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#do not interact if you are a minor
ghostarii · 8 months
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childe is a dirty bastard with a nasty obsession for you. he finds you so beautiful, so gorgeous and filled to the brim with visual blessings. he can’t help how his cock grows and hardens at the sight of your filled out frame and he can’t leave himself that way . . . so he jerks off. wraps his calloused hand around his thick cock and drags it up and down with shut eyes and a gaped mouth, imagining it was your soft hands making him feel good. he did this often, hiding in bathrooms or waiting until he gets home and releasing all over his sheets. but at some point, it’s not enough.
so, if you ever get a text from your good friend childe, reading “attachment: 1 video”, don’t be surprised when you see his cock sliding in and out of a fuck doll. the sound is lewd and nasty—squelching and wet slapping that rings off in unison with his grunts and pretty moans. he moans your name, groping the fake tits of the doll, “so fucking pretty for me . . . ngh, fuck—“ he had to let you know how he felt. what you do to him. so he raises the angle of his phone, showing the tablet that displays a selfie of you—one you sent to him when asking him which lipstick shade looked better on you. he groans louder, pounding the doll even furiously, “you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum . . .”
he said he wanted to breed that tight cunt and make you his. you hadn’t even realized the video was three minutes long and you were nearing the end. he whimpers as he pounds tougher, snapping his hips against the doll with sniffles of your name and begs for his release. and then he cums. spills his seed deep in the doll with a guttural moan and fucked up camera angle as he doubles over. there’s a shuffling sound and then you can see clearly: see the load of cum spilling out of the doll, and he fingers the spill back in, moaning at the sight. “‘ts gonna be you next . . .” he murmurs, and the video ends.
you never saw him that way. he was your friend. but that promise he made at the end had your cunt throbbing, waiting for that treatment.
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yawnderu · 3 months
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misogyny, incel!König, anal sex, pussy slapping, slut shaming. MDNI
Incel!Roommate!König is so nasty and mean :( he knows you're nothing but a slut just like your friends, having to live with hearing you getting fucked by other men. It doesn't matter if it's not often or if it's always with the same guy, you're still giving it up to someone you're not dating and that's enough to make you a whore in his eyes :(
He refuses to fuck your pussy, calling you a filthy girl while his cock is plunging deep into your tight ass. Your cunt is too used up and loose for him, don't dare tell him that's not how anatomy works!! he's a much smarter and stronger man, he obviously knows better than you :((
Incel!Roommate!König has no mercy as he fucks into your ass, pulling out only to slap your cunt until it's raw and sensitive. It's the punishment you get for giving it up to other men :(( if you want to be a whore, he has no problem treating you like one.
Maybe he'll even call his friends from the military and get them to come use you like the filthy little mutt you are, making your body count even higher than it already is and leaving you with a cum-filled, loose cunt <3
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sweethoneycn · 1 year
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Sugar Daddy
Jake Sully x adoptive reader based off this request
⚠️minors DO NOT interact⚠️
Plot: Reader has a small crush on her adoptive father Jake. Little to her knowledge his feelings were reciprocated. He couldn’t help himself when he had to share the same bed as her…
Warnings: p in v, thigh fucking, somnophilia kink!!!, sleeping reader, small daddy kink
Writers comments: I’m so sorry to whoever requested this. I had the worst writers block and had to rewrite this fic multiple times. But I hope you like at least. Thanks for reading!
“Any plans for tonight?” Jake asks you. Cleaning his gun as he sat across from you. Before he spoke the room was filled with nothing but silence, you often found it difficult to speak with him. You had the biggest crush on him, constantly finding yourself staring at him - but being careful not to get caught.
“Mm not really, was gonna make some jewelry with Kiri and come back home” you stand to your feet, handing him his cleaning rod he was looking around aimlessly for, smiling at him when he took it from your hands.
My Eywa that smile, you thought.
“That sounds like a plan there honey bun” he giggled. Turning his attention back to his gun. You blushed when you realized that no matter how much you tried to make sense around him. You just couldn’t, he made you too nervous.
Deep down you knew these feelings were wrong. He was your adoptive father, and still married at that! It became some sick fantasy of yours to sleep with him, to take him from his wife and have your way with him when you wanted. Nonetheless, you refused to act upon your desires. Holding back with everything you had because you cared for your adoptive family. They took you in when no one else would. It just so happened it was the man who you were absolutely in love with.
“Right.. I guess it does” you say awkwardly. Standing in the middle of the room as you watched him tend to his weapon. The sight turned you on. He was so good with it. You’ve watched him fire it countless times and every time is still like you’ve never seen it before. It was never something that you didn’t enjoy watching.
“Baby girl.. you’re doing that thing again” he giggled. You didn’t realize it but you were gawking. Eyes glued to him. You shook your head away in embarrassment, trying to now hide the cheeks that began to blush. The last thing you needed was for him to grow suspicious of you. “S-sorry” you mutter. “The gun is just so cool”
Jake's laugh turned into a surprised yet satisfying look. Almost as if he were excited that you found his firearm interesting. “Wanna hold it?” He asks. Standing to his feet, holding the gun carefully. Your eyes darted back and forth, a small panic starting to set it. You’ve never held one before - but curiosity got the best of you. “Yeah.. sure”
Jake smiles, handing you the gun. You grab it with both hands, gripping the chunk of metal hard so you don’t drop it. He moves behind you, pushing his back into yours. Your breath caught in your throat, deciding to hold it in out of fear you’d give your arousal away. You watch as his strong arms come from behind you. Pulling the gun up and placing the butt against your shoulder. He positions your right arm under it, wrapping your hands around the trigger mechanism.
“Okay first things first, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re going to fire. Safety first” he brings his other hand around your left arm, showing you where you grip the barrel. And just like that you were holding a gun. “This is so cool” you say. Looking behind you and up at him with the biggest smile. He returns it, nodding his head that you pay attention.
“See this here” he points to the scope. “Look through that.. tell me what you see” he says. You do as you're told, closing one eye to squint through the scope. Looking closely you can see that it’s focused on a basket. You could see every fiber of the shaven wood, the intricate designs and paints. It was fascinating. “Whoa, Jake, that's so cool! I can see everything!” In the midst of your excitement, you lost your hand placement. Almost dropping the gun on the ground. But Jake was quick, catching it before it fell.
“Sorry!” You say. Letting go of the gun so that he could take it. He smiles, putting it back in its place. “It’s fine, don’t be sorry. Things pretty heavy” he turns his attention back to you, standing tall above you. With the amount of times he’s stood like this in front of you, you’ve been able to memorize every curve of his muscles, every dimple and beauty mark. And just like that you were staring again.
“What’s got you so distracted? Am I pretty or somethin’?” He says. Flexing his biceps to tease you. Causing you to blush once more. “No.. I-I mean yes! Wait no.. that’s not what I meant, you are pretty just not.. pretty pretty..” you struggle to make sense as you always did, blabbering like you were caught in a mountain of lies. “Sorry..” you say, dropping your gaze from his. All Jake could do was laugh, you were always like this. So shy and passive, he was curious if there was a warrior in there. So he often found himself teasing you. Innocent ‘fatherly’ love.
“Y/n relax it was a joke, I know.. dads old.” He walks over to you, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear before leaning down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. To him you thought it was an innocent gesture between the adoptive father and daughter - but to you, you wanted to jump his bones at this very moment. “Right.. I’m uh, gonna go find Kiri” you say. Saying your goodbyes before excusing yourself.
As you walked to your sisters hut, you couldn’t get the thoughts of him pressed against you out of your mind. You’d wished he was pressed against something else. Knowing that you shouldn't be feeling this way, you tried to clear your head before going to Kiri. No longer wanting Jake to be in your mind before you saw her.
Jake was beside himself, he loves teasing you. Playing around until you let that wall down and finally let a laugh loose. He loved seeing you happy and satisfied. He also couldn’t stop thinking about your tiny fingers holding his gun, or the way you giggled when you looked through the scope. This wasn’t the first time something about you made him curious. There were many times about you had him questioning whether or not he was losing his mind. Wondering if he was some sick pervert for finding you to be irresistible. He was married, with children. Not to mention you were 15 years his junior and he was raising you like his own.
He couldn't help the fact that you were in fact not related to him. So he couldn’t control his eyes when they started to wonder. Yes he had Neytiri, and he loved her dearly. But there was just something about you that he couldn’t ignore. Most of the time just like you, choosing to ignore it.
—-
You spent the day with Kiri, making jewelry and talking about anything. You enjoyed your time with her, she reminded you that it was okay to be yourself. Plus you needed something to get your mind off of her father.
The sun had gone away, being hidden by the moon as eclipse set in. Finding your way back home for bed. Neytiri was helping mo’at deliver a baby and since the mother was having a hard time, she gave the family a heads up that you all had to fend for yourselves tonight.
Stepping through the doors of your family home, you walk on light toes, not wanting to wake your brothers. Jake heard your shuffling, waking out of his sleep to see what was going on. You weren’t as silent as you thought you were being.
“Hey” he whispers to you. Waving his hand toward him, signifying to come to him. You were confused for a moment until you saw someone sleeping in your cot. You couldn’t see the body under your blankets. You walked over to him, stepping over Lo’ak until you made your way to Jake. He cups the side of his mouth waving you downward to place your ear within hearing range. You do so, leaning down. “Neteyam has his mate here, her parents don't want them alone” he whispered. “You can sleep here, or with Lo’ak”
You look back at Lo’ak, spread eagle with drool coming from his mouth. Watching in horror as he snores in his sleep, you immediately turn your head towards Jake. “I think I’ll pass on him, are you sure it’s okay for me to crash here?” You whisper. Searching his eyes for any form of doubt.
Jake smiled, opening his blanket for you. His usually heavily armed body now bare with just his loincloth to cover himself. You gulped hard but moved quickly to climb in with him turning your back to him as you slid in beside him. “It’s cold anyways, better to keep each other warm” he says, adjusting his hips away from you. Making you as comfortable as possible. “What about Lo’ak?”
Jake laughs quietly, leaning his head down to whisper in your ear. “Look at him, kid is a furnace” he was right, Lo’ak was always hot, especially at night. There was pretty much a pool of sweat under him even in the chilly weather. You laughed to yourself, laying your head on the pillow below you. “I guess you’re right”
Nuzzling in next to him, you try your best to make yourself smaller. Not wanting to press your body against him. But Jake was right, the night air was freezing and you needed warmth. Jake noticed your shivering and your small hands wrapped around yourself to keep warm. Innocently, he pulls you into him. The action immediately making you panic. “W-what are you doing?” You whisper, attempting to move away from him. “You’re freezing” he says. Keeping you firmly against his body. The warmth from his torso soothes you almost instantly.
You couldn’t deny that the feeling of him pressed against you made your insides tingle. This was the closest you’ve ever been with him, let alone wrapped around in arms to keep warm. Your breaths began to pick up feeling his fleeting muscles relaxed lazily around your waist. The weight of it is like a blanket in itself. Jake noticed the intensity of your breathing. “You alright?” He lifts his head to look at you, leaning up on his arm to see your face. “Y-yes.. I’m fine” you reply. The words you spoke coming out in a stutter.
“Try to get some sleep baby girl” he lays his head back down, leaning forward a bit to rest his head against the back of your neck. There were more things Jake grew curious about when it came to you. It wasn’t just the way you looked or acted, it was your scent as well. Sweet like the morning sun that bloomed fresh spring flowers, earthy like the soil that squished under his feet. The smell of you was intoxicating. When he got a good whiff, he couldn’t help the low groan that came out of his mouth, he was mortified - but by the sound of your slow breathing, you were already fast asleep. His cover remained secure.
Before he knew it he was falling asleep to the smell of you. Pulling you into him as close as he could get you. Soaking in the warmth of your body against his own.
—-
Jake woke in the night from loaks snoring. Throwing a pillow at him to shut up but to no avail. He slumped on his back, irritated since he had a long day ahead of him. But the sun was still asleep, darkness completely engulfing the room around him. He was almost lost in thought until he remembered the much smaller body pressed up against him. Your head nuzzled into his neck, your arms and legs thrown over his torso. He smiled looking down at you, listening to you coo in your sleep. So adorable.
In an attempt to go back to sleep he tried moving you off of him, but this proved to be the wrong move. You pulled him in tighter, moving up just slightly until your lips were inches from his. Your soft breath escaping past your parted lips, bushing over his. His stomach trembled as he watched you, your soft beautiful skin so nice under his touch. He rubbed your shoulder slowly, watching as your lips quivered in your sleep. He thought to himself one kiss wouldn’t hurt. You would never know, it was his only opportunity to act on his strongest desires.
Without thinking he leaned down, planting a soft kiss against your lips. Pulling away quickly. You didn’t wake, still fast asleep against him. He took it as a sign to try once more, one not being enough for him. He kissed you again, pressing more firmly into you. Deepening the kiss as best as he could without waking you. Unconsciously, you leaned into him, moaning into his mouth. The dream you were having about him becoming real as he kissed you softly.
Jake pulls away admiring your face, scanning every inch of it. Your hold tightened around his waist. Gripping his skin with your fingers. His hands roamed too, feeling the small of your back - running small circles with his fingers against you. He couldn’t hold back any longer. Hooking his finger under your loincloth and pulling it down to your ankles. His movements were so gentle that you didn’t rise from your sleep. You shifted a little, turning around until your ass was facing him. Pushing it backwards towards him.
He watched as your cheeks wiggled as you attempted to get closer, every move you made threatening to press against his growing erection. “Fuck” he whispers. Scooting closer to you. Finally breaking that distance in between you. Pressing his cock against your bare ass. He palmed himself, pulling his loincloth to the side as his hard cock strang free. Itching to get the friction that it needed. He needed to fuck you, no matter how wrong it was.
Soft whimpers left your throat. Whatever dream you were having proved to be a wet one. His head spun as the soft sounds left you, only growing his arousal even more.
Gripping his cock at the base, he taps it against your ass lightly. Instantly making him harder. “I want to fuck you.. so bad baby girl” he whispers. Wanting you to just wake up and give it to him. However, he didn’t know if you’d react the way he wanted. You just might freak, waking the entire house. So he moved slowly, sliding his cock in between your legs. The warmth in between them sending a shiver down your spine. “Uhhh..” he moans lowly. His head falling back as your thighs swallowed him.
Jake began to thrust into your thighs slowly, his length so large that his tip and some of the shaft came out on the other side. Pulling all the way back just to slide back in. Suddenly you began to move your hips pushing your ass back towards him. He watched you fuck him with your thighs, his hand gripping your hip as they moved. He leaned up to your ear. “I want you to wake up so daddy can fuck this pussy” he whispered, licking your ear.
You shifted against him. Rising out of your sleep slowly. “Y/n..” he whispered. “Y/n wake up” his hips began to pick up their pace, his orgasm so close but he wanted the real thing. Wanted to feel you tightly wrapped around him as your pussy squeezed his seed out of him until his lungs collapsed. “Come on baby.. wake up for me” your eyes flickered open, feeling groggy as your sleep still consumed you. You weren’t fully awake until you felt hips snapping into you. Looking down only to find a large cock sliding in and out between your legs. Just then you remember who you laid in bed with. Turning your head back to look at him.
“Jake…” you moan. Still wondering if the wet dream you had of him was playing in your head. Like some sort of suck trick. “I need to feel you.. please” he pleads. Gripping the supple skin on your thighs. Halting his thrust as he was close to cumming.
It didn’t take much thinking, this was all you’ve wanted for years. You turn your attention back to his cock, watching as the tip leaked precum. Your hand falling to his length and pumping what you could. “Then take me” you whisper, looking back up at him. Jake crashes his lips into yours, inhaling sharply with the kiss. He threw the blanket off your body, lifting your leg up, his elbow resting under your knee. Your aching pussy now exposed to the cool air. You moan, throwing your head back into his shoulder as you broke the kiss.
Jake's cock stood at attention, probing your entrance. You could feel the tip almost slide when suddenly. Lo’aks snores ceased, causing you both to freeze. You both stared, waiting for him to wake but he never did. Jake took it as his opportunity to continue. Pushing the tip of his cock past your swollen lips, breaking the seal of your hymen. He moans at your tightness, his head falling in the nook of your neck. “I didn’t know you were a virgin baby” you winced at the pain, biting your lip. His girth almost too much for you to handle - but Jake was gentle. Pulling back just a little before sliding more of himself into you. Your pain quickly turned to pleasure, a soft moan leaving your mouth the more he sunk into you.
“Shhh, baby girl.. don’t wanna wake your brothers now do we” he whispered. Sliding completely into you until your ass was flush with his lower belly. You covered your mouth with your hand, attempting to cover up your moans. Your pussy was soaked for him, fluttering around his length. He was so big. Jake felt you squeeze him, pulling out only to deliver the strongest, most firm thrust in creation. The tip of his cock slapping against your cervix. “Uhh!” You moan aloud, quickly covering your mouth to not wake neteyam and Lo’ak. But you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help but think about how wrong this was, how guilty you felt for allowing a married man to find his home between your legs. How could you face Neytiri again?
The thoughts didn’t last long when Jake snaked his large hand around your neck, pulling your head back until your ear was against his lips. “Fuck.. you’re so tight. So fucking tight for me” jakes speed picked up, causing your skin to slap against his. He almost didn’t care to be caught anymore. He was so close and had to feel every inch of you until it was ripped from him. “J-Jake” his name came out stuttered. His pace proving to be too much for you to spreak properly. You could feel your belly tighten below you, your pussy refusing to relax as it squeezed his cock more. You touched yourself enough to know you were close. “I-I’m gonna” you moaned. Pushing your ass back into him.
“Yeah? Gonna cum? I wanna feel it, let me feel it” he moaned. Angling his hips just right, causing your orgasm to run your body like a marathon. You began to shake violently against him as it coursed through you. “C-cu cumming!” You declare. Your eyes rolling in the back of your head.
“Ohh yes.. cum. Cum on my cock baby” jakes thrusts became erratic. Only moments away from exploding himself. What sent him over the edge was your tiny hand coming behind you to grip his waist, using your strength to push his hips into you. Wanting him desperately to fill you up. “Gonna make me cum… oh my god baby” he yanks your head back. Kissing you with a feverish pace. “Where do you want it.. tell me” he says. You let out the breath you were holding. Able to answer. “I-inside…” you moan.
Without warning he shoots his load into you. The nerves in his face forcing his eyes shut as he came. He couldn't believe he got to cum inside your pretty little pussy. “F-fuckk uh! Oh yeah.. cuming in this tight little pussy. You feel that? Feel me filling you up? You choke on air, your mouth hanging open as you felt his seed fill your womb. Feeling full finally. “Y-yessss”
His cock twitched inside you, releasing the last of his seed. He continued to shiver against you, leaning down to whisper in your ear softly.
“Good girl”
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therealmrsgojo · 9 days
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Gojo Satoru being drunk-in-love
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Your body trembles with pleasure as Gojo Satoru's fingers work on your clit. You're lost in the moment, your words slurred and incoherent as you feel yourself being pushed toward the edge of ecstasy.
Your eyes roll back into your head, and you let out a series of high-pitched moans as he continues to hold you down, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
As he whispers those three words, "I love you," tears glisten in the corners of his eyes. You can barely hear him over the sound of your own ragged breathing, but the words hit you like a ton of bricks.
"I love you," He repeats it again, this time with his chest, and you feel his tears splatter onto your chest as he whimpers. Your heart swells with emotion, and you feel a deep connection to him in this moment.
"I love you so much, Y/N." His thumb increases its speed on your clit, you gasp sharply at his confession, your head spinning with a mix of pleasure and overwhelming emotion.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and you know that he's not far behind you. He finally reaches his own peak, and you feel him pump you full and collapse onto you, his head resting on your collar as you both catch your breaths.
But as he begins to get hard again, his shoulders tensing with anticipation, you know that this is far from over.
"More, 'Toru," you whisper, "I want more."
"I'm going to break you, my sweet girl." and you know he means it in the best way possible.
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note: alexa play - slut (taylor swift)
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sailoryooons · 7 months
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Angel | myg (m)
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☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader
☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 
☾ Word Count: 15,551
☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 
☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 
☾ Published: September 3, 2023
☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist
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Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.
She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.
Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 
Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 
Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 
Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 
Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 
“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 
“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.
“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”
Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 
It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.
Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.
Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 
Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 
They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 
Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 
“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”
“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”
“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 
“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”
“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”
“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 
Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 
A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 
Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.
When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.
People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 
The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 
Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 
Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 
The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 
Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.
Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 
Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 
Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 
Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 
Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 
Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 
Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.
Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.
Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 
His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 
Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.
The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 
At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 
Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 
It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 
“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”
“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”
“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”
“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”
“Whatever shall we do?”
He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 
“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”
“Thanks, Angel.”
“Mhmm.”
His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 
Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 
Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 
In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 
Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.
Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 
He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 
He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 
It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 
Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 
With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 
Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 
“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.
“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 
You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 
Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 
“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.
“Mhmm. Just a long night.”
“You smell like perfume.”
“Hmm?”
“Like peaches.”
He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”
“Maybe.” 
“Interesting.”
“Not particularly.” 
He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”
Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 
“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 
Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 
Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 
“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”
“Are you a foot person?”
“What if I was?”
You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”
Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.
“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”
“That so?”
“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”
Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 
You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 
So he does. 
Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 
Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 
His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 
Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 
He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 
Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 
Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 
Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 
Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.
When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.
This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 
There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 
“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 
“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 
He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 
A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 
“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 
Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 
The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.
Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 
“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 
He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.
When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.
Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 
“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 
The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.
“You don’t-”
“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 
“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 
Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 
Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 
“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.
“Give it to me.”
One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 
Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 
A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 
Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.
The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.
Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 
There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.
You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 
Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 
“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”
“I’d sleep in them anyway.”
“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”
“Meh.”
“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”
“Huh. So you are jealous.”
“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 
-
Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.
Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 
When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 
You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 
Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.
The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.
A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.
“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.
Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 
“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”
“Mhmm.”
“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 
With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.
Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 
Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 
You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 
As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 
Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 
At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.
If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 
It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 
And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 
The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 
After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 
You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 
Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 
Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 
The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 
At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 
It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 
Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.
While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.
Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 
Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 
Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.
Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.
You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 
He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 
Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 
-
Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 
Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 
The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 
A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 
“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”
You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 
Money. This man has money. 
Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 
The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 
The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.
If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.
“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”
“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”
“Well said.”
Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.
“Do you know where we are?”
You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”
He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”
“You asked a question.”
“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”
“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”
He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 
Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.
“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”
“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”
You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”
“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”
You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”
“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”
“To get their cock sucked, usually.”
Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.
Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 
“I will fucking kill you.” 
There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.
You need to be valuable. And fast. 
“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 
Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 
“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”
“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 
“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”
“One way to find out, right?”
Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.
Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 
Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.
Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 
You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.
It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 
Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”
You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”
“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”
“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”
“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”
“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”
“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”
“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”
“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”
This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 
“Thank you.” 
“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 
“Okay.” 
His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 
“Okay. I love you.” 
“See you soon.”
-
Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 
When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 
Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 
All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?
Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 
Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 
“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”
“What?” Yoongi demands.
“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 
It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 
“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”
“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”
“He told you where they were?”
“No, she did.”
Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”
“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”
“In front of-”
“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”
“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”
“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”
“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”
Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”
An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.
I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 
In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 
None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 
-
Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.
You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.
It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 
You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 
At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 
Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 
It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 
You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 
The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.
You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 
It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.
Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 
Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.
A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 
When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 
Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.
His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 
Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
Click. Squeeze. Bang. 
You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 
A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.
Squeeze. Bang. 
It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 
Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 
“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”
“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 
“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 
It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 
Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-
Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.
Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 
“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”
“No.”
“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 
“I don’t-”
“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”
Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 
Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”
You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 
When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 
“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 
“Yes.”
“Then why-”
“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”
“Okay.” 
“Look at me.”
You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”
-
A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 
It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.
Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 
Home. 
The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 
Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 
Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 
The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 
So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 
Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 
The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.
“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”
“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”
“Give me five.” 
When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 
Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 
Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 
Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.
You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 
Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.
He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 
When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.
He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 
Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 
Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 
One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 
Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.
His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 
Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.
“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 
He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Hmmm.” 
“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 
“Fuck.” 
He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 
“Fuck yeah.” 
You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 
“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.
“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 
“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”
“You do.”
“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 
The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”
“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 
“Mmm.” 
The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 
He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.
A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”
“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”
Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 
Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 
Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 
“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 
“Fuuuuck yeah.”
His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 
“Shit shit shit shit.” 
You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 
The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 
For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 
“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours.”
“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”
You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”
He pauses. “What?”
“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 
“Then why stay there?”
You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”
“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”
“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”
He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 
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yanderedespair · 3 months
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YANDERE!CLASS PRESIDENT X GN!READER!
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Howdy Dear readers~ I know I've been away for a while but I didn't have the motivation or enthusiasm to do anything (except daydreaming).
But since Christmas is here..WAS HERE ANYWAY, I thought I'd share some of the thoughts I've been having lately!
(IM SORRY THAT IT'S SO LATE- i was too focused on pranking kids that im Santa than writing anything 😭)
IF SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH MY ENGLISH, THEN I'M SORRY IT'S PRETTY LATE FOR ME- (i've been reading this over and over all day-)
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TW: THIS ONE CONTAINS MENTION OF VIOLENCE,STALKING,YANDERE THOUGHTS ECT.
I do not support this behavior in any way, I only write it as pure entertainment.If you know someone who exhibits such behavior or YOU have such behavior yourself, please make an appointment with a specialist! It's not healthy.
♡ MERRY CHRISTMAS ‪♡
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Yan!Class President - Who is the most perfect student in your school, his charisma and empathy is so good that even bullies respect him. sometimes you wonder if he ever made a mistake? Probably not-
Yan!Class President - Who is especially nice to you, you don't know why but for some time now he started talking to you, buying you sweets and accessories, what is very cute is that he gifted you a phone keychain with your favorite animal! (You didn't even tell him what your favorite was! weird, isn't it?)
Yan!Class President - Who secretly whisper a word or two about you to your teachers so they can give you better grades, if the best student says you deserve it, why wouldn't you get it? a true gentleman indeed! Besides, his favorite person MUST have a bright future, no?
Yan!Class President - Who often walks you home, lends you homework or even pays for you at the store when you forget your wallet (again. Huh, you thought you had it on you when you came here..) Could he be considered a simp? Yeah.
Yan!Class President - Who started to deepen your "friendship" when he invited you more and more often (read: forced you not to see your friends anymore) to his group! all the rich and talented people.. sometimes you feel like an idiot while talking to them. But when you complain about it, the whole group aggressively denies it. I guess they like you a lot.. huh?
Yan!Class President - Who one day, invited you to the Christmas Eve party, as your parents preferred to spend their holidays with their extended family and left you to "protect the house" (MOM! WHY IS OUR DOG GOING WITH YOU? HE SHOULD PROTECT THIS HOUSE NOT ME-) So you agreed! :)
Yan!Class President - Who has completely different views about you. He didn't thought that his crush would REALLY show up at his house. Huh, He hadn't anticipated this part of the plan yet..
Yan!Class President - Who looks at you adoringly from the other end of the room. it is simply impossible that such a beautiful and amazing person is sitting in his living room!! your eyes that he could look into for hours, your hair that he would love to touch or your hands holding a cup of tea.. he would love to be in the place of that cup-
Yan!Class President - Who almost splashed his friend's shirt because he was staring at you while you were laughing with some random person. wow. your laughter is the best music for his ears! you are so cute! Oh! Where's his camera?! This is a worthy memory for his secret album-
Yan!Class President - Who couldn't wait to hand out the gifts.. he's been waiting for this all year! He "specially" was looking for the perfect inspiration for your gift!
..good thing you weren't at home then- I MEAN- that diary just happend to fell out of your backpack when you were coming home.. huh? Why did he took the same route even though he lives in a different neighborhood? He was on a walk haha- (yeah totally! but you could maybe? buy a bigger wardrobe next time? Thanks, sigh-)
Yan!Class President - Who, finally walked up to you and pushed a small gift, the size of a pebble, into your hands. Okay? You wonder what it is? Huh? AWW! HE GAVE YOU A SILVER RING WITH SNAKES WRAPPED AROUND IT?! It's so cool~
Yan!Class President - Who, after a successful dinner, invited you to the balcony! how peaceful..just you and him, and the silence around you, and pretty stars.. Wait. why is your new friend holding mistletoe over your head?
Yan!Class President - Who, ALMOST kissed you in the most romantic way. But was interrupted by a one of his friends who drunkenly announced they will be watching a movie..
THANKS KYLE! SERIOUSLY! UGH...
..he could have drowned him that last summer when he had the chance..
Yan!Class President - Who sits grumpy throughout the entire movie. Now he will have to wait another year! How stupid is that?! and what do you think of him now? you sit there, as if nothing happened? just like that watching a movie and eating popcorn.. what if you don't like him anymore?
Yan!Class President - Who, wanted to be alone for a while but saw you sitting in the kitchen, When he asked what happened, you replied that all this social interactions had exhausted you.. aww~
Yan!Class President - Who politely asks if he can stay with you, how sweet! for the next hour you sit in a empty, dark kitchen, eating gingerbread & talking about various things with your classmate! Cool!
Yan!Class President - Who, to cheer you up, suggested to go for a walk! you reluctantly agreed, weirdly enogh your trip quickly ended in a snowball fight. you both forgot what it was about for a moment! It was nice to have fun without stress..
You - Aww! What a nice and funny guy he is, his girlfriend must be so happy to have him!
Him - Aaaaaa!! your laugh is so cute!! it suits you, you know? ah~ I love it when you have a great time, I already feel better and im just looking at you~
Yan!Class President - Who offered an escort home and you happily agree, joking and asking each other stupid questions. ah, how sweet~ he even dared to hold your hand. (Read: He just slipped on ice and you caught him at the last moment 🙄🫴)
Yan!Class President - Who gave up when you arrived at your house. 'well..there are other days of the year too...' was his last thought.. but! he is surprised when you stop him. Surprised, he turns around getting a quick kiss on the cheek in the process..okay what-
"Thanks for the gift..I hope you liked mine tho. Well bye!" You thanked him closing your front door. Leaving him outside..
He stands there frozen in the middle of your lawn, holding his cheek. His brain probably froze at that moment.
Maybe he won't have to kidnap you! maybe he still has a chance?! and with that thought, he happily joined his friends who excitedly asked him how it went.
Daydreaming in his thoughts about you and your beautiful lips- he returned home. almost tripping over his backpack which was abandoned in the middle of the living room.
the rest of the rooms were not in good condition either...
(he will have to clean everything before his parents come back from vacation..)
After eating a decent meal, he locked himself in his room, and the first thing he did was light the candles on your pretty altar..
"Huh! Did you thought it would be a sweet "just imagine"?? haha of course not! ~It's not my style!" ~ Despair 3:00am. (Im crazy and there's rats around help-)
Yan!Class President - Who has a whole room decorated with your photos, each one signed with a date and a dedication especially for you! some people would think he became crazy, but some people just don't understand true love..
Yan!Class President - Who lives your life at this point! stalking is one thing. having a spare key to your house is the second. Not to mention that he remembers your schedule and hobbies by heart! sometimes he dreams that he could live next to you as neighbours ah, he would gladly fall into a coma just to not wake up from those beautiful thoughts..
Yan!Class President - Who has the previously mentioned altar! exclusively for you~ each box is assigned! For example. at the top we have a lock of your hair! on the left we have the bracelet he borrowed stole from your drawer! Your scent still lingers on it~
Yan!Class President - Who always keeps an eye on you, at school, outside, in your room but we don't talk about it- forgive him but he can't help himself! Everything you do is just worthy of his attention alone~
Yan!Class President - Who loves taking hidden photos of you! you are so photogenic. you could be a model, why hasn't anyone thought of this yet!? He would like to get your autograph someday! he could finally (and legally) adore you..!
Yan!Class President - Who is so in love with you that he sees every person as a threat. huh? is someone talking to you? Does they know you're together?! I hope not, because if so, every finger that touched you will be cut off-
Yan!Class President - Who, tries to bump into you anywhere, you go to the library often? he likes to go there too! You're going to the cinema to see a horror movie again? Halloween is his favorite holiday! Hey, let's go together this year!
Do you understand what's going on? That's good! because he won't stop-
Yan!Class President - Who will never forget the day when he gave you your gift, every time you talk, his eyes always glide towards your fingers, that ring fit you perfectly!
(good thing you still didn't notice that barely visible sign on the side that reads "Eric's Property")
Yan!Class President - Who will always stay with you silly! you don't have to worry about loneliness! Because as soon as you enter adult life. he will be waiting with a bouquet of roses and chocolate..and of course an engagement ring!
"Everything is already planned my little star~"
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Despair: Merry Christmas my dears! I hope you get the best gifts in the world! and if you are already enjoying them, I wish you a lot of health and money! 😎🫴 Ho! Ho! guys!
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544 notes · View notes
imonanotherlebel · 1 month
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Look where the night led us..
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Genre: Smut, romance, established relationship
Pairing: Mingyu x reader
Warnings: Minors DNI, Sexual content, swearing, making out, penetrative sex, vulgar language, degradation, SA, Irresponsible drinking, irresponsible driving(drive safe kids), unprotected sex(use condoms y'all, they were made for a reason!) DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR!!!
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Oh shit, you kept swearing in your head. What did I get myself into....
***************
"What did I tell you about this skirt?", Mingyu half scolded into your ear as you tried your best to pull it down to cover up what it was supposed to cover in the first place.
You were at the club, with your boyfriend and your friends on a night out. And you had been so arrogant and decided to wear the tiniest skirt you could find, just to prove a fucking point. What? You may ask...
You had ordered a cute skirt and top online, and when you were about to place the order, Mingyu had warned you about how the skirt might be a tad too short. There were prettier skirts, but you had to ignore him and buy this one anyway. It wasn't until it arrived, and you tried it on, that reality hit you. Fuck. It really is a bit too short.
You decided to keep it shut and return it, hating to be proven wrong by your boyfriend. Until he himself remembered the skirt and top when you were complaining about not having anything new to wear for the night out.
"Why not, babe? That new skirt and top you ordered arrived last week, right?", he just had to mention right fucking now.
"Ummm.. Yeah... About that. I lost it. I think it's somewhere amongst my clothes but I just can't find it.", you lied.
"Oh, too bad.", Mingyu said as he pulled his t-shirt on, oblivious of your little lie. "Want me to look for it?", he asked, since he knew his way around the closet very well.
"I don't think we should waste our time, Gyu. We're running late.",you rushed him. He nodded. You almost thought you got away with it until.....
"Hey babe, look! I found it!", you heard him yell from the closet. You sprinted into the room and, there he was, holding exibit A in his hands. Well shit.
"Oh, thanks, baby.", you said. "But I think this is okay", you said, looking at your outfit.
"But you wore that last week when we went to the park, remember?"
There was no way you could get away from this. His memory is too good, and when it comes to outfits, he is pretty serious about it.
So you decided to take it from his hands and meet your doom. It's not like it's a big deal or anything. But the thought of being proven wrong by Mingyu and having him make jokes about it for the next two months or so might hurt your ego.
So you went ahead into your room and put it on. When you walked into the living room, Mingyu just knew something was fishy. I mean, even a person with low eyesight might be able to notice how you walked so uncomfortably. You looked like a newborn zebra.
"Give me a 360," he said, already knowing something's up. You did as he told.
"Too short, huh?", he asked, raising a brow.
"I mean a little. But it's the style. I wanted this to be like this. This is a trend, you know?", lies lies lies. You tried your best to lie.
"Oh yeah? What trend?", he asked, amused, yet buying none of your bs.
"The trend. You wouldn't know. It's a Pinterest trend.", you blabbered. "Come on, we're getting late", you added grabbing a coat and pulling Mingyu's arm. He did not get up.
"Come on, babe. Let's go now.", you said.
"Not until you wear something that actually covers your ass.", he said nonchalantly.
"Come on babe. It's not that short. It is the style. Let's just go", you pleaded.
"Or... You could just admit that I was right about it being too short when you were about to order it, change into something sensible and go.", he said, not dropping the attitude.
"Are you saying that you can't protect me?", you asked, giving him your attitude.
"What? No!", he screeched out. Yep. That did the trick.
"Well, it sounds like it", you continued... Yes! The win is mine!
"Come on baby, you know I don't mind what you wear as long as it is COMFORTABLE. I can protect you, infact the sexier you look, the more confident I feel for being able to bag a gem like you. But right now, you are just forcing yourself into that thing to prove a point.", he said seriously.
"Well, I am comfortable in this. I am telling you the truth", you replied arrogantly, frustrated that he knew you too well.
"If you say so then...."
"Then let's go. You're gonna be there with me.", you said, cutting him off mid sentence, grabbing his arm and tugging at it.
Mingyu let out a defeated sigh. You always had your ways with him. "Fine.", he sighed. "But if some motherfucker cat calls you, imma beat his ass." He added.
*Fast forward to a few hours later*
You were all tipsy now, a few drinks in. Your friends were already on the dance floor, taking over a part of it. Amelia, one of your friends, came up to you and pulled you along with her. As soon as you got up, you could feel the cold air hit your bottom half. Shit. Mingyu immediately pulled you back down. "You go ahead, Amelia. Y/n needs some water. She'll join you soon."
Amelia nodded tipsily and went ahead, leaving a very angry Gyu beside you. "I fucking told you y/n! It's too short, isn't it? You know it too, don't you?", he whispered angrily.
"It doesn't bother me that much", you shrugged off and got up to head towards your friends. But Mingyu was close behind.
You can't lie. You felt more than uncomfortable. Not just because it was too short, but also because of the cat calls and perverted stares you got from men. You knew the night was not going to end well, but you still were too arrogant to admit it to Gyu.
You felt his hands on you, pulling you to a side. "Here," he said, removing his jacket. "Tie this around your waist", he said as he himself started to tie it around your waist.
Not gonna lie. You felt grateful. It still didn't cover much. But it was much better than before. "It was fine. But, anything you say.", you mumbled, not admitting your gratefulness. You ran towards your friends and joined them on the dance floor.
It was fun, dancing with all your friends while Mingyu and his guy friends were in their seats. He wasn't drinking since he had to drive you guys home. He was just vaping with the dudes, keeping an eye on you.
One by one, your friends started to get more and more drunk. Resulting in a few of them ending up on the couch you guys had occupied. You were not that drunk, so you continued dancing with your friends. You were into it as the songs started to get hotter and hotter. The girls were wilding and grinding on everyone around you. And the girls were all over each other, pretending to be couples. That's just how you guys were, hence the fun and wild part. So you didn't mind much when you felt a pair of hand slide around your waist from behind.
However, it wasn't long before you felt like they were trying to move around too much. You looked around and it wasn't one of your friends, it wasn't Mingyu either. It was another fucking man! You tried to push him off you and get away, but it was difficult.
"I've been eyeing you since you entered this place, why did you have to wear this damn jacket and cover the best part, huh?", he said trying to slide his hands to your ass. It was disgusting. You looked to the side where Mingyu was while trying to push the dude away, but Mingyu and his friends were not to be seen. Your friends were too drunk to notice your problem.
"Gyu! Help me!", you screamed looking around you hoping to see your boyfriend somewhere. Oh no, they must have gone to the bathroom. Your eyes were starting to tear up when suddenly a huge sound came from behind you, the guy's grip on your body disappeared, and you saw the dude on the ground.
You quickly turned to the scene, and there was Mingyu. Before you could talk, Mingyu was on the man, punching him like a madman. Everything was happening so fast. Mingyu's friends rushed to his side and pulled him off the man before he killed him. You were frozen to the spot. Some other dudes pulled the man away from the scene before something worse happened.
Oh shit, you kept swearing in your head. What did I get myself into....
Your eyes finally met Mingyu's. His eyes were dark with fury, and he was breathing heavily. His friends were still holding him in place. Everyone knew Mingyu was a madman when he's angry. Anything goes when he's mad.
And you knew he would kill for you. The adrenaline was high, and you felt lightheaded. Before you knew, Gyu was grabbing your hand, pulling you along with him as he stormed outside.
He opened the door to your car, "In," he said. You obliged. He got into the drivers seat and banged the door shut. The engine roared to life, and before long, you were speeding through the city's streets.
The car was filled with silence and the air was thick with tension. You knew Mingyu was partially mad at you too.. It was kinda fair. I should have let my fucking ego down for one fucking day, shit.
"Gyu, baby...", you whispered, trying to get his attention. No response.
"I'm sorry. I should have listened.", you continued. You slowly let your hand touch his thigh, rubbing softly. He looked at you, his eyes still had the same darkness, but also something more. God! He is sexy!
There was this really bad habit of yours, or should we say Kink?
As nervous as you were when he gets mad, you also have this side where you get so turned on. You can't help it. He is so sexy and manly and dominant when he is mad. And so protective. It made you wet. And right now, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter.
