of Inkspires? It’s the tattoo shop across town.”

You think for a moment. It’s not like you live in a big city, but you’re not sure you’ve ever had a reason to go to such a place. You rack your brain trying to think of the place he’s talking about. When you shake your head, he seems a little sad.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know them once I’m done. I’m working on rebranding them. Pro bono. I’m working to make it something everyone will recognize. Jisoo’s got a lot of ideas and I’m excited to bring them to life. It will take some time, but I think it will be worth it.” He smiles. “I think he might be bringing his new girlfriend. What did he call her? Plum? Melons?” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, Peaches.”

“Peaches?”

Jimin shrugs. “They started dating recently. I don’t have all the details yet. It’s kind of a big deal. He usually doesn’t bring a date. He usually doesn’t date. And unless something has changed-- which I don’t think it has-- he's still a virgin.”

Your mouth falls open. “Really? How? I mean, that’s kind of impressive, honestly. The world is so busy trying to sell sex. How do you keep away from it?”

Jimin shakes his head. “Trust me, I know. My whole business is embedded in it. I guess he’s never had anyone he really wanted to share the experience with. I told you, he’s a real soft-hearted guy. He works part time at Construct-a-Cub during the holidays. He donates a lot of stuff to charities for children.”

“Wow. He sounds like a really good person,” you say, genuinely stunned by the kindness people can show.

“Don’t be fooled. He’ll tell you he hates kids. Secret softie. But similar to Grump, if you think he’s being cold, he’s probably just wary. Give him time and he’ll warm up to you. Keep an open mind. And don’t judge a book by its cover.”

You nod. “Of course.”

“He’s the one who actually did my tattoo and piercings.”

“I meant to ask about those…”

“Tae, Guk, and I decided we were all gonna get them right after college. Kind of a celebration pact type thing. Tae chickened out after watching us go and since he already paid for it, Star ended up getting hers done in his place.”

“Ouch,” you hiss through your teeth, mentally conjuring the level of endurance that might take.

“It really wasn’t that bad.” He laughs. “I was surprised by how little it hurt compared to what I imagined.”

“Did you watch?”

“Hmm?”

“Star getting hers done.”

Jimin licks his lips and stares out the window with a shy smile. “Yoongi offered to kick everyone out, but she insisted we stay. Tae didn’t talk to us for a week. He’s a baby sometimes. He knows she only has eyes for him. I think she’s an exhibitionist. Don’t be surprised if you catch her walking around naked.”

You hold back a snort with a pang of irrational jealousy. “What? For real?”

“I’m joking. Kind of. She’s soft and sweet and as a couple they’re pretty reserved. But I’ve heard them competing with Cat and Hobi for loudest cabin sex.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “And I guess that just leaves Jeongguk. Where do I start? He keeps humiliating himself in front of his coworker. He’s got a big crush on her but his brain just melts any time he’s close to her. For instance, he started going on about how heavy it is to carry around his balls. He kind of put his foot in his mouth, since he was talking about soccer balls. You know, he kind of reminds me of you. Almost like you’re related.”

“Jimin!” You choke on your own spit, trying to focus on the lines separating the lanes.

Jimin raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “What?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, it’s pretty boring actually. After I came out of your apartment covered in your juices, he accused me of eating someone’s pussy. I showed him a picture of you and he told me you guys are cousins.”

“Okay forget I asked. Please don’t say any more,” you plead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I can’t believe this shit. Why are you friends with my cousin?... That means… That Taehyung… oh fuck. I’ve been playing video games with Mr. Kim for years. Oh god. I’ve been talking about you to both of them in-game. Oh god, this is so weird. Let’s go back to when I didn’t know my cousin has been friends with my boyfriend for literal years. Our town is small, but how fucking small is the world when I moved from the city and I’m still dating my cousin’s friend?”

Jimin smiles. “It doesn’t bother me. Does it really bother you? He’s happy for you.”

You bite your lip. “It’s just weird. I’ll need to adjust to the fact that you two know each other at all. Oh my god. I should have known. In-game. He named his pet Tannie. God, I’m so stupid!”

After a minute of listening to the soft sounds of the radio, he looks over and asks, “Am I still winning?”

“I don’t know. Yoongi’s sounding pretty sweet right now.”

He gasps, acting surprised by your answer. “No,” he whines.

You twine his fingers in yours and bring them to your lips. “Don’t worry. I’m yours and yours only. I belong to one charming, snake of a prince. What are your secrets anyway?”

“You really want to know?”

You cock your head to one side and spare a fleeting glance at him. “Spill ‘em.”

“You have to promise not to tell.”

You smile, seeing the exit you need to take quickly approaching. “If you tell me I’ll wrap these lips around your cock when we get there. Wherever you want.”

“...That’s not a promise, Snow.”

“I guarantee you it is.”

You shiver as Jimin wraps his arms around you, sinking his chin into the crook of your shoulder. A heavy sigh reverberates against your ear as he presses his hardening length into your ass. “So?”

“So what?”

“Not too awkward right?” he confirms, holding your waist and swaying back and forth.

“Yeah, I almost forgot my cousin showed up with my bestie. Definitely don’t want to be around to hear them go at it. I really don’t need that image in my head. How far is our room from theirs?” you ask, reaching behind you to run your fingers across his pants in the place he needs you most.

He inhales deeply and purses his lips for a moment. “I don’t know. We change it up every year. First come...” He hikes your dress up and slides his hand over your thigh, teasing the sensitive bud beneath your panties. “First served.”

You groan as he licks a line from your collarbone to your ear.

“What do you think? Now that we’ve had dinner, can I have dessert?”

You shiver and turn your face to give him a quick peck.

“Mmm I don’t know. Maybe I want dessert,” you counter, licking your lips and sparing a glance down to the place your fingers are massaging.

A whine rumbles up and out of his throat as his hands roam the exterior of your dress, gliding up your sides until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. “You make this dress look good.”

Deft fingers play with the button on the back of your neck, making quick work of the zipper concealed beneath. The fabric of your party dress falls away from your body and pools around your feet. “But it looks better on the floor.”

He doesn’t give you time to ruminate on how exposed you feel. He’s already spinning you around and pushing you towards the guest bed you’ll be sharing for the night. As you fall back against the cold comforter, he’s working the buttons off his shirt. Not fast enough. You’ve been wanting this all day. The notches on his belt are so small the buckle gets stuck; you nearly snap the metal with how quick your fingers are moving. He offers a surprised gasp as you drag his boxers down with his pants, thick cock springing free from its confines

You pump him with your hand once before taking him in your mouth. His hands, which had been fumbling with the last button on his shirt, fist in your hair as you bob up and down over his shaft. It takes all his restraint, but he tightens his grip with a moan and pulls you off him. You give him a confused pout, trying to move your mouth close enough to take him back in. He allows you to move forward just a little, your lips ghosting over the tip before he yanks your hair to force you to behave.

“You said it could be wherever I choose,” he murmurs, losing himself in the way you’re flicking your tongue out in attempts to coax him back into your mouth.

“So where do you want me, baby?” You want him so bad. You need him. And from the way he allows you to brush your lips against him again, he feels the same. You lick your lips in anticipation, causing a shiver to wrack his body as it passes over every sensitive nerve ending on the head of his throbbing cock. “Please.”

With just a word, he allows you to take the tip in your mouth, tongue gliding across every last bit you’ll give. He bites his lip hard and reluctantly shakes his head, pulling you back again. “Not yet. I want to make you sing first.”

“What am I singing?” you confusedly ask, knowing full well you’re probably tone-deaf. But you’ll do anything he requests if he’ll let you suck his dick without being a total tease.

He giggles, watching the desperation in your eyes cloud your understanding. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours and slips his tongue between them, tasting the faint traces of himself left behind.

“Sing my name,” he pleads between open-mouthed kisses, hands sliding around to cup your jaw. “It sounds like heaven spilling from your lips.”

He pulls back long enough for your eyes to flutter open and see the love coursing through every last bit of his soul. He reaches down and splays his hands over your hips, thumbs curling around the band of your red panties before working them down your thighs in a playful wiggle. You pop open the last button on his shirt as he plunges a finger into you.

“You’ll ruin your shirt if you don’t take it off now,” you say, a not so subtle attempt to get him to remove it so there’s only skin touching skin.

He rolls his eyes, shaking the fabric from his arms. “Take your bra off for me?”

You discard the undergarment quicker than his shirt can fall to the floor, pulling his body down on top of you so you can feel that closeness you’ve grown accustomed to sharing.

“Jimin, I want you,” you whimper, running your fingers through his hair as he clamps his mouth down on your neck. That elicits a moan from him against your throat as he sucks a line of kisses down to a softened nipple.

“Yours would look good pierced,” he comments, squeezing both with his fingers before moving his hands to massage the flesh surrounding them.

“I’m good,” you laugh, watching the fascination in his eyes as your nipples pebble at the loss of the pleasurable pressure.

He hums a sound of indifference, pushing your tits together and burying his face between them. He’s sure to dip his tongue in the cleavage he’s created for his own benefit.

“Get up here. I miss you,” you whine, twining your fingers in his hair and guiding him back towards your mouth.

His mouth hungrily crashes down on yours and has you gasping for more in seconds. “Please… fuck.” He sucks your bottom lip through his teeth. “Jimin, please fuck me.”

His breath is haggard on inhale as he allows your lip to snap back to you. “But I haven’t even made you cum yet. What kind of boyfriend would I be?”

You take his hand and direct it to the slick, sticky juices coating your sex. “An amazing one. You make me wet without even trying.”

Jimin gasps, sliding two fingers past your lips and filling your pussy just to be sure you could take him. He pops his fingers out of you and brings them to his mouth, rutting the tip of his dick against your clit. Your body spasms as he rubs the entirety of his shaft against you. He grins when you lock your arms around his back and dig your fingernails into his muscles.

“You sure you don’t want me to make you cum first?” he offers again with a roll of his hips.

“I want your cock inside me now,” you whisper in a low, raspy tone, hot breath tickling his ear.

His hips stutter as he draws his pelvis back and you feel his tip teasing the heat of your entrance. When he pauses, you roll your hips beneath him, enticing him to continue his journey as the head circles your labia. Unable to exert any more self control, he sinks into you in a slow descent until he’s buried in you to the hilt. You both let out a held breath and moan against each other pitifully.

“Shit! Sorry!” Suddenly he pulls out and scrambles off of you like you’re made of lava, crossing the room and rifling through his bag. When he turns around, he's tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth, a sight you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing you should have known you were skipping a step.

“At least you remembered,” you sigh, getting into a comfortable position against the pillows. “I probably would have let you cum in me.”

“Now you tell me,” he jokes, dragging the condom down his shaft with ease.

“This isn’t the olden days, you know. Women have birth control,” you tease, spreading your legs and rubbing circles into your clit as he climbs on top of you.

“Oh so you want me to rip this condom off and fill you with my cum? Watch it drip down your leg when we join everyone at midnight?”

The thought turns you on more than it should. You increase the speed and pressure of your fingers against your clit. “Yes…” you whine.

He leans back on his knees as he slots himself between your legs, pressing his sheathed cock into you as you touch yourself for him.

“You want everyone to know you’re mine, don’t you?” he asks, thrusting himself up into you at a steady pace.

“Yes, Jimin…”

“All that sweetness. That innocence. You want everyone to see what a bad girl you really are. You want to show off for them, show them your pretty pussy. Full of my cum. Don’t you?”

You’re so fucking close. Everything he says is just getting you more worked up and you whimper, nodding like you’re a bobblehead without a brain.

“Say it, Snow,” he demands, slowing his pumps to a stop.

“Please,” you beg, desperately wiggling your hips to feel him again. “Please fuck me. I want you to show everyone how well you fill this tight pussy.”

“Oh, that’s it baby. Touch yourself for me. You getting off thinking about that?” He grunts as he resumes fucking himself into you, slinging your legs over his shoulders to hit deeper without hindering your ability to touch yourself. “I want you to tell me. Tell me who owns this fucking pussy.”

You clench around his cock, not used to hearing such filth come from his mouth.“This pussy is yours, Jimin. Use me like your little fuck toy.”

He tenses, throbbing inside you as he growls,“Tell me you’re my cumslut.”

With one hand pressing circles into your clit and the other squeezing your breast, you search his face, hoping to find yourself in it. You’re so far gone you can’t even register the lewd sounds of pleasure spewing from your mouth.

“Use your words. You can do it,” he whispers, beaming with pride.

“I’m... your cumslut,” you whisper between frenzied panting. “Fuck. Jimin. I’m close.”

He slows his pace, bending himself over you to move in for a messy kiss. “Such a good girl, my little cumslut. Squeezing my cock with that tight pussy… Want me to fuck you raw, don’t you?”

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck me raw baby. You feel so fucking good. I want you to cum inside me,” you confess loudly, not caring who might hear. “Take it off, baby. I want you to fill this pussy. Leave me dripping...”

His mouth comes crashing down on yours again, muffling the sounds of your obscene begging. “That’s too bad. Because I’m gonna fill that pretty, filthy little mouth instead.”

Your climax hits you faster than you can vocalize it. “I’m…”

You gush around the cock pistoning into you and when he feels your walls clamp down, he stays inside to subject himself to the delicious torture of every twitch and pulse you deliver.

“That’s it, princess. Good girl,” he whispers, sweetness in his voice returning.

His forehead drops against yours and he rides out your high with you, pressing his lips to yours until your hands fall limp against the mattress.

“That was…” you pause, heavy breaths mingling with his. “...amazing.”

“You still want dessert?” he questions with a grin.

“Finally. Give it to me,” you plead, kissing his lips again and again.

“Not here,” he whispers, a devilish smile gracing his features.

The water is warm and inviting. The bubbles bursting from the jets below offer pressure in all the right spots in all the right ways. How he had convinced you to enter the jacuzzi with him completely naked is beyond you. You’re terrified someone might walk in, but he assures you everyone is lost in their own world.

You lean forward, pressing your tits together as he positions his dick between them and starts with lazy thrusts. You stare up at his fucked out expression, savoring the way his jaw hangs open as he watches his cock slip between your wet breasts. A shy smile crosses your face when you realize he’s looking in your eyes rather than at the lewd act of his shaft sliding between two perfect mounds. He’s lost, a disoriented smile setting up camp in the corners of his mouth.

You look down and stick your tongue out to brush the head of his cock every time it comes up towards your face. He slots his fingers in your hair, curling strands into his fist.

“Do you want to fuck my throat?”

He nods weakly, guiding you back against the seat of the jacuzzi. You pump your fist over his cock a few times as he towers over you. Relaxing your jaw, you take him to the base, tongue wiggling against his balls. He loses his footing for a moment, slipping against the bottom of the hot tub.

“Maybe you should sit down,” you suggest, his dick coming out of your mouth with a loud pop.

“Can you hold your breath for that long?” He sounds unsure, even as he’s settling in the space across from you.

“Think of it as an edging session,” you giggle, taking a deep breath and submerging yourself in the water.

When he feels you take him into your mouth again, his jaw goes slack as he stretches out his arms across the side of the hot tub and tilts his head back.

“Hey, did you come alone?” Hobi’s voice breaks his moment of peace.

Jimin panics, hands diving into the water to keep your head beneath the surface. Hopefully the bubbles from the jets will obscure your form. He wracks his brain, trying to think of something to say as he stares blankly at Hoseok and Cat, who are now standing in the doorway with eyebrows raised.

You grip his legs and fight against his hands, shooting up from the water with the grace of someone who just got a bunch of water up their nose and nearly drowned. You cough and sputter, swiping water from your eyes as you see two figures standing in the doorway. Recognizing one as J-Hope, your heart sinks. Jimin mentioned he was running late when he didn’t show up for dinner.

This is how you meet Hope on the Street. Of course it is.

The hot chick next to him must be his girlfriend. Realizing you’re completely nude, you sink down in the water to your chin and smile as sweetly as you can.

“Hi, you must be Hoseok and Cat! Jimin’s told me so much about you.”

Hoseok sputters, laughing with his mouth wide open. You recoil at the sound, wishing the jacuzzi would melt your bones and just leave you to live your life as a puddle from now on.

Cat lightly smacks him in the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s us. We’ll hang out later, give you guys some space. Sorry!”

She shoves her boyfriend through the door, leaving you alone with Jimin.

“I want to die,” you say, clapping your hands to your cheeks. “I wish I had drowned instead.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” Jimin says, pulling you back to his body.

“Hope on the Street just cackled at the sight of me coming up for air after sucking your dick. Hell of a first impression,” you grumble, rubbing your temple.

“We can ‘walk in’ on them later if it makes you feel better,” he suggests with a laugh.

You disappear under the water, picking up where you left off. If they were going to catch you giving him a blowjob, you might as well finish it. The taste of chemicals is already on your tongue; it can’t be for nothing.

“I love you,” he says when you come out of the water for air.

“I love you too,” you murmur, shyly kissing his lips before descending again.

Every time you resurface, he’s waiting, bringing you to his lips with a sweet kiss. You can tell he’s close, but you’re having too much fun popping out of the water to kiss him. Finally, he’s had enough of the edging and has you kneeling in the center of the jacuzzi, sloppily thrusting himself deep into your mouth.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you mumble a sound of affirmation against his cock, only choking slightly.

The grunt of his release comes with the bitter tang of his cum hitting the back of your throat as he bottoms out. You swallow it bit by bit, doing your best not to sputter and choke with the way he’s tightly holding the back of your head in place. He loosens his grip and pulls back, catching the tears in your eyes and concernedly swiping at them with his thumbs. You swallow what’s left in your mouth like a champ.

