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#before i run out of tag space lmao
greyias · 3 months
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A run of weeklies or two to grab a bunch of gray items to throw at unsuspecting party guests? Check. The last known stacks in the galaxy of non-legacy bound snacks for sharing? Check. Inventory stupidly full? Check. Me and companion decked to the nines? Check.
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Aw yis. Ready to party. (On Saturday.)
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vimbry · 1 year
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it's pretty interesting how marvin's defining characteristics in pop culture are the blowing up earth to see venus motivation and 'where's the kaboom' "catchphrase", both things that come from and occur only once in his very penultimate appearance of the golden age era. but in addition to that, are more associated with his initial green/red design, not the gold/green palette actually used for those final two shorts.
what Does also contain that green/red design is duck dodgers and the 24th 1/2 century, one of the two marvin shorts included in the bugs bunny/road runner compilation movie, which also named him and uses a new illustration with the "classic" palette, and I'm guessing that's what embedded those elements into newer generations' public perception and later marketing. I dunno I just think seeing what factors are picked up most by pop culture surrounding classic media is neat!!
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joonberriess · 5 months
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teeth. ☆ j.jk
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⋆ TAGS — ghostface!jk, breaking in, TW: non-con to dub-con (oc does NOT consent verbally even if she does participate hence the dub-con), brief knife play, cunnilingus, degradation, misogyny(?), objectification, blow jobs, brief face/skull fucking, fuckin in the woods, unprotected sex, nasty talk by jk, possessive!jk, hints of kidnapping/captivity, fear play, facial, jk is lowkey yandere, iconic what’s your favorite scary movie scene but my style, DEAD DOVE, slight praises, ass n coochie worship cause jk is a ass man certified LMAO, cheerleader!oc, college setting
⋆ WORD COUNT — 4.2k
⋆ now playing: teeth - 5sos ⋆
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“Color me your color, baby, color me your car, color me your color, darling, I know who you are,”
The music blared loudly, you hummed under your breath while lining over your lips with a dark lip pencil. The hour was getting closer and you realized you had to speed things up if you wanted to meet with your friends on time (you had been stuck in your cheer uniform ALL DAY). You moved around your room quickly while tossing articles of clothing onto your bed, no outfit in particular on your mind.
You uncapped the red lipstick and ran it over your lips slowly, filling in the blank spaces and blending the two colors to perfection. You decided a white long sleeve tucked into your mini jean skirt would serve as a perfect combo. If you were lucky, maybe that cute college senior Kim Seokjin would give you his jacket to wear. The idea has you smiling like a dummy.
Before you can slip out of your skirt the phone downstairs begins ringing loudly. You could have very well ignored it but you don’t feel like listening to your parents nag at you for not picking up the phone if it happens to be them. “Ugh, seriously.” You mutter and quickly run downstairs to the kitchen.
“Hello?” You softly sigh while twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.
“Hello,” some guy’s deep voice greets you, he says nothing else and you tilt your head in confusion muttering a soft ‘yes?’. “Who is this?”
Immediately you frown in confusion and balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Who are you trying to reach?” You pop a piece of chicken from your mom’s leftover casserole into your mouth.
“What number is this?”
“Uhh..what number are you trying to reach?”
“I don’t know.”
You hold back a deep sigh and check the time behind you on the clock, you really don’t have patience for this nonsense. Especially for some weirdo who’s either prank calling or just doesn’t know how to work a phone. “Then you have the wrong number,” you eat another piece of casserole, “it happens, take it easy though.” You hang up quickly before he can utter another word to you.
You had just set the phone down when it began to ring all over again, “Ugh…hello?” You stare at the decorative ceiling in annoyance, “Hello?” You say loudly when the other person doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Why don’t you wanna talk to me? Just wanted to apologize, ‘s all.” He says with a teasing lilt, but it sounds more condescending than anything, “Just wanna..get to know you.”
You ignore the nasty little shiver you get down your spine when he talks to you like that, a deeper part of you is literally drooling over how this guy’s voice sounds but too bad he’s a weirdo though.. Your gut twists uncomfortably as your eyes dart to the side to look out the patio doors. “Okay..well you’re forgiven now, bye.” You go to hang up.
“Wait–if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”
You can’t help your scoff, “Yeah, right. I don’t think so, why the hell would I give you my name? You sound like a total creep right now, you know that?” You huff and open your fridge up for a drink, “Besides, what’s your deal anyways? You keep calling and I’m obviously not who you’re looking for.” You complain while uncapping a bottle of water.
“Because,” he calmly starts, “I wanna know who I’m lookin’ at right now.. Pretty red lips and a tight little uniform on,” he draws out huskily.
You immediately go still, “W-What…how do you..?” you look around the empty kitchen and living room. “This isn’t funny.” You quickly head down the hall to the front door, making sure the locks are set before you go back to the living room and make sure the patio doors are locked as well.
“Never said it was babydoll.” He muses, “Though I do gotta admit, red looks spectacular on you, wonder if you got more around here in your drawers.” He trails off, the sound of drawers slamming close and another opening could be heard on the other side of the line.
You wait with a bated breath listening carefully, you slowly turn your head to look up at the ceiling. There’s a low thumping noise that follows the sounds you hear from the phone. Your eyes slip shut as you try to control the sob that’s about to come out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You croak in a tiny voice.
“What’s your favorite scary movie sweetheart, hm?” His footsteps are heavy as he starts walking around upstairs in your room.
You blink your tears away and stumble towards the hallway to your only escape route: your dad’s office. “I-I don’t like any scary movies,” you whimper quietly, “p-please, I don’t wanna die.” You sniffle. You can hear him humming in the hallway upstairs now, causing you to duck into the office as silent as you can.
“That wasn’t my question. Time’s ticking babydoll, I’m not exactly a patient guy you know.”
“H-Halloween..!” You whisper-yell, “I like Halloween.”
“Which one?” He asks, you can hear him loud and clear at the bottom of the staircase, “Hm?”
You sniffle softly and back away, “Rob Zombie’s version,” you utter softly and hear him pause in his footsteps. He stands there for a few seconds before he slowly draws nearer and nearer. Your eyes squeeze shut as a terrified whimper escapes your lips, before you can plead with him the door slowly creaks open and a hooded figure stands in the doorway with the phone held up to his ear. You stare at him, the phone slipping from your trembling hand as it slams to the floor with a loud thud.
He tilts his head to the side and raises his gloved hand to wave at you. “Hey there sweetheart,” he purrs from under the mask.
You scream out in fear and knock over the desk chair, you’re lucky as hell your dad has a set of patio doors himself. You slip through the doors and run down the small hill, looking back and forth in time to see the hooded figure chasing after you.
The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping fill both sides of your ears. Adrenaline kicks in like never before and has you running the fastest you’ve ever moved in your entire life. If you can lose him in the woods you’ll make it to your neighbors’ in five minutes tops, might even get lucky if you detour to the main road but the hill to climb up will only slow you down.
“Don’t be like that babydoll!” He calls out from your left? Right? You don’t know where his voice is coming from, and quite frankly you’re too scared to look. You hear his heavy footsteps (now) directly behind you before a hand tangles itself in the back of your uniform top, gripping it tight as he stops you from going any further.
The force itself is enough to send you flying to the ground, knees scraping hard against a tree stump. You break your fall with your hands, crying out from the pain that erupts in both palms as tiny twigs and rocks dig into your soft skin. “Gotcha.” He chuckles and squats down to your level to admire your bruised form. You must have gave him a run for his money with how hard he’s breathing under the mask.
“P-Please!” You crawl backwards, back hitting the tree stump, “I don’t wanna die,” you pathetically cry, “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let me go.” Call it cliche but it was worth a shot to plead with your killer? Stalker? You don’t know anymore.
He tilts his head, “Heard that one before, you’re not the first to beg so sweetly like that babydoll. Almost melts my poor little heart,” he coos mockingly, “but don’t stress your pretty little head over that, you’re not meant to use that brain of yours—meant to sit and look pretty for me.” He purrs and reaches out to run a gloved hand over your dirt stricken thighs.
You curl away and try to escape his touch, “Why are you doing this?” You whimper quietly, watching as his hand rubs circles over your bruised knees. A tremor runs down your spine as his leather gloves run over your shaking thighs, his touch feels scorching hot despite the cool material of his gloves pressing against your skin.
“Been watchin’ ya for a while,” he murmurs, “night n day—just imagining allll the different ways I could have you. Bet you’d look pretty with a mouth stuffed full of cock, wonder how pretty you’d look with cock deep inside your little cunt baby,” he trails off while giving your thigh a rough squeeze, “always did wonder how that pussy tastes.” You can practically picture the shit eating grin he must have under the mask.
You hate that his nasty words have a bubbling heat building in your lower stomach, it shouldn’t be that arousing to you yet here you were in the middle of the woods being fondled by your stalker while he talked about how much he wanted to fuck you. His voice even sounds hotter in person vs the phone.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He chuckles.
You land a harsh kick to his arm with a loud, “Get off of me!” You quickly turn over to stumble to your feet while he curses under his breath and stands to chase after you.
He’s not so gentle this time with the way he snatches you and slams you right up against the tree trunk, letting the chips and splinters bite into your skin unforgivingly. “Thought we were over this,” he growls, “was gonna treat you nice and sweet but by the looks of it you just wanna be tossed around like the filthy little slut you are,” he hisses in your ear while pressing you tight against the tree.
You whine loudly and push back against him in an effort to get him off of you, “Let me go—let go!” You growl angrily, “you’re a fucking psycho creep!” You grit your teeth while trying to turn to look directly at him.
He doesn’t shy away from hurting you to get you to become docile again. He pins both wrists behind your back in a tight grip, squeezing both of your hands until you hear a low threatening pop. A pained little whimper escapes your lip as he forces your head against the bark, “You gonna sit still like a good girl or do I have to tie you up?” He growls menacingly.
“I-I’ll be good!” You cry out as the pain starts to become unbearable.
“What was that?” He whispers in your ear, “Couldn’t hear ya.” He smirks.
A quiet sob slips from your lips as you slump over in defeat, “I-I’ll be a good girl.” You softly reply, too hung up on the pain to reply with the unbridled anger you feel right now. “Just please—let me go.” You sob.
He ignores your cries and instead brings out a rather intimidating looking hunting knife, it cuts into your skin almost right away with the slightest little touch. “Please no—” You immediately begin, thighs shifting as they slide against each other in an attempt to block him from either cutting or stabbing you. The only thing you achieve is the blade running into your thigh and slicing a small line downwards.
“None of that now babydoll,” he whispers while letting your wrists go and setting his big hand over your hip, “just sit still and look pretty for me yeah? Don’t need to think, just feel.” He breathes out as he guides the knife up your skirt, letting the sharp tip (which you noticed was slightly curved like a hook or something) hook under the side of your panties.
Your poor heart hammers in your chest as you begin to hyperventilate, “W-What are you gonna do to me?” The blade tugs at your panties, no doubt already piercing through the flimsy little material.
“Fuck.” You hear him whisper from behind, “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy you know that?” His tongue clicks in annoyance as he suddenly yanks the knife down, a loud riiip following in suit, as well as your terrified scream/sob. “Gonna have a taste now babydoll, put your hands right there—yeahhh, good girl. Keep ‘em there baby,” he has you bending over with your legs spread wide apart and your hands over the tree, “ ‘s like a fuckin’ dream back here, fat little cunt n a nice ass.” He whistles while smacking his hand against your poor cheek.
You bite your lip as the cool air fans over your moist cunt, at this point in time you have long given up making any excuses as to why your pussy was drooling for this weirdo. Still didn’t mean you were less scared but you figured if you complied the faster things would go over. “Look at this slutty pussy, already leakin’ like a bitch in heat. Does a scary man like me chasing you through the woods get you goin’ sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little more fucked than I thought.” He chuckles.
There’s a brief pause and you wonder what he’s doing back there, so you turn your head to look at him when you gasp softly. He has the mask thrown off to the side, his face in all his glory—messy black hair and a lip ring with an array of piercings on his ears— he sits there with a shit eating grin, “Guess the cat’s out the bag huh?” You eye him with distaste before turning back around, you had at least hoped he was ugly or something.
“God,” he groans, “can’t get over this ass,” he mutters to himself while smacking both cheeks and pulling them apart to expose both of your holes to him, “wanna see it wrapped ‘round my cock, gonna have you squirting and messy babydoll. Might even have to get you on your knees to clean up your mess,” he whispers as his hot breath fans over your pussy lips, “you’re gonna be lookin’ at me with those sweet little eyes of yours too, gonna bust my load all over that pretty face of yours.” His tongue dips between your soft folds, licking from your winking hole down to your swollen little clit hiding under its hood.
Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands steady you by the hips, his face is practically smushed against your cunt as he slobbers over it with his greedy tongue. He sucks on your inner folds, getting every nook and cranny as he slurps up the mess he leaves behind before lapping over your clit with his tongue. Your thighs shake a little, you’ve never had anyone this eager to eat your cunt out like this. He’s a fucking menace and you hate how good he is at this.
“Fuck,” he pants softly, “can’t get enough baby, could eat this pussy for days.” He all but moans while latching on to your clit.
A shocked cry leaves your lips, you dig your nails into the tree bark and hold on tightly as your swollen bud throbs in his mouth. He doesn’t let up, suckling on your clit like a lollipop with just the right amount of pressure around the bud. A new wave of slick gushes from your untouched hole, loud mewls and whines leaving you as you subtly rut back against his face. It’s pure heaven.
He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls back to harshly spit on your cunt, “There you go, get nice n wet for me babydoll.” His hot breath fans over your empty little hole, “Good girl.”
You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you, but something about him calling you that has a delirious little whimper leaving you. He dips his tongue into your pussy, the sensation definitely welcomed as you sigh in bliss. His tongue wiggles around and curls upwards to brush over your sensitive walls in a flicking motion.
He jiggles your ass in both hands, moaning at the sight of the fat slipping through his fingers from his tight grip. He flicks his tongue back and forth over your swollen bud, you nearly double over as his tongue traces letters on your clit. “W-Wait,” you bite your lip as your eyes shut and you reach behind you to tangle your hand in his hair.
You freeze when you realize what you’re doing, but instead of getting angry with you he leans into your touch with a low moan. Clearly he loves it so you keep your hand in his hair, occasionally pulling just a tiny bit. When he pulls back to catch his breath, audibly gulping as he sits back on his haunches, “Turn around.” He says breathlessly.
From behind you can hear him shuffling around, the sounds of a belt being unbuckled fills your ears. “On your knees babydoll,” he rasps out while fisting his cock, sliding his thumb over the mess of precum he’s made at the tip of his cock. He’s watching you with dark lust filled eyes as you slowly fall to your knees in front of him, eye contact never wavering.
“Shit—when you look like that you make it harder for me to hold back.” He groans while licking his lip, “Exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He purrs as he brings the head of his cock to smother his precum over them, “Stick your tongue out for me baby—there you go, just like that.” He grins softly.
You lay your tongue flat under his fat cock, delighting in the delicious weight over your tongue. You can’t help but flick the tip of your tongue upwards causing it to brush over a throbbing vein. He releases a quiet hiss, fisting the shaft as he roughly slaps it against your tongue in repeated taps.
“Will you look at that, ‘nother little filthy slut we got here, how many other cocks you sucked huh?” He pushes into your mouth and holds the back of your head with one hand tightly fisted in your hair. You gag around his cock and fruitlessly claw at his thighs, “What’s the matter? Can’t take it? Poor baby can’t handle having a cock stuffed down her throat? Pathetic little thing you are, can’t even do what you were made for,” he rasps out while rolling his hips against your face.
His balls press snug against your chin as spit and drool dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your tears run freely no doubt ruining your makeup for the night, you probably look a hot mess right now. Your stalker moans and pants freely above you, he doesn’t bother hiding how good he feels right now as his cock twitches occasionally. You really lose it when he forces your head down and keeps you still, pelvis pressed right up against your nose as he rolls his hips in quick grinds.
“Oh shit,” he breathes out, “feels so fuckin’ good babydoll, knew you were the one when I first saw you.” He whispers out while slipping his cock out of your mouth, relishing in the gasping noises you make, “Gonna make you into my little cock sleeve, don’t need you doin’ anything else..belong with me right on my cock.” He shoves himself back into your mouth and begins fucking into your throat roughly. You cry and gurgle while weakly slapping your hands over his thighs. He doesn’t let up and only fucks your throat more eagerly.
“Fuck baby, c’mere,” he yanks you off his cock and brings you up to him.
He doesn’t waste time bending you back over the three and shoving his fat cock into you. You let out a loud cry and dig your nails into the tree from the pressure and slight twinge of pain from the size of his girthy cock. It sits nice and snug against your walls, curved slightly upwards to press into your g-spot, not quite hitting it but brushing over it.
“Oh fuck,” you whisper out as your toes curl from inside your shoes.
When a couple more seconds pass of him just idly rocking into you, he pulls all the way out until only the head remains before slamming back in with a loud slap. You jolt in pleasure as a tiny scream escapes, he doesn’t let up and keeps the same harsh pace he started with. His cock punches deep into your pussy, poking at your cervix painfully as you yelp out in pain between your moans.
“Fucking hell,” he moans out while moving his hands from your hips to your bouncing tits, “got a nice little pussy n a pair of pretty tits just for me right sweetheart?” He slaps one of your tits before taking your pebbled little nipple between his fingers and meanly pinching it.
“Mm!” You arch your back and try to twist away from his bruising grip. He manages to grip your other tit and knead it in his big hand.
Loud squelching noises fill the space around you in the woods, some of your slick even drips down onto the ground with tiny wet splats. The sound is filthy and has your face burning up in embarrassment as you hide in your hands with low whimpers and whiny moans. He suddenly changes the angle and begins grinding his fat cock right up against your g-spot, pressing insistently as he hits it over and over again.
“Oh you like it there don’t you sweetheart,” he grins while rolling his hips in slow circles, “go on then, fuck yourself on my cock like the little whore you are. Get that pussy nice and soaked for me.” He growls quietly in your ear while pinching your nipples once more.
A quiet squeal erupts from your throat, you shakily manage to knock your hips into his in a sloppy pace. “Please,” you slur out as your eyes slip shut, “c-can’t do it,” your pace is nowhere near the same as before.
“Can’t what?” He moves one hand down between your thighs, “Hm?”
You press your forehead against the tree bark in defeat, sobbing quietly as you wiggle your hips side to side, “ ‘s not the same, need you to f-fuck me.” You shamefully admit.
“Like this?” He slaps his hips upwards, “Or like this sweetheart?” He purrs and begins plowing into your drenched pussy, stuffing his cock deep inside with every thrust.
You throw your head back with a loud moan, “Yes, yes!” More drool begins slipping from your chin as you part your legs a bit wider and arch your back.
He swears at you from under his breath while rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. The sounds of skin slapping against skin begin louder, his balls collide with your swollen puffy folds and your ass ripples from his pelvis from his harsh thrusts. “Little fucking slut,” he grits out through his harsh punishing thrusts, “fuckin’ mine you hear that? So help me you ever think of looking at someone else I’ll fuckin gut them like a fish n fuck you over their dead body.” He hisses, “Better yet covered in their blood.” He roughly smacks your clit.
You mewl loudly and go still, your pussy pulses like crazy as you feel your orgasm hit you at full force. You cum with your clit trapped between his fingers and his cock stuffed deep. The orgasm is so strong it knocks you off your feet as you wobble and shake like a newborn lamb. “P-Please,” you sob out.
“On your knees,” he growls while slipping from your drenched cunt, “fuckin’ look at me.” He aims his cock at your face and strokes himself with loud slick noises. You stare up at him with a dazed expression, too fucked out to reply. He cums with a low moan, making sure to coat your lips and face with his cum as he taps the head against your cheek, “Fuck…” He sighs in bliss while lazily flicking his wrist.
You blink slowly and the last thing you see is him picking his knife back up.
+
Jungkook hums under his breath while he lazily digs through his bowl of popcorn, he’s been switching channels for a couple of minutes now. Nothing good is ever on these days, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head while flicking through the channels.
“Oh,” his face lights up in joy, “baby come look at this,” he grins and turns the volume up all the way high, “found somethin’ perfect for movie night.” He turns to look behind him, eyes wild and filled with sadistic joy.
“She was last seen Friday in the evening by her parents who were only going a few towns over to visit family. Her friends have all stated she was supposed to be meeting them that night but never showed, one even said they had spoken to her hours prior about their plans to meet. They said she wasn’t acting suspicious or anything—”
A muffled sob erupts, the sound of a cage rattling heard next as Jungkook slowly turns to look at your cowering form. You look so adorable all curled up in the cage like that, mascara streaking and lips wiped red from your lipstick. “Don’t like that movie?” He pouts, “Pity.” He turns back around and replays the entire missing persons ad.
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TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111
[halloween m.list]
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plutoswritingplanet · 20 days
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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt. 2
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a/n: re-uploaded cause tumblr wouldn't show it in the tags for some reason Cross-Posted on AO3
Warnings: Dub-Con, Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atriedes, Horny Violence, and some angsty family relations (lmao)
Summary: The courting becomes more and more complicated, as both you and the Na-Baron discover something about each other.
Part.1, Part 3. Part 4.(finale)
- He's a beast.
Lady Jessica stops in her tracks, her hands sliding gently across the fabric of your nightgown. It's your Mother, that puts it out on the table next to your bed. But the person, who turns back towards you with an unreadable expression, is most definitely not her. You're talking to a Bene Gesserit sister now. A freezing chill runs up your spine, and you start picking at the skin around your fingernails, a nervous habit you've picked up a long time ago.
- Have you forgotten all that I have taught you? - she asks, turning to face you fully, in the dimly lit space of your bedroom
Subconsciously you retreat into yourself, body leaning further away from her, as if that distance might save you from whatever unpleasant revelation will most likely fall upon you. Lady Jessica takes a deep breath, her lips pulling back into an easy, soothing smile. In the past, you would look for expressions such as this, fish them out for comfort. Now, as you look upon your Mother's face, it all seems to be a trap made specifically for you.
- Men like him, beastly men, are the weakest ones - she explains, taking slow steps towards your hunched form - They need the power and the blood to feel worthy of existing, which makes them easy to manipulate. Keep them pliant under your hands like fresh dough. 
She sits beside you, your mattress dipping under her weight, and your eyes are immediately drawn to your Mother's elegant hands, folded neatly in her lap. You wish you could put your head there. Have her pull your running thoughts out with gentle caresses. A hairbrush lays abandoned on the vanity in front of you, and silently you contemplate, whether you'll ever have the opportunity to have your hair brushed by her. 
- You must find his weakness, what drives him to do what he does. And then control it.
- I don't want to control my husband - the words spill out of your lips, before you have the chance to stop them - I want to love him, to support him. To give him children he'll love, children I'll love. 
Tears fall in heavy waterfalls down your cheeks. You haven't had the luxury of a good cry since your betrothed had arrived, and it feels divine. Letting your body shake and shiver, wrecked by uninhibited sobs, as your Mother looks down upon you, torn between the two roles she must fulfill. 
The more you've thought about your situation, the more hopeless you felt. The Harkonnens will never let you see your family again, you're sure of it. You'll have to deal with all the horrors of Giedi Prime entirely on your own, with no support from your husband, no friends, no family. And your children, as they are sure to come, will be taken away from you. Thrown into the black and white, until there's no love left in them. 
The Emperror is a cruel man, you think. An execution would've been a kinder end. 
- Why did you have to make me a Daughter? - the way your voice breaks in desperation fills you with shame - Why couldn't you give Father another Son?
You know you've overstepped, as soon as the accusatory tone registers in your brain. It is far too late by then, and the hands, which just moments before you've fantasized about running through your hair, grip you tightly. Your Mother's face, a constant image of beauty, twists into something darker, something you don't recognize, and you gasp, as her dull fingernails dig into the skin of your wrist.
- Your Father has Paul - her voice is barely above a whisper, blue eyes stabbing you with the intensity of her gaze - I gave him a son, because he asked for a son. Because I loved him enough to give him one. And he can have him. He can fill him with lessons of male leadership, of short-sighted plans. You. You are my Daughter. You are mine, and I've trained you well enough to conquer this task.
A hopeless pit settles itself in the void of your stomach.
You've always known your destiny would be to marry well, to further House Atreides' legacy. And yet, somehow, there was a sliver of hope, treacherously worming itself into your brain. Your Father had Paul, the perfect heir. Surely, he could send him off for the greater good and leave you to your own devices. Let you find someone to care for you, someone you'd do anything for. The thought sits in the pit of your stomach, turning your insides in shame. Still, you can't shake the sinking feeling, that if the universe was kind, you would've been born a Son. 
Your Mother, or more likely, the Bene Gesserit, stands up, a cold chill filling the space where her body used to sit. She regards you once, a stern, unwavering gaze.
- Wear black tomorrow.
Perhaps, you'll die in your sleep tonight. Perhaps the universe will bring you this small mercy.
*** Perhaps you did die. 
Through the haze of dreams, you can see him. Bare, as the day he was born, body gleaming white in the darkness of your room.
You can't move, can't see his face, and when he approaches, every single one of your muscles tense. You shift under the covers, cold tendrills of fear engulfing you entirely. He comes closer, moves like a wild cat, stands at the foot of your bed. 
The need to run is overwhelming, but your body refuses to listen, as slowly, torturously slowly, he climbs on top of you, defined muscles moving under his skin in a way that reminds you of some cursed demon, rather than a man. His scent fills your nostrils, a mixture of something heady and metalic, and, like a little child scared of the dark, you try to hide your face under the covers. 
This demon version of your betrothed sits down, sculpted thighs squeezing around your sides, and with rising panic you realize, he's slowly choking the life out of you. A fitting end, a welcomed one. Perhaps it would be better to die right now, before you discover what atrocities he plans to commit on your body and mind, after you're wedded. 