The anticipation, the possibility of him fucking your brains out made your breath heavier. And without you knowing, you were whimpering, and Mingyu noticed.
"What do you have to say?", he asked looking at you, knowing this side of you very well.
"I'm sorry.", you whimpered. Feeling so so needy.
"And?", he asked again, this time his voice was lower. You glanced at him and his eyes were hooded. You knew where this was heading.
"I want you so bad", you said, making pleading eyes at him.
"What?", he asked again sternly, making you squeeze your legs together.
"I-I want you, Gyu...."
"Ask the right way, needy whore", he said not even looking your way. He knew you were riled up, he was too... These were times when you LOVED to be degraded.
"Daddy please, fuck me. Pleaseeee.", you whined.
"Spread those pretty legs for me, and rub that needy pussy baby", he ordered.
You slowly leaned back on your seat, spreading your legs apart. You kept looking at him while letting your hand slide into your panties, you skirt now ridden up. You started rubbing your dripping wet pussy, slowly......
The car took a turn and you guys were now driving through a very empty road. Soon the car came to a stop by the side of the road and you knew exactly where this is going.
Mingyu's eyes met yours, reading them almost... You felt the magnetic pull, and before you knew it, Mingyu pulled you into his lap in one swift motion. You quickly straddled him.
Mingyu's hands were quick to move. One on your hip, holding it in place as his other hand moved to your hair, pulling it roughly. "Look at me and stop wiggling.", he said. You look into his eyes, breathing heavily.
It was dark and mesmerising. You felt drunk from just looking into his eyes. He kept holding your face in place, staring into your soul as his other hand moved from your hip down to your ass.
"Not much fabric here. You like to play dirty, baby? Wanted to tease all the men around you, huh?" He said in a husky voice, it was so dirty. You wouldn't dream to do such thing, but being degraded like this, it just turned you on.
You gasped as you felt a sharp smack on your bottom. "Gyu," you moaned, looking into his eyes still.
"What do you want, whore?", he asked once more, loving the sense of power.
"I want you", you whispered hazily. You felt so drunk. Everything was a haze. And you haven't cum once yet.
He loved the look on your face; the way you looked so fucked out by a mere slap to your ass, the way your seductive big eyes have now turned into a hazy hooded situation, the fact that you were dripping on his lap. Oh fuck! What a lucky man.
His hands roamed your body, almost as if he was trying to find something in the dark. He was quick to move back to the main location as you guys were by the side of a road, with the possibility of being discovered by someone any moment.
Both his hands found your skirt, tugging at the fabric, almost playing with it. He smirked, looking at you. "Since this is already too short to cover anything, might as well make the best out of the situation and fuck you, huh?" He asked, his voice dropping lower and lower.
"I mean, in this position, it is only covering your hips, like a belt.", he continued, staring at your lower body. You felt so dirty, and you loved it! You squirmed under his gaze.
His hands rolled your skirt up, exposing everything, and the feeling of cold air hitting your lower area this time felt electric. You let out a soft whimper.
However, you couldn't get away with just whimpers for long because before you knew it, his fingers were already moving towards your underwear.
"Since you're so into showing Everything to Everybody, what's the use of this little thing, huh?", he said as he ripped your panties apart. He threw them to a side and focused on you.
He pushed your body a little back, making you lean on the steering wheel as he slowly took all of your messy, breathy state into his eyes. Then his eyes moved to your cunt, his fingers following closely behind his gaze. His finger slipped through your folds, testing the water.
"Shit, you're dripping wet, baby. You really are such a needy slut, aren't you? Answer me, baby girl...", he was starting to get pussy drunk. You could feel it. His eyes were starting to get hooded. You two really were a match made in heaven, the way you both were so addicted to each other..
You started to let out breathy moans as his fingers worked your pussy expertly. One squeezing your ass, as the other one rubbed your clit with so much precision. He just knew the perfect spots. You could feel the knot tightening in your lower abdomen, as you fought keep steady in this position.
"Two of his fingers entered into you, while the other hand rubbed you clit. The movements synchronise, making you squeeze your eyes shut. Your legs were starting to tremble.
You squeeze his shoulders, trying your best to stay balanced. "You are very much enjoying this, aren't you? Do you want to make things perfect, and cum for me now?", Gyu asked in the most sexiest way you could imagine a voice to sound, that itself helped you get over the edge. You felt your first orgasm wash over you, taking your breath away. You leaned back, almost hitting the horn in the process.
His left hand moved to your waist, holding you to prevent you from falling while he brought his other hand in between your faces. He looked at his wet fingers, and then at you. Then he brought his fingers to his lips, slowly licking each finger clean, and then licked his lips in the end. He looked straight into your eyes as he did that, making you feel even wetter than you already are.
He then grabbed your face and smashed his lips onto yours, kissing you with so much hunger and lust. It was rough, it was wet, and it was messy. Your hands roamed all over his body, loving the way his muscles flexed with the movements.
You both broke the kiss, fighting for air. "Want. You. In. Me." ,you let out between breaths. You managed to get your hands to move quickly down to his trousers, unzipping him in record time. You lowered the waistband of his boxers and grabbed his dick in your hands. It sprung free, and it was so so hard.
You looked at his face, and his mouth was agape, taking the amazing sight in front of him. However, he quickly reminded himself that HE WAS IN CHARGE and stopped you right in your tracks.
"Slow down there, baby. I will do what I want to do.", he leaned towards you while letting his hand pull you closer towards him. He planted a soft kiss on you neck, moving the kisses upwards, upto your ear. He kisses your ear softly and whispered, "And you wanna know what I wanna do right now?".
Your breath was stuck in your throat. The feelings were feelinging.
"Fucking answer me", he whispered angrily, biting your ear softly. You let out a moan.
"No, I don't know Gyu", you managed to say.
"Let me show you then", he said, and without a warning, he pushed his dick into your pussy. You felt the burn, oh yes, you did! Thank god, you were already dripping... "Oh my fucking god!", you screamed out.
He was thick, so thick and so big! You legit could feel him hitting somewhere up your stomach like seriously. You felt so full.
"Look at me", he said touching your face, "Look at me" he repeated, making you look at him. You did, the feeling was overwhelming.
He started to move in you, all the while keeping his eye contact. Oh fuck. I could cum immediately.
But your mind was too hazy to process it. He continued to fuck you, increasing his pace gradually. The direct eye contact, the way his mouth was slightly open, staring at you, your face, your lips, your eyes. It was so fucking hot.
He pulled you in for a kiss, kissing you everywhere he could find. You kissed his neck, sucking marks onto his skin. His movements stopped suddenly, and you leaned back.
"Ride me, baby", he ordered, leaning back onto the seat, holding your hips with both his hands. You bit your bottom lips, and slowly started to move. His hands were guiding you.
His hands were holding you tight and guiding you well, it helped you ride him easily.
The feeling was so good, and you could see that he was enjoying this very well too. Leaning back, moaning slightly, it was a sight to see. He looked so good! And the fact that it was only you who could make him like this, drew you crazy. "Fuck", you moaned out.
You grabbed his arms, trying to steady yourself, as the muscles were starting to sore and you felt a lot right now. He also started to thrust into you, holding you steadily, taking the reigns back to his hands.
You could feel him throb inside of you, and you also felt your orgasm nearing. "I'm close, Gyu ", you managed to say.
"Me too, baby. So close. Cum for me okay?", he said and increased his speed to max. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the thrusts hit harded and deeper each time. You just let incoherent words slip out of your mouth as you felt the maximum amout of pleasure you could feel.
Soon, you could feel the familiar wave of pleasure rolling towards you. "I'm cumming", you screamed out and he nodded. You let it take over you, and you moaned while riding out your high, feeling your legs tremble. Soon you felt his hot cum filling you up, and a few thrusts later, he stopped. You both were fucked up, for now atleast.
It took you both a minute to finally gather up the energy to speak, given the intense session you both just had. He slowly pulled out of you. And then he scooped you into his arms and placed you back into your seat.
"Don't ever wear that thing outside again," he finally spoke. "It's dangerous. What if I couldn't come help you in time?", he was starting to scold you. But really, you could hear the worry etched in his voice.
"I'm sorry Gyu, it was my fault.", you admitted sincerely. Tonight really was a shock.
"Oh, you will be," he replied cockily.
"Why?", you asked squinting your eyes at him.
"This was just the warm-up session, baby. The night is long." He said as he zipped himself up after cleaning with some wet wipes and tissues. He then started the engine and started to drive. You were dumbfounded.
You reached to grab a few tissues when Mingyu said, "Oh and by the way, if any of my cum has spilled out of you by the time we get home, you are going to regret it. So squeeze those pretty legs shut, baby.", he warned teasingly. Oh fuck! Tonight is going to be WILD.
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This was rotting in my drafts for a while now, and the previous ask made me want to post this.
Enjoy! <3
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ameliathornromance · 2 months
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"I don't know if this is a good idea." Your Orc Boyfriend told you.
"This place is fine!" You smiled at him. Gripped onto his hand, you pointed to the door of the Inn. "I already told you that they're welcoming to everyone. You'll be fine."
All around you, people stalk by, heads shrouded in cloak hoods and clutched tightly around their necks to stop the downpour of rain.
Your Orc Boyfriend grumbled as a gust of wind sent a chill down both of your spines. He looked over his shoulder, pulling the poorly fitting hood further over his face. He sighed. "Okay, let's get out of the cold then."
Beaming, you pushed open the Inn door. The two of you entered and were instantly hit with warmth. Chatter drowned out the bard who played at the very end of the tavern. But no one spared a glance at the two of you, even as your Orc Boyfriend pulled down his hood.
"Right, let's see if we can get something to eat." You mumbled. You pulled him away from the door, desperate to get further away from the cold draft that had followed you inside.
"(Y/N)? No, that's not you,"
Whipping your head around at the mention of your name, you couldn't stop your grin. "Boor? Is that you?"
"Boor?" Your Orc Boyfriend questioned, but there was no time to give an answer.
A human man, twice the size of a regular man, pushed his way through a crowd of Goblins to you. "It's been so long my friend!" He grabbed you and lifted you off the floor.
You let go of your Orc Boyfriend's hand and wrapped your arms around Boor.
Once you were let go, your boyfriend instantly pulled you into a protective grip. Hunching over you and crossing an arm over your chest protectively, your Orc Boyfriend shot a glower at the man.
Boor didn't even glance at your boyfriend, instead bending down to you, "are you well my friend?"
Sensing the tension from your partner, you placed your hand on his forearm and squeezed. "I'm good... Boor, I'd like you to meet my partner: (O/N)."
Boor finally acknowledged your boyfriend and gave him a toothy grin. "An Orc?! Amazing! I haven't seen any of you for a few years! I hope you and your kind are keeping well!"
Your Orc Boyfriend seemingly relaxed at his recognition and grunted in return. "We are well."
"Come, allow me to buy you drinks, we must catch up!"
"Actually," Your Orc cut off. "We should get a room."
"(O/N)'s right, sorry Boor." You smiled apologetically. "Maybe later, we're both freezing from travelling."
"Ah, if you must." Boor sighed, "I will see you later my friends!"
When you and your partner had been settled in a room, you both collapsed onto the bed. A fire crackled in the corner of the room, punctuating the silence.
"Who is this 'Boor' man?" Your Orc Boyfriend asked.
"Boor's a good friend of mine." You explained, "he's part man, part giant. Super friendly and kind, but not very good at reading other people." You snorted, "one time, we nearly got caught in a Drider's web because Boor said he promised to feed us. Little did we know, he was actually trying to fatten us up to eat."
"Sounds like a shit travelling companion." Your partner grumbled.
"He meant well." You rolled your eyes and smiled. Both of you returned to silence for a moment. "...Were you jealous?"
"No." Your Orc Boyfriend said too quickly. He rolled over, back facing towards you.
You could barely suppress a grin from coming over you. "You have nothing to be jealous of, I only have eyes for you." Placing a hand on his bicep, you leaned your head against the square of his back.
"..." Your partner didn't respond for a moment. Then he rolled over and scooped you up in his arms and squeezed you tightly. "Good. If it weren't for the Inn full of people, I would have beat him to death for even touching you."
You rolled your eyes and squeezed him tightly. "I'm glad you didn't. Otherwise we'd be camping outside again and I don't think that you would want to do that."
"It would be worth it if it meant protecting my partner."
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mun-in-rain · 3 months
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Insatiable
Pairing - Wriothesley x fem! Reader
Summary - Wriothesley loves you like crazy and fucks you hard. That's it. Lol
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“You know, it’s a full time job keeping this greedy cunt satisfied…” Wriothesley rasped in his husky voice close to y/n's ears. She moaned as Wriothesley fingered her, spreading her juices around inside her to relax and prepare her for his big cock. Given his huge size, he'd need to prepare her well. And he was a giver at heart, seeing her in pleasure was his pleasure.
Pumping his thick fingers inside her, he tapped onto a spot which he knew well to make her tremble. Y/n inhaled sharply, hissing as she was so close to the precipice. Wriothesley rubbed the pad of his thumb over and over her clit, driving his fingers, assaulting her G-spot, and y/n was overwhelmed with the barrage of pleasure. A fine sheen of sweat misted her body as her hips bucked to his thrusting wrist; she came with a shrill cry of climax, quivering all over, pleasure radiating in waves from her sex towards her entire being. Her wetness coated his fingers and her thighs as he slowly pulled them out of her squelching hole.
Unable to wait any longer with a raging hard-on, Wriothesley kissed y/n, tongue fucking her smart little mouth. He lifted her hips, placing his large calloused palms over her plump, creamy thighs, urging her knees to her chest. Then he lowered his protruding cock to her entrance, inch by delicious inch. The slippery, bulbous head slipped and disappeared instantly inside her, and he slammed down onto her with a single downward thrust. It was always a tight fit no matter how much the prep. But watching her struggle to take him ignited a flame inside him like no other. It made him
feral, a sense of animalistic possessiveness blooming in his chest along with a sense of pride that only he could ever make her feel so damn full.
“Ah, Fuuuck! You’re so tight!” Wriothesley groaned, his filthy praises making Y/n's walls ripple around his shaft, squeezing him like a tight fist. "Wrio, please slow down!" She pushed onto his broad and unyielding chest in a futile attempt to request for a pause. Y/n moaned and squeezed her insides involuntarily, eliciting a growl from him. He picked up the rhythm, slow and steady, yet so hard and deep while his fingers wove magic on her clit and his other hand busied itself on her bouncing tits, flicking them restlessly. “Grab the pillow, and don’t let go.” Wriothesley demanded possessively.
Then he drove his big cock to the root into her tight wet pussy, working it up like a battering ram, shoving her up the bed. His weighty testicles slapped her ass, a sound so erotic that it turned each other on; he got harder, she got wetter. Squelching sounds of their pumping sex speared the air along with y/n's gasps and Wriothesley's grunts of pleasure. Her nipples, now hard as little pebbles bounced along on their round breasts, teasing and tickling Wriothesley's chest. Sweat shimmied down from his godlike body onto her pert tits, causing her to tingle all over.
“Don’t come. Make it last.” Wriothesley whispered huskily into her ear, sucking on her earlobe, fucking her at a speed which only a man of his divine physique was able to achieve.
“W-what?-mmh, ngh, ah, AHH…” y/n whimpered as he speared his big, rock-hard cock into her hot wet depths. She twisted her fingers and bit her lip, gripping the pillow with white knuckled force in an attempt to stave off her rapidly building climax.
“Oh, Wrio… I’m going to come if you don’t slow down…” y/n begged.
"Oh no baby, you don't get to come until I say so." He whispered into her ears, feeling her shiver with the dominant edge to his command. This is exactly what drove her desires wild. His possession, his control, his ability to hold her body in a state of continuous, deliriou, all consuming arousal. He knew she wanted it just like that. He knew she got off to having her body at his mercy. It took the weight off her shoulders. In his arms she felt so liberated, so loved, so carefree, so helpless, unable to do a thing while he bullied her pussy into submission like the whore that she was for him.
Wriothesley then angled his thrusts, y/n could feel the plush wide crest of his cock rubbing on a sweet, sweet spot deep inside her. Her lips quivered involuntarily in anticipation for orgasm, but she tried her best to stop the dam from bursting, to make it last…
“Please, Wrio…I c-can’t…” she moaned helplessly as her toes curled in tiny tingles of shockwaves.
“Don’t you want to cum, baby?” Wriothesley teased. “Come y/n, just cum on my cock. That's it, just like that, my beautiful little slut-"
He couldn't even finish and y/n was thrown over the edge. With his dirty praises she came, crying out his name, the sheets bunching under her iron grasp. Her back bowed up into Wriothesley's big body, shuddering as the sheer force of the climax wreaked havoc on all her senses. Her arms fumbled around to have him to hold on to and she scratched up his muscular back.
White light burst into dazzling fireworks underneath her closed eyelids. She screamed out garbled versions of Wriothesley's name, unable to form coherent speech as pleasure spiked through her in jolts of electricity. Tears prickled her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. Goosebumps ran up her arms, her toes curled as pleasure unfurled in her womb, her nipples beaded as her skin was so oversensitive. Her hot wet slick coated his pistoning cock and balls and seeped out of her onto the sheets.
Wriothesley was close behind, thrusting through her orgasm. Her climax had her inner walls rippling and clamping down on him, making his climax inevitable. He whispered to her his praises of how she was such a good girl, so obedient, so pliant, so submissive, so beautiful, how much he loved her, how lucky he was to have her, and how blessed he was that his lover craved everything he'd always wanted to give. His thrusts became erratic and then he came with a growl, his back arching, chest pinning her down onto the bed, stilling and emptying himself inside her with thick strings of hot, sticky cum. His Adams apple bobbed as he groaned in release. Y/n could feel him spurt and spill his essence deep in her, and it felt like a million feather-light fingers tickling and teasing her insides. She gasped and panted, fighting for breath and feeling incredibly full.
Resting himself on his arms, with himself still lodged inside her, he gave her one of his sexiest smirks, his rapid breaths slowly coming down to normal. She smiled back breathlessly, love and affection blooming in the depths of her eyes. Wriothesley leaned down to kiss her forehead, her nose, her cheeks and finally her lips. He held her close, wrapping his arms around her, melding her body to his. Then he whispered into her ears "Are you sore, or can you take me again?"
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beanghostprincess · 5 months
Text
zolu is a very asexual couple in the sense that they do have sex and are attracted to each other but their attraction doesn't come from the arousal of seeing each other's bodies sexually. it comes from possessiveness and passion and the privilege of worshipping the other to the point of needing to touch and pleasure each other. their relationship goes so beyond love and sex that their way of making love is indescribable. they need each other emotionally and physically in every way.
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ghostarii · 7 months
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CAN’T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU ! ~ JING YUAN . ❛ i want your bliss on bliss; a little company!
˖ ⁺ ⫾  CONTENT WARNING fem!reader ❱ golf dad!jing yuan ❱ dilf!jing yuan ❱ groping ❱ praise ❱ breeding kink ❱ size kink ❱ perv!jing yuan ❱ PWP!!!!! ❱ age gap ❱ cunnilingus ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ pussy drunk!jing yuan ❱ locker room sex ❱ jy’s kinda gross ❱ coercion ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (pls stay safe) ❱ pet names (mostly pretty [girl] & little one ❱ dubious consent ❱ dirty talk ❱ not proofread in the slightest ❱ minors and dc antis do not interact.
˖ ⁺ ⫾  TIP i’ve had this idea floating around in my wee wittle brain for quite some time so here’s perv golf dilf jing yuan ! ! i didnt rlly have a plot for this nor an idea on how to execute the vibe in my mind so truly i apologize if this is not that good :’( this got way messier than intended n i took forever writing it cause i kept getting stuck. i rlly rushed this toward the end cause i rlly wanted to post it so i rlly hope u guys like it 😿 rbs n feedback is always greatly appreciated <33 (pls don’t report i worked rlly hard on this n comm guidelines r so mean)
˖ ⁺ ⫾  GB 7.2k+ words .
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JING YUAN CAN’T help it. He doesn't know what drives him to do it; to stare at you until holes are burned in you or touch you carelessly or talk about you like you're a piece of meat, he can't help it. It's akin to a primal urge, or manly instinct that makes him defile you disgustingly and unapologetically—and it makes him feel like a gross teen boy whose dick grows hard at the simple mention of women, but it's something about this aura of naivety and peace that swarms you that brings this carnal desire out of him. You’re the perfect prey, helpless, unsuspecting, and trusting of the ill-intended, hungry predator. Everything makes his heart flutter and his stomach gnarl—he turns into a different man because of you.