“You okay?” he checks in, settling into the water with you. “That was too much, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head with a giggle. “I like when you’re rough. I’m just… out of practice.”

“We can work on it then,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into an embrace.

When he brings his lips to meet yours, butterflies tickle your insides like it’s the first time. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kiss, in his everything. Being with him still feels like a dream. Never in your life could you have imagined loving someone could feel so good, so pure, so right.

“Hey it’s probably almost midnight. Do you wanna go do the countdown with everyone?”

You respond with a nod. “Champagne?”

“Of course.”

He gets out first and you watch the water roll off his body as he extends a hand to help you out of the hot tub. Pruny fingers grasp his, hoping he knows just how much he means. You’re ready to face the new year together and you’re ready to jump into this found family head first.

Heading for the door, you pause, turning back to look at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

With a laugh, he comes up behind you, draping a robe around your naked form. “You might want to put this on.”

What would you do without him? You swallow hard, donning the robe and smiling at him. He links his fingers with yours and you head inside together.

#magicshopnet #smutcentralnet #jimin smut #jimin fic #jimin x reader #jimin x you #BTS smut #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #jimin x oc #jimin angst #bts angst #the snowball effect

[totallyexhausted]

Snippet- Be Better Than Me

           Rick arched an eyebrow as Pink turned slightly; her eyes meeting the confusion and curiosity in his as she smirked. The doors opened slowly, creaking as they were forced open by two other mirages of human flesh, complete down to the male anatomy and overkilled muscles. Rick clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as the light flickered, the men entering the room, dragging another being harshly.

           Pink chuckled slightly, and Rick lunged forward, the chains restraining his movements as he realized the third figure was Morty. His feet dragging slightly on the cement as the teenager struggled to gain any type of consciousness or strength in order to stand against the two men holding him up. His face bruised and bleeding, a cut tearing through his upper and bottom lip, across the bridge of his nose as blood still fell on his dirty yellow shirt.

           The 17-year-old lifted his head slightly, his pale blue eyes meeting Rick’s momentarily as he tried to find his footing on legs that refused to stand. He whimpered lightly, realizing his lanky body wasn’t willing to cooperate. His vision wavering harshly as he tried to focus on the dimly lit room, on the flames dancing off the walls, on the wet feeling pained in his left side, or the dizzying fog invading his mind.

           Rick growled as the men let Morty go, throwing him forward as the teenager collapsed against the cold ground, his face smacking loudly against the floor. Pink laughed as she dug a hand through his grandson’s hair, yanking his face from the floor so his eyes once again met Rick’s; pain, trust… disappointment surrounding his pupils before the 17-year-old groaned slightly.

“YOU BITCH!” Rick yelled, lunging forward again and gritting his teeth once more as the metal clasped around his wrists ate at the flesh. Pink snorted, letting the teenager’s hair go as he smacked once more against the cement. She turned, smirking, “Ah ah ahh, now. Is that really any way to talk to a lady? It seems as though your pet had better manners than you.”

           Rick let out a breath, his eyes fixed on her. Anger rising in his chest as he connected with the unmoving form of his grandson. Blood was beginning to stain against the floor, spreading from a wound on his side as the teenager failed to move, failed to show any indication that he was still hanging onto consciousness. Rick cleared his throat, “Morty! M-Morty, listen, I’m goin-going to get us out of here! I’ll fix this!”

           Pink laughed again, her voice echoing around the room as it bounced from the darkest corners in the chamber. She met Rick’s eyes, a grin forming on her face as she slammed her foot against one of the teenager’s hands. Morty screamed loudly. The cries emanating, covering any other sound in the room, and Rick flinched. He swallowed, tears pricking his eyes, and Rick grit his teeth as the teenager screamed again, pulling his hand closer to himself as Pink raised an eyebrow. The sound of bones breaking under force echoing in Rick’s ears as the teenager drew in a strained breath.

Rick took a slow breath as he calmed himself, “I’m going to-to fucking kill you!”

Pink shook her head, amusement masking her features as she took a step towards Rick; her arms crossed, “Oh really? You and what Army? See, I know you, Rick Sanchez. I know everything there is to know about all the other Ricks. After all, you’re not the first Rick or Morty to come stumbling into my territory… But… I must say… you smell much different than the others before you…”

           She took a deep breath causing the older man to grimace slightly, “Thanks. It’s the lack of bathing and alcoholism.”

           “Hm. All that wit. Hiding the enemy lurking in the shadows- the true Rick Sanchez. Such a pity, such a disappointment society must be to you as you are to it. Tell me, Rick, do you know what I am?” Pink asked, stepping around Morty. She took a few steps forward, wiping her hand over the dust, grime and blood covering the walls; letting the black dirt fall from her hand slowly.

Rick moved a hand, the chains once again jingling, “Really ugly?”

Pink smirked, her fingers once again meshing against the disgusting wall, “My kind, although few thanks to intergalactic terrorism, has the ability to see into one’s mind. To read into their deepest darkest parts of themselves. To learn the things hidden away, buried so deep, locked so tightly in the worst part of a being’s soul.”

“Sounds fun. I can-can accom-omplish the same thing with a few barrier reactors, a screwdriver, and a bicycle- a bicycle helmet,” Rick stared blankly, looking at his left hand as he tried squirming it from the chains gripped around his wrist. The metal digging harshly, blood lining his arm as the chain gave slightly. Pink snorted, moving closer, “You doubt my ability, then?”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Rick rolled his eyes, huffing, “The only thing I doubt, is that you do birthday parties on the weekends in order to maintain a rather clownish and some-somewhat de-demeaning flesh of a-of a wo-woman.”  

           Silence occupied the room, and Rick paused for a moment; his wrist throbbing as blood coated the chains, making it slippery, making it relatively easier to yank his hand free. Either that or dislocate it in order to try and figure a way out of here. He shivered slightly, freezing for a moment as stillness blanketed the room, and Morty groaned, moving slightly.

           Fingers smacked against Rick’s face, pressing his chin and cheeks violently together as the hand pried his eyes away from his grandson. Fingernails digging into his face as Rick’s eyes connected with Pink’s, a crazed grin plastered against skin pulled too tightly across her face; her eyes lifeless and cold, sparkling with what Rick could only assume was the real alien harboring the pound of flesh like a puppet.

           “You doubt me, then?” She growled, her teeth chipped and rotting as she smiled. Nails digging harder into his flesh, spit splattering against his face, and Rick grit his teeth as pain rose from his neck, exploding through his head as his vision faded, as the world faded and the pain etched into his skin from sharp red nails, dug deep enough to rip the flesh from his bones…

           “Rick, I’ll say it for the last time! This is my house! And you will not plan a rebellion for the space war or whatever in my house!” Jerry yelled, walking down the stairs. He tripped slightly, missing the last two steps and stumbled into the wall with a soft thud. Rick watched amused as the younger man quickly tried to straighten himself; a wavering stern look washed across his face as he once again tried to show a dominance that they both knew wasn’t there. The older man rolled his eyes and turned back towards his project as Jerry repeated the statement.  

Rick groaned loudly, “Jesus, Jerry. It’s the Dark Intergalactic Cause. You sound like a fucking moron when you say space an-and war. Look, if you can’t remember, call them the DIC Group.”

           Jerry growled slightly, mumbling something under his breath as Beth handed her father a screwdriver. She smiled towards Jerry then her dad, “Well, I think it sounds like fun. Maybe you should lighten up, Jerry.”

           Rick snorted, flipping a screw across the table as he turned towards the younger man, crossing his arms, “Y-yeah, maybe you should-should lighten up, Jer-ry…

             Pain slicing through his left shoulder as Rick slammed his head against the boulder behind him. Screams heard from the dust clouding the atmosphere, and someone screamed his name as bullets and blasts flew through the air. Rick swallowed, gripping his shoulder, looking momentarily at the blood gushing from the stupid wound, before pushing himself away from the rock; his gun gripped hard in his right hand.

           Bird-Person flew above him, dropping an atom bomb in the distance, the explosion sending a horrific gush of copper filled air across the crumbling planet. Rick coughed harshly, stumbling as he grabbed at the portal gun hidden in his lab coat; waiting to use it; waiting for…

             “Daddy!”

           Rick turned, dropping his coat on the floor as Beth ran to greet him. Her blonde pigtails jumping wildly as she ran across the hall, and Rick bent down, a huge smile radiating from his face. The 5-year-old threw herself at her father, laughing loudly as he swung her around gently.

           She pressed her little hands against his face, smiling widely; her two front teeth missing from the other night. A small Power-Rangers Band-Aid plastered against her left cheek from playing outside. She dug her hands in her pockets quickly, pulling out another Band-Aid, placing it on Rick’s forehead as he carried her into the kitchen.

           Rick threw a confused look towards his wife before Beth pressed her hands against his face once more, “I missed you, Daddy! We’re playing Doctor! Wanna play with us…

             Blood. There was so much fucking blood. Coating his body in a shield as the lifeless body of his grandson laid a few feet away, his eyes fixed on Rick in a dull stare of a dead reminder. God, there was so much fucking blood.

           Rick gagged harshly, throwing his body to the left as he vomited. Blood soaked hands wiping at his mouth as he shakily reached a hand towards Morty. There was so much fucking blood…

             “Stop,” Rick mumbled weakly as his vision cleared and the pain evaded, nails releasing his face and the older man closed his eyes, glancing down at the floor. He swallowed loudly as Pink stepped away, chuckling softly, “Family. Really, Rick? Oh, honey. But you are nothing more than a poison injected in the blood of those you love. A drug. A fatal toxicity promising adventure. Tell me, are you even the real Rick Sanchez? Or did he die years ago?”

           Rick swallowed again, breathing through his nose several times as the memories began to fade from his mind. As the hurt began to fade further in the background, and he cleared his throat as he looked up slowly, “Don’t flatter yourself. You know there isn’t such a thing as a real Rick Sanchez.”

           Pink faltered, turning halfway back to face him, “Such a lie you’ve wrapped yourself in. All hidden by an old white little lab coat…”

“Sorry, next time I’ll be s-sure to wear a fucking tux-tuxedo,” Rick interjected, wincing quietly as he struggled again to pull his left wrist from his imprisonment. He felt the skin pull, sliding somewhat from the thick metal.  

“What a simple mind. Filled with so much greatness. So much trust… love for his family. For you. Does he even know the truth? The truth about everything? About you? Does he even know who you are?” Pink stated. Rick felt a shiver run down his spine as he glanced back up, glaring towards the woman standing over his grandson’s limp form.

           The older man growled, “Don’t you fucking touch him!”

           Silence again. Embracing the dark room in a constant reminder of things and opportunities missed. And Rick felt his heartbeat quicken as he held Pink’s gaze; refusing to look away; refusing to break the threat he held against her. She snorted slightly before turning back towards the teenager, her hand gently tracing a cut on his lip like a mother soothing her child, “Why? What are you going to do about it? All chained and beaten? Besides… I think you’ve done more damage to him than I ever could in an eternity.”

           The older man’s expression faltered, and he swallowed, hard. His eyes dancing over the stilled emotion on his grandson’s face; guilt sitting heavily in his stomach, and Rick fought the urge to gag as nausea coursed through his body, pulling his hand harder against the chains.

           She was right. Rick knew she was right. Morty had been a kid- hell, he was still a kid. Only 17. Something Rick always seemed to forget. And whether he liked it or not, the kid was his grandson… whatever the hell that meant. He was his blood. Vulnerable. Susceptible. Following blindly as Rick drug him through realities, horrors, nightmares that could kill him- that had killed him. And yet, he trusted Rick with an unending love that he would never receive in return. He trusted Rick because Morty believed so fiercely that his life was nothing compared to a single smidge of his grandfather. And Rick knew- he knew the thoughts that haunted the kid every time, every silence parted between the teenager’s lips, every moment of unfocused emotion fixed on nothingness, the tears heard through paper-thin walls and red stains left unwashed in the bathroom sink- Rick knew. He’d seen the scars. The dark lines tanned against his grandson’s arms- the emotion hidden so damn deep behind a disguise of stupidity, bravery and that goddamn determination to prove himself enough. Rick fucking knew. And he never said anything… he couldn’t.

Morty had grown from the weird kid he’d once been. Fuck, he was still weird and awkward, but he was colder, harder, quieter, and he stopped worrying about everything somewhere along the way. He was devoid of things that phased other kids his age; still concerned with a girl out of his league, but no longer chasing after her like a lovestruck puppy. He’d matured into his own thought, towering over the young and pathetic memories of his youth. He reserved himself to isolation and solitude, creating a demeanor who would rather convey his emotions to himself in peace, and letting the world show their opinions of him. Letting society decide how they viewed him rather than fight against it. Because everything was bullshit, and nothing really mattered. A philosophy he had adopted from Rick, and one he lived by… one he’d die by.    

           Rick grimaced as he yanked his left hand free, busying himself as he tried freeing his other hand; trying to remember if he had any gadgets that could help him.  

“Tell me, Rick,” Pink said softly, still caressing the teenager’s face gently, “Has he even seen the real Rick Sanchez crawling beneath your skin? Such rage. Such destruction. So much blood on your hands that not even the purest Rick or Morty could absolve you of yourself. Has he seen what you’re truly capable of?”

Rick paused, and glanced down at the floor, pressing his lips together as the question reached him. He heard shifting and looked up slowly to see Pink turning towards him, and he slammed his hand back to the chains on his left. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, “A pity, really. What pain it must cause you to look at him. To lock away everything in your past that is their future. How it must feel to hide yourself away from everyone because you’re so afraid they’ll see you for what you really are.”

Rick belched loudly, “A badass fucking sc-scientist?”

“A monster. An evil greater than anything lurking in the depths of the universes, greater than anything hiding among the other realities.”

The older man bit the bottom of his lip. His eyes grasping between Pink then his grandson then Pink.

All of the infinite universes, the infinite families and Ricks, the infinite realities he’d lived… hell, even he’d lost track of the reality he was born into. The reality he’d lost everything. The reality he’d destroyed… the reality he’d destroyed everything… burned, incinerated, broken into so many fucking pieces that not even he could put back together again. The reality he’d fucked so hard he couldn’t fix… the reality that’d seen him; truly seen him, seen his anger, seen his rage, what he could do, what he was capable of. Because he’d lost… himself, everything. The infinite universes all boiling down to that tiny fucking and insignificant reality that he’d destroyed himself; creating the shitshow of everything he was fighting for today. The reality he had killed himself, killed what it meant to be human.

           Humanity. Humans. Weak and small. Pathetic and unimportant. The human race was weak and puny compared to the adventures lurking in the skies that he chased so desperately in the voids. Humans were weak. Sloppy. So many fucking emotions all wrapped in a wimpy fleshy suit of goopy matter. They were so easily replaced. Easily forgotten…

Despite everything, despite the Citadel, despite the vast realities and universes, Rick never had the fucking heart to tell Morty the truth… to tell him what really happened; he never had the heart to tell him about the one true Rick and Morty. About Beth. About everything he’d fucked up beyond repair; about the mess he’d created… and the inevitable end that hung over Rick as he haloed countless deaths, tragic and bitter, all his fault… including Morty’s own. Morty’s death… his end; that was something Rick couldn’t bring himself to face, but he couldn’t forget it either. Because it hadn’t happened yet, but Rick had already lived it.  

Rick sighed, “…it’s better this way. It’s better he doesn’t know.”

“Why? You think it’ll protect him? How stupid you must be. You really don’t see it, do you?” Pink stepped closer, confusion etched into the tighter corners of her features; her flesh beginning to droop slightly as her form was starting to lose shape. She ran a hand over her face, fixing the wrinkles sagging under her eyes and mouth. She took another breath, stepping forward again, “You can’t see how much you’ve destroyed him. His mind, his thoughts, his emotions. How much hurt you’ve painted on his body; the nightmares and horrors you’ve created in the darkest parts of his mind; a darkness you’ve crafted out of the safe reality he knew, and the twisted pain and hatred you’ve fashioned out of what should have been happiness, love, and joy. Such innocence he once possessed. And yet, you fail to realize that the more you try to protect him, the more you try to save him, the more you destroy him. You fail to realize you’ve killed him… and you’re slowly killing anything that’s left.”

           “I’m going to kill you,” Rick grit his teeth, “When I get out of here, I’m-I’m going to rip that stupid flesh from you-your bones, you moronic fucking slug.”

           Pink smirked as she turned slightly, “Oh, I don’t doubt that as I know who you really are. But first, I’m going to have some fun with your pet. Don’t look so worried, Rick, I’ll make sure he dies quickly.”

           She turned back towards Morty; her skin crawling and shifting as she shed bones and flesh; as she shed humanity, crafting her own form as acidic saliva dripped from her mouth. Rick pulled his left hand free, yanking harshly at his right as he heard bones crack, blood pooling from the pressure on raw busted skin.

           A laugh echoed around the room as the lights darkened; the fire dying quickly, and Rick pulled harder, winching as his right hand came free, and he fell forward; his wrist connecting with the cement, breaking fully as the dislocated bone jolted upright. He cursed loudly, pulling himself up as he struggled for the chains wrapped around his ankles, and Pink screamed.

            A blast lit the room quickly before disappearing, and Rick froze; his fingers trembling against the cold metal still wrapped against his right ankle, and he glanced up. Darkness covered the room, followed by an eerie silence that sent chills across the room. Something fell against the ground as something much larger smack against the walls, vibrating the chains hanging through the small chamber and crashing through a softer part of the wall, filling the room with dust.