Then, his hand reaches behind his back, full lips pull upwards, exposing blackened out teeth. You barely register the glint of his sword, not until he holds it high up, above his hand. You're not allowed a moment to wallow in your confusion, as your future husband brings the weapon down, sinking it with brutal force into your beating heart.
You awake screaming.
***
In the morning, you pull a black tunic over your head, remnants of your dream clinging to you like an unwanted shadow. 
Every move of the silky fabric against your skin feels like a small defeat, and with your head hung low, you make your way towards the dining hall. Truly, you're not hungry, stomach turning and twisting, a steady presence of nerves keeping your body on edge. Your attendance is required however, such are customs, and it is entirely too eaarly for another lecture about your behaviour. 
As you enter the room, your mask of tired indifference slips just for a second, a mixture of fear and anger flickering in, and out of existence.
 There, opposite of your Father you can see him. Your future husband, the love of your miserable, ending life. Slow horror washes over you, as you suddenly realize that this demonic, otherwordly version of him, which visited you in your nightmares is just how he looks. He greets you with a polite inclination of his smooth head, and you consider not showing any outward sign of repulsion, a small victory on your part. Your Mother doesn't think so, but you dodge her sharp eyes in favor of greeting your brother.
It doesn't go unnoticed, the way Feyd Rautha's eyes drink in greedily the sight of you embracing Paul. His gaze lingers on your smile, and he raises his cup to his lips, scrunching his nose ever so slightly at the unfamiliar drink he's been offered. You want to ask, if they have coffee on Giedi Prime, but the question is forcefully swallowed down. You will not talk to this man. He will never know anything more than contempt from you. Curse your Mother's words, you'll fight this battle every day, on your own, if you have to. 
- My Daughter will show you around the training barracks after breakfast - Duke Leto announces, and you freeze with a cup of coffee half-way to your lips.
- Will I? - you ask, trying to control the edge in your voice. 
- Na-Baron has made inquires about a place to train - your Father explains, giving you a meaningful side eye - You'll accompany him. 
The coffee tastes like rot in your mouth, and you place your cup down with a note of finality. You won't look at him, you don't have to. That knowing smirk could be felt through the very particles flowing in the air, every single one laughing at your predicament. 
Despite your best efforts, the breakfast comes to an end, your family slowly rising to attend to their duties. Your Father, ever the cordial man, bids his farewells to the unwelcomed guest. Your Mother does the same, albeit sounding more honest. Paul lingers as long as Lady Jessica allows him, until he is forced to retreat by a slender hand tugging mercilessly on his elbow. A gesture both of you know intimately from your childhoods. 
Before you know it, you're left alone with the pale imitation of a man. He arises slowly from his seat, smoothly making his way towards you, each of his footsteps echoing in the dining room. 
- Shall we, my Lady? 
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his offered hand, like a white spider living just outside of your vision. With a shudder, you slip out of your chair, trying very hard not to touch him, and failing immediately, when his broad chest nearly pushes you back into your seat. 
He smells nice, your brain betrays you, the scent bringing back images from your night terror, causing an involuntary shiver to run up your spine. With averted gaze, you turn to leave, ignoring his still extended hand. He follows you like a shadow, catching up to you in no time, as you slide through the corridors of the Palace. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, walking with him behind your back. His eyes bear into you, a prickly feeling at the base of your neck making you roll your shoulders.
It follows you, as he follows, right to the very destination. All in blessed silence, a small miracle to save this already dreadful morning.
The men, launging about at the training barracks freeze in their spots, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, when Duncan Idaho catches your eyes. His skin has a beautiful, warm tone, highlighted by the morning sun flowing into the room through the windows. You nod, he nods back, an unspoken understanding blooming between the two of you. There could be no suspicion of any closer bond, lest this engagement would be called off. A result, perhaps favorable to you personally, but your family would never live down the shame. And you would never jeopardize Paul's future, no matter how hollow yours looked.
- You have a warrior's body - your betrothed comments, as he inspects the blades laid out on a small table - Do you train here as well?
Small talk, you could do small talk. With a sigh, you tear your gaze away from Duncan, and turn to the Harkonnen, forcing something resembling a polite smile to bloom onto your features. 
- Yes, I do - you answer curtly, eyes falling onto elegant, white fingers, sliding over a shiny metal blade. 
- It is not a common practice here, is it? - he looks at you, eyes gliding over your stature - Women being trained to fight?
Suddenly very much aware of your body, you cross your arms on your chest, hugging yourself tightly. You don't miss the way his gaze seems to linger on the low neckline of your tunic, and with bitterness on your tongue you wonder, has this man ever felt ashamed. 
- Not common, but it does happen - your voice betrays your emotions, a sharp edge settling over your tone, causing the man to arch an eyebrow.
Finally, he settles onto a chosen blade, bringing it up to the light and with laser focus observing the way particles dance on the steel surface. Then, he looks back at you, catching you in the act of observing the prominent, lean muscles on his neck. You ignore the knowing smirk and will your blushing cheeks to suddenly become devoid of color.
They don't, of course, and you scurry to the side of the table, to fiddle with the rest of the weaponry. Your favorite training blade is there, and instinctually, your hand reaches for it. 
- Train with me.
The request catches you off guard, and you shoot him a questioning look, one he deflects with a nonchalant shrug. 
Your muscles flinch, as you drag your hand back from the blade. 
- It would hardly be appropriate - you counter, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.
To that, he tilts his head, light eyes studying you for a longer moment, until you truly feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny. 
- And suddenly you're worried about what the court says? - he cuts you off, before you have the chance to ask, just what exactly does he mean by that - Perhaps you're too soft to fight me.
- I know what you're doing - you point an accusatory finger at his chest, and the man smiles, blackened teeth peaking between his full lips.
- And what am I doing? - it's hard to ignore the teasing timbre in his voice, and you swallow thickly.
- You're trying to get under my skin.
Shivering under the expected cruel glint in his eye, as another, most likely filthy innuendo purses his lips, you turn to him fully, a serious expression on your features.
- I've seen you fight, Na-Baron - his jaw tightens at the sound of your voice curling around his title - I know you're a force to be reckoned with, I'm not scared to admit that.
He straightens, regards you with furrowed brows for a longer second, until, yet again you start to fidget under his gaze.
- Perhaps then, you're scared you'll hurt me - the mere idea is so preposterous, your head snaps in his direction - If I had known, you liked me that much...
- That is entirely not true, and you know it - you deflect again, although annoyance begins to paint your voice.
Then, his hand shoots out, gripping your arm and pulling you closer. Air seems to thicken around you, as you look up at him, with surprise quickly morphing into outrage. His breath mingles with yours, and you can't seem to look away from his eyes, pupils nearly drowned in the overwhelming blue of his irises.
- Stop hiding, my viper. Fight me.
The command, spoken in a harsh whisper just shy of your lips, turns your insides into molasses. 
His taller form leans down to tower over yours, an intense expression settling over his sharp features. Close to excitement, much too close to desire, even closer to a murderous curiosity. Your throat feels entirely too dry, and before you can stop yourself, you swallow thickly, tongue darting out to lick your lips. His eyes snap almost immediately downwards, and your heart stops beating. You can't see anymore blue in his irises, only black. Darkness covers his eyes reflecting his thoughts, and you feel like you have to flee right now, before something terrible happens to you. 
So you do just that. Ripping yourself away from his closeness, you return to the table, hand finding your chosen blade without really looking. 
Another flash of black teeth, as the Na-Baron realizes what you're doing, and the both of you enable the shields surrounding your bodies. 
The gathered soldiers watch on, as you march towards the center of the room, determination filling every step to the brim. Duncan gives you a look, which you choose to ignore. You can't think about him now, not when you have your honor to defend against this Harkonnen monster of a man. 
Feyd Rautha rolls his shoulders, discards the thin fabric of his dress shirt, and once again you are stricken with his almost god-like physique. The blade looks like an extension of his hand, as he weighs it and slashes the air in front of him. Then, he fixes you with a challenging expression, as if he expects you to do the same, to try and best him at some shameless display.
You decide to keep your clothes on, blade held high, ready to strike. 
He jumps from one leg to another, and immediately an orchestra of alarm bells rings out in your brain. Should a man really be this excited at the prospect of fighting his future wife? Should you be this excited? Questions without answers, and before any of you make a move, another one absent-midedly floats to the surface. Just how much can you hurt each other, before the wedding is concluded? How much you'll inevitably hurt each other after?
The darkness he has brought on the ship with him must be contagious, because despite your better judgement, you smile. A sharp smirk, that makes your eyes look less like a human and more like a wild animal. And he drinks it all in, as he begins to circle you.
You'd never show him your back, never again. He's a tried and true predator, the only instinct he has, is a killer one. A fact you quickly get aquatinted with, as he unleashes a series of lightning fast strikes your way. 
Immediately you realize, that small show of cruelty he organized at your grandfather's theatre was nothing, compared to what he could truly do. And still, you suspect he's holding back, as you barely dodge a nasty stab, right under your ribs. Another one is blocked against your sheild, and before you have a chance to collect yourself, third one sends you back a couple of steps. 
He doesn't let you get away, with confident steps pushing you further and further out of the center of the training floor.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Duncan Idaho stand up from his place. Thinking back to your last training session, you shudder bitterly. "Never fight in anger" is easy to say, when you're not forced to marry, bed and sunsequently give children to the man you're fighting. 
Panting and sweating, you give Feyd Rautha your all, twirling in place, sliding on your feet. A different kind of choreography, which seems to work surprisingly well, with his almost animalistic force. Gurney taught you how to be powerful, how to land strikes which were as effective, as they were cunning. Duncan, on the other hand, taught you how to dance. So that's what you do.
Finally, you manage to grab at his free hand, locking your feet between his and bringing him closer to your blade. It stops just short of his artery, blocked by his dagger, the clash of metal reverberating through the halls. 
The smirk he gives you is beyond nasty, and forcefully, you push away from him, as if the very idea of skin to skin contact repulsed you. And it does, it truly does, especially now that adrenaline mixed with frustration boils in your head. 
- Again - you snarl his way, assuming your fighting stance.
- As my Lady commands - his voice has a natural growl to it, made even more prominent by the exertion of the fight, and he twists his body into a perversion of a curtsy.
This time you're the one to attack first, ignoring your menthor's words and relying on pure rage to guide your steps. A stab to his thigh, which he deflects with seemingly childish ease. Your tunic slips through his fingers, as you slide under his arm. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his blade, when he hides it into his belt. Confusion hits you suddenly. Was he giving up, why was he hiding his weapon? None of the questions get answered, as a foot curls itself around your ankle.
Your balance leaves you with a gasp of surprise, and soon, your back is on the floor, Feyd Rautha following closely behind. Your heated gaze meets his, as one hand wrenches the blade from your grasp and pins both your arms above your head. The other one supports his weight, as he hovers above you, light bleeding behind him in an unfitting image of a halo. 
Your chest heaves, sweat rolling down your collarbones, and the Harkonnen doesn't even try to hide the way his gaze follows a stray drop of salt, as it disappears between your breasts. 
- You fought well - he complements in a hushed tone, and you writhe desperately under his body.
The night terror rears its ugly head again, as you feel his tighs press onto your sides, almost as if he wants to shape your flesh into the imprint of his body.
- I think I prefer you like this - he whispers, face coming closer to the exposed column of your neck - You belong under me. 
That's what does it. Your face twists into an expression of equal parts disgust, and fury. You won't give him this victory, you'd rather die. Legs tangle themselves around his calves, and you use all your strength fueled by the burning need to fucking hurt him. 
The world spins, two bodies rolling on the floor, and suddenly you're on top of him, legs biting into his hip bones. While one hand supports your weight on his naked shoulder, the other finds the dagger hidden in his belt. The surprised gasp, which leaves his lips feels like music to your ears, and you don't even try to fight the awful smirk splitting your mouth.
The shield on his neck glows an angry red, as you press the tip of the blade down, right under his bobbing Adam's apple. He swallows, for just a second letting you see the mask of self confidence slip. He has quite long eyelashes, you notice, as his eyelids flutter, a low hum reverbating through his chest. Eyes that are neither blue nor completely black drink in the sight of you. The halo of your hair, the snarl on your lips, the curve of your waist, where one of his hands settle. 
Missing all of this, too enraptured by your own fury, you push the blade further down until it pricks his alabaster skin. He hisses through his blackened teeth and you want more, you want him to scream. A thin streak of red begins to flow down his neck, and God help you, it looks like art. 
His grip on your waist tightens, all five fingers digging into your flesh through the thin tunic. Feyd Rautha bares his teeth at you in a cruel smile, one that makes you question whether you're the one in control.
And then his hips roll upwards. 
A barely noticable movement, easily mistaken for a spasm of the muscles, but you know better. You can read it all from his expression, his pupils blown wide, the quickened breaths of air slipping past his lips. From the quickly hardening length pressing against your inner thigh. 
Your stomach flutters with a well known feeling, and that terrifies you more than any pain-motivated erection ever could. Because he sees it, he sees the beginning flames of desire taking root in your center, and the realization looks like ecstasy on his face. Humiliation washes through you, fills you completely. There is no awkward blush on your face, no. All you feel is white, freezing terror, as all your defences seem to crumble all at once.
Like a scared animal, you're off of him in a split-second, and he doesn't chase you, as you all but run from the training barracks. Doesn't have to, he already has everything he needs. 
1K notes · View notes
highvern · 23 days
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Patterns I
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader
Genre: smut (21+), eventual fluff/angst
Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?
Chapter Warnings: fuckboy(ish) wonwoo, friends(?) with benefits, multiple sex scenes, oral (f. & m. receiving), choking, face fucking, penetrative sex
Length: ~10k
Note: woooohoooo part 1 done. let me know what you guys think! thank you @gyuswhore for being my beta and talking me down from a complete meltdown lmao
Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)
m.list + support my work
This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!
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“And if you look at this chart, you can see profit margins over the past three quarters have steadily increased…”
Mona drones on and on. You try to listen and nod along but there’s only so much enthusiasm that can be faked for a last minute afternoon meeting on a Friday. Maybe if she was saying anything with an ounce of meaning you’d pay attention. But the numbers she spout off on record profits only confirm what the company who hired your team already knows: if they give their employees more work for less pay, they’ll make more money.
The vibration of your phone wakes you up. Peering into your lap under the table, you see your roommate’s name flash across the screen.
Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: ruby’s tonight Y/N: Do I have a choice?
You don’t even lock your phone before she responds.
Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: nope!
“Y/N, do you mind sharing the latest reports?” 
Head jerking up, you meet Mona’s gaze across the room. She flashes a tight smile, clearly having caught your moment of distraction. Lucky for you, you could recite the reports in your sleep.
You smile and say all the right things; make all the right jokes. Just enough personality they feel special but not so much they feel like you’re a real human being outside of your job.
“All right. I think we’ve covered everything.” Mona claps. “Edgar and I will be on call this weekend if anything comes up.”
Shuffling out with the rest of your coworkers, you beeline back to your desk. 
Mona breezes by, slamming the door to her office shut.
“Do you think Mona has eyes in the back of her head?” Edgar asks, peeking over the wall dividing your cubicles.
Without looking away from the email crowding your screen you quip, “No, but I hear she sleeps in a coffin.”
“Huh. I thought that was just the hottest office furniture tread for execs.”
You snort in response. 
Mona was a hard ass but she was good at her job. 
“Anyway, any plans this weekend?”
“Get drunk and watch Love Island.”
Edgar gasps, hand to his chest like a scandalized debutant. “You wild woman.”
The next two hours crawl by. Not even the usual side projects keep you entertained, giving you time to research the new art installation downtown Lisa mentioned visiting. 
Hopefully buying tickets as her early birthday present will get you off the hook for tonight.
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In true Lisa fashion, a surprise gift means celebration. And the best place to celebrate is Ruby’s.
Smoke chokes the air, bodies upon bodies packed into the space of the dingy bar on a Friday night. The chill of the outside stops at the threshold of the door, sweltering heat greeting you and your friends as you join the crows eager to celebrate the weekend.
It’s almost too dark to see faces but Mingyu’s head of dark hair stands above the rest from his perch in the corner. Lisa’s hand finds yours, and your other hand find’s Amina as you shoulder towards the table he’s claimed for the night. The bass of whatever remix blaring through the DJ’s speakers thrums through the crush of drunk patrons like a frantic heartbeat, rattling your bones with each step deeper into the space.
The glossy surface of the table is already littered with cups and beer bottles. Mingyu cuts his conversation with Wonwoo short to greet your group, smiling over Lisa’s head already buried in his chest. Wonwoo's only acknowledgement is a short nod over the top of the bottle he lifts to his lips. 
A pair of not so sly eyes wander down your front, tracing across the deep v of your top, baring your sternum between the swell of your breasts. You burn under Wonwoo’s blatant gawking, breath stalled and face hot but none of your friends appear to notice the electricity crackling between you two, intoxicated brains filling with lewd ideas. 
Needing a reprieve, you slither to the bar in search of a drink. Slipping between the sweaty bodies as they part, Amina follows close behind. A few shots and a beer later, you stumble towards the dance floor with laughter on your lips and the bitter singe of alcohol on your tongue.
The crowd of strangers accepts you, swallowing you into the churning chaos immediately. A few familiar faces stand out in the crowd as you shift through the sway.
Looking over the shoulder of the random person in front of you, a mess of limbs better known as Lisa and Mingyu flashes into view; Soonyoung and Eva no better next to them. Over their embrace, you spot Amina dancing with a pretty stranger of her own, both of them with drunk smiles plastered on their faces. 
Head dizzily bobbing to the music, your eyes slip shut. You know it's Wonwoo at your back, hips following closely, one hand around your waist and the other dragging a path of fire across your thigh. 
This wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in this particular position. Since your roommates started dating, and whenever alcohol was close enough to serve as a believable excuse, you managed to find each other like super charged magnets; gluing together and drowning heady touches.
It wasn’t like anything more happened. That was the excuse you told yourself after the first time. A girls night out Mingyu and Wonwoo happened to stumble upon. You’d still been upset about the breakup with Seungcheol two months prior, indulging in the shitty white wine that only served to fuel your boldness.
You’d never admit seeking out Wonwoo with the knowledge Seungcheol couldn’t stand him; taking sick satisfaction in imagining the look on Seungcheol’s face as you let Wonwoo touch the way previously reserved for him. You pressed against Wonwoo’s front with little care for who saw; a challenging gleam in your glassy eyes, daring him to push away. Not one to be bested, Wonwoo pressed back, and the rest is history.
After the first night of the new game, you went home and came embarrassingly fast to the fantasy of what would have inevitably happened if he’d followed. The week after consisted of staunchly avoiding Wonwoo. Guilt and disgust plagued every waking moment, and if you had to look at him you knew you’d feel worse. 
Your only real connection was your roommate Lisa dating his roommate Mingyu which meant your evasiveness went undetected for nearly a month before Wonwoo managed to corner you at a party and demand to know what your “fucking problem” was. It was then you realized he either didn’t remember what happened or didn’t think it was anything to make such a big deal about. You never asked for specifics but came to the conclusion: If he didn’t care, then why should you? It was just a bit of fun. A game of chicken neither intended to end. 
Each time you came across each other on the weekends after, the stakes increased. One night, you let wandering hands catalog the planes hard muscle hidden underneath the fabric of his shirt. The next, you followed a trail of goosebumps across his neck with tongue and teeth. 
And Wonwoo called your bluff everytime. His thumb tracing against the underside of your breast while delivering a particularly harsh grind of his hips, leaving very little to the imagination of what hid behind the zipper of his jeans. Or when he spun you around, hypnotizing you with his eyes while pawing your ass, dragging your core across his thigh wedged between your legs.
But whatever transpired fizzled away by the time the night ended, both of you content to go separate ways and ignore whatever was left on the dance floor (or occasionally a wall). Tonight would be no different. It never was. It never would be.
Wonwoo was fun to play with but that's all. Throw him flirty smiles, indulge in the bold touches, take a thrill in the chase and then retreat to the safety of the bar or drag one of your friends to the bathroom for a break. He let go without any argument; something you found disappointing much to your own chagrin. But Wonwoo’s eyes never left your figure the second it left his arms. Even if he found a new partner, he would watch you while he did everything he had already done and then all the things he would have done if you stayed.
“Come home with me,” he whispers in your ear, more of a command than a question, breaking the delicate silence surrounding your unspoken attraction.
The air in your chest thickens to a sludge. For a second, you think you misheard him, possibly hallucinating that he’s spoken at all. With the thrum of music and shouts it’s not out of the question.
Unable to turn in his tight grip, you settle for leaning back against his shoulder, neck stretching, giving him a direct view down your top, his eyes privy to the fact that you hadn’t worn a bra. His chest plastered against your back heaves with a heavy breath as you continue to move against him. 
Wonwoo tries again, his hand squeezing your waist gently, pulling you closer to his body to feel the evidence of his arousal. “Come home with me.” 
It's just the next level to the game, you think. The fantasy is tempting; taking you back to his apartment, spreading you out across his bed and making good on all the promises he’s teased into your skin for months.
If he wants to play, you’ll play too.
“What’s in it for me?” you hum, lips brushing his ear in a mimic of his motion moments ago. 
Wonwoo responds with another curl of his hips against your ass.
God, he’s good at this. Wonwoo is the only guy to spark any kind of interest since Seungcheol left months ago. Not for lack of trying but they were either too tall, too short, weird hair, awful laugh. The list of excuses goes on and on. Subconsciously, you’d been comparing them all to the man behind you and found each of them lacking. But if Wonwoo wants to progress to the next level, he’ll need to work for it.
“Not convincing enough,” you chide.
The hand on your thigh pauses, taking a second to squeeze the supple flesh before setting a new course. Wonwoo moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop his advance if you wish. Not sensing an objection, he pushes forward. Even over the thick denim of your jeans, Wonwoo’s palm scorches against the zipper. Continuing lower, he grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed pussy, nothing more than mockery of the real thing but it has you shuddering all the same. The slope of your shoulder stings under his mouth, licking waves of fire across the nerves with each nip of his teeth. 
Wonwoo pants against the shell of your ear on the next rock of his hand, laughing as your nails dig into his wrist before he whispers, “Unless you want our friends to watch, trust me.” 
You need to see his face; need to look in Wonwoo’s eyes and find out if he’s trying to rile you up or if he’s serious.
This time when you move, Wonwoo allows you to turn in his hold. The look in his eyes tells you he would take you right here if he thought for a second you’d let him. He isn’t trying to just get a rise out of you and see you squirm. Wonwoo isn’t playing a game anymore. 
He wants you.
You nod once and Wonwoo has you both out the door and on the way to his place before the song ends.
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The cold metal of the door bites into your skin, bowing your chest straight into Wonwoo’s as he crowds against you, arms caging you in on both sides. His lips are busy surveying the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping until he pauses at the hollow of your throat. His teeth raze against the sensitive skin, tongue darting out to lave against the marks he’s determined to leave. Wonwoo listens closely to the sounds leaving your throat, focusing his ministrations whenever an exceptionally satisfied purr slips out.
He takes a step forward at the feel of your hand pushing its way into his jacket, rewarding the tease of your fingers across his stomach with a suck against your jaw. The sharp pain of your nails across his scalp forces a quiet groan out his lips; something you file away for later. 
“Get us inside before your neighbors catch us with my hand down your pants,” you gasp, giving his hair a particularly harsh yank to pull him away from your breasts peeking out from the low cut of your top.
“Wouldn’t mind that,” he mumbles, diving back. 
But Wonwoo concedes, grabbing his keys from his pocket while remaining focused on leaving his mark on your sternum. 
Despite your request, you do everything but make it easier for him; thumb dipping into the waistband of his boxers before slipping inside, cupping the straining bulge confined under the tight fabric. Wonwoo falters under your attention, pressing his hips into you until you're crushed between his body and the door. When Wonwoo finally fumbles the key into the lock, the door flies open under your combined weight.
Using the momentum, Wonwoo crowds you back to the wall just inside, slamming the door shut with his foot, returning where he left off without missing a beat. A hand tilts your chin back to give him more room, and you realize he hasn’t kissed you yet. Twisting the front of his shirt, you resolve to change that.
Pulling back, Wonwoo’s brows arching in confusion, mouth falling opening to complain at being interrupted again but snapping shut when you attempt to pull him forward. 
But a hair's breadth away Wonwoo stops.
“What do you want?”
You won’t beg. If anyone is cracking first it’ll be Wonwoo. Just like he did at the bar not too long ago. 
“If you won’t tell me then I can’t give it to you.” He moves forward, nose tracing along your throat, breath fanning across your neck. One of his arms moves to the space between your body and the wall, pulling until his thigh is bracketed by yours. The hard muscle is nothing short heaven against the seam of your jeans, invoking a traitorous whimper from your throat.
You manage a chaste kiss against the side of his mouth before he darts out of range. 
“Tell me and you can have it,”  Wonwoo says, cocking his head back, looking down his nose at you from behind the wire frames of his glasses; pupils blown. His eyes close and he leans forward again before continuing, “Tell me what you want, and you can have everything.”
His teeth trail across the shell of your ear on the last word and suddenly it's all too much. The rasp of his voice, the flex of his thigh, the layers of clothing separating your bodies. If you don’t get relief soon you’ll both implode.
“Kiss me.”
You feel Wonwoo’s satisfied smile a second before your lips meet, lighting the fuse for what's to come. There’s no gentleness in the connection, instead, months of insatiable need leads the way. Parting your lips, you suck his own between your teeth until it's swollen in retaliation. Wonwoo angles your head back with a gentle tug of your hair, immediately swallowing your gasp at his roughness. The hand wrapped around the middle of your back flexes, urging, no, begging you to grind against him. You oblige with embarrassing eagerness.
Your hand finds its way down Wonwoo’s front again, fingers firm and demanding. Tracing the zipper of his jeans up and down in time with your movement against his leg, the heel of your hand presses forward, causing his hips to cant up against the pressure. The motion is a mock of what he was doing in the crowded bar minutes ago. Just enough to rile him up and to piss him off until his hands drop and squeeze your ass so hard it hurts.