Friendly, neighborhood, retired Army General and current Xianzhou Police Chief Jing Yuan was a mask to cover perverse, snobby, and icky pervert Jing Yuan; the one who got a kick at making you do silly tasks so he can stare up your skirt and who always told you to take a seat so he can press up on you and grope you indistinctly. He sees you and immediately a deviant fire is kindled in his chest, his cheeks heat up and his skin runs cold. It's nasty, but he can't help it.
He needs you selfishly. He can't stand to watch you talk to other men and tend to their needs—sure, it's your job to pour them lemonade and escort them to the spa and guide them around the country club for a look at all the activities, and he respects that you're a hard and diligent worker, but seeing you with other men boils his blood. It's as if the lines between reality and his fucked up fantasy world have blurred, and you belong to him, you're his woman and he stakes his claim on you like a wild animal. Jing Yuan likes how you don't question how he suddenly needs your assistance, and that it's impossible for anyone but you to do it, because it lets these other men know that you respond to him. He's never felt this way about a woman before, not even the mother of his own child, so it means you're special. You mean much deeper to him than you could ever understand and all he wants is your company and to love you down into the cage of his heart.
It's not a crime to have a crush. It's not a crime to be in love with a woman you barely know. And it's not a crime to imagine her stuffed with your kids after watching her interact with yours. A crime? No. Weird? Maybe; but Jing Yuan does it anyway.
On the occasion when he brings Yanqing to the club, he gets on his best behavior. They play friendly games of golf and lounge about in the garden area, and eat up a storm in the illustrious dining hall—normal father-and-son things. Nothing out of the ordinary, people wouldn't even know that all Jing Yuan could think about was you and how sweet your pussy must taste as he eats ice cream with his son. He stays on his best outward behavior, truly—you wouldn't have even known he was in the bathroom jerking off because something about you today set him off.
He walks into the dining hall, looking around to see you. Yanqing had run off to the pool ages ago, so Jing Yuan had some time to himself…or, rather, time for you and him. He thought about how he would take you and claim you for far too long now. He thinks about it too much, actually. And that’s insane; considering the fact that you only started working at Stargazer Navalia Country Club two months ago.
He goes to his usual spot: against the wall on the northeastern side of the hall. It's slightly tucked away, the ceiling lights on that side are dim and the roaming eyes of others are limited. It's perfect for him when he touches you and even more perfect to convince you to have a seat and chat with him. You always listen, always fall for his lonely old man act, even though you've seen him with his snob friends Luocha and Dan Feng, and he's more than well-known around the community—he’s far from lonely, but his lips utter such pitiful deception that you can't help but spare him some of your company.
Jing Yuan has been doing this for a few weeks. He’ll invite you over for a refill of the house's special lemonade, sipping the juice as soon as you finish pouring, letting his lips smack obnoxiously, his tongue running across his top lip, and muttering out an “Ahh, so sweet…”, keeping eye-contact with you. His plump, rosy lips will break into a smile at your widened eyes and flustered expression, and that's when he asks you to stay. “Wouldn’t you give me a moment of your time? C’mon…call it…customer service.”
Usually, he’ll sit across from you and ask about your day. He’ll listen to your short spiels about your coworkers or your university and even your extremely personal information about your family and friends. It's cute how you open up with abandon, and he likes how apologetic you get when you feel like you’ve spoken too much. He’ll reach across the table and tap your pouted lips, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Keep going,” and he stares at your lips as you talk his ear off. But today—today, Jing Yuan is pushing the limits.
He invited you over, and instead of you sitting across from him, he pulls the chair next to him. Your proximity is close, no closer than ever before, but close enough that you feel like he can hear your heartbeat. He drapes a buff arm around the back of your chair, the pads of his fingers just barely ghosting over your biceps. He takes a deep breath, presumably to settle into his seat but actually to breathe you in. You smell sweet. He wonders if you taste sweet.
“How was your day?” the man starts. It's okay, it's fine, it’s just Jing Yuan—he’s fine! You nod your head, “Okay…not too eventful but um…kind of busy.” He immediately replies “Yeah? Tell me about it.”
Your shift started at eleven o'clock this morning, and you clocked in slightly late earning your managers, Ms. Yukong, mouthful of scolding. “Again? This is the third time in a row…” She was a strict woman. Yukong was adamant about running an establishment—not a job. In her mind, there's a distinct difference, a fine line that separates Stargazer Navalia Country Club from other leisure resorts, and that line was drawn by poise, professionalism, and punctuation—the three Ps. You essentially lacked all of that. You’re always late, and if you’re not late, you’re just barely making it, you run around a lot and don't collect yourself. Oftentimes, you take on too much than you can handle and overwhelm yourself, making a fool of yourself before the very opinionated eyes of the patrons. And you were clumsy. The country club was your first service job and your first job ever. You wouldn't have gotten the job if your parents didn’t force independence upon you and you complained to your friend, Tingyun, about your unfair predicament, and she promised to put in a good word for you to her boss. That good word was a basket full of fabrications and exaggerations. Yukong told you that you were fortunate to be allowed to work at the club, but it was hanging in the balance if you didn’t step up your game.
Jing Yuan hadn’t expected a full rant, but he was glad that you felt like you could talk to him. He wants to hold you, tell you that Yukong is a miserable bitch and she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. You can't do any wrong—that woman wouldn’t know poise, professionalism, and punctuation if it slapped her across the face, so who was she to criticize perfection?
He gets even more upset when your chest starts to heave and you’re blinking back tears, explaining how you cried after leaving Yukong’s office and felt so useless and stupid. And you made it your mission today to do your best. No overworking, no clumsiness, and no more strikes earned. Your head was on a dart board, and Yukong was aiming at the bullseye.
You told him you just wanted to be good. To be worth something because you aren't incompetent. If only you knew how he saw you.
Tears run down your warm cheeks and your frowned lips curve into a sad smile, a laugh escaping as you pat away tears from your eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to cry…”
“…I should be getting back to work…” You move to get up but Jing Yuan stops you, his big hand on your thigh. This isn't new, but your eyes meet and you almost burst into tears again. Your lips frown up again and quiver and your eyes gloss over—oh, you poor thing. He squeezes your thigh as if to tell you you’re okay, but when that doesn't seem to stop the tidal wave of tears from beating at the barrier of your blinking eyelids, he pulls you in.
It's a hug. You've hugged people before. You do it all the time. Even to him—you’ve hugged Jing Yuan before, but this? This is different. He cradles the back of your head as you rest your cheek on his shoulder and he kisses your hair softly. He’s warm, like the summer heat, and your body feels like it’s on fire. His fingers stroke at your hair as if he was trying to soothe your feelings, and it works, you sniffle and softly whimper, curling your fingers against his thighs. He's taking care of you and if only you could understand what you’re doing to him. His cock is slowly growing stiffer and heat lights beneath his skin as it does yours. You feel so weak and small in his hold and God, is it doing something to him. Your breathing brushes your tits against his side and he wants to feel them pressed against his chest as he pounds into you. Your sniffles and tears that form small puddles on his shirt make him think about how you would cry from overstimulation and his big cock stretching you out.
He needs to get a grip. To stop his gross thoughts but it's no use when your entire existence is an aphrodisiac to him. It was a short hug, no longer than a minute, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. When you pull away, Jing Yuan can't look at you. He can't look at your flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, clumped lashes, and pouted lips—he can’t look because he won’t be able to contain himself. You clear your throat and sit up, wiping your eyes and smudging your cheap mascara. He’s slightly upset that you’re leaving already, so before you go, he pinches the hem of your shirt, pulling you back.
“It's gonna be okay, little one. Have a good day.” He pats your head and smiles at you. You get flustered and quickly nod, running off as if to disappear.
You find it hard to have a good day when you’re wrapped up in your head, thinking about Yukong, yourself, and Mr. Jing Yuan. He was a nice man, sometimes too nice and you were unsure if that was a negative or a positive.
His touches feel like they’re burned into your skin. When you think about his tight, warm, and world-erasing hug, your skin tingles and births goosebumps to the surface. When you think about his deep, reverberating voice praising you and denying the existence of imperfection in you, you run hot. It’s a dangerous juxtaposition that left you an unfocused mess, productivity being the last thing of your concern. How bothered your body felt was in big bold letters in your brain, and it was hard to not prove Yukong’s harsh words about you right. You needed to get it together, but it was hard when Jing Yuan lingered in your mind like a deadly plague.
You catch Tingyun up during your dishes duty, scrubbing the dirtied plates, bowls, spoons, and forks and passing them to the girl to be dried. She laughs at you, shaking her head as she spins her hand around the inside of the porcelain bowl. “Can I be honest with you?” You nod at Tingyun’s question, “his intentions are less than pure. He’s nice and all but I think you should create boundaries. I don't like how every time you tell me about him he's grabbing on you and stuff…”
You have an issue with seeing the best in people. You can’t see anybody as evil—their actions don’t define their character in your mind and that's a fatal flaw. You shake your head at Tingyun’s words, smiling, “I don’t agree. He’s just…I don’t know.” you shut the water off, and set down the plate in your hand. “I think he’s just lonely—”
“—He has friends. His golfing buds…?” She points out. You sigh and shake your head. “Yeah, but they don't come to the club often.”
Tingyun rolls her eyes. “Can you be for real? What company can you provide to a man who’s nearly double your age?”
On that front, Tingyun had a point. You’re still in college, barely coasting your way through your third year and Jing Yuan is in his mid-to-late thirties, pushing forty. He was a dad and you were a student. He lived his life—he’s on his second career, and you’ve only just barely begun working your first job. You never knew what to talk to him about and you never understood what he talked about. There was a disconnect, but you felt like that didn't impede the slight friendship you had. “He just needs someone to talk to!”
“Didn't know talking included his hands on your ass but okay.” Her snide remark makes you frown. He wasn’t all that bad. Tingyun didn't get it.
Her eyes immediately meet yours and she softens. “Sorry.” You nod to her apology, cutting the tap back on and resuming your work. You didn't like to be judgemental and you wanted to give Jing Yuan the benefit of the doubt. He wasn’t all that bad and you liked him—for the most part. She pats your shoulder softly. She does mean well. “Just be safe, okay?”
“You never know what’s going on in someone's head.”
It’s so hot. The weather forecast called for unbearable heat and ungodly levels of humidity. The sun was angry at the world, shining down harshly and roasting your skin. Surprisingly, the club had seen the most members today. It was filled to the brim, bustling and condensing heat at every corner that you couldn’t escape.
Your uniform was dripping in sweat and it was sticking to your skin. Your hair, pulled away from your face, felt like it was dripping onto your shoulders. You were hot. And luckily for you, Qingque had taken off from work today due to the heat, leaving her shift open. You swooped in and took the role, slipping off your uniform when the clock hit 2:30 and sliding into the lifeguard swimsuit. It was tight fitting but comfortable and paired with the visor blocking the mean sun from your face, you felt fine.
Lathering a security layer of sunscreen onto your skin, you make your way to the pool, reciting Yukong’s words in your head. You had met with her at the beginning of your shift where she told you this was your last chance. Lifeguarding wasn’t some fun easy-money task. Screwing around the way you usually do could be at the cost of someone’s life and she wouldn’t put anyone at risk. At all. So you go with your head up and a warm smile, climbing up and sitting down with a hawk eye on the pool.
The water was clear blue and rippling. Bare flesh and bright swimsuits are blurred and hazy under the surface of the water. It’s a nostalgic scene, sweet chatter and giggles from the playing children, splashing water, and pattering wet feet on the hot pavement work together to induce peace upon you. This is a scene you could get used to, especially when Jing Yuan emerges from the water.
He looks divine. His upper body is exposed, large muscles flexed as he lifts his body weight from beneath the water, resting on the edge of the pool. His water-darkened hair slumps heavily in his ponytail, flipping over as he shakes his head, ridding of the water. And the water spills down his skin deliciously, thick droplets pathing down his body. It’s a sight to behold and you can't help but stare.
Jing Yuan wonders if this is how you feel. Ogled and objectified down to the bone. Your shade-hidden eyes bore into him when they should be watching the children. But he likes it. He feels like today is going to be a good day.
He comes to the pool often, usually just watching Yanqing show him his “tricks”, but he notices the order. The lifeguards cycle every forty-five minutes. He noticed it the first time when one of them took off immediately after jumping in after a panicking Yanqing, but today it was going to come to his aid. Today was the day. He’d waited too long, thought about it too hard…Jing Yuan’s fantasy world was going to pour into reality. That in itself was a terrible horror.
He waits patiently for forty-five minutes. Splashing water with his son occasionally, stepping out of the pool for a rest, or waving at you as he floats atop the water. Forty-five minutes. Tick tock.
He stops you on your way inside. His towel was thrown over his shoulder and his wet hair slung up into his fixed ponytail. You’re so enthralled by his state that you aren't taking into consideration the lazily fabricated lie that he needed your urgent attention to. You were no dummy. Jing Yuan is an overly attractive man, but he was out of your league and the father to a boy only seven years younger than you. Your lives were incompatible and frankly, he wasn't what you were looking for. Attractive? Yes. Boyfriend material? Not so much.
Regardless, you follow him to the locker room to look for his supposed missing watch. You ask him where his locker is located and he points around the corner, “125D.” His locker is tucked off around the corner, deep in the row and far from anyone’s initial line of sight. You see his golf bag resting against the wall and Yanqing’s goggles on the bench and make your way to it, “Where did you last have the watch?”
This was way out of your jurisdiction, and, besides, he was the police chief—what the hell could you do to help him find a missing watch? Nonetheless, you listen intently as he provides the details: he took it off to go swimming, placed it on the shelf in the locker, and came back to find it missing. You nod slowly, diligently looking through the slim locker. There’s not much in it and not much space a watch could slip through, so you’re confused. It's clearly not here. “I don't think I can be much help for you, you’re better off checking with whoever was in here last.”
And then his body is close to you. Your proximity thickens with the chlorine and sandalwood scent he carries, and his broad form towers over you. Your breath hitches and your body tenses as a large hand lays against the back of your thigh, running up your bare skin until it meets the curve of your ass. He doesn't say anything. Neither do you. You feel like you’re frozen, stuck beneath him, and that only urges him further.
His other arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you in, resting his chin on your shoulder and breathing you in with a deep breath. You can feel his exhale on your neck and you shudder, pushing away to create distance. Jing Yuan only tightens his big grip on you, “I want you…” he murmurs, leaning into your neck. His lips ghost over your skin and you squirm, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. This can't be happening. Not here. Not now.
You try to tell him that but it's futile. He presses his slightly chapped lips against your neck in fluttery kisses, wrapping his lips around nips of skin every now and then and leading a path to your collarbone. He steals a look at you from the side, “Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop.”
He now frames your body beneath his, pressing you against the cold lockers. You wince at the harshness of how he handles you—how his hands incessantly run up and down your body and gropes your assets and how he grinds his dick against your ass. He breathes heavily against you, grunting and growling in your ear as he edges himself closer and closer to the brink of losing control.
You try to speak up. To tell him you can't do this and that here is not the place. But you part your lips to object, only for a whimper to escape in its place. You’re shaking your head no but it opposes the sounds that leave you and the subconscious grind back of your hips. Jing Yuan uses his right hand to cup your pussy with a hardened gaze watching your reaction: your eyes widen and then squeeze shut, and you roll your lips inward, pressing them shut. He feels a slight throb when he presses his fingers against your sex, and the heat that radiates from you is all telling. “Stop fighting it…don’t deny it…you need me to take care of you.”
Kisses on your neck resume as he rubs your clothed clit, using the way your knees buckle as leverage to slightly bend your over, grinding into you rougher. “Can't you feel how hard you make me, baby? Fuck,” he whispers, his grinding now turning into desperate rutting. “Indulge me, just a little…say yes…”
You’re shaking your head no, fighting his words. You think that if you close your eyes hard enough you’ll wake up in the real world and this will have all just been in your head. The sight of the lockers in front of you dispels that thought instantly. You fight against your own body, swallowing down the sounds of pleasure that rumble in you at his touch. You promised Yukong you would do a better job. You liked working here. If she found out you had sex with a customer during work hours in the public locker room, she’d have your head on stake. But God, he knew what he was doing. It’s like Jing Yuan knows how to get into your head. All of his innuendos day in and day out, his flirtatious banter, and his wandering eyes the past few months have been test runs on you that he’s conducted for his fucked up memory log. So he could prepare for this moment. So he knew how to make you weak and make you succumb to his advances. You were a nice girl with a hard time saying no. You always indulged his requests and always did what was told to you. His constant “Say yes, baby. Say it. You know you want this,” in your ear was persuasive enough for your weak resolve. Soon enough, you’re quietly parroting his words.
“Y-yes…I…I want it,” you huff out, and he stops.
Jing Yuan lets you go—pulling off of you and spinning you around. Then, he’s swiftly pushing you against the lockers, caging you in with his big arms on either side of you. His golden eyes are richer, darkened with fantasy and lust as they bore into yours. His rosy lips curve into a sinister smirk, “Look me in my eyes and say you want me to fuck you.”
Your eyes meet, locking with each other softly. You’re telling yourself in your head that you can say no, but your mouth moves first, “I want you…to…” you grow shy at the words, and Jing Yuan smiles at you. He steps closer, grabbing your chin softly and your waist with his free hand, pulling you in. “Sweet girl…” he mumbles, brushing his lips against yours and bumping your noses.
Your kiss is sweet. It's the type of fairytale kiss, the type of wonderful kiss that whips the air out of you and has fireworks blowing in your pretty little head. Your lips mold and work together, and he takes his time getting acquainted with your mouth. He waits until you part your lips on your own to invade your mouth, and even then, he tenderly explores the cavern. He kisses you with dominance and experience. He kisses you with passion and desire. He kisses you like he’s in love with you.
You wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him into you, chasing his kiss as if he was trying to leave you. It begins to heat up. Impatience grows like mold between the two of you, you begin to want and need each other more. His hand gripping your chin wraps briefly around your neck to pull you closer, and his hand around your waist moves to your ass, cupping a cheek in his palm and roughly squeezing. He sucks on your tongue, moaning deeply into your mouth. Teeth start to clash and tongues start to bump and spin, spit dribbling out of your mouths. He bites onto your bottom lip as he pulls away, and then catches the drool running down your face with his tongue, running back up on its path to your mouth. With your saliva on his tongue, he kisses you harshly one last time—a kiss that makes you lean your head against the lockers behind you, giving him access to the expanse of your neck.
He admires the hickeys he already left, kissing them tenderly before leaving a few more. His teeth drag on your neck, and he's pulling the straps of your swimsuit down your arms. It's agonizingly slow and you look away, not able to face him as he unveils your body to him.
It's like a dream. Even better than. All of his fantasies and perverted thoughts haven't done any justice to how you look—the most perfect, pretty boobs with hard nipples that are begging to be played with, the most gorgeous frame that pops even more without your clothes, your dips and curves begging to be filled by his grip, and your pretty pussy, which he takes his time getting to and unveiling. He gets on his knees, kisses your soft thighs, and slowly pulls your swimsuit down to your ankles. You try to hide, feeling vulnerable and anxious in your fully naked state but he pulls your legs apart, kissing the inside of your thigh. “You’re beautiful…”
“Prettiest thing I've ever seen…” he says, trailing up your legs. He doesn't give you time to fall into your mind. He exhales deeply, letting the air from his nose blow against your pussy. You squirm but he pulls your legs apart again, looking up at you as he places a chaste kiss on your slit.
You’re already wet, susceptible to his touch, and fragile. You slightly leak past your labia and his lips shine in your slick. Eye contact remains as he licks your arousal off his lips, swallowing your taste with a satisfied hum. “So sweet, too. Better than I ever imagined.”
Something about his admission flusters you. You knew he enjoyed your company, but you didn't know he put thought into you this way. It flatters you, to say the least, and your body responds in a very telling way: your clit throbbing and hole clenching in need.
Jing Yuan smiles at how you can't hold eye contact with him and how you look down at him with urging eyes. Your body gives him the okay your mouth fails to do, and he dives in, wedging his tongue between your folds to lick a thick stripe. You gasp loudly and slam your palm against the locker behind you, seemingly caught off guard by his action. And then he does it again. This time, making his way to your clit slowly, only to circle around the bud but not pay it any attention. And again, this time only lightly flicking your clit with his tongue and ghosting over it but ultimately focusing on collecting your sweet juices, slurping it down with an obnoxious volume.