           Rick coughed loudly as light filtered weakly through the dungeon, and he squinted as his eyes met the pink glob of the slug monster. He scanned the rest of the room, dust hanging thickly in the air. Rick’s fingers still pressed against the metal chains as he swallowed softly, “M-Morty?”

           Something clattered across the room sliding from the dust covered air, stopping at Rick’s feet as retching echoed off the remaining walls. The older man glanced down at the small gun sitting at his feet, the tiny purple blaster was barely anything Rick would consider harmful; but aimed correctly, fired correctly, the small fucker would be able to fire enough to kill something. Rick’s eyes locked onto the blood smeared across the handle as retching once again filled the room, and he looked up again, scanning what little he could see.

           “Mo-Morty? Where the fuck are you, you dipshit?” Rick yelled, pressing his hands once again against the metal. His fingernails pulling backwards and ripping as he struggled to pry the chains apart. The rough metal sliced through more flesh on his fingers, and Rick cursed as blood began to drip down his hands.

           Something moved, and Rick flinched as warm hands covered his, pushing his shaking hands away from the metal. Rick sucked in a steady breath as he traced over the busted knuckles and dried blood scabbed on the abused flesh; huge black and green bruises covering the left hand from where Pink’s foot broke bones; bitten back winces still audible as fingers were forced to grasp rough metal; and Rick looked up, letting out another long silent breath.

           Morty’s face was covered in blood which Rick hoped was mostly from Pink. Blood trailing from the cuts on his face as his eyes, slightly unfocused, concentrated on the stupid metal. Dirt covered the teenager’s neck and shirt as holes tore through the old material. Bruises painted against dirty flesh, dotted with droplets of blood, and a bloody red mess gathering on the 17-year-old’s left side that looked more than painful.

           Metal clattered to the ground as Rick’s eyes continued to trace over the damage. He rubbed his own wrist as it throbbed slightly, and Morty met his gaze. Unfocused blue eyes, lifeless and dull, pain hanging in the corners behind fake morality. Morty used to have Beth’s eyes; her bright blue eyes shining with so much wonder and life… but now, now, Rick feared the kid mirrored his own reflection more than anything else. You fail to realize you’ve killed him…

           Morty swallowed slightly, choking on the dust surrounding them and blood ran down his chin slowly as he wiped it with his shoulder. He smiled faintly, “You oka-okay, Rick?”

           Rick nodded lightly before finding his voice, “Wow. Those fu-fuckers really did a number on you, huh, kid?”

           Morty’s eyebrows drew together as he wiped more blood from his chin. He sighed loudly, bending down to grasp the stupid purple blaster between shaky fingers. He swallowed again, “I-I’ll be fine. Let’s just go. I just want to go home.”

           His voice was barely audible. Quiet and meek. Making Rick’s skin crawl as he hung onto every syllable. His mind racing as he wondered how Morty’s last few days differed from his own. The torture, the questions, the dimly lit dungeon…

           Morty swallowed again, wincing as he turned, grasping the blaster in his hand as he walked towards the door. He grit his teeth as he forced his body to straighten, the wound on his right thigh busting open again and the slick feeling of blood trailing down his leg, meshing against socks that were no longer soft nor white. The last few days, weeks, fuck- months, had been hell. The time spent with Rick, the time at school, with people Morty thought were his friends, and the shitty idea of something bigger in the universes that deserved Morty as he was, all plagued from the twisted crappy mind of a youthful and Disney-inspired child that he had tried to kill.

           The plan wasn’t supposed to go this way, that was for damn sure; but, considering Morty hadn’t had much of a plan when Rick convinced him to steal some Draxonen crystals, and the teenager’s own brilliant idea of stealing some weird looking weapon, Morty wasn’t really surprised it went the way it went. Besides, the pain plaguing his ribs, thigh, shit- the majority of his body, felt nice. It made him feel… alive. Something he hadn’t felt since his fight with Jessica’s boyfriend because he found out that her and Morty had slept together… several times in fact.

           Needless to say, the plan was screwed to begin with. And Rick’s stupid crystals he’d probably inhale the moment they were home, stabbed through the 17-year-old’s pocket, piercing the wound further on his thigh. Morty swallowed, resisting the urge to puke again as the stale taste of blood filled his mouth; the stupid cut on his lip refusing to stop bleeding.

           Rick cleared his throat, and Morty glanced behind him briefly to see the old man watching him. The idea that part of their situation was due to Rick pissed the teenager off… the other part was hidden in his jacket pocket; the small weapon pulsing, and Morty grasped his hand around the object, biting the inside of his cheek as spikes pierced through the globe, eating away at the flesh on his palm.

Rick didn’t give a shit about him. Something the guards had made damn clear even though it’d been obvious for a long time now. And despite his grandfather telling Morty how little he meant to him, the 17-year-old had always managed to pull himself up, to convince himself that somewhere, somehow, deep down, there was something, something riding in his grandfather that cared for the teenager. But that was just childish bullshit. Because Rick didn’t care about anyone except himself.

Morty should have known, and honestly, he should have cared. But he didn’t. It’d been a long time since he cared about something or someone. Jessica had fucked around with him for practice, and Morty had been okay with that because he was sleeping with his middle school crush; his parents calling it quits every few weeks when all the teenager wanted to do was scream for them to separate, to get divorced because he couldn’t take their arguing anymore; and Summer- Summer was moving out next Fall to attend some university a few states over. And Morty… Morty wasn’t really sure there was a point anymore.

The 17-year-old pressed his shoulder against the wooden door as he glanced again towards Rick. The older man’s eyes still transfixed on him, but a small gadget willed between his fingers. Morty rolled his eyes as he inched the door apart to see the hallway better. Black shadows danced across the dusty brick, voices in languages the teenager didn’t recognize several feet away, and the sound of an alarm blaring in the distance...

#Snippet from fanfiction #rick and morty #morty angst #morty a badass #self-harm #depression #rick fucked up #morty smith #smith family #rick sanchez #i am obsessed with the emotions in this show #morty is not the same as in youth #death #trigger warning #kb

[impala-dreamer]

Wash Me Away

SPN FanFIc

~Being lost in Purgatory with Dean takes a toll on Y/N, but a night of rest might do them both good.~

Dean x Reader, Benny, Mentions of Castiel

2,729 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Purgatory Smangst!. Danger. Romance. Rain.

A/N: This is for my Purgatory!Dean square on @spnkinkbingo​​ 2020 and for my darling @covered-byroses​​ who wanted something about the rain. Hope you all enjoy!

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It had been weeks, a month, maybe, since they woke up there. A month of running for their lives, every second on edge, wondering if they’d be fast enough to escape the next monster, strong enough to fend off the next attack. And there was always another attack.

They got a few hours here and there to rest, but they were on the move now, day and night.

Funny how Purgatory could sustain even a human for days without sleep or food. Perhaps the universe was coddling them, keeping them alive just enough so they could find the portal and escape. Or maybe they were just getting used to it, adapting to their new existence.

Dean was harder here, she noticed. He never laughed anymore, never teased her like he used to. She understood, of course. There was no reason to laugh anymore, not with a thousand fangs aimed at their throats.

Y/N tried to keep some hope, tried to show him a smile whenever he needed one, but the darkness was eating at her too. Hell would probably be nicer, she thought, but then again, she wouldn’t be with Dean.

Maybe he was what was keeping her going. Surely, she’d have given up that first night, succumbed to the monsters in and around her after Castiel abandoned them. But, Dean was there to grab her hand and pull, forcing her feet to run, demanding she keep her shit together. And she did. For him.

It helped that they had a mission. They weren’t just trying to get out, they were trying to find Cas. Some days, trudging behind Dean and Benny, Y/N had to bat away the idea that Cas was already dead. If it took three of them working together to get through the minefield that was Purgatory, how could one lone angel survive? She didn’t like to think like that, but it was hard some days.

Then there was Benny. Part of her was absolutely disgusted that Dean had agreed to let him tag along, to make such a deal with a monster. He was a vampire for fuck’s sake, but she understood, in the end. Dean couldn’t keep her safe and look for Cas at the same time. Still, sometimes she felt Benny’s eyes digging into her and it chilled her Hunter’s spirit to the bones.

There were times when they could go no further, when even Dean’s strong legs started to give out. They would sit beneath a tree or hide behind some strangely arranged pile of boulders. Shelter was sparse, so when they happened upon the cave that night, Y/N nearly cried.

Dean didn’t even protest when Benny insisted they both rest inside for the night while he went on ahead. The area around the cave was clear, and Benny promised to patrol the perimeter while they slept.

It was cold and quiet.

The mouth of the cave was about six feet wide and four feet tall, but it opened up into a room big enough to get comfortable in. Dean took the left side, stretching out his long legs as he sat against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. Y/N lay down opposite him, hands like a sorry pillow behind her head as she stared up at the rocky ceiling. There was a bit of pale yellow light coming in from outside, so it wasn’t too dark, and the cracks in the stone gave her something to count and focus on while Sleep ran away.

“This isn’t too bad,” she said, mostly to herself. “Ya know, if we don’t find Cas, we can just hole up here. Maybe excavate a little bit, add some bedrooms, a little kitchen in the back. Could be nice.”

“We’re going to find him,” Dean grumbled, his eyes still closed, lips barely moving. “I’m not living in a cave in this hell hole world.”

Y/N rolled onto her side, head braced by one hand. “Well, technically, this ain’t a hell hole. It’s a purg-hole. That’s a thing I just made up, but anyway.” She held her smile, biting her tongue between her front teeth, but Dean didn’t share her laugh. “Come on, dude,” she said, slapping his boot. “Smile.”

“No.”

“You’ll feel better if you do.”

Dean opened one eye and glared. “How?”

“Because I’ll feel better and that always makes you happy.”

She smiled sadly and he gave in, offering a meager smile that barely lifted his lips.

“See? Thank you.”

She left him alone then, rolling onto her stomach, cursing the world for not packing a sleeping bag before getting blown into another dimension. She should have had her go-bag with her. Would have made things a lot easier.

Thoughts swirled, the silence wrapped around her, and sleep finally came, closing her eyes before she even felt its approach.

She woke to rain.

A faint mist pushed in by a wayward breeze through the cave mouth kissed her eyelids and Y/N stirred, lifting her cheek from her hand and blinking into the dark. Raindrops danced a few feet away, collecting in shallow puddles where the rocks failed to meet in perfect seems.

Suddenly, it was all she ever wanted; the rain, the cool air, the heavy clouds. Her soul ached for it.

“Dean.”

She called to him gently but he was already awake, emerald eyes turned towards the same raindrops.

“Yeah, Y/N/N?” His voice was softer now, calmer after his rest.

“Come with me,” she whispered, lifting up onto her hands and knees.

Dean caught her left wrist as she tried to crawl out of the cave, shaking his head when she turned back, curious. “Don’t. You don’t know what’s out there.”

She sighed. “Benny’s walking the treeline. All that’s out there right now is rain. And I want to feel it on my face, Dean. It’s been too long.”

Her eyes misted over and something inside him gave in. His fingers released their hold on her wrist and he rolled to his knees, following her out.

They didn’t go too far; just a few yards away from the cave, but it felt like miles.

Y/N closed her eyes as she lifted her arms and turned her face to the sky. There was no Heaven up there, not anymore, not where they were, but for a moment, she felt it. Each drop of rain stung her face but she loved every one. It felt good, clean.

The water seeped into their clothes and soaked their hair, rinsing them clean of days of mud and muck. The dried blood on Dean’s cheek faded away and he lifted his hands, scrubbing them down his face with a sigh of relief.

“This feels amazing,” he said, finally cracking a real smile. He closed his eyes and let himself breathe; the first moment’s peace in a long while.

“Yeah.” Y/N’s voice broke, sadness creeping in. She dropped her head and the downpour massaged her neck with pounding pellets that trickled down under her collar. “It is.”

Dean heard her tone change and turned towards her, watching her shiver but not care to move. “What’s wrong?” His voice was tender as he came close; he was afraid for her, worried.

Y/N licked the water from her lips and looked up at him. Her eyes were as wet as anything else, but the reason wasn’t the same. “I don’t know.” She offered a lying smile but he wouldn’t have it.

“Tell me.”

His hand found her cheek.

She sighed deeply, shoulders dropping. “I just wanna stay here and let the rain wash me away.”

Dean pursed his lips, concerned dimples popping as he brushed the water from her cheek with his thumb. “Why?”

Y/N shook her head gently as she spoke. “It’s too much; I’m not gonna make it out here. You know that, Dean.” She took a breath as thunder rolled above them. “You should leave me in the cave. Go find Cas. Go get out of here.”

Dean’s chest burned at the thought; guilt stabbing his heart. “No.” He grabbed her face in both hands, holding her to him, forcing her to meet his eye. “I’m not leaving you, ever.”

Y/N tried to pull away but he refused, keeping her locked there, head in his hands, alone in the rain. He stared her down, hard, unblinking even as water crept into his eyes. His left eyelid trembled and she laughed.

“You’re an idiot,” she yelled, voice weak over the pouring rain.  

Dean smiled and bent his lips to hers. “Yeah, I am.”

They stood there in the downpour, not a single care for the first time in weeks. They kissed until the air between them was too thin, until their mouths filled with rain. Y/N tugged at the lapels of his leather coat and Dean’s hand slid up under her layers to lay on the small of her back. Any time she left for a deep breath, he pulled her closer, that big hand urging her to stay.

“We should go,” she managed after a long while, her breath heavy on his lips.

His eyes fell closed and his mouth reached for her. “No. Please.”

Y/N wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and moaned as he kissed his way across her jaw. “Take me back inside,” she whispered. “I need you.”

He let her go quickly, grabbing her hand as her boots sank into the mud. Together they climbed through the storm back up to the cave, desperate to settle down inside.

They stripped in a fury, no ceremony or tender hands. It was cold suddenly, and the dampness of their clothes was seeping in deep.

There was just enough room for him to stand and Dean used all of it, rushing to her and scooping Y/N into his arms once the sodden fabrics were kicked aside. They should have had a fire, but all they had was each other.

He kissed her harder, passion and desperation driving his tongue roughly between her lips. Y/N held on to his shoulders as he moved her where he wanted, absently walking her back until the stone shocked her skin.

“Fuck, that’s cold,” she laughed, turning her face from Dean’s kiss.

His hands slid around her, long fingers splayed out like a barrier over her back. “I’ll warm you up,” he growled, nipping at her pulse.

His kisses traveled downwards and Y/N ran her hands through his wet hair, sighing blissfully as his mouth closed around her nipple. “That’s pretty good…”

Dropping to his knees, Dean looked up with a smirk. “Oh wait,” he teased, sliding his right hand upwards to part her thighs. “There’s more.”

“I’m sure there is-” A gasp stole her words as Dean’s lips pressed against her pussy. She shuddered and sank down against the cavern wall, opening up for his tongue. He rolled it slowly across her clit, sending every bit of blood and thought straight down to it. She throbbed almost painfully as he fucked her open, fingers and lips working together to draw heavy moans from the back of her throat. She held on, fingers in his hair, hands tugging on his ears.

It had been too long since she had felt him, forever since she’d even had a thought to spare on pleasure, and her nerves were pulsing. Dean lifted her right leg to hook over his shoulder and the new angle gave his tongue more access than Y/N could stand. She shook almost violently as she came, her tight-lipped cry echoing down into the depths of their cave.

Dean pulled away, face shining with her slick juices, lips red and swollen. “Warm enough?” he asked, slowly drawing his tongue across his bottom lip, savoring her taste.

It took a moment for her brain to connect to her mouth, and Y/N took a deep breath as she dropped her leg from his shoulder. “Not quite.” She fell down to his level, knees crashing too hard into the rocky floor. “My turn.”

Her smile was delicious and Dean kissed her hard, humming into her as she ran her hands down his smooth chest.

“That’s nice,” he laughed, breath hitching as she tugged at his nipples. “Fuck.”

He was already hard between them and Y/N took advantage, wrapping one hand firmly around his cock while the other curled around the nape of his neck. She sucked at his lips while she stroked him, watching as the tension and worry melted from his face. Lines faded, his forehead relaxed, shoulders slumped as she worked him gently. When he wobbled, unsteady on his knees, she let him go, crawling over to the pile of damp clothes.

Dean watched in a daze as she lay down, opening her arms to him.

“Come ‘ere.”

He fell down against her, heavy body crushing her beautifully into the stone. He pushed between her legs; thick hips keeping her warm against the cool wind. “Fuck, I missed this.”

His whisper tickled her breast and Y/N cupped his jaw, urging him to look up. “Me too.” She traced his cheek with her fingertips, lightly skimming the slowly healing cut on his cheekbone.

“How?” she asked, suddenly melancholy once more.

Dean rolled against her, his cock pushing up across her slit. “How what?”  

Her body tensed as he nudged at her clit, forcing her eyes to close and her heart to race. “How- how are we even here right now?” She tried to focus on his weight, the heat of him pushing into her, but it was easier to let the pounding rain take her mind away. “Are we dead? Are our bodies back on Earth in pieces all over that lab? I don’t-”

Dean pulled away and locked his arms aside her head. “Do you really want to worry about that right now?”

Y/N let his voice pull her back and she stared into his eyes. He was just as worried, just as sad as she, but Dean was living in the moment. That was all he could handle.

“No,” she said finally, giving him a tiny smile as she cupped his face and pulled him down to her. She kissed away the worry and nibbled at his pain, afraid to let him go even as he pushed up on his knees to bury his thick cock deep inside of her.