Refusing to let your mouths part, Wonwoo drags you down the hallway towards his room. It takes longer than it should, both of you stopping to force the other into the wall, bodies writhing against one another in search of friction and pleasure. At one point you consider letting him fuck you right their on the floor but he pushes through the door to his room just before you can unzip his pants.
Finally inside, Wonwoo herds you towards the bed in the corner. The back of your knees hit the side, bending as you land with a soft bounce. Wonwoo follows swiftly, settling himself on his elbows before diving back into your neck again. His hips slot into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing forward to search for the heat he knows is there. You greedily return the movement, hips curling up, savoring the drag of his hard cock. Wonwoo sucks another bruise onto your neck, high enough you’ll have to hide it in the morning but you're so drunk on the idea of what is going to happen next you can’t even feign outrage. 
The strap of your flimsy top falls down and Wonwoo moves to explore the new span of skin. His lips drag over the uncovered swell of your breast, sloppy kisses trailing over the silky skin. Cocking his head to the side, he sucks a nipple through the thin black fabric. Your hips buck, back arching at the new sensation. The angle of Wonwoo’s cock is just right, pulling moan after moan from your throat. He’s so focused on what he’s doing he can’t be bothered to snicker at how he turns you into an aching puddle of want.
Clothes come off in a blur. You watch his abs flex as he rips his shirt over his head, eyes tracing the dark thatch of hair disappearing under the waistband of his pants. Soon, yours is gone too, lost on the floor. Wonwoo's eyes delight in the sight of you bare before him, with nipples puckered and breasts heavy with excitement. He ducks back down, mouthing at the sensitive bud, drowning in your breathy whines and whimpers. Using his hand, his calloused thumb massages the one his mouth had abandoned, pinching and flicking until you’re left raw and aching.
“Wonwoo,” you cry, hands ripping at the sheets when his teeth come out to play. 
He pulls back from your breasts, in a frenzy to remove your pants while his knees fall to the ground on the side of the bed. You arch up to help him rip the damning fabric away. An ember of fury sparks, furious with yourself for wearing jeans over the skimpy skirt Lisa had offered.
None the wiser, Wonwoo looks between your legs like he’s found an oasis in a desert. You realize too late they’re nothing impressive. Pale pink cotton; simple, practical. Just like your pants, since getting fucked tonight wasn’t even a remote possibility when you left your apartment. 
But Wonwoo doesn’t even seem to care. When you dare to look at his face, worried by the sudden pause in his actions, you find he’s not even blinking. His thumb finds your entrance through the fabric, shallowly dipping inside before moving back and massaging teasing circles over the damp spot.
Pride and ego long forgotten, you beg. “Wonwoo, please.” 
Wonwoo doesn’t give in. Focusing on the curve of your thigh, nose etching along the strained muscle while he continues teasing touches over your underwear. The wet of his tongue comes out when he reaches the hem of your underwear. So close to where you want him but not close enough.
“Please.”
The pathetic crack of your voice is rewarded with firmer fingers and his lips against the sticky crotch of your panties; the heat of his mouth right over your entrance as he laps at your release.
Another beg and he moves aside the thin strip of fabric, curling his tongue into your entrance before sucking at your swollen clit. 
The relief is short lived. Somehow, Wonwoo knows exactly how to touch and tease you, driving you up the wall only to pull you back down. One hand finds your knee, forcing it away when you try to crush his head between your thighs at the first prod of his long fingers inside you.
He slips another finger inside, his tongue continuing to swipe at your bundle of nerves, just as desperate to give you what you want as you are to receive it. Glancing down at him again, you find a scene worthy of being immortalized in a painting. His brow is furrowed in concentration, eyes pinched tight while he works to get you off. 
A pause to take a breath is all the reprieve you’re granted before Wonwoo dives back in, moaning under the sting of your nails on his scalp; encouraging you to hold him there and use him, to come for him. The symphony of your combined noises floods the room. The squelch of his fingers, rubbing up against the place that drives you mad. The wet noises of his mouth, your arousal mixing with his spit; his noises when you pull at his hair, vibrating against your cunt and pulling your spine into a harsh curve. 
You can’t help but watch him. Enamoured with how right he looks between your legs, skin slips together where his shoulders hold your legs up. Even the contrast of his hand on your knee fuels the fire.
He peers up at you when you call his name again. Eyes burning into your own. Like he can read your mind. Like he agrees this is the best place for him to be.
You hear yourself far away, chanting his name as you shatter into a million pieces. Clenching around Wonwoo’s fingers with a strength you didn't know you possessed, your hips ride them until your muscles lock and jerk. The smear of fluid across your thighs, slipping your ass and onto the bed is lewd. 
But Wonwoo doesn’t stop, working you through it like his own release is on the line. Licking and sucking and fucking you with his fingers until you finally manage to pull him away with a choked cry of his name. Even then, his hand continues pistoning into you as your mouths find one another hungrily. 
There's a sick satisfaction in your gut at the taste on his mouth. Your arousal coats his chin, his cheeks, even the tip of his nose is wet where it digs into your face as you suck his tongue.
Moving to his feet, Wonwoo bends over you, lips never straying from yours. He fails to crowd you down into the mattress like he intends. Freezing when your hands pushing his pants down the rest of the way. His cock bobs, the nearly purple head leaking. If there was any doubt he didn’t find pleasure going down on you before, the evidence of his enjoyment sits hard and heavy in your palm. An exploratory squeeze has Wonwoo’s chin dropping to his chest, a sharp breath leaving his nose.
Sliding off the bed and to your knees, you peek up at him through your lashes, letting the tip rest against parted lips. When Wonwoo drags his head back up, looking down his nose, your tongue darts out to catch some of his pre-cum, receiving another groan in response. A thought that has you blushing rears its head. 
He’ll probably like it, you think.
You let one of her hands trail down while kissing across the velvety shaft his length. Wonwoo watches closely, eyes widening for a second when you find the apex of your thighs, dipping down to collect the lingering slickness. Once satisfied, you exchange your grip on his cock and quirk an eyebrow. Stroking him coyly.
You don’t look away from his eyes even though every instinct tells you to hide from the heat in his gaze. Your palm catches at the tip, thumb brushing his leaking slit. More evidence of his arousal trickles out and you lap it up quickly.
“Shit,” Wonwoo hisses. “Fuck, you’re so good.” 
One of Wonwoo’s hands finds your cheek, helping you find a comfortable pace. Settling the back of your head against the bed, drag him forward by his ass, content to let him use your mouth the way you used his. Wonwoo stumbles for a second at the sudden movement, hands finding the bed to prevent himself from collapsing. He peers down in question. 
“Want you to fuck my mouth,” you pant, quickly taking him back in, going as deep as possible without gagging.
“Fuuuuck,” Wonwoo rasps, moving the hand on the side of your face to the back of your head. He pins you in place with his hips, giving a shallow, almost hesitant thrust as he discovers your limits.
You zone out when he finds a rhythm, hand at the base of his cock to keep him from bottoming out in your throat, the one cradling his balls dropping to trace the inside of his thigh. Eventually, Wonwoo lets himself go, savoring the pressure of your tongue when you lap against the tip as he pulls out. His abs twitch at the sight of drool leaking from the corners of your stuffed mouth, lips stretched and bruised around his cock. 
Opening your eyes, you look right at him; punching the air from his chest as you moan around his cock, the vibration forcing his head back, neck bared again as a bead of sweat settles in the hollow of his throat.
“Touch yourself,” Wonwoo commands, breaking the melody of whimpers and groans.
You disregard his command, content with focusing on untying him from his loose tether to sanity.
Not one to be ignored, Wonwoo pulls away on the next stroke. You follow, attempting to trail forward and suck him back down your throat but Wonwoo’s hand knots in your hair. He yanks your head back until his cock is just out of range. Looking up at him, you do nothing to hide the annoyance at such a sudden disruption.
“Touch. Yourself. ” he lets out tightly, enunciating each syllable. Equally annoyed but willing to make a point. 
“Wanna watch me?” you goad, smug as the tips of his ears redden. 
Instead of brushing it off, Wonwoo takes the bait.
“Yeah I do,” he says, one hand leaving your hair, guiding the tip of his cock across the seam of your lips, letting out a humorless laugh when your tongue reaches out to meet it on instinct. “Wanna watch while you suck my cock because you’re a good girl.” 
He lets you take the head, teeth grinding under the dig of your tongue into the slit. But any attempt to take more is punished with another tug of your hair. Until his hand circles your throat and he pulls you off completely. 
“Right, Y/N?”
The praise goes straight to your head, breath stunted. You barely nod before Wonwoo moves his hips forward again, slowly resuming their previous rhythm at the promise of seeing you put on a show. Two fingers slip in with ease, disappointment bubbling when the stretch doesn’t come anywhere close to his but you’ll play along for now if it means getting to feel his cum on your tongue.
Wet, messy noises echo in the room. You hollow your cheeks, hand acting as a bumper while letting his cock kiss the back of your throat. Wonwoo’s hips stutter when you swallow around him. The tension in his muscles doubles your effort, set on the satisfaction of making him cum from just your mouth. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck” Wonwoo hisses, pulling you off.
Wonwoo hauls you up into the bed, aggressively crowding you towards the pillows. The cool sheets sting against your back, but you focus on getting another fist around his cock. Wonwoo intercepts your plans before you can make it below his navel. He pins the offending appendage next to your head; grip loose enough you could break if you wanted, but the tease of his dominance turns you on even more and it's not long before he has both hands above your head, and a disapproving look on his face.
“If you don’t want me to come on your thigh, I suggest keeping your hands to yourself,” he states, leaning towards the bedside table, searching for a condom.
“Didn’t think you’d be that easy,” you bite back. Planting your feet on the bed, your hips grind up into his. 
“Says the woman who begged for my cock,” Wonwoo grinds out, flattening his chest into yours, teasing with exactly what you asked for.
You're suddenly hit by how much stronger Wonwoo is than you. Able to have your entire body pinned like it’s nothing while working the condom on at the same time. You knew he worked out, broad shoulders and narrow waist giving him away; but having that strength used you sends a swirl of butterflies through your stomach.
Wonwoo resorts to ripping open the packet with his teeth, hips easing up to quickly roll it down his length. He rubs himself through your folds, collecting the wetness and repeatedly tapping himself to your clit. You’re about to flip him around and take matters into your own hands when he catches on your entrance and presses home in a slow thrust.
He slides deep. Deeper than Seungcheol, deeper than anyone you’ve ever been with. You barely get a chance to savor it before he’s moving, wasting no time before working up a pace meant to drive you both mad. 
“Shit,” you curse.
Wonwoo huffs into your neck, tongue tracing the shell of your ear. “Yeah? Feel good?”
“Soooo good.” 
Wonwoo lets go of your hands, tangling one the sheets, the other searching for the top of the metal headboard. The change in position folds you in half, giving him the leverage to fuck as deep as possible. Finding your hands free, one claws at his back, leaving bright red lines in its wake. The other grabs for his ass, squeezing the muscle there, helping him press forward. His balls clapping against the swell of your ass drives you closer to hysteria. 
Your second orgasm rushes forward, resting on his lips finding yours. The connection is bruising, all teeth and tongues. The hand on his ass falls to play with yourself and Wonwoo breaks away to watch.
“Like that, Y/N?” Wonwoo bites, whispering right into your ear. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby.”
His words only add to the inferno. The need to come overwhelms you, demanding satisfaction to the point it hurts. But you need more. Needs something you can’t name and only Wonwoo can give. 
Frustration twists your features, eyebrows furrowed and mouth tense. Almost as if he senses your oncoming tantrum, Wonwoo drops more of his weight, pressing you into the mattress and filling you to the brink.
 “Be a good girl,” Wonwoo coos, hip punctuating each word while his teeth tug at your earlobe. “Come for me.”
His permission is the key. Bombs explode behind your eyelids, cascading colors against the black and white. Loud moans rush from your throat to fill his room, muscles locked, body convulsing with endorphins. You want to kiss him again, until you can’t breathe, until you stop needing oxygen and adapt to survive on the taste of his mouth. 
Wonwoo must feel the same, meeting you in a lazy kiss, too fucked out to put in more effort. He swallows every whimper, the syllables of his name while he fucks you through your high. The wetness smeared between your bodies echoes all the motions, his pistoning hips driving more and more from your worn cunt. 
His own high rushes for him at light speed. Pulling back, he rests his forehead against yours. You burn the last bit of energy you possess to open your eyes and find his. Wonwoo’s face is tight as a thin sheen of sweat covers his body. All you want now is to see him cum, give him as much pleasure as he’s given you. Reaching up, your lips brush his ear one last time.
“Wanna feel you come,” you sigh. “Please, Woo.”
The responding groan signals success. His hips stutter forward, a deep grunt bursts from his chest. If you weren’t exhausted, you’d demand to go again; to fuck him again and again just to see the twitch of his lips as he empties himself into you, the grind of his teeth, and shudder of his chest. But Wonwoo gives one more hard drive of his hips before collapsing, completely spent.
You don't know how long you stay like that, drifting in and out of consciousness as sweat dries, and your thighs becoming uncomfortably sticky. When Wonwoo moves to pull out, a surprising whine rips from your throat. 
“Shower?” he asks, husky voice breaking the lingering silence.
You finally crack an eye open at Wonwoo’s voice, and find him looking at you with soft eyes. Uh oh. Warning bells fire but you’re too tired to care. A shower sounds lovely.
Wonwoo hauls you up, leading you into his small bathroom. The water in the shower is already running, steam escaping the stall as he ushers you under. The scratches at his back contrast brightly against his pale skin, a few bite marks spattered across his chest. You know you look equally debauched but the lull of warm water calms any concerns. The silence is comfortable, thick as you move like zombies. Wonwoo passes his body wash without a word, moving to shampoo his hair. Swapping between the brutally frigid air and the comforting warm water under the shower head, you both race to finish up quickly. Once satisfied, Wonwoo shuts off the faucet and grabs the towels from the hook on the wall. He hands you one before stepping out to dry himself. A spare toothbrush waits on the counter when you exit the stall.
Wonwoo leaves first, heading back to his room to dress. It gives you the opportunity to look in the mirror for the first time. Your skin glows, both from the steam and Wonwoo’s attention. Across your throat, bruises cluster like a necklace, splotches of darkness maring the skin. Unfolding the towel, you find more littered across your breasts, and an impressive one on the inside of your thigh. 
After the shock fades, exhaustion creeps back in. It had to be far into the early hours of the morning. You hope Mingyu stayed with Lisa at your shared apartment. Having to face Wonwoo in the morning was enough horror, but if Mingyu heard anything then you would never be able to look him in the eye again despite having heard your roommate and him more times than you can count.
Returning to Wonwoo’s room, you see him already under the covers, spread out on his stomach with his face squashed into the pillow. On his desk sits a tshirt and a pair of old shorts. Hanging the towel up in his bathroom, you snag the shirt and pull it on.
Finding your pants, you fish out your phone and see the time: 3:47AM. A few missed calls from Amina, several dozen texts from the group chat, and one from Lisa that reads “You better not be where I think you are” clutter the screen. 
There's no point in arguing the accusation. She has your location, you know she checked it before she went to bed. And in the morning you’ll have to answer every inane question that pops into her head. But for now, you need to sleep.
Sliding open the group text, you send a quick “I'm alive, see u in the morning for brunch?” tossing your phone aside.
Your head hits the pillow and you’re out like a light.
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The dream you’re lost in is lovely. A faceless figure bends you over a desk, your heated face pressed against the glossy wood. Naked as the day you were born, nothing protecting your nipples from rubbing against the cold surface, hardening until you hiss from sensitivity. Large warm palms massage your ass, hands pushing upwards, lightly parting the cheeks to give him more leverage to lick at your leaking hole. You can feel him moan, echoing your own sounds of pleasure as he indulges. One hand finds its way back to his head, fingers tangling in his short hair, holding him in place as you rise on tiptoes to move against his mouth. He feels familiar but it doesn’t matter who he is, more so what he plans to do. Just as a thumb swipes against your other hole, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips, it all comes crashing down.
You claw at the tendrils of pleasure slipping past to no avail. Harsh whispers outside your door pull you awake as they gain volume. It isn’t out of the ordinary to hear snippets of your roommates’ conversations as they pass down the hall towards their own rooms. Having the first room off the kitchen was the sacrifice you made to have a bigger closet and a better view. Usually though, Lisa and Amina had the decency to not have a full blowout so early, and on a weekend no less.
As the whispers crescendo into a one sided screaming match, you make out Lisa and Mingyu’s voices on the other side of the thin wood. 
“Mingyu if you don’t move out of my way there will be TWO BODIES TO CLEAN UP.” 
Lisa is pissed, using a tone of voice saved for rare occasions. Occasions you rarely witnessed Mingyu be on the receiving end of. Whatever he had done, he better pray Lisa forgives him. He also better pray you forgive him for working Lisa’s temper up so early in the morning.
“Shut the fuck up!” you yell, voice thick with sleep, refusing to open your eyes against the light trickling in from the window above. Snuggling deeper in the soft covers, you try to force yourself back asleep, hoping to reunite with the anonymous dream man.
When did the window get above your bed? 
You shoot up, instantly regretting the decision. Splinters of pain shoot behind your left eye causing you to collapse back into the pillows to find reprieve. The grumble next to you sends your heart racing.
“I’m going to kill her,” a gravely male voice threatens.
Turning on your side, you brave the torturous sunlight to catch Wonwoo’s profile. His face is scrunched in annoyance, eyes shut as he too tries to get lost in the blankets. He drags the comforter over your heads, pulling you towards him to hide in the curve of your throat.
It all comes rushing back. Going home with him, your dirty deeds, the shared shower. You beg the powers that be to kill you when you remember how you begged with embarrassing ease.
Outside his door, Lisa bellows and forces the door open; sending it cracking against the wall with the force. 
The blanket rips down, uncovering who's hiding underneath. She only manages to pull it below your shoulder before you and Wonwoo realize what's happening and clutch at the fabric. Thank god you both are wearing clothes.
“What the fuck?” Wonwoo’s voice is acidic as he looks to Mingyu over Lisa’s head. Mingyu at least has the decency to look apologetic as Lisa acts like an overly concerned mother who just found her daughter with a boy in her bed.
“See? Y/N is alive, we can leave now,” Mingyu tries in vain to placate his girlfriend. Lisa snatches her hand away from him when he attempts to pull her out of Wonwoo’s room.
Lisa’s eyes take in your tousled hair, the bruises at both your necks, the clothes littered on the floor haphazardly. She isn’t stupid, she knows exactly what has happened. Lisa also knows Wonwoo wouldn’t take advantage of you, but she is still protective nonetheless. The amused look spreading across her face nearly sends you out the window and to the cement several stories below.
“Oh my god, are you fifteen?” Her question is pointed at Wonwoo, catching the string of hickies marking your neck.
“How about you get the fuck out of my room?” Wonwoo bites, raising his voice. He burrows under your chin, dragging the blanket over his head once again.
“We’ll talk about this later!” Lisa calls as Mingyu finally drags her out the door, her voice is muffled by the slam of it shutting but you clearly hear her yell, “Brunch is in an hour!” 
Finally left alone, you mind races to prepare for the interrogation waiting for you. Wonwoo appears to be unaware of any such troubles. Cuddling down into the swell of your breasts, he’s already trailing back towards sleep. 
Despite yourself, the hand stuck under him rises up to gently trace shapes across the expanse of his back. The warm skin lulls you into a trance as the memories from the hours prior replay.
“Are you sure I can stay?” A deep yawn warps your voice. You’re  already halfway under the covers, hoping he doesn’t change his mind. If you have to stay awake any longer you’ll have a meltdown.
“Yes.” His face is still pushed into his pillow, voice distorted by the barrier and slurred with his sleep. “Now shut up and sleep.”
And you do just that. Shocking, given you’re a horrible bed partner; tossing and turning most of the night, waking frequently. Seungcheol experienced many grumpy mornings courtesy of your poor sleep hygiene after a sleepover. But in Wonwoo’s bed, your restlessness decides to take the night off, allowing you to sleep like a rock.
It can’t have been more than a couple hours before you awake again. Despite the short snooze, you’re more rested than you’ve been in months. Stretching with a yawn, you find what roused you awake. 
Somehow Wonwoo found you in his sleep, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, body firm against your back. He’s hot skin and hard muscle, the tent in his boxers sliding roughly across the naked skin of your thighs. Cursing yourself for forgoing the shorts he laid out, you try and twist away only for Wonwoo’s length to settle between the dip of your ass.
You freeze solid. Listening to the sound of his breathing stop then even out once again. Waiting to confirm he’s still asleep, you try moving away again only for his hips to press against you once you wiggle against him. Body acting on its own, your spine curls, sending your ass back into his crotch. 
And then Wonwoo’s arm around your waist flexes and he thrusts forward. 
Shit.
“Can I help you?” he asks, face buried somewhere between your shoulder blades, nose tracing your spine until he finds the bare skin of your neck to leave heated gossamer kisses.
There’s nothing left to lose. You’ve already fucked. Wonwoo face to face with your most intimate parts, and you the same. You begged him to cum inside you for Christ's sake. Giving another curl of your hips, you decide to meet his challenge.
“Can you?” you whisper into the darkness, eyes sliding close again as a tired breath leaves your nose. It's less of a goad, and more of a subtle beg for his attention.
Wonwoo drags the hand wrapped around your waist downward, wedging it between your thighs gently. You’re already wet from the brief movements against one another. He wastes no time, immediately framing your clit with two fingers, teasing friction to warm you up. The first twitch into his hand has his fingers dropping, pushing into your entrance as you parts your legs to make more room. His movements are sluggish but he placates your want the best he can.
One of your hands slides under the covers, moving behind your back to grab him. The unmistakable heat greets you through the fabric of his underwear. His breath stutters against your back, his chest pressed tightly against your back like a second skin. Wonwoo jerks forward through your fist, clothed tip prodding against the soft curve of your ass when you reach the base.
Continuing to move just like that, you both are more than content to get off like this, much too tired to put in any real effort. But when you push down his boxer just enough to feel the hot velvet skin of his tip against the dip of your spine, leaking from light touches, Wonwoo decides he wants more. Needs more. 
He pushes your hand away, directing himself between your legs, resting his tip at your entrance. With shallow thrusts forward, he lets himself catch on the ring of muscle just inside, barely parting your walls. The thought of him returning deep inside you, condom nowhere to be found, makes you drool. At some point Wonwoo’s hand finds your waist again, this time under the fabric of the flimsy t-shirt. The thick cotton bunches across your breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples while his hand splays between and pulls you against him.
You have half a mind to let him fuck you like this, raw, half asleep, tucked under the covers in the silence of his room. The other half blares with sirens and red lights flashing DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! 
The louder part of your brain, the one that sounds suspiciously like when Amina scolded you for not using condoms with Seungcheol after getting an IUD, wins. 
It takes all the strength you possess  to break the trance Wonwoo has. His lips have taken to mouthing at the back of your neck, his nose tracing the notches of your spine while his tongue sends goosebumps blooming.
“Condom.” you finally manage to breathe out, voice pushing past the thick blanket of lust and fatigue.
The hand on your chest flies off, moving in the direction of the bedside table. Within seconds Wonwoo wraps himself in the latex and pushes inside.
The stretch is perfect, muscles already accommodating his languid thrusts inside you. His hips are tucked tightly along your ass, barely a sliver of space between your bodies. One of Wonwoo’s hands reaches back under your shirt to thumb your sore nipples, letting a heavy flesh rest in his palm. The arm propped under your head reaches out, Wonwoo’s fingers twisting in the pillow cases. The web of veins and muscles flex with each cant, almost ripping the fabric of the sheet apart when you clench around him. 
As if having a mind of its own, a hand trails up his neck, cradling the back of his head and tangling in short locks of hair. Wonwoo hitches his chin over your shoulder, leaning forward to moan right into your ear. Your other hand takes the abandoned post at your clit, determined to make yourself cum and pass back out in the next five minutes. 
Unlike the explosions earlier, your orgasm crawls up slowly, bubbling to the surface in a smooth simmer. Your thighs tighten, twitching as the pot boils over and melting you into Wonwoo’s chest. He follows you over the edge quickly, hips continuing their fluid rhythm until they stutter against your ass; shuddering breaths leaving his chest, a quiet groan of satisfaction punctuating his content. You can’t move even if your life depends on it, heaviness settling in your muscles like concrete.
You're already descending back into the realm of dreams when Wonwoo slips away.
Wonwoo’s soft snores jolt you back. You’re far too awake to try joining him. And you can’t just stay in his room forever. Glancing around the room, you devise an escape plan. Wonwoo’s position doesn’t lend any subtlety, any effort to move from under him requires you to lift his entire weight.
You sit still for another minute, contemplating the potential pros and cons if he is awake to see you run, away from the sanctuary of his room and into the reality sitting beyond the door. Precisely as you decide to deal with whatever teasing he’ll no doubt hurl your way, Wonwoo shifts, burrowing back into the pillow on his side to provide easy access. Waiting with bated breath, you’re relieved when the muscles of his back expand with a deep inhale as he settles in slumber once again.
Springing out of bed, you collect your phone and wrinkled clothes. The shocking level of cleanliness and organization the room possesses for a man his age aids your quest. However, your underwear appears to be a lost cause. With haste, you search under the bed, eyes scouring the area around his desk, even sneaking a quick glance back towards him to see if the missing garment is mixed with the pillows. All is fruitless as the bright pink garments have disappeared, gone without a trace.
After slipping on your pants with impressive speed, you're out of his bedroom and into the hallway. Body on autopilot, you tiptoe towards the front door.  