Your position is fixed—you’re stuck. Your legs are draped over his shoulders as you basically sit on his face, and he holds you tightly by your soft thighs. Your gaze is filed unto each other, unmoving, and he watches with glee at how you react when he finally gives your clit attention. He wraps his lips around the bud, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. You practically burst into tears. You moan out, immediately threading your fingers in his white locks. “Oh, fuck,”
He abuses your clit until your voice goes hoarse. He doesn't care that people could probably hear you. He wants them to. He wants them to hear his name flow from your mouth like syrup out of a maple tree—thick in lust and fatally sweet. Your moans sound even prettier in reality. Jing Yuan has come to the conclusion that you are one of a kind. No wild or active imagination could do you justice. He could eat you out for days—you’re just so sweet and so easy to please. Your clit getting sucked on sets you off and when he runs his thick tongue through your sloppy folds to collect your stream of arousal, you whine even louder, competing with his slurping and licking noises.
“I want you to cum on my tongue, pretty girl,” he says, pulling away from your folds. “Wanna taste all of you,” and he presses a kiss to your clit. You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding rapidly, “Please! Wanna cum so bad…”
He’s determined now. Like a man starved, he practically feasts on you. His tongue is everywhere—licking and swirling from every direction and it drives you insane. You can feel the burning tension in your gut churn and to egg its release out of you, you toy with your nipples, resting your head against the lockers as ecstasy overcomes you. You whine and whimper out meek little “Yes!”’s and “Oh, God!”’s like those are the only words you know, feeling your orgasm so close that it heats your skin to the touch.
Your back arches and eyes blow wide, your body fighting against itself. You trap his head between your thighs but push his head away, damn near screaming at the top of your lungs that it's too much and you can't take it. This pushes Jing Yuan to do more, to tighten his hold on your thighs and suffocate himself in your pussy. Knock the tip of his nose against your puffy clit and probe your clenching hole with his tongue. His jaw hurts but he keeps it up well, humming and moaning endlessly to send warm vibrations through your skin. His name breaks off of your tongue so weakly and your head feels light. It's like something in you snaps, like all composure and decency melts off of you in an instant. You could care less about Yukong or anybody else for that matter. This entire room could cease to exist and it wouldn't matter because Jing Yuan has blasted you off to cloud nine. The feeling of his tongue swimming through your folds is pleasure in its purest form and it pushes you to the deep end, drowning you in overwhelming ecstasy.
The grip you have on his hair tightens and you pull the long locks as if it’d stabilize you from the wreckage your pending orgasm was bringing upon you. A silent moan falls from your lips, followed by an airy plea, “J-Jing Yuan, please..!” Your voice falters and falls into another broken moan. Your back arches yet again and your hips buck into his face, and there it is. That tight band in your stomach snaps and your orgasm wracks through you roughly. Your thighs shake and your chest heaves heavily—you feel like you can't breathe. And he doesn't let up, wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit for the harshest suck of the night, humming happily as you squirm and spasm in his hold.
You come undone, dripping down his face like a rushing waterfall. He cleans you up with his tongue, continuing to help you come down from your high even as you whimper and sniffle from overstimulation. With peppery kisses, he pulls away from your pussy, licking his lips clean and rolling his eyes at your taste. “You did so good for me, baby.”
A carnal glint shines in his eye as he takes your waist in his hands, pulling you into him for a kiss. Your lips connect with fervor. He immediately establishes dominance, invading your mouth with hunger and greed. Your teeth clash and knock and your tongue is bullied by his. Your taste on his mouth is strong and it's hard to ignore it, and on him, it tastes wonderful. Your legs are jelly, useless. He holds you up with his hands but ultimately decides to press you against the lockers once again, grinding his painfully aching hard-on onto your thigh. No. This can't happen. The longer you're in the locker room with him, the more risk that's run. People are going to start leaving the club soon, and you don't know what you’d do if they caught you like this.
You try to push him away but he only presses into you more, rutting against you more desperately and aggressively. You gave him an inch, and now he's going to take a mile.
He growls against your lips before pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. “Gotta have you, baby,” he starts, pulling down his swim trunks. His hard cock jumps out, leaking and hard and so thick it makes your eyes bulge out of your head. You can't do this. You open your mouth to protest but he just kisses you again, shutting you down instantly. He takes your hand in his, bringing it down to his dick, and forces you to hold his girth in your hand. He's heavy and hard. Two prominent veins bulge and throb and his angry tip spills milky beads of precum into a pool in his slit. He makes you jerk him off, groaning into your mouth deeply, “Fuck. Need you so bad, little one. Need your sweet little pussy wrapped around me, need to feel you, to fill you—oh, fuck. Let me? Give me that, please.”
He practically begs you. He ruts into your hand and speaks into your mouth like a bitch in heat—you’re finding it hard to deny him. And he keeps begging. Keeps nipping at your lips and swiping your jaw now and then with his tongue. He's desperate. And you feel like you have no choice. “…Okay.”
Jing Yuan doesn't notice the uncertainty in your tone. He nearly jumps for joy, kissing you so passionately and hooking his hands on your ass, hoisting you up into the air. You squeal and he laughs, kissing you again as he properly positions his tip at your entrance. “Been thinking about this since I first laid eyes on you,”
As he starts talking, he slowly slides you down on his length. You gasp and wince—he’s so fucking big. Your nails immediately dig into his shoulders and you try to brace yourself, but good God, it’s like he’s splitting your body into two. He slowly sinks in, kissing your cheeks and mumbling praises that don't do much to ease the burn of the stretch. You almost want to stop, but he's like a brick wall. Impossible to get through.
“You’re so tight…” He feels like he’s breaking you in. Like you’re untouched and not prepared to take him and it sets him off. Your whimpers are sweet and the way you hug him like you're scared to let go ignites that all-too-familiar carnal flame. He wants to ravage you. It takes a few moments but he finally bottoms out with a deep groan. “So tight…so wet…fuck, it's like you’re made for me.” He does an experimental thrust and his heart swells at how you moan into his ear and clench around him tighter. “Taking me so well,”
This starts a rhythm of slow thrusts, the two of your bodies getting to know each other. Jing Yuan is so big and he feels even bigger inside of you. Your cunt feels like it's being reformed in its shape, stretching around him widely to accommodate every bit of him. And your pussy around him was so worth the wait. Your gummy walls welcome him with a tight, warm hug, and you leak down his length unabashedly. The combination of your arousal and his slow thrusts get you two acquainted quickly, and he steadily starts to pick up the pace.
Jing Yuan has shortly found his rhythm. He thrusts up into you while simultaneously maneuvering your hips down and you’ve never felt anything like this before. He pounds you. Hard. Rough. And slowly gains speed. His heavy balls slap at your ass and your puffy clit kisses his pelvis and it all makes you weak. You bury your head into his neck and pull him closer to you, feeling enveloped in his strong hold. How he's easily able to hold you up and fuck you the way is he makes your stomach churn and knot. There's a rhythmic slapping that coordinates with his grunts and your cries and it's so loud and lewd, you’re sure the whole country club knows what you're doing. But it doesn't bother you. Because yet again, Jing Yuan works your body like an expert, plunging into your depths so well that you can't do anything but clench and drip around him like a broken faucet.
His hands are on your ass, squeezing and slapping your cheeks to make you squeal out, practically yelling his name for the masses. It all feels too good. He knows what he's doing—how to angle his hips and find your G-spot almost instantly and abuse it until you feel like your brain has melted into mush, how to mix the pain of his calloused hands slapping your ass sweetly with the pleasure he bestows upon you, how to sweet-talk into your ear and flatter you so well that butterflies are born in your tummy and your hole clenches even tighter around him. He's experienced. He's taking your body on a trip it's sure to never forget and never replicate, and you wish you knew how he did it, because he’s only been thrusting into you for a few minutes and you feel like you're about to explode.
He's now pounding into you more furiously, and you chalk that up to his orgasm approaching him as well. “I'm gonna cum again—!” you announce, voice low in a broken whisper. His thrusts get sloppy and he grunts to concur, “Me too—look at me,”
Your eyes meet and this might be the rawest moment you've ever had with Jing Yuan. There's nothing but passion and adoration in his golden eyes as he looks at you. And as he kisses you for the nth time this evening, it's soft. Kind. A complete one-eighty from how desperately and angrily he bullies his thick cock into your drooling cunt. “Cum with me.” It's more of a demand than a request, but you nod in understanding anyway. You want to feel him throb and empty out his balls inside you. You want to hear his voice crack and break as he moans out your praises. You want to feel him give it to you until he can't anymore.
He snaps his hips into you, hard and one at a time. He goes as deep as possible, making your eyes blow wide and spill tears. He's so deep in your stomach it's almost like he pops the bubble of your orgasm himself, and you're spilling all over him in a matter of seconds. It was unexpected and you drawl out a whiny moan, grinding your hips back onto him subconsciously. Your orgasm makes him follow suit, and soon enough, you're filled to the brim with his semen. Warm ropes mix nastily with your own release and it drips out of your hole as he continues to thrust through your orgasms.
“Oh shit…’s good, little one.” He kisses your cheek and carries you to the bench, laying you down. “One more for me, ‘kay?”
Your mind is lagging behind. You didn't even catch his statement until he was sliding into you again, pressing your hands against your stomach to feel him inside of you. “So deep…”
“Yeah? Feels good, doesn't it?” He wastes no time, not sparing a second to waste. You're still so sensitive, and so is he, and everything is so sloppy. So messy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he finds your sweet spot again, and fuck, it feels so good. “‘M not gonna last…”
Jing Yuan basically crushes you against the hard bench, closing the proximity between you two and harboring the flame between your chests. His head in the crook of your neck shakes, “Me neither. Want you to keep it all in.” His pathetic rutting elicits the wettest sounds from your pussy, and the empty locker room echoes it around with bass. He runs on and on about stuffing you full, fucking his kids into you and you don't know what at what point that started to sound good to you. Your belly rumbled in that all-too-familiar wait, your orgasm wasted no time in building.
Your eyes start to tear even harder and white blotches soon cover your whole line of sight—but not before Jing Yuan stills inside of you, dumping his second load inside of you with a guttural groan and clench of his abdomen. He rubs rough circles on your clit, murmuring about how you can do it until you clench around him, squirming beneath him as your orgasm hits you again. He doesn't pull out. He keeps you plugged up with his cock, forbidding his cum from leaving you. You didn't expect this to happen. Ever. But Jing Yuan? He always knew. It was just a matter of when.
So when your sight returns and you open your eyes to see him leaning over you, you smile happily. It was almost like you're Cinderella and he's Prince Charming, coming to rescue you from your hellish job in the most unconventional way possible. But unconventional feels good.
He won. No matter what he had to do, he won. His fantasy came to fruition and he would rather nothing else. This moment will be forever cherished, even if the distant opening of the door sounds off, and footsteps rapidly approaching bring you back to reality. He won. And nothing, or nobody, can change that. You’re all his now.
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abiiors · 5 months
Text
everything is blue ✨ // matty healy x reader
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a/n: nnn. that's it, that't the plot. gotta thank @theungracefulgrace for the idea, i hope i did it justice <3 cw: smut, thigh riding and matty is a bit pathetic in this lmao, maybe even subby??? is this my subby matty debut??? wc: 1.9k (smaller than i thought actually...)
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“you two are disgusting,” george snickers from behind his drums as you make your way onto matty’s lap. 
it’s light-hearted and teasing—your friend taking the piss out of both of you but matty scoffs and you stick your tongue out.
“jealous,” you tease, “i’m going to wait until charli shows up and then we’ll talk.”
“yeah let’s talk then, mate,” matty quips from next to you and it only takes him another second to push his hands inside your t-shirt and place them on your bare stomach, almost caressing your ribs. 
it tickles and you squirm away, alerting george once more. 
“not going to start snogging in front of me, are you?” he turns around making an exaggerated vomiting gesture and scrunches his face at you. matty, almost predictably, takes that as a challenge. 
within moments, you feel his fingers lightly closing around your jaw, turning your face and capturing your lips in his. matty’s chest is pressed against your arm and his heartbeat echoes through your entire body, thrilling you to your very core when you feel the slight spike in it as your tongue grazes his bottom lip. his other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer as matty deepens the kiss and hums in your mouth, sending vibrations through your entire body. in turn your heart skips a beat. you don’t break apart until you hear a loud cough in the vicinity. and george stares back at both of you, truly disgruntled now. 
“bleurgh,” he makes a face. “like i said, digusting.”
“and like she said,” matty snorts, “jealous.”
“simp!”
“idiot!”
“oh, very clever mate!”
“oh—”
“alright, that’s it!” you interrupt matty before he can retort any further and he glares at you in return. “you’re fighting like twelve year olds.”
matty smirks. “weren’t snogging me like—”
you clamp your hand over matty’s mouth before he can finish his vulgar sentence earning you two juvenile giggles—one slightly muffled by your hand. 
“you are like an animal,” george teases again, earning an expression of utter betrayal from matty. 
“how dare yo—”
“prove it then!” he challenges. his mouth curls into a smirk and your eyes narrow. you know this expression on george. you know he��s up to something. 
“we are in november,” he grins cheekily. “the month of chastity and all.”
“can it!” you warn but it’s too late. matty’s smirk already mirrors george’s. you can practically see the cogs turning in their heads and you know what’s about to happen. 
“a bet,” george shifts in his seat looking eager and devious. matty does the same, gently setting you off his lap and placing a quick apologetic kiss on your head when you protest. 
“a bet,” he repeats. 
and then with utter disgust, you watch the two men in front of you spit on their hands and shake on their deal.
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at first it’s fun—watching him turn red and squirm every time you get out the shower with just a towel wrapped around you. a few times, you even see him immediately sit on his hands or busy himself in his phone, making you giggle. the few times after that, he leaves the room entirely—practically running away like a virgin catholic school boy. 
the first few days are okay, fun even. you send him a selfies—towel just high enough for your nipples to be covered, barely covering your ass, showing its curve very well with the way you pose; on your bed, wearing his t-shirt and only his t-shirt, hand buried suggestively between your thighs—matty threatens to block you, accusing you of wanting to make him lose. 
he kisses you like usual, though. that’s the one thing he can’t stop doing. if anything, it feels like his mouth is attached to yours any chance he gets. it’s like he’s compensating, even letting you straddle him and deepen it until he has to pull away with a pained expression.
“how would george know?!” you whine and watch him pout. 
“trust me, he would,” matty sighs, shoulders slumping, “i would stop looking so fucking miserable for one.”
you fume quietly, realising you let yourself become collateral damage. he is so close that his cologne permeates your fucking lungs—earthy, sweet and matty. always surrounded by the smell of cigarettes and now his body wash that’s somehow become the most enticing scent in the world. 
“can’t lose one week in, baby.” his face pinches into one big sad expression and you frown at him. 
one whole week of being so close to him and cuddling at night in bed, one week of feeling his leg part your thighs in his sleep, of feeling his thigh graze against your clit and making you hiss. one week of having him right here but not having him at all. 
you shift on his lap, feeling the coarse material of his jeans against the insides of your thighs—not that you’re wearing much, just a big t-shirt and underwear, while he’s still in his jeans and t-shirt and not yet ready for bed—and an idea sparks. 
“so don’t lose,” you smirk, moving again, straddling him with a hand on his chest. “the bet was for you to not cum. i am nowhere mentioned in it.”
“what a-are you doing?” matty stutters. he actually fucking stutters, eyes wide and roaming all over your body, particularly focused on where you’re pressed up on his thigh and already on your way to discarding your underwear. 
“what does it look like i’m doing, baby?” you lift up slightly, quickly sliding your underwear off and deliberately stuffing it in the pocket of his jeans. 
he whines and the muscles of his thigh shift right under your bare cunt. 
as if on auto-pilot, his hands grip either sides of your waist, pressing you down onto him even though his face looks utterly devastated and hungry. 
“maybe i could do this with your pillow instead, hmm? cum all over it while thinking about you?” you taunt, gyrating your hips and grinding all over his thigh, already soaking his jeans with how turned on you are. it has the precise effect you’re hoping for.
“no–fuck,” he whines, “stay here. use me, please, but stay here.”
“use you, yeah?” your mouth ghosts over his, hand trailing up his chest and tracing the contours of his throat with your nails, tracing all the delicate veins and the flutter of his rapid pulse. matty’s breath quickens and comes out in sharp pants. it’s almost like he can’t handle it, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.
“touch me, touch me please!” he begs, eager and desperate when you quirk an eyebrow at him.
“touch you how?”
instead of answering, matty takes your hand off his throat and presses in on the bulge in his jeans, sighing at the pressure. he’s practically twitching under your hand, squirming even before you’ve properly even touched him. 
“can’t lose now, my darling, can you?” you marvel at the way your voice sounds, sultry and dominating with just a hint of condescensation. it’s power like you’ve never felt before. it makes the blood in your veins heat up even more, makes it flow faster. 
so you dig the heel of your palm onto his crotch, drag it up and then down and feel him twitch. feel him grow impossibly hard. matty's body shudders on the sofa like he's not even in there—just a puppet lying there pliant for your pleasure.
“but—”
you bend down to kiss him and feel all his complaints die on his lips. matty whimpers, moving his hips against your hand, thrusting forward almost, but you put an end to it almost immediately and laugh when he whines into the kiss. 
“i want to cum, fuck, need to so so bad!” his curls droop over his eyes. eyes that stare at you with such blatant lust that it throws you off kilter, almost makes your hips stutter but the pressure feels so good! the friction is enough to reduce every single thought in your brain down to a lumpy mush. 
“yeah?” you whisper in a tightly controlled breathy voice, “but you look so pretty when you beg sweet boy.”
he swallows roughly, transfixed on you and looking utterly fucked and unable to do anything other than keep his hands on your hips and help you ride his thigh, let you get off on him while he watches helplessly and writhes under your touch. 
“baby…” he whimpers again when you move your free hand through his curls, tugging at some of the strands and pushing them out of his eyes. 
your thighs burn with the strain, a delicious fucking ache that starts from deep within you and slowly spreads to the very tips of your fingers and the wet, sticky spot on matty’s jeans grows larger, right as your moans grow louder. 
“fuck, matty…” you bend down, mouth right next to his ear, right on his sweat soaked skin, “so fucking good for me, my pretty boy. make–shit! making me feel so good.”
your movements gain speed and you throw your head back, ignoring him entirely and chasing your own pleasure. no doubt he’s rather occupied with your tits bouncing in his face, seeing as how his hand trails up to trace them, to pinch your hard nipples between his fingers. 
“shit!” you cry out, “gonna cum baby. make me cum okay? good boy…”
matty’s back arches off the sofa—eager to obey, so so eager to please—pushing your t-shirt up and flicking his tongue over your nipples, nipping them with his teeth. matty alternated between tongue and teeth, licking and sucking the sensitive skin until there are bruised on your breasts, until you can barely distinguish one thought from another. until finally, you tip over the edge. 
there’s a moment where all you recall is crying out his name, breathing harsh and uneven, and then a moment stretched on to infinity that’s just pure fucking bliss. undiluted ecstasy. and then your hips finally stutter to a stop, just as you open your eyes hazily. 
the sight in front of you almost brings you to your knees again. matty’s jaw hangs open, mouth wet and red and raw and bitten—the absolute portrait of being fucked, and yet he hasn’t even been touched yet. hasn’t shed a single item of clothing. tears of frustration gather in his eyes while his hair falls all over his forehead. he can’t even make a single sound. not even a peep. 
this must have been torture for him and you know it. a sadistic side of you even relishes in it. “did you have fun?” you tease. “i certainly did…”
when you kiss matty again, you can physically feel the jolt in his body, as if his heart restarts, thumping in his chest wildly while he’s still speechless and focused entirely on you. 
matty makes a broken sound in his throat—somewhere between a “yes” and a “please” and maybe even your name. but you don’t let him finish. 
instead, you swipe your fingers through your soaked folds just as the trembling in your body subsides, collecting your slick and bringing it up to his lips that are still parted in shock. 
“a little thank you,” you place the fingers on his tongue, laughing when he swirls his tongue around them. “for being such a good boy.” 
“a good boy…” he repeats, voice hoarse and barely even audible. and you know the fun is just getting started…
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lemme know what you think <33
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decadentworld · 1 year
Text
Thoughts are being thunk about werewolves’ more feral behaviors bleeding into their human forms. (18+ after the cut)
A werewolf boyfriend who can’t help but howl when he’s excited about something. Cute when he’s in his were form, mortifying when he does it in his human form. (But you still find him adorable).