They lay in the mouth of the cave, Y/N’s head resting on Dean’s arm like a pillow. He curled himself around her, knees behind hers, nose tucked in the crook of her neck.

The rain had eased to a drizzle and Y/N followed an errant droplet as it raced down the rocks. When it added itself to the puddle by her hand, she pulled it back and fit her hand inside Dean��s.

“You think he’s really out there still?” she asked on the end of a sigh.

“Yeah, I do.” Dean left a final kiss on her shoulder before rolling away. “I have to.”

“We could just leave now, you know.”

Dean pulled his arm away and sat up, reaching for his jeans.

“I love Cas, don’t get me wrong,” she explained, staring at the faint track the raindrop had left on the rocks. “I just...I’m not…”

“Hey.” Dean’s gruff tone pulled her out of the fog and she turned to him. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, you hear me?”

Y/N nodded but swallowed hard, fear heavy in her chest. “Yeah.”

“I mean it.” He grabbed her hand between both of his and squeezed. “I have two goals in my life right now. Find Cas and get us all home. I’m not giving up on either and neither are you.”

Emerald shone bright, even in the dark, and Y/N let herself believe him.

Dean dipped his chin to catch her gaze. “OK?”

Y/N smiled softly. “OK.”

He kissed her knuckles quickly and then let her go, pulling the wet denim up to his knees. “Good. Now, let’s get dressed before Benny gets back. I don’t need no bloodsucker peepin’ on my girl.” He winked and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” she laughed.

Dean licked his lips and shrugged. “I think we’ve already established that.”

2020 Forever Tags:

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#spn fanfic #dean x reader #purgatory!dean #smangst #spnkinbingo #one shot

[edmund-valks]

Interlude - The Maw

A blacksmith would have taken different steps.  Forge the blade, give it a handle, wrap the handle.  Something like that, at least.  Thankfully she was able to skip most of that by designing a mold and taking extraordinary care in its production.  A perk of being smart, as she figured it.

The metal was nearly ready.  It wasn’t the colour of anything she’d seen back on Azeroth, instead shedding four different glows at once.  They overlapped and intertwined because nothing here was ever simple.  Ilandreline wasn’t one for metaphors, but even she could recognize this one: four ores, wildly distinct, that could only be properly alloyed through the use of a fifth.  Naturally the alloy was stronger than any of them independently.  Also it was a bastard to work with.

She fed the ingots into the crucible, watching as the forge’s heat quickly liquefied the elethium.  A pull of the lever and it drained into the waiting mixture, which one more movement injected into the waiting mold.  That had been the real work, creating the exact negative space needed inside a block of solid stone.  Not just any stone, of course, but the kind that wouldn’t melt in a furnace designed to bind souls to metal.  Getting pieces of the Black Empire was hard enough even before one crossed into the realms of the dead.

Once the mixture had filled the block, Ila grasped it with the tongs she’d liberated from the soulforger whose workspace she now used.  Steadiness was required to keep the metal from sloshing out or the whole thing from upending.  Her movements were slow and deliberate, never jerking.  A device was only as good as its craftsmanship; she intended this one to be her masterpiece.

Typically one would quench using a specific liquid.  Fresh water, salt water, olive oil, certain beverages made by the dwarves… what one used depended on the desired outcome and the materials involved.  For this it was something a bit more unusual.  The Maw had recently become the destination for a great deal of anima drawn from the spirits being repented in Revendreth.  This made for a sharp, hungry quench, which was precisely what she needed.  She lowered the discomfiting block of slick stone into the roiling crimson, listening to the violent hissing as the alloy took shape.

Once the soul-steam had cleared and the little barrel was minutes removed from its moment of boiling, she fished the mold out with her borrowed tongs.  "This better have worked," she muttered, mostly to externalize the worry.  Better out than in, that sort of thing.  "Only one way to find out."

Placing the black brick on the anvil nearby, she inspected every side for cracks or gaps.  The only one she could find was the little hole where she'd added the molten metal, so… maybe it had happened?  Picking up the hammer she'd made for just this purpose, Ilandreline closed her eyes and sought the resonance.  It was so much easier now than that first time.  That was how she'd survived the darkest path into the Shadowlands, and ever since she'd found herself increasingly aware.  Now it was almost as easy as making saltpeter; not necessarily fast, but a simple task for the experienced.  She felt for her core, dove into it, releasing her perceptions through the nightpurple veins bordering reality.

The Black Empire remnant was anything but dark now.  Even the Maw's dolorous half-light caused a reaction, oil-slick scintilla flaring across the infinitesimal pockmark surface.  In a way, it sang.  Not like a voice, but a tuning fork, a frequency of sensation manifesting multitudinous waves into singular tone.  Where her family's faith resided she felt the echo of kinship.  Reaching through herself, she grasped the thread of the stone's structure and pulled.

In a sweater, such an act would have been the destruction of order that caused its unraveling.  The bedrock of those who dwelt between the stars was made differently, however.  What she had done manifested as an ordering matrix, leaching the inherent structural chaos out, snapping the minerals into some kind of grid.  Gripping tightly through the depths of her soul, Ilandreline raised the hammer high and swung.

The hardened shadowghast strikeface tolled as it impacted the ruthlessly ordered block.  The sound was brutal in its discordance, an archetypal resonance of shattered chains.  What was held tightest become most undone; the black stone crumbled to dust, its forced structure inverted until it could no longer hold together.

Ilandreline felt her entire self ringing as she set the hammer aside.  The reverberations rattled through her bones, trying to unmake her as thoroughly as she had the old gods' relic.  But she was a Glimmerbow, born of those dark blessings, the ancient primordial unmakers' essence suffusing the deepest fibers of her being.  The resonance traveled through her, unable to find an outlet to erode, equally unable to escape until she opened her mouth.

She didn't scream; this wasn't pain.  Instead she had become an accidental echo chamber, an acoustic amplifier not unlike the elegant curves of a bell.  From inside her structure rang the peal of uncreation.  Open-mouthed she exhaled it into the stygian plains, unable to cease until the note was spent.  Unable to hear, she could still feel the rigid structure of forge beside her eroding beneath the reciprocal action to what she had done.

As suddenly as it began, the moment ended, buckling her knees.  Reflex alone allowed the elf to catch herself, weak-legged and bent over the anvil, eyelids only now able to pry themselves apart.  Unsteady, Ila exerted her focus once more, willing herself to stay standing.  As she did so, refusing to acknowledge the possibility she might collapse, she examined her work.

Atop a fine pile of utterdark sand lay a blade.  It was a single piece, cast-forged, with a tapering, triangular blade emerging from one edge of a metal-wrought vertebra.  Opposite the blade extended the cylindrical smoothness of bone, flaring into a double-knobbed pommel.  It was far more beautiful than she'd expected, or perhaps that was the wrong word.  Elegant?  Fitting.  This was a blade made with purpose, for someone very specific, and such certainty was apparent in its aesthetics.

"Almost done."  Her voice was hoarse though she didn't realize it.  She hardly knew she'd spoken, what with the ongoing ringing in her ears, and the way structures sounds such as speech fell apart in the fading wake of the hammer blow.

Ilandreline forced her legs to stillness, stood straight atop them once more.  Grasping the weapon's handle -- she would wrap it with aged linen later, to give it the feel of something found in an ancient mausoleum -- she turned its stiletto point toward herself.  Her other hand moved to expose an expanse of pale flesh, against which she set the blade.

"Freely given," she murmured, the spoken fraction of a larger recitation mostly contained within her mind.  "A gift for another, made with intent.  A part of me to carry with you."  It was almost embarrassing to say it.  Hearing herself speak so openly brought heat to her cheeks, but it wasn't so bad to shake her from her plan.  Not after coming so far.  

Shutting her eyes, Ilandreline exhaled slowly.  Her free hand rested along the cold curves of the pommel.  Freely given.  Lungs fully empty, she braced herself and pushed.

The blade slid in more easily than she'd expected, quickly piercing through skin and fat and muscle.  Farther and farther she guided it until the change in resistance signified she'd reached her goal.  Just the barest movement more, pricking the exterior of her still-beating heart.  Now the hard part.

Pulling the blade back out was the most excruciating experience of her life.  It was a tool of purpose, to pierce through barriers and bring an end.  To remove it without having killed was to deny it that fulfillment, and so the blade fought her every fraction of the distance.  Blood -- her blood -- flowed over its pyramidal smoothness, slicking everything, trying to undo her efforts and allow the blade to feast on her life.  Gritting her teeth, she looped a finger through the hole in the center of the guard, using the extra leverage to force the dagger out of her flesh entirely.

Slamming the bloodied weapon back on the anvil, Ila scrambled to the forge.  There she snatched up the last of the prepared tools, a length of featureless iron, brilliantly glowing from the infernal heat.  "Fuck, this was a stupid idea."  Laughing at herself, she pressed the white-hot implement against the triangular piercing in her breast, allowing her rasping scream to drown out the sound of flesh cauterizing.

She didn't know how much time elapsed between keeping herself from bleeding to death and when she was able to stand again.  It didn't matter, not really.  The important thing was Loira's gift was finished.  Complete, even.  Totally worth it… but if she loses it I'm gonna kill her.

Chuckling at that, Ilandreline scraped herself together.  Time to get out of here before the Covenants' assault wavered and the Jailer's forces had time to look for things like wayward elves with bad ideas.  She took another quick look at her handiwork as she vacated the premises.  There was no trace of her blood any longer, though she didn't remember wiping it clean, and every now and then the faint ghost light would reflect off a fleck of gleaming darkness.  Sand in the blade?  No, not sand; the dust of the Black Empire.  Absorbed somehow following the sanguine consecration.  Curious, but probably not a big deal.  She hadn't felt anything strange, and her instincts were usually good about that sort of thing.

"Thanks for the help!" she told the forge's previous user, stepping over its hollow corpse.  The spiked helmet that had been something like a head was mangled beyond recognition, as if repeatedly bashed by some kind of heavy blunt object.  Ilandreline hefted her oversized wrench, rested it on her shoulder, and set off.  Hopefully the blood loss wouldn't slow her down too much.  It would be a shame to die before she could actually give Miss Winford her present.

(( Tagging for mentions of @ms-winford ))

#wow rp #warcraft rp #ilandreline #ilandreline glimmerbow #fence macabre

[unholyplumpprincess]

Desperate For Your Taste

Anon asked:  Imagine vamp bloodhound forcing themselves to only drink from animals or bloodbags because they feel thats more respectful than hunting humans, so during a season of the games their supply runs low and they get to a point of desperation where they beg their reader s/o to let them drink and reader's like "uh yeah ive been offering since day 1" And bloodhound just WORSHIPPING them while drinking and telling them "you taste so good" and then maybe they thank them in a *special* way after?😳

I modified the prompt just a smidgen!!!! Love me some desperate Hound.

Reblogs > Likes. Age in your bio (18+ only) or get blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: NSFT/R18+, Reader has a vulva but is gender neutral, vampire Bloodhound, drinking of blood, going off an old idea where vampires had venom in their fangs to paralyze their ‘victim’ so wellp, you aren’t BOUND but ya can’t move, Bloodhound’s excessive and polite pet names but ALSO their excessive body mods, so pierced tongue + split tongue mentioned. You’re welcome.

Words: 2.5k

____________

Truly, you could have laughed when you found out Bloodhound was a vampire.  

Memories of headlines reading ‘local legend part bat?’ hitting you when they’d revealed it to you. They knew that you wouldn’t be scared, but for you to giggle at them had been something they hadn’t been expecting. Well, until you burst out giggling with, “So are you really part bat? Do you  got   wittle  pointy ears and wings?” And they’d pushed you playfully, softly and told you that you were ridiculous.  

Aliens existed, different alien beasts that you could hunt or talked like any other person- sure, why would vampires not be real? Though it did lead to you asking questions about eating. It definitely explained their like of raw meat and how they’d wait at your door for an invitation- something which you had assumed in the past was simply their polite behavior.  

~Rest under the cut~

Eating was easy enough to understand. Bloodhound explains that it varied, like humans, what they wanted one day. They could eat raw meat or very rare cooked meat, they could merely drain the blood from something but that took a lot of effort and different vein points to bite down onto to get a proper fill, and they vaguely hinted that there were other ways than that, but when you asked they didn’t elaborate. Merely brushed it off with a healthy flush to their cheeks and a, “Another time, my love.”  

But they did admit they did not ever indulge in humans. Nor would they indulge in animals or beasts they had not killed by their own hand- it seemed improper to them. You asked about blood bags, but they had made a face akin to a child being offered vegetables so you assumed that was off the table. Though when you asked why not simply chomp anyone in the arena, going so far as to suggest that Mirage would probably love a death like that, Bloodhound had softly laughed.  

“Feeding from...a person is seen as very intimate. And though Mirage is attractive, I am afraid you are the only one who holds my heart, my love.” They’d said softly to you, holding your hand that day and tracing patterns into your palm. Of course, this had started with you whining that you’d offered for them to chomp you since day one of being in a relationship, going so far as to gesture at your neck only for them to tell you that they were not hungry.   

Despite the fact their eyes had lingered on your neck a little too long before they’d politely looked away.  

Liar.  

Now though, now in the season they’ve been looking a little...unhinged. In the arena they are normally ruthless, but now their ratings are higher than ever due to their need to chase their prey down. Bloodhound’s shots are on point with killer accuracy, to the point sometimes they take the last of their opponent down with their raven hatchet in hand. You start to notice it gets worse when they do not do their signature sign off of their kills, no longer taking the time to do a brief prayer for them, but instead seeming to linger a bit too long on the blood on their hatchet before wiping it off on their thigh.  

You watch from the cameras like everyone else. You’re sure no one else would notice- their ratings were getting higher from this anyway. But you know for a fact they’re hungry. Bloodhound must not have had time to scope the island for fresh meat, or time to take a trip to the kitchen to find meat yet cooked and yet frozen. Regardless of the reason, your concern grows.  

When this week’s matches come to a pause, you’re not surprised to hear the knock on your door- they normally return to your quarters to spend the weekend anyhow. Though as you answer the door, you’re surprised to see them in their casual clothing.  

Their hair is pulled up into a ponytail, red curls sticking up here and there with a braid framing the side of their face and a raven feather braided into it. Their rounded glasses with red lenses hide their eyes, as well as the lower black face mask with white sharp teeth painted on the front hiding their lower face. A black lace bralette, their fur lined cropped leather jacket, and leather pants make your eyes near about wander and linger at the peeking  underbust  tattoo and thinking about licking the line from their--  

“My love,” Bloodhound breathes out, their voice desperate.  

“Right! Please, come inside!” You quickly reply, watching as they cross the threshold as if an invisible barrier had come down. They seem...frantic? The door being kicked shut behind them and you hardly have the time to open your mouth before you’re being scooped up from their impossible strength. You let out a laugh hooking your legs around their waist as their hands grab your ass and carry you straight to your bed.  

You’re dressed in your lounge clothing. A loose t-shirt and matching lounge pants with some cute cliché green alien design on them. Certainly nothing fancy like their own clothing. But once they lie you down on your bed, they take just a moment longer to kick off their boots before they’re climbing on top of you, fitting between your spread thighs.  

You smile up at them, plucking their glasses off their nose to set on the nightstand beside your bed and turn your head back in time to watch them unhook their mask to toss elsewhere in your room. When they lean down, you expect a kiss, but instead they nudge at the crook of your neck with a soft growl.  

Immediately you roll your head to the side, allowing their lips to press hungry, open mouthed kisses over your jugular. It’s so sudden that you whine faintly in your throat, hands coming up so one can grab their shoulder and the other resting in the bulk of their ponytail. “H-Hound not that I mind or anything, but are you a--”  

“Hungry.” They growl out against you, their split tongue sliding across your neck and making you shudder. “I have not been able to- ah- to have a moment to-” They groan lowly, as if irritated at their inability to speak. You gently shush them, pulling their ponytail lightly and watching them comply obediently to pull back and look at you.  

Their good eye’s slit pupil is thinned out dangerously, their full lips parted and double set of sharp canines exposed. Bloodhound’s eyes are half lidded, heavy, as if they can’t get enough of your scent. They looked absolutely desperate, punctuated further by their whimper and their bottom lip wobbling attractively before they manage to choke out. “Please. Please, my sweet one. I shall be  gentle,  it will not hurt--- have you eaten?” It comes spilling out all at once, their tone desperate before concerned and you choke on a laugh.  

“You don’t have to ask, you know, I’ve always been willing. And yes, I have eaten, it had sugar too so I won’t be fainting on you either.” You reply, gently tugging their hair so they’ll be guided back down to your neck. You adjust a little bit to be comfortable on your pillows, letting them shift their own body until they’re no longer on top of you. Bloodhound curled almost into your side, one arm over your chest and their face still buried into the crook of your neck. One of their  legs  slots against yours, the other tucked a bit over your thigh and hip as if they’re spooning into your side.  

You’ve tugged their hair out of its ponytail. Idly massaging their scalp as Bloodhound mouths at your neck. They seem almost nervous, or teasing  themself, their breaths coming out like soft, hushed growls instead. You give them a gentle tug to urge them, tensing yourself up when you feel the brush of their fangs.  

“Relax.” You hear cooed into your mind, immediately feeling at ease and you suspect it’s some sort of ‘vampire magick’ happening. And then you feel it, the quick stab of their teeth that you’d only ever felt nips and scrapes of. It makes you jump lightly, a sharp gasp leaving your lips, fingers curling into their hair at the same time their arm seems to anchor you into place.   

