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#not fancy but after half a night of working on this
boyfhee · 1 day
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박성훈 、PRETTY FACE
all the trouble sunghoon gets himself in lands him in your arms.
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featuring ⋆ rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader
contents ⋆ kissing, mentions of cuts, injuries and blood, just a whole lot of fluff i miss writing cute stuff, insecurities perhaps ( 1370 )
notes ⋆ rich boy sunghoon....save me from him. also this was not meant to be above a thousand words and was supposed to be funny. and this one's for saint @hoonvrs hi bae
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one thing you’ve learnt while dating sunghoon, it’s always an adventure. so unforeseen, like when he showed up at your balcony, again, last night with a few bruises and cuts on his face. you had let him in and he avoids your attempt at cupping his face just as swiftly. and dating sunghoon is exhilarating, with the way you let him stay for the night, again, knowing your parents are home.
“good morning,” you smile and brush your thumb over the cut on the corner of his lips. it’s red, his lips are dry, and yet they’re soft when you lean down for a quick peck. 
“morning, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “how creepy of you to watch me sleep,”
“guess i’ll be a creep if it means i get to look at your handsome face,” you hum, fighting back a smile.
“is that a compliment i hear?” and he’s almost turning away to sleep, but your words catch him off, and he smirks drowsily with a soft and sleepy gaze adorning you. “what’s the occasion?”
“i’m serious, hoon. you’re handsome,” you insist with a frown, cupping his face again, thumb brushing over his cheeks as you lean in and whisper ever so tenderly. “so handsome, it’s crazy,”
“well, aren’t you sweet, my love,” and he can’t help but wrap his arms around you, pulling you on top of him. it’s quiet, you lay with your head on his chest. it’s barely six, you look out through the huge glass window panes installed in your room by your request to fit the aesthetic, but now it’s how sunghoon climbs up your room every other night. 
it’s not usual for him to get compliments. usually, you’re trying to play it cool, as if his words don’t affect you as much as he thinks they do. on other days, you’re busy rolling your eyes every time he flirts. you make him work for compliments, it’s funny, and he enjoys it. a little bit of challenge in his way too easy lifestyle keeps him going. but today— as you’re quietly listening to his heartbeat while he’s caressing your back— you want to stay like this. 
he brushes his fingers through your hair, planting soft kisses on your head every few seconds. it’s rare for you two to be this quiet. with sunghoon, every minute spent on bed leads to something else, most of the time. but this time it’s silent, it’s risky, he’s in your room and as much as he jokes about it, the idea of being caught by your parents isn’t something either of you fancy.
“i think i should get up and leave before your—” it lands upon you to worry about keeping everything a secret, today it’s his job to make sure the secret is safe.
“it stings, doesn’t it?” you cut him off immediately, pinning him down as he tries to get up. he can see the concern in your eyes, worries trickling through your finger tips and seeping through his skin when you lace your fingers over his scratches. 
“i told you, they’re not that bad,” he shrugs, too careless, carefree. he doesn’t know why you worry yourself over something so minor. “they don’t even hurt,” 
“it hurts me to see you like this,” and his thoughts are put to halt when the words leave your mouth. 
it was half past one when sunghoon knocked at the glass doors of your balcony. you were getting ready for bed after movies, and he was avoiding your gaze as you were running your eyes over his state— messy, hurt, and so were you.  
‘did you get into another fight with heeseung?’ you had asked and he avoided, again, dodging all your questions and attempts to check on him. you let him in, and he goes straight to your bathroom. his gaze doesn’t meet your eyes, he avoids all the eye contact and conversation. he turns away to take off his shirt covered in dirt. it’s worse this time. ‘come here,’ 
you grabbed his arm to pull him towards you, but he refused to face you. he’s ashamed, like every time he is when you see him like this. the pretty face you’ve always been so fond of no longer fits the definition. you tried to make him look at you, but he grabbed your hands, kissing your palms and pulled you to bed. 
“is that a new way of telling me to not get into fights?” he asks, feigning a yawn, a faint chuckle following by. you’re still on top of him, pinning him down, and if he didn’t know any better, you would’ve ended up under him already. 
“is it working?”
“a bit,” he mumbles quietly and pulls you closer by your waist, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck. he keeps planting tender kisses on your cheeks, and then down on your neck, as if telling you to let go of all the concerns that plague your mind. “you worry too much,”
“i know, i will continue to do that,” you pull back again, much to his disappointment. nothing could compare to the feeling of having you in his arms. “if not for your dad and for the sake of your reputation then at least for me, you need to stop,”
sunghoon knows.
if not for anything— it isn’t for anything else. not for his mother’s million dollars fashion brand, not for his sister’s business ventures, nor his father’s political career. it’s for you, every scratch, every nip and every cut, every drop of blood that had trickled down the corner of his lips when heeseung landed a punch on his face. how could he not? sunghoon can stand anything but people talking down on you as if they know you. it makes him fight for you and funnily enough, he’s happy to bleed to death for you.
“you always ruin the mood, bringing that old man up,” he’s deflecting— just as you had expected and you’re not backing down. one leg swinging to the other side, arms by his head. he’s down, caged, a position where he can’t avoid you. it’s about time you two had this conversation.
“i’m serious,” you’re trying your best to keep up the stern face, eyes locked into his. 
“i love it when you get all serious, angel,” he grins suggestively, arms around your waist again. he’s slipping them under your top, you slap it away and it only makes him laugh in amusement. “i suppose it is a bit too early for that,”
you don’t say anything, just looking at his pretty face. you stroke softly over the cut on his cheekbone and he flinches ever so slightly. it’s new, it stings, adorned by a bit of dried up blood just like the one on his lips. there’s one near his jaw from a while ago, it’s healing. each and every part an ugly reminder of how much trouble he gets in.
“you’re such a pretty face,” you whisper quietly and lean down to kiss him, trying to be so gentle to not hurt him even more. you take your sweet time, tracing your lips over those wounds, new or old, and then speaking with a voice impossibly loving. “even with these,”
“i love it when you call me that,” he takes your hand, kissing your palms. it’s not everyday that he’s spoiled like this.
and you pull your hand back, speaking with frown as if giving him a warning. “i won’t anymore if you get into another fight,”
“guess we’re making truce with heeseung,” he chuckles quietly, shaking his head, pretending to be annoyed. he finally pulls you down next to him and wraps his arms around you, kissing your forehead. “things i do for my girl,”
you let out a muffled laughter while your face is buried in his chest before looking up at him with love pouring out of your eyes. “for me?”
“for you,” you hand rests on his cheeks as he leans down for a kiss, and his hands wrap over them gently, holding them in place. when you kiss him so deeply yet delicately, like it’s a stellar reunion, he pulls away just for a brief second, whispering against your lips. “everything,”
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bhaalism · 3 days
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— desert fever
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› cowboy astarion x f!reader
› wc: 8k+
› a/n: I FINISHED IT!! (dies) :3 also I made it more weird and unsettling than like sexy cowboy aesthetic sorry I can't help but make him a creature in a fucked up western ghost town (if there's mistakes pretend you do not see) ilysm @dhampling for being the only reason this got done <3
warnings : death themes, loneliness, physical injuries, blood drinking multiple times, sorta yandere?, cockwarming, orgasm denial, lil clit play
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Midwinter - 200 Years Prior
Wind rips through the canyon a thousand feet overhead, nothing moving in the godsforsaken town and the mule packer knows something is wrong.
Two miles south stands the mine, the proverbial godsend, that sound which should be filling the canyon with the sound of machinery smashing ore is starkly missing.
He dismounts the tar black steed, the horses nose pinked by the icy chill and it’s nostrils flaring, its mane filthy with a dirty crust of ice. The single rig saddle is ice crusted as well, the leather components frozen stiff as board. He rubs the horses neck, speaking in soft, low tones about how he did good work today and a nice, warm stable awaits with plenty of feed.
The man wades through thigh deep snow towards the mercantile, baging his fist against the doorframe. Inside, the lamps are extinguished and the big iron stove squats dormant and forlorn in the corner, unattended by the usual smattering of miners jawing over burnt coffee and tobacco.
“Hello, anybody in the back?”
As he steps back out he notices theres not even the sound of animals braying or snorting in the cold.
“What in hells?” he whispers.
When he delivered supplies a few months ago the humble mining town had been teeming with its usual bustle, now Dreads Hand looms lifeless before him in the late evening gloom, its streets empty with unshoveled snow in high banks against the planked sidewalks. No tracks as far as the eye can see, save for his own coming in.
The cabins along the lower slopes bordering the tiny town are buried up to their chimneys, not a single one of them smoking.
He makes his way up the street to the saloon, expecting perhaps for a handful of locals to be sheltering from the storm inside, greeting him with some glorious profanity about being unprepared for the weather.
Not one’s inside.
Not a single customer, no one at the piano, and again every kerosene lamp is extinguished.
Only a forlorn half pint of beer sits on the pinewood bar, frozen through.
The path to the closest cabin is unplowed and takes roughly ten minutes to wade towards without webs on his shoes.
He pounds his fist against the door once more, counts to one hundred in his head. The latch hasn’t been hooked, but even so he feels like a trespasser as he swings the solid wood door open to step inside.
Food languishes untouched on a table, coffee long since gone frozen just like the beer in the bar. He removes his gloves to touch the roast in the middle of the table, cold and hard as the ore in the mines. Wine had at some point frozen and shattered the cups that held it.
Outside again, back with his steed for some small comfort he shouts, turning around and around in the hopes his voice will carry further.
“Is anyone here?”
It’s twenty seven miles back to the closest outpost, but the horse needs rest. Having ridden the last sixteen hours he needs it too, though the idea of spending the night in Dreads Hand has suddenly become much more sinister. The horrible silence is unnerving.
He decides to chance it, something tells him its safer on the trail back, even in the threatening dark and icy terrain with exhaustion creeping into his vision.
Something just ain’t right here.
30th of Eleasis - Present
From early childhood it was all you could remember, just you and your father acting in your childlike mind as fanciful explorers, wanderers. Always somewhere new to plant your feet, always some other sunrise to chase.
Once you had grown curious enough to ask, after many, many years of this endless chasing and his words echo inside your skull to this day.
“It’s just in our blood.”
What, exactly, was in the blood had yet to reveal itself. As you grew older and more alert to the realities of your life you believed he had been speaking about your occupation as monster hunters. Perhaps being the blade that sings in the night before ichor spills across the ground was what thrummed in your veins.
Although you believe differently now.
It was bad luck. Nothing but.
Dreads Hand was aptly named.
A husk frozen in time, the curiosity of every would be adventurer although it’s long been picked clean of anything of value. The wind whipped through the crags above your head, the trail leading towards the often whispered about ghost town like it was a reward after navigating treacherous and tight terrain.
Someones idea of a joke.
Even in it’s heyday the town had hardly been prosperous, only one twenty-stamp mill that had filled the canyon with the sound of rock crushers was the only thing of note in the otherwise one horse stop off. That sound used to be the sound of money being made, and only two things ever stopped it: holidays and tragedy.
That sound hadn’t echoed through this place in two hundred years, and it was assumed when a mule packer had found the entire town deserted one fateful day in Midwinter that tragedy had befallen them, though of what nature that tragedy was had yet to be accurately discovered.
Still, ever since then this place had long been whispered about. Perhaps those whispers gave it some sort of new life, perhaps not. It may very well be that some manner of beast had made its way into the derelict town, drawn in by the solitude of it, growing fat off the easy meals from snatching unsuspecting people from the town farther in the opposite direction on the trail but you were prepared to dispatch whatever run of the mill creature people in the neighboring town had complained was screaming its head off in the night.
Something nagged at the back of your mind as the hollowed out bones of the town came into view from the trail. There had never been a single body discovered in Dreads Hand or the surrounding area, which had been combed thoroughly on the off chance there had been some survivors that could explain what exactly had befallen them. Not even a hint of blood in the dirt.
It was as if one day everyone had gotten up from their tables and simply marched out into the setting sun, the wind erasing any evidence of footsteps in the sandy red soil and snow.
Another unique feature of the town was the perpetual night that fell once a year on the eve of the last day of Eleasis and lasted until the end of Nightal, it bewildered anyone well versed in magic and didn’t fit with the knowledge of environmental curses that even the best scholars had poured over. It was believed this had something to do with the long missing townspeople, but again at the time it was discovered there was no sign that anything was amiss. No blood, no bodies, no damage of any kind.
Just the wind whistling through homes and the small smattering of stores, and an inky darkness blanketing it all, like a babe tucked into bed.
As your feet kick up red dust you grimace, wishing for the first time that you hadn’t agreed to this.
The thought strikes you abrubtly, making you freeze.
You’d done all manner of hunts alone since your father had passed, why was this any different?
The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, sweat sliding down the column of your spine in a suddenly icy trail as the feeling of eyes boring into your back mounted the closer you came to Dread.
31st of Eleasis
Being alone is worse than the loneliness you felt growing up. Alwasy bouncing from place to place, only ever the two of you. At least it was the two of you.
But it’s different now. Now, you have to figure everything out on your own and it’s exhausting coupled with the constant injury and death. Sometimes you’re afraid if you start thinking too hard about this way of life you may just collapse on the spot, slumped in the dirt to cry and cry and cry. Weep until you dissolve and mix with the earth.
It all has to be for something. It’s in the blood.
You can only tell yourself that so many times before you start tasting bile on you tongue.
Luckily setting up in town wasn’t difficult, what with your pick of any number of decrepit, modest prairie homes to choose from. You had expected the feeling from the previous day to cling to you like a second skin, unease brewing hot in the pit of your stomach. Whether fortunate or not it hadn’t, but you also felt an odd sense of regret to not feel even a hint of disquiet inside a home that was possibly haunted by the dead and lost.
All you felt while settling in to prepare for the hunt was a strange melancholy. Never had you stayed in an actual home, not once in your life. The longest you had ever been in one place was during a particularly difficult hunt for a hag close to Neverwinter. That had been three months of careful stalking and planning, but even then you hadn’t stayed anywhere but in the forests closeby your target.
Doomed to a life of transience, of always existing in a state of maybe. Maybe you live, maybe you die. Maybe you’re successful, maybe you are not.
Sleep had been emphirical and unsatisfying, but you did your best to chalk your restlessness up to the nerves that always accompany a hunt.
This one was unique in that you truly had no idea what you were tracking, if anything.
It’s just as likely people simply heard the wind tearing at the sheer rock faces around them and assigned a boogeyman to the sound.
You shake your head as you finish readying your supplies for the day. Nothing too intensive at the start, a brief exploration of the abandoned buildings to see if theres any obvious clues: tracks, nesting behaviors, perhaps even the remnants of meals. What those meals may be you didn’t care to know in detail.
The old, once solid wood creaked underfoot as you strapped shortswords to your back, feeling relieved at the familiar weight of them. It was reassuring, going through the motions of an age old routine. It was easy to put aside the little pangs of grief as you stepped out past the rotting wood of the threshold.
Back in Edgewater, some twenty seven miles to the south, you had met with a scholar by the name of Hallowleaf who was inarguably the most knowledgeable about the accursed settlement. The last ten years she’d devoted her life to researching the place, everything from its founding to its eerie end.
She'd had some… interesting information for you before you had set off and as you walk down the now mostly rotted through plank sidewalk you're reminded of the conversation.
“It is curious, apparently the church at the far side of the town had fallen into disrepair sometime before the mass disappearance.” She said, pointing on a well worn map.
You scrutinized the marker denoting the old church before speaking.
“Was it abandoned by that point?”
“That's contested, officially yes after the local priest of Lethander passed it went into decline. But, there were some odd writings recovered during the search.”
Hastily, as if too excited to show you the copies, her hands fumbled in the bag set against the legs of the chair she sat in.
“There were some fragments referencing one of the horse hands and the church but since it's all piecemeal it's hard to make sense of. It could be that this person rode off to try and secure a new priest, but that feels unlikely given no one has ever come forward as being from Dreads Hand.”
“Maybe they died trying to?” You mused, still staring at the map and trying to commit the landmarks to memory.
Main Street ran for two hundred yards down the middle of the canyon, and you walked between the false faced buildings. Many had long since collapsed, but you stopped at a structure with five little balconies.
This must've been the brothel, and as your eyes lingered on the crumbled, jagged toothed facade you could almost hear the whistles from long gone men and women drifting down from the windows.
It was funny that this place had originally been named Hope, back when it was all of a handful of buildings and the mine was being constructed. The people who moved here really had felt that way, apparently enough to stay. And then to stay even after it took on the moniker of Dreads Hand.
The place was no stranger to unfortunate occurrences, sickness had swept through many times. The loss of their priest and subsequently the loss of any religious presence. The decline of the mine as less and less ore could be found inside the red rock.
Maybe everyone just had gotten utterly sick of the place.
Maybe hope had died first, before any of her believers.
Midway through town you stopped again at what was once the saloon. Apparently the bartender was quite notorious, having been recognized during that summer as a fugitive who'd fled from Elturel and dodged execution.
She still would've been executed, if not for the fact that the woman had been the sole proprietor of the only lively business in the whole town so instead she spent her days chained to the bartop. They'd been loath to part with her, but she disappeared with all the rest.
By midday you had yet to see any fruits of your labor, each broken down pile of wood and brick held precious little in general but resoundingly no signs of any activity. The only thing alive here seemed to be yourself, and with each passing moment the unease of your initial entry to Dread ebbed as the wild, harsh sun beat down. If anything it felt oddly relaxing to explore the place, and it was at least a tiny bit exciting to see all the places that had only been abstract map markers to you previously.
If nothing happened tonight you were considering starting the trip back to Edgewater tomorrow, although you’d be lying if you said the prospect of witnessing the permanent night set in over Dreads Hand didn’t make you a little nervous. The other reason you would stay at least until nightfall passed was to see if the darkness brought with it any kind of beast. You’d be remiss to not at least make sure that what the people to the south reported wasn’t tied to the curse, but it was looking more and more likely that this was a case of simple rumor running too freely with peoples tongues, crafting phantoms and terrifying themselves.
1st of Eleint
Its been known that people can create false memories, our minds are simply weak and suggestable. It looks more and more likely that the vast majority of reports of strange happenings here are similar in nature to false memories.
There is no evidence of anything, malignant or malicious, making a home here.
The darkness was bewildering in its unnatural presence. Although you knew it was morning there was no way to tell, it was black as pitch both inside and outside the half destroyed little cabin you’d taken shelter in. It was no wonder why this was referred to as some curse, only some sort of unnerving magic could create a bubble of false night that could last for four months.
That darkness provided good cover to make your way towards the old mercantile at the very least, that spot provided a decently unobstructed view of the surrounding area and would be your perch for most of the day, waiting as soundlessly as possible for any signs of fresh activity before heading off around midday.
As unique as this place was, you’d be glad to have it facing your back. Something about creeping around in a town that felt more like one giant mausoleum felt lecherous, even the presumed dead shouldn’t have their rest disturbed.
Before you could step towards the threshold your nerves lit up, freezing you in place as you became all too aware of your own breathing. The doorway seemed more akin to a yawning maw, the splintered wood like rotted teeth waiting with bated breath to see if it’s prey would walk willingly into its gullet.
You couldn’t be sure, given the dark and your own rising anxiety, but it seemed as though something were moving in the shadowy depths of the place.
You need to leave.
The thought brought with it panic that gripped you hot and tight, making your heart start hammering so hard inside your chest it was a wonder your ribs don’t crack from the force.
“Do you want a head start?”
A voice drawls from inside, nearly making you yelp but you remain rooted to the spot as you catch a brief flash of reflective red breaking through the haze.
“Who- who is that?” you ask shakily, hating how you feel more like a frightened child.
Some primal instinct recognized the danger as you remained frozen, and it didn’t help that when the voice next spoke it seemed to be bouncing all around you, omnipotent and completely disguising the speakers location.
“If you want to be caught just keep standing still."
The inappropriate singsong of it tore you out of the quicksand pit that held you fast and without conscious thought you tore off in the opposite direction, feet pounding against the hardened red dirt and nearly choking on your own spit as your breathing came in erratic, harsh bursts.
It didn’t really matter where you were going, it didn't matter if you were belong followed, all you could think was to get to the one building that was blessedly still intact: the church. The half collapsed spire was your only guidepost as your pulse thundered in your ears and the feeling of bile sliding up your throat became nearly too much to bear.