Not realizing how weird it might sound to other people that he’s just asked you if you wanted to play tag. Realizing it after he’s said it and covering his face in embarrassment.
Trying to stop the tilting of his head when he hears an interesting sound.
Growling at a person he doesn’t like.
Preferring to grab things with his mouth rather than with his hands. Receiving the most perplexed reactions from other people and getting red to the tip of his ears.
Making happy noises while he eats a yummy food.
Being unable to stop himself from yelping and whimpering in happiness when you come home, even if it’s only been a few hours, almost on the brink of tears.
Him trying and failing to stop the jiggling of his leg when you run your hand through his hair.
Whining and clinging onto you when he’s had a bad day, thoroughly scenting you but then getting shy about it.
(You pressing him harder against your neck. Him making an overwhelmed noise when he catches your overpowering scent. Maybe him getting weak in the knees after you command him to lick as much of your scent as he wants.)
Blushing so hard when you find him nesting. You finding him so endearing that you give him some of your clothes to add to the nest.
Having a very strong reaction to you calling him a ‘good boy’.
Helping him through his heat. Him making the most adorable needy noises.
Him presenting himself to you, face down, ass up, unable to stop himself as he gets more desperate for you to mount him.
Being unable to talk as you pound him deep into the bed. Only being able to make incomprehensible noises. Downright slobbering onto the mattress. Tongue out.
Making the most animalistic noise and cumming so hard when you add fingers around your cock inside him in place of a knot.
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Work available only on Tumblr and under ArchiveOfOurOwn pseud of the same name (DecadentWorld). Do not repost, edit, or redistribute. Do not use for TikTok or YouTube videos.
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sprout-fics · 10 months
Note
dunno if imissed thurs thots bc time zone is an arse but i pilled an allnighter and needed some smit to keep going bc coffeee aint doing it job anymore so heres a copy paste of my idea from when i was actuallyawake
hallo! so taking a page from the spider verse movie, what if reader did yell out a safeword? there is an “aftercare for a red moment” hole in the fic community (or im just blinded by the algorithm who knows)
So this is a really interesting concept, and also a good way to discuss proper sex practices, so thank you anon!
For those unaware, the color system (Green, yellow, red) is typically associated with BDSM practices. Green is all clear, yellow is slow down/change tactics, and red is full stop, change into aftercare mode. However this system is not exclusively designed for kink related practices, it can be a useful tool for even vanilla sex. Please remember to always check in with your partners and obtain enthusiastic consent before engaging in sexual activities. I am not an expert in this area, so please remember to do your own independent research if you are curious about this topic.
(Warning: Uncomfortable sexual scenarios and use of safe words, please read at your own discretion)
The Color Red
(TF 141 reacting to you using a safe word during sex)
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Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish
You’re not really sure what does it, but something inside you drops abruptly, without warning as Soap’s hand wraps around your throat. 
There’s not even any pressure, just a heavy grasp that circles under your jaw but it’s enough to make something in you rise in panic, blood chilling and breath seizing inside your chest
He’s still hunches over you, your legs wrapped around his hips, brow scrunched in pleasure, voice dragging as he tries to angle himself just right to graze against the soft spongy part of you he knows will make you go boneless in his arms
Whatever pleasure was tightening low across your hips dies as a cold, fearful wash of dread takes its place, the world spinning as you drop fast.
“Red.” You croak, voice trembling, abruptly, entire body going rigid with panic.
It’s over in an instant. Soap knows what the word means, is trained to respond at the first instinct of discomfort, and within a blink his hand is gone, his weight off of you
You curl over onto your side, eyes wide and shoulders trembling, wetness still on the inside of your thighs but air rising sharply as hyperventilation threatens to take over
Soap’s weight is off the bed, giving you space, but when he notices your breathing he kneels beside you at once, eyes brimming with worry
“Hen, sweetheart, it’s alright.” He coos softly, words echoing as a steady stream, a reminder to his nearby presence. “You’re safe, we’re done. Breathe for me, You’re alright.”
“Johnny.” You gasp, reaching for him, and he obliges instantly, maneuvering you both so he sits against the headboard and puts your head into his lap, positioning a pillow underneath it. 
“I’m here.” He reminds you, a hand stroking along your shoulder in soothing circles as you try to control your breathing, listening to him breathe alongside you. Deep inhale, hold for 4, out for 7. Repeat.
“What do you need, hen?” He asks after a few minutes, after the panic has faded to a dull bite, once you stop shuddering and instead curl into an exhausted heap at his side.
You sigh out a shuddering exhale, feel his thumb graze across the top of your shoulder. Gentle, patient, devoted.
“You, Johnny.” You tell him at last. “Just you.”
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Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick
“Red.”
You gasp it out unexpectedly in Gaz’s bed, hands secured above your head as he bends over you, three fingers curling inside you, smug smile plastered over his face as he tries to wring another orgasm from you despite you telling him you can’t, and him finding another, another anyways
Now, however, it’s finally too much, and when he presses just right the sensation it summons is less pleasurable and more aching, stretching an overworn muscle that leaves something twisting unpleasantly inside you
“Oh shit, doll.” He gasps at the word, and slowly withdraws his fingers to not cause you additional discomfort. You whine, but the sound catches in your throat, pleading and tender. “I’m sorry, shh, take a breath for me.”
He reaches up above you, pulls at the rope and it comes loose easily, allows your hands to sink into the pillows and reduces the strain on your shoulders. 
“Hey, hey, I got you.” He murmurs as you shudder, face contorting at the unpleasant ache inside you
He drags you into his arms, and you don’t complain at all, curling into his steady frame as he tucks you against his chest
“You did good.” He tells you at once, reassuring, gentle. “Promise you did good. Just take your time.”
You nuzzle against the coarse, curly hair of his chest, feel him stroke a hand against your back as the ache inside you dies to a low murmur
“I’m okay.” You tell him after a few minutes, taking all the time you need to fully relax into his embrace “It just…it was so much.”
Kyle exhales then, a breath you didn’t realize had been holding. His form goes a little lax against you, relieved by your words
“I’m sorry, doll.” He tells you at once. “I should have stopped sooner.”
You shake your head a little, remind him gently “That’s what the colors are for. I’m alright, just-” and you wince. “Tender.”
You feel him smile into your hair, mouth tugging just an inch, his body warm, solid, reaffirming against yours
“We can fix that.” He tells you softly. “How about I run you a bath and get you cleaned up, hmm?”
You nod, pause, and then crane your head up to plant a kiss against his lips
“Sounds wonderful.”
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Simon 'Ghost' Riley
Sex with Simon can usually be an intense, emotional affair, an experience where you try and carve space within each other through touch, seeking a balm to the brokenness, soothing to the fear and hurt 
Yet there are also times when you both just need release
Which is where you are now, face down, his hands hauling yours behind your back, hips slapping against your pelvis with a rapid, brutal intensity that’s going to leave you pleasantly sore for days
His voice is a grinding, rumbling presence that doesn’t allow you to drift entirely off, forcing you back into the presence of him. A hand tangles in your hair, presses you down into the sheets as he growls lewd, filthy praise down at you
Yet there’s a hint of malice to it, and normally you’d welcome it, send it right back to him, teeth bared and spirit a bright flame that burns against his darkness
Now, however, each word seems to puncture through you, as he hisses ‘Slut. Pretty little whore.’ down at you
You want to take it, want it to feed the coiling need as he buries himself inside you, but tonight it sounds almost like Simon means it.
It hurts.
It forces you to drop so fast it gives you whiplash, mind reeling and you have to remind yourself to say the word that bleeds across your tongue.
“Red.”
Simon stops instantly, removes his hand from your hair like he’s been burned.
You barely even notice, caught in your own turmoil of thoughts, trying to find your way out of the labyrinth. You don’t even notice as he pulls out from you, but the sudden emptiness only feeds the fall, makes a sob curl in your throat as you try and fail to swallow it down
He’s gone from the bed, you notice, and if anything it makes you panic more.
“S-Simon.” He try, voice wavering, and as if you’ve summoned him he appears back at your side, his voice gentler now but strained, guilty
“Here, pet.” A hand against your spine, a feathering touch given only as a mild offering before you give him permission to touch you, to which you gasp “Please.”
The touch becomes firmer, fingers pulling at the rigidness coiled in your frame, and after a moment there’s the cool touch of a washcloth that wipes the sweat from your skin.
“Y-you didn’t mean it, did you?” You try at last, not moving yet, knowing he’d only hush you back into stillness, make sure you didn’t push yourself too fast too soon
Simon takes a moment to process, realization washing over him at why you invoked your color.
“No, never.” He tells you, voice a little distant, and you know the faint unhappiness that colors his own voice isn’t for you but for him, tearing at himself for causing you hurt
You take care of him too, knot your fingers between his in tender reassurance, reminding him that even as he hovers at your side, you stay beside him too
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Captain John Price
You’re trying to soldier through it, the pain that wraps around your thigh as he hauls it over his shoulder, braces it on the broad planes of his frame
Your hands are fisted in the sheets, chest heaving as Price forces his tongue into your cunt, fingers digging red marks into your opposite leg. There’s pleasure coiling n your core with every stripe of his tongue, dragging whimpering moans from your throat
It’s soured, however, by the wrapping on your thigh, the stitched bullet hole radiating pain. The sharp ache drowns any potential pleasure that rises inside you and you try to grit your teeth against it, force it down in pursuit of the warmth of price’s breath against your folds
You can’t. You can’t do it, not with tears beginning to well in your eyes and the sounds coming from transitioning into whimpers of pain. 
“John.” You manage, strained, and for a moment Price is so absorbed in his task he almost doesn’t hear you. “J-John, red. Red.”
Price’s head shoots up, his ears attuned to that word specifically, and when he does you see slick coating his chin, his eyes flickering brightly in worry.
A sob bursts from your chest at the sight, dragging with pain, eyes hot and wet as you press a hand to the red blossoming bandage. 
He surmises the situation quickly, and instantly he’s rising off you, nearly vanishing from you entirely, giving you a bit of space before sitting back down beside you and gently bending your leg onto his lap
“Shh, it’s alright love.” He reassures you, a hand reaching up to stroke at your sweaty forehead, against your brow bunched in worry. “I’ve got you, you’re alright.”
“I’m sorry.” You blurt out even as his fingers knead into your calf. “I didn’t- it hurts.”
“Never apologize for using your colors.” The captain tells you sternly, and he holds your eyes on him, levying you with a disciplining stare that ensures your compliance. You nod, sniffling, and it makes some of the grimness melt from his eyes, tendered with affection
“Where are your pain meds?” He asks then, a hand gently tracing over the bloodied bandage, and you nod to the bedside drawer.
He nods absently, one hand still braced on your leg, the other reaching past you to withdraw the bottle from the assembly of items there
“You’re going to take these.” He tells you without question, drawing your gaze back to him once more. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and then get something warm in your stomach so they go down sunny, yes?”
You sniffle and nod at him, still feeling a little embarrassed, still in pain. Yet it’s softer now with his touch as his eyes turn to you fondly.
“Might even get you some hair of the dog for good measure.” He offers, and it at last summons a shy but warm smile from you
------
Again, if your partner every signals they are uncomfortable during sex, stop, talk, and proceed as needed. If anyone ever disrespects you signaling you are uncomfortable or blatantly ignores your safeword, do not engage with them further. Stay safe, stay sane, and stay consensual
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sailoryooons · 4 months
Text
Gods of the Dark | Two | myg (m)
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☾ Pairing: Dream god!Yoongi x f. human!reader
☾ Summary: Don’t ask for help in the dark. It’s an old tale you always heard whispered among the people of your village. But when you find yourself dragged kicking by the man you’re to marry, you have little choice but to beg for help long after the sun has set. The god who answers your pleas promises to save you, but every deal comes with a price. 
☾ Word Count: 21,443
☾ Genre: Fantasy, angst, strangers to lovers, smut
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 
☾ Warnings: Sexist and patriarchal society inspired by medieval europe, a lot of world building and discussion about theories/concept of dreams, discussions of morals and ethics, world building, angst, mentions/light depictions of an abusive family, discussions of gender roles and forced marriages, attempted murder via arson, sexual dream sequences, depictions of oral (f. receiving), exposed bodies (in a brothel), pining, townsfolk essentially bullying reader, intense nightmare sequences, light depictions of PTSD (including memories of almost drowning/being physically attacked), explicit language, idiots who are obviously into one another being idiots, recreational drinking, topics of desire, feelings of shame, depictions of anxiety and fear, slight voyeurism, attempted murder
☾ Published: December 2, 2023
☾ A/N: It's finally here! This chapter took so long to write and I want to apologize for how long it took. The creative process can be so difficult sometimes, and I have been having a very hard year, which reflects in my writing. Thank you for sticking with me - I really hope this chapter is okay. This originally wasn't going to be as slow of a burn as it is, but this is where the story took me naturally, so I hope that's okay with everyone. I am going to be adding an extra chapter to this now to tell the story the way I want, so we will have five total chapters to this. I am already working on chapter three, and my goal is to write just this series until the next three chapters are done! Note: The sections of italics are used to indicate dream sequences for this fic - the way I use these are very specific and with intent... that's the only hint I will give you.
A huge thank you to @here2bbtstrash for being my beta reader - I give them huge beta projects with very little time to do them, and this story would not be nearly as polished or tuned as it is now without them. Also thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging and patient with me - your kind words are not lost on me and I'm thankful for you all!
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
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Eyes in the sky crying geysers How dare I have private desires
-
First is your mother’s screaming. It’s loud enough to make you clap your hands over your ears, wincing as she drops all of the things in her hands. Second is your father storming into the house like a hurricane, an axe clutched in his hand from cutting wood in the yard. When he sees you, he blanches and takes a few steps back, raising the axe. 
“Demon,” he whispers. He reaches for your mother and pulls her behind him. “You are a demon.” 
“No, I-”
Without a warning, your father launches the axe at you. You scream, arms going up to block your face, unable to dodge the attack. There’s a loud crack as the axe hits an invisible barrier. You feel your hand fly to your open mouth, staring at the axe that’s now hewn in two on the floor. 
Silence follows the destruction of the weapon. In that silence, it occurs to you that your father has attempted to kill you, and was only stopped by whatever protection Yoongi promised you. The realization is dizzying and you stumble away from your parents a little, bumping into the wall that separates the kitchen and the entryway. 
No one says anything at first. Your mother clings to your father, trembling violently. Her hair is greyer than you remember and it looks like the last few days haven’t been kind to her. But she has always been soft and weak.
It’s your father who no longer looks the same. Always such an imposing figure in your life, he looks aged. His face is wrinkled, his hair is grey. His presence is so much smaller than you remember, once full of rage and ferocity, now just a terrified man in a doorway. 
You cannot believe this is the man you’ve spent most of your life afraid of. Where once stood a great fear of yours now stands nothing more than a shadow of a man. Weak. Afraid. Vulnerable. 
“You can’t hurt me anymore,” you say in a voice much steadier than you feel. “You can’t marry me off, you can’t make me burn my books, and you can’t hurt me anymore.”
“What kind of demon are you?”
It occurs to you that you could tell him you’re not a demon. You’re just you, with a little added protection. But the realization that they are afraid of you wakes up something ugly inside of you. Something oily, that slithers, something wicked and sharp.
You don’t have to tell them you’re not a demon. You don’t have to tell them that you are. They have come to that conclusion themselves, and it has put them beneath you. Afraid of you. You’re more powerful than you’ve ever been in this home. 
So you let them think you are. “The kind that survived Nathaniel Laudermill beating me in the woods and trying to drown me.” 
Your father straightens. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! You weren’t supposed to run and he- he wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”
“Well, he did. And he paid for it, didn’t he?” 
When you say it, you have a sneaking suspicion that Nathaniel Laudermill is dead. When your father nods feebly at your question, the knowledge slides into place. You don’t feel bad. It almost horrifies you that you don’t, but you think of the burning in your lungs, his nails against your skin, the roaring of the water. 
You’re glad Nathaniel is dead.
“What do you want from us? Money? Our lives?”
“Nothing.” You realize it’s true, suddenly stricken with wondering why you came back at all. “I want you to go about your lives, and let me do what I will.” 
Pushing off the wall, you turn around and head out the front door. You feel their eyes on you as you go, but you don’t look back.
For now, you walk out into the woods. Crickets chirp happily, growing quiet as you walk by and starting once again when you’re a distance from them. Under the shade of the trees, it’s cold. The river isn’t flooded up into the woods anymore, but the ground is soft beneath your feet, mud giving way to your steps.
It feels different when you walk through the woods this time. They aren’t as vibrant. No Tiera is lurking in the boughs of the wisteria. There’s no lake with merfolk peering at you with large, alien eyes. A world that was once so full of life and peace feels unsaturated now. Devoid of color. 
A nasty feeling creeps up on you as you walk. You look for the creatures of the wood, hoping to see their bright colors and little lives. A snake slithers away from you, but it’s just that. A snake with normal scales, in a normal bush. A rabbit rushes by, quick as lightning, a blur of fur.
None of the birds have plumes of purple feathers. There’s no trilling song that sounds like dreams spun into notes, no smell of drifting sweetness on the wind. The air is damp and cold, and it smells like fresh earth and water. But there’s nothing about it that seems as vibrant as before.
By the river, the water rushes as fast as your thoughts. You weren’t sure what to expect when you came home, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t your parents thinking you were a demon, but that isn’t the worst part. 
The worst part is that only after two weeks, your world has lost its magic. It pales in comparison to Yoongi’s world or even your imagination. You stare at the water you used to think rushed with so much promise, the waxy leaves that used to contain so many shades of green. Now they’re just leaves and the river is just water. 
A tingle presses at your neck. You turn, expecting Yoongi to be looming behind you. There’s no one there, but the feeling of awareness doesn’t go away. Frowning, you lean against the tree and stare out into the woods unseeing. 
Clove and cinnamon hang in the air. You close your eyes, inhaling. The tingle at the back of your neck feels familiar. In your mind, you feel it like a phantom touch, sliding from your neck across your shoulder, dragging down the length of your arms until there is a soft twitch in your palm. 
It’s easy to imagine Yoongi this way. But when you open your eyes, Yoongi isn’t there. The feeling doesn’t go away. But you always have that feeling out here, the something of other. Your heart flutters at the thought of the god lurking somewhere that you can’t see. 
A silly thought. You brush it away, trying not to delude yourself into fantasies that Yoongi has any interest in you beyond your deal and beyond that night in the woods where you asked for help. Yoongi’s kindness is just that, and though you dream of him often, you know the difference between your dreams and reality. 
Instead of leaving to go back to the house, you sit down on the ground. Closing your eyes, you imagine a brighter world. A more magical world. It’s easier to do this than to contend with the fact that the woods you loved so dearly are not as you remember them. 
This, at least, is familiar. Sitting in the woods for hours and imagining worlds away from yours. Now, you imagine a specific world, made up of twilight and mountains in the distance. With a wonderful castle full of rooms saturated with candlelight and books you’re learning how to read.
When your stomach growls, you’re forced to stop your imagination and get up. You feel a bit better, knowing that you can at least remember what Yoongi’s dream realm looks like. Two weeks. You have two weeks until you can go back, and until then, Yoongi expects you to study. 
Back at the house, your parents stare in silence when you enter. You hardly look at them, walking to the kitchen as though they are merely ghosts harboring the same space as you. Your movements are methodical as you make yourself lunch. When you reach for the knife to cut cheese, you feel the pointed look of your parents. 
Part of you wants to turn around and scream at them to scare them. Another part of you has divorced the idea of them as your parents already. Yet you do nothing, biting a piece of cheese as you finish plating your meal and go to your room. They say nothing. 
Sitting on your bed, you eat your meal. The world is quiet for the most part, though the muted sound of nature hums beyond your closed window. You realize there is a desk in your room stacked with books, parchment, and inkwells. 
Heart racing, you get up from your bed and cross the room. You wipe your fingers on your shirt as you pick up a note written in Yoongi’s neat scrawl. You chew your lip as you look at the swirls and dips of letters on paper, immediately intimidated at the prospect of making sense of the writing. 
You take the note with you to the bed and begin to parse the letters and sentences apart. It takes all of your concentration, going over the sounds each letter makes in your head to build a word. It’s not fast work and it isn’t easy, but after a while, you work out the first sentence. 
Do not forget to practice every day. 