True to their word, it doesn’t hurt, merely just a quick burn before it soothed itself out. At first you expect that this feeding business was easier than you thought, easing your fingers in their hair and returning to massaging their scalp. You can feel the gentle suction on your neck, the vague feeling of their tongues lapping you up and the soft moans of contentment they let out.  

And then you feel it. No, not pain, but this sort of...warmth. It blossoms from that area in your neck, curling down your spine until your eyes are fluttering and you feel your breath quickening, your heart rate matching. “H-Hound?” You whimper out, confusion in your tone, and they moan against you in response.  

You think you’re figuring out why feeding off another person was ‘intimate’. You feel like you’ve been edged for hours. There’s a wet feeling between your thighs, but you can’t feel yourself able to even move. Even your fingers have stopped in their hair, feeling like your body was made of warm jello. Warm, horny jello.  

Bloodhound’s mouth pulls from your neck, licking the wound shut before they’re moving overtop you again. Your hand falls from their hair, falling to the bed limply and you can move it ever so slightly, but it feels like you’re trying to move it through a pool full of pudding. Bloodhound doesn’t look concerned, so you remain calm, looking up at them as they fit back between your legs. You think you like the way their eyes look dangerous, or the fact they have to wipe their mouth off with the back of their hand so their lips aren’t stained red.  

“You should be feeling arousal,” They begin, their voice thick and low as they run their fingers over your sides. The very touch makes you whimper, feeling all too hot. “Every touch should feel twice as sensitive.” They continue, dragging their nails back down to grab your t-shirt and pulling it slowly up.  

“I can feel you want this, my love, you are always so good for me. But I wish to hear it as well.” Bloodhound murmurs when they’ve pulled your shirt above your chest, tracing their fingers down to between your chest. It feels like they’re tracing both fire and ice across your skin, feeling every little thing like any touch they gave you was pure pleasure-   

“Yes. Yes- you're- fuck, Hound, is this some kinky shit all vampires have?” You manage to whine out. It makes them laugh at least, a low chuckle at your humor as they gentle grab your chest, circling your nipples with their thumbs. Your reaction is immediate, a moan sliding past your throat and your head lolling slowly to the side. Even the smallest action has you sobbing out when their nails scrape across your nipples.  

“I suppose you may see it as a type of venom,” They explain  cooly . They sound less desperate now, their tone still hungry. But their nails brush along your skin downwards to the waistband of your pants, hooking their fingers in and helping you out of them all whilst speaking. “Traditionally it was to ensure prey could not escape and that it would be pleasurable for them instead. Now?”  

Bloodhound tugs off your underwear with their last word, sighing as they spread your legs apart and begin to slide between your legs. Your face flushes red when you feel them nuzzle the mound of your sex before inhaling your scent with a low groan. “Now, it is for intimate moments such as this.” Spoken with a breathlessness to their tone.  

“W-wait, are you still hungry?” You breathe out, aware of the dull throb in your neck. You’re surprised when they lightly chuckle, their warm breath fanning across your slick cunt and making you shiver.  

“My love, I need only to feed on any life force. I have had my appetizer, now I am ready for my meal.” They speak so calmly, yet it sounds like pure filth from their mouth. Their talented, talented, cruel mouth-  

Normally you’d fist your hands into their hair and squirm, but you find yourself unable to even do that. Feeling much like a doll as they use one hand to press over your mound, two fingers pulling your labia apart and exposing your clit. Even their very breath over your slick flesh makes you want to cry, feeling your clit jerk before their mouth even touches it in an open mouthed, hungry kiss.  

Their split, pierced tongue is always such a blessing. Sliding down through your folds to lick up your slick and coming back up to your clit where their mouth gently seals over it. Suckling lightly and popping off a few times just to make you sob out. They’re always such a messy eater, nosing at your clit, messily licking you up and teasing your clit by sandwiching it between the split of their modded tongue.  

Bloodhound moans against you, their free hand pressing at your inner thigh to keep your legs apart and to feel how you twitch despite being unable to move. They moan even louder at your cries of sensitivity, unable to cover your mouth or control your vocal  chords  with every cry. They eat you like they’re starving, their mouth sealing over you just to lick over you sloppily, narrowing their mouth down soon enough to seal back over your clit and tracing mindless shapes around the length of it.  

You cum in about a minute flat. Wracking your entire frame with tremors and your cunt squeezing around nothing. Bloodhound moans against you again, the vibrations making a cracked sob roll from your lips, but they merely pull back for just a moment to kiss at your inner thighs.  

“You taste divine, ansi bráð mitt.” They growl out lowly, watching as you roll your head slowly to meet their hungry gaze. When they grin, it looks wolfish, your slick on their lips like a form of gloss. You whine at their hungry look.  

“Hound-”  

“Shh. You can give me three more, can you not?”  

You whimper out, toes already curling when they lower their head back towards your cunt when you nod.   

“Good. Now, be good, little one. I have earned this treat.”  

You suppose you finally got your answer to what else they could eat.  

You think you prefer this method.  

#Bloodhound #Bloodhound x reader #apex legends #apex lemons #vampire Bloodhound #nsft #lemon #princess writing

[yandere-daydreams]

AHHH!! YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! MY TIME HAS ARRIVED. Could you do one for Apollo, where Darling dearest runs away?

I’d really like to think he’s one of the kinder Gods, honestly, they type to show mercy regardless of little he wants to. I’d like to think that, but alas, a few key parts of his characterization would care to differ.

TW: Implied Amputation, Dehuminzaion and Mentions of Kidnapping.

~

His arrows were made to kill painlessly, supposedly.

It was a detail thrown into myths and legends carelessly, one never deemed important enough to warrant disagreement. His sister’s were used to grant peace, to spare her targets a miserable, torturous demise at the hand of her bow, and it made sense that Apollo’s would include the same numbing properties. He’d commented on it before, in little moments when he showed you his personal ‘infirmary’ or dragged you into one of his many laboratories, but that’s all they were - comments. You’d never paid them much mind.

Now, having been on the sharper end of dozens of those dreadful things, you still couldn’t say if it was true. You’d never been shot with another arrow aside from Apollo’s. You didn’t have anything to compare it to. You were sure of one thing, though.

Numbed or not, it still fucking hurt.

You groaned as the ache spread throughout your leg, etching itself into your veins and forcing its way into your memory, past all the barriers you’d tried to put in place for something like this. The sensation rooted itself somewhere near your ankle, deep and thorough, as if the injury was determined to throb and sting and scream until you gave it your full attention. You’d considered pushing yourself up, standing and sprinting as you had so many times before, but the thought of putting pressure on your wound was enough to make you curl into yourself, your body attempting to melt into the frigid, unforgiving forest floor and your focus remaining dedicated to holding back the onslaught of tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to see what traces of pity crying would earn.

You heard Apollo before you saw him, the God making no attempt to hide himself. He wasn’t incapable of stealth, you’d been in his company long enough to be sure of that, but he mustn't have felt the need to hunt, not when his prey was already caught and bleeding out. He shoved branches aside carelessly, each crushed twig and rustle of fabric alerting you to his presence. You closed your eyes as he came closer, willing yourself to stay strong, but no amount of resolve kept Apollo at bay.

Nimble, callused fingers soon found their way to your hair, pushing matted locks away from your face, taking a moment to detangle one of the more visible knots. When it failed to budge, he only clicked his tongue, already planning which comb he’d have to use to tear it from your head. His touch quickly moved to your cheek, brushing over the discolored skin gingerly. As if each bruise and scrape would only be real when he made contact with it. “Poor thing,” He muttered, the greeting barely audible. Under his breath, more for himself than for you. “You’ve ruined one of my favorite outfits.”

If he wasn’t joking, you couldn’t tell, but a stuttered laugh fell from your lips. You weren’t sure where you’d expected his priorities to be, if not your clothes. Other than that, you stayed silent, letting him scan over you, evaluate you, Apollo taking his time to decide what needed immediate attention and what didn’t. Your ankle was given a wayward glance and the ghost of a frown, an acute diagnosis by Apollo’s standards. His voice was more steady, when he continued, more authoritative. His best try at sternness. “I’m fond of you, do you know that? I do my best to make time for you, to make you happy, to care for you, but that’s not enough, is it? It’s never been enough.”

You grit your teeth out of reflex, but you didn’t have the energy to be mad. You could hardly bring yourself to look at him, honestly. “I never asked you to--”

“You need me to.” He pulled away from you, abruptly, crossing his arms as he towered above you. He was a mess, even if he tried to cover it with concern and caution, his temper boiling over in the blink of an eye. “Look where you end up when you try to run away. You’re hurt and dirty and disgusting, and for what? A few minutes away from someone who loves you?” He paused, but didn’t give you time to argue, letting out a ragged, dramatic exhale, as drawn-out as it was manufactured. “I’ve been too lenient. I’ve spoiled you. I tried to be kind, I tried to be loving, but clearly, you don’t feel the same way.”

That, that was the insult you couldn’t take, the upfront you couldn’t ignore. You tried to push yourself up, but you barely got an arm underneath you before your ankle began to burn, a fire starting just under your skin and working its way deeper, seeping into your muscles, your bones, your being. The tears were unstoppable, flowing as gracelessly as a river after a flash flood, but you didn’t care, furiously wiping them away with one hand while the other clawed at the soil, desperate to hurt anything it was capable of hurting. “There’s nothing I can say to soothe your anger,” You started, your voice quieter than you’d like it to be. Weaker. “But you can’t blame me for your actions. I don’t want to be with you, I’ve never lied about that! If I run away, it’s because you won’t let me go freely!” Your breath hitched in your lungs, a sob racking over your chest. You weren’t sure of its cause, anymore. “I won’t stop because I don’t want to be with you. It’d be delusional to convince yourself of anything else.”

Apollo responded quickly, but suddenly, every small sound was deafening, something hot and sharp driving itself through the length of your calf, aiming for your thigh and ripping through anything in its path. For the first time, you dared to glance towards your injury, but the wooden shaft emerging from your flesh didn’t inspire the horror you’d assumed it would. Instead, it was the thin, black lines that shocked you, following the shape of your veins and forming webs around their source, the appendage quickly growing limp, senseless. As numb as it was supposed to be.

Apollo didn’t take your distraction without complaint, lowering himself to your height before taking your jaw, his grip so much tighter than it had been, before. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?” He asked, the question bordering on playful. “It’s one of my newer toxins, a nasty little guy, if the trials are anything to go off of. A full amputation should be necessary… unless you want to let it reach something vital, of course.”

You might’ve yelled. You might’ve begged him for a cure, an antidote, anything that could’ve helped, but reality had rendered your speechless, your lips parting but your words failing to make it past your tongue. Apollo didn’t seem to mind, barely bothering to stifle his laugh.

He didn’t try to hide his grin anymore, either.

“It’ll be easier, this way,” He assured, his tone nothing short of considerate, sweet, comforting. Absolutely and utterly loving. “You’ll be so much happier, once you can’t run away.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere prompt #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabble #yandere imgaines #yandere scenerio #yandere drabbles #yandere prompts #yandere imagine #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere ocs #yandere ocs x reader #yandere greek gods #yandere god #yandere gods #yandere mythos #yandere myths #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy #yandere apollo #apollo x reader #yanderecore #yandere core

[ahgaseda]

wolf boys || chapter 17

⇥ synopsis : being the young alpha female over a pack of misbehaving werewolves is no easy task and is made even more complicated when the time comes to choose a mate...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring violence or mentions of blood, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Heat may have faded, but that certainly did nothing to stop Jaebeom and his hunger for your body.

“I can finally take you on your back,” he whispered darkly, rolling you over. “See your pretty face when you come for me.”

You raked your nails down his broad chest, licking your lips as you watched him slip his hands to the bends of your knees and pull you apart. His scalding gaze was on your folds, glistening with arousal and release.

The pheromones had quelled. Jaebeom no longer knotted inside you, locking your bodies together after each tryst. For the time being, you thrummed in a constant low current of bliss, body satisfied and filled with little concern of ever feeling empty again.

Jaebeom looked to the bated expression on your face and slipped his length over the hood of your clit. Then, he waited for your consent, which you gave to him with a few nods as you gazed up at him in anticipation.

“Take it,” you finally whimpered when he took too long to penetrate you.

Jaebeom fought a smirk, heady with your endless desire for him, and pressed his cock into your entrance, filling you up as he had before over and over. You lilted your head back and let a tiny moan escape you. Every nerve ending was on edge, every inch of his length driving you through sensitivity.

No more coupling to breed. This was purely for pleasure.

Jaebeom guided your ankle to his shoulder and began to pound away at you, ever eager to give you climax and hear you scream his name for all to hear. You gasped for air at how deeply he stroked inside you. This wasn’t like the other times when you endured his thrusts and your body would move in sync.

You placed a firm hand at the lowest reach of his stomach, trying to slow him down.

Jaebeom tossed his hair out of his eyes and glanced down at your hand.

You winced loudly through your teeth at his hips colliding with yours. “Gentle,” you whispered, trembling. “Gentle…”

Jaebeom studied where your bodies met and something inexplicable crossed over his face. You couldn’t tolerate his usual roughness and now, he saw you as fragile as glass. “Nice and slow then,” he replied softly.

You nodded.

Jaebeom pulled your leg from his shoulder and propped himself over you, chest-to-chest, kissing you tenderly. He just knew there was a baby in your belly; a baby the two of you had made together from a place of love and passion. After the last few days, he knew your body better than his own and hoped that was the reason for your newfound intolerance.

You purred in his ear, locking your ankles over his lower back. His lips danced across your neck, lapping at your skin and setting you afire. The thoughts in his mind blended into your own, becoming shared as everything else between you.

Slow and gentle, you echoed, eyes rolling back at the intensity of his thrusts. Each draw back and push forward of his hips had you seeing stars. His effort was concentrated, coaxing you to completion.

And when Jaebeom told you, “Come for me,” your body didn’t hesitate to obey him.

After his cock throbbed deep in your cunt and painted your walls with release, you brushed your nails up and down his back in comfort. Jaebeom hadn’t stayed inside since the first time, when you requested it of him. Once his knot had been free, he was content to sleep, but not this time.

With no knot to keep him trapped inside, he tightened his arms around you and kept himself buried in your heat in quiet possession. The first thing you noticed was his attention was not on your face.

Something had spooked him.

Reaching up to comb hair from his eyes, you asked, “What is it?”

His response was gruff, “...Nothing.”

You chuckled, your voice barely a whisper. “Jaebeom, you’re inside me. It’s impossible for you to lie.”

Jaebeom finally looked at you and exhaled heavily. Leaning in to kiss you with warmth and affection, you began to wonder if he was trying to make you forget your question.

“An alpha male,” he finally answered and bristled at the mere thought of a challenger seeking his female. “He entered the territory last night.”

You were wholly unconcerned, considering heat had faded. “And if we stay like this, he can’t enter me,” you quipped, since that appeared to be Jaebeom’s motivation for keeping inside you.

Jaebeom frowned. Not in the mood for humor.

It was worth a try, you mused to yourself, knowing he would hear. But you understood where his mind was; Jaebeom was a male that had just bred his mate. His concerns were quite firmly planted in thoughts of protection and defense. Just as yours were fixating to sustenance and nourishment for what would be your growing offspring.

“You’re very weak right now,” Jaebeom commented with worry, eyes centering on the flush of your cheeks. “I feel it.”

It was true. You were dangerously low on energy. “I haven’t eaten in three days. I’ve been busy making a baby with my mate,” you crooned, pulling him closer to press a wet kiss to his neck.

“Mm,” Jaebeom hummed, flexing with arousal at your words. Even the way you spoke was slow and drawn out. There was a shift in your hormones. Where yours had saturated the air he breathed and nearly drowned the scent of him, now his was becoming the dominant again.

Heat had come to an end. It was nature’s way of restoring the balance, of concealing you beneath his scent and warding off potential threats.

After a few more tender kisses, your heart fluttered at the catch in his breath when his lips met yours. Jaebeom was consumed by you, in every possible way.

You let your head fall back, eyes closing as you ran out of strength. “I’m so tired.”

“You’ve been amazing,” Jaebeom whispered, rising to his let his cock slip from your folds and watching his seed fall from your opening. “I can’t wait to watch my baby grow.”

You smiled at that, but your growling stomach gave you a tug. “I need food.”

It had been three days since you left the bedroom. The moment you opened the door, you stuck your head out and peered down the hallway in search of boys. Boys that would undoubtedly pester you about all of the sex you’d been having.

Scurrying to the kitchen, you grumbled with annoyance. There was a definite limp to your walk, soreness lingering between your thighs. You would give Jaebeom a piece of your mind when he finished cleaning himself up.

Then, you smirked, reminded how good he felt and decided to save your complaints for another day.

Opening the fridge and cabinets, you gathered food and proceeded to stuff your face with everything you could find. Going three days without a meal, though the feat was much easier for wolves than humans, you were ravenous.

The scent of another male tickled your nose and you turned as Jackson stepped through the back door. You both gawked at each other briefly before a grin pulled at his lips.

“You smell like Jaebeom,” he teased with his usual humor.

There was nothing in you that distrusted Jackson, but in that moment, you were tired and hungry and extremely vulnerable. Your instincts were still very much in control.

“You smell like male that is not Jaebeom,” you growled.

Jackson held up his hands to show he was of no threat, though he kept smiling. “Ooh, okay. She’s a little hostile.”

Having sensed your shift in emotions, Jaebeom descended the stairs rapidly, zipping up his pants. He moved to your side and coiled an arm around your waist possessively. You folded into his bare chest, burrowing your head beneath his chin. He had foregone a shirt, solely for the reason of allowing you to feel his skin against yours, and wanting to let his scent fill the air without barrier.