As you flung the solid oak door open, before you could give a ragged exhale of relief, the floor gave a hideous groan and suddenly the world was off kilter, sideways as you met the solid rock bottom of a basement with a sick thud.
Although you instinctively tried to fall in a somewhat upright position, the momentum instead dragged you into an awkward roll, your body curling in a last ditch effort to protect your head. For a tiny eternity there was no air, there was no thought in your head, there was no light save for the blinding internal radiance as the impact blazed white hot agony through your body and behind your eyelids. Gasping, writhing on the cold, hard floor, you blinked teary eyes, staring at the hole that had just eaten you with the detached thought that this was just a hideously cruel nightmare. It was unreal, and it was painful.
For a moment you wanted nothing more than to give into self pity, to despair, the thought of no way out quickly grew from a frantic whisper to a screeching cacophony in your head as you took in the sight before you. There were no doors down here, in what could only be assumed to have been a basement, and as a chill crept up your legs you looked down to realize the floor was covered in about five inches of stagnant, stinking water.
Standing, you held in a ferocious gag, holding your hand over your dust coated mouth.
Stealth was out the window now, the sloshing of the water would give away your every movement. You focused on your breathing as you try gathering your bearings, choke down the urge to give up and the urge to start sobbing as you debate how best to get out of the current predicament.
All you could do was hope you made the right choice, that walking forward blindly would lead to a set of stairs.
The fear never left you, growing tangible with every sloshing footfall, afraid to even blink on the off chance you would open your eyes to a face leering at you from the dark.
It was difficult to even consider theories about what has happening as you trudged through the water in the darkness.
The voice had been human enough, maybe the dark had simply messed with your head more than you thought initially and all you'd really done was made yourself look insane to another hunter or adventurer. Worse, maybe it was someone who thought playing jokes in this place was funny and in a moment someone would help you find your way out of here, laughing at your expense all the while.
After sloughing through the mildew thick air of the basement eventually you did manage to find stairs leading upwards, but the small victory was quickly soured by indecision. A fresh hallway of doors stretched before you, its length exaggerated by the psychological pressure and possibly from the effects of hitting solid stone like a sack of vegetables.
Your indecision acted as a paralytic, leaving you like a small prey animal hoping if it stays frozen the great beast close by wouldn’t catch it by the scruff.
After a moment you were able to push through the feeling, squeezing your eyes shut for just a moment before taking determined steps through the hall, ignoring the taunting doors as your momentum built.
If that person was present in the main chapel they would be lucky to find one of your shortswords buried in between their shoulder blades for all the trouble they’ve caused you.
Anger was better than fear, it was emboldening but it also made you sloppy, made you stop considering the environment or the present threat as a threat.
A mistake that would cost you.
The shattered stained glass windows weak light filtered through, what managed to not be stamped out by the unnatural darkness outside. The chapel was beautiful, somehow surviving against the weathering of time that ravaged every other building in Dreads Hand. As you scanned the isles your jaw clenched tight, hoping to spot the irresponsible lout.
“Most people just hide, you know. I have to commend you for making it back up here, that basement is truly nasty.”
Shaking you spun around in a circle, desperate to clap eyes on the speaker after all this time.
Framed by the faint illumination was a man that hadn’t been there only seconds before, and he didn’t shy away from your gaze. Slow, deliberate footsteps against the creaky planks filled the space, and he struck you as uncommonly graceful given he was dressed in the leathers of a ranch hand.
The closer he came the more the gaping pit inside your stomach grew.
His grin was easy, full of genuine joy seeing you covered in dust and half soaked in old, disgusting water. Those eyes you’d seen in the mercantile nearly took your breath away now seeing them in detail, a deep red the color or coagulated blood and you noticed the glint of slight points peeking from his smile.
“It’s a shame for you that you gave me a massive advantage. Being in that water meant I could hear you all the way up here, stomping around like an ox.” He said.
You couldn’t believe the truly, monumentally terrible luck you had.
The people in Edgewater were afraid of phantoms, but not the smoke and mirrors kind. The kind that beckoned from the dark, all waxy pale flesh and flashing teeth.
Hallowleafs words teased at your mind, the fragment about the horse hand. Was that the man standing in front of you now? If so he was significantly older than he appeared, though that was always common among vampires.
A vampire.
Is that what befell all the people who lived here? Had this man gone into a feeding frenzy? No, there would have been bodies.
A shiver quakes down your spine at a sobering realization: it's likely the people of Dreads Hand had never disappeared at all.
“Stay away from me.” You finally find your voice, and your nerve as you pull both shortswords from their holsters on your back.
He waves his hand flippantly. “Yes, yes, the hunter with her fearsome weapons. What a tease you are, filling the place up with the scent of you then denying the hungry wolf at the door.”
Your grip on the hilts tightened, your right foot sliding forward ever so slightly as you ready yourself to go on the offensive.
“Not going to run, hm? I think you’re the liveliest thing to pass through in ages.” His grin widened, and you were given a taste of just how outclassed you truly were.
You didn’t think of the mirthful smile he wore, the much too excited tenor of his voice. All you could think of was keeping his mouth away from your flesh as he knocked you off balance, movements much faster than your eyes could track and blood trickled into your mouth as your back hit the floor with a choked groan.
But there was no time for your pain. If you could not get out of this situation you would die, that was simple fact.
It was too bad the victor had already been decided the moment you set foot here, and as your weapons were knocked from your proximity to skitter across the floor you heard your fathers voice once more.
“It’s in the blood.”
Rotten, horrendous luck.
What shocked you the most was not the weight of him as he pinned you to the floor, not the icy chill of his skin on yours. It was the kiss he placed against the side of your sweaty neck, making your muscles go so rigid your back lifted from the floor ever so slightly.
A wholly pathetic sob bubbled in your chest but given your current position there was no room for pride. In an instant you were reduced to nothing but a crying child, a child crushed by overwhelming loneliness and naked fear.
“There’s no need for tears, come on now.” You could hear the sweetness in his voice and it was such a sharp contrast with the overall situation that it made dizziness swell and pound in your head.
You didn’t respond, not even as you felt his tongue slide over the skin covering your jugular. All you could do was remain locked in on the stained glass window. The visage of the morning lord totally indifferent to your suffering.
The touch of his lips on your neck was shockingly cold, you wouldn’t have believed it was a mouth until you felt the needle-like puncture of fangs and the secure grip of his molars. That made you jump, squealing, but he held you in place which was a good thing because jostling knife sharp fangs leads to wider rips in the skin. The pain sharply worked down through the rest of your body, the unnatural intrusion of something beneath the skin sending you right back into high alert. And when his lips closed around the created wound to suck it was as if he also sucked all the air from your lungs.
A little whimper left your mouth, almost confused because even with the unambiguous pain of being bitten, there was something more. The wet release that followed the bite bloomed out from the point where his fangs pierced your neck in a numbing wave.
You stilled, rational thought kicking in and forcing you to not slam your hands into his chest, dislodging him could potentially rip a much more fatal wound in your neck.
As lightheadedness crept in on you, you wondered if every victim of a bite felt the same euphoria that was seeping through the layers of your muscles and bones now. Maybe that was part of it, something like venom that could relax someone and keep a feeding mess free.
Or maybe it was a small act of mercy afforded to the victim, a few final moments not full of pain and insanity.
Fading took no effort at all, and you gave no resistance as the world slid away.
You woke to sickness clawing its way up your throat, churning violently in your stomach as your various aches returned to you full force. The ache in your limbs and the throbbing sharp pain in your neck were particularly horrific. Nothing made sense, coming back to you in bits and pieces.
You were sure he’d killed you, had felt it. Terror at the unfamiliar was worse than the terror of knowing your life would end. The confusion made for an even cloudier disposition as you tore the threadbare sheet from your body and made a clumsy attempt at getting up out of the rotting pew you had been placed in.
Very quickly it was obvious that your injuries were worse than you thought, adrenaline had blocked the brunt of the awareness of them and you nearly went tumbling headfirst into the floor once again.
“Easy,” he said, moving to catch you before the wood could kiss your jaw.
His grip reignited a fresh round of fear as you thrashed against him, desperate to push him away.
“You- you’re,” the words were like thick paste in your mouth, as if someone stuffed cotton between your teeth. You decided perhaps you were concussed.
“I normally go by Astarion.” That smile was back, and it made something else ache inside you.
When has anyone looked at you in such a…happy way?
Quickly you bristled. “What are you doing to me?”
He raised his hands up before speaking. “Whatever happened to you during that fall had nothing to do with me, you know. Although I’d guess whatever blow to the head you took isn’t doing you any favors.”
“If someone hadn’t decided to play tricks on me maybe I wouldn’t have run head first into a collapsing church.” You spit back at him, Astarion, as your eyes roam his face.
He was handsome you realized, it had been obscured before by all the heightened emotion and pain. Even if he was a vampire, his eyes were like old rubies and his hair fell in beautiful short curls that framed his ears just enough to be called artful. It was particularly cruel, how he seemed perfectly crafted to put those thoughts in your head and then tear at your flesh in the same second.
“I have to be dead. This is some death hallucination.” You weren’t speaking to him specifically but he answered all the same.
“Would it make you feel better if I agreed?”
You shot him a petulant glare as you curled in on yourself a bit, on the part of the pew farthest from him.
“What are you playing at? You’re a vampire, you kill things. I should be dead.”
“I’ve never been in the presence of such a knowledgeable slayer, do you have any more snippets of wisdom?”
Your expression soured further, incredulous that he was poking fun at you in all this. Ignoring him your eyes drifted to the room around you two, and part of you sagged in relief to see your supply packs had been slung on the floor.
He followed your line of sight, spotting what had caught your attention.
“You’re welcome for lugging all that down here. I hope you don’t mind that I took a peek at your journal for the trouble. Plus I needed to occupy myself while you snored.”
Your first instinct was to vehemently deny snoring, which struck you as so absurd you could almost laugh if not for the cut of knowing a stranger, a monster, had been nosing through your innermost thoughts.
He stood then, grabbing the tattered book from its pocket before tossing it to you with mirth dancing in his eyes,
“Also, it’s slightly disappointing that no one has figured out the obvious out there yet. It’s a good thing you decided to come here, but a little stupid as well. What sort of monster hunter just walks right into the den?” he barked out a quick laugh, making you cringe as tears pricked in the corners of your eyes.
Bastard. It’s not enough to bite you, leave you a mass of tender bruises and torn flesh, but he has to insult you on top of it.
Not for the first time you cursed your woeful luck, wished you hadn’t had to do any of this alone. Nothing would’ve gone so wrong if your father were still around.
“Come on now, there’s no need to cry.” he sat back down along the edge of the pew as you eyed him warily. “I know you’re afraid but really, I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not anymore but that honestly was your own fault.”
“I want to leave.” You blurt out, feeling your hands start to shake from the effort of holding in your tears, holding on to the shred of pride you had left. The words made you feel once more like a little child, demanding to go home.
“Well, that’s not going to happen, sorry.” He said, not as a threat but as casually as if you were chatting about the weather. He was just telling you what was, an irrefutable fact.
You decide to bluff. “Someone will come for me.”
“According to that journal you’re all alone out here, and I think it would be highly unusual for someone to lie to themselves in one of those.” He pointed at the book where it landed on the bed. “Besides, you’re far too interesting and delicious to just let go.”
Your breathing was starting to go from just unsteady to too fast and ragged as he kept speaking. Being called delicious, reducing you to a meal, it all was too much. You began spiraling about the possibility that you were doomed to be a vampires personal replenishing snack until the day he let you die.
“You’re insane.” You whisper, hand coming up to cover the now scabbed puncture wounds, wincing as even the slight pressure made them start throbbing with renewed vigor.
“Maybe a little, but look at it my way. Stuck here for over a century with nothing but my mysterious and tragic past, wandering and picking off unfortunate travelers. We’re... alike, you know.”
His words were far away as your mind clung to that last sentence. We’re alike.
“How could that be? What about the other people that were here?” Your brows furrowed, assuming already he was lying to you.
He sighed, looking away. “Well, you can only keep about two hundred vampires rooted in one place for so long before we all get a little strange. It didn’t help the Lord died, what were we to do? Most killed each other or tried to take off but charred after leaving.”
Thats why there’d never been a body, and it wasn’t a priest that died. Or maybe he’d been one once, but the picture was forming crystal clear in your mind.
Dreads Hand had been a haven of vampires possibly from its inception, and perhaps the semi permanent night had been a final gift of protection from their Lord.
“I am sorry about your father by the way.”
You stiffened. “Stop.”
The anger you could muster was a weak thing, fleeting as the last rays of sunlight before dark, eroded by the seed he’d planted of your similarity. Compassion and sameness through loss.
Silence hung so heavily in the air you figured you could slice it with one of your swords if you had them. Picking at the skin around your nails you tried coming to terms with all this new information crowding you.
Maybe he was right. What was waiting for you back out there, anywhere? A continuation of this life of solitude so crushing it felt like Tyrs own hand pressing down against your chest?
“I told you, I don’t want to hurt you. Really I just… may have been overeager in my effort to speak with you.” That made you snort, half in agreement.
The way you tossed your head to the side dismissively was a mistake, a hissing inhale sucked through your teeth feeling the delicate scabs from his fangs rip open. Clapping your hand over the wound once again you can't help the surprised noise that escapes you upon seeing your own blood smeared across your palm when you pull it back, and it's not lost on you the way his eyes zero in on the scarlet mess immediately.
Time seems to stand still as you watch him, every miniscule detail of how his pupils dilated so heavily there was only a thin ruby ring framing them, how his tongue ran across his teeth and his breathing pattern became ever so slightly erratic.
A part of you felt truly sad for him then, shackled to this base instinct to feed and from everything you know about their kind the hunger is ever present, it's own constant torture. How miserable it must have been being stuck in a place with precious little sustenance, and even fewer ways to anchor oneself to sanity.
Hesitantly you stretched out your hand, as one might with a handful of food for an apprehensive animal. All at once the attitude of the space shifted along with something inside your chest.
Your breath caught in your throat at the first touch of his tongue against your palm, an experimental stripe he licked across the center before sucking on your index in a way that made you avert your eyes. The action was lewd enough, but the sounds coming from deep within his throat were absolutely obscene, gravelly groans vibrating against your hand as he moved from one finger to the next.
It was mesmerizing, and embarrassingly it made you feel dampness growing between your legs.
His movements were animalistic as his lips moved from your hand up your wrist, lavishing your skin in a trail of sloppy kisses but the chill his spit left behind wasn't wholly unpleasant.
It shocked you even more when he pulled away to speak.
“It may not be wise to, but if you're able-”
“Yes.” The word came from your lips before you could stop it, feeling overwhelmed by the bizarre passion his movements displayed and the way his voice had become so small as he asked.
What was more shocking was that he asked, nobody had ever asked after your comfort a day in your life.
He pulled you closer against himself, supporting the back of your head with one hand as the other supported his weight behind your back, and you shook in his grasp feeling his spit mingling with the blood coagulated against the side of your neck and down your shirt collar.
He was inhumanly cold but the leather and fabric covering him compensated for it, all well worn softness as your hands used his frame to steady yourself in anticipation of a fresh wave of pain.
You yelped as he moved you to straddle his lap, nearly choking as you felt his erection through the leather and your hips moved on their own, lightly grinding down before he stopped you, hands gripping your hips firmly.
“I wouldn't blame you if that's not something you wanted, we did only just meet after all.” His voice was gentle, like a balm to the cracks that had been forming inside you for longer than you cared to admit.
“Is it something you want?” You ask breathlessly, lips moving against his cheek as he kept his face close to the weeping wound at your neck.
Your hand finds the hair at the base of his neck, fingers toying with the soft white curls and pulling a small shiver from up his spine.
“Adrenaline sours blood, but pleasure gives it a much better profile…” he spoke absentmindedly in between licking at your skin.
You could feel his hand spider crawling against the waistband of your pants, making you groan softly against the side of his head, fingers tightening ever so slightly into his hair. That only seemed to urge him on, one hand undoing the garment just enough to slip his hand in to press against your clit through the fabric of your underwear.
You whimper, thighs pressing close together around his hand and forcing it to grind against you with more force which made your hips jerk like you were struck with electricity.
It felt like you were on fire, boiling from the inside out as you rutted against his hand, whimpering in open mouthed exhales against his hair. Each of your movements were sloppy and frantic as you raised yourself up slightly, desperate to be rid of the restrictive garments and your hands pawed at the leathers around his hips.
In a fumbling blur you were back on his lap, naked from the waist down and soon pulling his straining erection from its confines. You run your tongue across your teeth as your hand pumps him up and down, smearing precum with your thumb and relishing in the cracked moans that fall from his lips. His tip was so flushed, a pretty throbbing pink that made your body ache to feel him inside of yourself.
And he was quick to catch the edge of your need, digging his fingers into your hips in encouragement for you to rise slightly, just enough to slide his head through the mess of arousal before lining up. The stretch around him was bliss, a feeling of fullness that made your mouth drop open as you let out a low keen.
As you sunk down fully, ass meeting the tops of his thighs his fingers were quick to make deft little circles against your clit and pulling more of those little sounds from you as a seamstress pulls spools of thread. Through your half open eyes you could see the grin crossing his features and it made adoration fizz in your chest.
But as your hips began moving his grip became firm, halting you and holding you in place, full of throbbing desire as his lips caught yours in a searing kiss only parting from you with the slightest of bites to your bottom lip.
Before you could pout his lips were moving from your jaw down your throat, making you tip your head back slightly to give him better access.
"Is this a condition of release?" You rasp, fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck again.
You could feel the vibration from his voice as he spoke against your flesh, "Every second you're squirming only makes you sweeter."
You bite your own lip at that, trying to hold in a groan feeling his fingers moving at a snails pace in circles around your clit anew, keeping your body on edge but providing no relief.
Cruel.
There is no opening for complaint though, not as his tongue swiped thick, wet stripes against your skin before you feel the pinprick that lead to a sharp bloom of pain. It took your breath away, helpless in his grasp and filled to the brim with him. It's all you could do to control the wild urges to buck your hips as he sucked against the fresh wound, coaxing you towards lightheadedness with every mouthful of your lifeblood.
After an agonizing wait he guided your twitching hips into movement, jerky at first since your body was simply craving orgasm but soon enough you fall into a rhythm and the soft sounds of leather creasing mingle with the wet squelches of your cunt clamping around him with every rise and fall of your hips.
Every sensation goes to your head in a rush, like a tirade of bubbles furiously rising to disturb a placid surface of water but before you could come undone he stops you, slows the frantic motion of your hips until you're a teary eyed mess, a puddle held precariously in his hands.
Reflected in his eyes you can just barely make yourself out: your own eyes blown wide and glossy, twin puncture wounds you're sure are set against deep reds and purples.
Has anyone ever even desired to touch you before?
The answer is no, and there's no room for rational thought when the man whose lap you're sat on and whose cock sits heavy inside you has made you feel more seen than you've felt in a lifetime. It feels like rapture, ecstasy, and the longer you linger in his gaze the deeper you fall.
Your eyes roll back as he latches onto the fresh wound once more, widening it ever so slightly with the points of his incisors to reignite the flow of blood. You flutter and pulse around him as he drinks from you yet again, the world taking on a dreamlike quality.
As you glance up you see the shattered, half shaped visage of the morning lord once more.
It doesn't matter if his eyes nor anyone elses can reach you here.
This man, Astarion, gives you something more that you feel a sudden zealous need to protect, curl yourself around it and give yourself over when it calls.
As you lose track of yourself, time, and the space around you with every pass of his fingers against your sticky clit you aren't sure why you had been so resistant to the idea of staying.
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Roronoa Zoro x Reader - None of These Girls Are Me
Status: Unknown - may be continued but works as a standalone Summary: Reader is completely oblivious to Zoro's feelings Warning: 18+, Language
Roronoa Zoro couldn’t help but roll his eyes – that in combination with his clenched jaw and tightly crossed his arms would show anyone even remotely paying attention that he was not having a Good Time. As it happened, no one was paying attention so he was able to sulk unnoticed. Well, not exactly sulking...just keeping an eye out. Or rather, an eye on you. Despite the crowded bar and your inability to stay still for one damn second, the swordsman’s gaze had been focused on you since you had left the table – apparently to get another second. That was ten minutes and three drunken flirtations ago.