A smile makes your mouth twitch, both in pride that you managed to work out the sentence and at the thought of Yoongi hunched over his desk writing you a note.  
The second sentence is trickier. Afternoon light pours through your window as you spend another fifteen minutes sounding out the letters, quietly muttering them to yourself until you’ve got full words to build the sentence.
I will be watching, so you better practice as often as you can. 
You bite your lip. It sounds like a playful threat, quietly muttered in one of Yoongi’s teasing moments. You can almost hear the soft rasp of his voice and picture the smirk that would accompany his words. You shiver before reading the final sentence. 
Sleep well, and dream as often as you can.
The desk is a nice touch. You don’t remember seeing it this morning and you wonder how it got there. Remembering Yoongi’s magic is overwhelming. You’re still unsure what the limits of his power are, if there are any at all. 
Hunched over the papers, you begin to trace letters again. It feels good to have the quill in your hand. You’re careful not to spill the ink all over the paper like you do when you’re practicing in the library - you have a limited amount of parchment here, compared to Yoongi’s endless amounts in the House of Dreams. 
It does beg the question whether he’ll drop you off more magical paper if you run out, though. 
By the time your hand is cramping too much to practice more and your head hurts, it’s evening. Your parents are locked away in their room when you come out. You can hear the soft voice of your mother go silent when they hear you enter the kitchen for food before heading out to the porch.
Twilight skies stretch above you. Sitting on the edge of the porch, you watch the world fade from purple to black. The stars begin to dot the sky, the moon making her climb upward. You grin, feeling relieved that maybe not all of your world has lost its magic. 
Perhaps it’s just the light of day you’re no longer interested in. The night is far more mysterious and alluring, calling to you as you finish your last bite of dinner. You set your plate down on the porch and hop down, feeling the soft grass beneath your bare feet.
The last time you entered the woods in the dark, you were almost killed. That memory alone makes you pause at the edge of the woods. Your mouth dries a little bit and though the urge to step into the shadow of the night is strong, the memory of Nathaniel’s hands on your hair is stronger.
You turn around quickly and walk back to the house, picking up the plate along the way. It feels shameful to be afraid of the dark woods, a sour taste in your mouth as you lock yourself in your room and crawl onto the bed. 
Closing your eyes, you try not to think about Nathaniel. His yelling haunts you, the phantom grip of his fingers pulling your hair, the way your mouth filled with water- a hooting owl disturbs your spiraling thoughts. 
You open your eyes, straining your ears, only to find silence. Just as you begin to close your eyes again, you hear the hoot once more. Turning toward the window next to your bed, you sit up and pop the latch, casting open one of the shutters. 
Above the house, the moon is a glowing coin in the sky. Everything her light touches is awash in grey. Sticking your head out of the window, you sweep your gaze back and forth, trying to look for the sound of the hooting.
As though it senses your gaze, the owl hoots again. You see it this time. A great horned owl stares at you from its perch on top of a pile of chopped wood. Its eyes are burnished gold, like two burning beacons in the night. It’s a stunning owl, all browns and whites, feathers luminous under the sheen of the moon. It moves its head in a circle, opening and closing its beak.
Then, the owl surprises you. You flinch and sit backward on your haunches as it takes flight, great wings flapping as it flies to your window and lands on the ledge. You gasp in delight. The creature is far bigger up close, its ochre eyes warm and intelligent. 
The back of your neck tingles familiarly and you smile. 
“Are you supposed to watch over me?” The owl chirps, a much higher-pitched noise than the hoot. “Hmm. I see. Do you have a name?”
The owl bobs its head from side to side in an uncanny movement. Though you’re not sure, you think it means to tell you no. “Well, what if I give you one?” The owl chirps again. “What about… Moony?” 
Fluffing its feathers, the owl shifts back and forth and lets out a hiss. You giggle, covering your mouth as the bird settles, looking at you in a way that certainly feels haughty and bothered. “Alright. What about… Dream?” Another hiss and a bob no. “Okay, well you’re making this quite difficult. What about…”
A dozen names run through your mind. You think of the owl as Yoongi’s way to watch over you at night. It makes you feel warm and far less alone than you were before. It’s nice knowing that you have a protector, someone to warn Yoongi if you’re ever in danger. Or to steer you away from your bad thoughts.
“How about Guardian?” you offer. It blinks two large eyes before chirping and bobbing its head in a circle, pleased at the name. You grin and slowly reach your hand forward. “I like it. Guardian, then.” 
Gently, the owl leans forward and lets you brush its feathers. They are silky under your touch, each plume delicate and wonderful. You can’t help but smile, stroking the owl's chest until it shuffles back and forth and gives a short hoot.
“Go on,” you urge. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll leave the window open?”
Guardian hoots in affirmation before shuffling its wings and flying off into the night. 
Laying in your back, you stare up through the open window, watching the stars go past. Slowly, you feel sleep pull at your edges, beckoning you to give in. You finally do, drifting asleep under the silver light of the moon and a blanket of stars. 
-
Yoongi sits in front of the fireplace in the library. You blink a few times, a little dazed. You don’t remember how you got here, but you know the smell of this library and you know that shadowy frame better than anything. It suddenly makes you ache to realize how much you miss it already. 
As if sensing your presence, Yoongi turns to look at you. He smirks, showing no sign of surprise at seeing you standing behind him. He gestures to the armchair next to him and you grin, quick to join him. 
Warmth leaps from the fireplace, the logs popping and crackling under the hungry, orange flames. Yoongi is dressed in a simple linen shirt and pants, his necklaces reflecting the burning light. He watches you sit down and fold your feet onto the chair. 
“Am I here? Or am I dreaming?” you ask. 
“Are both not possible?”
You think about it. “Well yes, I suppose they are. I’m dreaming but I can come here because I’m dreaming.”
“Clever girl.” Yoongi’s eyes dance as he looks you up and down. “How was your first day back?”
“Strange. I…” You chew on your lip, wrapping your arms around your legs. Suddenly, you feel more at home than you did earlier that day in the place you were raised. You think about the woods out behind your house, the alien way you felt among trees that should be familiar. “It feels as though the world doesn’t hold as much magic anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like here. It is so vibrant and beyond imagining that now that I’ve gone back… nothing compares.”
Yoongi hums. “I promise you that there is so much magic in your world. There is real magic in living that cannot be found among the imaginary.” 
You rest your chin on your knees and sigh heavily. “If only I could find it.” 
“You will.” 
Silence passes between you. It’s comfortable. You watch the dancing fire, the world fading away. Though you are acutely aware that Yoongi is staring at your side profile, you don’t squirm or feel anxiety. You simply feel peace, happy to be here. Happy to be with him.
That makes your stomach flutter. At least you’re not dreaming of him in ways you shouldn’t tonight. As soon as you think about it, you feel your cheeks heat up hotter than the flames from the fireplace. 
After a little while Yoongi sighs, drawing your attention back to him. “You should sleep.” 
“I thought I was.”
“Sort of. You’re more… dreamwalking right now. You’re not really resting.” 
“Do I have to stay here?” The question is small. You don’t meet his eyes when you ask, suddenly filled with shame that you can’t even last a day in the world you’ve known for over twenty years. “There’s nothing for me here.”
“There is. You just have to find it again.”
“I don’t know how.” 
Yoongi stands up. You look up at him and see that his expression is soft. Kind. Your heart speeds up, tongue heavy in your mouth as he slowly reaches out to you. His hand hesitates for a second, pauses in mid-air like he’s unsure, and then he touches your cheek lightly. “Trust me.” 
Before you can respond, Yoongi is walking away. The skin on your cheek tingles where his fingers were a moment before, a shiver racing up your spine. You lift your hands to touch your cheek where his fingers were moments ago. You can’t help but smile, fondness for him growing. Blooming. 
Leaning back in the chair, you close your eyes and settle into real sleep. 
-
Tap tap tap. 
You twitch your nose and roll your head to the side, sniffing. For a moment, it felt like something had been tapping your nose, almost waking you from sleep. You start to sink back into it, pulling your covers tighter as your thoughts drift… further…
Tap tap tap. 
You frown. Now you’re awake, your thoughts clawing their way to break the surface of sleep. When you finally collect yourself and register that you’re waking up, you open your eyes to reveal a face hovering inches from yours, so close that you cannot make out the features. 
A shriek rips through your room as you scramble away from the face, clutching your blanket. You slam into the wall near the window, heart hammering as you press yourself flat, trying to make yourself small. 
Taehyung falls backwards on his ass, covering his ears and giving you a ghastly expression, as though horrified to be screamed at in such a manner. Your hand clutches your chest as you realize it’s him sitting on your floor and him who had been inches from your face - tapping your nose. 
“What are you doing?” you holler at him, fisting your blankets. You suddenly feel sick, the adrenaline making your stomach turn and your head spin. Groaning, you lay on your side, squeezing your eyes shut. Colors coalesce behind your eyelids as you take deep breaths, hoping it will pass. “Are you insane?”
“Well, that is up for debate.” 
You open your eyes and glare at him. 
Taehyung sits with his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his palms. His dark hair hangs in his eyes as he grins at you, giddy. He’s dressed in a flowing white shirt with laces at the front that he’s kept open, revealing a tanned chest. His shirt is tucked into brown trousers and you spot a small chain with a charm tied through one of his belt loops.
You think you recognize the charm from one of Yoongi’s necklaces. 
“What are you doing here?” 
“Visiting, obviously.”
“You can just… visit?” 
“I do what I want.” 
As the adrenaline rush fades, you slowly sit up, glaring at the man on your floor. “I doubt that. How did you get in here, anyway?” 
“Your window is open.” 
The window in question is still wide open from last night, only now, morning light streams through. The air is cool and smells of rain, the wind rushing through the trees and making them bend and dance under its guidance. A robin flits from bough to bough, singing. 
“So you came through the window?” 
“No, I came through the front door. No one else is home.” 
“Then why did you say you came through the window?”
“I didn’t. I said the window was open.” Taehyung gives you a white, square grin. You clench your teeth and resist the urge to throw a pillow at him. Though you’re pleased to see him, you’re equally as vexed by his teasing. “Anyway, I want you to show me around.”
“Show you around what?” 
He gets up from the floor, clapping his hands together to get rid of the dirt and dust before doing the same to his pants. He shrugs, giving you a cheery smile. “I don’t know. Anything. Everything. I want to see what your life here was like.” 
“It wasn’t very good.”
“That’s okay. I want to see it anyway.” 
Slowly, you get out of bed. He makes room for you, walking over toward the desk where your writing practice sheets are. He flips through them, examining your work as you eye him, stretching. Your joints pop and you groan, eyes fluttering at the release of tension. 
“Why?” you ask. He looks up at you, brows raised in a question. “Why do you want to see?”
Taehyung contemplates his answer. He taps one long finger on top of your tracing. “You’re getting better.” He leans against the desk and crosses his arms, regarding you steadily. “I’ll make you a deal. Show me about your life here. Teach me about you. And I’ll tell you about me.” 
That sparks your interest. You know so little about Taehyung, even in the two weeks that you’ve lived in the House of Dreams. He is a charming mystery, someone who speaks in riddles and likes to goad you and talk about so much that you realize he talks about nothing at all. At least, not anything substantial. 
For the amount of things you know about Taehyung, like how he enjoys cinnamon in his tea or that his favorite color is green like the bottom of the lake, or how his favorite snacks are honey cakes or that music makes him cry, you also know… nothing about him. Where he comes from. Who he was before he was Yoongi’s companion in a big, lonely castle. 
Sighing, you walk up to him and extend your arm. “Deal.”
Taehyung’s hand is warm and tingles when you shake it. He grins at you, happier than ever before he drops your hand and gestures at your clothes. “Well go on,” he says. “Change out of your nighties. Unless of course, you’d like to stay in them.”
“Get out of my room and I will!”
He raises his brows. “Don’t want me to watch? How boring.” 
You don’t take his teasing to heart. You’ve already adapted to Taehyung’s jesting and prodding, learning that it’s a key part to the way that he shows his affections. For the first few days, you’d thought perhaps he didn’t like you much, but after seeing him rib Yoongi for two hours straight in the library, you realized it was good that he was teasing you.
You open the small trunk of clothes and slide on pants and a loose shirt. When you enter the main house, you find Taehyung standing on the porch with his arms crossed over his chest, looking into the woods with a frown. Tucking in your shirt, you step out onto the porch, the wood creaking underneath your weight. 
“What is it?” you ask when Taehyung doesn’t turn to greet you. His eyes are dark and there’s an expression on his face that makes you nervous. “Is there something out there?”
Instead of answering directly, he asks, “Is that where Yoongi found you?” 
Oh. Oh. Taehyung is looking at the woods where you ran off the night that your parents tried to make you marry Nathaniel. You nod and hum, trying not to think much about it as you finish tucking in the shirt and adjusting the material. 
“There’s a bad energy there,” Taehyung observes. He turns away from the woods finally and drops his hands at his side. “You should stay away from that place moving forward.”
“I didn’t exactly go in there on purpose.”
“I know.” Something flashes in his eyes. “Best not to do it again, if you can help it. You can go into the woods, just not there.” 
“Okay…” 
You wait for Taehyung to elaborate, but he doesn’t. A chill settles over your skin, the wind picking up to rustle the trees. He shrugs and grins, the dark expression gone in a flash as he gestures for you to enter back through the house and leave by way of the front door. 
Taheyung follows you, a bounce to his step as he hurries to walk next to you. You say nothing as you lead him out of the yard and toward the main road by your home that leads into town, your stomach fluttering with nervousness as you go. 
If Taehyung is confused as to why you’re not starting the story of your life at home, he doesn’t let on. He tucks his hands into his pockets and walks next to you, his feet crunching the gravel beneath his boots and the wind lifting his hair.
Studying Taehyung’s side profile, you think he looks like something from a dream. He has the kind of beauty that seems purposeful and handcrafted, each one of his features carefully designed to be the wonderful, glowing being that he is. 
You don’t know what he is, really. But you’ve made a deal and you have to deliver on your end first. 
“We live a bit away from town,” you say eventually. “My father inherited the house after his father, who was a very talented wood carver. He used to cut the trees here himself and decide which tree was perfect for what project, which is why we live almost thirty minutes from town.” 
“A wood carver is a nice talent to have.”
You nod. “He was very good. It made a good income. My father had no talent for it, though, and opened up a store instead. He sold my grandfather’s wares and then eventually added items from other folks in town, including my mother's clothes. She’s a seamstress.” 
“You were wearing a dress the night Yoongi brought you home.”
Home. Taehyung says it so easily, like he’s already accepted that the House of Dreams is yours as much as it’s his. A warm feeling blooms through you, and you look up at Taehyung and smile at him despite the looming subject of the doomed wedding dress. He returns your smile just as broadly, even if he doesn’t know the reason for your sudden turn of happiness. 
“Yeah. That was one she made,” you sigh, turning back to the road. “A wedding dress.” 
“It was beautiful, but I did burn it in the fire.” You look at him with your brows raised and he gives you a sheepish shrug. “You were assaulted in that dress. We wanted nothing to do with it.”
“I’m glad that you did. I never want to remember that night again.”
“Good. Memories have a way of haunting us, even when we don’t know it.” 
Taehyung’s tone is ominous. Instead of asking him what he means, you let his weighted silence fall around you, propelling the both of you toward the town. 
As you get closer, houses and other roads begin to pop up. You see the pathways leading up to the homes of your neighbors, pointing out each one to Taehyung along with filling him in on summaries of their family histories and gossip. He listens with a conspiratorial smirk, gasping and asking you scandalous questions as you whisper rumors you’ve long heard from eavesdropping on your parents. 
Gossiping with Taehyung is nice. You feel lighter than you had the day before, nearly skipping as you near the town proper. You start passing people on the road. Normally, you’d greet the ones you know. Now, you hear gasps as people flinch when they see you, making signs with their hands to ward off evil. 
You blink in surprise, glancing at Taehyung for his reaction. He frowns when he sees the second group of people do it. By the third, he pulls a snarling face at them, making a child cry. You jam your finger in his ribs and he hisses in pain, shoving lightly back.
“What?” he demands. “You’re not evil. That sign doesn’t do anything, either. If one of the more malevolent deities wanted to snatch them, they would.”
“Really?”
Taehyung rubs his ribs where you poked him. You pass the bakery owned by the Yen family, heavenly smells wafting out the door. “Of course they would,” he huffs. “Most deities aren’t bound by the rules and logic the mortals try to make to create a sense of safety from them. Many can simply do what they want.”
“Then why don’t they?”
“Because of Eternals, like Yoongi. The gods who are always here, never changing. That’s why they’re called Eternals.” 
“I see. There’s seven of them, right?” Taehyung hums the affirmative. As you pass a music shop, Taehyung slows. His hands are linked behind his back as he eyes the instruments through the window and gestures at them. You nod and follow him indoors, the bell on the door above chiming. “So other deities are afraid of them?”
“Of course they are,” Taehyung muses. He stops to admire a mandolin. “Yoongi, for example, is a being that creates dreams themselves. He manipulates reality. He can create things on a whim. He’s almost as powerful as life.”
“Really?”
“What are dreams if not creation? The difference isn’t all that big, though it drives Seokjin mad to admit it.”
“Who?”
Taehyung plucks the string of another instrument. You don’t know what it is, but the note is sharp, making you cringe. “Life, of course.”
“You know Life? What are you?”
He glances at you sidelong. “We’re supposed to learn about you first. I’m doing a lot of talking.”
“Not like it’s hard to get you going,” you mutter. 
Taeyung shoots you a scowl, but is interrupted by the shop owner coming around the corner. He’s a man in his late thirties, greeting Taehyung politely and wiping his hands on his trousers. He asks Taehyung if he’s looking for anything and just as Taehyung leans out of the way to reveal you standing behind him, the shop owner’s eyes go to you and he gasps, stumbling backward. 
“You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispers, his back bumping into a shelf of items. You feel a shiver slip down your spine as you stare at him, arms tingling. He makes the symbol to ward off evil, the whites of his eyes wild. “Evil. Evil creature, you are a demon. You do not-”
“Another word,” Taehyung cuts in, his voice dark in a tone you’ve never heard. “And I’ll show you what evil is, sir.” 
“G-god of Light spare me.”
“Your God of Light won’t answer.” Taehyung spins on his heel, facing you. His expression is thunder, his gaze dark and eyes wild as he hisses, “Speak their name all you wish. It's not daytime in here, sir.” 
For the two weeks you’ve known Taehyung, you’ve never seen him like this. The room feels oppressive and dark, and you swear the lights have dimmed, shadows pressing up against the wall as Taehyung strides forward and passes you, taking your arm firmly in his hand.
Taehyung escorts you out of the store, walking swiftly. When you hit daylight, the oppressive dark sheds itself immediately. Taehyung’s presence dims with the sun beating down on him and turning his skin copper, black hair shining almost blue in the light.
He lets go of your arm and shoots you a troubled gaze. “Don’t listen to him,” he grunts. “You’re not a demon, nor are you evil.”
“My parents called me the same thing.” He scowls and begins pacing. To keep him moving, you start walking toward the other side of town where the old cemetery and abandoned church is. You don’t know why you go there, but you’re drawn to it. “They called me a demon.” 
“Demons are much nastier. You might be annoying, but certainly not a demon.”
You scowl and he shrugs. “I didn’t realize everyone here thought I died. I thought I would come back and it would be…”
“Normal?” You shrug a shoulder. 
The houses on the edge of town are shabbier than the rest. People hesitate in their doorways, staring at you and the tall, handsome man next to you. You see them do the warding sign as you go, and you squeeze your hands into fists as they do. 
Weeds crawl up the side of the old church. The structure leans heavily to the left, the stairs unusable and the ceiling fallen in. Instead of walking up the hazardous steps and inside the dilapidated building, you lead Taehyung around it, where the grass grows higher than your knees and the sound of grasshoppers buzzing by you follows. 
A dry-rotted fence surrounds what was once a graveyard. You walk toward it, leading Taehyung until he starts slowing down a few paces behind you. You stop and turn over your shoulder to look at him, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun. 
Taehyung looks thoughtful, dark eyes scanning the area. He’s stopped walking entirely, head cocked to the side. “Why’d you bring me here?” 
“I don’t know. I just… walked in this direction. I used to come here for the silence, sometimes.”
Taehyung has a strange look on his face. “Is that so?” 
“Why do you look like that?” 
“How long has this place been here?” 