The cracked door of Mingyu’s room where Lisa is no doubt waiting to ambush lingers just ahead. You don’t dare to breathe as you breeze past and ruin her plans. The heavy metal of the front door groans at your pull, tensing as noise echoes in the hallway behind you. You’re swift, slipping between the crack in the door frame and into the stairwell before Lisa can even call out your name. By the time Lisa is able to pull the front door back open, you’re down the stairs and halfway through the lobby, beelining for the busy street outside.
Everyone on the street can tell you’re taking a walk of shame; their judgment burning into your skull with each step closer to home. The tale tell signs are clear as day: messy hair, t-shirt clearly belonging to someone else, eyes downcast as you move along the congested sidewalk of a Saturday morning. The only solace is the neck of Wonwoo's shirt covering a majority of the marks staining your skin. 
You don’t breathe until you round the block of your apartment. Thankfully the lobby is empty and so is the elevator as you ride up in stifling silence. Slipping through the crack of the sliding doors, you rush the remaining distance and finally find your way into sanctuary.
The door clicks shut, and the dull thud of your head meeting metal rings a second later; the cool melt against the sweat on your brow is a lovely reprieve.
The sound of a throat clearing down the hall less so.
Glaring over your shoulder, you find Amina leaning over the kitchen island, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively. Lisa clearly informed her of the morning's findings.
Her lips twitch with humor, choking out, “Have a good night?”
“Shut up,” you grumble, launching off the door and to your room. Sharp laughter meets your back.
Hiding away in the bathroom, you cloak yourself in steam and scrub away any remnants of the night. Starting with the piney smell of Wonwoo’s body wash. 
You run through the facts despite wanting nothing more than forgetting the entire ordeal. 
Fact: Wonwoo isn’t as horrible as Seungcheol made you believe.
Opinion: He’s still infuriating.
Fact: You slept with Wonwoo.
Opinion: It wasn’t half bad.
Fact: You won’t do it again.
Thirty minutes later, the hot water runs out and you’re forced back into reality.
She can’t look in the mirror, knowing exactly what you’ll see. The proof that can’t be scrubbed away, the proof that the you let Wonwoo fuck you silly, and that you wouldn’t mind if it happened again. 
Some time later, hidden amongst the piles of blankets littering your bed, you mope. The hood of your sweatshirt tied tightly around your head leaving only your face visible. The TV hums with the drunk gibberish of the reality tv show cast as they laugh and cry over something innocuous.
A soft knock on the door breaks your focus, Amina appearing in the opening.
“Are you still coming to breakfast?” She asks.
“Don’t feel good.”
“Y/N,” Amina sighs, sitting on the edge of your bed. “It’s not that bad.”
You almost swallow your tongue. Of all your friends, Amina dislikes Wonwoo the most. She’s polite as she can be for Lisa and Mingyu’s sake, but everyone knows they get on as well as fire and water. 
“Who are you?” you question, eyes widening at the impersonator perched at your feet.
Amina cackles in response, and you can’t help but join. 
“You had fun, right?” Amina asks, waiting for your nod before continuing.“Okay, then who cares?”
“You don’t?” 
“No,” Amina sighs. “You’ve been…” 
She pauses, weighing her next words. “...down, since Seungcheol left. Maybe this is what you needed to get back out there.”
You start to object but fail to find any evidence against her claim. Seungcheol leaving turned your world upside down. You couldn’t hate him. It wasn’t like he didn’t try to make things work. But there was nothing for you in Seattle, just like there was nothing for him in New York. Other than each other. Somehow it’s much harder when no one is to blame other than unchangeable circumstances.
Amina rubs your knee over the covers. “It’s not my business who you sleep with. Unless you bring him here and I hear you, then I reserve the right to kill you both.” 
“Trust me, it won’t be happening again.”
“Why?” Now it’s Amina’s turn to be shocked. “Was it that bad?”
“No!” You blurt, face heating at the sudden outburst. “It was just a one time thing. Get it out of the system.”
Amina hums. Silence falling between you.
“So… was he better than Seungcheol?” Amina asks like she doesn’t care either way but you know she’s curious. She heard enough times about the lack of chemistry between you and Seungcheol for to have a vested interest in your sex life.
Truthfully, he was. The best experience with Seungcheol paled in comparison next to your night with Wonwoo. 
Taking silence as an answer, Amina stands.
“Get dressed. Eva is already on the way here to pick us up.” 
She leaves with out another word.
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Across town, Wonwoo contemplates the ramifications of murder. 
The morning after a night like his should have him walking around like the sun shined out of his ass. Instead, the most annoying person in the city chose to rain on his parade. That person is coincidentally his best friend's girlfriend.
If it hadn’t been for Lisa’s shouts this morning, he’s more than confident you would have agreed to a repeat of the nights events. Maybe even two or three if he was lucky.
But no, you sprinted from his bed the second he feigned sleep. Watching through barely cracked eyes, he almost broke his cover when you nearly fell head first into the door knob, hastily trying to pull your pants up and walk at the same time. 
Wonwoo let you go, no snide comments or crude remarks. He knew if he wanted you to return to his bed then the best way was to bite his tongue. Goading had worked the first time, now he’d have to let your curiosity get the better of you. You would come back sooner or later, and he'd be ready when it happened.
He’d given you a few minutes to find your way out, hoping you avoided Lisa and saved you both the embarrassment. The slam of the front door and lack of screaming informed him of your success. Wanting to make sure you were long gone before he exited his room, Wonwoo took his time brushing his teeth. Catching himself in the mirror, his reflection gave a self-satisfied smirk. The stain of your teeth and lips contrasted against his skin and his back stung along the raised red welts from your nails.
Flicking off the light, Wonwoo heads towards back to his room. Lisa will demand audience sooner or later and it's better if he rips the bandaid off now. In his peripheral, a swatch of pale pink fabric tucked underneath one of the legs of his dresser catches his attention. Ducking down, he puls at the stretch of cotton. Lifting them up to inspect the out of place garment, Wonwoo finds himself face to face with your panties. He huffs a laugh before crumbling them in his hand, and tossing them in the hamper on the way out of his room. 
Lisa waits for him at the dining table; commanding the head seat like a mob boss.
From her perch, she watches him with keen interest that makes his bowl of cereal taste like mush. Mingyu already excused himself to take a shower before Wonwoo sat down, attempting to avoid the ensuing blow out. 
Every question is answered with one word answers or dismissive grunts. Even Lisa’s attempts to bait him into unrelated arguments roll off. Lisa chisels away at any sign of weakness but Wonwoo refuses to give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. It’s none of her business. Even if you’re her best friend.
Wonwoo counts his blessings when a call comes through her phone, the vibration on the table interrupting her attempt to burn a hole through his skull. Lisa rises to answer, pacing the kitchen while the feminine voice coming out the receiver chatters on. She ducks her head into Mingyu’s room, bidding him farewell. As she passes Wonwoo again on her way out, she gives him another furious look to let him know she isn’t done with their “conversation”. 
To rub salt in the wound, Wonwoo sends her off with an overly friendly smile and a wiggle of his fingers. He wipes down his face when the door slam shuts, shoulders dropping.  He knew hooking up with you might cause problems. He didn’t know they would become evident so quickly, but problems nonetheless. 
Worth it, he thinks 
The look on her face when she came for him made anything Lisa planned to throw his worth the price.
Wonwoo didn’t care what any of them had to say, you both were grown adults. He wanted to sleep with and you wanted to sleep with him. End of conversation. Anyone else’s opinion meant nothing.
And if things go the way he thinks they will, he’ll get to see you in his bed again.
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roosterr · 2 months
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i've known war
john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg
requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.
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it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.
the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.
it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.
"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"
he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."
you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."
he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"
"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.
"oh, you're on." 
perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.
it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.
before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.
he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.
quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?
he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.
he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.
something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.
it's a pair of id tags.
he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.
no. you can't be gone.
he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–
he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–
no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–
a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.
ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.
the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.
"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"
"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."
"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?
ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."
"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"
he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…
it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.
"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.
it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.
he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.
the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.
words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.
the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.
price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:
"...one k.i.a."
the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.
johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.
the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.
because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.
there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move. 
despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.
"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.
the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.
kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.
with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.
"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."
kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."
the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.
his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.
the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.
that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.
he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.
once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.
he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.
it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.
six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.
he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.
it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.
somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.
one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.
johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.
it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.
the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed. 
when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.
it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.
it's six more months before anything changes.
in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.
his fingers tighten around your tags.
"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.
they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.
the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.
"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.
their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.
the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.
ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.
there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.
"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.
"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.
"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."
"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."
back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.
the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.
"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."
johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.
the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.
"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.
their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.
"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.
"something very… precious to you."
the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera. 
it's…
it's you.
you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.
johnny's sure his heart stops.
you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…
you're alive.
"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?
how long have you been waiting for him?
he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.
the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.
"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."
the video cuts to black.
the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.
"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.
she hums distractedly. "working on it."
their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.
"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.
"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."
he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.
have you given up hope of them finding you?
"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.
johnny can only nod. 
his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.
"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."
"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.
"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.
simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."
"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."
the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.
"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"
"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.
"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.
the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.
he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."
the tension is palpable. he watches  over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.
price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."
a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."
laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."
"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.
laswell and price share a look.
"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."
the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."
they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.
there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.
he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.
the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.
the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.
the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.
bring you home, or don't come back.
they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.
"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"
his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.
soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.
another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.
gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.
one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.
a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.
hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.
soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.
price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."
his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.
"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.
"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.
gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."
johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.
he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"
johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.
it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.
his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud,  leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.
johnny pulls the trigger again.
and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.
a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.
"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.
there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.
neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.
as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?
johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.
price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap." 
"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.
he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.
the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.
gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"
a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.
it's you.
curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…
it's really you.
johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.
"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"
his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.
"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.
johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."
"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.
"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"
with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.
"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"
"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."
the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.
eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.
"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"
johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.
it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.
the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.
they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.
a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.
there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.
when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.
no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.
he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.
back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.
for once, he doesn't dream of you.
there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.
simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.
"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.
"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."
johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"
before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.
"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."
johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.
as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.
"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"
"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.
johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?
he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.
the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.
time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.
"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"
your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.
"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"
"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.
"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"
"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.
it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.
your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.
you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"
"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."
your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.
he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.
"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.
he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."
your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.
"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.
"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.
you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"
"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."
his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.
"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.
"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."
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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months
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—  LINES OF YOUR HANDS
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SUMMARY : dean tries being seductive in a Santa suit… and it works, surprisingly. 
PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader
CHARACTERS : none
WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, on the kitchen table, Santa suit kink, nude photography, breeding kink, jerking off, cum play
WORD COUNT : 2.3k
A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — (Santa) suit kink and nude photography. this was cute to me, idk ‘bout y’all, like yeah, the sex, but Dean’s so cute in my imagination (and in the show). had clara oswald and danny pink in mind for this one, lmao XXX
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“Merry Christmas, my love!” Dean exclaimed from the doorway of the kitchen. His girlfriend turned around, distractedly biting off the arm of a gingerbread man. 
“You could’ve at least picked something sexy,” she snorted, turning away from him to bite the other arm of her gingerbread man. Dean pouted and made his way to her unenthusiastically. 
“Well, guess what I’m wearing underneath,” he proposed excitedly with his hands on his hips. She didn’t turn around to look at him this time. 
“Uh… your Scooby-Doo boxers?” She asked, grinning at the space in front of her before taking a bite of a gingerbread cookie’s leg. She knew that would make Dean whine more. “One of the hundred of black t-shirts you own, and uh… those ‘send noods’ socks, my fave,” she continued with a dreamy laugh. Dean sputtered. 
“No,” he pouted adorably. She shrugged, mouth full, drinking warm coconut milk to help the cookie go down. Defeated, Dean’s frown deepened. “Nothing,” he whined, then stomped over to her, hoping she’d look at him. “Come on, admit it’s sexy,” he smiled cheekily, sitting on the table next to the small plate with crumbs and a gingerbread man that no longer had arms and legs. 
She sighed playfully and then leaned back, eyes trailing from the top of his cute head to the bottom of his hot legs. She checked him out once more, contemplating his appearance: she stared at his thighs, the tent in the red, fluffy trousers, the tightness of the suit on him, the little bit of skin showing at his neck, the floppy red and white hat on top of his head.
She tried to give him what he wanted, to see the sexiness in his costume. But… she couldn’t help it, she smiled brightly at him. He was too damn adorable. 
“Oh, come on!” He whined, then hastily undid the black belt around his waist, letting the coat fall open. She held her breath as she watched him, her eyes glued to his taut, hot body, and his warm, freckled skin. He bit his lip, and pulled his pants down to release his cock, and slowly started to jerk himself off. 
That did it for her. Her stomach flipped and her pussy clenched, warmth spread over her face, her stomach, her cunt. She released a shaky breath as a wave of dampness ruined her underwear almost instantly. 
Squeezing her thighs, she fumbled and checked her pockets for her phone to take a picture. Maybe a lot more than one. This was so hot and definitely worth being kept in the hidden photo album of explicit photos and videos of her and Dean. 
When he saw it in her hands, he stopped touching himself and reached for the phone, but she snatched it away before he could snatch it away.
“Hey!” He complained. He thought she was going to ignore him and scroll through her phone instead.
“Shut up,” she grunted, which made his mouth shut instantly, “I’m trying to eat my gingerbread man and you want to seduce me… now deal with the fact that it worked.”
“You’re torturing the little man,” he stared down at the gingerbread man with an exaggerated frown. “But, hey, I ain’t complainin’ if you wanna take a few videos of me right now,” he grinned, going right back at it. “Did ya name him?” He asked, running his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock. 
“Patrick,” she laughed softly, then stood up to find the perfect angle. It didn’t matter though, he looked good from all angles. She snapped a photo, kept tapping and tapping the red button to get as many as she could. Data storage be damned. 
“Want some more frosting on Patrick?” He jested, but she was actually contemplating his offer. He cursed softly and watched her with hooded eyes. 
She leaned down to collect the beads of precum at his tip with her tongue which made his body tense up, a loud moan erupting from his throat. She reached over and took a bite of her cookie, mixing the sweet and tangy flavour of her two favourite things. “Yummy,” she snickered, staring straight at Dean. 
“Fuck,” he whispered, licking his lips. 
“Maybe when you’ve got another load, you’re cumming inside me first.” She pushed her cup and the headless cookie to the far end of the table, close to the wall. “Fuck, actually… should I take a picture of you cumming on your hand first?” She stopped in the middle of lifting her shirt up, staring at him as he slowed the pace of his movements to stop his orgasm. 
“No, later,” he decided for her, “please, get up here and ride me.” He begged, then shifted on the table to lie on his back, aware of the plate and cup she pushed against the wall when he placed the Santa hat with them. She snickered and lifted the top over her head. She wore no bra this morning and the sight of her  breasts made him moan softly. 
“Comfortable?” She asked, kicking her slippers off and then slid her leggings and underwear down in one swift pull. 
“Just get up here,” he told her impatiently, reaching down to tug at his balls instead of jerking himself off. She laughed again and did as he asked. She climbed up the chair, made her way onto the table, and then sat on his lap, taking his hard cock in her hand. 
“How are you making this work?” She teased, biting her lip, slowly stroking from base to tip. He instantly grabbed her hips, his red lips parted to release quick breaths as he brought her forward over his erect cock.
He shrugged, biting his lip and smiling cutely. “Please,” he begged again, urging her to take him. She playfully, teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, and stared down at him mischievously.
“Sam’s gonna get mad that we fucked on the table.” He knew she was stalling on purpose, getting him riled up. Her intentions were clearer when she reached for her phone again, and took a couple photos of his cock in her hand. 
She stopped stroking his cock to focus on taking more photos. It frustrated him and he groaned, reaching between her legs. While she treated him like a sex model, leaning back in his lap to capture him at the best angle with her phone, he separated her folds and brushed his thumb against her clit. 
His cock twitched when he brought two of his fingers to her entrance and an insane amount of slick met his fingertips. “Wow, it’s really workin’,” he chuckled, smiling up at her smugly. She rolled her eyes, lips parting when he pushed two fingers into her, meeting no resistance. “Please tell me you’re done, I wanna be inside you and feel all of this… wrapped around my dick,” he mumbled, pushing a third finger into her, then spread them apart inside her. 
“Oh… fuck, Dean!” She moaned in surprise. Her phone tumbled out of her hand and rattled on the floor, but it didn’t break. She slammed both hands on his chest as her thighs shook on either side of his body as his fingers curled against the front of her walls. 
“It’s Santa now,” he teased, pulling his soaked fingers out of her fluttering pussy to wrap it around his cock. She barely composed herself when he bucked his hips upwards, thrusting his cock into her swiftly. 
She cried out again and buried her face into his neck, making a tight fist with both hands clenching around the red and white Santa jacket he wore. She moaned softly when he rolled his hips gently, soothing the amazing stretch of her cunt around him. 
“Shit.. that was way too easy, babe,” he gasped, giving her ass a gentle swat. “You okay?” He murmured, kissing her temple. She nodded, her pussy fluttering needily around his cock. “Well…” he paused for a moment, reaching up to move her hair to one side, then lifted her mouth up to his. “What do you want for Christmas, sweetheart?” He mumbled against her lips, giving her a few loving pecks. 
She kissed him lewdly, licking across his sugary lips and into his minty mouth with a hum. With a smirk, she replied, “a baby.” 
His grip on her hair tightened and his cock twitched inside her. He pulled her off him with a sharp tug of her hair and stared at her face, stunned and aroused. “Don’t ask for something if you’re not serious about it…” he murmured, planting his black-leather-boot clad feet on the table.
“Who said I wasn’t serious?” She asked, placing her arm beside his head and laying her palm flat over his toned stomach. 
“That shit-eating grin on your fuckable face.” Before she could get out a reply, Dean began to piston his hips up into her, clasping both hands on her hips roughly to keep her from moving. 
With a surprised moan she pressed her forehead into her arm and wrapped her hand around one of Dean’s wrists, above his watch. 
She panted heavily into his ear, occasionally moaning encouragements that made him fuck her harder. Her clit slapped delightfully against his pelvis with each thrust and upward grind. He focused on chasing her pleasure more than his own, angling her hips so he could press his cock into the front of her pussy, brushing repeatedly over her sweet spots. 
“You want a baby?” He asked breathlessly, cock throbbing inside her velvety walls. He could feel her getting as close to her orgasm as he was, and continued to grind up against her after every thrust to stimulate her clit. “I’ll give you a baby,” he growled, latching his lips to her pulse. 
With a sharp thrust and a hard bite, he came inside her with a grunt of her name against her neck. Hot cum pooled inside her and triggered her own orgasm. With a shuddering moan of Dean’s name, she took Dean's face lovingly into her hands and kissed him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. 
Her kiss-swollen lips moved across his jaw, down his flushed neck and chest as they attempted to catch their breaths. Dean pulled her closer, his warm hands squeezing his favourite parts of her body that he could reach. Barely having caught their breaths, he mumbled, “I believe you need to let me eat your cookie now that I’ve delivered your gift. Santa’s gotta get a reward,” against her flushed cheek.
She moved away from his mouth and lifted a brow at the playful grin he gave her. “Do not call my vagina a cookie ever again,” she giggled, pushing up off his chest. Except he pulled her back down with his fingers around the back of her neck to peck her lips, once, then twice.
“Babe, please, I’m trying to be in the Christmas spirit,” he reasoned playfully with a nod, dimples on display with his puckered lips. He slid his hands down the curve of her back and stopped just shy of her ass, calloused hands caressing her soft skin.
She eyed him suspiciously and then dropped a lingering kiss on his forehead for cuteness. “Okay, I’ll let it slide… this time,” she smiled, then dropped doting kisses over his cheeks and nose. 
“Right, but you have no problem with me referring to myself as Santa, hmm?” He muttered, feigning disappointment. Mischievously, she stopped her kisses before she could get to his mouth, hovering over his lips after kissing the corner of his mouth. 
She pulled away as he waited for her kiss with a very subtle pucker of his lips and then, he had the audacity to pout again. “Be happy that I fucked you in this ridiculous costume at all,” she frowned, but her bright and amused eyes betrayed her serious face. 
“This costume is not ridiculous, okay? You’re ridiculous…” he scoffed, moving his hands away from her hips to cross them over his chest defensively.
She bit back a smile and slid off his soft dick, which made him reach out for her to return with his lips parted to ask her to come back. Instead, she took his hands to balance herself as she climbed off the table and took her phone off the floor, his cum already starting to dribble out of her pussy.
She squeezed her legs together as she unlocked her cellphone to study the photos she took of Dean. “I’m gonna get these framed… or.. I’m making my own porn magazine with photos of you naked.. yeah, that’s a great idea,” she spoke to herself thoughtfully. 
Dean blindly grabbed for the Santa hat, lifted his pants up, and slid off the table to wrap his arms around his naked girlfriend. He put the hat back on and dropped his chin on her shoulder to gaze at her phone.  
“Only if you do the same for me,” he proposed bashfully, then slowly started moving his hands down between her legs. She smiled and parted her legs for him, but she didn’t expect him to send a slap over her sensitive clit.
He must have expected her reaction because he released her immediately and backed away when she jumped with a shout and turned to face him swiftly. She glared at him and walked towards him until the metal counter hit his back. 
He licked his lip, trying to lean casually against the counter with his green eyes shining bright like shiny ornaments on a Christmas tree. He swallowed excitedly and smiled at her flirtatiously—that stupid smile he gave women when he tried picking them up or to get information out of them. 
“I’m tying you up with the Christmas lights for that,” she threatened seductively, pressing herself up against his taut body. He bit his lip and carefully moved his hands to her ass to keep her close, then squeezed. 
“Really?” 
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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform
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staroaming · 1 year
Text
Confessions
Vash x Reader tags: nsfw, plant-vash biology, female reader, smut, feelings.
// sorry for any mistakes, i'm sleep deprived lmao //
The first time that you saw Vash, you assumed he would be a passing thing, a person who would take up too much space in your mind before fading away like everyone else. That's how it usually goes, anyway.
Funny, you think, that you're so incredibly close to him now. The fact that the two of you happened to meet in a tavern the same night you saw him wandering through town and you helped him escape a gunfight, well, that surely cemented the fact that you would follow him practically anywhere.
Now, nights like this are nothing but an ordinary, pleasant routine. You've both been drinking a bit too much, both relaxing after a long day of travel. You laugh at him as he stumbles around the fire after digging through your pack to pull out blankets, his grin spreading when he finds you right where he left you.
"Good! You're not asleep yet!"
"Not yet." You yawn, "But it is getting pretty late."
He nods and plops down beside you after spreading out a blanket for you both to rest on, spreading his long legs out. You glance down at him, brow raised.
"You're not tired?"
He shrugs, "Nope."
Laughing, you splay onto the blanket beside him. Your arms brush and with that touch, like always, there is a spark, a live wire. You gulp and throw an arm over your eyes, wishing these damn feelings would just go away already.
"You feel sick?" He asks.
"No." You huff, "That's not it."
"What is it, then?"
You lower your arm and look at him, "Can't tell you. Secret."
He blinks in that usual way of his, all wide-eyed. Then, he drags you closer, wrapping his arm around you with gentle strength. You instantly relax, your head dropping to rest on his chest. This is always nice and you should accept it as it is. You should just accept that this is all you'll get and you're fine with that, especially if it means that you won't lose him.
A soft brush of his fingers on your lower back makes your stomach flip. A flutter rises and you gulp, shifting a bit at the tingles running up the length of your spine.
"I can't really go to sleep with you touching me like that."
He lets out a soft noise of surprise, "Oh! Right, sorry."
You chuckle, "I didn't mean that you should stop."
Soon, though albeit slightly hesitantly, the touch returns. He brushes his fingers along the curve of your back, against your ribs and you jolt. The movement brings your crotch closer to his thigh and you let out a soft noise, which leaves you slightly mortified. He goes very still, his touch halting before he continues with seemingly more confidence.
He runs his fingers lower until they're pressing a bit into the dip of your waist. Your hips move against his thigh and you shut your eyes, praying neither of you will remember this in the morning. But you know that, without a doubt, there's no way you won't. Regardless of the drinks, you're both very much aware of what is happening.
You bury your face against his chest as you grind against him softly, your voice more timid than it's ever been when you call his name.
"Is this too much?" He asks, quietly.
"No. No, this is fine."
He laughs, a deep rumble against you. It's different than any laugh you've heard from him before. There's nothing goofy or fake or self-deprecating about it. It's husky. It's heat.
Suddenly, as you begin to feel spikes of pleasure, he stops. You wince and go to pull away, thinking you've overstepped or misunderstood. But he simply keeps holding tight to you as he shifts.
You blink up at him, caged in by his arms, overwhelmed by the sight.
He's flushed, his cheeks rosy and his pupils dilated. His eyes are flitting around your face and dipping, his hand running beneath your thin shirt to travel against the skin beneath. You gulp and open your legs for him to settle better, gasping when he presses against your so fully.
"You make the prettiest sounds." He says, his voice soft and gentle and quiet between the two of you. "I've heard you before, you know. Late at night, when you thought I was sleeping. I never knew what you were thinking about but I hoped-"
He brushes his thumb against your nipple and you bring your hand down to place it atop his, feeling him explore, feeling the way his fingers curl around your breast.
Your voice wavers, "I usually think about you."