His jaw tightened at the sight of you giggling, fucking giggling, at the man talking to you. He wasn’t even that good looking, slightly under average at best – and that was Zoro being generous. At least it was obvious your laughter was faked out of politeness. You just didn’t giggle. Usually there was a cocked eyebrow and an amused smirk. When something made you laugh it was wholeheartedly, eyes shining and dimples prominent. Zoro took a swig of his beer. Any moment now you would let him down gently.
A few minutes later, Zoro was still staring. This was…unexpected. Maybe the guy was being a creep – his hand was on your arm after all. He should go over, make sure everything was alright. You were part of the crew. It was his duty as first mate and swordsman to protect you. He downed his drink and was about to stand up, hand resting on sword hilt when you started making your way back to the table. Alone. His eyes narrowed at your expression. You didn’t look like you’d just had a narrow miss with a creep at a bar. You looked...disappointed? An unfamiliar feeling washed over him – one he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t sure he liked.
He tried to relax a little as you flopped unceremoniously next to him. His grip was still on his sword as though it was some sort of comfort blanket. “Who was your friend?”
“Oh him?” You let out a frustrated sigh. “Apparently he was to be up at, like, dawn.”
“That...sucks.”
“I know.” You took a sip of your drink. Zoro couldn’t help but notice it left your lips a little wet. “Why even bother flirting with me?”
Zoro could think of all manner of answers to that question but kept his silence.
You continued, clearly completely unaware of the internal struggle coursing through your drinking partner. “Well that’s my night ruined, anyway. What about you?” You leant closer and looked out at the crowd in front of you. “Anyone take your fancy? At least one of us should get laid, and I’m an excellent wingman.”
A pained look flashed across his features. You were too busy scanning the room for any potential single women. “I’m not really into the one night thing.”
“Well that’s no fun.” Seeing his look of irritation you flung an arm around him, “I’m joking. Besides, I know your problem.”
He cocked an eyebrow and shifted out of your embrace. It was hard enough having this conversation without you slung all over him – even if that did mean fighting against every muscle not to sink further into you. “What’s that?”
A flashed a devilish smile at him, one that made his heart jump. “Well, none of these girls are me.”
Beer shot through his nose. If he wasn’t so desperately trying to recover, he would noticed your laugh, and your dimples fully on display. Instead he just stared dumb struck as you wiped his face with a napkin.
Seemingly satisfied with your work you discarded the crumbled napkin on the table and picked up your drink. “I didn’t think the thought of a night with me would be quite so distressing,” you teased, still half between laughter and biting your lip to try to compose yourself.
Zoro was staring. Pointedly.
“What?” A small blush crept across your face. “Do I have something on my face?”
Fuck he wanted to kiss you. Or at least say something, anything to break the rising tension. He cleared his throat, vying for time. “No, I … I just haven’t thought about you. Like that.” He stared at the table, hoping that if he stopped looking at you his obvious lie would go unnoticed.
It was hot. He was hot. Like his skin was burning, like he was going to combust from the scrutiny of your eyes boring into him. How could you be looking at him so intently as if you could see his soul and still be so completely oblivious to the plain and simple fact that he was burning because of you, burning for you? Surely you knew, surely everyone knew.
And yet you continued to tease him and flirt with everyone else and never give him a second thought. God, be cold with him, be callous, hate him, find his ever growing feelings pathetic and demeaning. Do anything but be so fucking oblivious. But to regard him as a friend. To sit here in disappointment because some drunken stranger couldn’t give you one night of attention when Zoro was all too eager to rip out his heart and offer it to you. That was beyond cruel.
The sound of an amused hum brought his attention crashing back – because of course the smallest of noises from you demanded all of his attention.
You had your elbow propped on the table, chin resting in your hand, drink in the other and a smile on your face. He wanted to kiss you again.
“You, Roronoa Zoro,” you waved your drink at him to accentuate the point, “Are far too serious for your own good.”
A small, sad smile formed on his lips. The opportunity to say anything once again lost. “I’m serious about getting another drink.”
You grinned mischievously, “And some shots.”
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soul-wanderer · 2 years
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“When a firefighter dies, the toll of the bell represents their last alarm. Once the bell rings, it can't be un-rung. There's no more denying it. The end is here. The bell rings to say the shift is over. The bell rings to say goodbye. The bell rings to say it's time to go home”
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born-to-lose · 6 months
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Yes I'll keep posting fit pics of each of my shifts at the bar
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elexaria · 2 months
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dating simon riley wasn’t always easy. “i’m a bloody nutcase, eh?” he’d joke when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, taking deep breaths as his calloused thumb rasps against the soft cotton bedsheets, grounding him back to reality. “puts all my efforts to shame when i wake up like this. fuck’s sake.”
therapy is mandatory, especially given his role as lieutenant. the traumas of childhood, the torture. he thinks he’s good at dealing with his problems, thinks therapy is a waste of time. “what, it’s just a bloke sat there starin’ at me? hell, get me a piece of paper with some made up degree on it and even i could be a therapist.” he grumbles after you point out that, in fact, he’s not as good as coping with his trauma as he thinks he is.
“you need to actually give this a go, si. it’s..” you pause, biting the inside of your lip as you make breakfast. his hair is disheveled, wry strands of grey sticking up against the grain. his dark circles only exemplify just how tired he is, especially when he has his night terrors. you shake your head, sighing as you crack another egg into the frying pan. “how can i expect you to stay safe out there when you’re barely able to look after yourself when you’re home?” you sigh out as he grunts, taking a seat at the small dining table, his eyes skimming through the morning paper.
god, he’s such a stubborn bastard. it takes months to get him to at least consider finding a new therapist, to get him to actually care about his mental health. christ, if he can’t do it for himself, can’t he at least try for your sake?
and then, it’s like he has a lightbulb moment. you come home after a long day at work, only to find him sat at the dining table, writing scruffy notes in a ring bound notebook. “mission notes?” you ask curiously, keeping your eye on him as you make yourself a cup of tea. he grunts, shaking his head as he continues to write.
“it’s a diary. supposed to help with your mental health or summet.” he replies, settling his pen down to meet your gaze. you must have had a look of confusion on your face, and it makes the corners of his lips twitch up into a half-smile. “yeah, i know. a bloke like me with a diary, like i’m a bloody teenage girl.” he quips, now grinning as his fingers toy with the corners of the notebook. “writin’ about all the boys i fancy on the field.” he shoots a wink, before continuing to write some more in his notebook.
it’s actually surprising, a smile on your lips as you watch him in his own little world, actually making an effort in his mental health recovery. you come over, settling a warm cup of tea by him before pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, still smiling as you make your way upstairs to give him some privacy. he comes upstairs after half an hour, chucking the diary into his bedside table drawer before sprawling out onto the bed obnoxiously with a deafening groan. you whine and complain when he purposely stretches on you, gently crushing you with his bolder-esque shoulders with a massive grin on his face.
there were still bad days, though. days where he’d hide himself in the garage to work on some of his projects. but you’re both trying, he feels his heart break when you gently knock on the door, holding a plate of snacks and a cup of tea for him, and fuck, it makes his bad day slightly better.
that evening, he curls up besides you silently on the couch, his journal and pen in hand as he clears his throat. you curiously peer down as he begins to flick through the pages of chicken scratch, gently tapping the page as he looks up at you. he clears his throat, and begins to read out the sweetest paragraph, one that makes your eyes well up with tears.
“no idea where i would be without you, love. you make the darkest days of my life brighter than ever. you make life worth it.” he ends his speech , the timbre of his voice cracking with emotion as he looks at you. and right there, you know that through all the trials and tribulations you two will go through, you’re the love of simon riley’s life and he would never let you forget that.
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ceilidho · 1 month
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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 2; ghoap x reader) part 1
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The hard part is admitting to himself that he doesn’t know how to function on leave without Ghost’s voice in his ear.
Johnny’s two days into his annual leave when that stray thought crosses his brain. Out with chums even, packed into the booth of an old pub in his hometown, the leather well-worn and a match on the telly that he half watches while one of his mates goes up to the bar to order another round for them. In between his third and fourth pint of lukewarm mild, he thinks something like, wonder what Simon’s up to.
The thought comes and then keeps coming. Keeps cropping up when he least expects. At the pub (wonder what Simon’s up to), in line at the grocery store (wonder how Ghost takes his steak), drowsily puttering around the kitchen while making breakfast (no way he wears the mask at home), listening to some guy in front of him hack up a lung at the dry cleaner (Lt’d do his fuckin’ head in if he was here), and even in the shower with his head tipped back, rinsing out the suds (wonder if he’s got a girl tucked away at home). 
Is it so unusual? Johnny can’t remember a time in his life when someone lived in his head night and day, but Ghost’s presence feels like an extension of his own these days. He’s cycled through girlfriends without a care in the world, without contemplating their existence for half as long, but they never cradled his life like a small bird in the palm of their hands and returned it safe and sound, did they?
Still, he feels it like a knot in his chest. Dreams about Ghost even; wakes up hot and hard, and scrubs his hand down the side of his face when he sits up in bed. Phantom memories of a body heavier than his weighing him down (just the duvet) and a thick hand curling around his dick (his own hand wrapped around his shaft, rubbing one out in his sleep). 
He shakes it off, but it follows him out into the real world. Looking at the door of a coffee shop and thinking absentmindedly, Ghost would have to duck under that. 
Johnny puts it out of his mind. As much as he’s able to, that is. Chalks it up to some kind of hero worship. He’s worked with superior officers before—plenty of times, hundreds of times—but there are few men of Ghost’s calibre, both in skillset and mystique. Not to mention the sheer size of the guy. And what is Johnny if not a moth to a flame?
Better not to ruminate. He casts the memory of seeing Ghost’s dick in the showers after their last mission (monstrous thing, uncut, pubes darker than the hair on his head, more than a mouthful—it’d give him lockjaw) out of his head. Doesn’t think about it. Laughs at a mate’s joke at the pub when he didn’t catch a word of it to mask the way he perked up at the sight of a wide-shoulder man until he turned around, giving Johnny a proper look at his face.
He’s not ready to think about it. Might never be able to really look at why he eats it up, why he struts around with his chin cocked just a bit higher than usual because he knows everyone else is watching him with equal parts envy and curiosity for being Ghost’s favourite. 
Then, one day, he meets a girl.
Johnny’s not winning an award any time soon for world’s best son, but he knows a thing or two. The first thing being chocolates and the second being flowers. His sisters handle the rest; they fuss about the party, get a gift certificate to the spa, send out the invites—all that fun stuff. He’s sent off for the bare essentials. Practically kicked out of the house by his oldest sister—nearly brains himself on the asphalt and tugs his windbreaker on when it’s thrown out the door after him a second later, grumbling about being the errand boy.
He picks up a box of chocolates from the corner shop (not fancy enough, his sisters will probably bitch, but that’s a problem for later) before heading down the road to the florist. There’s a bench out front stacked with tin flower vases, the only spot of colour on a dreary spring morning. He spends a couple minutes chatting with the cashier and flirting a bit halfheartedly (he thinks maybe it’ll be worth it if it gets him a discount, even five percent off) until the florist comes out from the back. 
“Jesus, who gave ye the right?” Johnny breathes, horse blinders on, vision narrowing on the object of desire coming out of the back in a linen apron and simple t-shirt underneath, scissors poking out of the front pocket. 
“The right?” she repeats back, blinking.
“To leave the house lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. Glad I wasn’t driving when I passed you by—woulda been in a twenty car pile up.”
She’s not impressed in the slightest. It’s thrilling. By that point, the cashier is long forgotten. Probably not the best impression he’s ever made, but he’s made worse ones. It’s not every day he comes across an angel. Hard to be polite in front of a real life miracle. 
He wears her down over the week though, showing up each day for a new bouquet. His mam’s never liked him more, so at least there’s that. His sisters side-eye him whenever he ducks out of the house to head down the road to the florist’s, but even they know better than to bring it up and risk pissing off their mam. He interrogates her about flowers and her job, makes his presence unavoidable, a week long siege that ends with Johnny taking her out to dinner and then letting her take him to bed. 
He wakes up nestled in her cozy apartment above the flower shop, stretching out and making himself right at home. When she trades in her linen apron for a terry cloth robe and stands expectantly by the door, Johnny just grins. Shows all of his teeth. 
“Are ye just gonna use me and kick me out?” he pouts. Folds his hands behind his head and digs a foot into the sheets, trying to sink into the mattress. Little king in his castle. 
“You know, you don’t have to pussyfoot around with me. Weren’t you just trying to get laid?” she asks, brow arched. The disbelief thick in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of him. 
“No’ just some playboy, hen,” he scoffs. “I have feelings too.”
Her other eyebrow lifts. He’s tickled pink.
He plays the part well, he supposes. Lounges in bed and eats grapes all morning while she stares at him from the kitchen like he might dissipate at any moment. He’s used to leaving a false impression, like a lake that someone builds their house next to until years go by and someone says I think this was once a meteor. 
When she comes back to bed around mid morning, Johnny wastes no time pulling her up onto the bed until she plants her cunt over his mouth and sinks down onto his waiting tongue. 
Candy sweet pussy, he thinks blissfully, then says it out loud because he can never keep his mouth shut. It must tickle because she yelps and nearly pulls away from his face altogether, but he wrenches her back down, fingers digging into her ass cheeks a bit too forcefully. He’ll pay for that later. 
In the aftermath, when she collapses beside him in bed and rests her head on his chest while he plays with her hair, he itches in his skin to message Ghost. It perplexes him. They never text, he and Ghost; they don’t call, they don’t write, they don’t email. For all intents and purposes, their relationship ends at the perimeter around base, dissolves to nothing. It’s not Ghost’s fault he trickles into Johnny’s dreams sometimes. 
A week goes by. Calm the mind. He thinks of Ghost and his fingers tremble and the phone stays silent and he lets the thought go. Steady. Breathe in and out. His caryatid girl slips in and out of his sheets, hesitant always like he might leave. Johnny doesn’t know if she wants him to, wants to feel vindicated in her assumption, but of all her wants, that ranks the lowest in his mind. 
He spirals deeper into it, infatuated. She’s sweet but snippy, candy sweet with a sour kick—everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. Ever unimpressed, watching him with a small, hidden smile, amused despite herself. 
Johnny wonders if this is the universe waving its hand in front of his face. Yoohoo, missing something?
He looks pointedly away. 
It’s new, but maybe he’s like every other military man in the world, unable to go with the flow, dissatisfied with seeing where things go. He needs instant gratification, everything now-now-now, the certainty of commitment—he spills blood with everyone he knows, so why would his girl be any different?
Returning back to base is harder this time around. The last day of his leave is an exercise in restraint, tempered only by her smile when he sees her off at the door to her apartment, reluctant to leave. 
“C’mon, promise me you’ll call, hen,” Johnny mumbles into her mouth, catching her answer with a languid swipe of his tongue. His arms press her tight to his chest, digging his hands into her back pockets and giving a good squeeze, relishing in the way she squeaks. “How’m I gonna survive without ye, huh? They’re gonna have to jumpstart my heart after it gives out from missing ye so bad.”
“So dramatic. You have my number,” she says when he finally pulls back enough to let her speak.
“No, please, baby, please—promise me—”
“Oh my god, alright, fine—I’ll call. Now get going already.”
The drive back to base leaves him feeling bedraggled, lost. When he gets in, it’s straight to the barracks, an hour long nap before reporting to Price, dragging his feet the whole way over. Moping, for lack of a better word, until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone that stops him with a single hand on his shoulder. 
When he looks up to eyes rimmed in black paint, the world lightens. His shoulders lift. 
“Wipe that smirk off your face, Johnny.”
It takes Johnny awhile to bring her up with Ghost. Something keeps holding him back, choking him when he tries to say it outloud. He blames it on uncertainty (had to be sure she was the one, Lt, ye ken?) but he feels the truth at the core of him. When he does finally muster up the nerve to pass his phone to Ghost where her photo is front and centre, no mistaking his intentions, he waits on tenterhooks for a reaction. 
Only breathes out when Ghost asks to meet her. He can do that. 
“Aye, Lt. Just for you.”
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vixstarria · 3 months
Text
Missionary with the lights off
We're back in Act 1 again! I swear I'll start moving forward now that I'm playing the game again, after this.
Astarion x Tav, Astarion x F!Reader
18+, blood drinking, fluff to smut, porn with plot, PIV
Pst, don't let the title mislead you too much
Approx. 1,800 words
You woke up in Astarion's tent.  
Last night had been… unusual. Something you said had soured the mood for anything sexual. Instead you stayed up talking late into the night. You hadn't even taken your clothes off.  
You'd never spent the whole night together before, always opting to make your way back to your respective tents eventually, after your nocturnal activities, but then again you’d spent those previous nights opening your legs more so than your heart. Something had now shifted a little.  
The last thing you remembered was drifting off with your face nuzzled into his neck as he draped an arm over you, having hugged him on a whim and finding yourself not wanting to let go. What you saw now was completely contrary to that memory, as you found yourself lying on your side, with Astarion's head pressed against your chest, right over your heart, both arms holding you close. He must have moved himself while you were asleep. 
He looked perfectly at peace. It was actually adorable, seeing the prickly rogue like this.  
You reached out to softly run your hand over his disarrayed curls, when he also stirred. 
“Hello, darling,” you purred, copying his habitual greeting for you. 
Astarion was startled, suddenly jolting up. He seemed momentarily disoriented, taking in you and his surroundings for a few moments before comprehension returned to his eyes.  
“Are you alright..?” you asked. “I know it's first thing in the morning, but surely I don't look that disturbing.” 
“Yes, sorry… I just… I can’t remember the last time I woke up next to someone,” he said finally. 
“The night at the clearing..?” you offered. 
“I didn’t sleep that night,” he admitted. “And now there's a woman in my tent and I don't know what to do. ...Ahah..! Refresh my memory, what is the protocol? Do I need to make you breakfast?” he joked. 
“I’m sure Gale’s already working on that,” you grinned. 
Astarion laid back down next to you, propped up on an elbow. He gave you an odd half-smile with a slight frown, his eyes narrowed. Not unkindly, but rather a bit… awkwardly. You wondered what he was thinking. 
You ignored the odd look, and instead your eyes wandered up to survey his bedhead. No trace of pomade was left in his hair, instead some of it was standing on end, while other, longer strands started to fall over his eyes as he leaned on his hand, watching you.  
“What is going on here..?” you laughed, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. He leaned into your hand as you ran your fingers through his hair, shutting his eyes, his lips widening into a genuine smile. He reminded you of a cat that was enjoying a head scratch.  
“I don't have the slightest idea, darling,” he drawled. “But I guess you have to die after all, now that you've seen it.” 
“You are a horrible flirt, you know, and I don't mean that in a good way." 
“It works on you, doesn't it?” he shrugged, grinning and leaning in for a kiss.  
“Hmm, but returning to breakfast,” you said, breaking the kiss as his lips slowly made their way down to your neck. “What about you? Fancy a nibble?” 
“If it's on offer…” Astarion purred, continuing his way down. He knew your body entirely too well at this point. His lips lingered on the exact spot that made your breath shudder, sending a wave of shivers all through you. “Where..?” 
“Right there,” you breathed.  
“Oh? You want me to leave my mark on you, right where everyone can see..?” he murmured, continuing to kiss your neck. You usually offered him your wrist.  
“It’s not like they don’t already know what we’ve been doing, so sure, mark me...” you replied. “Mark me as yours,” you added in a hoarse whisper.  
Once the words were out you wondered if it was too much, but Astarion clearly liked the idea. He liked it a lot, judging by the soft growl he let out, as he continued to trail his lips along your neck, searching for just the right spot. You knew he'd found it, you remembered where he's bitten you before, but instead of going in for a bite he toyed with you, leaving slow, deliberate licks, until you released a small moan, and only then sank his fangs in you, lightly grinding his hips into yours as he did.  
Something about a vampire's bite made it quite unlike anything else. It started off as a sharp, icy chill, gradually spreading and melting into something that stung the way an itch strings right before you scratch it, multiplied tenfold. The only way to relieve that stinging sensation was to give into it, more and more. The area bitten remained tender and sensitive in the most erogenous way for a long time after the bite itself. The whole experience was inherently erotic, no matter where the bite was. 