Jackson chuckled at your behavior. You were clearly love drunk and still quite hormonal.

Jaebeom looked to his delta and said, “Head back. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Neither male wanted to contend with the protective instincts of a female at the moment.

“Sure thing,” Jackson said with a wiggle of his brows at you.

You narrowed your eyes in scolding.

Once the door had closed, Jaebeom pressed his lips to your temple sweetly and murmured, “Someone is a little feisty.”

You guided his arm across your stomach, like a shield. Nuzzling his neck, you whispered submissively, “My baby belongs to the alpha.”

Jaebeom rumbled like thunder deep in his throat and the sound nearly sent you to your knees. He was quick to warn, “Don’t make me bend you over this counter and show them how well you take my cock.”

You giggled with mischief. Bracing your hands on his chest and pushing the alpha male away playfully, you said, “I have to eat. Keep them away from me until I’m ready.”

“Yes, alpha,” he replied, sauntering to the door and not taking his eyes off of you until he was outside.

You ate until you were content. You felt your strength return little by little, gathering in the pit of your stomach. Rarely did your hand leave your belly. You wanted to know your baby was thriving there, wanted desperately to sense their presence inside you.

With time, you consoled yourself. There was not a single doubt in your mind that the days spent underneath Jaebeom had been successful. You were both young and healthy wolves; not to mention, exemplary alphas. With that in mind, you commanded your thoughts to leave you alone. Stressing over it would never help.

Finally, as the sun left the sky and the moon took her rightful place above, you stepped outside. The four wolves in the yard had been sparring, welcoming back their brother after days without him. They each in turn stopped to watch you, eyes fixated to their alpha female as you descended the stairs.

You still couldn’t phase, couldn’t join them in true form. Your magic was needed elsewhere.

You came to sit in their midst, a human between four massive beasts. Jinyoung tucked his head into your lap, whining until you hugged him between your arms. Jackson swiped his rough tongue over your cheek while Mark was complacent to curl up at your side and let you lean against him.

Settling down after their greetings, one by one the wolves lifted their heads to the moon and howled for all to hear. This song was threatening, eerie - devoid of the grace and gentility of your voice. It was meant as such. To ward off those that would encroach on the claimed territory and the female.

Between notes, Jaebeom inhaled deeply through his nose and the scent on his tongue made him snarl. He’s too close, the alpha hissed lowly.

“I’m not in heat anymore,” you reminded, hands threading in Mark and Jinyoung’s fur.

Perched across from you, the ebony wolf met your eyes. They looked even more golden than usual. But he smelled you and kept following the scent.

We drive him out, said Jackson, rising to his paws and wagging his tail, excited at the prospect of a fight.

Jaebeom rose then, towering over you, and turned to his delta. You stay with her. 

Jackson bowed his head shortly. He was the strongest, of course he would be the protector of the alpha female.

Then, Jaebeom approached you. Who do you want to come with me?

You hesitated, wondering how he would feel if Jinyoung stayed behind at your side.

Jaebeom tilted his furry head and replied, I’m not threatened by him.

You snorted. Jaebeom was tapped into you at this point. There was no need to hide anything from him. You instinctively put a hand over your belly and Jaebeom’s gaze followed.

The alpha brought his head to your lap, rubbing his cheek at the flat expanse of your stomach. You cradled his furry snout, indulging him in his instinctive need.

Pulling back, the wolf announced, I will go alone.

“No,” you replied without a thought.

You can’t phase, he asserted. Three guards are better.

“But Jaebeom…,” you began, getting to your feet and preparing to argue.

I’m the alpha. I will go alone.

The other wolves paced, showing their submission and respect.

You took your mate’s head in your hands, fingers winding in his fur, and said, “Stand before me.”

The beast blinked in surprise.

“I want a kiss.”

Jaebeom appeared before you in an instant, taking you in his arms and melding his lips to yours. You smiled against his mouth, grasping his waist to pull him closer.

“Come back to me,” you said when the two of you finally broke apart. “Fast.”

“Yes, alpha,” was all he said and you knew he meant it.

You watched the man become a midnight wolf in the flash of a second, sprinting into the darkness of the forest without looking back.

For a moment, you stood there, staring into the endless sea of pitch black nothingness that had swallowed him. The three remaining wolves felt the pain in your heart as if it were their own and gathered around you, concealing you in their fur.

You reached up to tangle your fingers in Jinyoung’s familiar coat. You leaned against Mark’s sturdy shoulder. And Jackson brought his head before you, guarding your stomach at the risk of exposing his own throat. A symbolic gesture.

That was when you felt it. The faintest wisp of a thought. One that was not your own.

As tears rolled down your cheeks, you smiled faintly, safe and sound with your wolf boys.

chapter 16 ⇤ chapter 17 ⇥ chapter 18

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

#got7 fanfiction #got7 #jaebum smut #got7 smut #im jaebum smut #got7 au #got7 wolf au #jaebum au #got7 imagine #got7 scenario #got7 fanfic #jaebum imagine #jaebum scenario #jaebum fanfic

[sd1970x]

Marinette, work in progress - Chapter 1

Read also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203645/chapters/63770623

----

“One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” Simone de Beauvoir

There is almost nothing about Marin Dupain-cheng's life, an aspiring clothes designer, that makes them happy. Certainly not the bullying they keep getting at school.

Marin doesn't even know her true gender identity yet.

Both of these are about to change. But would that be enough for her to fight the demons within? ----

CW - Homophobia

Pronouns note: in the beginning of the fic, as Marin(ette) is very much closeted, I am purposefully using he/him pronouns as these capture the correct perspective feel. Pronouns will change as soon as she realizes who/what she really is.

---

So, this is my first work after almost two years of not producing any new ones. I am planning to explore mental challenges involving the crossing of the gender barrier, the very same ones I am now fighting after discovering my own gender identity, as I was writing it in a Miraculous Ladybug fic.

This work is planned to be about a dozen chapters and around 30-40k words when complete.

Thanks go to: V- for inspiring this fic and for being the amazing and caring person they are. Wonderful beta feedback and copyediting: Skye, MyKeyboardDidIt

(further thanks will be updated as goes! if you helped with beta/ideas just hit me up and i'll add you!)

------------

"Dear, your alarm’s been going off for fifteen minutes! You’re going to be late for your first day of school!”

You say that as if it’s a bad thing. As if I don’t want to be several hours late. Or days.

“Yeah Mom, I’m coming.”

Marin dragged himself out of bed, his form hunched as he made his way to his closet, regarding his clothes with indifference.

I Don’t even like any of them. And I doubt they would solve the real problem here. That I do not like what I see in the mirror.

Myself.

His hand drifted to a random shirt of no particular interest and he casually tossed it over his head. He shuffled over to the bathroom, glancing at himself in the mirror.

Ho-hum. Same old me, isn’t it?

His hair was in its usual mess on top of his head. Foregoing using a brush, he ended up lightly combing through his hair with his fingers until it looked somewhat acceptable.

I guess that’s okay, he thought while shrugging.

As he was brushing his teeth, his eyes strayed to his face. Studying it. Scrutinizing it.

I ought to shave better than this, He thought. His hand reached for the razor, but he stopped short of picking it up.

What even is the point. Either way, trying won’t make any difference.

The image in the mirror appeared to give him a judgemental look, his own blue eyes prying into the inner parts of his soul.

Well, at least these eyes aren’t half as bad. Perhaps they would have been of some use if they had been matched with another person altogether.

He sighed and turned his head away, as if that would be enough to make the thought disappear.

It wasn’t.

The stairway creaked just a bit as he went downstairs to the kitchen where his parents were already toiling about.

“Your need to patch up your shave, my boy,” Tom said. “You want to look good for the ladies, don’t you?”

I’m not into girls, Dad.

Maybe one day I’ll gather the courage to tell you that.

“Well… not really…”

After all, what difference does it make?

“Come now, where’s the spirit? Every girl is different, they can’t all be like Chloe,” Sabine interjected, attempting to be helpful but having just the opposite effect.

“Ugh, Mom, why’d you have to mention her at all?”

Marin frowned as he sat down for breakfast, unable to drive Chloe’s image away from his mind. He took a bite off of his omelette and was struck by the apparent blandness. He set the fork down, sighing quietly to himself.

And there goes my appetite. It’s not the omelette that’s the issue though....

A sip of fresh juice did the trick, the taste too strong to be overridden.

“Cheer up, buddy!” Tom came over. “Take these macarons to school, maybe a tasty start would help lighten up your day!”

“Thanks, Dad, these are awesome.” He said as he picked them up, giving him a half-hearted smile in return.

I appreciate the gesture..., but it feels more like bribing my classmates with these. Guess anything is worth a try at this point.

---

Marin walked into school where everyone was bustling about and chatting with old friends.

Bright banners greeted the students and everything still felt pristine and clean. The corridors even had flower bouquets placed as decorations. Marin took a breath of air, relishing in the floral scent, and proceeded to enter class.

The classroom was freshly painted and even the furniture had been patched with an attention to detail. Marin barely allowed himself a moment of excitement, before despair and weariness took hold again.

It may look different, but looks won’t change anything for people like me. It’ll still be an endless test of mettle against bullying and harassment.

He cautiously went for his seat and observed his classmates.

So there’s Nino, he’s kinda-sorta okay with me. Something I could never say about Kim. Max hasn’t been mean either, but he’s with Kim, so... At least I don’t see her , maybe we’re not in the same—

“What do you think you’re doing?” a loud cry halted his thoughts and confirmed his fears.

Chloe. The nastiest of them all. Here’s to an old-new welcome, a start-over that amounts to absolutely nothing.

“Ugh. Here we go again,” he muttered quietly, hoping Chloe wouldn’t pick it up.

She came over, an accusing look plastered on her face.

“That's my seat.”

“But Chloe, this has always…” he attempted to retort, then quickly backtracked.

“Fine, just… take it. I don’t care.”

“Take it? It’s always been ours.” Sabrina added, bearing the same mocking countenance.

Sabrina helped herself to one of Marin’s macarons uninvited, then made a puking motion.

“Ugh, they are so gross!” she said, even though she was quick to pocket one for her friend as well.

Chloe paid no heed to the macarons as she was already busy teaching Marin the new rules.

“Listen. Adrien's arriving today and the last thing he needs is someone who needs straightening like you giving this class a bad name. Stay away from him, get it?”

Marin tried his best to ignore the obvious insult and focus on the more pressing question.

“Who’s Adrien?”

Both Chloe and Sabrina chuckled, making Marin regret asking.

“Adrien is a famous model. Pretty, rich, glamorous, someone to look up to. Like me. And just like me, he’s everything you’ll never be and everything you’ll never have.” Chloe fawned over her imaginary description as Sabrina took up the task of reprimanding Marin for the question.

“A loser that doesn’t even know who Adrien is, needs to sit as far away from him as possible. You’re enough of an embarrassment to our class as is.”

Marin opened his mouth as if to deny every word, but opted against it.

You’re wrong. One day, I’ll be a famous and successful designer and every single one of you will be sorry for how you treated me. I just have to persist through this. I won’t bite it this time.

He picked up his bag wordlessly and slowly went towards his designated seat.

At least that’s what he planned to do, but the new girl pre-empted him as she grabbed him by the hand and helped him to the seat next to her. Apparently she had overheard the conversation and didn’t plan on letting it slide, at least as far as her expression read as she looked towards one Chloe Bourgeois.

“Hey! Who elected you queen of seats?” She cried out.

“I did. Good luck dethroning me with your pariah friend.” Chloe laughed at her.

It was then that Miss Bustier entered the class, finally putting a timely end to the whole ordeal.

“Has everyone found a seat?” she called.

“Hey. Don’t let her get to you.” The new girl turned towards Marin again.

He nodded.

“If only I could… She makes my life miserable. My only comfort is the thought that I’ll be free once I graduate.”

“I’m Alya, what’s your name?”

“I’m Marin” He replied. “Pleased to meet you.”

“For those of you who don't yet know me,” Miss Bustier called yet again, “I'm Miss Bustier and I'll be your teacher this year.”

At least with the lesson going on, I should be safe from unnecessary trouble.

Marin pulled out his history book, the same one from last year, bearing yet another reminder. "Marin the Gay-boy" scrawled over the cover, courtesy of Kim.

Safe, huh.

“Everything you’ll never be, Everything you’ll never have.”

Like a clean history book.

It was then when the memories came back to life, a flashback from last year.

---

“Who did this?”

Marin looked about, trying to discern any dead giveaways by his classmates. Too many of them seemed to be smiling too mysteriously to be able to get anything out of them.

You need to stand up for yourself! Show them weakness and they’ll hunt you down like prey!

… easier said than done.

He took another good look at his history book. A small red scrawl was now adorning it, not unlike a barb stuck in flesh and equally painful.

“ Marin the Gay-Boy ”.

“Please… tell me who did this.”

Weariness engulfed his voice as it went weak.

I’ll find out who did this! I’ll…

Drip.

Drop.

The book’s hardcover had just won yet another adornment, as Marin’s teardrops started collecting over it.

Marin picked up the book, tucked it by his side and blasted away from class, his legs carrying him as far as he could, a bout of laughter coming from his classmates in his wake.

By the time Nino found him, his tears had mostly dried out.

“I saw it, dude. It was Kim.”

Marin sighed.

“Thanks, Nino. I… there’s nothing I can do about it, now can I?”

Nino nodded.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

---

I may have missed first period and the picking of seats, but I haven’t missed out the first day entirely. I guess luck is somewhat on my side, today.

“Hey there, Adrikins. Here’s your seat, I saved it for you. Right in front of me!”

So, I have that going for me as well!

“Thanks, Chloe, that’s really nice of you!”

As Chloe and her friend Sabrina went to do something else, Adrien found it to be an opportunity to introduce himself to other students around. What caught his attention the most about the nearby student were his orange headphones, seemingly a fixture of his appearance.

“Hey, I’m Adrien, pleased to meet you!” he offered his hand and got answered with a sturdy shake.

“Yo, I’m Nino. So, you’re that guy Chloe mentioned earlier?”

It was at that moment that he caught something happening out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that all about?” he called towards Chloe and Sabrina, as both were putting gum on one of the seats.

“The brat that sits here needs a reminder of his place in the hierarchy. I'm just commanding a bit of respect, that's all.”

“You think that's really necessary?”

“Ah, you've got a lot to learn about school culture, Adrikins. Watch the master.”

Hardly convinced, Adrien went about trying to remove the gum from that seat, as he heard another male voice.

“Oh. So that’s your method of choice. How original.”

The voice sighed as Chloe and Sabrina laughed.

“Uhhh… I…” Adrien tried to protest, as he turned towards who he presumed was the seat’s owner.

The first thing that struck him about this boy is that he had a good amount of untapped potential. Smooth black hair, bright blue eyes… given proper care, he could look so much nicer, but he was relatively unkempt and his clothes were poorly matched too.

“And to think I imagined this year would be any different. Stupid, stupid, stupid. ” The boy lamented.

“No, no, I was just trying to take this off!” Adrien tried to salvage the situation, but to no avail.

All the while, Chloe and Sabrina continued to laugh.

“I see you’re in cahoots with Chloe. You don’t need to play pretend with me.”

“See?” Chloe said, “Gay-boy here knows his place. As he should.”

Marin just covered the gum with spare tissue paper and sat by Alya.

“There you go. Adrien Agreste, daddy's boy, teen supermodel and Chloe's buddy.” Alya quipped.

“I bet he’s used to not seeing or caring how people beneath his status feel,” Marin muttered.

---

Alya had little interest in the class, but much more interest in her table partner. She quickly learned that Marin wanted to be a famous designer after he graduated. While she wasn’t a professional, the sketches Marin gave her seemed really good. But there was something else to watch for, too. How his face had lit up when he handed her his sketches. For a moment there, he seemed to be another person altogether. His face brightened up as he took at least a hint of pride in his handiwork.

And you should. Not to mention that a smile looks so much better on you than that sad face you had on earlier.

They had a free hour just after class, so Alya was only mildly surprised when Marin caught her hand and pulled her towards somewhere as he ran forward.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked.

“The best place this school has to offer.” he grinned and continued to dash forward.

“I present you… the art club room!” he exclaimed.

It’s as if he’s another person entirely.

Marin waded in, showing Alya all the different areas the art room had to offer.

A wall for street art, mostly cleaned from past works but still bearing color marks of older works. Desks used for writing, pen scratch marks still visible even after having been cleaned for the new year. Drawing stands, also marked by some uncleanable paint blots. Then there was...

“... Here it is. A state of the art sewing machine, My best and only friend in this entire school.” he laughed, but in a moment the smile dropped from his face.

“That… I…”

He sat by, not nearly as happy as before, and pulled a derby hat from the nearby drawer.

“I worked on this last year and haven’t managed to finish it yet.”

Alya picked up the hat and casually caressed the fabric. It felt somewhat sturdy yet comfy.

Marin flicked the machine on and seemed to be mulling his next move. Eventually, he just turned it back off without doing anything.

“We technically shouldn’t be here without a teacher, so let’s go.” His passionless voice took over again.

Alya could see this was nothing but an excuse, but she declined to call it out. Her instincts told her there was no chance on earth Marin wasn’t keen on violating this rule more than once.

“It really is a lovely place.” She tried to brighten up the atmosphere, with mild success.

“And I loved the hat.” She said as she handed it back for Marin to place in the drawer again.