At your confession, his eyes shoot up to your own. He presses against you harder, though you aren't sure that he's even aware of it. In a flash, he's lowering his lips to yours, taking over each and every one of your senses. You're consumed by him, by his mouth, by his roaming hands and his tongue. He pushes at your shirt and you loathe the brief moment your lips part as it lifts over your head, moaning when he finds you again. You pant when he begins to trail his lips down the slope of your throat, pressing his teeth and tongue against the rapid beat of your pulse. He brushes over your chest until he's taking a nipple into his mouth and you wish you could do something else with your hands. Instead, you bring them to your mouth as he travels lower and lower, pushing your pants down and off. "I'd like to hear you." He spreads your legs, holding tight to your thighs. He pushes his fingers into the plush of them, his breath ghosting over your core. "Please." You take your hands away and glance down, stomach curling pleasantly when you see him already looking back. He keeps his eyes on you during the first swipe of his tongue against your clit, smiling when you jolt and call out for him. "There you go." He kisses your thigh before dipping, his tongue running along your folds eagerly. You let out an embarrassingly loud yelp but he doesn't let up, not until you're dripping and leaving his mouth and chin shining. He flicks his tongue over and over, sucking at your clit, pushing in deep. Your thighs begin to quiver and he presses harder, no doubt leaving impressions and bruises. You don't mind. On the contrary, you hope they linger for days after this. Just as you're drawing close to the edge, he rises. He trails kisses back up, pressing his lips into your soft stomach, grabbing hungrily at your hips and plush sides. When you open your mouth for him, he tastes like you. The kiss is heavy and slick, breath hot between the two of you, both of you tasting like alcohol and sweets. You bring your hands down blindly, searching for the loops of his belt, for the pop of the button. When his shirt goes, you trail your touch over his scars. You shiver and you press a kiss pointedly against a deep one on his chest, making sure he knows that you aren't put off by any of it. When you look up at him, he is looking down at you. "Are you-" "If you're going to ask if I'm sure," You raise your legs, eyes fluttering at the touch of his tip on your entrance. "then, yes. I'm very sure. I've been sure for ages now." He snorts a laugh and nods, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead as he begins to push in. Immediately, you notice that his dick feels...different. You've only been with two other people and although each time had been less than extraordinary, you know what a dick feels like. You glance down between your bodies, eyes catching on the feint luminescent glow as it buries inside of you. Ridges catch and tug but it isn't unpleasant. Instead, as he seems to shift inside of you, you feel an intense burst of unexpected pleasure. You gasp and grab onto his upper arms, digging in, mumbling an apology but unable to loosen your grip. He presses your chests together, teeth brushing against your throat before he bites, just once, just hard enough to make you arch against him. This makes it much easier for him to push inside of you entirely, both of you pausing. You feel the shift within you and it's all hard and velvet and there's something moving against your clit- "Vash." You moan, "It's...I'm-" He begins to thrust but the attention to your clit doesn't leave and when you open your eyes, you see that his hands are planted on either side of your head. Whatever is brushing repeatedly over you is part of him, undulating and stimulating. "Feel good?" He asks breathlessly, jolting you up and down with his thrusts. "Do you need me to stop?" "No, please." You shut your eyes again, bursts of pleasure radiating throughout your body. "Keep going, Vash, please." He thrusts harder, his dick prodding at the plush, spongy part inside of you. His breathing has thickened as he buries his face against your throat, tongue brushing the bite, his teeth grazing it. "So pretty." He says, his hips snapping as your breasts bounce against his chest. "You're just-" You gasp loudly as he reaches a hand down and grabs hold of your hip, digging his fingers deeply. "You've always been so beautiful." You gulp, strong emotions swamping you. You'd never accepted what you've known for months now: that you like him immensely, that you love him deeply. "I think," You try to speak between the thrusts, eyes rolling as he pierces a part of you that makes you see fucking stars. "I think I'm in love with you, Vash." He speeds up, his voice a whimper, his lips finding yours. He breathes against you, he whispers things you can't understand and suddenly, all at once, you are falling to absolute pieces. Your entire body shakes as your orgasm overwhelms you. You tighten around him and he groans, pushing hard, pushing so damn deep. Your lashes flutter and your eyes grow damp with the overwhelming feeling. In a flash, which you will later blame on euphoria, you think you see the spread of the cosmos sprouting from his back. There are feathers and there are stars and whisps, dark like gunsmoke, spreading above the two of you. Blanketing you from the world. He spills inside of you. It's hot and it's thick and you feel him grind into you over and over as if chasing the feeling to the last possible moment. The entire world goes quiet, all a buzz and vibration, as slowly you return from such a height. When you're back to yourself, you feel him sliding in and out of you slowly. He's growing soft inside of you but neither of you wants to part. You wrap your legs around him, keeping him close until you can't anymore. You glance down and see the bioluminescence spill out of you. He drops his head to your chest, skin slick and damp with sweat. Luckily, the desert is always cold at night. It cools you both down until bumps are breaking out on your skin and Vash is grabbing another blanket, sliding out of you to wrap you both up within it. The fire has begun to burn low but you know he'll get up at some point to keep it going. For now, however, you're glad that you can turn in his arms and bury yourself against him. Your confession returns to the forefront of your mind and you think you might be sick, that you might wake up and find him gone now that the truth is out. You do your best to pretend that you've already fallen asleep, evening out your breaths and losing the tension in your shoulders. After a while, you assumed he would unwrap himself from you. But instead, he continues to hold you close, pressing kisses on the top of your head, his voice low and soft. "I love you too." He brushes a thumb against your jaw and traces the slope of your cheek. Those words, confessed beneath the stars and within the endless dunes, ease your worries. You nuzzle closer, hoping he thinks you're doing it unconsciously. Tomorrow, you're sure you'll both need to talk. But for now, as you allow yourself to be held so tenderly, you finally succumb to a deep, much-needed sleep.
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mariariley · 7 months
Note
omg thank you bb!
so i was thinking, what if the reader (aka us) brings simon to a family cook out? let’s say your mom has been dying to meet him anyways—& not only that, you notice that spaced out look on his whenever the team starts talking about their family members when it’s time to go back home.
and you’re kinda nervous because your family can be a chaotic mess, esp at cookouts. and while you both are there at the cookout, you can’t help but to notice how he barely leaves your side, almost stuck to you like some sort of adhesive!
likeeeeee! imagine your younger cousins running up to him, asking if he could help them fix their nerf guns because they keep jamming the bullets.
or how your aunties keep giving him flirty looks…and your grandma may or may not have made a comment about letting ‘him put a baby in you.’ and on the drive back to your place, you start apologizing for how embarrassing and chaotic they were and he can’t help but to smile to himself because he enjoyed every part of it <33
I told the person they can fill my inbox with as many ideas as they want :)
masterlist || have a request/ask? Here are the rules <3
MY FAMILY IS LIKE THIS ISTG 😭
Aunties would admire his muscles and height, his tattoos as well and “oh my gaaaawd he’s in the militaryyy” aka special forces but they see no difference.
Grandmas too but in the “You’d be a great lookin’ father” way. They would squeeze his muscles nonchalantly I swear. They would definitely start the “bearing children” subject a little too many times.
At some point Simon would have to tell them he doesn’t want kids mostly considering his job to which they’d wave their hands and laugh.
Uncles and grandpas would admire him as a patriot and ask him bunch of military and weapon related questions considering most of them served the army as well. Tbh he would enjoy talking to them about it.
Cousins (and younger siblings if you have any) would sit down and listen to him talk about his missions. He would add some unrealistic stuff that didn’t really happen just so he would make it more entertaining for them. He would show them a scar and tell them how he fought a lion or something lmao. They’d be like:
“WOOOOAH! You fought a tiger AND a lion at the same time!?”
“With bare hands.”
“WITH BARE HANDS!? WOOOOOAH!”
I love the nerf gun part you mentioned. He would definitely end up playing with them for some time. He would teach them how to hold the guns and aim properly lmao. The game would end with him being “shot and defeated” by the kids. Simon laying on the floor pretending he’s dead while the kids are dying from laughter at his goofy death sounds mimicking.
Simon would eat like never before, he would praise your mom’s cooking.
When you’d apologize on your way back home he’d definitely tell you he enjoyed it and that he would come again.
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Divider owners already tagged in my previous posts, I don’t want to spam them 🖤
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ro-written · 10 months
Text
Take a Ride - K.Y
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Tags/Warnings: phew boy…18+ ONLY! MDNI! AT ALL! SMUT. There’s definitely plot there, biker!yeosang, no pronouns really used for reader but there are feminine pet names, very light alcohol drinking, heavy making out, fluff, I barely reread and edited this sorry
Smut Tags: exhibitionism (sex on a motorcycle), oral sex (reader receiving), p in v sex, reader has a coochie, pet names towards reader (pretty girl, good girl, baby, doll), fingering, begging, grinding, scratching, PROTECTED SEX, Yeo’s got a big dick, Yeo keeps his condoms in his wallet (don't do that lmao), love at first fuck(???)
Word Count: 5.6k
Playlist:
“Fly - FKJ Remix” by June Marieezy “Body Language” by Doja Cat “Harley’s in Hawaii” by Katy Perry “Pink + White” by Frank Ocean
Being able to vacation days off from work was difficult, especially in your profession. So when it was offered to you by your supervisor, you agreed without hesitation. As soon as you got home, you messaged your best friend. You had both talked about having a little vacation and going to an island, away from the hustle and bustle of your usual lives, and taking in all the more tropical views that you never got to experience living in a city. That same night you had your bags packed and plane tickets booked for the next morning.
The Airbnb your friend had chosen was stunning. The backdoor opened up directly to the sight of the ocean and the trees surrounding the view. The window in your room offered a similar view. As soon as you opened it, a breeze filled the space, bringing in the salty smell of the ocean with it. It made your shoulders relax a bit, eyes closed as the heat of the sun refreshingly warmed your face. For once you weren’t thinking of all the work that sat waiting for you, or anything that was on your to-do list. You were instead listening to the birds chirping, the waves crashing against the rocks nearby, the leaves on the trees brushing against each other with every waft of wind. 
After a few minutes of standing there and swaying gently back and forth with the wind, your friend finally knocked on your door.
“Hello hello,” they peeked their head around to make sure you weren’t occupied. You smiled and waved them in, going to sit on the bed.
“What’s up?”
“Well…there’s this bar nearby that I believe is calling out our names. Wait–” they gasped before grabbing your arm. “Can you hear that? It was just there!” You rolled your eyes at their ever-dramatic antics.
“So you wanna go drinking when it’s,” you shifted to look at the clock on your phone. “It just turned 3:10.” They nodded back excitedly, grin wide on their face.
“And we can get shitfaced and go walking on the beach that’s right outside our doorstep during the sunset!” 
…It all did sound very tempting. You mulled it over as your friend sat next to you, bouncing up and down in anticipation. You finally nodded, coming to the conclusion that you were on your own time, not needing to hold back from enjoying yourself. They flung their arms around your neck before getting up and running to go change.
For it being a Friday, the building was surprisingly barely busy. There were a few people here and there, drinking and either talking to someone or watching whatever the bar had on TV. You and your friend grab a corner booth. After writing down your order, your friend went to the bar to get your drinks from the bartender. It was then that you heard motorcycle rumbles from outside the building, and through the very tiny window, you could see two bikes parking in one spot. Both people on the bikes got off, and one immediately took his helmet off. He was a bit taller than the other one and had short black hair and a sharp nose. The second motorcyclist had been in the middle of unclipping his helmet when your friend suddenly appeared at your side.
“Here you go! I got a double shot for mine but yours is just the regular amount. I didn’t know how hard you were going tonight.” They said with a smile. Your attention was brought back to the drink they had set in front of you on the small napkin. It was a deep red color and while it had a strong smell, it wasn’t unpleasant.
“Thank you so so much, I owe you one.” You smile at them as you use the tiny black straw to taste the drink, dubbed “The Icey Crab” on the menu. Corny, but the drink is damn good. 
At that moment, the two motorcyclists you saw before swung the door to the bar open. The taller one walked in first, leather pants and boots appearing before the rest of him. He stepped in and to the side, as the other biker came in. The other one, the one you didn’t get a chance to see take his helmet off, was…gorgeous, to say the least. His face looked as if it had been carved from marble. There was a slight dark mark on the side of his face and it accentuated his beautiful eyes. His long dark hair framed his face perfectly. Not to mention his arms. His muscle tank allowed his muscular triceps to be on display. And you were certainly taking it in.
“Hey.” Your friend snapped their fingers in front of your face, bringing you back to what they had been saying. Their eyes followed yours over to where the two men had come in and were setting themselves up at the bar.
“Ahh, I see how it is then. Which one were you eyeing?” They smirked and nudged you repeatedly, making you lightly hit their arm and roll your eyes. “I’m going to guess it’s the long-haired one? Definitely your type.”
“Please, I don’t have a type.” Their eyebrows shot up at you over the glass held to their lips.
“Don’t just lie like that, I’ve known you for way too long.” They giggled, eyes going back over to the two men. One of them, the taller one, seemed to look right over at your table at that exact moment, catching your friend’s eye. They grinned and raised their glass in greeting the new man. He returned it back, smirking as he said something to his long-haired friend who was simply sipping on his drink and seemed startled when the tall one spoke. He too followed his friend's view over to your booth, and his eyes landed on you.
“Well, I think I’ve snagged his friend, if you want alone time with him, yeah?” They said as they looked back at you, excitement glimmering in their eyes as they downed the rest of their drink.
“And what happened to us headed to have a little drunk walk on the beach?” You crossed your arms over your chest, a smile on your lips as your voice stayed playful.
“Well, we can do that any other night, right? We have some vacation days, let’s really use them.” They wiggled their eyebrows at you, making you let out a laugh. You see a figure approach the table from the corner of your eye, something you could only assume belonged to the tall man at the bar. You brought your drink up to your lips to hide your smile, as your friend stared at you in amusement.
“Hi,” the tall man’s deep voice seized your friend’s eyes from you. “I couldn’t help but notice your drink was empty.” Your friend looked down at the glass in fake surprise, as if they hadn’t realized what they were doing. Even though they knew exactly what they were doing. It was a tactic they used quite frequently, emptying their glass and waiting for whoever they had been eye-fucking to buy them a new drink.
“I didn’t even notice, how astute.” They smiled at him and raised their glass up in front of his face.
“Maybe we can change that?” His eyebrow quirked as he lightly grabbed the glass.
“Sounds like a deal…?”
“Park Seonghwa,” He introduced himself and looked over at you for the first time, giving you a smile. Almost as a sign of good intentions, ensuring you he didn’t plan on doing anything of ill will towards them. You nodded and looked at your friend, who stared at you. You both had each other’s location tracker on and you knew they had protective measures. 
“Alright, Mr. Park, let’s see if you can guess my favorite drink.”
The two of them walked away, and you watched with a smile, feeling glad that your friend could find something to distract them. You knew how busy they had been with their job and family. It was rare for them to go out anymore. If anyone needed time to be a little irresponsible, it was definitely them.
“So, your friend fell for the ‘Your glass is empty’ line?”
A deep voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you looked at the man standing next to your booth’s table. It was the other biker, the one who had come with Seonghwa. His attention on you made your face burn, and it took you a few seconds to realize what he had said. 
“Well, your friend fell for the ‘Oh, my glass is empty?’ bit. Maybe they were made for each other.” You smiled at the long-haired man as he laughed, looking down at the table for a second. His smile was very pretty, especially with how his eyes curved when his cheeks pushed up. His black hair fell into his face, and some impulse within you wished to reach out and push them back.
“Maybe they were.” He looked over his shoulder to the two of them at the bar, laughing about something. You could see a vein popping out in his neck, running all the way down to his broad chest. He was definitely your type, your friend was right. Especially with the way his hands looked as they rested on the table. Fuck it, if they’re gonna have fun tonight, I am too.
“I’m Y/N.” His eyes came back to you as you stuck your hand out in greeting. He took it, a jolt going through you at the feeling of his skin.
“Yeosang.”
Once he sat down on the other side of the rounded booth, the two of you spent hours talking about various things. What brought you to the island, what kinds of jobs you both did (he was a mechanic), what towns you lived in, what town you originally came from, et cetera. He was very interesting, not to mention very intelligent, and while he seemed reserved initially, he slowly opened up to show a more comedic side. The two of you had almost completely forgotten to check on your friends until Seonghwa came by to let Yeosang know that he and your friend were headed out. You gave your friend a good once over, making sure they weren’t shitfaced and still coherent. Relieved to find them acting their usual self, you had no reservations about letting them head out without you. 
As soon as they were both out the door, you watched through the window as they climbed on the back of Seonghwa’s motorcycle, putting his helmet on. Yeo laughed at his friend, apparently trying to “act cool.”
“There are times when he struggles to even talk to someone, but then there’s moments where he’s got massive game. I don’t even know how I keep up with him.” You smiled as he kept on talking about his friend, the genuine fondness showing through his words. Something about how he talked about Seonghwa was so deeply endearing. It made your heart flutter a little in your chest.
Your talks kept up as more people filtered into the bar, creating a hotter and stuffier atmosphere. He inched closer and closer to you, both of you struggling to hear the other as more voices came into the building, and the music got louder. After a while, you two just looked at each other and laughed, finding it ridiculous. You couldn’t help but notice, however, just how close he was. Merely inches apart as he leaned into your ear.
“I think we should head out.”
Yeosang parked the motorcycle right in a hidden clearing, taking your hand and bringing you to the edge of a cliff a few feet from the bike. You looked over it, deciding that if he was a murderer, he really wouldn’t have been able to kill you with the drop. Sure, maybe some bruises or a scratch, a bit of muscle ache, but definitely not death. 
“I’m not trying to murder you, you know,” he lets out with a low chuckle, reading your mind. “I just wanna show you my favorite view out here. Especially with the sun setting. You have to wait a few more minutes, but it’s so worth it.” He smiles brightly at you, and you couldn’t help but look at how the light from the lowering sun made his skin glow. You smiled back, watching as he walked back to his bike to lean against it, his toned legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed and showing off his muscular build. He patted the spot next to him, beckoning you over. You obliged, leaning your body against the seat of the bike, arms brushing his as he stared out at the view and watched the different birds crossing over the water.
You struggled to look at the view, eyes constantly straying over to him and his face, the birthmark next to his eye standing out. It took your restraint to keep from listening to your impulsive thoughts to reach out and trace it. 
You wanted to brush back his long black hair to get a better view of it, maybe even gather it up in your hand. That brought on a new wave of thoughts, ones that included your grip on his hair, pushing him in between your legs, eyes closed as he–
“It’s impolite to stare you know.” 
Your face burned as you turned away towards the ocean, eyes looking downwards. His chuckle reverberated into your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him look over at you, one eyebrow raised and a smirk gracing his face. He managed to look both devilish and angelic at the same time, a feat you never realized could be done before. 
“Sorry, just…lost in thought.”
“It’s okay, pretty girl. Maybe you should take a picture next time, hm?” His smile widened a bit after that, and you rolled your eyes, even though the smile playing at your lips contradicted the movement. The water crashed against the shore, providing background noise surrounding the two of you. You had expected him to have turned his attention back to the shifting sunset, but you could still see him focused on you.
You tried to ignore his eyes piercing you, dragging down the length of your body. His tongue peeked out behind his lips, swiping over them in a way you wished to do. Gathering your thoughts that melted all together you slightly turned your head toward him, eyebrow raised.
“You don’t practice what you preach?” You bit out. Something in the way he smiled tossed your stomach in a way not unpleasant. His eyes kept shifting between your eyes down to your lips, eventually losing the battle and fixating themselves on the way you brought your bottom lip into your mouth to lightly bite at it.
“Why don’t you let me do that, hm?” Was the only thing he said before a hand reached out to grab the side of your face. He gave you a chance to pull back, and as soon as he realized you didn’t plan to, he leaned in. You sharply sucked air in, his lips brushing gently over yours as your eyes fluttered closed. After what felt like minutes of building anticipation, he pressed himself against you. Both hands grasped at your face as he deepened the kiss, tongue lightly swiping at your lips. 
Maybe it was the one drink in your system, or maybe it was the way your body felt like it craved every possible touch from him, but you let him take complete control. His body pushed you against the seat of his bike, his hands coming down to either side of you to cage you in. This time your hands came up to grab either side of his face, your body pressing into him as if you could get any closer. His hips moved into yours a little, wanting to show you the effects you already had on him. He was strained against his pants, gently rocking into you to find some sort of relief. It made you grin a bit against his mouth, knowing how much power you had over this man you only met a few short hours ago.
His mouth left yours to start trailing against your jaw and down your neck. He sucked harder in some areas that you knew would leave sensitive purple marks in the morning. It was when he reached down the base of your neck under your ear that you let out a sound that fell between a sharp sigh and a squeak. At this, he smiled into your neck, lapping at the spot before gently nipping at it. 
“I love your sounds, pretty girl,” he noted before continuing around the column of your neck. It was agonizing, wanting him to finally get to where you truly needed him. You whined as his hand moved to your thigh, slowly starting to make progress toward your core.
“Yeo please–” He hushed you as you started to plead.
“I’m gonna make sure you get what you need, baby. Patience.” 
The hand on your thigh came back up to wrap around your waist, gripping so tight that you were sure bruises would form in the shape of his fingers later. Your hands made their way into his hair, lightly gripping the strands and tugging a bit to encourage him to move faster. His eyes fluttered closed and the deep groan that came out of him made you clench around nothing. How could someone make such a sinfully beautiful sound like that?
His eyes opened and it felt like they were staring into the very depths of you. Something dark and exhilarating floated in his pupils, sending a shiver through you as his hands gripped you impossibly tighter, arms flexing in the loose muscle tank. 
“Lean back on my bike, doll.” His voice had dropped several octaves and it reverberated in your body, nodding as you listened to his instructions. You place both hands on either side of your body as you lean your weight backward, allowing him to move to the waistband of your jeans and undo the buttons and zipper. Pushing both your pants and underwear down, you kicked them off over your sneakers. As he watched, he caught a glimpse of the damp spot on your underwear and smiled.
“We’ve barely done anything baby.” Your face burned as you rolled your eyes, trying to not fold under his charms. 
“Whate– shit.” His fingers cut off your rebuttal as they lightly skimmed over your slit, humming in mockery of your reaction. Your head tilted back as your hips moved up, a futile attempt at trying to get him to press just a little harder. He refused to put any more pressure besides gentle brushes, occasionally nudging your clit when you move your hips just right. His feather-light touches drew out small whimpers from you as you endeavored to keep most of your sounds in.
After what felt like forever, he moved his hand away, making your head dizzy at the sudden shifting. Before you could complain, he was sinking to his knees, gloved hands grabbing your thighs to bring them on his shoulders, shifting your weight around so you were fully reliant on both him and his bike. One of your hands came up to grab his hair on instinct, gripping it between your fingers. 
His breath ghosted over your wet lips, making you shiver and tighten your hold on his scalp. The tip of his nose rubbed along your slit, causing you to buck your hips again into him. You looked down, mouth opening to complain about his teasing. However, the sight below you distracts from the whine that had been at your tongue. Yeosang’s eyes meet yours, half-closed in a drunken state. He somehow looked even more ethereal this way, his senses completely filled with just you.
“Please” was all you could muster out. He nodded his head, understanding your plea, and his tongue came out to separate your folds, licking up the wetness he had thoroughly spread. Your body felt as if had simultaneously relaxed from the end of his initial teasing, as well as tensed up from the sensations he gave. His tongue flicked against your clit, making you jolt upwards in surprise. You felt his tongue circle around your clit before he began to suck it into his mouth gently, tongue going back and forth over it. Your stomach tightened up, your grip on his hair pushing him more into you. He hummed at the pressure, causing ripples of pleasure to roll through you.
He released your clit to move downwards, his tongue dipping into your cunt and curving up. Your other hand, the one not in his hair, came up to cover your mouth from releasing the long moan on the verge of slipping out. He continued dipping his tongue in you and flicking up, making it harder and harder to keep your noises in. Your thighs clenched around his head, and his fingers tightened to help keep you steady.
He leaned back a bit from you, allowing you to have a deep breath as you clenched around nothing. You looked at how his mouth shined from your slick, a smile gracing his features as he took a second to breathe. One of his hands released your thigh, and using his nails he lightly grazed across your skin until his hand was at your entrance. 
“Is this okay, doll?” He looked up at you with concerned eyes, checking to ensure you were okay. You smile and nod, thumb rubbing his scalp and pushing some of his hair back. He nodded with you, and slowly pushed two fingers into you, allowing you to adjust to the thickness. Your eyes fluttered closed, focusing on the way his fingers opened you. It had been a while since you had anything other than yourself inside you, so the stretch was a welcome burn.
“Breathe.” He gently whispered, making you realize you had been holding your breath the entire time. Your inhale was a bit wobbly, but you finally exhaled and relaxed around him.
“Good girl.”
His fingers started to move, not fully leaving out of you before they were pushed back in again. He curled them upwards, looking for something inside you. 
“I need…please…faster,” you shakily managed to get out. He huffed out a light chuckle, and you looked down at him through hooded eyes.
“My baby is so good at begging.”
His fingers picked up their pace, leaving you to struggle to catch your breath. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, as your back arched when he prodded at one spot within you. With your eyes closed, you sensed him pause and move below you, before feeling his mouth suck your clit in again. The new sensation, along with the continuous pressing on the sensitive area in you, had you unable to hold back your moans. Your senses were completely overwhelmed in the best way possible. And the pressure in your stomach started to build more and more with every hit of his fingers.
“Is my pretty girl gonna cum for me?” His voice rocked through you, not letting up his movements. Your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes closed tightly. It was too much to try to hold back and with a few final movements, both hands flew to his head. You held him as close as you could, the pressure on your clit not stopping as you clenched tightly around his fingers. 
He could hear you call his name as you finished, and it didn’t do anything to help the pressure in his pants. But he knew that if either of you wanted to move to that, you’d have to take at least one more finger to prepare. So as you came down with deep breaths, he pulled off you. Your head was still spinning as he kissed your inner thighs, bringing you back down.
“I want you in me, Yeo,” you managed out. You could see how much he was straining against his pants, and you wanted to help relieve some pressure for the both of you. His smile was soft and endearing, a switch from the man who just gave you a transcending orgasm.
“I know baby, I want to. But we need to prepare you just a bit more for that, okay?” His words took a moment to process. You thought you had prepared to take him, but as he slowly started to push three fingers in, you realized that you might have trouble walking tomorrow.