You understood why this was fetishised. You also understood how people happily allowed themselves to be bled dry.  
Astarion continued to grind against you, slowly, his erection evident. This was nothing new and didn't necessarily mean anything - you’ve joked before that any blood he drank went straight to his dick before going anywhere else – which is why you usually did this privately, even when he drank from your wrist.  
However, this time, you really didn't want it to just be casual. You didn't think he did either, the way he was breathing. One of your hands was caught in his hair at the back of his head, the other trailed down to his hips, squeezing, as he grinded into you harder, making you crave more.  
And then it was over and you felt a profound sense of disappointment and loss, as Astarion gave your neck a few final licks and broke away from you, lifting his body from yours. The only contact that remained between you two was your eyes, as he gave you an unwavering look of barely contained lust.  
The aching need between your legs had become unbearable.  
One heartbeat... Two... Three... 
Astarion’s lips crashed into yours.  
Suddenly, without a single word, you found yourselves tearing at each other’s pants in an urgent rush to remove them.  
Curse them, you thought. You would start sleeping in a nightgown, if you managed to find one. Or naked. Or steal Astarion’s shirt. 
You thought you recognised some elvish curses as Astarion snarled, struggling to pull your pants off without lifting his body from you, biting your lip as you managed to twist and free one leg, the other pant leg left danging at your knee. 
All the while, you’d been tearing at the lacing on Astarion’s pants, managing to undo it just enough to slide them low enough to release his pulsing cock. 
You didn’t even bother with your shirts. You had a burning, ravenous hunger, and it had to be sated. Immediately.  
You tugged on Astarion’s cock, impatiently guiding it towards your throbbing pussy. You had no time or eagerness or wish for any teasing or foreplay, only a carnal, animalistic need. You’d barely aligned Astarion’s dick with your entrance when he plunged himself into you, fully, with another swear through gritted teeth.  
Finally, you felt complete.  
There was no rhythm, decency or finesse to what followed, the only way you could describe it was mindless, feral rutting. You dug your fingers into his hips, trying to bring him closer, deeper, moaning as his tongue writhed against yours. He couldn’t be close enough - even had you melded into one you would still want more of him. 
You spread your legs wide, angling your hips so his body hit your exposed clit with every thrust, and bucked into him, desperately. He changed his thrusts to a more rolling motion, rubbing into you.  
“Yes... Like that...” you barely managed. 
There was a commotion, a loud clanking, crashing sound and some yelling outside. 
“Astarion!” you heard Wyll’s voice just outside the tent, shortly after.  
"Fuck,” Astarion growled under his breath. “Three minutes!” he shouted. 
Three minutes? Then again, you didn’t think you were going to last even another minute. 
Astarion covered your mouth with his hand as his hips continued to relentlessly grind you into the floor of his tent. Your whimpers grew more drawn out until your body stilled before breaking into tremors emanating from your hips, as he continued to fuck you. You were holding on to his back for dear life, bringing your legs up to wrap tightly around his hips, moaning into his hand as you came. 
Immediately, he changed his rolling thrusts to something frantic, grabbing your hand and bringing it over your head, and catching your knee at his elbow and bringing it up with his other arm. He buried his face in your neck, moaning, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, until he slammed his hips into you with a final groan, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you. 
“Astarion! This is urgent!” you heard Wyll again.  
“He’s coming!” you yelled, exasperated, before you realised what you’d said.  
Your words were greeted with a momentary silence, then the sound of Karlach laughing somewhat off in the distance.  
Astarion was also laughing into your neck, his shoulders shaking even as he delivered his final thrusts. 
“That was-” he panted between laughter, “the sloppiest... most unimaginative... objectively worst sex I've ever had.” 
“And subjectively..?” you asked, also starting to laugh as you came off the sudden high that had overtaken you.  
“I wouldn’t mind waking up to something like that every day for the rest of my life,” he said, lifting his head and looking at you. 
“That can be arranged,” you purred. 
There was that little frown again, as he cocked an eyebrow at you.  
“We could always die today,” you shrugged. 
“Funny...” he said. “Anyway... Good luck with this giant mess I left between your legs. I better go see what is so godsdamn important.” 
Bonus scene: 
“What do you mean, I’m the only adult here that knows how to manage a needle and thread?! And how do you even rip a bag of holding..?!” 
“Astarion, our fate is in your hands.” 
“No, you can carry your own shit from here on. I’m fine with just my weapons and the clothes on my back.” 
“We need you, Astarion!” 
“At least get rid of all the junk, what do we need a dozen goblin scimitars for, they’re not even worth anything!” 
“Save us, Astarion!” 
“Rotten carrots, rusty tongs... Is that literally just a rock?” 
“Save us, 239-year-old vampire that can sew!”  
Sigh... Astarion observed the torn bag with a resigned look.  
“...Would you mind mending Clive as well, while you’ve got the kit out..? He’s been through hell and back. And looks it.” 
“Yes, Karlach, I’ll fix up your teddy bear too...” 
~~~~~ 
Mark me as yours - fic re the following day
I have a whole series with these two, check it out
AO3
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incorrectbatfam · 3 months
Note
Jason is a hopeless romantic 100%
it just doesnt show
But everyone goes to him whn its time to plan dates
Dick: Hey, can I ask you something?
Jason, reading: No.
Dick: You see, Wally and I have our weekly date night coming up, but we've been to pretty much every place there is. You got any ideas for how to shake things up?
Jason: *scribbles coordinates and tosses him the Bat-plane keys*
[later]
Wally: Wow, I've never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower.
Dick: I'm glad you like it.
Dick: *texts Jason a thumbs up*
Jason: *read at 8:55 PM*
———————
Tim: Jason, glad you're here! I totally forgot it's me and Bernard's six-month anniversary. Help me out, man.
Jason, clipping his toenails: Fine. You better write this down 'cause I'm only saying it once.
Tim: *nods*
Jason: Go to Home Depot. You're gonna need some rope, a tarp, hammer and nails, a hatchet, matches, and fuel. After that...
Tim: *furiously takes notes*
[later]
Bernard: A camping trip was a great idea. It's nice to get away from it all. And I can't believe you set this all up yourself.
Tim, chuckling nervously: What's a boyfriend for if not to build a tent and chop down a tree?
———————
Duke: So the school dance is coming up.
Jason, working: Theme?
Duke: Under the sea.
Jason: Ugh, how cliché. Anyway, Armand's Tailoring has a blue suit that'll match whatever your girlfriend's wearing. Tell him I sent you. After that, call Patricia's Bistro and make a reservation with the code word "surreptitious." Alfred can take you in the limo if you give him a 24-hour heads-up to clean it. Once you're there, remind the DJ he owes me a favor to get your song requests bumped up. And remember, a slow dance is basically moving your feet in a square but otherwise go with the flow.
Duke: Sweet, thanks!
———————
Cass: Steph is sad.
Jason, cooking: *sighs*
Jason: *takes out a tub of ice cream*
Jason: *scoops a hole in the middle*
Jason: *fills it with candy*
Jason: Here.
Cass: Thanks!
———————
*phone rings*
Jason, waking up from a nap: What?
Kory: Sorry if I woke you. Barbara's coming over for breakfast in half an hour but I burned it with my powers. It was supposed to be eggs benedict.
Jason: Order takeout and put it on fancy plates.
Kory: You're a lifesaver—
Jason: *already hung up and went back to sleep*
———————
Kate: It's Renee's birthday tomorrow. I have a gift, but I'm not sure if it's good enough.
Jason, polishing his gun: If it's from you, it will be.
———————
Bruce: *walks in*
Bruce: Hey, son. Selina's not talking to me after our argument. How do I tell her how much she means to me?
Jason, reciting Shakespeare: I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you."
Bruce: You're right. I'm just gonna tell it to her straight. Thank you.
Bruce: *leaves*
Jason: *takes off his headphones and turns around*
Jason: Did someone say something?
———————
Damian: Todd, what is love supposed to feel like?
Jason: Why do you want to know?
Damian: None of your concern. Now tell me.
Jason: *shoots a training dummy*
Jason: It's when they're lodged in your head like a bullet. Except without the excruciating pain and messy red stuff.
Damian, nodding: Tell me more.
———————
Roy: *takes down a villain*
Jason, sitting on a roof: *wolf whistles*
Roy: The hell?
Jason: I know hot when I see it.
Roy: What are you doing here?
Jason: I brought Arrowdogs.
Roy: You hate Arrowdogs.
Jason: But you don't.
Roy: Aw, how sweet—EYES UP HERE, TODD!
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bucketofpaint · 3 months
Text
Dp x Dc Bad parents with a twist.
The Fentons find out about Danny being Phantom. Either from Vlad or just randomly. They take it badly. They think Phantom is possessing him, but they think they can "save" him. Unfortunately, the GIW think otherwise and want to destroy their son. So what do they do? They erase all signs of their existence in Amity and wiping every article and study they ever had on ghost. Then they packed up and moved to Gotham in the middle of the night. Cutting Danny off from his friends and Jazz (due to her being at college and disagreeing with them). Vlad and the Fentons become business partners. Publicly, the three work together making and marketing inventions. while privately trying to 'fix' Danny on the side.
Danny has to wear an upgraded specter deflector, which is a thin metal bracelet.
Having half of himself offline for a long period of time has been causing his physical health to decline. That and the experiments his parents have been performing on him. No full-blown vivisection. He also gets anesthesia because they believe the Danny can still feel.
It wasn't long for the people of Gotham to start to talk about Vlad Co's new business partners and their sickly son. It wasn't long after for Bruce Wayne to gain some interest as well.
The first time Bruce met the Fentons was at a gala with Masters introducing them. Jack, Maddie, and Their son. He was also able to observe that he looked more sickly in person. With deep eye bags, pale skin, and how thin he was. It made Bruce's heart ache thinking what the boy about Tim's age had been having to endure.
The conversation contuied. Danny nervously fidgeting, only giving curt responses. Mr Fenton laughed, joking about how Danny didn't like fancy events. He excused Danny, telling him to grab something to eat. Danny nodded and rushed away, grabbing food and settling down in a nestled in a far back conner.
Bruce continued talking to the enthusiastic pair, talking glances at the boy occasionally. He felt some of his tension relax when spotting Tim taking a seat near Danny.
After the gala Tim and Bruce got together and compared notes. They both came to one conclusion.
They needed to find out more.
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pioneergirlsie · 10 months
Text
Frickin’ Watermelon
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader
Summary: The 141 finds out about your skincare routine, and you wonder if one of your teammates might benefit from having one also.
A/N: This is my debut piece for the CoD fandom. I fell fast and hard for MW, and I thought this piece up while scrubbing my face one night, trying to keep the acne at bay. I hope you enjoy!
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As a sniper, you have to keep your face out of sight. You prefer face paint, camouflaging yourself to blend in. You’d gotten quite good as quickly painting yourself and heading out for whatever mission was next.
Unfortunately, on this mission, they decide rather last minute to use your sniping skills, simply shrugging when you asked for face paint. They hand you a balaclava, which would do the job fine.
You slip it on, slightly peeved that you couldn’t use your paint. There is a reason you wear paint. The longer you wear that face covering, the more you feel like you were going to choke on your own breath. It is hot and humid, and the balaclava gathers sweat and oil and dirt and hot breath, keeping them all close to your face.
Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you force yourself to take a few deep breaths, lifting the mask a bit to let some fresh air in from time to time.
You spend several miserable days out on that mission. The final morning when you pull on the balaclava, it rubs painfully against some recently developed acne.
Mercifully, the mission ends successfully, and you return to base. After a quick shower to degrime from your time in the field, all you want to do was fall into bed, but that acne is just getting worse.
Half asleep, you reach for your bottle of face wash. It was watermelon-scented pink gel that works wonders for you. You scrub your face with it, put on some moisturizer, and stumble your way to bed.
—————————————————————————
“What do you even need face wash for? Isn’t water good enough for the princess?”
You might have hit Soap for his teasing if you hadn’t detected a hint of genuine curiosity in the question.
“There’s no way water is going to cut through all the grime on your ugly mug,” you tease back. “For a guy called Soap, you should use some a little more often.”
“Ouch,” Soap says with a grin.
After a long day of training, you, Soap, Ghost, and a few other members of the 141 have gathered to just relax. You don’t know how the conversation turned to your skincare routine, but here you are. These boys are oddly fascinated with the care you give to your personal hygiene.
“I’m honestly surprised you guys don’t get acne more often. That one mission a few weeks back, I had to wear a mask the whole time I was in the field, and I broke out so bad,” you said. “It was awful!”
You caught Ghost’s eyes after that remark. *He* wore a mask all the time. But it was different for him. The mask was part of him at this point. It was freeing, somehow, in a way you couldn’t quite grasp; for you, it was smothering.
If you got that bad of acne from a couple days with your face covered, you had to wonder: did Ghost ever break out?
“You know, if you ever want to try it, I can give you a full rundown of the routine. Face wash, moisturizer, the whole works,” you said, directing your comment to Soap. Then, meeting Ghost’s eyes, you added, “You can’t miss the face wash. Bottle of pink gel in with my stuff.”
Soap snorts, and Ghost doesn’t say a word. You didn’t want to straight-out say that he could use your wash if he wanted to. After all, “skin care” didn’t have the manliest connotations. His eyes reveal nothing of his thoughts on the matter.
“Pink? I suppose it smells all fancy, too?” Soap laughs.
“Well, of course! Nothing too girly, though. Just some light, fresh watermelon scent,” you reply.
“Ah yes, watermelon! The manliest of all scents,” Soap says.
This time, you do hit him.
—————————————————————————
After a few days away on a mission, you are glad to be back on base. It hadn’t been a bad time out in the field, but it had been boring. You guess that’s better than things going horribly wrong, but you’d like at least a little fun while you’re out.
After a hot shower, you move to the sink to wash your face. You reach for your bottle of pink face wash. As you lift it, you realize it feels slightly lighter than it had before you left. You level the bottle, looking at how much is left. It’s not much emptier, but it’s definitely less than you thought you’d had before this mission.
But maybe you just were misremembering. After all, the bottle was exactly where you’d left it. You liked to display it in the corner with the cute watermelon decal facing outward, and that’s precisely how it had been.
With a shake of your head, you dismissed the thought and washed your face.
—————————————————————————
Your strides were quick as you made your way toward Price’s office. He’d asked to see you, and while it wasn’t urgent, you liked to make a good impression by being as punctual as possible.
In your haste, you nearly bump into Ghost, who’s turning the corner.
“Oh! Sorry!” you exclaim as you check up, barely keeping from smacking into him.
He nods at you as he continues on. As he passed, you swear you catch the scent of watermelon. You whip around, watching him walk away, but saying nothing before continuing to Price’s office.
—————————————————————————
You clutch the brown paper bag in your hand as you make your way to your lieutenant’s room. After slowly watching your face wash deplete seemingly on its own for several more days and catching a few more whiffs of watermelon whenever you were near Simon Riley, you were fairly confident you knew where it was going.
You didn’t want the man to have to keep using your face wash forever, though, so you’d gotten him a bottle of his own. Unfortunately, the stuff only came in the cute bottle with the watermelon decal, so you also bought a plain opaque bottle to put the pink gel in. You couldn’t resist adding a label with a skull and crossbones on it that read “Poison” just for fun.
The rest of the contents of the bag were some more intense acne treatments for breakouts and stubborn spots along with wipes for the black paint he used around his eyes and moisturizer. You’d also written a note with detailed instructions on how and when and what order in which to use the products.
You were just going to set the bag outside his door and maybe knock and run. The moment you bent to set it down, however, the door swung open to reveal Ghost.
His eyes met yours, then traveled down to the bag in your hand.
“What’s that?” he asked.
You blushed. Why did he have to catch you?
“It’s… um… for you,” you finally blurt and shove the bag at him.
Ghost gives you a suspicious look. He takes it and opens it before you can run. His eyes quickly scan the contents, and he pulls out the “Poison” bottle of face wash. He meets your eyes again. His eyes are nearly unreadable, but you catch a hint of curiosity there.
“Face wash,” you explain. “I thought maybe you’d like your own. And I put in some extra stuff, too. And instructions. If you want. Or if you… don’t.”
*Why* had you thought this was a good idea?
Ghost stares at you for a few more seconds, making you wish the floor would open up and swallow you. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“It was the frickin’ watermelon, wasn’t it?”
You blink. “What?”
“That day we met in the hall. You smelled it, didn’t you?”
“I… I thought I did,” you admit.
“You did a whole three-sixty after I passed,” he accuses. “Shoulda stopped using it then.”
“No!” you quickly say. “No, I’d hoped you’d use it. If you needed to. Or wanted to, even. I didn’t know if you’d really take me up on it.”
Neither of you speak for a moment. He stands there, face wash and bag still in hand.
“I can show you how to use the rest of the stuff if you want,” you suddenly offer.
Ghost gives you a sharp look.
“I mean, I’d do it on my face and explain it. You wouldn’t have to take off your mask or anything. I just thought…” you trail off.
You’ve stared down armed enemies before and not been this nervous. Now you are practically oozing awkwardness. The confident soldier was reduced to a bundle of nerves over a discussion about skin care.
“You wrote instructions, yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He hesitates a moment, shifting the bottle in his hand.
“Better run through it once so I can keep it all straight.”
You give him a bright smile, immediately turning on your heel and making your way to your sink where you keep all of your products. You look around carefully before entering with Ghost, making sure no prying eyes spotted you. Locking the door behind you, you arranged all of your bottles and containers, beginning the lesson.
Ghost listened intently as you explained what each product did and how to best use them, giving a nod here and here. You demonstrated and gave tips, like dabbing the face with the washcloth and towel instead of scrubbing it to avoid further irritation. You went through each step, making sure to take your time.
“And then you take about this much moisturizer,” you say, dabbing a bit on your finger and spreading it. “And you spread it evenly. If you have dry patches, you can give those a little more. But after that, you’re done!”
You turn and give him a smile.
“Thanks,” he says after a moment. “Thanks for… this.” He holds up the bag. “And for this.” He gestures vaguely, probably meaning your little lesson.
“Of course,” you say. “Can’t have my favorite LT going without proper skincare, can we?”
You both stand there a moment more. The silence is not uncomfortable. There’s something there, something unsaid, but you don’t mind. This is enough.
It takes you a moment to realize, but his eyes are smiling back at you.
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essenteez · 10 months
Text
𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 || yunho
"falling in love with your best friend feels like eighth deadly sin."
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"And if you really think that it's an obsession, don't worry." He spoke again, this time his voice was hoarse as he struggled to speak, his thumb and eyes now wandering around your half opened lips. "I'll take all of it."
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 : You made a tough decision that left you absolutely devastated. Falling in love with your best friend was unacceptable. You got to leave. The method was slowly vanishing from Yunho's life until he would get used to your abstance. Deep down, a voice kept telling you it was the right choice. However, Yunho never meant to let you go as he stood in your door on one rainy spring evening, demanding an explanation.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Yunho × (f)reader
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Angst, smut
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit language, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f!receiving), tongue fuck, anal fingering, ass smacking, missionary, deep penetration, pet names
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : 6k
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Is it possible to feel like your decision, at the same time, is the best and the worst? As if you’re attempting to go both ways, feeling like your body is ripping apart.
You asked some of your friends about it, desperate for a helpful answer.
"Depends.'' they always shrugged, which only meant they had the same idea about it as you did. Read as none.
In the beginning, you thought your approach to the problem would be the best solution for both him and yourself. However, the more time had passed, the more it all felt like the most fanciful of tortures.
Nothing had happened between you two, nothing deep enough that you could hold on to. So why, why did you keep failing to convince yourself that everything you went through was for the best. Was it because of guilt that was eating you alive whenever he looked hurt by the distance you had been widening for the past four months? Or because that was a normal reaction after sacrificing something important for a better cause? You were doing that for both of you, especially for him. Your intentions were good. Why wasn't it working?
And now there you were, completely frozen, face to face with him in the late spring evening as he suddenly banged on your door, ten minutes after you ignored his text once more.
You were now staring at the upset man in front of you. Due to shock, you couldn't look away. You allowed his eyes to burn into you.
He was drenched from the pouring rain outside, standing at your door that you should've never opened. His expression and posture reminded you of a wild animal that was about to attack you.