That seemed to work a bit better.

“Wait ‘till it’s complete, then. I’m sure it will suit you well.” Half a smile crept to Marin’s face.

---

Marin bid Alya farewell as he left the classroom and slouched towards the school’s main doors.

He cautiously opened it, only to find rain pouring outside and the sky filled with grey clouds.

A fresh start, huh? The morning’s nice weather is already gone. At least the bleakness isn’t hiding anymore.

He stood by, still sheltered, when he found out another person was standing next to him.

That Adrien guy. And he just noticed me. That’s the last thing I need right now.

“Hey!” Adrien called.

He slowly sidestepped to maintain a safe distance between them and turned his head away, muttering a slight ‘hmph’.

“Hey, listen buddy… I really was trying to remove that gum from your seat.”

Marin turned his head around and looked at Adrien, wide-eyed.

I… I must be dreaming. Did he really just say that?

“S-so… you weren’t…” he tried to piece together his words and found himself unable to do so.

“Of course not. I came here to study, to make friends… I’m not here to harass or insult people, where’s the sense in that?”

He is sincere about it. Somebody that doesn’t see me as the “gay punching bag” everyone else does.

“I didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s… It’s Marin.”

Marin’s heart nearly skipped a beat, one that he was sure Adrien managed to hear even with the rain’s sound muffling it.

And then, there was an inaudible sound he missed.

A cracking sound, as the nearly-impenetrable shell, one that was built layer over layer of self-defence from bullying and mistreatment, sealing off his emotions, gave just a little bit of way.

Adrien let his hand out of the shelter, feeling the raindrops accumulating.

“So, Marin, It’s raining and I’ve got a ride, need an umbrella?”

He nodded ever so slightly and Adrien pulled out a black umbrella. A click and a whoosh and it was now open, handed for him to take.

Marin cautiously reached out for the umbrella Adrien handed him, his hand shaking and trembling.

That’s… so nice… so… so unlike…

No sooner than he had picked it up though, his hand slipped and triggered the activation switch, the umbrella closing shut over him.

Adrien laughed for a brief moment and gave Marin a slight friendly shoulder bump.

“You keep safe, alright buddy?”

“A… al… alr-...”

Marin barely even noticed his bag dropping, hitting the ground with a ‘thud’ and his personal effects rolling about on the wet pavement. His eyes were transfixed as Adrien waved goodbye and proceeded towards his pick up car.

He’s not going to insult me or beat me or humiliate me.

Someone I can trust. Someone I can rely on.

I feel… safe next to him.

.

.

Oh, Adrien!

Maybe things were going to be different after all.

---

Unnoticed by them both, there was another figure watching the exchange, clad in a hawaiian t-shirt and accompanied by a green looking creature.

“Are you sure of your choice, master?”

“Yes. He will make a fine Chat Noir…

… and she will make for an unforgettable Ladybug.”

next

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #trans marinette #trans-AU #fanfic #ladybug #umbrella scene

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Crushing Too Late

Mattie

           I always loved coming with Dad and Papa to work. I knew with everything in me that one day, I was going to be just like them. That I was going to be a wrestler and people were going to say that I was the best.

           For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted to be like them. I’d wanted to do everything that they did. Whenever Mom would let them, they’d pull out an old ring they’d bought and put it together on the tennis court or the back yard. Then Papa and Dad would get in it with me, tell me stories about everyone they’d wrestled in that ring as they taught me everything they knew. And what they didn’t know, Uncle Kenny, Uncle Adam, and Uncle Cody would show me. Sometimes Uncle Brandon or some of the other people who worked with my dads would train with me.

           Whenever I went with them to shows, Dad and Papa always promised that I could train in the ring after it was set up. And no matter how many times I came with them, they never once broke their promise.

           “You’re getting better at that,” Dad said as I ran into the corner and flipped over onto the apron, just like he did. “Now let’s see the rest of it.”

           He stood next to the ropes while Papa stood outside. I looked between the two of them and grinned.

           Papa got close, I kicked out and slapped the outside of my thigh as he took my shoe on the palm of his hand. “See ya!” I grunted just before I leaned between the top and middle rope and put my shoulder into Dad’s stomach.

           He let out an exaggerated oof as I jumped onto the top rope, sprang off and pulled him face-down onto the mat. Then I flipped into a handstand and kicked my legs through the top and middle rope. My feet landed on the apron, I took half a second to make sure Papa was right there, and then did a moonsault. Everyone else called this the perpetual offence machine. Mom called it Dad showing off.

           Papa caught me over his shoulder, but instead of falling back, he grinned at me. “Caught in a counter, Tea. What’re you going to do?”

           I looked at how Papa had caught me. I honestly had no clue what to do. I’d never ever seen anyone counter Dad’s move before.

           “Nyla or Shida would have driven you into the ring apron by now,” Dad said from the ropes.

           Before I could think further, a voice came shouting down from the stage area. “DDT!”

           “What?” I shouted back. When I looked up from Papa’s back, I thought I was going to choke. Trent and Chuck were walking down the ramp with their friend Orange Cassidy right behind them. I blushed and tried to wriggle out of Papa’s hold. Instead I kneed him in the ribs hard enough for him to drop me onto the mat at ringside.

           I felt the heat burn through my face as I looked up and saw them standing there. Cassidy smiled as he offered me his hand to pull me up. “DDT would do the trick,” he said as he heaved me easily to my feet. He was in street clothes and wasn’t wearing his trademark sunglasses or jacket.

           I didn’t like how my tongue got tied into knots whenever they were around. Chuck always told jokes and made me laugh. We traded bad jokes and insults about how stupid the other one was. Trent would let me sit on his back while he did pushups until either he fell over or I couldn’t stop laughing. Then he’d do pull ups while I clung to his legs. Cassidy was almost always there, usually sitting quietly in the corner watching the three of us act like idiots. But he never said much, and I never knew what to say to him.

           But when he did speak, it made my heart sink into my toes and I thought I was going to be sick. He had a nice voice and really pretty eyes. I couldn’t stop staring at him, even as I felt my face go redder and redder with each passing second.

           I heard Dad’s voice from the ring. “Remind me not to use that in the match tonight. I can’t have the King of Sloth Style show me up.”

           Cassidy laughed and I got that sick feeling in my stomach again. It was like a straight drop on a roller coaster without a safety bar. It made me dizzy. “Dude, we both know you move too fast for me.”

           “Aww, I’m sorry, Cass. Let’s have dinner first, how about that?”

           Papa snorted. Trent hid his laugh behind his fist. Chuck hopped up on the ring apron. “Only if you have him home by eleven, Nick. Doesn’t do well if he misses his bedtime.”

           I looked up and saw Dad grinning ear to ear. I always loved seeing him smile. It made Papa and Mom happy. Especially since there was a time when Dad didn’t smile all the way. But being with his friends, being around everyone at the show, it always brought out his easy grins. I felt myself mirror his expression. Everyone said I looked like him. Sometimes I thought that bothered Papa and, honestly, I didn’t like it all the time either.

           But when it came to smiling, Dad had the best one. And I was glad I’d gotten it, too.

Matt

           Nick, Chuck, and Cassidy traded snappy remarks and comebacks while Trent and I watched them like a tennis match. It wasn’t unusual. The five of us had done enough bits for Being the Elite to have a pretty solid rapport by now.

           Our eldest stood in the midst of it, looking up at Nick and beaming when he smiled. The more I saw it, the easier it was to see that she was his twin. Mischievous, funny, whole-hearted, and exceptionally aware of her place in the world. Mattie had Nick’s eyes and his smile, and hair that was somewhere between mine and her mother’s.

           Like them, she was also a completely open book. Oh Jesus, I’m not ready for this.

Nick

           I flopped onto the mat and rolled out to sit up on the apron. Mattie was a few steps away, her face bright red. She hopped up onto the ring next to me and tucked herself beneath my arm. I gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. She was fifteen, and I was afraid that the day was coming when she didn’t want to be our little girl anymore. I’d take what I could get until then.

           “Dad, can I come to ringside tonight?” she asked quietly.

           I grinned at her. “Sure, Tea. We’ll get you a spot in the front row.”

           Our daughter grinned at me and kissed my cheek. “I’m going to go annoy Uncle Adam.” She slid onto her feet and hugged Matt around the waist.

           “Yeah,” Chuck said throwing his arm around Mattie’s shoulder. “Let’s go annoy Adam.”

           Cassidy and Trent fell into step with the two of them as they walked up the ramp and disappeared backstage. I watched until they were out of sight.

           “God, she’s growing up so fast.”

           Matt crossed his arms and glared in the direction they’d left. “Too fast. I’m not ready for this.”

           “Ready for what?” I queried as I joined him at the base of the ramp. “Matt, she’s not going to get in the ring or be on TV for a while.”

           My brother grunted. “I’d rather put her on TV tonight than this. Did you not see what I just saw?” When I didn’t answer, he threw his hands up. “She’s looking at Cassidy.”

           I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Matt, relax. She’s fifteen. And he’s our age. Plus… Jesus, she’s known him all her life.”

           “I don’t like it.”

Mattie

           “I don’t know where Uncle Adam is,” I said nervously, standing outside the locker room that was usually his. “Maybe he’s not here yet.”

           “Pushups?” Trent asked, his brows raised. There was a slight smirk to his smile that made me grin.

           “I’ve got some yo mama jokes you haven’t heard yet,” Chuck offered.

           I looked up at him, hoping I looked very serious. “You talk about my Mom and I’ll superkick you in the teeth.”

           Cassidy laughed from where he leaned against the wall. “I would pay money to see that. Actually…” He dug his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out twenty dollars. “I’ll give you this right now, Mattie, if you do it.”

           “Come on, Orange. You know she’d never—”

           Before Chuck could finish, I’d leaned back and delivered a superkick that Dad and Papa would be proud of. The very tip of my sneaker bopped Chuck in the chin. It was habit to slap the outside of my knee at the contact, and the noise echoed down the hallway. He staggered dramatically and plopped onto his butt on the floor. I laughed.

           I lost my balance. Wobbling on my planted foot, I saw the floor come rushing up at me. An instant later, a set of arms locked around my chest. Cassidy took a moment to steady me before settling me upright.

           My whole body tingled. I could feel my face burning bright red as I smiled nervously. Cassidy grinned. “That was perfect.”

           I beamed beneath his praise. My heart raced in my chest. I thought I was going to faint. I couldn’t catch my breath for the life of me. He was so close, and his eyes were so pretty and brown.

           “Dad’s going to get me a ringside seat tonight,” I blurted out. The moment the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to slap myself. Why did I say that?

           Cassidy grinned even wider. “That’s going to be fun.”

***

           Papa took me out to my seat before the show started. “Be good. And enjoy the show, Tea.”

           I reached over the barrier and hugged him as tight as I could. “I love you, Papa.”

           He squeezed me hard and kissed my forehead. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

           After he went backstage, I watched the fans file in and take their seats. I loved the noise and the crush of people and the signs and energy. It was one of the reasons I wanted to be a wrestler.

           Dad, Papa, and Uncle Kenny were starting the show against Chuck, Trent, and Cassidy. I grinned as The Elite music thundered through the arena. Dad, Papa, and Uncle Kenny came out, paper money came flying out of the cannons by the ramp. My heart thumped and thudded in my chest as they came down to the ring. I shouted and waved, jumped up and down, screamed in joy. Each time I saw them was just like the first time—exhilarating and terrifying and beautiful.

           Once they were in the ring, new music started. Chuck and Trent came out, Cassidy right behind them. I always giggled when Trent and Chuck walked to the ring arm-in-arm or holding hands. They all looked so ready to fight, so determined to best my dads and Uncle Kenny. I waved at them too, screaming in happiness.

           They hopped into the ring together. Cassidy crossed the mat and shrugged out of his denim jacket, tucking his sunglasses in the pocket. Instead of tossing it to the ringside table, he rolled beneath the bottom rope and handed the jacket to me. He winked, and I felt the heat tear through me. I blushed and stammered.

           “Take care of that while your dad kicks my ass.”

           I clutched it to my chest and tucked it against my nose to hide the way a smile split over my face.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @not-that-kinda-gurl08​ @lilred91​ @imagineall-the-fandoms​ @maelleoute​ @librathepheonix13​ @justamess44​

#crushing too late #too late tales #the too late tales #matt jackson #matt jackson fanfiction #nick jackson #nick jackson fanfiction #young bucks #young bucks fanfiction #mattie jackson #aew #aew fanfiction #matt x reader #matt x reader x nick #nick x reader

[straightouttatheashes]