“Oh shit,” was all that came out, as the stretch made your eyes roll back. All the pain was masked under the slight overstimulation you felt. It was almost too much, but you desperately wanted to feel all of him in you, and if this is what it took to get there, then you wouldn’t complain. 
It wasn’t an unusual feeling, you had experimented with three fingers before, but having someone else do it was what made you dizzy. Especially when his fingers were already so thick, it was more of a stretch than you were typically able to give yourself.
You took a breath, trying to relax around him. It was difficult though, as you kept clenching every time he moved back in. Watching as you sucked him in again repeatedly had him almost drooling. He couldn’t help from going back in, attaching himself to your already abused clit. It made your eyes jerk open in surprise. It made it even more difficult to relax, as you gripped him rhythmically. 
“Yeosang, please!” Your voice cried out like music in his ears. He could feel the way your thighs shook around his head, tightening more and more from his attack. He knew he couldn’t hold on any longer, and just as your eyebrows started to furrow up again, he pulled away. His fingers left you, and he watched in a trance as you fluttered around nothing. A whine was pulled out of your mouth, bringing him back to you.
Gently placing your thighs off his shoulders for a moment, he stood, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Out of it he grabbed a condom and placed the wrapper in his mouth. He quickly grabbed his shirt off, then unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, and hastily pushed them down with his boxers, kicking them off to the side.
Your mouth involuntarily dropped open. That’s definitely why he wanted me to have three. His dick hit his stomach as he focused on putting the condom on. To say he was well endowed would be an understatement, and you were starting to wonder if he shouldn’t have possibly used four fingers to open you up a bit more. It made your mouth water a bit at the idea of having that stretch you out. You had yet to have a partner with such a gift as Yeosang has, and you were quite excited to see if he knew how to use it.
He gripped your thighs again, putting them around his hips. One hand stayed holding a leg while the other grabbed around your waist. His dick rubbed between your folds as he slightly ground into you. With every motion upwards it caught on your clit, dragging along and making you cling to his shoulders.
“You still okay with this? We can stop now if you want.” It made your heart skip hearing him. He was being considerate, even with how much he was definitely holding himself back from ramming into you. His teeth were clenched, his jaw tense and defining his jawline. He’s so fucking beautiful.
“Yes, Sangie.” The nickname rolled off your tongue without a second thought, and it made you both stop and look into each other’s eyes. Something within his chest twisted hearing the way you said his name. And seeing you this way…it was something he knew he needed more of.
Your teeth caught your lip, looking down to watch how his girth spread your lips apart. 
“What did I say about letting me do that.” He leaned down towards your face and kissed you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the touch of his soft lips against yours again. Your entire face felt tingly, allowing him to take over control of the kiss. As he pulled away, he bit down gently on your bottom lip, pulling it out slightly before letting it go. And as he rest his forehead against yours to look into your eyes, he finally adjusted his hips to slip in you.
The stretch was almost unbearable. Almost. You were beyond thankful that he prepared you thoroughly. And between your first orgasm and the heated makeout session you two had, you were virtually drenched with desire and need.
He stilled as he completely bottomed out. The feeling of him filling you up completely was overwhelming in the best way possible. Every sense was completely overtaken by the need for more of him. His taste, his smell, his touch. All of it. And after a while, you moved your hips to try to get him to continue.
“Move…please move.” You looked through your eyelashes at him, giving him your best pleading eyes. And looking at how pretty your eyes were in this scenario, it took him all he could to keep from pounding away. He slowly left your body, not fully taking himself out before thrusting hard into you. The movement jolted your body along with the bike under you, and he continued with the pace and force he wanted to use. 
You brought a hand up to bite, an attempt at keeping your moans in at the feeling of being so full. He moved his hand from your thigh to grab at your hand muffling your sounds, pulling it away from your mouth and placing it on his chest, before he returned his hand back to your thigh.
“I want…I need to hear my pretty girl,” he groaned out, punctuating his words with particularly hard thrusts causing moans to spill out. You felt him twitch inside you with every sound drawn out of you. “Can you feel what your pretty noises do to me, baby? You sound so beautiful.”
Your nails dug into his skin, running across his chest and grabbing his biceps. Red streaks followed your fingers, and you felt his hard biceps ripple every time he pulled you onto him. His strength only served to turn you on more, clenching around his length. That erupted a deep groan from his chest, an enchanting sound that you would definitely keep engrained in your memory.
The coil in your stomach tightened more with each thrust. You knew you needed just a little bit more, something to truly tip you over the edge. You took one of your hands off his upper arms and moved to circle your clit. That was it. You were thrown over your precipice as your eyes rolled back into your head. All you could think was Yeosang, Yeosang, Yeosang. 
He watched as your back arched into him, chest pressing against his as he slowed down a bit, letting you ride your waves. You eventually came back down, eyes hazy and glazed over. The slow drags of his cock helped to ride out the aftershocks. Your body fell limp into him.
Yeosang eventually started to pick up the pace, the dazed look in your eyes spurring him on. His low moans in your ear signaled the nearing of his end. His thrusts became sporadic as his grip tightened impossibly more on your thigh. He was using you to get off now and it made a rush of heat fill your body. His hair fell in front of his face, his eyes shut tightly as he focused on his own pleasure.
“Cum, Sangie. I wanna see you cum, please please please.” You whined into his ear, the overstimulation of his continual pace causing every nerve in your body to be lit on fire. Your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, and they made their way to his back, dragging angry red lines across the expanse. You felt how his cock twitched at that, and a deep groan emanated from his throat. There it is. You kept dragging your nails across his back feeling as his pace started to lose its rhythm. And finally, with one last deep moan, he stilled in you, his face buried deep in your neck.
You felt his breath fanning across your neck, your eyes blinking shut at the sensation. It all felt truly perfect. His deep breaths in your ear, the feeling of being so full of him, his body weight resting slightly on yours, arm around your waist keeping you close to him, the smell of the ocean and your bodies mixed. He slowly started pressing delicate kisses down your neck and into your shoulder, causing a shiver to wrack through your body.
“That was…that was really good,” he giggled in his deep voice. You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet. He moved away from your neck to look down at you and your blissed-out face. He swore he could stay like this forever, watching as the light from the sunset cast beautiful colors onto your skin, giving you a glow. 
And then your eyes opened to meet him again, and something about the way you smiled at him made him realize that this was not just a one-time thing.
~~~
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stevie-petey · 5 months
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episode two: the weirdo on maple street
Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”
summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.
rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time
warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.
words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)
before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !
-
Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them. 
After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways. 
Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good. 
Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.
Bless them and their little prepubescent minds. 
Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”
“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her. 
“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”
You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit. 
“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.
While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?
“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly. 
“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.” 
“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.
Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.” 
“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.
You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.
Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”
Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”
You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”
He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”
She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her. 
You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence. 
Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation. 
“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed. 
“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.” 
Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”
Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”
You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.
“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”
They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.
“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”
You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure. 
He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.” 
Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts. 
“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”
Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.” 
Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”
The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her. 
The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow. 
“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”
Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.” 
“He’s not my boyfriend-”
“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”
Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touche.” 
Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”
He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside. 
The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open. 
Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot. 
“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says. 
“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”
He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.
When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does. 
“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.
“Who was it?”
He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”
“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end. 
“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.” 
Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”
Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know. 
“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”
He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow. 
You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.
“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.
“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you. 
“He’s g-gone.”
“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan. 
Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him. 
— 
Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.
Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in. 
The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity. 
When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing. 
“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will. 
Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down. 
Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”
“I just need you to eat, mom.” 
“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are. 
The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation. 
It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it. 
“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up. 
“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.” 
Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.” 
“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities. 
“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.” 
Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her. 
“Mom-”
“If we… ten cents-”
“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”
The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay. 
Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions. 
“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?
“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.
“And?” Joyce asks. 
“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes. 
Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?” 
You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours. 
Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.” 
Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred. 
“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.
Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”
“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off. 
“It’s really weird.”
He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.
“Flo said you just heard some breathing.” 
It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?
“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare. 
“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”
“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?
You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him. 
When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world. 
“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house. 
You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief. 
“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.” 
Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”
“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.
You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”
“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you. 
Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”
You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.
“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.” 
Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”
His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you. 
Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.
The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over). 
The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made. 
It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam. 
Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”
“You can pay after they’re done-”
“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.” 
The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.” 
You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone. 
When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you. 
“Y/N, let me pay-”
“Nope. Not happening!”
“We both know I’m stronger-”
“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”
“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit. 
You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”
“Which you shouldn’t have!”
“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”
Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.” 
You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.
“I hate you.” 
“You love me.” 
He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.” 
You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then. 
When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding. 
“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”
You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”
He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.” 
“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.” 
“Deal.”
You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions. 
Just peachy. 
You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.
“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well. 
They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”
They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”
You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”
Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.” 
“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices. 
You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…” 
The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys. 
Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.
“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”
You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”
His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone. 
Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”
“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole. 
“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.” 
“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him. 
Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”
“In for what?” Nancy asks. 
“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.
You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.” 
Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”
You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”
“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh. 
You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him. 
“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now. 
You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty. 
As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.” 
Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation. 
Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”
“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused. 
Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.” 
Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen. 
“Everyone’s thinking about you.”
You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.” 
“Y/N.” Jonathan warns. 
“Sorry.” 
“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.” 
The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?” 
She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”
You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.” 
“How did you know I’d go-”
“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”
Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son. 
You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class. 
The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that. 
After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor. 
Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will. 
Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.
“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.” 
Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”
Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”
Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.” 
“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”
They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”
Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either. 
Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind. 
You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out. 
You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door. 
“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door. 
“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”
Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.” 
You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now. 
“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?” 
The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed. 
“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”
You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl. 
When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down. 
“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive. 
“God, why am I always the one you push?”
You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”
The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”
“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?” 
“Wait, what-”
The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”
Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”
“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”
Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose. 
“Y/N-”
“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.” 
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you. 
You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”
The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”
“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess. 
“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”
You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”
At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”
She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay. 
“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying. 
Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.” 
You freeze. “Bad men?”
“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”
“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.
You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”
“No!” All three boys shout at once. 
You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”
“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks. 
“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”
“I can show you,” El speaks up. 
You all face her now. “You can?” 
She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.
El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face. 
“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide. 
Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table. 
“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face. 
You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?” 
El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.
Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”
You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that. 
El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.” 
You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-
“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool. 
Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down. 
You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given. 
“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.
“Hiding.” says El. 
He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head. 
“Will is hiding?” 
El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”
Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”
Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.
You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”
Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”
“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.
Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”
– 
Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions. 
Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find. 
When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet… 
You fear he’s done something stupid. 
You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you. 
Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”
You swallow. “Yeah,”
She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused. 
“Mrs. Byers-” 
“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”
“Something came out of his wall?”
“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”
You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you. 
“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.” 
Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her. 
“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.” 
The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”
You grab her hand. “I know,”
Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her. 
After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonthan’s room. 
You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you. 
You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him. 
“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised. 
You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”
He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”
The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”
“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”
“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal. 
“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.
“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.” 
He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”
You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!” 
“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.” 
His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.
Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”
He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!” 
You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days. 
“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.” 
He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”
“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance. 
– 
When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then. 
After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.
Dinner is quiet tonight. 
You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes. 
You’ve never felt so alone before.
-
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batteryeatery · 9 months
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Train on a Train | ft. Aged up! Pro players! Seishiro Nagi, Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira and Hyoma Chigiri
18+ MDNI
cw: fem & afab reader, explicit 5-some/orgy/train running, reader wears a skirt & lace panties & has hair which is gripped once, "princess" and "baby" pet names used, established relationship w Nagi, you and Nagi get sorta slutted out tbh, nagiri featured, bachisagi sorta featured (less seriously), borderline dubcon bc they don't ask reader if she's cool w everything although she is (i'll tag it), "pussy anytime pass" cashed in by Nagi lmao, semi-public sex, peeping toms, cuckolding, penetrative sex, oral (f + m recieving), face fucking, cum eating, some mlm oral/hand job in there, mult. orgasms & creampies, overstimulation, a little pussy inspection, a little dacryphilia, took many liberties w this like don't think about it too hard a/n: This is the most ridiculous fic I've ever written and It's also really special to me, pls enjoy the absurdities! I'd like to clarify that the train car I'm imaging for it is like the one in the header image--this is a huge and magical train they're in, okay. They have lots of space; this train layout does not make sense and I personally have not been on a train w a setup like this but I’ve seen it on tv / in movies so like. lol u just have to roll w it ! pls interact if ur into it and wanna talk ab bllk w me!! sending kissies. Thx for betaing bbg @millionsknife wk: 5.7 k!
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“You’re heartless.”
Nagi’s voice is so serious and deadpan that you break focus from your book, and watch as his typical apathetic frown meets his eyes for a moment in a way that could fool any stranger into worrying. 
But not you. He’s being subtle about it but you’re very familiar with Seishiro’s pouting routine—he’s upset you won’t surrender your phone for the last hour and a half of your train ride because somebody came unprepared with a low battery. His games were apparently more important than an ongoing text conversation with your friend!
“Am not, you big baby! Bring a charger next time.” 
You don’t respond when he mumbles something about there not even being outlets under his breath, immediately re-engrossed in your story, ignoring his squirming and sighs. 
You hear it when Nagi finally stills and drops his head against the window next to him, and he doesn’t even look at you when he speaks again.
“Whatever. ‘M using’ it now then.”
“You’re what?” 
“My pass,” he pauses to yawn. “My free pussy pass or whatever.” 
It takes you a second to even process his words. Then you wonder if he’s joking—sometimes with that blank-eyed stare it’s hard to tell. 
“Sei, we’re on a train…?” 
You didn’t think he’d use part of your valentines gift this way…truthfully you thought he’d forgotten about your little half-joke coupons you made him—he only ever cashed in the massage. He's never shown interest in public sex before… this is uncharted territory.
“Don’t care,” he sighs, his mouth twisting a little so his expression flashes mock sympathy.  He pats his upper thigh.
“Hop on soldier.”
You laugh for a second and his lips twitch before he narrows his eyes at your hesitance, pouting openly this time. 
“Come on. Was the pussy pass fake or something?” 
You have to hold back another giggle. “Say pussy pass one more time.” 
Your car’s door gets a lingering glance before you’re abandoning your book and phone, sliding carefully into his lap while he stares at you, looking deep in thought. You seize his pause as an opportunity to peck his lips—giving into him way too easily like always. You’re reminded of all your friends’ claims that you spoil him—suddenly certain they’re true when you feel his hands squeeze their way up your thighs till they’re under your skirt, the cool air hitting your ass in the middle of a public train. 
“Well what else ‘m I supposed to call it?” He leans his head back against the wall, getting comfy in his seat while he kneads your hips atop him, feeling that the fabric of your panties is lacy. 
You break your lips away from his neck where they’d drifted, glancing at the hall again before smiling at him.
“Just teasing. This is new though… will you watch the door? Otherwise I’ll be nervous.”
He nods for you, rubbing his thumbs reassuringly over your sides while his fingertips graze frilly straps.
He’s content just holding you like that a while longer, letting his eyelids droop while you work on his neck, but his fingers dig into your skin when he feels you bite. 
“ow. what’s that for?”
He brings a hand up to clasp over the newly forming bruise on his pulse, eyes a little widened. 
“A reminder to watch the door,” you say while you grind for the first time over his sweatpants, earning a sharp inhale. The real reason you sunk your teeth in is that Nagi’s annoying—about to get his dick ridden after throwing a tantrum over a phone battery. Classic Seishiro—everything comes too easy to him! 
You wanna give him a harder time, you really wanna get bratty, but the feeling of Nagi’s hard dick against your panties has your brain short circuiting—especially when you notice his cute dilated pupils before he grinds up to meet your hips. Somehow those eyes have you programmed to do anything he asks—anything that’d please him would please you just as much. 
So it’s after not long at all that your grinding turns rabid and you can’t wait any longer for him to be inside you. then you break away from his chest where you’d been clinging, hovering above him so you can take his cock out before spitting on it and giving a few impatient pumps. 
Nagi’s a mess by this point, his bedhead even more disheveled than before and his cheeks rosy, his lips and neck looking red and abused. But your hand around his dick obliterates the last of his composure, now he’s squirming and whining and letting his eyes squeeze shut—forgetting to watch the door!! 
You pause your stroking with a click of your tongue, pointing to the hallway when Nagi’s eyes open as a reminder. Then, in one practiced, fluid motion your panties are pulled to the side and Nagi’s stroked along your slit before sliding inside—stretching you open just right before you bottom out. 
You have to still for a moment when you do, feeling Nagi’s fingers claw into your hips while his skull thuds against the wall behind him. 
“Fuck.” 
You adore Seishiro’s pussy drunk voice, how breathy and tired it sounds—how needy he turns. It has you gushing around him, wrapping your arms around his neck and squishing your bodies together till neither of you can move. 
“Feel so good.” He whines, bucking into you on instinct, hitting your sweet spot with precision.
“Y-yeah?”
You love the eager way he nods in response—loving how Nagi seems to save whatever enthusiasm he has the energy to show for your pussy and your pussy only. 
You roll your hips for him, starting a nice and gentle and merciful pace because you wanna give him a false sense of security before you start bouncing the way you like. Which is ruthlessly—Nagi’s sensitive and you enjoy nothing more than the process of absolutely ruining him. 
The time you spend riding him slow and sweet ends sooner rather than later though; teasing Nagi is always a double-edged sword when you end up teasing yourself along with him. So it’s not long at all until the rock of your hips is interrupted and you’re letting your shoes slide to the ground, leaving just your socks while you shift your weight backwards onto your toes so you can use your feet to help you bounce hard the way you like. If Nagi was demanding train pussy, he’d have to take it how you want to give it. 
Nagi realizes your intentions just a moment too late before you’re moving, squeezing him tight and fast and knocking the wind from his lungs. 
He‘s never been great at censoring his moans—Seishiro can be dramatically vocal when he feels good, so you have to quickly silence him with your lips—swallowing every sound while he squirms like mad underneath you.
Every movement feels sweet—honestly, Nagi’s cock is maybe the most reliable thing about him—it never fails to hit exactly where it needs to. But if every movement is sweet for you, each slam of your hips is tooth rotting for seishiro—neither of you even notice the way his eyes are permanently closed in bliss—failing to watch your precious train door like he promised. He’s watching brain cells die behind his eyelids instead, his head turning fuzzy with each squeeze of your pussy—not even your lips can contain the volume of his whining. 
He’s close, you can feel it in the way he’s twitching inside you, and you’re not far behind him. So you keep your hips bouncing in a nice rhythm—clinging onto him while he does the same to you, his fingers clawing your sides before breaking away from your kiss to throw his head back—it knocks against the wall again but he doesn’t complain, only squeezes his eyes shut while he cries out from borderline overstimulation—cumming what feels like endlessly inside you. It’s entirely too much when you clamp down on him, throwing your head back too while you cum with him—leaving him whimpering and teary-eyed. 
“Fuuck s’too much, ba-wait I can’t—“
He’s cut off when you meet his lips again, riding out your high as gently as you can manage while Sei’s breaths slowly even out. Eventually his heavy eyelids peek open to find your head resting on his shoulder, looking up at his face. 
Lovey little smiles are exchanged when your gazes meet—and you feel like your chest might explode from how heartfelt the moment suddenly feels as Nagi holds you close and you hold him closer, shoving unruly white hair from his eyes for him. 
“Did you get good use out of your coupon, Sei?” You wonder with a teasing tone, tracing a finger along his shirt collar while he yawns, nodding. He looks like he’s about to say more, but it’s then that his eyes finally spare a glance for the aforementioned car door…
Where he finds Isagi, Chigiri and Bachira staring wide-eyed. Their expressions are varied from bachira’s amused little smile, playing with a red sucker between his lips, to Isagi’s tongue-in-cheek, brow-raised stare. Then there’s Chigiri—mouth slightly parted, eyes empty and his cheeks flushed. Nagi’s never seen that man blush before. 
Nagi jumps the moment he notices them, before cursing under his breath, digging a knuckle into his eyes while he turns his head away. 
You freeze at his actions—quick to gather that someone must have seen you but instantly too mortified to check the window and see who it was. 
Japan’s team had rented out your section of the train for their next game so best case-scenario it was someone chill that you weren’t close with, maybe Hiori or Kurona, worst case-scenario it was Jinpachi Ego.
You don’t have the chance to speculate for long, because next thing you know, the door is sliding open and there’s more than one set of footsteps marching into your little train car. And you’re still stuffed full of Seishiro’s cock and you wanna cry. 
You’re too frozen in embarrassment to move until you hear Nagi sigh, “This is so annoying—you guys are perverts, you know. Can’t you give a little privacy?” 
He’s talking like it’s his friends standing behind you—the fact has you involuntarily clamping on him while you finally turn to check, clamping down again when Bachira waves at you and Isagi smiles all friendly. Seishiro squeezes your thigh when he feels you, groaning so quiet under his breath that you hope none of them can hear. 
“We’re the perverts? You just got fucked in a public train with your teammates on the other side of the wall. It’s lucky it was us who heard you ‘n not our esteemed coach, don’t you think?” 
It makes your head spin just hearing Isagi’s patronizing tone, but glancing at his expression makes you feel even stickier, his head tilted in faux concern and then his widened grin when you turn to meet his eyes. 
You can’t help but find the look he gives you sort of… hot—you’d be lying if you said this whole situation wasn’t turning you on in some sick and twisted way. And Seishiro’s certainly handling it more calmly than you think most boyfriends would, letting the room fall quiet after Isagi speaks, his cheeks turning the faintest pink when he finally drops his eyes back down to you. 
Another second of quiet and it would have been too uncomfortable to bear, but, unsurprisingly, Bachira breaks the silence. 
He seems even less bothered by the car’s thick atmosphere than Isagi is, as he closes the gap to sit beside nagi, resting an elbow on his shoulder before pulling the sucker from his mouth with a pop. Where it felt like Isagi was only speaking to Nagi, Bachira seems to make you his sole focus when he asks, “think you can cum again, princess? Didn’t get a good view of your face the first time and I bet you’ll look soo pretty.” 
You manage to grow even hotter at those words, you have to drop a cheek against Nagi to cool it, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from Bachira’s expression—it’s teasing and playful in a way that makes your insides fuzzy. 
Before you can reply, you hear Isagi mumble from behind you, “bet you’ll feel so pretty too,” and with that you can’t hold back any longer from grinding down on sei’s quickly-hardened cock—trying to be as subtle as possible but unable to stop yourself—the lack of friction had been turning torturous. 
And of course Nagi moans, all soft and sweet for you, gripping your hips before bucking upwards, his subtlety leaving much to be desired. 
Something in the room shifts then, or maybe the tension breaks—at least for you. You’ve given up hiding how horny you still are.
Witnesses somehow only manage to turn you on more, the extra eyes make you feel desired, especially when you peek to see Bachira’s brows raised—he’s smiling, dimples out and everything, while his gaze falls to the edge of your skirt and your curled legs next to his. It takes minutes for you to be on the brink of cumming again, Isagi and Bachira only spurring you on with filthy words—
“Aww are you gonna get yourself off on Nagi again? Think I could make you feel even better.” 
“Poor Sei’s gonna have an aneurysm, are you sure he can handle your little pussy for another round? Maybe you should give me a turn.” 
Nagi can only pant and whine and take it beneath you—so drunk on your pussy he’s brain dead--the taunting from his teammates hardly even registers. Isagi’s quick to point out how gone he is from his seat across from you and when he does, Bachira’s giggling, brushing the sweaty hair from Nagi’s forehead and murmuring,
“If you don’t open your eyes, you’re gonna miss how cute your girlfriend looks while she fucks you.” 
Isagi adds, “bet she can look even cuter. Megs you wanna take her shirt off? Looks like she isn't even wearing a bra.” 
You’re so caught up in how it feels and how they sound that you don’t even notice till then that their cocks are out, stroked in their hands while you entertain them, leaving them panting softly between words. When you turn and look you notice that even Chigiri, who you’ve barely ever spoken with before, is groaning and palming himself through his shorts next to Isagi. 
You’re on the brink of cumming and you sense Nagi is there with you—so preoccupied with how it feels that you barely notice Bachira tugging your shirt over your head, his sucker forgotten in its wrapper, till the cool air hits your nipples and you feel them hardening.You hear Isagi moan at the sight before you’re toppling over the edge again, spasming on Seishiro, feeling the burning gaze of the three around you while Bachira rubs your back. Nagi can’t help but cream inside you at the same time, twitching and whining—by the time he’s done you're exhausted. 
The absurdity of the situation properly registers then, leaving you warm and embarrassed, but you aren’t done. Somehow you know you aren’t from the way Isagi’s eyes have been scorching your back. He doesn’t give you time to rest before he’s taking your hand in his, guiding you off of Nagi while you’re still pliant and stupid from cumming so hard. 
All eyes are immediately fixed on how he spills out of you, white dripping down your thigh all the way to your knee when you stand. 
“Sheesh Sei, look how messy you made her,” Bachira says, before he’s swiping cum off your leg and sucking it off his fingers. Your head spins. You feel like you must be dreaming. 
“Sweet. You’re sweet, Sei, did y’know that?”
Seishiro’s brain’s still mush, his head resting lifelessly against the wall, but he manages to roll his face toward Bachira to glance at him, humming a no. 
Bachira gets a glint in his eye when he turns to Chigiri, zoned out on Nagi’s face from the corner, and asks him “d’you wanna try, Chigiri? Ever tasted sweet cum before?” 
Chigiri’s instantly pink, shaking his head almost shyly. You don’t expect it when you feel his long fingers glide up your inner thigh, dipping into your pussy before he takes them away to lick clean. 
He speaks for the first time, 
“You are sweet, Nagi.” 
You think you see Nagi make a lazy little smile at that before you’re being molded by Isagi, onto your hands and knees across the leather seats that Chigiri’s sitting on. Your face is met with Chigiri’s massive bulge while Isagi gets positioned behind you, rubbing warm hands under your skirt to push it all the way up to your abdomen, leaving only your little lace panties that are stretched in the crotch and soaked. 