Your hand trembled on the knob as you contemplated slamming the door in his stoic but serious face. All you wanted to do was crawl under your bedsheets to hide for the rest of your miserable life.
You were wrong from the very beginning. You didn't put on any sacrifice. You've been running away like a coward, and at that very moment, you were about to receive your punishment.
"We need to talk, don't you think?" The jaw muscles tensing up under his skin as he almost hissed the words out.
You had to get away from him, as far as possible. Far away, so it was easier for you to breathe again. It was time to dig through the long list of excuses that, to be honest, you were running out of.
"I was actually getting ready to leave for a night out with girls, so can we…"
His index finger pointed in your face, which stopped you from continuing the poor act.
"This is the only chance I'm giving you to explain what's happening, (y/n). If you close this fucking door on me…" he hesitated but the power in his voice didn't weakened, "you'll never see me again."
The breath abruptly left your lungs. You swore your heart stopped for a second just to restart its beating with double the speed. You heard your blood pumping in your veins as the inner panic unleashed from his words that were like a magic spell.
There was no bluff in his words. He didn't mean to scare you, despite him knowing you were vulnerable for empty threats like that. The warning was absolutely backed up. You could see it by the way he stood there before you, how he clenched his fists, the way he looked at you with devouring anger in his brown eyes.
No doubt, you crossed all possible lines. And you had no idea how to handle the consequences. You knew one thing, you'd rather die than never see him again.
"What do you mean?" You still tried, wishfully thinking he spoke about something else.
No answer came your way. He simply passed you by and stormed inside your apartment. You were too scared to protest, not after the eyes he gave you before walking in.
You slowly closed the door, in need of every second to gather all the shreds of courage you had in you. There wasn't much.
Somewhat ready to get eaten alive by the unbearable remorse, you finally turned around. However, he disappeared from your eyes' reach.
"Yunho…"
"You still have some of those spare clothes I left once after a party?" He yelled from what you realized was your bedroom. "I'm totally soaked."
The last thing you cared about now was wet stains on your wooden floor, spreading from the door through the living room up to your bedroom and glistening in the weak lamp light.
You couldn't form a word, every sound was caged in your throat. The anxiety began its biggest harvest inside you. You felt all the strength leaving your body. All you could muster up was standing on your two feet in the middle of your living room, and that alone was impressive in your current state.
You were registering his steps in the other room. Yunho walked into the bathroom to get rid of the wet clothes. He spoke to himself about how nice that the dryer was there. Then he reentered the bedroom and next you heard nothing but his loud sighs.
"Come here." His voice had little volume to it, but the depth of its tone resonated in your ears and echoed in your whole being. The command was crystal clear and sent a set of sharp shivers down your spine.
You let your feet lead you to the doorframe of your room. However, you stopped them there.
He was sitting on your bed, aggressively rubbing the towel on his wet hair. He wore his plain black T–shirt and pair of gray sweatpants you stored in your drawer after he forgot it months ago. He looked like he had just walked out of the shower.
"Do you hate me?" He asked suddenly, still not looking at you. "Maybe I scared you with something I said or did?"
You wanted to refuse, feeling your heart cracking even more, but no sound left your dry mouth.
He, on the other hand, had a lot to say.
"Did I do something wrong, hmm? Cause I've spent three months going back and forth to all our meetings, and I genuinely don't know what that would be." He laughed bitterly, still drying his thick black hair.
You felt like shrinking while the guilt that kept growing towered over you unforgivably. You had seen Yunho angry before but never at you. Why were you so stupid to think it would never reach you after all you had done?
A tint of sadness invaded his chords, "You suddenly started to avoid me, mumble something under your nose instead of answering me, or you have been straight up ignoring me. You don't pick up my calls or respond to my texts and if you do it's always the same shit 'I'm busy, will call you later' which is bullshit cause you never do, (y/n)."
The tears showed up in your eyes, and you bit your lip to stop them from pouring out like a tidal wave.
He noticed it. The hand with a towel dropped on his legs.
"I don't know, did someone tell you we can't be friends or make you feel bad about it?"
Yes. Me. You cried inside your jumbled mind.
"No." You uttered, swallowing your tears.
"Then what?" He urged, aggressively tossing the towel aside after he turned it into a damp ball. Now, all his attention was paid to you, and you felt bare under his eyes.
"I don't know what to tell you." You whispered, the lump in your throat only grew.
"The truth, (y/n)." He begged. "If you don't want to be friends anymore, then fine, I can't force you. But after all this time and memories we've made, I think I deserve to hear a reason behind your decision. Not to mention everything was fine 'till Hongjoong's birthday."
Him, now linking the dots, made you feel as icy needles ruched in your blood, tearing your veins.
Something did happen at your friend's birthday party. One innocent game, alcohol untying people's mouths, and you ended up begging God to help you erase that night from your head.
You thought you kept your composure after drunk Bona spilled her crush on your best friend. This one sentence that she sang toward him smashed the glass of denial and released all the spirits of truth. The realization hit you like thunder, and the effects never left with time.
After that, you slowly, nor drastically, began walking away. Your behavior should not have been seen as related to that party's events.
If it was so clear to Yunho, was it obvious to everybody else?
Although he was right.
What were you thinking? It is Yunho, we're talking about. He would never leave a problem untouched when he saw one. There was nowhere to run and hide now, and it never had been.
You reached your hand to the light switch and let the room get embraced by darkness. There was no option for him to see the shame on your face when you would be telling him the issue that tormented both of you.
He didn't say anything, handing you the mic.
You walked inside the room and slid to the wall, calling on it for support. You were placed in front of him but at a safe but far distance.
"I love you." You confessed, shaking like a leaf. "I don't know what is happening, but I know I want you so much. Every inch of me craves for you, and I lost all control over my own self when it comes to you to the point I can't sleep at night, eat, or think straight. I've never felt like this before, about anyone. And we're best friends. I have no right…" The guilt caged your voice.
The silence on his side was crushing. That was the end. You had nothing to lose.
You took a deep breath, "That's why I've avoided you and purposely ignored you. I have to stay away, Yunho. For both of our sakes."
You heard him taking a few deep breaths.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Somehow, his voice bore the accusation.
"I was scared of rejection." You chuckled at your miserable position. "The girls laughed that I sounded absolutely obsessed when I told them about this. They said they were only joking, but I started wondering and got scared. What if I am? You asked if you scared me with something. You didn't. I'm scared of myself. Because…no one sane acts like that. No one sane falls in love with their friend."
As you finished the confession, you dared to look his way. Your eyes got used to the dark, and you managed to see his darkened features.
The left side of his face was slightly illuminated by the dim light coming from the living room. You were watched intensively as he was eyeing you up.
His upper body was leaned forward, his arms resting on his spread knees. He looked…disappointed? Angry? You couldn't really tell. However, his deep breathing betrayed that the chaos you let out in indeed affected him.
The question was how would he accept what you brought upon him.
"I'm sorry." You breathed out on the edge of crying. You felt awful by ruining your amazing friendship. "Truly."
He submerged his finger in his damp fuzzy hair and then proceeded to wipe his face. He seemed deep in thought. You watched how he stroked his thighs a few times before standing up.
"Yunho…" you gulped, seeing him closing the distance between you.
He was getting dangerously close.
"Please, stop."
The man listened to your command. Still, he halted only half a meter from you. Yunho gave you a second to calm down, let your guard down, therefore you had no time for reaction as his arm suddenly reached out for your hand, grabbing your wrist firmly, and began pulling you close to him.
You quietly whimpered, trying to twist your hand out of his grasp, but there was no use. He mercilessly dragged you until your bodies met.
You couldn't look up, not with all the panic thriving inside you. However, he did not mean to stop. You felt his finger underneath your chin, and suddenly, you found yourself looking in his eyes that shone with a new light in the dark room.
"I would never reject you." He let out a firm but gentle whisper. "What do you think that I came here for? To fight for you."
The bangs of his wet hair tickled your forehead. He stood so close to you like he only ever did in your intrusive thoughts and uncontrolled fantasies. You had no choice but to let his scent of cologne and rain embrace you from all sides.
"And if you really think that it's an obsession, don't worry." He spoke again, this time his voice was hoarse as he struggled to speak, his thumb and eyes now wandering around your half opened lips. "I'll take all of it."
The touch of his lips was more than you imagined. You whimpered into his mouth, at which he responded with a smile. You fought not to push him away from the intensity of your surprise. Everything was happening too fast and not how you had seen it in your head for uncountable times when thinking about the face-off.
Yunho kissed you slowly as if he was giving you time to get used to his touch and his taste. He let go of your wrist, and after gently putting your arm around his neck, he carefully wrapped your waist. His other hand moved from your chin on the side of your head. The embrace tightened.
You couldn't say you just allowed him to pull you close to him. You were like a ragdoll. The rollercoaster of severe emotions took away your will to move. He could’ve done anything he wanted to do to you, placed you anywhere he needed you to be. You were completely frozen.
Yunho was considerate of your state and didn’t want to push you. He broke the kiss and pulled his head back to look at you with a slight smile that showed understanding.
"Do you want me to leave you alone? If you need time and talk about it once you’re ready, I’ll wait." He assured you, the gentleness in his tone making your heart flutter. "I’ll wait as long as you need me to."
"I– I don’t know." You stuttered, no volume to your weak voice. "W– what would you want?:
"Can I be indecently honest?"
You nodded, the hope sparking in your heart.
"I want to stay. I missed you so much. For the past months, whenever we met, I felt like you were light years away despite you standing right beside me. So I want to kiss all your doubts and fears away so we both never feel that way again. I want to hold you close, taste you. I want to relearn my name as you moan it all night long. I want you. I've wanted you for so long." He flooded you with the confession that held much more fire and confidence than yours from a minute ago.
You trembled in his arms, grabbing more onto his shirt at his back as he wiped away a single tear that managed to escape and roll on your redden cheek. It felt like a dream, and you felt the familiar anxiety of the moment you would have to wake up as it happened all the time before.
After all these months of pain from keeping yourself away from the man you've been falling in love with, feeling like he was slipping through your hands with your own help, you were a shadow of a woman. You were a ruin.
"What’s your decision?"
But the will to fix everything that was broken smoldered inside you, and you felt that with the right blow of wind, it would turn into impressive flames.
"Stay."
He quickly groaned at your allowance, and your faces got close again. Both his arms now embraced your waist and back.
"Of all the things I just said, which one do you want me to do the most?" He asked, his lips brushing yours.
"Everything." You breathed out without hesitation. Experiencing the long yearning, you needed to feel everything, from innocence to obscene.
Your lips interlocked again, but this time, nothing tamed you for kissing him back as you had always desired.
With every breath between, the kiss was getting hotter, wetter. Your tongues twirled in a wild dance, teeth hooking on each other's lips. With quiet whimpers and moans, you drove each other crazy.
His damp hair was tangled in your inpatient fingers that massaged the back of his head and neck. He moaned in your lips from the affection. The sweet adlip instantly woke up the aching between your legs.
You felt the wall behind your back again. One of his arms left your waist and was placed above your head.
He broke the kiss, "You really thought that Bona's confession meant anything to me?" He panted, his half closed eyes never leaving your lips.
So he found the answer. He did mention he studied all three months of your random change.
"I didn't know what it meant to you. I was too scared to think about it. It just made me realize my feelings for you, and I feared for our friendship."
"And your solution to save our friendship was to stay away?"
"I'm sorry."
He clenched his jaw, and that alone was enough to double your already crazy heart rate. His eyes were pitch black, his brows frowned.
"It makes me really angry." He groaned. "To think your first thought was that I would reject you. That you asked yourself that tough question and saw no hope. That you went for the wrong answer. As if I ever gave you a reason to doubt."
"I'm sorry."
"It's me who's sorry, (y/n)."
You moaned at the speed he attacked your lips again. He didn't graced them for long with his unsatisfied affection as he moved onto your jaw, then sensitive neck.
You felt how his body pinned you to the wall. With the power he pushed into you, he picked you up. You were gasping for air from the waves of pleasure shaking your body as his hungry mouth kissed, licked, and bit on your skin.
"You always smell so fucking good." He cooed sultry, placing his hands under your ass, forcing you to put your legs onto his hips.
He pushed himself with you in his arm off the wall and began walking you two to your bed.
You were released from his tight embrace and let him push you on the sheets. With aw, you watched him remove his shirt, putting his beautifully shaped torso and abs on display.
"Now's your turn." He snarled.
His hands went down to your cotton, loose shirt, and ripped it apart with one pull. Your bare breasts bounced free. You only now remembered you had no bra on.
"Yunho–"
But he didn't care about your surprise. He just gently laid on your side, supporting his weight on his elbow. His chest rubbed on your right breast in a slow massage that had you wave underneath him.
"Goddamn it, (y/n)."
His hand embraced your neck, giving it a little squeeze. You watched it going down to your chest, between your naked breasts, and then lower on your stomach where his wrist twisted to go south. Now, you had his long fingers getting dangerously close to your throbbing folds.
You grabbed the sheets at the touch of his fingertip.
"Ahh.."
"I'm not the one who's getting soaked tonight." He smirked watching how your wetness spread underneath your leggings as his middle finger circled on your clit.
He wanted more, your loud moans too accompanying your flooding nectar. Two fingers decisively entered your pussy as the thumb worked on your pearl.
"Oh my…" you whined, arching your back.
To make your torture more difficult, he leaned his lips to your ear and began feeding your mind with the obscene.
"You're always so wet when I'm on your mind, kitten? Do your fingers fuck this dripping cunt like mine are now when your all alone?" He whispered, his breaths tickling your neck, "I can assure you, I walk hard all day because of you."
The image of him stroking himself fast, rough while moaning your name was a perfect way to bring you closer to the edge as his fingers now fucked you with a full speed.
"Yes." He grunted, satisfied with your whimpers and trembling pelvis. "Cum for me."
Yunho drank the sweetest sounds of euphoria from your lips. Your cute moans were like ambrosis for his ears. He craved for more, his soul, heart, and ego demanded more.
He sucked on the skin of your neck as his hand massaged the last ounces of orgasm from you.
"I dreamed of this so many times (y/n) – my fingers, all sticky and wet from your juices."
"Yunho…" you begged. "Please."
The yearning for him or his words along with skillful touch; you couldn't tell, but something was making you lose your sanity way too fast.
Yunho smug eyes began reading your needs. He just licked his lips before walking away to let the room bask in light again.
With the cover of the dark, you felt more secure. Now you laid there, feeling like there were hundreds of eyes watching you, even though the only person in the room with you was Yunho, who just nonchalantly stood there; one hand on the light switch, and the other, that just were inside you, on his sticked out tongue.
Unconsciously, you began closing your legs, putting hands over your chest, but he was quick to stop you.
He agility climbed on to you. Now you had his weight pinning you down, his slim pelvis between your thighs and his hands holding your hands about your head.
"Don't you even hide from me again." He warned you, looking you deep in the eyes.
His arm found its way under you, and with one pull, he moved you further up the bed before he raised himself and sat on his hills.
"I forgot to ask before ripping off your shirt," he smiled adorably, "but do you cherish your leggings?"
Knowing what was coming and feeling more than just excited about it, you shook your head.
Your soaked leggings and underwear shared the same fate as your shirt. With no hesitation, Yunho grabbed them in his fingers and ripped them apart.
You felt the cold licking your dripping slit, wishing it was that man's tongue.
"I had to turn the light back on." He grinned while studying your quivering folds. "I had to see it in detail."
His brow raised, and his eyes became absent as if they recalled something, a thought he cherished.
"I'm genuinely unable to count how many nights I imagined your taste." He voiced it. "How would you feel on my tongue. So soft and warm."
You shivered at those words. The way he said it, the way he watched you with almost worship… Yunho finally found himself on the spot he longed to be for many months.
"It's all yours." You whimpered.
He looked in your eyes again, searching for a bluff, but he was visibly relieved to see your genuine, needy expression.
"Put your pretty ass up for me, please."
You did what you were told, getting rid of the shirt, well now its shreds. Arching your back as your upper body stretched on the bed, you stuck your slightly circling butt towards him.
A gasp left your mouth as the smack landed on your plump cheek. It was sudden but more than welcomed.
"Somehow, I've always known you're filthy." He snickered, clearly glad of your reaction.
"There are a lot of things you have not found out about me yet." You uttered, biting your lip with a smile.
You flinched from another hit that left a stingy feeling and added another flood of your juices between your thighs. There was no option to not let the moan escape your chords.
"I can say the same about you." He growled as if you were about to learn something forbidden.
You felt how he grabbed your ripped leggings and slid it off your hips, down to your knees.
The warmth of his tongue almost made you cry. You grabbed the sheet between your teeth. Slow, but firm licks were meant to have you beg in a second. However, your taste was too much for Yunho to play the game of teasing any further.
He spread your cheeks and dived in deeper.
The man put his whole spirit to savor you with the way his tongue lapped on your folds, latched on your quivering core. He fed on your uninhibited wails that Yunho could swear were a balm to his heart that almost got broken today if you had not opened the door.
He now knew you were his, the same way he belonged to you. Completely. Equal in this healthy obsession.
The essence on his lips worked like the best aphrodisiac for his nature. He wanted to have you loud in pleasure, trembling in ecstasy. For a moment, he craved to control all over your being. Just so you could feel loved, desired, and perfect. So you could see yourself through his eyes.
His tongue found its way inside you. It was sudden, unexpected but more than appreciated.
"Ahh, yes." You hissed, the sheet ripping in your fists.
Yunho shifted his position to have better access to you. Your eyes rolled back at the depth he was penetrating you with. Long, skillfully muscle waved and curled within your walls.
His thumb began drawing circles around your upper hole. Gently, hesitant at first, but your appreciation for his tease made him brave enough to go inside.
With his tongue and thumb sunk inside, Yunho was at the finish of shaping a devastating orgasm for you.
Your face twisted with unbearable pleasure. Moans sent his way were full of gratitude and admiration for his mastery. For a few moments this man managed to make you feel like flying, see the stars above.
He abandoned your holes when he felt the last shreds of bliss left you. You fell flat on your bed, trying to bring yourself down on earth.
Yunho took his time to climb up your spine with juicy kisses, at the same time getting rid of his pants and underwear.
"Yunho." You called him between deep breaths to calm yourself down.
"Yes, beautiful?' He planted a kiss on your shoulder.
You touched his arm.
"Claim me."
He froze above you. You only felt his hot breath on the back of your neck. Somehow, it had you alerted.
You slowly turned on your back, still caged between his arms. His eyes were dark, full of unknown, to you, thoughts. Maybe what you needed from him sounded too much of a commitment. You confessed your feelings. You made him aware of your love. Yet…he didn't say anything back. Only that he wanted you.
"Will you?" You asked quietly, too scared to put any volume to not scare him away or worse, make him realize it was a mistake.
Still with this mysterious expression, he laid onto you, skin to skin. Your faces so close, you could see your reflection in his eyes.
"Like my life depends on it." He said into your lips, tone heavy with sweet threat. "In fact, it does."
You interlocked in a kiss that felt like a seal to what just occurred rather than simple affection. He kissed you deeply, desperately, but most of all you sensed a gratitude.
His velvet hardness began grinding on your sensitive spot with subtle yet decisive moves, lubricating his length with your wetness in the process.
You broke the kiss from all the air leaving your lungs. He was hard, hot against your skin, begging to enter you. And your pussy cramped at the pleas, more violently each second.
"Please."
He put his forehead to yours. Took a few deep breaths before he finally said:
"I love you."
Only then he allowed himself to push inside.
The words you had wanted to hear for so long and the soul easing fullness have tears falling from your eyes. He groaned at your tightness that engulfed him and spasmed around him. The warmth and your nectars embraced him whole.
You gasped loudly as he moved further, concurring more inches of your inferior. Yunho was exactly how you imagined him to be. Long and thick, with popping veins that rubbed on your walls. You moaned, whined, and squirmed with every push and pull.
"Can I go faster?" He wiped your tears of joy away.
"Yes." You panted. "You can now."
After a slow pull, he pinned into you with power, having you gasp in sudden pleasure.
He leaned on the side, now nuzzling your ear.
"You're taking me so well. I knew you would." He whispered, and if all your nerves weren't already awakened, now they were.
The pace fastened. He was taking you, fully almost possessive. He went deep, attacking your sweet spot with even but strong hits. The sound you made bordered with sobbing.