Hell Hath No Fury

OOC Note: This happens in a rp between @thalsianiii​ and myself!  -- A cozy campfire flickered in the swamps. A few half drunken bottles of booze littered the site along with various tents and sleeping rolls. But it was far from a peaceful scene. Standing amidst the dancing flames flickered a shadow; a human holding a goblin woman aloft by the throat. Tears streamed down her face in horror as she looked around at her friends and comrades. All dead. A pair of felstalkers consumed the remains with gluttonous indiscretion. "P-Please, let me go," she begged as she stared into the human's alien metal mask. But he didn't answer her. Instead he brought up his free hand to within an inch of her face. Fingers tensed like a talon; he spoke an incantation in a foreign tongue. The green colour from her face began to drain as her eyes glazed over. her plump figure withered away as the warlock ripped the life essence -the soul- from her very person. Either the three villainous entities were very careless, or simply couldn't care less who came upon them. Taking a job to escape from any responsibilities was a smart choice, she had thought. It was easy enough to agree to smuggling some wares into the Swamp of Sorrows. Pheonix wasn't going to be picky on what gave her a means to occupy her mind and just breathe. If she'd stayed in Silvermoon....well. Perhaps she'd be the one behind bars. Breathing became difficult however, as her after-payment walk suddenly became one of the most horrific things she would end up experiencing. She could have helped. In a split second, she could have done something. Instead her body froze as she watched a masked man tear the life away from an innocent. Evil. It was all evil. Necromancy. Demons. Fel magic, whatever the fuck. In an instant, her anger took hold of her body and allowed her to move. Felstalkers usually drained magic, but Pheonix really didn't give a shit. A searing hot fireball had been sent towards them, exploding on impact. Shoot first, ask no fucking questions. Percival had since discarded the last corpse from his grasp when Pheonix launched her attack. The impact of the Fireball caused the hounds to yelp in surprise and pain in the midst of the explosion. Even Percival stumbled forward from the raw force behind him. Singe marks dotted his spiked armaments and garb. But the heat itself, the fire, didn't seem to phase him in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to burn with his own fiery intensity in reaction. "Another soul for the Well of the Damned," he laughed in that reverberating metallic voice. He turned to face Phe with an ostentatious flip of his cloak. His arms crossed under his chest as his eyeless mask stared her down. "Go." he commanded. To which, the pair of hounds shook off the shock of her attack and dashed towards her. Maw's agape as goblin blood stained slobber dripped down from their fangs as they charged. Usually Pheonix would respond with her own taunt. But this time it was different. This wasn't going to be her usual brawl. No. This was going to be something much different, and she was definitely taking it personally, despite not even knowing this man, nor his victims.  She wished she could see his face.  As the hounds launched towards her, Pheonix had already unhooked the clawed weapons from her belt, gripping them tightly as the demons ran forth. She was quick on her feet - tattoos glowing as blades sliced for tendrils, limbs, maws. If one of them latched onto her, she'd slam it into the ground before following through with her blades and a furious yell. No doubt she'd suffer injury. She could worry about that later. It wouldn't stop her yet. In a perfect synchronization the two hounds leaped. One aimed high for an arm, the other low for a leg. The first was dispatched rather quickly. Fangs barely grazing her skin and drawing only a trickle of blood before she put it down. The other went for a leg, a much easier time of getting a solid grip of her thigh muscle with a deep puncture. Her speed alone managed to save her from broken bones. Two demons dispatched and Phe with a few flesh wounds at worst. But Percival was no slouch. While she focused on the hounds, he had conjured a black gate. Once the stalkers were slain, he issued another command in a foreign tongue as a swarm of bilescourge poured out from the portal. A flock of small, flying demons came out with little fangs coated with acid. they spat and nipped at her. Alone, one would be little more than a nuisance. A persistent hornet with a painful sting. But a dozen? That was more dangerous. Adrenaline was already surging through her body. She had no time to rest before the swarm was upon her. She hadn't dealt with Bilescourge before. But they were demons, and she would kill them like the last. A spiked gauntlet came up to block the fangs - though she could only block so many. The stings made her hiss through her teeth, as her tattoos glowed brighter, and her arms ignited in fire. More jabs and slices were directed at the swarm, though she started to move. She needed to make ground and get close to the warlock. With a yell, another fireball would be sent towards him. However it wasn't as big as her first. Her burst of flame incinerated a fair number of the swarm as it flew towards Pheonix. They were weak at best. But served a purpose all the same. Again the flames hit him. He didn't even bother to stop it. The minor force seemed to cause him to stammer but the flames themselves, the heat, did less than nothing. "Not the smartest elf, are you girl," he goaded as he raised his hand up towards the sky. He spoke a word of power and pulled his hand down fast, as if he was trying to pull something from the sky. Which is exactly what he intended. A small meteoric rock came crashing down towards Phoenix's location. If she didn't move, she'd surely be struck. The sound of cackling imps could be heard as the rode the falling star, felfire being lobbed about recklessly by the little demons when they landed. "You're all the fucking same!" She yelled back, her gaze only briefly following his hands, before she threw herself to the side - combat rolling as the rock struck the ground. Another shout, and an insult that most definitely started with p and ended in y. Pheonix didn't let the imps deter her. They could throw their fire all they wanted. Instead she was still coming towards Percival - darting to the side to flank him, flames still engulfing her torso. A very sharp and powerful set of spinning kicks would be aimed towards him and by god she hoped they'd connect. As Phe rushed the warlock, the imps continued to lob felfire in her general direction. Some might hit, some might miss, it was all chaos really. As she closed the distance between herself and Percival, the warlock immediately raised up his forearms to block her. The spiked armaments surely caused her some piercing pain in the first kick, before they were knocked away and the other series of spinning kicks hit true into the warlocks torso. He stumbled backwards, certainly bruised and battered along his chest and stomach from such a barrage. A hand holding his stomach, Percival extended his other arm forward and an open palm directed at her. He spoke a single word of power, "Explode." to which, the imps that danced about all began to glow and fixate on Phe. They charged her as their glow grew brighter and brighter. Leaping forward they all began to pop in a series of small, but volatile, explosions around her. Whether or not the felfire hit, it didn't slow Pheonix in her path. That was a problem future Phe would have to deal with.  She winced as the first kick connected, leaving her with another injury. But the force at least knocked him back. Another barrage of attacks were about to be launched, before she heard the words spoken, and the laughing of the imps. Fuck. Before her combat skills however, Pheonix was a pyromancer with a small amount of knowledge on other spells, first and foremost. Within a split second, an arcane barrier surrounded her - shielding her from the first few pops. But it was weak. And perhaps the only spell she knew. The shield disappeared quite quickly, and it was then she had to put distance with herself and the imps. Any explosion that came too close to her body, she'd tried to absorb into her own fire. Not a good mix. Perhaps her fury controlled her recklessness, but as the flames on her body grew brighter as the mix of power struggled to contain itself - she once again darted towards Percival. He may have been absorbing her magic, but the raw force of power was still affecting him. Despite whatever armor the warlock had, Pheonix would try to find an opening to get close and unleash an explosion of her own. This was going to hurt. Her more so, perhaps. "So you fancy yourself a sorceress?" he growled as she got in close, cloaked in orange flame. "You're out of your league, girl!" As if in direct response to her cloak of flames, Percival too conjured forth blistering heat and fire to wrap around his own figure. But with much more foul sorcery. Felfire poured out of the pores of his plated armor and mask. Concentrated chaos coalesced in the palms of his hands as he rushed forward to meet her. Explosion vs explosion. Fire vs felfire. The climactic clash of concentrated calamity was at hand! "Not at all." Phe prepared herself for the outcome as Percival met her in the middle, so to speak. Fuck. If there was any a time to launch her next attack, it was now. It wasn't just going to be a collision of magic. She braced herself, before a fist would drive forward - and then another spin kick, fluent movements as she tried to circle him and attack from any point she could. Pheonix willed herself to control her fire as long as she could before the imp's magic ultimately caused her own to explode. She wasn't a sorceress, far from it. Pheonix had adapted magic into martial arts. A warlock would be much stronger at magic than she ever would be. But she was volatile in her own right, and she would use her dexterity and strength in her physical attacks to her advantage. Pheonix's speed and dexterity would prove to be an advantage for her. While her fires seemed to do absolutely nothing to Percival, her physical impact was more than enough to frazzle him. Up close and personal he was at a disadvantage. Every time he spun to fire off a bolt of deadly felfire, she was already moved around for a new vantage. Clawed punches and strong kicks were beginning to wear the warlock down and drive him into a corner. In a final show of defiance, Percival shouted out a word of power that sent a wave of Hellfire bursting out in all directions around him. The sole purpose to drive her back so he could make his escape. The further out the hellfire spread,  the more likely it was to ignite the plants and trees, or send swamp gas up in explosive flames. The strain of trying to control her fire as well as the foul magic was becoming too much for her. But Pheonix was giving it her all as she noticed her opponent starting to wear down. Another opportunity would be taken to dart in and deliver a strong kick to his stomach - but suddenly another word of power was spoken. She was barely quick enough to dodge the searing blast of hellfire.  This was her chance. Pheonix remained close, giving one final push as she disarmed herself of her weapons - just so she could reach in and tear that stupid mask from his face. Whether or not she was able to, she had run out of time. The swell of power took its toll, the force and intensity of the explosion sending her flying backwards with a yell. Smoke rose from her body as she hit the ground, gasping for air and curling up in pain.  Her clothes were burnt and torn, but by gods was she going to get back up and finish that warlock off...At least her mind was telling her to. In reality, she lay there with absolute murder in her eyes as she struggled to get up and chase the man down to prevent his escape. And rip the mask off she did! She's get a nice good look at his face. Pale skin, blue eyes, a villainous mustache and beard. Like something right out of a story book, really. All wrapped together with a shit eating grin as she was sent careening back. "If you wanted to know who I was..." he began to speak, coughing up a speckle of blood from her final boot to his stomach.  "...all you had to do, was ask." With that, his attention turned to a near by swamprat. The perfect sized sacrifice. A quick incantation while Pheonix was on the ground was just enough to open up a portal back to his tower of horrors. He hastily limped towards his exit. In the moments before stepping through the portal he turned and extended his hand. The mask in her hand shimmered and vanished, only to materialize in his grasp once again. "The name is Thalsian, Master Thalsian. Remember it. I'll certainly remember you." With that, he was gone. The portal rapidly closing behind him. Pheonix felt the wet and muddy ground against her face, eyes closing as she succumbed to her wounds and exhaustion.  @thalsianiii​ again for mentions! HELLA GOOD ))

#writing #percival #EPIC BATTLE

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 2

Here is another piece of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

‘Life,’ Luz mused, ‘is utterly random.’ She slowly turned her latest find over in her hands. An Archive Terminal, a portable link to the information distribution magic system known as Archive. How Eda got her hands on it, Luz didn’t know, but it was an amazing boon for sure. Somehow, the device had full connection, accessing the open source information of Archive; admittedly, this should’ve been impossible in a normal Terminal, which meant she probably had a black-market unit.

Luz smirked. This wasn’t the first time she had handled illegally modified gear, and it probably wouldn’t be the last; the real issue was keeping this thing in good shape. Black-Chapter Magic Items, tools that had been deliberately modified to make illegal operations easier, were typically made to break down easily once they served their purpose or if they became separated from their owners. In the end, she was fairly sure that wouldn’t be a problem, and she just got one of the best teaching aids she could possibly get in her current situation.

Her face shifted into suspicion. On second thought, it shouldn’t be possible for her to have gotten this in her current situation. Luz’s luck had been odd ever since she’d arrived on the Isles, and strange coincidences were starting to pile up, including the appearance of this Terminal. Still, there wasn’t much she could do about the odd goings on around this place, and she couldn’t afford to turn away something this useful, shady circumstances or not.

“LUZ!” King’s voice rang out, jarring Luz from her thoughts. Taking quick stock of her supplies for when she went in for work, Luz sighed, preparing to face the lovable tyrant-wannabe.

“King, whatever this is better be important, please.” Luz groaned, making her way through the door, stuffing the Terminal into the pocket of her jacket. “I really don’t think Eda will be too happy about you interrupting her-” She cut off, eyes widening at the sight before her. Boscha, the bratty girl who had tried, and failed, to give her grief on her first outing into Bonesburough, witnessed her showdown against that creep Adegast, and newly minted Devil Slayer, was currently sitting on the couch, King pacing next to her, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “-Sleep.” Luz numbly finished.

“Oh, so you live here.” Boscha said blandly. Luz suppressed a shudder, the girl was far worse off than she had feared; it was like she had no life in her at all, as if she had nothing other than a desire to keep going. Or maybe she was misinterpreting this? Either way, it was creepy. Boscha slowly pulled herself to her feet, rolling her neck. “Sorry you’ve got to see me like this.” She said, gesturing at her attire. It was only then that Luz realized that the girl’s clothing was coated in holes and damaged patches, some areas even having the frayed look of burned fabric, yet also damp. Oddly enough, or maybe not if Luz’s suspicions were correct, Boscha herself looked completely fine, if not a bit drenched by the now raging rainstorm outside.

“Yeah,” Luz drawled. “Funny how things like this just happen, you know?” She plopped herself down in the nearby chair, gazing at the potentially dangerous girl in front of her. “So, I hate to be rude for once, but why are you here, exactly?”

Boscha gave a slight lift to her shoulder, a faint blush to her face. “I was practicing in the woods, trying to get myself back to normal, when I spotted the clouds forming.” She looked down at her clothes, a slightly perplexed look on her face. “I was prepared to track down a cave or something after I realized I had no way of getting to shelter in time, when I spotted this place.” She gestured to the house surrounding them, both tuning out Hooty’s preening from outside at the attention. “And I rushed for the barrier, hoping I could get through. I was willing to beg for shelter if I needed to, but…” she looked down at her hands, sliding them over her face in mystified wonder. “The rain caught up to me.” She gave Luz a critical look. “How, exactly, am I not a boiled up husk right now? Just what exactly did you do to me?” She finished, a hint of genuine emotion entering her voice; fear. 

“You mean besides saving your life?” Luz asked dryly. Her face shifted into a look of consideration. “To be honest, I’m not sure how much I can tell you.” She held up a hand, holding off any protests. “But that’s mostly because this isn’t a usual situation by any means. Usually implanting a Lacrima will just grant you a boost to whatever magic the Lacrima is based off of. End of story, close the book and all that.” Her eyes snapped to Boscha, a serious look on her face. “However. This isn’t the usual circumstance for something like this, especially not the type of Lacrima you got implanted into you.”

Boscha made a confused noise. “You keep using that word, Lacrima. What even is that?”

Luz snorted. “It’s the proper term for that magic crystal you snagged that night I fought Adegast. Or, more accurately, it’s the proper term for crystals like it; raw magic condensed into the form of a crystal, and chock-full to the brim with power.” A worried grin stretched across Luz’s face. “If I’m being honest, the fact that you have that thing stuck inside you now is honestly pretty terrifying, but it was either that or let you die, not to mention the fact you’d have taken the school with you.”

Boscha slowly nodded, processing the information. “Okay, so that thing was pure magic. What kind?” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’d like to think that I have a right to know just what was messing with my head.” She left out her worry about it happening again.

“Heh, fair enough.” Luz agreed. Her hand idly reached for one of the spare sheets of paper she had left lying around, gripping it. “But first, you hungry?”

The question surprised Boscha, but she nodded, not wanting to pass up free food if it was being offered. Of course, she expected it to be actual food, not… a rolled up piece of paper that had been set on fire.

She turned to Luz. “Are you serious?”

“Uh huh!” Luz glibly stated.

“There is no way I’m going-” Boscha started, only to cut off as a heady scent filled her nose. She slowly turned back to the offered paper, nose twitching. “Going to…” She trailed off, eyes glazing, a line of drool starting to dribble down from her mouth. With a blank look in her eyes, Boscha’s jaw widened… and clamped down on the flame. 

With a blissful sigh, she contentedly chewed on the flame, and there was no mistaking she was eating FIRE, seeing as she hadn’t even touched the paper the flame was holding onto. As she chewed, a rich, earthy flavor, like the best vegetable soup she’d ever tasted, filled her mouth. As she slowly swallowed the flame, a look of bliss, the kind that only came from good food, crossed her face… only to switch to dumbfounded shock as she started to process her own actions.

Turning a baffled look to Luz, who was grinning like the cat that got the canary, Boscha tentatively asked. “Did I just eat fire?” At Luz’s slow, grinning nod, Boscha gave a groan, cupping her face in her hands. “What did that thing do to me?”

Luz’s grin faded. “Well, for starters, it turned you into a Devil Slayer, the Flame Devil Slayer from what I can tell.” As Boscha whipped her head up in shock, Luz continued. “Basically, Slayers are mages whose magic is specifically designed to combat and harm specific forms of beings that are ordinarily beyond the abilities of Human Mages to combat.” She leveled a look of warning towards Boscha, who became still under the intense stare. “As a Slayer, you are stronger, faster, more durable, and have an instinctive bond with the element or concept your magic manifests as, and can absorb sources of your element to replenish your magic and as a substitute for food.”

Luz crossed her arms, and leaned back. She just had to wait and see how the girl was going to respond to what had just been dropped on her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed King walking off, grumbling about not being able to concentrate. Aw well, his loss.

Boscha stood in place, utterly still. If what the human was saying was true, it basically meant her goal had just been radically changed. Before, she was just trying to get herself to a point where she didn’t have to worry about losing it and killing someone, and gaining control of her magic again was the first step to that. But now, what was the point? The way the human said it, she was basically a Demon-Killing weapon. People could never be safe around her entirely, not here, not in the Demon Realms, and certainly not on the Boiling Isles.

Whether this human realized it or not, her actions had irrevocably changed Boscha’s future. Boscha grit her teeth, temper rising from the cool numbness that clouded her mind so easily ever since that fight she had at the school. Why. Why was this happening? Was she really so awful that something like this was necessary!? As her thoughts started to spiral, Boscha’s fists sparked into flames.

“What kind of crap is this?” She muttered, drawing a confused look from her host, the human cocking her head in bewilderment. “First, I lost control and put a bunch of people in the healer’s offices, then I burned Skara, and now I gained some kind of crazy Human Magic that’s totally wrecked my control!?” 

Her voice was growing hysterical, a frantic edge filling it. “By the Titan, I get it, I’m garbage, a worthless nobody who thought she was bigger than she was, but why is this happening?” She collapsed back into her seat, energy draining out of her, her emotions pouring out in a haze of angry tears. “What am I going to do with myself now?” She looked at her hands, the memories of each and every demon she had brutalized over that four day haze coming to the forefront.

A clinking sound drew her attention. She looked up, seeing the human, Luz. She had set a glass of water in front of her. “So, are you done with your little pity party?” Luz asked, giving Boscha a look of sardonic amusement.

Boscha’s temper flared. “What was that?” She bit out.

“You. Having a pity party.” Luz bluntly stated. “Because that’s basically what’s going on.”

Boscha shot to her feet, flames bursting in her hands. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through! I’ve lost almost everything! My friends, my social life, my world view… EVERYTHING!!” She shouted.

“Yadda yadda yadda, I’m in pain and want to take it out on someone.” Luz deadpanned. “Got it.” With a furious shout, Boscha lashed out with her flames, blood red light flaring, only for Luz to catch her arm and lock it to the side, any showing the slightest hints of strain. She raised an eyebrow. “Cute.” Lightly pushing Boscha back into her seat, Luz got in close. “You aren’t the only person who’s got issues in the world, you know? The way you feel is totally valid of course, but acting as if you’ve got nothing left helps no one, especially yourself.”

Boscha snorted. “What could you possibly know about what I’m going through?” She slammed a hand down on the table. “I hurt people, I hurt my best friend! And to make it all just a little bit worse, it turned out I was going to explode, and the only thing that could prevent it ended up costing me my magical ability. I have to learn everything from scratch now!!” She turned slightly teary eyes towards Luz. “How could you possibly understand what’s happening to me?”

Luz sighed, knowing this wasn’t going to be pretty. Working her sleeve up, she showed her upper arm to Boscha, who reeled back, prompting a bitter grin from Luz. The sight of the scarred tissue running from her shoulder to her elbow was certainly stomach turning to look at. “I am intimately familiar with losing control of your magic, and the type of injuries, physical and emotional, that can cause.” Once she was sure Boscha had gotten as good a luck as she needed, Luz rolled her sleeve down, placing both hands on the sides of her face, staring at the girl. 

“You are still alive.” She said simply. “Is this a massive change for you, something that you had no control over? Absolutely. But you are still alive, and that means you can change it. You may never get back what you lost, but you can make a new life for yourself, forge new connections and new bonds with others. You have to start over with your magic? Fine, so you have to start from scratch. That just means you can relearn it, and maybe learn something new.” She gently placed Boscha’s shaking hands between her own. “I said before that I would be willing to help you with making the world make sense again. That offer is still on the table. Just let me help you, okay?”

That fateful confrontation with Skara flashed through Boscha’s mind again. Tears pricked at her eyes. “You're right.” She slowly nodded. “I can’t give up just because I got some news I wasn’t expecting. This is a setback, not the end of the world.” She slapped her cheeks. “Gah, I can’t believe I let myself get stuck in my head like that! So embarrassing.”

Luz chuckled. “Hey, it could be worse.”

“How so?” Boscha dryly asked, still reeling from how much her moods had shifted over this conversation.

“You could’ve said all that in public.” Luz grinned impishly.

Boscha blinked, before paling. “Yeah, that would’ve been way worse.” While she didn’t care about social standing and jockeying as much anymore, she still had enough self-respect and pride not to be indifferent to public embarrassment.

Luz stood, stretching herself out. “Well, now that we’ve got that bit of awkwardness out of the way, do you have any more questions?” 

“Just two.” Boscha replied, holding up two fingers in response. “Firstly, how did I manage not to get burned by the rain, and secondly, do you think you could help me get my magic under control?” She said her second request with a note of desperation. She really wanted this issue with her control to be done with.

“To the first, as a Flame-Element Slayer, the amount of heat needed to hurt you is so much more than the heat in the rain that it basically instantly cools on contact. No more issues with Boiling Rain for you, right?” Luz grinned at Boscha’s look of relish at the thought of not having to worry about one of the Isles’ most common and annoying forms of weather, before her smile gained a slightly sadistic edge. “And to the second, sure! Of course I can train you. No problem at  all.” She chuckled. Boscha had the feeling she may be in danger at that moment.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #boscha the owl house #king the owl house #magic