“Gonna take her face, Hyoma?” Isagi asks while his fingers trace the frilly straps, sliding his way under them to rub your bare hips. 
You take the time he spends inching the fabric lower to try and wrap your brain around Yoichi Isagi—the man who’s likely your closest friend on the team aside from Nagi. He’s always kept the atmosphere light and friendly when you’re involved—cracking jokes and relishing in your giggles, he’s always very kind and welcoming. It’s true you’ve always thought he was kinda cute—and it was clear those feelings were returned from the way he flirted with you, but you always assumed he was just laying your special treatment on a extra thick to fuck with Nagi. You didn’t expect he’d ever really be in your panties, that's for sure. But now he’s crossing the point of no return, helping slide them off completely and likely altering your dynamic permanently. Ah well… you don’t feel the motivation to stop him. 
Chigiri breaks you out of your thoughts when he finally answers,
“Bachira can go first, he’s staring like a hungry animal right now.” 
Bachira doesn’t need any further permission than that before he’s swapped spots with Chigiri, kneeling sideways on the seat so his cock is in your face—red and thick and leaking. You almost put him in your mouth immediately on instinct but then you’re glancing at Nagi on the bench across from you, gauging how he feels about this whole thing. He’s never been the jealous type, but talking to other men and sucking their dicks usually warrants different reactions. 
He’s still looking exhausted but you notice right away his dick is somehow still hard- or maybe hard again. The corner of his mouth lifts a little when you meet his eyes, then lifts even more when he glances a few times between your face and Bachira’s cock.
His expression is confirmation enough, and next thing you know you’re licking up the pre that’s dripping down Bachira’s tip, squealing a bit when you feel Isagi run his fingers through your sensitive pussy at the same time, fingering you with his middle and ring finger till he has enough cum on his hand to rub his cock with, getting himself ready for you. The anticipation has you quickly struggling to focus on Bachira, licking him sloppily from base to tip a few times till he’s impatient.
“No, princess, it goes in your mouth.” 
Bachira puts a thumb between your lips and gently pulls them open, guiding himself inside while you look up into his eyes. He looks… mischievous—his expression has your heart thumping unevenly, reminding you of how he looks when he plays soccer. And once his tip’s at the back of your mouth, his condescending smile gets even wider while he lets out a breathy groan, holding your eyes shamelessly while your tongue swirls around him, eventually glancing behind you at Isagi, who’s positioned his tip at your entrance.
You whine on Bachira’s dick when Isagi starts easing his way in, the new angle dragging against new places inside you, and Bachira furrows his brows at the feeling, twitching forward before holding himself back. 
“Mmm I think ‘m gonna have to fuck your face.”
Nagi’s never done that before. 
Your expression must show your hesitance because Bachira’s quickly stroking your head, trying but not quite succeeding in reassuring you all will be well while he looks behind you some more—eyeing Isagi who’s bottomed out inside you. 
“It’ll be okay. Isagi and I’d only take the best care of Nagi’s sweet little girlfriend.” He says in a singsong voice, slowly easing his way deeper in your mouth. 
“Wouldn’t give you anything you couldn’t take. I know you can handle us both, princess,” you hear Isagi add from behind while he rubs your lower back and sides. 
You’re just thinking whatever they’re gonna do to you, they better do it fast because you can’t stand another moment without movement. So you answer them with a whine that’s meant to be encouraging.
From the sidelines of every game—especially as a non-soccer player, Isagi and Bachira’s relationship always appears… complicated. The way Nagi tells it, they used to often work as a unit, as a team even in blue lock, kinda like Nagi used to be with Reo. But… things got competitive. They’re friends, Nagi always says they're friends and they act like it off the field, but their dynamic always feels to you like it has a hidden layer most people are missing—whether it be rivalry or jealousy or maybe even some form of… infatuation. 
And maybe it’s that hidden connection they hold that has them so in sync when suddenly, with no word or trigger you can perceive, Bachira and Isagi thrust out and in, beginning a steady matching pace while they fuck your pussy and throat. You’re left gagging and drooling from the sensation—it’s overwhelming to be so completely full, but somehow you more than bear it—after a few thrusts it’s even satisfying and you’re moaning and taking it and fast approaching another orgasm. If your mind was already hazy from Seishiro, your thoughts are a thick fog by this point, cleared of anything but physical touch—your boyfriend watching you from a foot away getting his cock stroked by Hyoma goes completely unnoticed. 
Something you do come around for, though, is Bachira’s downright erotic panting growing louder by the second, paired with the bruising grip Isagi’s got latched around your waist that tightens with every stroke, eventually one of his hands lifting to link fingers with Megs. Their growing enthusiasm while they fuck you can only be perceived for a moment before you’re coming undone again, wave after wave of intense and all-consuming pleasure washing over you till you can’t keep your eyes open. You can’t hear or see by the peak of it, only feeling as two cocks drill and pound you harder than you’ve possibly ever experienced. You almost choke when suddenly Bachira’s creaming in your mouth towards the end, shooting ropes of hot cum down your throat but refusing to pull out so you have no choice but to swallow. It’s not long after that you feel heat flood your pussy too, filling you like a donut for the third time in the past hour. 
You almost collapse on the seat then, but luckily you’re caught around the middle by Isagi, who lays you down gently while he uses some mysterious cloth to mop up the mess between your legs—likely a shirt from Nagi’s backpack.  
You’re a wreck by this point, but feeling thoroughly satisfied as you lay and let your eyes adjust to the scene around you, one that involves Chigiri kneeling in front of your boyfriend and sucking him completely dry while Seishiro buries his face in the crook of his arms, squirming the way you know he does when he’s about to cum. He moves his arms towards the end to glance at Chigiri, then he’s meeting eyes with you, and his expression morphs into one of his rare, adoring faces.
He moves his mouth like he’s about to say your name but then he’s cumming again, his nose wrinkling all cute while his hands go to Chigiri’s hair, holding it from his face while Chigiri’s head bobs at a steady rhythm. Eventually Nagi’s pulling Chigiri off, using his hair like a handlebar and whining “s’too much Hyoma, s’enough...” 
Seishiro… your boyfriend… you just watched him get his dick sucked by his teammate. The scene of it all has you reeling because- how should you feel about that? Not mad—certainly not when you just got fucked by two cocks at once before his eyes and liked it. But is it okay that the image had you feeling… good? That you’re turned on by the thought of Nagi’s teammates taking good care of him—especially the idea that they might when you’re not even there. As a matter of fact you hope Nagi’s friends suck his dick for him when you can’t make it to a faraway game, you’d be more worried if he wasn’t being doted on by someone in your place—that realization has you surprised with yourself. 
When he finally opens his eyes after coming down from his high, you’ve scooted back to his bench next to him, hugging yourself to his side and smoothing the bangs from his forehead before dotting his face in light kisses. 
“Did that feel good?” Your voice sounds like an angel.
He nods, his eyelids even heavier than before, wrapping an arm around your back and pulling you against his chest, cheek falling against your head. 
Hyoma, who’d sunk against Nagi’s other side chuckles lightly, mumbling a soft “I’m glad,” while adjusting the front of his shorts. 
Seishiro’s sitting like his body is heavy, his boxers lazily tucked over his dick so even his clothes make him look thoroughly ran through. Still, he finds the energy to lift his head and look pointedly at Chigiri and his apparent boner, pursing his lips like he’s debating something.
Chigiri’s voice is breathy and seductive when he asks “Wanna help me out, Sei?” 
The nickname sounds almost out of place spoken from Hyoma’s lips, you get the feeling he’s only ever referred to Nagi by his surname up until now. It honestly makes your thighs rub together thinking about their newfound closeness. 
You watch as Seishiro nods for him, spitting in his hand once Chigiri finally takes his cock out. 
You have to work to pick your jaw up off the floor when he does—who would have expected that Hyoma Chigiri’s absolutely hung. His cock is blushing and pretty and huge—precum spilling from its tip once Nagi carefully wraps a hand around its base, stroking testingly. 
Chigiri moans the kind of moan you knew he’d make—one that’s pretty like the rest of him, wrapping a hand around Nagi’s to squeeze himself tighter. 
“‘Sagi, you should do that to me,” your eyes follow Bachira’s voice across from you, him and Isagi seem to be fighting over who can manspread the most on the bench space. You notice Isagi’s eyes lingering on you, curled against Nagi with just your sorry excuse for a skirt still on—it’s riding up so high he’d see everything if you just opened your legs. 
“No fucking chance, Megs.” 
“Maybe if I beat you next one on one?” Bachira murmurs, a teasing tone to his words. 
Isagi ignores him, staring you down while he wets his lips, eventually meeting your gaze while a warm smile takes over his face. You notice then that he has another hard-on in his basketball shorts. 
“Hey princess, think you could give me head? We could give Hyoma somethin’ to watch? And I bet Bachira’d eat you out—he loves eating other guys’ cum.” 
Bachira throws a hard shove at Isagi’s shoulder that leaves Isagi wincing, but then he smiles at you all big and feral. 
“I am dying to taste that magic pussy of yours. Seems like it puts everybody in a trance.”
You know the logical answer would be to decline, you know your body is on the brink of collapse, but then Nagi’s looking down on you with his blank eyed stare, and his pupils are huge again. He pecks your forehead before whispering, 
“C’mon baby, give us somethin’ to watch.” 
Due to your Sei-pleasing programming, and the wetness between your legs Isagi’s eyes bring, you can’t say no. 
So you end up back on the Eiffel Tower bench, back on your hands and knees, but this time your skirt’s finally been removed and Isagi’s cock is by your face while Bachira kneels behind you, inspecting your swollen pussy. 
You shiver when you feel his warm fingers spread you apart, tracing your folds while his mouth waters, the atmosphere accentuated by Chigiri’s moans and sighs along with the gentle slaps from Nagi’s hand. 
You’re just placing the first kitten lick on Isagi’s tip when Bachira places both hands on your ass, spreading you open with his thumbs this time before finally licking a long stripe through your center. 
The feeling has your back arching, whining before you take Isagi fully in your mouth, letting him gag you while Bachira flattens his tongue against your clit. The room’s quickly filled with whining and moaning and heavy breathing—thankfully nobody seems to be in the car next door anymore because you’d be heard immediately. 
You should have known from the eccentric way Bachira acts to the fact his tongue’s lolling out of his mouth half that time that he’d be good at giving head—but somehow you didn’t anticipate how electric he’s making you feel, alternating fucking you with his tongue and suctioning under the hood of your clit—his every action feels intense. And he’s vocal too—slurping and groaning on you, his fingers almost certainly leaving bruises on the skin of your ass and upper thighs where he holds you open with an unyielding grip. 
The feeling Bachira’s tongue is giving you only transfers to Isagi’s dick, because you’re moaning on it—frantically taking him as deep as your throat can go as some kind of outlet for the hot pleasure you’re experiencing in your core. 
You’re not sure if somehow all of this fell under Isagi’s master plan, because he is fucking estatic—gripping the wall and your hair, perfectly dominating in his tone while he talks you through the whole thing. Using words like, “there you go, princess,” and “mmh think your mouth was made for my cock,” while moaning all deep and pretty in a way you didn’t expect. 
Every sense you have is sexually charged, and it takes almost no time for you to be coming undone again almost painfully this time. By now you’ve lost count how many orgasms you’ve been given, but this one stands out as the harshest—leaving you choking on Isagi while fat tears stream down your cheeks, your body twitching on Bachira’s unrelenting mouth. He licks up your release like a man starving—lapping deep inside you till your vision is spotty and you worry you’ll never be able to think straight again. 
You can hardly register the feeling of Isagi cumming in your mouth, swallowing everything he gives with empty-headed obedience. Isagi and Bachira catch you when you collapse this time, laying you gently on the bench so your head’s on Isagi’s lap, mumbling how they’re scared they might have put you in a coma when you don’t respond to their comments throughout the process. Your heartbeat’s too loud in your ears at first to register the sound that’s left is Chigiri, his panting and whining growing quick while Nagi jerks him off across from you.
Your hearing is finally clear again when he mumbles a broken, “gonna cum, Sei- fuck- where?” 
You watch Nagi glance around for a second at his backpack and your discarded clothes littering the floor before his stare lands on you, and his eyes soften a bit. 
“My girlfriend.”
“Sei-?”
“Inside her like everyone else.” Nagi’s tone is humorless—maybe a teense fond. 
At this point no action anyone around you takes could surprise you, so you spread your legs a little in your seat, flicking your gaze up at Hyoma’s furrowed expression. 
He hesitates much less than you would have expected, taking over for Nagi with a breathy sigh, his hand gliding up and down his own cock with loud wet slaps. 
Before you know it he’s standing and twisting your body diagonal so you’re leaning against Isagi’s chest, spreading your legs with one hand before kneeling to slide himself inside. You both wince when he enters, you from raw overstimulation and him from the squeeze—it only takes one pump before he’s cumming inside you—painting your insides with what feels like buckets of cum while his breaths come out in shaky moans, leaving you so full you’re leaking before he even pulls out. 
Everything’s sticky and exhausting after that, you feel like you need to sleep for days, but the train just announced it would be pulling into the station in 5 minutes. So, with the help of four sets of hands besides your own, and one of Nagi’s tee shirts that Isagi elected as a temporary cum rag, you redress yourself and are left sitting beside Nagi again, him leaning his head against the wall with frequent yawns and you sending an apologetic text to your friend for your lack of response. Nagi already had practice today but he has a dinner to attend before his big game tomorrow, one you were planning to accompany him to but you’re currently planning to forgo, hoping none of his teammates or coaches miss your absence. 
The early check-in to your hotel goes smoothly. You’re happy to get the chance to break in a fresh bed with a late nap, but once you arrive and go to shower, you finally notice something missing. You didn’t even realize with how sensitive and raw you were feeling between your legs, along with how used to nudity you’d grown accustomed in the past hour and half, but ever since your train ride soirée, it seems your panties have mysteriously vanished… 
472 notes · View notes
marvelsswansong · 2 years
Note
Would you write a Steve Harrington request where he’s dating Dustin’s sister since after the snow ball dance who’s away at college but she surprises him (and Dustin) by coming home for a long weekend cause she misses them? I also feel like Dustin would accidentally crash their reunion but that’s up to you
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟓𝟎/𝟓𝟎 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞
☆ word count: 2.3K+ ☆
tags: Steve x Henderson!fem!reader, step!Henderson reader though, Steve being a horny and protective bf, Robin being a good best friend, Dustin vs Steve for your attention lmao, slight smut, pure fluff, oneshot
-> a/n: I made it step!Henderson to make it as POC!friendly as possible (but if y'all want to read it as adopted!Henderson too, you can, I just know that isn't everyone's cup of tea)
⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️
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"You need to stop scowling." Robin chastises her best friend, slapping him across the shoulder with a spare VHS tape. Steve scowls at the harsh impact, clutching the bruised area with his left hand before shooting the brunette a glare. Not that it matters - his expression, the entire day, has been shifting between complete disinterest and boredom to pure annoyance and hatred (with a scary glare to match).
"I am not scowling." he attempts to argue, his tone not even convincing to himself. Robin laughs out loud at that, flailing her arms around and gesturing to the whole store (which is, despite being a Friday night, remarkably empty).
"Please, Steve, look around! You've been scaring off customers the whole day! I literally had to run out of the store ten minutes ago to console a young child so his batshit crazy mom didn't threaten to press charges."
Steve's not even fully listening to her, hands preoccupied with flipping through the edges of a film magazine, occasionally pausing to dog ear the pages. His gaze flickers to the telephone every so often, silently willing the damn cream colored device to ring and for him to pick up to hear your voice on the other side.
"This is about Henderson, isn't it?" she suddenly questions, voice dropping to a sympathetic tone as she shifts next to him. Knees touching as she jumps up on the counter, she grabs Steve's attention by closing the magazine shut for him. Steve looks up lazily up to her peering gaze, face neutral and bored.
"I saw Dustin a few hours ago, I drove him and his friends to the arcade." is his automatic response, to which Robin only rolls her eyes.
"Not that Henderson. I mean the other Henderson."
"Oh."
Denial is on the tip of his tongue, but the lightest flush of rose pink dusting his cheeks as well as the lack of smart quips from his mouth gives him away. His mind instantly conjures up his last memory of you - mid-laughter, Hawkins sun glittering in your hairline as you tug him towards the edge of the lake. It makes a fond smile to slowly spread across his lips, the final nail in the coffin.
"So it is her." Robin confirms, knowing smirk on her face. "I miss her too, jackass. But you gotta stop taking it out on innocent customers."
Letting out a slow sigh, Steve nods in agreement, head hanging low.
"I know, I know. I just... this whole distance thing is really killing me." he pauses, frowning as he looks back up. "I miss her so goddamn much, you know? And I'm so proud of her for being in university and chasing her dreams and it's not even like she's that far away - at least she's still in the country - but any space more than across the street feels like she's in another universe from me."
Robin hums in sympathy, fingers curling around a spare diet coke can before taking a light sip.
"I get that. But thank god (Y/n)'s in university, god knows at least one person in the marriage has to have brains."
Steve smirks at that, low chuckle escaping his chapped lips which he quickly wets with his tongue.
"You really think we'd get married?" he questions, hopeful.
The fond smile on his face is mirrored on Robin's, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively.
"Definitely. You two are going to the be most cliche, loving and disgustingly cute married couple in the whole of Indiana."
The compliment and the accompanying fantasy that appears in his mind - white picket fence, six kids, maybe even a dog to chase the kids around on a hot summer day by the front lawns- makes warmth blossom across his chest, a pleasant burn registering in his stomach.
"Thanks." is all Steve can offer up in response, the tension from his shoulders starting to slowly dissipate. Robin nods quietly, tapping a hand on his shoulder in a soothing manner.
"I think you've been working too hard to distract yourself, anyways. Why don't you clock out early?"
"Y-you sure?"
The brunette rolls her eyes at that, as if it is obvious.
"This place is basically deserted. There's only an hour and a half left before we close. Go home, Steve. Get some sleep. Have some comfort food. Whatever you need to do."
"You're the best." he rushes out saying, throwing down his uniform vest onto a spare chair before slinging his bag over his shoulder and running out of Family Video.
Steve's never been more happy to see the outline of his house in the horizon, knowing that there's leftover mac and cheese in the fridge and an unwatched tape holding the re-run of Golden Girls waiting for him in the living room. Bonus: his parents are out of town, meaning he can stay up late, be as loud as he wants, and fall asleep on the couch with no consequences.
But there's a single yellow light on in his kitchen, the sight of which immediately alerts him. His parents wouldn't be back from Iowa for another couple of days and Robin - the only other person in Hawkins with keys to his house - is back in Family Video, so...
His mind goes to the worst case scenario on instinct. Left hand curling around a spare baseball bat he keeps in the trunk of his car (though this one lacks the menacing metal spikes), he decides to cautiously approach his front porch, pushing open the door slowly.
No signs of forced entry. No broken glass, the door handle hasn't been tampered with, and from the entryway nothing looks out of place. The entire house is dark save for the yellow glow emitting from the kitchen, his footsteps muted as he creeps up toward the source of light. Hands clenched by his side, a tight breath stuck in his chest, he's ready to strike whoever the intruder is until-
He sees your unmistakable figure humming a Whitney Houston song in one of Steve's oversized sweaters and fuzzy lemon socks, stirring a caramel brown batter of something that smells awfully sweet with a wooden spatula. His mind takes a few seconds to catch up with him - is he hallucinating, he wonders - and his weapon slips out of his hand involuntarily, the metal clang on the wooden floor startling both you and him.
"Jesus christ, Stevie. Did you think I was a burglar?" you tease, leaning against the counter, batter-dripping spoon pointing at the discarded bat on the floor. He just blinks at you in response, deer in headlights, body tense in complete shock. The sight is endlessly amusing to you, making you chuckle and shake your head sideways.
"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me." you pout mockingly, placing your hands on your hips, brownie batter long forgotten in the counter behind you. That seems to awaken something in your boyfriend, who rushes to you with immense force and speed, trapping you against the counter with his toned body, lips on yours in an instant.
Smiling into the kiss, you welcome how his pink lips mould themselves against yours, slight bitter aftertaste of beer and the odd sweetness of your peach chapstick mixing on the tip of your tongue. Your skin feels like it's on fire with the fervor and passion with which he's choosing to kiss you, desperate hands already tugging at the lapels of your sweater, fingers traveling up and down the bare skin of your torso.
"E-easy tiger." you have to remind him breathlessly, pointing to the turned on oven.
"Later." is all he can get out before smashing his mouth back onto yours, spinning you around before backing you up into his sofa until you fall onto the comfortable cushions with a squeal. He only smirks at that, muscular body towering over yours as his lips begin to trail down your neck, marking the territory as his.
"Fuck, I missed you so much." he whispers into the nape of your neck, dark bruise already blossoming in the spot. You'd protest but he's feral and there's that dark and hungry look in his irises that make your legs ache in anticipation.
"I-I missed you too-" you begin to breathe out, voice coming out whiny.
"STEVE!"
The sound of your little brother's voice startles both of you, both in terms of the sudden volume and the hilarity in his tone, making you sit up so fast that you practically shove your poor boyfriend onto the floor at the action. Your alert eyes meet his panicked ones and Steve messily attempts to pull himself together - smoothing over his hair which had your fingers tugging at the roots of seconds ago, re-buttoning his jeans - before pulling the door open.
Dustin finally stops knocking (no, banging) against the door when it swings open with a clearly agitated and flustered Steve behind it, the angry expression on the older boy's face causing the smile on Dustin's to falter slightly.
"What's got your panties in a twist?" the curly haired boy prods. "I come bearing great news."
Steve rolls his eyes at that, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. When he does so, he leaves enough of a gap for Dustin to look straight into the living room, where you're sitting upright on the sofa and waving at Dustin with a small smile.
"HOLY SHIT-"
Dustin pummels straight through Steve, not even bothering to take his shoes off before running towards you and enveloping you in a tight hug. You stumble backwards at the fierce embrace before hugging him back, hands affectionately rubbing his hair.
"Hiya, Dusty."
"I thought you weren't coming back for another month and a half." he mumbles into your chest, still holding on to you as if you'll disappear the moment he lets go of you. Steve scowls, mumbling complaints under his breath as he closes his front door shut and trods back up to you and Dustin on the couch.
"You're hogging her, little Henderson." your boyfriend complains, left leg sticking out to lightly kick at Dustin's. Dustin only shoots him a sharp glare at that, before going to back to hugging you, the childish exchange eliciting a soft laugh from your throat.
"Me hogging her? Yeah right. The month before (Y/n) left for university, you wouldn't let her leave your sights for more than two minutes tops."
This argument tugs at your heartstrings, fond smile appearing on your lips as you watch your favorite two boys bicker amongst themselves. It's reminiscent of countless arguments you've been a witness to - whilst sitting in the front seat of Steve's BMW, on a date at the cinemas or leaning against an arcade machine mid game - where your boyfriend and your younger brother battle for your attention and time.
"There's enough of me to go around, boys." you have to remind them, patting Dustin's head so he releases you from his hold. The boy's eyes light up in excitement at that.
"If you're here, does that mean you're making your famous "I'm back home" brownies-" his eyes sparkle with so much joy and eagerness that it makes even Steve's annoyed facade to slip up, whilst you chuckle.
"Duh. I was just stirring the batter but you can help pour in the caramel and decorate it at the end, okay?"
"Okay!"
The young boy almost slips on the floor with the speed with which he runs to the kitchen, peering into the half-mixed bowl of batter before beginning to scramble through the cupboards looking for the baking tray. Steve takes your brother's momentary absence as an in to go back to hugging you, strong arms encasing you against his body.
"I can't believe we just got cockblocked by your brother." he groans into the valley of your neck, causing you to lightly smack his upper arms.
"Be nice, Steve. He has every right to be as excited to see me as you. Besides..." you pause, twisting around to stare at him knowingly. "Are you that surprised? I can't even begin to count the amount of times we were about to have fun and little genius boy interrupted us."
Steve's chest reverberates with a chuckle, the sound melodic and deep. His hair tickles against your skin as he nods slowly, hands circling around your waist.
"Alright, fine. But I was really looking forward to having you just to myself."
"Oi Harrington, 60/40 rule, remember!" Dustin yells from the kitchen, pointing a fork threateningly at the man hugging you. Steve rolls his eyes at that, scowling.
"It's the 50/50 rule and you know that, little Henderson." he retorts, reminding your sibling of the infamous rule you've created (in order to prevent the two boys from ripping in to each other constantly) that dictates that your time will be divided evenly, 50/50, between them. Dustin only sticks out his tongue in response, mocking the older boy.
"It should be the 60/40 rule, I was here first before you, lover boy."
"Why you little shit-"
Steve steps out of your grasp before rushing towards Dustin, whose eyes widen in alarm before he throws down the kitchen utensils and begins to run around the living room. The two of them chase each other in circles before you step in, arms outstretched to forcibly put in distance between them.
"Alright, relax. Steve can set up a movie on the couch whilst Dustin helps me finish the batter. Then while that bakes, we can all watch a movie on the sofa before we decorate all the brownies when they're done. Deal?" you raise your eyebrows, voice final and glare sharp. It makes both of them nod immediately, eyes drawn downwards in compliance.
"Yes." they both respond at the same time. You smile.
"Great."
The boys wait patiently for you to disappear into the kitchen before turning to each other, a mischievous smirk on Dustin's face and a narrowing glare on Steve's.
"60/40." Dustin whispers, goading Steve.
"I will end you, little Henderson."