He raised up on his knees, now straddling your leg. The other one ended up over his shoulder. Only when he re‐entered you, you realized why he chose such a position. He reached depths you didn't know anyone could.
"Fuck." You cried out.
Yunho fucked you however he felt fit, placing kissing on your inner thighs as he hugged your leg while doing it. He winded and whirled his hips as he thrusted inside your defenseless cunt.
The release was approaching with no mercy.
"I'm so close." You grabbed his muscular thigh with both hands.
"I know, baby. I know." He moaned as your walls' texture rubbed onto him even more now that you were almost orgasming. You cramped around him, sucking his width unforgivably.
"Fill me in, please. I need your cum inside me." You couldn’t help but beg when the speed and force he was obliterating you with was too overwhelming. You had to have him burst inside. It was what you mean by claiming you, owning you.
He cursed loudly and leaned over, shifting his weight on his arms.
"You have no idea what you've just started."
The new position allowed the man to put on even more speed and power, pushing you off the cliff, straight to the void of the most heavenly bliss.
The euphoria embraced you from all sides. A flow of your juices flooded his cock, making it harder, too hard to not to explode.
"Oh fuck, yes." He whined and soon joined you in ecstasy. He pumped inside with low grunts leaving his throat, and you melted over the feeling of hot load, every last drop nourishing every corner of you.
He slid out after a few soothing pushes, followed by his semen. Yunho didn't have to watch this physical proof he claimed you. He knew you all his. He just lowered down and caught your weak frame in a tight, warm embrace.
Both calmed yourselves down by inhaling your scents, so familiar yet so new.
His eyes when he finally landed at you were smiling, all dreamy. You knew what Yunho's happy face looked like, and it was all plastered on his features right now.
You felt like your heart was about to burst out of your chest at the sight. He was happy because of you. You made him this joyful.
"You love me." You slipped. The excitement and emotion didn't allow you to keep quiet.
He kissed you and kept smiling.
"You have no idea."
You didn't hide this time when Yunho watched you as if he learned your details by heart. You wanted him to see the woman and all her love she got for him.
"Come." He said and got off the bed. "We both need a long and hot shower."
"Soaking again?" You giggled lazily, admiring this Adonis of a man that now stood in front of you in all his glory. You bit your lips at the view of his glistening pride, knowing it all was for you to love and pleasure.
Seeing your eyes wandering all over him, Yunho couldn't help but smirk at your bluntness. He then leaned over to kiss your forehead.
"Better get used to it."
You realized how stupid you were to think you could live without his melodic laugh.
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ja3yun · 2 months
Text
Undercover Lover (pt.2) | P.JS
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detective!jay x detective fem!reader
warnings: smut (mdni), angst, unprotected sex, oral (f. rec), edging, begging, teasing, kinda rough, mentions of guns and alcohol, gambling, confrontation, jay is kinda mean again but he makes up for it! not proofread.
wc: 9.1k+
synopsis: after yesterday's antics, you're still obligated to work alongside jongseong. however, when you're forced into a life-threatening predicament, feelings become tangled.
(part 1)
a/n: hi! a LOT of people asked for a part.2 and although i initially set it to be a one-off, you all enjoyed it so much i had to give you a conclusion. jongseong in the final two scenes has me swooning icl! enjoy <3 feedback is always appreciated, don't let it flop pls
_______
As you delicately adjust the spaghetti straps of your dress in the mirrored reflection of the elevator, a subtle uncertainty creeps into your mind regarding the chosen outfit. It doesn't exactly exude a rich man’s wife, but your limited wardrobe options leave you with no alternative, the only fancy clothing you own is the dress that got mercilessly ripped in half at the hands of Jongseong. 
Even thinking about last night is giving you a dry mouth. Jongseong had manhandled you, fucked you so good you’ll be thinking about it for months and then proceeded to just leave you, your self-worth shattered like glass. You knew he was an asshole but that was a new level of low.
Even this morning, he had the audacity to reach out, seeking your assistance once again. You might be on a mission but you do contemplate whether you even have enough respect for him to pretend to be his wife.
To call him yours, kiss him, and be in love with him. It was a mission within itself.
However, the gravity of the case at hand hangs over your precinct, too important to be jeopardised by personal feelings. This case has the potential to change everything, and you want to be credited for your part in it. Perhaps there's a twinge of spite aimed at your work rival, but the prospect of infuriating him further by sharing the glory spurs you on.
As the elevator comes to a stop in the main lobby, a firm resolve forms inside you - that you’re going to become the best wife Jongseong could ever dream of, and make sure your name ends up on the case report. 
Your eyes land on Jongseong’s broad back, the white solid ribbed knit top is tight enough for your brain to work out the contours of his back. Before you can stop yourself, you’re thinking about how his shoulder blades felt under the tip of your fingers and how you could feel every muscle working as he fucked into you. If there was one good thing about having sex with Jongseong last night it’s using the lust and memory to your advantage. If you can’t fake love, you can at least reminisce about the desire you felt for him last night.
Placing your hand on his arm and stroking down until your fingers interlock, you begin your Oscar-winning performance, “Hi, Jjongie. I’m sorry I slept in,” With your free hand you turn his face to look a you before bringing him down for a kiss.
Despite the suddenness of your presence and physical affection, Jongseong kisses you back delicately, and those lips touching yours again send a bolt of lightning down your spine. Involuntarily, your body arches into his touch as he lets go of your hand and wraps his arms around your waist. 
The kiss feels different than the one last night; it's gentler than the way his lips were battering yours. Probably because Mr. and Mrs. Kim are looking straight at you both, Jongseong felt pressure to pour some sweetness into it, rather than hatred. 
When you go to pull away, Jongseong pulls you back for more, his tongue swiping your bottom lip. You don’t know why he’s dragging this out considering Kwangmin is thoroughly convinced about the both of you, if not by your words of affection at dinner yesterday, then certainly by the way you’re both holding one another. Regardless, you let him continue because the feelings he’s portraying in this one kiss are more of an apology you’ll get verbally from him.
“You’re both so perfect for one another!” Mrs. Kim shrieks, looking at you both with adoration.
Her voice brings you both back to earth. You turn to face her but Jongseong’s eyes are still on you, assessing how you might be feeling underneath your charade but you’re so good at hiding your true emotions, he can’t work it out.
“Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Kim for being so late, we had a long night last night, Didn’t we, baby?” Your pupils are still blown from the kiss and exhilaration of this case that the light reflects almost a starry gaze as you look at your pretend husband.
Jongseong sits his arm along your waist and smiles, “We did, angel. You look beautiful so I think we can all agree the delay was worth it.” He confesses.
“She does look radiant, Hwang,” Mr. Kim comments, “Come, let’s go to the lounge for brunch,” The Kims walk ahead leaving you and Jongseong trailing behind them, the air filled with unspoken words.
Nevertheless, he takes your hand and tightens his grip, not offering you a glance but reassurance. This was a big deal, this was your last chance to get in on the drug smuggling scheme and coax a confession from Kwangmin about all his wrongdoings. He knew how much pressure was on you both.
As you walk into the lounge, you see lots of the same people from last night; upper-class men with their suits, talking about nothing of substance. The place was made for VIPs of the hotel, however, Mr. Kim’s influence earned him a special section on the far right-hand side. The only way you and Jongseong could get in there was with Kwangmin escorting you, however with the drug king opening up his private lounge for you, it brings envious stares of those around you.
Jongseong notices the shift in your manner and pulls your hand to his lips, kissing it lightly before moving into the area, his protective body barricading you in case something happens. If he was half the man he was as Hwang Jongseong, Park Jongseong would be far more bearable. 
He takes a seat and pulls you beside him, keeping you close. For the first time on this trip, you’re both alone with the Kims, no eyes scouring at you or observing your every move. Although you were putting on this act for the criminal, you weren’t naive to the fact that he would have eyes on you both at all times. 
But now that you're alone, Jongseong, and you've raised your guard, the uncertainty of what might happen makes the situation stressful. 
“It’s so nice to have you here with us today. We can only apologise for the abrupt leave of absence at dinner last night, you both seemed to need some privacy.” Mr. Kim laughs, pouring a glass of 18-year-old Yamazaki single malt for Jongseong and himself, “I assume my wife’s wonderful suggestion brought you both closer.
You could say that.
“Yes, Mr. Kim. It was an excellent idea, we’ll steal the idea for future occasions if you don’t mind.” Jongseong swirls the glass, admiring the fragrant alcohol. This might be his only time to try a £1,700 bottle of whiskey, so he jumps at the chance.
With a click of his fingers, Kwangming summons a waiter over to give you a glass of champagne, the bubbles at the bottom fizz happily, meaning it’s on the more expensive side.  He truly liked to spend money, which raises your suspicion considering he is known to be cautious with his finances unless it’s on his wife. He’s up to something.
The conversation flows between your husband and Mr. Kim. You suppose Jongseong has been on this case for months, setting up a rapport with him, otherwise, why would you both even be here? 
Jongseong seamlessly transitions into his role, portraying the character so convincingly that, if it weren't for the mere two desks that separate you back at the office, one could easily be fooled. He navigates a series of probing questions about how he used the inherited money, his investment strategy, and his ambitious aspiration of matching Mr. Kim's wealth. To the casual observer, his demeanour appears cool and collected. Yet, small indicators show the subtle strain beneath the surface - a tensed hand on your thigh when confronted with difficult questions, or the rare slip over facts.
Your role as his wife, whether the affection you express is genuine or artificial, remains the same: to provide comfort and reassurance. Your hand delicately strokes his arm, and you kiss his shoulder tenderly.  It seems to work each time as if your presence calms him down. 
The vibration of Jongseong’s phone gains the attention of everyone in the room. He thought he had turned it on silent, scared that any interference from outside could jeopardise your case. 
He delves into his back pocket, retrieving his mobile. Of fucking course, it's Heeseung calling – of all the times, he chooses the most inconvenient moment.
Glancing over, you spot the contact name, panic briefly flashing in your eyes. "Baby, just ignore it; we’re with company," you suggest, offering him a way out of the awkward situation. However, Mr. Kim dismisses your words, extending his hand to signal Jongseong it’s okay to answer the call.
Your husband looks at you with concern, hesitant to leave you alone with the couple. Yet, you communicate through your eyes that you can handle the situation perfectly well and assure him that you'll be fine on your own.
He pats your head and answers the call, careful not to be too loud.
“Y/N, tell me, how would you like to accompany my wife to the spa?” Mr. Kim poses the query nonchalantly but it throws you off. Being a detective, you have a natural curiosity and question every intention and this is no different.
Shifting your gaze to Mrs. Kim she has a bright smile on her face, “Please, Y/N, it would be so lovely to spend some time with you,” You have to admit, she did seem like a genuinely warm and lovely person compared to her man. Spending a few hours with her would also help her open up; If you can’t get Mr. Kim to speak about it, maybe you can convince Mrs. Kim.
“I would love that, some R and R is just what I need,” You giggle, “Plus, it’s been so long since I’ve had some girl time.” The words you speak aren’t a lie, you could do with some relaxation, the knots in your shoulders that have been there for the past 3 years need to be unravelled. 
“Excellent!” Mrs. Kim claps, “Come, Y/N,” She takes your hand, pulls you from the couch and blows a kiss to her husband who happily catches it. Aside from all the drugs and murder, you do wish for someone to dote on you like that, just once in your life.
Walking out of the lounge, you both bump into Jongseong who looks at you with wide eyes, confused, “Sorry, Jongseong, I’m stealing your wife for an hour or two.”
His demeanour stiffens, reminiscent of his initial uneasiness in the lounge. Given his previous interactions with the Kims, his suspicions are understandable. "I see. Can I speak with Y/N, and she can meet you there?" he asks, surprising you with his unexpected request. Wouldn't it be strange if he initiated having a conversation with his wife straight after receiving a phone call?
Seizing Mrs. Kim's arm, you titter into character, "Jjongie, you can talk to me later. I'd like to go have some fun. Okay? Mr. Kim is waiting for you."
He sighs, conceding, "Of course, baby." He leans in and kisses your cheek, the touch lingering, "Please be careful," he says quietly enough to go unnoticed by your spa companion.
"Do not worry, Jongseong. I'm good at taking care of myself, remember?" You whisper through gritted teeth.  It was a true statement but also a dig at last night and he knows it. Your genuine feelings for him remain disgusted beneath the facade of a completely loyal wife.
He passes you and Mrs. Kim with a nod and a tongue poking his cheek, his departure accompanied by a sour attitude.
_____
As you and Mrs. Kim walk into the spa, it is like nothing you have ever seen before. The ambience surrounding the lobby is tranquil, the echos of waves from the white noise machines fill your ears. Despite being a girl who loves maximalism, you can’t help but find beauty in the sleek gold and orange furnishings that adorn the place. It’s dimly lit, with only a few lamps on throughout the area which only puts you into instant relaxation mode.
Your job doesn’t come with many perks but you could get used to this, you wonder if Mr. Kim has any friends.
Focus, Y/N. You drill into yourself. If you get too caught up in the serenity of the spa, you’ll lose your chance to move this case forward. 
Truthfully, you aren’t expecting much from this conversation but any sort of intel is better than nothing. Mrs. Kim could either know every inch of her husband's secret dealings or be completely oblivious, either way, it’s an avenue you have to explore.
The receptionist sees you both stroll up to the counter and stands, bowing slightly, “Welcome, Mrs. Kim, Mrs. Hwang, It’s lovely to have you both join us this afternoon,” How did she know your alias? 
“Thank you, Seola, do you have the room ready?” Mrs. Kim asks.
The receptionist nods and directs you to two masseuses who guide you into an almost pitch-black room, the only light emanating is from a Wood and Lavender Yankee candle in the middle of the room.
Mrs. Kim starts to undress and lays on the massage table, and you follow suit. It’s a little weird, getting naked in front of three people you don’t know but that feeling instantly goes away when your masseuse drops some oil onto your back.
You let out a little groan in satisfaction as she starts to work her magic, you definitely need to come here with your girls for a proper retreat away.
“Y/N, can I ask you something, woman to woman?” Mrs. Kim speaks up, breaking the peaceful silence after about 15 minutes.
“Sure, Mrs. Kim,” Your eyes roll as the girl’s hands apply pressure to your shoulder, working out the tension you’ve pent up.
“Please, call me Heejin,” This is good, first name basis with the drug lord’s missus is a step in the right direction and all you had to do was lay there and be pampered. If only everything was that easy, “You and Jongseong, you’ve been married for how long?”
Shit. Shit. Why can’t you remember what your profile said? 2 years, no, 3? No wait, married for one, it was definitely one.
While you internally battle with the facts, Heejin twists her head to look at you, eyebrows raised, “One year, it’s all gone by so fast it feels more like forever,” You joke, hoping to play it off. Being in this setting is making you complacent, you need to get your head back in detective mode.
She smiles at you, tucking her arms under her head, still looking at you, “Honeymoon phase is still in full swing I see. Tell me, was it the money?” 
“Huh?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
Clicking her fingers, the masseuses leave the room urgently. Like a wave washing over you, you realise what’s happening. She’s duped you, “Y/N, you’re not fooling anyone here, you both aren’t. I know what Jongseong wants from my husband; I’ve been observing him for a while.”
This is not good. 
You sit up, wrapping a towel around your body to maintain some decency. This is twice in 24 hours you’ve been naked and vulnerable in front of someone. Next time, you’re not taking your clothes off so easily.
Heejin mirrors you, both of you are knee-to-knee. The shadows from the candle on her face make her look totally different, she looks dangerous. You should have known she wouldn’t have been as innocent as she looked, she was a Kim after all.
It’s hard to read the situation because her voice remains monotonous as she speaks, “He wants my husband’s money.”
Do you play dumb? Your persona is to be clueless and just madly in love with Jongseong but that isn’t going to play right now. She’s smart enough to see through it.
"Actually, I want your husband's money," you respond, sitting up with purpose. The confession piques Heejin's interest, and she leans back slightly to gaze upon you in a fresh light. "My Jjongie is wealthy now, but he needs more. Your husband has the means to put him in a healthier position," you say, changing the tone from serene to animosity. This is your opportunity to play her perfectly.
"What 'means' are you referring to?" She retorts. Heejin is smart, too smart.
If you wanted to catch them, you couldn’t say ‘I want my man involved in your drug ring’ outright because then it isn’t a confession, it’s you leading the witness which wouldn’t hold up in court. Your heart is pounding and for some reason, you really wish Jongseong was here.
"Heejin, you're not naive. You understand what I mean," you assert, and she nods, smirking, clearly grasping the gravity of your insinuation. "How can we establish a working relationship between our husbands?"
She leans on her palm, elbow sinking into her leg as her gaze burns into you akin to the candle beside you, “What’s in it for me?” 
Like most women, she has far more power than her husband. Jongseong had been so concentrated on winning over Kwangmin that he should have been sussing out and building an alliance with Heejin. 
You scoff out a laugh, “My husband is new money, do you know how many contacts he’s made in just a few years? Get Kwangmin and Jongseong into business together and I’ll make sure you have every name and detail of each one of them,”
“Y/N, I have all the contacts I nee–”
"Yang Jungwon" The name strikes the woman in front of you. The case file specifically addressed Mr. Yang several times, as well as Kwangmin's attempts to reach him for many years without success. Yang Jungwon is the leader of hundreds of black-market schemes across South Korea; whatever agreement Mr. Kim could make with him would render the drug lord invincible. Your colleague, Sunoo, has been working on catching Yang for years, but he's like a ghost, never staying in a single place for too long and far too distrustful, so he gets rid of most of the individuals he works with.
It’s an empty promise and if the rest of this mission proceeds longer than this week, you’d be the first on the chopping board either from your superior or the Kims.
Crossing her arms, she nods, “For several years, yes. And how do you know where he is?”
“He offered to work with my husband in exchange for exclusivity, Yang would work only with Jongseong, and in return he would do the same,” The lies fly out of your mouth like you’re in secondary school and you’ve been rehearsing for your Spanish oral exam. 
Heejin’s eyes narrow but in thoughtfulness rather than suspicion, “Trust is not easily earned. What guarantees do I have? You could be lying for all I know.”
You pause for a moment, choosing your next words carefully, “Actions speak louder than words. Get my Jjongie a meeting with your husband to discuss it, and I’ll give you Yang’s current location.”
She appears to be carefully considering your proposal because, to her, even if there is a slight chance you are lying, it is too good an opportunity to pass up. As she begins to speak, a knock interrupts her. As the door opens, you both turn to face the spa attendants, who are holding a tray of sparkling water and cucumbers.
Exchanging a glance with Heejin, she nods her head and smirks, taking her drink from the tray.
“How good is Jongseong at poker?”
_____
“Jongseong?!” You burst into the Ambassador suite, your excitement is palpable as you search for your co-worker. “I have some amazing news. I got you a-”
However, your words catch in your throat as you witness Jongseong harshly packing Petunia with your clothes. Is it over? Did he already secure what was needed for the case?
Ignoring your attempts at conversation, Jongseong briskly zips up your case and places it in front of you. His voice takes on a stern edge as his perfect jawline clenches, "You're going home."
Confusion flickers across your face as you process his unexpected actions, “Why? Jongseong, listen to me, Mrs. Kim gave us a gateway in.”
He pauses for a moment, his gaze piercing into you. This morning, he seemed to have been softer in his manner but now it’s back to good old cold Jongseong, not giving you the time of day. After the apology, albeit through text, you thought he might have some remorse but now he’s just kicking you out like you aren’t about to give him the lifeline he needs to break this case open. He never valued you, not as a person and not as his partner on the undercover mission.
“The poker game? Yeah, Kwangmin texted me about it. I appreciate your efforts but I don’t need you here anymore. It’s a done deal.” His words sting, after all the work you put into this case he can’t just kick you off.
“I’m not going.” You stand your ground, picking your suitcase up and unzipping it, taking out the clothes you planned to wear tonight. 
Jongseong releases an almost growl-like groan, forcefully pushing you away from the suitcase. He snatches the dress from your hands, roughly throwing it back in, "Listen to me, Y/N. This is MY case, alright? Not yours. I decide when you stick your fucking nose in." His face is flushed with frustration, and his eyes flicker alarmingly over you as if harbouring unspoken sentiments. There was more to this, you just didn’t know what, "Go home. Now."