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4K notes · View notes
neteyamslovrr · 1 year
Text
KXANI - pt4
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summary: you have never fit in with the scientists, but on the night jake was lost in the forest so were you. staying with the people was your one true dream, yet when you are anything but welcome and jake get's to experience the people. you find yourself seeking comfort in tsu'tey
contents: 2.4k words, fem!avatar reader angst, lots of angst, reader is upset, tsu'tey is stupid, grace redemption arc, avatar 2009, tsu'tey not being as ooc LMAO
authors note: sorry it took so long y'all, ya girl has been working her ass off trying not to fail, also soz in advance for the angst. and if ur tag didn't work L idk how to fix that (i love u all)
all parts - next part
┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐
Jake woke from his link ready to harass you with a million questions. As the link pod opened he was already sitting up.
“Y/N! Are you going to explain why Tsu’tey was about to slit my throat cause of you?” Jake was wide-eyed and furious. He hopped himself back into his wheelchair so he could speak to you without yelling across the shuttle.
“What? What do you mean?” You were beyond confused. Tsu’tey did what? For you?
“He came up to me yelling about some shit! That I disrespected you and that I’d be better dead! Had his knife at me and everything!” Grace had walked into the commotion immediately taking action between you two yelling colleagues.
“Woah, woah, woah. Ok calm down before we lose another scientist.” She put her hands between the space between you and made space between the two of you.
“I didn’t tell Tsu’tey to do that! I have no idea why he acted like that.” Anxiety was cursing through your body as you switched between the fuming Jake and the confused Grace. Why did Tsu’tey do this? Was it to spite you? To get a rise out of Jake?
“You obviously told him something!” He exclaimed throwing his arms in the air. Grace looked at you for confirmation, but you were persistently shaking your head.
“No. No! I just talked about being a scientist. That’s all.” Jake scoffed at you as Grace’s features grew even more concerned.
“Oh yeah, because the life of a scientist is totally enough to be THREATENED BY A WARRIOR. For fuck sake Y/N!” You were cowering from the man below you, you wanted to escape desperately, his fierce glares and Grace’s pained ones were all too much.
“Enough. We have research to log. Hurry up. Go!” Grace pulled Jake’s chair away as she stared at you to walk away from Jake. And that’s exactly what you did.
Rushing to the bunk bed you shared with Norm you climbed up and planted harshly onto the rough sheets. Curling yourself up into a ball, you tried to slow down your fast breathing as thoughts were rapidly entering your mind. You had to ask Tsu’tey.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Rushing through Hometree you couldn’t find him anywhere. You had rummaged through ever crevice of the tree and you were left empty-handed.
Why would Tsu’tey do this? You understood he hated Jake, but you thought he’d at least be understanding. So why was he so adamant on ‘a dead Jakesully, is a good Jakesully.’ You had to understand his actions, you had to.
Your fast pace and concentrated look made the people give you a mountain of odd looks. You were growing frustrated, why was he nowhere to be seen?
Not being aware of your surroundings you ran headfirst into a firm body. There Neytiri stood looking down at you slightly as she tilted her head in confusion. “Why are you stomping around like a child?”
“Oh!...I’m looking for Tsu’tey, have you seen him?” Neytiri scanned the room before her eyes went back to you.
“I believe he’s at the river, not in his best mood.” Frowning at her comment, you wondered what had upset him so much.
“Thankyou.” Bowing at her before you started rushing through the forest. You didn’t intend on running there but it just seemed to occur as your breath grew shaky and your heart beat faster.
You had now learnt your way through the forest. The endless vegetation no longer taking you for a loop. Now you knew exactly how to get to the man you demanded answers from.
There he sat at the edge of the riverbed. He was calm, peaceful. He stared up into the sky letting out a relaxed sigh.
Watching silently a seed of the tree of souls landed on his shoulder, he watched as it flew in front of him turning his gaze into the direction of you, a frown growing on his face.
“Why are you here? Go back.” He flicked his hand as his voice rumbled, he sounded angry, it wasn’t like you heard before though, it was directly at you.  
“I need to talk to you. I was looking everywhere” Your breath still shaky as you panted out your words etching closer to him. He grimaced at your state as he contemplated his response.
“You shouldn’t have.” It was sharp and hurtful. He meant to say it like that, but watching the way your relieved expression faltered into a hurt one pained him.
“Well…you shouldn’t have threatened Jake.” You didn’t imagine you would ever step up to the tall man in front of you. But recently you felt as if he was someone you could share your concerns with, even those concerning him.
“Who are you to question my actions demon.” His lanky arms crossed against his toned body as his stature grew taller. His presence becoming more intimidating as his nostrils flared in anger.
“You upset him Tsu’tey! And you upset me.” He faltered at your words, it was a split second your saw guilt in his eyes before it flashed away again. You had never seen him so upset, he was growing more and more irritated by the second. It felt as if you were getting whiplash compared to his affection towards you yesterday.
“Why should I care what a demon feels?” He felt pained, and so did you. His words were growing harsher as was his glare. You started to back away from him, regretting ever opening your mouth.
“Well… I thought that you might of cared about me.” It was a quiet confession. One that as soon as you let it out you wanted to take it back immediately. To Tsu’tey it felt like a blade stabbing him in his heart as it escaped your mouth. His harsh glare faltered once again as he blinked rapidly. He did care. Eywa, he cared so fucking much. That’s why he was doing this. He can’t let his heart overrule his mind.
“And why would I think that? You are a demon. Bringing nothing but destruction and death.” You felt yourself shrinking as you watched him etch closer and closer to you.
“then why did you go after Jake then? If you don’t care about me!” It felt as if your heart was a pane of glass that was smashed against the floor.
He had no excuse for his behaviour towards Jake. He was angry, he was angry at Jake for treating you badly. He took your words and used them as a weapon towards Jake. He was angry because he cared about you.
“Such a demon thing to think the world revolves around you!” His voice was booming, he was seeing red but not with anger, it was his heart bleeding. “Go back. You don’t belong here.”
He saw it on your face. The slow blink to get rid of your tears. The shake in your chest and the way your swallowed any words you might of retaliated back. He saw the way you looked at him with betrayal.
“What was yesterday then?” Your voice cracked as you stared up at the stone faced man.
“A mistake.” Your lips quivered as you sucked your cheeks. He felt that familiar pang, but it wasn’t a pang anymore. It was a thrash.
He watched you turn with such speed that you almost toppled over. He watched you leave as fast as you came. He heard your sobs rack through the forest as you walked further and further away.
Soon they were washed away by the sound of rain pouring down. A sound he would usually cherish as it calmed him. But it no longer felt calming, it was deafening.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Running back to Hometree you were tear-stricken. Your throat ached and so did your heart. You knew it was rich of you to assume he enjoyed your company, but it felt so nice to be appreciated.
Your disarray brought on the stares of hundreds including Grace’s. While she may have not been the kindest to you and she was aware of that. She was also aware how she underestimated you and dismissed you as your contributions were nothing compared to Jake’s. Yet, this morning she realised just how much she had underestimated you. You had cracked open the shell of Tsu’tey and she respected you for it.
So, when she saw you dishevelled, she couldn’t deny her concern.
“Y/N? What the hell happened?” Her fingers gripped onto your shoulder to bring you back down.
“Nothing. I just…I am alright.” She gave you the look.
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“NO! No. Please just let me go.” Grace sighed giving you a pat on the back.
“C’mon kid, somethings bothering you.”
“Why would you care? You never did before?” Grace knew this was coming. She knew that she also deserved it.
“You’re crying. That’s why.” You scoffed at her, swatting her hand off you.
“I don’t need your pity. I just wanted your acknowledgement. And…the one person who was giving me that, has decided it was a mistake. So, I’d just appreciate if you don’t make that ‘mistake’ either.”
“Are you talking about Tsu’tey?” Grace was growing more concerned, she didn’t even realise the two of you had developed a special bond.  
“I’ll see you in the lab, Dr. Augustine.” You spat at her, venom dripping off your tongue as you rushed off in the same direction you came, apologising to the people you had barged into in your fit of despair.
What had you done to deserve this? Were you truly unworthy of friendship? Were you imagining all those moments with Tsu’tey. The intimate silences, the small touches, the deep conversations and the concern he had for you. Where had they gone? Did he hit his head the night before?
Or maybe it was just as he said. You were a parasite. Maybe he never felt any of those things, you just took them from him. Was this all that you were? A parasite in a fake body.
But this body was most dear to you. You felt so connected to the people and the nature. What if it was just to Tsu’tey. Had you been greedy? Been like every other sky-person and taken this worlds beauty for your own benefit.
Tears fell as you were consumed by your thoughts. You were so conflicted. How did you belong nowhere? Not with humans, not with Na’vi and not with anyone.
Disrupted from your thoughts you heard two voices in the distance. Rushing to hide up in a tree you saw the bodies of the voices.  
There was Jake and Neytiri, walking close together, talking as they planned there hunt. You watched the way they grazed upon each other. The way they would look at each other so lovingly, sharing giggles and touches. Waves of jealously crashed upon you.  
You watched them both and couldn’t help but imagine it was you and Tsu’tey. That it was you two sharing glances and loving touches.  
Your heart ached as you continued to watch them from afar. Your throat was tight the more they bonded, the more they loved. The ache in your heart was strong, the sting in your eyes was harsh as your fists were clenched.
At one point your feelings overtook you, because you were no longer fixated on the couple in front of you but the quiet words that left Neytiri’s mouth. “A clean kill…you are ready.”  
You watched the two share a look, a look of knowing and a look of accomplishment. You couldn’t help but feel your chest thrash, he was ready?
Jake was becoming Omaticaya while you are being thrown out by the future Olo’eyktan. This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t right! Your mind was foggy, and your heart stung. You had to leave. You couldn’t stay watching him succeeded right in front of you.
Leaving quietly, you returned to Hometree to lay in your hammock. You had enough of this day, it was best if you could just end it now.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
Tsu’tey laid in his hammock wide awake. The ache in his heart hadn’t gone way like he thought it would. He couldn’t love a demon, what would that make him? A traitor to his kind.
But the way you smiled, the way you cheered at the most minute things, the way you continued to love everything about him while he gave you nothing in return. He didn’t deserve the kindness you had bestowed upon him.
He longed for you. He longed to hold you and tell you he was sorry. That he confronted Jake because he was angry for you. That it was never a mistake, he loved every minute with you.
He wanted you so badly that it ached. That his heart felt bruised in your absence. Tsu’tey couldn’t help but think of your soft fingers wrapped around his torso. He couldn’t help but dream of that flight with you. He couldn’t help but mourn that it was the last time he’d ever feel your touch, or feel your love.
It was his own doing. He pushed you away. But he craved your touch and he craved your smile. He craved every single part of you, but he can’t have you.
He can’t feel this way. He is not allowed to feel this way. He has a mate, he has a duty, and he has people to serve. A demon can’t take that from him no matter how much he wanted that demon.
The sobs of your broken heart rung in his ears as he tried to fall asleep, but they didn’t escape him. He just wanted to forget this. Forget you.
He knew that you were hurting. He knew that the sky-people also hurt you just like they hurt him. He knew that he hurt you too.
 He knew that you longed to be a Omaticaya, that you wanted nothing more to be able to provide and be useful.
He could see it in the way you paid attention to every syllable that exited his mouth. It was admirable how much you wanted to provide. He saw himself in you the way you wanted to serve. It made him recoil in on himself.
To be similar to a demon like you. But you weren’t a demon. Eywa, you were a beauty, a kind soul, the purest of spirits. You reminded him of a sacred seed. But you couldn’t be, and you would never be.
You weren’t Navi, you weren’t one of the people. You never could be with the way he wanted you.
└────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┘
tags/closed: @koolaidmanscaresme @suntizme @forestcottage @avatarlover21 @mechformers @jennielune @dilfs-bitch @simplefools @merla123 @awkward-halfhug @atwow699 @scarlettisconfusedd @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @elegantkidfansoull @tarrynightss @randxmthxughts @ronalsgirl @gardenofvows @zitarcis @i-thirsty-boii @lin0leum @lovekeehoo @notyurdad @supercoolusernamesblog @cupidddd-d @im-in-a-pansexual-panikanik @saltedcoffeescotch @jakesullysslutttt @valentineheartzz @eywas-heir @perilous-pasta @fanboyluvr @asd3ku @atsukiswrld @moonpie3000 @coffeeaddictednymph @anangelwhodidntfall @snips-501 @dangerouslittlefairy @chaos-in-person @rebeccao03 @adaydreamaway08 @jellybeanstacey0519 @graykageyama @aracelikara
(sorry if i didn't get u, or if it didn't work)
reblogs + replies appreciated!! i'll give u a big ole smooch and a imaginary teddy bear
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rascal-xo · 10 months
Note
What's up! Umm, I got a request another actually ideas be popping in my head. For ghost x reader, where the reader is a world-class boxer and is like undefeated like the reader is pretty much female Mike tyson (BTW if you don't know who Mike tyson is he was pretty much a scary boxer who knocked people ass out , people were scared of him and he bit someone ear off ) and reader is like so deadly in the ring she almost kills someone or gets called this pretty sick nickname and everyone on the task force is afraid of her but ghost being ghost doubts the readers skills and challenges the reader in the ring and gets his ass beaten badly like a REALLY bad broken nose, jaw or like gets his ass knocked out. Just a thought: I hope this is acceptable 🙏. I love your writing.
Sunday Punch | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader
Chapter summary: You’re a lethal fighter in the ring, and a seasoned soldier in the field. The 141 get front tickets to your underground double life.
Warnings: Fights, bodily injury, blood, language
Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasure @pukbadger
A/N: Ty for sending in another amazing request! you keep my brain happy lolll 🩷🩷 I hope you enjoy! (It’s a long one i’m sorry LMAO i got carried away)
P.S: Sunday Punch is just another way of saying KnockOut.
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It’s no secret that you’re a talented soldier. With every move you make in the field, you showcases an unrivaled combination of skill, agility, and raw power. You holdheld quite the reputation around base, especially for your skills in combat.
Most of the younger cadets at the academy were also hesitant to be paired up with you, mostly afraid to get knocked out.
Whether it's engaging in close-quarters combat or taking down enemies from a distance, your every move is calculated and executed to your advantage. Your training has molded you into a formidable force, capable of adapting to any situation with ease.
But you haven’t always been like that. Going through the ranks before and during your recruitment to the 141, you were pushed beyond your boundaries and worked through.
Now you’re lethal, and one of the military’s strongest assets. But like anyone else, you have hobbies. Dangerous hobbies.
You step into the dimly lit underground arena, the air thick with anticipation. It's early, and the entire space lies empty, granting you a moment of solitude before the chaos ensues. The only sound is the distant hum of the overhead lights, casting an ethereal glow over the barren ring.
With a focused gaze, you tighten your fists and step forward. Your first strike connects with the bag, and the impact reverberates through the arena like a gunshot. The sound echoes off the empty seats, filling the air with the thunderous force of your blows.
The scent of sweat and anticipation lingers in the air, fueling your senses. Your muscles ripple beneath your skin, coiled and ready for action.
Your teammates on the 141 know you lead a mysterious life when you’re not at work, but have never seen you in action. You decided that it was time to let your most trusted friends in on your endeavors. Mostly because Soap was dying to see you in the ring.
The Captain isn’t very fond of you putting yourself into dangerous situations outside of your already severely dangerous occupation. He’s like a father to you, but he also understands and respects your talent.
Now as you sit in your dimly lit dressing room, the anticipation of the upcoming underground boxing match courses through your veins. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and determination, mingling with the faint echo of distant cheers from the eager crowd.
The mirror before you reflects the flickering glow of a single bare lightbulb dangling from above, casting shadows across your face.
You take a deep breath, the adrenaline surging within you as you run your fingers through your hair. The rhythmic motion of braiding your hair has always been a ritual before each fight or mission, a way to focus your mind and steel your resolve.
“Quite a crowd tonight, Bullet.” A voice breaks the silence. You look up to see Anchor, the man who arranges the fights. You’ve been fighting in his arena for 3 years.
He’s wearing his signature navy blue suit, his hair gelled and a championship ring on each finger. He throws you an envelope and you catch it on your bare lap. “Three thousand. Five when you win.” He winks, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve got Tank Gomez tonight.”
You open the envelope and glance at its contents, the crisp bills tucked neatly within. Anchors the only other person you’ve ever trusted besides your team. He trained your mind to always be lethal and ready, coming from a fighting background himself. “Copy that.” You say, a smile at your lips.
“When do you deploy?” He asks, crossing his arms. “People don’t seem to care about me when ‘Bullet’ isn’t in the ring.” You shake your head at the nickname you’ve acquired.
“3 days. So don’t scuff me up too bad.” You tease, getting up to put on your robe.
The crowd awaits, hungry for the spectacle that is about to unfold. But it's more than just a performance; it's a test of your mettle, an opportunity to showcase your mastery of the craft.
With Anchor's support, you step forward, ready to embrace the chaos and reclaim your rightful place in the ring. The anticipation builds, the sound of the crowd growing louder as you make your way through the corridors.
As you step into the ring, the air crackles with anticipation. The crowd roars, their excitement reverberating through the arena. Across from you stands your opponent, a formidable figure, a big man whose sheer size alone could intimidate the faint of heart.
As you take your stance, a flicker of movement catches your attention from the corner seats. Soap, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, are there, watching you intently. Soap sends an energetic thumbs up, cheering you on.
Yet, as you meet Ghost's gaze, you notice his eyes. The usual seriousness is replaced by a coldness, an intensity that makes it unreadable. He looks away. Ghost has never been one to support your hobbies, but watches along anyway.
The referee's voice cuts through the tension, signaling the start of the fight. The world around you narrows, and everything else becomes a blur. It's just you, your opponent, and the dance of combat.
You move with purpose, your training guiding your every step. Dodging, weaving, and countering, you navigate the ring with grace and precision. Each blow is calculated, your fists finding their mark with practiced accuracy.
The big man lunges forward, his power evident in every punch he throws. But you refuse to be overwhelmed. Your speed and agility become your greatest assets, allowing you to evade his strikes while retaliating with your own punishing combinations.
“Argh!” One of his punches land, striking you right under the eye. You curse knowing the bruise it’s gonna leave later. You feel a little blood drop down your cheek. Recovering quickly you bounce back.
With each passing second, the intensity of the fight grows, both you and your opponent refusing to back down. Sweat beads on your brow, mingling with the taste of blood and adrenaline on your lips. The rounds blur together, time becoming inconsequential as you immerse yourself in the battle, fully present, fully alive.
As the final bell sounds, the crowd erupts in applause. The fight is over, your opponent is out cold, and you've given it your all. You stand tall in the center of the ring, catching your breath, as the referee holds your victory arm up high.
After a grueling workout, you find yourself in the open gym on the military base, sweat glistening on your brow and a towel draped around your neck. Your bruised knuckles draw your attention, serving as a reminder of the battle you fought in the ring just a week ago.
As you examine them, lost in your thoughts, the door swings open, and Ghost walks in, his presence commanding attention. “Hey.” You say to him, with a nod.
“You’re here.” He replies, monotonously. His normal gear is now replaced with gym shorts and T-shirt. He trades out the full skull mask with a black balaclava.
“Why wouldn’t I be.” You chuckle, watching as he sets down a weight. You would normally work out with Ghost as you’ve got sort of a friendship that’s built over the years.
Today he seems awfully distant. You feel the tension growing between the two of you. You knew he was never a fan of you fighting for show, he was the first person you told about your endeavors, and he wasn’t too thrilled.
Ghost's eyes briefly meet yours before shifting away. You lean against the hanging punching bag, and cross your arms. It's evident that he's harboring a deep anger, his normally calm demeanor shattered by the concern that has festered within him.
“It was nice of you to come out the other night.” You say, testing the waters. His head turns in your direction as he takes you in. His gaze stops at your knuckles.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He says, looking right through you. You scoff a dry laugh.
“Haven’t yet.”
“You think this is funny?”
Ghost's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. You straighten up, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. The tension between you escalates, the air crackling with unresolved emotions.
"No, Simon, I don't think it's funny," you reply, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance. "But I also don't think it's fair for you to dictate what I can or cannot do. This is my choice, my path."
Ghost's eyes narrow, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Your choice? This isn't just about you, Y/N," he snaps, his voice biting with a sense of betrayal. "Every time you step into that ring, you're not just risking your own life; you're risking everything."
His words hit you hard, the weight of his disappointment bearing down on you. You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to convey your own perspective.
“I've trained for this, I know what I'm doing."
Ghost scoffs, his disbelief evident in his tone. "Trained? You think a few months of underground fights make you invincible?”
“Fuck you. You never fucking supported anything I do!” You throw your towel down, needing to get away from him and get some fresh air into your system.
An hour later, Price calls you and the guys for the group training session. He divides the team into pairs for sparring, and to your surprise (or perhaps fate's twisted sense of humor), you find yourself standing face to face with Ghost.
The tension between you is palpable, the lingering anger and hurt casting a shadow over the training session.
Price's voice breaks through the silence, setting the rules and reminding everyone to "play nice." But deep down, you know that the emotions swirling inside you threaten to break through the facade of control.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the spar, and you and Ghost cautiously circle each other. As the seconds tick by, you feel the anger inside you bubbling to the surface, fueling your movements.
His movements are measured, his punches and kicks executed with surgical precision. He weaves in and out, his strikes landing with pinpoint accuracy, but you matche him blow for blow, refusing to back down.
The sound of fists meeting flesh echo through the training room as your strikes collided. The intensity of their spar escalates with each passing second, the energy between you crackling like electricity.
Without warning, you lash out, throwing a punch fueled by a mix of frustration and pent-up emotions. Your fist connects with Ghost's nose, the impact resounding through the air. Time seems to slow down for a moment as he staggers back, blood staining his balaclava from his broken nose.
The realization of what you've done hits you like a punch to the gut. The anger dissipates, replaced by a flood of guilt and regret. His eyes meet yours, raging and stone cold. “Fucking hell. You just don’t know when to stop do you?”.” He curses, his shoulder hitting yours as he leaves the mat.
“Si-wait!” You call after him, but before you can say anymore Price stops you.
Enough," Price's voice cuts through the air, firm and resolute. His gaze shifts between you and Ghost, assessing the situation. "Take a breather, both of you."
He gestures towards the side of the mat, signaling for you to step aside. You comply, your mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions.
A/N: That’s all I got for now or else imma be writing like 10,000 words just on this LMAO
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lincolndjarin · 7 months
Note
this is a request!! i would loveeee to see desperate din and him begging. he’s always in the suit and never really around people so it would make so much sense for him to be touch starved and needy. like he meets reader for the first time and all his needs and feelings he ignored for years come to the front and he’s just down bad 😩
a/n : sorry this took forever to get around!! i haven't written drabbles before so i hope this is okay <3 thank you for the request !! (i read online that some people get annoyed when drabbles are over 100 words if that is true feel free to tell me to knock it off LMAO cause some people say its just a short fic so idk i'm lost and know nothing.)
anyways, i changed a little bit of your request to keep it short, hope that's okay!!
pairing : din djarin x afab!reader
word count : 0.6k
warning : 18+ mdni, smut, no plot this is just porn, sorta sub!din, begging, din's lowkey a boob man in this, nipple stuff idk the proper tag here sorry, praise, premature ejaculation lowkey (din gets a little over excited), handjobs
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It was surprisingly easy to convince him to take the armor off. Almost like he was waiting for you to ask, from there he was putty in your hands, crawling into the sleeping cubby, panting before you've even touched him.
It's too dark to see him but you can feel how different this is from the quickies in the cockpit or the stress induced sex against the side of the ship from a mission gone wrong. His kisses are hot and feverish against you skin as he latches onto your nipple with a whimper. You've never felt his mouth on your flesh and suddenly it's your greatest regret. Denying yourself such a thing. Attentive is an understatement, his tongue lapping at the meat of your chest, wanting feel the weight of it in his mouth.
"Maker, Mando, slow down..." You laugh breathlessly, nothing could have prepared you for the whimper against your breast. You feel the line of spit as he pulls away briefly.
"Please?" His voice has never sounded like this, an unfamiliar breathy whine is stifled as his lips wrap themselves back around your nipple, lewd wet sounds filling the tiny space. His cock rests fully erect between your thighs, the warmth coming off of him is suffocating as he groans against your breasts, burying his head between them.
You feel the vibration on his lips as he moans against you.
"M-More, more, please." He drags his mouth from your chest to your throat, settling there now, it's like he's trying to find your pulse with his tongue.
After that it's like the words are being pulled out of you, you aren't sure where they come from, you've never talked like this before.
"More what, sweet boy?"
His hips snap forward seeming involuntarily, you can feel him starting to grind against your thigh, desperate for whatever he can get.
"More you." He mumbles, high pitched and demanding.
You let your hands touch everything.
The parts of him no ones seen, let alone touched, in decades.
It's like every single inch of his skin is sensitive. You scrape your nails down his back and sound you draw from him is downright pornographic.
He gives up on any attempt to keep his mouth on you, he's too busy writhing and begging when your hands travel southing, running your fingers through the dark thatch of curls that starts on the bottom of his stomach.
"Touch me- please touch me. I'll be good, I promise to be good just touch me." He's positively breathless by the time you wrap your hand around his stiff and aching cock.
You watched him kill three people today, with zero hesitation. The most ruthless killer you've ever known. And right now he's humping your leg and biting your shoulder to muffle the obscene sounds he's making.
You let one hand travel back up, pinching his nipples, trying to draw more of those delicious noises from him.
With that he's trembling. There's no more words as you start to stroke his length, alternating between his nipples with pinches and soothing rubs of your thumb over the pebbled buds.
You don't even have to move your other hand, you simply hold it still as he fucks it, his head resting beside yours, the only sounds you can hear are his gasps for air and soft airy moans.
It takes a minute at most.
It's the fastest he's ever finished with you.
Normally he finishes with a low groan but now the only sound filling the cubby is a drawn out, shaky whine.
You feel his release against your palm. Hot and sticky as he rides it out, rutting against you until he's finally satisfied, murmuring a slurred "Thank you, thank you, thank you." against your skin.
You turn your head to press a kiss into his temple.
"Good boy."
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