Defiantly shaking your head, you retort, "I got you this chance. I am just as involved in this case now as you are." Your tone hisses with determination, "Plus, how would it look if I suddenly don't turn up tonight? A little suspicious, wouldn't you say? They'll know something is up." The attempt to negotiate with him feels futile, especially in the midst of his seething anger.
How can he be so idiotic? Surely, he understands the repercussions of his actions. If he shows up tonight without his ‘wife’ it’ll foil the entire plan.
"Get it through your thick skull, L/N. I don't need you. You served your purpose for me, so fuck off out of here," Jongseong bites out with a cold finality.
The sharp sound of a slap resonates through the room.
With all the force you can muster, you've just slapped Park Jongseong. It feels as if a primal instinct took control of your body in a moment of fight or flight. His words struck you because you know he’s not talking about the mission, he’s talking about last night. 
Your hand tingles with the aftermath of the hit, and you can only imagine the soreness on his right cheek. The room hangs in an electric silence, the consequences of your impulsive action reverberating between you and your partner.
Quickly, he grabs each side of your face with force, pressing his forehead to yours. You should be scared, terrified of his next actions but for some reason, you know he won’t hurt you, an inexplicable trust courses between you and him. The way he connected both of your heads was as if he was trying to telepathically communicate with you, the intensity of his gaze serving as a silent aid to the cause.
“Please, Y/N. Please go home, don’t come tonight.”
He was scared, you could see that now. The way his voice trembles as he says your name tells you all you need to know. Reaching up, you wrap your arms around his neck, massaging him softly but before you can get too comfortable with the embrace, he pushes you away gently, holding you at arm's length. 
Caught in a whirlpool of competing emotions, you try to find the right words but the mixture of emotions is too loud for you to gather any coherent thoughts in your head.  
He takes your silence as surrender and moves you to the side, finding his way to the bathroom to start getting ready for tonight’s big event. 
______
Lugging Petunia behind you, you make your way through the lobby with a heavy feeling in your chest. Jongseong left an hour ago to go into the poker game, not speaking a word to you. 
The entire situation leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You should despise him, tell him to go to fuck after the way he's treated you this weekend – insulting your work ethic, battering your self-esteem, and ultimately deeming you worthless. He's been an unapologetic asshole.
Yet, a sense of concern for his well-being gnaws at you. You've always been an empathetic person, but this takes it to another level. When his eyes bore into yours earlier, you felt his fear, the apprehension of what the night's outcome might bring. The poker game wasn't going to be a simple, friendly competition; it held the potential for disastrous consequences. 
You can’t let him do this alone. 
Despite your valid anger and hurt, a sense of responsibility drives you to return to the lift, retracing your steps back to your room to change. Jongseong will probably kill you for intervening, but deep down, you know it's the right thing to do.
Minutes later, you emerge from your room, having changed your casual clothes for something more appropriate for the poker game, a skimpy gold dress that shows your tits and ass perfectly. The weight of your decision rests heavily on your shoulders, but you can't back down now. You need to be there.
As you return to the lobby, your thoughts swirl. The contradictory feelings of disdain towards Jongseong yet still having the need to protect him against your better judgment create a storm within you. It's a difficult decision of empathy versus self-preservation. Jongseong was scared because no one could predict Mr. Kim’s moves, which meant even stepping into the VIP area was a risk, you know that but how could you go back to the precinct knowing you could have helped in some way? What if something happened to your partner?
Taking a deep breath, you fix your posture and stride into the lounge, heading directly for the poker game. Just like earlier in the day, the VIP area is heavily guarded by Kim’s men but you stay unfazed, you’re getting in there one way or another.
“Can I help you, Ma’am?” One of the guards asks.
“My husband is in there, Mr. Hwang. He’s expecting me, I’m a little late,” You smile brightly but he doesn’t budge, “Could you let me in to see him?”
Turning, he talks into his earpiece and you stand there, swinging on your heels as you wait, eager to get in there. You see his head nod as he faces you again, “Go ahead, Ma’am.” That was a lot easier than it should have been but you don’t question it too much, bowing as you walk past the guards. 
The room is filled with burley men in suits, they all keep a strong gaze on you as your feet reach the room ahead where the game is. It’s about an hour and a half into it, so you can only hope everything is peaceful. 
It must be your lucky day because as one of Kim’s men opens the door for you, you see the Kims and Jongseong silently playing the game. At least he’s safe.
“Ah, Y/N. Jongseong said you had an emergency and had to leave?” Mr. Kim queries, glancing up at you.
Jongseong’s back straightens and he turns to you with wide eyes, his hands almost dropping his cards.
“I managed to sort it. I can’t let a little matter like that ruin the weekend, right?” Your voice is higher pitched to match your character. Honestly, it’s grating you every time you open your mouth. One of the guards pulls out a chair for you but you swerve him and sit on Jongseong’s lap, circling your arms around his neck as you give him a quick kiss on his lips, “Hi, baby.”
His left hand holds your ass up, providing some support as you get comfortable on his thighs, “Y/N, what are you doing here?” He whispers into your lips, kissing you gently. You can feel his heart rapidly beating in his chest as he rubs his hand on your lower back and ass cheeks. Since your dress was so short, half of your ass is hanging out, so the warmth of his hand on your bare skin is setting a fire in your lower belly, thoughts of last night creeping back into your mind.
“I’m not letting you do this alone, I’ll take the risk.” He hears your determined voice and nods, it’s not like he could do anything about it now, you’re in this mess with him whether he likes it or not.
You take the cards from his hands and smile, “Mr. Kim, you don’t mind if I help him out, right?” You’re hoping you’ve played your persona well enough that you aren’t deemed a threat to his chances of winning, what with being just a stupid little girl with her husband's money. Heejin knows you better than that now though and smirks at you out with her husband’s view, she’s impressed at how you came in and took over.
“Of course, Y/N, I think your husband could use some guidance.” Kwangmin jokes and gestures to the table. Jongseong is losing big time it’s almost embarrassing.
Looking at his cards you analyse the situation, whispering to Jongseong, “Follow my lead, yeah?” 
40 minutes later, you and Jongseong are literally wiping the floor with Mr. Kim, all the hands seeming to fall into place. Turns out, the issue Jongseong was having was that he had never played poker in his life, reading a quick guide before coming down. It was rookie play but thank god you came when you did. 
The Kims look frustrated as they lose and it’s about the get even worse because you’re staring at the straight flush of cards in disbelief. Unless Kwangmin has a royal flush or higher-ranking cards for a straight flush, this game is as good as yours. 
Feeling a pinch on your side you glance at Jongseong who is looking at you intently, “Should we throw it?” He whispers. You understand where he is coming from, throwing it would give Mr. Kim no reason to throw a gasket and lash out but if you lose, there’s no guarantee he will see Jongseong as a worthy partner. It could go either way.
You shake your head, concealing the gesture by rubbing your nose against his. "No, play it. Don't fold."
“It could go south,” He debates back. 
“Trust me, you need to win and we’ll deal with what comes, okay?” You kiss him, telling yourself it’s his fake wife’s actions but in reality, you did it to try and still his nerves, hoping he focuses on your lips rather than the potential threat of what is to come.
He kisses you back, his eyes shutting, deepening the kiss and prolonging it way more than you intended. Each glide of his tongue carries a weight of apprehension, the gravity of the situation prompting him to embrace the moment fiercely. If things go awry, he wants this kiss to linger as a lasting memory.
"Hwang, are you going to play?" Mr. Kim's snap pierces the tension-filled air, his frustration is evident in the tone. 
Amidst the strained atmosphere, Jongseong meets Mr. Kim's impatient gaze and nods, "Apologies, Mr. Kim. Let's continue." his voice carries a confidence that contradicts his internal turmoil. As you lay down the cards, revealing the straight flush, a hushed gasp ripples through the room.
Mr. Kim's frustration transforms into an icy glare as he surveys the winning hand before him. The weight of the moment hangs in the air, and for a heartbeat, everything seems suspended in anticipation. His face contorted with suspicion, and he abruptly rose from his seat, eyes still fixated on the straight flush laid on the table.
“This is impossible,” His previous frustration is transforming into accusation, “You two…you cheated me!” His voice is heavy with venom.
Jongseong lifts you before standing up himself, his face a mirror to the gravity of the situation. Kwangmin is going to do exactly what he was scared of. His grip on your hips tightens.
The entire room is silent following his accusation but is suddenly broken by the ominous click of his holster being undone. You and Jongseong both freeze as Mr. Kim pulls out a gun, the steal of the semi-automatic catches the light.
Your throat dries up as a desperate echo of wishing you had brought your own weapon with you swirls your mind, it would have come in real handy right now. Before you have time to think, Jongseong has stepped in front of you, acting as a protective shield. 
“This was a set-up, you hustled me for nearly £2 million! Your little wife knew you were losing and you called her back here, didn’t you?” Mr. Kim's voice is a vicious snarl, and the Beretta in his hands is now aimed directly at your head.
Jongseong pulls his gun from his jacket pocket, pointing it to the madman in front of you. His action caused a domino effect of guns being pointed from every angle, each of his men has both of you in their line of sight.
However, although you’ve basically accepted your fate, Jongseong doesn’t waver, “Kwangmin I promise you, you don’t want to touch a hair on my girl’s head.” 
“Or what?”
“Or else your wife will become a widow.”
Jongseong's words hang heavy in the air. He means each word, his finger poised to pull the trigger. It's a testament to how far he'll go to defend you, even amidst the violent confrontation. As the safety on his gun clicks off, the room becomes enveloped in hostile silence. In this moment, Jongseong is the shield between you and the looming threat of your opponents gun. You find yourself unable to reciprocate the same level of protection for him, mustering a guilty feeling in your chest.
You wanted to help him but you’re stuck. The whole point of coming to this stupid game was to help him and now you can’t even do that, in fact, you might have made it worse by actually aiding him to win.
The standoff seems to go on for an eternity, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in the charged atmosphere. It’s a battle between the glares in their eyes, you’ve never seen your partner so focused.
“Jongseong, think about this,” Mr. Kim sneers, trying to one-up his opponent, “If you pull that trigger, you won’t leave this room alive.”
Jongseong’s expression remains stern, his gun unwavering, “I’m not afraid to die if it means protecting her.”
You don’t know what to say, whether he meant it as your fake husband or as a fellow detective, it still made your heart leap from your chest. Was he truly willing to die for you? Honestly, in this situation, you don’t want to test it out.
As you step forward, Jongseong holds you back, warning you silently not to move but as you gain a new perspective, you see Heejin staring at you with a knowing glare in her eyes. Raising your eyebrows and flicking your eyes to her husband, she understands, nodding slowly.
“Kwangie, baby,” It’s funny how she also puts on a persona around her husband, “They won fair and square. It seems Y/N is just really good at poker.” Her hand rubs his arm, snaking its way to the one holding the gun, pushing it down. 
You feel like you can breathe again, the burden of possibly losing your life slowly easing. The only one who could tell Mr. Kim what to do was Heejin. Her husband’s eyes land on her, a momentary flicker of uncertainty crossing his face as he battles with the decision to listen to his wife or end this with one bullet.
“Heejin, they can’t get away with this even if they won. He threatened you.” He debates with her.
“Yes, but baby, you also threatened the love of his life. You can protect yours but he can’t protect his?” They’re both playing a tennis match with each other’s reasonings, and Heejin hits an ace. It all comes down to Mr. Kim being a family man, that’s what saves you. 
Mr. Kim’s shoulders relax and instructs his men to lower their weapons. Once all guns are no longer pointed at your heads, Jongseong follows suit, bringing you close to his side. You can sense his heart slowing back down as his breathing regulates.
Subtly, you mouth a ‘thank you’ to Heejin who lowers her head in a courteous nod, “Now, why don’t we break this up and reconvene when you’re both in better minds, yeah?” She suggests.
Unsurprisingly, the whole room agrees, holstering their weapons. Kim’s men gather the poker chips in a suitcase and hand them to Jongseong who hesitates to accept. This is more money than he could have imagined he’d ever own but it also wasn’t his to keep. In one last attempt to gain trust, he pushes the case to Kwangmin, “Keep it. I don’t need your money anyway.”
It’s tactical to give the money back, you know Jongseong has a plan and you definitely trust him after his heroic display towards you.
______
As the elevator pings, you glide into your room, laughing in disbelief. You can’t believe that a poker game that began as a way to build a bridge between the two men ended in a near-death confrontation. 
“I can’t believ-”
“I told you to go home, Y/N,” he interrupts, his fists tightening, “You’re so fucking stupid,”
Any chance to defend yourself is swiftly halted as his lips meet yours. His right hand cradles your face while the other holds you in a tight embrace. His actions speak volumes, conveying the fear he felt at the thought of you being in danger.
Considering his recent behaviour, you should push him away. After all, it wasn't long ago that he belittled you. Yet, his current actions and the fact that he just saved your life leave your moral judgment in disarray.
Slowly, your hands untuck his shirt, granting you access to run them up his bare torso and chest. A gasp escapes him when you dig your fingers into his pecs, and his open mouth invites the exploration of your tongue.
“I could have fucking lost you back there,” he whispers, his words trying to convey both frustration and concern. The way he says 'I' doesn’t escape your notice, as if you were his to lose in the first place.
“But you didn’t,” you lean back, locking eyes with him. “I’m right here because you protected me.”
He lifts you, reconnecting his lips with yours as he carries you to the bedroom, your legs wrapping around him tightly. Indulging in this with his track record feels wrong, but he's undeniably addicting and intoxicating.
Tossing you on the bed, he chases your mouth until he’s on top of you, his hands roaming all over your body, “I shouldn’t have had to protect you, you should have listened to me,” He moans when your leg rubs against his crotch as you desperately seek contact from him.
Even as his mouth trails kisses down your neck, he continues to challenge you. The dynamic that has defined your relationship for years isn't easily left behind, even after a near-death experience. The intensity between you both is undeniable, a blend of desire, frustration, and a history too intricate to understand right now.
The power shifts as you assert yourself, flipping him onto his back. Straddling him, you lean down to capture his lips once more. There's a hunger in the way you kiss him, “I didn’t want the precinct to blame me if you died and I didn’t do anything,” You tease him, smirking into the kiss.
His hands grab your ass as you grind against him, creating a sense of mutual desperation. Clothes are shed in a flurry, leaving behind fragments of the personas you wore only hours before. 
"I don't know why I bother with you," he says, his tone tinged with both irritation and tenderness.
"Maybe you can't help yourself," you say, a taunting gleam in your eyes as you lean in to capture his lips again but he pushes you back so your head is on the soft pillow, spreading your legs forcefully, each of his palms holding you down by your thighs.
Licking his lips, he almost drools seeing your pussy laid bare for him like this, it was only yesterday he was buried deep inside you but he never got a taste of you. He smirks as he delves down, his nose nudging your clit softly, the sudden touch flooding heat to your core.
With his eyes staring into yours, he licks up your slit purposefully, his tongue ridgid as the tip of it reaches your nub. The eye contact is insane, the way he’s trying not to miss one change in your facial expression turns you on more. 
His teeth nibble the sensitive area, making you yelp and groan at the same time, “Holy shit, Jongseong,” He was teasing you to get back for disobeying his orders, he knows what you need and he’s only giving you a taste before he takes it right back. 
One of his hands alleviates the pressure from your inner thigh and trickles its way to your entrance, making you thrust your hips up, pleading for his fingers, “What do you want, hmm?” He asks, his voice velvet smooth. You buck your hips up again and mewl out but he doesn’t bite, “No, Y/N, use your words,” He places one more soft lick on your folds before retracting again, “Beg me.”
No chance in hell are you going to beg for Park Jongseong to finger you. The woman inside you wouldn’t allow it, no matter how desperate you are, you have too much pride. 
Your defiance only makes him chuckle, a wicked smile graces his lips as he shakes his head in mock disapproval. His fingers, skilled and deliberate, find their way back to your entrance, teasing the edges without fully committing, “Come on, say it. Beg for it like I know you want to,” he goads, and the anticipation builds between you both.
His eyes are narrow as he looks up at you again, waiting. This is what you found so captivating about the sex you had last night, the charged energy you both get from how you play off one another. 
Tutting, he circles his middle finger around your hole, applying just enough pressure for you to whine out. He waits again for the surrender he knows is inevitable. 
"Fuck you, I can get myself off," You challenge him, but as you clench around nothing while he sucks your clit for a single second, you understand your words are meaningless, floating in the air with no substance because even if you can get yourself off, it won't be enough for you. You need him.
“Give in, come on, don’t be pathetic,” The words strike a nerve in you, urging you to slap him like earlier, but he slowly inserts his middle finger, curling it slightly as he drags it out and it makes you squirm under him, “See? You want it, I want to give it to you, all you have to do is ask for it.”
He makes it sound so simple and in reality, it is. Just one of his fingers is enough to have you aching for more.
The throbbing within you becomes an insistent pulse, the defiant act you put on now dissipating with each thump of your heartbeat, “Jongseong,” He smirks, knowing exactly what’s coming next, “Please, I need you,”  The plea escapes your lips before you can stop it.
A triumphant glint sparkles in his eyes as he hears your soft voice, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” his middle finger returns to your canal but this time he’s adding his ring finger with it. Between the fucking he gave you last night and the arousal you’re feeling now, your entrance is already prepped from him, he’s just doing this for fun.
His digits set a rhythmic pace, he feels each inch of your walls as his mouth attaches to your clit once again, this time for a longer, more gruelling experience. He works the bud perfectly in his mouth, the perfect combination of lips and tongue.
The coil in your stomach starts to heat as his fingers hit a soft spot in your pussy repeatedly. He was unreal, like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. 
Sensing your impending climax, Jongseong intensifies his movements, seemingly coaxing your release. His mouth and hand work in unison, skillfully stimulating every nerve in your sensitive region. The pleasure builds, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. However, just as you teeter on the edge, he abruptly stops.
Withdrawing himself from you, he watches as your body squirms, aching for the release he has denied. Confused, you open your teary eyes, searching for an explanation. "You didn't listen to me earlier," he says as if it's a sufficient justification for withholding the orgasm you were on the verge of releasing.
“Jjongie, please fuck me,” You moan out, grabbing him so his weight is on top of you. It’s a last-ditch attempt to gain back some power in this sexcapade.  
“You can’t stop begging for it now, huh?” If you weren’t so drunk for him, you would have bit back a comeback but he was right, you are so overcome with need you’re willing to do anything to get it. 
Teasing you, he runs his firm length up your slit and sits it on your sensitive clit, tapping it a few times, “Tell me you’re sorry for putting yourself in danger like that,” His voice is overcome with lust and some remnants of concern as he recalls the poker game.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” You practically cry out, holding his face, “I didn’t want you to get hurt,” The confession hangs in the air, shocking him for a moment. Your sincerity, combined with the desire, results in a raw and vulnerable moment. It’s not like Jongseong thought you didn’t care about him, but the depth of your actions in entering such a crazy environment for his sake leaves him momentarily breathless.
He captures your lips with his, moving fiercely as he tries to convey the thankfulness of your selfless actions, “You’re seriously so stupid, Y/N. You shouldn’t care about me that much,” The electricity around you both shifts from pure desire to tender intimacy. 
You rub his shoulders, “But I do, I don’t know why, but I do,” You say in a hushed tone, punctuating each sentence with a kiss. The words are an unexpected revelation, not even something you've consciously acknowledged to yourself. Yet, in the heat of the moment, they spill effortlessly from your lips. 
Jongseong’s gaze softens, and any anger still within him crumbles away. You cared about him and he cared about you.
When you both had sex last night, he was scared when you said ‘I hate that you can’t just admit you like me’. It was as if you could see right through him in that very moment, and no one had ever done that in all his years of living. He did like you, he respected you as a colleague and a person, and he never intended to start this hate war between you both, it just happened. You were two kids eager to be the top detective, it was only natural to find you a threat to his career goals.
You reach up and stroke his face, bringing his attention back to present you, “Jongseong, please,” You reach your hand down to stroke his red-tipped cock, “Fuck me.”
Not having to be told twice, he lines up at your entrance, easing himself into you, no longer finding the need to withhold any pleasure from you. A gasp escapes your throat, mingling with his low groan. The feeling of your walls hugging him again feels incredible, “You feel so right,” The admission could be taken in two ways but he doesn’t care, the sensation of you is making his head fuzzy. He could sing your praises the whole night if you let him.
This is a complete juxtaposition to yesterday, hell, even about 10 minutes ago. The way he starts to fuck into you is so much more delicate but still forceful, it’s the perfect mixture of lust and vulnerability. 
As he begins to pound into you with growing intensity, his eyes meet yours and each time he pulls back far enough to graze over your g-spot, he sees a flash of pleasure flicker over your iris’. He’s fucking you so good, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to go back to anyone else.
His arm reaches over, pulling one of the pillows from the top of the bed, he places it under your lower back, tilting your pelvis to help him effortlessly reach a new angle that has you moaning out his name, chanting it like a hymn, begging him not to stop.
Spitting on his hand, he begins to rub your clit in a harsh circle, something he learned you liked last night. He was sending you into overdrive, completely crumbling beneath him as you felt that heat in your belly once again. The difference is, this time when he feels you close to orgasm, he isn’t stopping.
“Jjongie, I’m cumming,” You warn him, spurring him on to get you off as blissfully as possible. It doesn’t take long before you’re body contracts, your walls clamping down on him. The way you’re trapping him into you brings him to the edge of his own release
His head falls back, exposing the long column of his neck, his veins standing out as he thrusts into you with more fervour, hitting you deeper. The force of his movements causes the bed to creak loudly under you. You’re just lucky the headboard was mounted on the wall or else he would have created dents.
You lean up to kiss his neck, licking up his protruding vein causing him to let out a low purr. It all becomes too much for him and he releases inside of you, his hips jutting erratically due to the intensity of his climax. Ropes of his cum shoot inside of you and it seems never-ending, the grip he has on your hips will certainly leave half-moon indentations in your skin.
Panting heavily, he collapses onto you, your breaths and heartbeats the only music dancing around the room. The weight of him feels perfect on you like you can support him easily. You nuzzle your face into his neck as your arms reach to hug him, one hand stroking his back softly to calm him down from his high.
Both of your hearts sync up, the once rapid beating now slowing down as you catch your breaths. The quiet aftermath and weight of unspoken words hang between you, both knowing that the complexities of this relationship just escalated.
He plants scattered kisses along your collarbone before getting up. You still have a little niggle in your brain which tells you this will be a repeat of last night.
But as quickly as Jongseong retreats from the room, he’s back with a face cloth, drenched in warm water. He’s trying to make it up to you, the guilt he felt when he left you to look after yourself when he knew that was his job was unspeakable. The man spent all night cursing himself for treating you that way.
“I’m sorry I was such a prick, especially with all this stuff,” He wipes your pussy gently, collecting the mix of your fluids as he apologises, “It was really shitty. I promise I’m not usually that much of a dick.” 
He never meets your gaze as he speaks, yet, you feel the sincerity of his words. Grabbing his working hand you gain his attention and smile softly at him, “You’ll just need to keep making it up to me.” At your words, he gulps and his stomach summersaults, the prospect of more times like this is something he could only dream of. 
“I don’t know where we go from here,” Jongseong admits, his voice vulnerable. The truth of his words settles, the experience you just shared unravelled something profound, something you both didn’t know how to navigate.
Nodding slowly to echo his concerns, “I don’t either,” The response is truthful. You had no fucking clue what this meant for both of you, all you know is that your dynamic has shifted, “We can work it out together though, right?” You offer in optimism. 
Jongseong shoots his eyes to yours, a mix of uncertainty and yearning sitting in his gaze.
Suddenly, Jongseong’s burner phone dings a few times. You urge him to grab it because if it’s his undercover phone, that means it can only be one person. Reaching over to grab his trousers, he pulls the phone out and reads the messages, eyes widening and his smile follows.
He faces it to you, allowing you to read it.
Kim Kwangmin:
8.12pm: 
You can hold your own kid, you’re not as stupid as you look.
I’m impressed.
I’ve got a business proposition for you. Tomorrow. 8am at the lounge.
You look at each other in sear shock, not quite believing after everything that transpired that the Kim Kwangmin was ready to offer Jongseong a way into his drug smuggling, a way to get him put behind bars.
“You fucking did it,” You whisper astounded.
“We did it,” He states, bringing your chin up to look at him, placing a kiss on your lips, sealing your mission case closed.
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jyoongim · 1 month
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Hiii
Alastor X human!reader where she is desperate to make a deal for fame and glory.
She tries to summon a demon, accidentally conjuring Alastor. Beside her feisty facade she’s quite innocent and naive. He’s intrigued by her and toys with her, like a prey,tricking her into him, she signs the deal. He’ll come back after 1yr to collect his pretty little prize…her body and soul. 🌶️🔥
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Title: A Price to Pay
part 2
You frowned at the check your boss had handed you.
Too little. You looked at your boss, a nervous smile on your lips as a laugh bubbled out of your throat ”haha this is half of what i should be getting. That’s funny, where's the rest? Am i getting that in cash or some?” Your boss laughed “HA! No thats what you’re getting for the week‘
Your eyes damn near popped out of your head.
 For the week?
This was your pay for the entire week?
Oh hell no!
You poked a finger into the mans chest “What?! The whole week? I’ve been singing my ass off in this shit hole for two weeks! Where are my commissions?” You were angry! 
He gave a low laugh as he pulled out a cigar ”You think just because you’re my best in this joint that I wasn’t gonna get the Final Cut? You better take it before i hand your ass nothing”
You sniffled as you wiped at your runny nose.
The yellow paper with EVICTION stared at you as you felt another wave of tear hit you.
Why? 
Why couldn’t you just make enough to stay afloat?
Why did you have to suffer?
Why didn’t fate grant you mercy?
You had been busting your ass for months trying to make enough money to just pay the damn pills.
You were the best singer on your side of town and that shit hole needed a singer almost every night and when big shots went there. The money wasn’t terrible, it beat standing out on the pier at night, waiting to be taken to gods know where.
You laughed dryly, you would gladly get pimped out if it meant that you could still afford food to eat.
Why was life so cruel?
You had worked so hard and it felt like it was all for nothing.
You could hear your momma in your head
”You wanna dream big? Then never let life beat you down. Take it by the balls and make your dream a reality”
The next thing you know, you found yourself pulling out your mother’s old grimoire and drawing symbols on your bedroom floor.
what the hell were you doing?
You used to scoff at your mother when she did spells. 
Because magic wasn’t real…right?
But it felt like you had no other option as you threw some herbs into the small fire pot.
Momma used to tell you about all types of things that were possible with a little magic. That you always had friends on the other side who could help if you knew what you doing.
And you indeed had no fucking clue.
But you were tired, angry, and desperate and wanted to do something about it.
This was your life!
You felt your body tingle as you chanted the incantation.
The room turned cold and the fire from the candles blew out. The building started to shake as you spoke the last verse and suddenly you were thrown back from an explosion in the middle of your pentagram.
You watched in terror as the floor glowed red and rising from the smoke was a very large demon.
You panicked as it began to stand, gulping at its full height.
Oh what did you just do?
—————————————————
Alastor blinked as he stood. Fanning the smoke away from his face, he grimaced once he saw the pentagram, candles, and herbs. Who dared? His ears perked at the sound of heavy breathing. He turned his head and red eyes caught sight of a mortal woman standing against the wall, eyes wide.
He took a step towards her, head tilting as she cowered away. He huffed as he got to the edge of the protection boundary. He gave her a smile, sharp teeth glistening with narrowed eyes 
“Hello my dear”
——————————————————————
You took in the tall demon that stood in your bedroom.
He was dressed like one of those fancy gents.
Red and black tailored suit with a cane.
You watched as he curled his lip when he saw your protection boundary. You felt your body freeze as his eyes met yours.
Red.
Glowing red. 
He was rather handsome looking for a demon. 
He reminded you of-
“Deer” you squeaked, causing Alastor to tilt his head, ears flicking.
oh come on! You can’t be scared of something that you’re in control of!
”Hello my dear” you heard him say. He stood on the cusp of the salt boundary giving you his full attention.
That smile of his was very uncanny.
You shivered.
You found your nerves and puffed your chest out
”Hello demon-sir”
”Alastor” you blinked at him “w-what?”
He never lost that smile “The names Alastor. Pleasure to meet you” you were at a lost for words.  Alastor took your silence to look around, your spellbook caught in his attention before he took you in.
You cleared your throat “I summoned-” “conjured” “You to um make a deal?” You said uncertain
Alastor smirked “oh reallly? And what makes you think Ill make a deal with a human like you?”
You frowned ”You don’t have a choice! I summoned YOU here you have to do what I ask!’
He laughed darkly “Oh my dear that isn’t how things work” he looked back at the salt ”lets chat”
You didn’t trust him, but he seemed friendly girl don’t do it
you inched close and with a sweep of your foot, dusted a bit of the salt to let him through.
Alastor stepped through and now you were being towered over.
Alastor took you in.
what a small thing you were. He was sure you had no idea what you were doing or dealing with.
But if it was deal you wanted, he will grant that.
”What do you want?”
You wrung your hands nervously as you spilled your sad excuse of a life and your far fetched dream.
You felt a surge of determination as you finished your little rant “That’s why I need a deal! I deserve to rise to the top! I’ve worked my ass off for years and nothing! Why-Why should I settle for this? My life deserved to be full of glamor and money! I deserve that right? Right! S-s-so what do you say”
Oh what an innocent thing you were.
Such a fire that had nowhere to burn.
Perfect 
Alastor feigned mulling it over, your face dropping as he walked away from you.
”A deal works both ways my dear”he started as he turned back to you “What will you give me in return?” His smile stretched across his face as his calm facade faded.
You gulped but you were not gonna back out “Ill give you anything j-just please I don’t care what I have to do!”
He was in front of you in a flash, making you take a step back nervously 
“Anything?” A clawed hand squished your cheeks hard as he leaned his face to yours
”prove it” he purred
You blinked.  How the hell were you suppose to do that?
Nothing in this world is free. Your momma taught you that and your warning bells were screaming.
His thumbs was running over your lips and you opened your mouth to suck it.
You could die right now. Was this worth it? To give up your dignity to a demon?
Alastor growled and in a swift motion, you were on your bedroom floor, heart thumping in your ears as you looked up at the demon on top of you.
Alastor’s free hand swiped down your body, tearing your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked.
You felt a soft heat curl in your stomach.
Alastor laughed darkly as he took in your naked form. His hand dipped down and thumbed at the small bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt.
Oh he was going to have fun with you
”One year.” He said as he dipped a finger into your tight heat.
You gasped around his finger.
”You’ll get your fame. You’ll have riches and power beyond your imagination. A top star. It’ll all be yours. But in one year you are mine. Your soul and body. Do we have a deal?” He was slowly fingering you, relishing in the softness your cunt offered as it squeezed around him.
Your body and soul in exchange for glory.
Did you still want this?
”yes” you whimpered
A green glow emitted around the two of you. Alastor eyes glowed and his antlers grew as he plucked his thumb from your mouth and slammed his lips onto yours as he rubbed your clit as he slammed his fingers into you.
”mmmhmm hmmm!’ You cried into his mouth as your orgasm hit you.
Your cunt clenched around him, creamy slick drowning his hand.
Your body buzzed as he retracted his fingers, watching in bliss as he licked your cum off his fingers.
”Oooh such a sweet cunt” He Purred at you as he scooped you up into his arms to lay you on your bed.
”Ill always keep close watch my dear, so don’t think you can back out of this” he said, you blinked sleepily as you felt the coldness of a necklace clasped around your neck.
“One year my dear”
Your world faded to black.
pt 2 coming soon..hehehe
@thewinchestah @catherine1206 @stygianoir @jellibean2018 @markster666 @strawberrypimp666 @3verlark @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @gojosaturos-wife @tojirights @polytheatrix @dennsfz @horrorartsworld @prosciuttosblog @yourdoorisunlocked @dievia3 @alastorsdarling @t0byisher3 @mneferta @purplecatsandhearts @alishii @okay-babe @danveration @absurd-ash @peachedtv @simphornies @fatnug @alastorsdear @alastwhore666 @stawberrypimpsimp @altruisticalastor @queenariesofnarnia @scaramoochiie @rradio-static @someonethatsnotimportantplshelp @squeekycheesecurd @squixythebee @catmunist @lbcreations-blog @coleisyn @bratty2bunny @v0xsw1fe @alstorloml @fizzled-phoenix @siiv3r @k1y0yo @yunimimii @wisteria-seal @kassa-stardust
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mncxbe · 19 days
Text
First time meeting your parents₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒖𝒚𝒂, 𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: some quick headcanons of what I think the bsd men would do when they meet your parents for the first time. it got a bit silly but I tried to keep it as in character as possible. enjoy♡
ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑ ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑ ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑
𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊
he postpones meeting your parents for a looong time because he's scared they won't like him, but he eventually caves in. he knows he can't avoid the visit forever
he prefers meeting them at their place over dinner or brunch, in a more homey atmosphere
if he's anxious (trust me, he is) Dazai doesn't show it. he has no trouble charming your parents with his usual gentlemanly behaviour and jokes, although he has to physically refrain himself from making any comments and jokes about double suicide
Dazai only has good things to say about you so that helps make a good first impression. + he's such a sweet talker
"Dear Y/N is such a wonderful woman. It's clear that you raised her well– no, really, I'm serious. She's the most lovely person I've ever met"
he's quite evasive when it comes to discussing his job and past. he brushes off all questions by saying that his work at the Agency is top secret and his childhood was a✨️dark time✨️ that he doesn't want to talk about
but besides that all convos go super well. Dazai's a very smart person and he just knows how to talk to people
overall he makes a good first impression, but your parents are a bit weary of him since he's so secretive
-1 point cuz he starts lightly squeezing your thighs and touching you under the table just to see you squirm (this man is shameless)
𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒖𝒚𝒂
takes your parents to the fanciest restaurant in the city– his treat of course, around half a year after the two of you start dating
he does show he's a bit nervous but it's super cute
Chuuya, just like Dazai, is willing to talk about anything except his occupation and childhood. he may twist some stories from his past and make it sound like he had a normal family growing up but he feels bad about it after
he keeps getting phone calls from his colleagues so he constantly gets up and leaves the table, which spoils the mood a bit but it's nothing major
Chuuya is the definition of a gentleman so your parents love him. he also doesn't refrain from telling them how amazing you are and how happy you make him
after hearing so much about your relationship your parents naturally want to know if you're going to take things a step further and oh he's so flustered
"Well um... we haven't thought that far yet but maybe in the future if things go well... yes I'd be happy to make her my fiancé"
if your parents do give him the blessing in advance his heart melts. and it's so obvious how grateful he is
at the end of the night he drives your parents home. yes, he rents a fancy car just for that purpose– and thanks them for agreeing to meet him
i feel like Chuuya would be very moved by the whole interaction. it's only been the first time meeting your parents and they already welcomed him in your family. he never had that growing up, didn't have the luxury of sitting around a table with his parents and just chatting and eating dinner like that and it truly makes him soft. he wants it again
he can barely sleep that night– just lays awake in bed and watches you sleep, thinking of how lucky he is to have you. he realizes that maybe your parents are right, maybe he should propose to you. after all, he does love you oh so dearly and knows that you're the only one for him
𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂
protect this man at all costs he's so anxious when he meets your family for the first time
right off the bat he doesn't make the best first impression– he's too tense and lowkey a bit mean. he's in foreign territory and he gets defensive
considering that he's been on TV before your parents know that he's part of the Port Mafia so they're also a bit awkward
neither of you know what to say or talk about at the beginning so Akutagawa excuses himself to make a phone call just to gather his thoughts. naturally, you go after him to reassure him that everything is fine but it doesn't really help
"I can't just relax, Y/N. They hate me, literally hate me. This was such a bad idea we shouldn't have done this."
"No, no Ryuu it's alright. They don't hate you they're just... weary of you. You knew it'd be like that but you just have to show them who you truly are" you encourage him, giving his hand a light squeeze "I know you can do this."
once you return to the table he composes himself and actually tries to chat with your parents. he's respectuful enough and when your parents warm up to him he fully relaxes
sweet boy rambles on about antiques and mentions Dazai at least once. other than that he doesn't talk much about his private life
overall 7/10 experience. bonus points cuz he helps your mom do the dishes and clean up the table
he needs a few days to process everything. for a while, Akutagawa truly believes that he fucked up the whole meeting and you were going to break up with him. ofc that's not the case but he's still overly anxious
needless to say the next time the four of you hang out he's much more relaxed and plans different conversation topics in advance so he can be prepared for anything
𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓
he comes over at your parents' place too. he brings flowers to your mom and some "homemade" cookies (he bought them from a bakery then put them in another box) so you can have a little snack over a cup of tea
he compliments your mom so the first impression is great
"My, my, madam, now I understand how your lovely daughter turned out to be so beautiful. She has your eyes"
man plays mind games with your parents and speaks in riddles so he comes across as a bit of a pompous ass😔 his menacing aura doesn't really help much either but besides that he's super respectful
he really impresses your parents with his knowledge but they still find him a bit shady since he doesn't share anything about his occupation and upbringing
if they really insist with questions Fyodor straight up lies– and it's scary how nonchalant he is about it
after you all drink a cup of tea and eat something he plays cards or chess with your dad so they can have a 'man to man' talk
at the end of the visit your parents like him. Fyodor manages to paint a nice picture for himself and gets their approval– but it's mostly half thruths which naturally upsets you
so once you're back to your place and you confront him he just says it's for the best they don't know the whole truth. ofc that starts a little argument
"Myshka, please understand that I cannot divulge important information about what I do"
"I know and I'm not asking you to. I just don't want you to lie to my parents. You put me in a very uncomfortable position and now I have to keep lying from now on. It's not fair."
"That may be the case... but don't worry your pretty head over it. I'll take care of everything."
"Okay but then how do I know you haven't been lying to me too?"
"No, no, my dear. I would never lie to you"
622 notes · View notes
carolmunson · 6 months
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you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)
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entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'
a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.
tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!
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October 31st, 1998
Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.
"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.
"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"
"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."
"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.
"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."
"Five years now, isn't it?"
"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."
Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.
Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."
"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.
"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."
"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.
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You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.
It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.
You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.
You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.
You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.
A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.
"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"
You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.
"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.
"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."
You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.
"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"
"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."
"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."
"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."
"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."
"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"
"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.
"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."
"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."
You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.
"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."
"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."
You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."
"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."
"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"
"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."
"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.
"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."
You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.
At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.
At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.
"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."
You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.
"Those rumors are true."
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The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?
You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.
With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.
You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."
You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.
When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.
You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.
Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.
Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.
"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"
"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."
"B-but--"
"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."
"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"
"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."
"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."
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You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.
"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.
You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.
"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.
Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.
His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.
"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.
His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.
His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.
"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."
You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.
"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."
"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.
He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.
"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."
Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.
"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."
You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.
"You were saying?" he asks.
"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.
"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.
A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.
With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.
"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."
There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.
He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.
Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."
You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.
You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."
Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."
Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.
The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.
"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.
When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.
"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."
Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.
He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down. 
Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery. 
“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.” 
You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:
Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.
"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.
You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.
He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.
"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.
"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.
"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."
He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."
When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."
He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."
He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.
Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.
"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."
"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."
You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.
When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"
"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.
"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.
Can finally fuck you how I wanna.
He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.
Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."
Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.
"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."
He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.
"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."
"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.
He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.
"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."
His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.
"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."
You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."
"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.
His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.
"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."
The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.
That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.
He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?
The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."
Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.
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You wake, you’re not sure how much later. 
Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head. 
You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere. 
“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.” 
“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?” 
He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?” 
He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.” 
“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?” 
Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?” 
You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow. 
He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on. 
You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you. 
He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch. 
“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before. 
“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears. 
Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough. 
“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.” 
You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him. 
“What do you mean?” 
“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.” 
“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.” 
“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.” 
He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly. 
“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.” 
“You’re disgusting,” you spit. 
“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.” 
He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death. 
“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.” 
“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily. 
“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”
You sniffle in response.
“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.” 
He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.” 
“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.” 
Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper. 
“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge. 
“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.” 
He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.” 
Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat. 
“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.” 
He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes. 
“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story. 
He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you. 
“And I’ll tell you something, babe…” 
Fading, fading, fading.
“He tasted divine.”
masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi
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