“The church closed before I could remember. Honestly, they said it was haunted by this graveyard, which has been here a lot longer than the church. Even the oldest families in town don’t have their dead buried here. Rumor has it that it was built long before the town was.” 
Taehyung starts walking normally again. Side by side, you begin to navigate around the graveyard. “And you come here? Why?” 
“It’s quiet. When I was too young to stay at the house alone, my mom would bring me to town while she ran errands. I was allowed to explore, but I liked to come here.”
“Most kids are afraid of places of the dead.” 
You shrug. “It was quiet, and it gave me time to imagine things. I liked to make up fantasies about the old gods here or… what I imagined they might be. Of heroes descended from them, maybe.” 
“And you felt drawn here?” 
You startle when a grasshopper shoots across the grass in front of you. You laugh as it vanishes into the foliage. “Yeah, it just felt… safe.” 
“Strange.” 
“Am I allowed to ask why or are you going to complain you’re talking too much again?”  He snorts and gestures for you to continue. “Why is that strange? Beyond the fact that it’s, you know, a graveyard.” 
Sighing, Taehyung squints up at the line of trees nearby. His hand hovers along the tops of the grass as he runs it over each blade, letting the tips tickle his hands. You’re almost waist high in grass, glancing down to make sure you don’t step into any holes. 
“This place is old. The people of the church felt haunted because they were. Death owns this land.” 
You frown. “Well, the dead are here. The other graveyard doesn’t feel the same.”
“You misunderstand me. Death - the Eternal. His presence is all over. Someone important to him must be buried here.” 
“Oh.” 
You stop and think about that. Turning to look at the unmarked and lime washed tombstones, you scan for any sign of Death. You have no idea what you’re looking for. Ivy and time have taken over most of the concrete slabs, and none of the names or dates are legible by now. They’re just hewn stone, buried in green and grime. 
But you feel something here, a tingling on the back of your neck like the one you felt in the woods by your house. A chill wind blows over the land, sweeping the grass and rattling the trees. You feel the breeze against your neck, cool as fingers trailing down your spine. 
Suddenly, you feel a buzz on your skin. It’s not so different from Yoongi’s presence, and it chills you. 
You look up at Taehyung with wide, fearful eyes. He smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t need to be afraid of Death. Death is neither good nor bad, he just is. He only takes those who are ready.” 
“Have you met - um - Death?” 
Taehyung nods. “He is a man of few words, but Namjoon is unwaveringly kind and wise.”
“Strange that I was drawn to coming here.” You head back toward the town. The sun passes its zenith and makes its way into the early afternoon. “Is this whole place filled with Eternals or what?”
“No, it’s actually a rather unremarkable location. Namjoon lingers in many places. Yoongi was simply drawn here.” 
“By what?” 
Instead of answering the question, Taehyung sticks his hands in his pockets. “Show me more of your town.” 
So you do. Taehyung is a good companion. Where Yoongi would quietly observe and make sounds to indicate that he’s listening and admires the things you’re talking about, Taehyung asks questions. You realize he’s a tactile person as well. He touches things as he walks by them, brushing his fingers on fabric, touching jewelry at vendor stands.
Everywhere you go is a similar reaction to the instrument store. People seem happy to see Taehyung at first before they see you, fear making them lean away and ward you off. You realize you don’t know how much time has passed since you vanished from the woods and returned. 
When you ask Taehyung, he shrugs and explains that time moves differently and inconsistently. It could have been a day, it could have been a week, it could have been five months. By the looks on the faces of those you pass, you think perhaps it’s been a little longer than you anticipated.
Part of you wonders what lie your parents must have told them about your death. You almost want to ask, but you don’t, anxiety stilling your tongue. You probably wouldn’t be able to get close enough to anyone to ask anyway. 
By the time the sun has sunk beyond the horizon and the moon has begun its climb, you and Taehyung stop at the tavern to eat. Your stomach rumbles as you step into the warmth of the room behind Taehyung, and you notice that the place goes quiet.
It’s subtle at first, something you don’t notice as you kick dirt off your shoes, but the hush becomes so intense that you can’t help but look up, gaze sweeping the room as everyone turns to stare at you. 
Behind the counter, the barkeep straightens. His name is Sloan - you’ve known him since you were a little girl - and he looks less than happy at your arrival.
“I know I’m pretty,” Taehyung announces loudly, tossing the hair out his eyes. “But you don’t need to stare.”
“You aren’t welcome here,” Sloan says, voice wavering like he’s unsure if he means it. “Begone, demon. We are men and women of life and light!”
You swallow thickly and look around, feeling prickly heat crawl up your neck. 
Like at the music shop, something happens to Taehyung, except this time, it’s stronger than before. The candles in the chandelier and on the tables flicker in a phantom wind and darkness pulses in the room. You feel energy rolling off of him and you swear Taehyung gets darker as he steps forward, his presence oppressive and threatening. 
There is crying and gasping in the room as he seethes. “We are not demons, and you will not disallow this woman to enter your shops, your homes, or anywhere else she wishes.” 
“Taehyung,” you whisper, throat dry. 
He doesn’t seem to hear you. You swear there is thunder in the distance. Whatever power belonging to Taehyung is tenfold now that the night sky stretches over the tavern. “Refuse her service, and there will be consequences.”
“Taehyung,” you hiss, snatching his sleeve. You pull his attention to you. His eyes are like two obsidian coins. There is something sharp and lupine about his face, sending your heart hammering. “Stop. This is making it worse.” 
“They should not insult you.”
“It’s fine.”
He softens a touch. “It isn’t. You are not… they do not understand you.”
“They never have. Come on, let’s just go.”
For a second, you think he might not. You don’t know what Taehyung is or what he can do. It doesn’t frighten you, though. Because whatever Taehyung is and whatever his intentions are, he’s linked to Yoongi. Yoongi would never put you in harm's way or let Taehyung near you if he was a threat.
Even after such a short period of time, you know this in your heart of hearts.
Taehyung relents and the light returns to the room. No one makes a sound, all eyes on Taehyung as he lets you pull him out of the door and into the night. You immediately feel better outside, the moon washing your skin in light and the stars watching you march into the street. 
“You can’t just threaten everyone who insults me,�� you snap, though you’re not really mad at him. “They’re only going to hate me more. And they will think you’re a demon when you do that.”
“I’m far more powerful than a demon,” he sniffs primly. “And they should not insult you. You have the favor of Dream. You are -” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Well, you’re far above their station. They know nothing.”
“Far above their station,” you snort, crushing a rock under the toe of your boot. “I’m a girl who was strange when they knew me before they thought I was dead, and now they think I’m a demon walking around with her scary demon husband. Or perhaps they think you are an evil entity.” 
“Don’t make that joke around Yoongi,” Taehyung mutters, putting his hands on his hips. Before you can ask what that means, he says, “What if I took you somewhere instead, then?”
You raise your brows and look around. “Where?”
“Well not here. Somewhere familiar to me, where they won’t ostracize you.”
“We’re going to travel in the middle of the night.”
Taehyung gives you a square grin that lights up the world. “Time to learn about how we travel.”
-
You almost vomit on Taehyung’s shoes. He squeals and steps out of the way as you bend over, holding your middle as bile burns its way up your throat and splatters onto the gravel beneath you. It feels like your world is spinning and you’ve lost your center of gravity, having been pulled by something sharp in your stomach into a vortex of what felt like twisting and spinning.
It could only have lasted a second, but Taehyung has to hold you up for a moment as you gasp for air, the taste in your mouth sour and gross. You crane your face to look at him, glaring as he winces. He had given you no warning of what his travel was like or how it would feel.
You’re not looking forward to it again.
“What,” you pant, “was that?”
“Teleportation, mostly. I kind of forgot what it feels like when you’re… human. You get a little scrambled.”
The nausea makes your throat clench and unclench again. You dig your fingers into his arm as you dry heave but nothing comes up. “A little?” you rasp. The world slows its spinning and the watering feeling in your mouth that preludes puking fades. “That was awful.”
“Sorry, it’s different than portaling. That’s more stepping through the door while teleportation is like... Jumping.”
“Don’t jump me again any time soon.”
Taehyung pats your back heartily as you stand up straight. The stars swim above you in a spiraling cosmos. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, waiting as the nausea fades away and the world around you bleeds into the forefront of your attention span. 
Noise hums from in front of you. You’re standing in an alleyway, looking up at the side of a building. It looks a bit like an inn, but you can hear the clamor of a crowd and loud voices coming from inside. Each window is curtained, keeping wandering eyes and the moonlight outside. 
Taehyung leads you around to the front of the building. It’s two stories and on the first floor there’s a porch filled with chairs and gambling tables. There are men and women draped over the furniture, smoking sweet-smelling cigars and laughing loudly as they throw dice on the table. 
Women and men in various states of undress sit on the laps of the others. You feel heat crawl up your neck as you avert your eyes, looking up at the sign hanging over the building that says Desert Rose. Nervousness tingles at the back of your neck as Taehyung strolls up the steps to what you’re sure is a brothel and a gambling den, greeting people as he goes.
You’re shocked that Taehyung knows people here. You’re sure that you’re still in… your dimension, as Yoongi calls it. The people here talk with an accent that is different from what you’re used to, but you still understand the language, even while struggling to keep up with the lilt.
Eyes follow you as Taehyung leads you inside. The air is thick with perfume, smoke, and loud voices. Tables are pressed closely together, filled with people. There’s a bar at the back of the room and a small bard and band in a corner, singing a raucous song with the crowd about Lady Trown who gets around and will go down. 
“Where did you bring me?” you ask Taehyung as he guides you through the rowdy room. A woman falls over a card game laughing, her breasts spilling out of her shirt while another woman plants a kiss right on her mouth. “This place is - is -”
There are no words for it. You’ve never been somewhere that is so openly indecent and carnal in your life and yet… the colors and the sounds and the overflowing joy hit you like an arrow to the chest. You can’t help but be drawn to look at the exposed bodies before darting your gaze away, only to be drawn somewhere else out of insatiable curiosity. 
“A haven!” Taehyung offers as he leans on the bar. “Two pints of whatever!” 
You press close against him, hands shooting to his shirt as someone pushes by you. It’s a little overwhelming and you feel hot all over. Taehyung shoves a wooden tankard of amber liquid into your hands and grins, raising another to his lips before taking several swigs, liquid running down his chin and neck. 
He comes away and smacks his lips, giving you a delighted grin. “It’s awful, just the way I like it!”
You take a sip and make a face. The watered-down ale is certainly nothing like the sweet wine Yoongi likes to treat you to over dinner. Taehyung seems to know this, laughing loudly as he leads you through the crowd toward an empty table in the corner. 
Back against the wall, you take a moment to look around the room. There are card and dice games being held at multiple tables, alongside other games with rune-marked stones, cups and trinkets that you don’t recognize.
It’s wildly different from anything back home. You’ve never been to a brothel - at least, you think this place qualifies for one, based on the various states of undress and a few couples doing something that makes you avert your eyes - but this is nice. In its own loud and carnal way.
Taehyung people-watches with you. He feeds you information on the faces that he recognizes, lips curling as he gossips. He looks alive and happy, his golden skin glowing with a radiance that seems a little magical. 
“So is it my turn to ask questions?” you ask, sipping the awful beer as you look over at Taehyung. His gaze reluctantly strays away from watching a card game where you’re pretty sure the woman who is winning is cheating. “Or do I still have to talk about myself?” 
He smirks. “You can ask questions, a deal is a deal.”
“What is this place?” 
“The Desert Rose.” 
You glare. “What is this place to you?” 
Taehyung takes a sip of his ale and grins, winking at you. “A better question. This place is somewhere I used to visit when I wanted to feel alive. When I wanted to feel humanity for its raw intensity.”
“So you’re not human.” He shakes his head. His face grows a little hesitant, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. “What are you?” 
“I’m a dream.” 
You blink once. Twice. You expect Taehyung to start laughing and indicate that he was teasing you, but he doesn’t. He leans back in his chair, watching you evenly with his dark eyes. 
“What?” you finally ask.
“I’m a dream. The second ever, actually.”
You think about what you’ve observed of Taehyung. The way that he seems to draw people in, the animated manner in which he speaks. He seems to contain so many multitudes of the things you know that Yoongi enjoys, and yet so many things that press Yoongi’s buttons and rattle him. 
Taehyung is… beautiful. Enchanting. Both to look at, and to talk to. He has a carefree personality and you know he’s magical, having witnessed it in the House of Dreams in snippets but also today, when he became angry and the darkness seemed to swell around him. Not to mention his awful teleportation to wherever you are in the world now.
He is exactly the kind of person you always imagined being the lead in your fantasies. Brave and charming, handsome and adventurous. He looks like he belongs here, melding to the energy around him, fitting in perfectly.
Suddenly, the thought of Taehyung being a dream makes more sense than anything else. A being of infinite possibilities, one who can shape themselves to anyone and anything, who can sense what people want and become that very thing.
You’re not sure what the complexities of dreams are, but you understand the very basics from Yoongi: most dreams are flexible and full of infinite possibilities. It’s what makes them so real, so strong. 
“That makes a lot of sense,” you murmur. “So you’re old.”
“Very.”
“If you’re the second dream…” you trail off, thinking about how Yoongi explained how he came to existence. How life dreamed and so he was born. “Yoongi is the first. That’s why you say he is Dream - he is the first and the essence of dreams.”
“Very clever.”
“When you said you came here to feel alive, what did you mean by that?”
He sighs heavily. “Yoongi was born because Life dreamed of - well, making life. And when Yoongi was born, he was the very concept of dreaming itself. Imagination, creation, wonder, hope. It’s why creation and dreaming are so close in their nature. But still, there is a difference between lifeforms and dreams.” 
“You wanted to know what it was like to feel life?”
He nods. “Yoongi made me as his first companion. He couldn’t help it, really. He didn’t make me on purpose so much as he thought of someone to spend time with, someone to offset him. To balance him. And then there I was.” 
You chew on your lip. There is a distant look in Taehyung’s gaze. He stares at his ale, not drinking anymore. He picks at splinters in the tankard handle, the noise around the two of you a dull roar. 
“But?” you offer, sensing his hesitance. 
“But,” he agrees, nodding. “When Life created humans, I wondered what the difference was between us. I sort of looked like them and I talked like them, but I wanted to know what it was like to be them. And dreams… They are wonderful. Beautiful. But I was afraid they weren’t real, so I started to visit here. To go places. To see if life was the same as dreams.” 
“Is it?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not better, it’s not worse. It’s just different. But I did learn that dreams are as real as life. Perhaps you cannot always see them and feel them depending on where you are, but anything someone dreams here is real there.” 
“That’s sort of comforting.” 
Taehyung smiles. “It is. Plus, I really enjoy people. They have an edge to them that dreams don’t.” 
Someone catches Taehyung’s attention. He turns in his seat, head craning as though he senses something. You follow his line of sight to where a young man descends the stairs leading up to the second floor. He is unlike anything you’ve ever seen, with dark, silky hair tucked behind his ears, full lips that pull into a smile as someone greets him, and sharp, dark eyes that crinkle when he laughs.
He’s beautiful. Suddenly you think that this might be what a dream truly looks like. Taehyung is all dark and shadows, but the man Taehyung watches is lightness and magic, his face so perfect that you cannot help but imagine it must be the result of someone carefully painting every feature. 
Your eyes flicker back to Taehyung when the man leans on the bar, talking to the barmaid behind the counter. Taehyung doesn’t move. You don’t even think he’s breathing. He sits in his chair, knuckles paling under the grip he has on the back of his seat, his eyes filled with such sudden longing that you have to look away. 
“Who is that?” you ask gently. Taehyung doesn’t seem to hear you. He watches and watches, wanting to look nowhere else but at the bar. “Taehyung?”
“His name is Jimin.” 
“That’s a pretty name.”
Taehyung nods. “He’s like you.”
“Like me?”
“He dreams loud enough for us to hear it. For me to hear it. I’ve been coming to this place long before he existed. A silly coincidence that he exists here, too.” 
“Fate, perhaps?” 
That makes Taehyung turn around. His expression is dark and he’s frowning. “Don’t start talking about Hoseok,” Taehyung mutters. “Lest he show up.”
You didn’t mean Yoongi’s sibling Fate, but you realize that’s who Taehyung is talking about. Your eyes drift back to where Jimin is at the bar, sipping a glass of amber liquid. As though he senses eyes on him, his gaze sweeps the bar until it lands on Taehyung, who straightens immediately. 
Jimin smiles and it’s like watching the first ray of sun break over the horizon. You can’t help but blink at his radiant beauty, completely taken aback by it as Jimin pushes off of the bar and begins heading your direction. 
Taehyung swivels in his chair, taking in a few calming breaths. You giggle and he looks up at you, giving you a pitiful smile. You reach across the table and squeeze his hand quickly. “Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous!”
“You definitely are.”
Before Taehyung can hiss a rebuttal at you, Jimin sidesteps a woman and grins at Taehyung. He drags his gaze to you and startles, as though he had not realized you were there, eyes going round and mouth forming an ‘o’. 
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with anyone,” Jimin says. His voice is soft and smooth, immediately comforting. “I wanted to come say hello.”
“Hi,” Taehyung breathes, blinking up at Jimin as though he is lost in starlight. Perhaps he is, you think. “Your hair is longer than the last time I saw you.”
Jimin flushes, a hand coming up to touch the ends of his hair gently. “Yeah, I thought I would grow it out.”
“It looks great.” 
For a moment, they stare at one another, Taehyung grinning with his eyes gleaming, and Jimin soft with his eyes scrunched. You look at the table, trying not to disrupt whatever spell they’re under as they peer at one another, but it seems Jimin senses your presence still. His eyes flicker to you and he raises a brow, questioning.
Taehyung fumbles to introduce you, turning and giving you a sheepish grin. You smile and stretch your hand over to shake Jimin’s. His hands are small and delicate but his grip is firm. “It’s nice to meet you. Taehyung wanted to show me this place because he enjoys the people so much - I believe that includes you.” 
Jimin smirks and shrugs a shoulder while Taehyung looks for a chair, yanking it away from someone to give Jimin a place to sit. He does, throwing Taehyung a grateful smile. “Hmm, is that so? Has he said nice things about me?”
“The nicest. In fact, the whole reason we came here is because he wanted to introduce me to the amazing Jimin.” 
Taehyung shoots you a look that tells you to shut up, but you hide your grin in your tankard as Jimin raises a brow, glancing at Taehyung. 
Watching Taehyung and Jimin is comedic and sweet. Taehyung isn’t an entirely different person around Jimin, but he becomes softer at the edges, his smiles gentler and his laughs louder. The longing in Taehyung’s gaze when he thinks Jimin isn’t looking is palpable, and even as a bystander and a friend, you feel a pang watching the two of them dance around one another. 
For his part, Jimin seems equally enthralled. He watches Taehyung with rapt attention, asking questions and touching Taehyung gently everywhere he can - the tops of Taehyung’s hands, his arm, his elbow. When Taehyung turns around to watch the table next to you topple over, you realize he’s unaware that Jimin is looking at him as though begging for Taehyung to see. 
You see. And you want. 
Never before had your parents inspired much desire for love in you. While they worked well together, you still can’t call what they had happy or loving. Functional, sure. Successful, even. But they did not look at one another the way Taehyung and Jimin seem to, and you can’t help but suddenly feel like that is something you want.
Someone to look at you when they think you’re not looking in a way that implies you are their sun and moon. Someone who smiles with such mirth at something you do or say that you can feel the heat of it. 
Jimin gets up to refill the drinks, scooping yours with a grin before vanishing in the crowd. Taehyung watches him go, craning his neck to ensure he has eyes on Jimin as he makes his way to the bar.
“Have you told him you’re in love with him?” 
Taehyung shakes his head, eyes never leaving where Jimin is leaning over the bar to order. “There’s no point.” 
“What? Why not?”
“I’m a dream. He’s a human. We could never be something.” 
“Oh. Surely there’s a way?” 
Taehyung turns to look at you, the joy on his face slipping to be replaced with a soft sadness. He shakes his head again, picking at the splinters on the table. “I would be no good for him. We live in two different worlds… I come and go… He deserves a normal, human life. We could never be something.”
Jimin starts to head back toward the table. Taehyung shakes off the melancholy and smiles just as bright when Jimin returns, as though he wasn’t sad only a moment ago. You accept the refilled drink from Jimin with a weak smile.
Taehyung’s words cycle through your mind as the two men fall into giggling conversation, and all you can think about is a pair of dark cat eyes, a soft raspy voice, and a man who is made of dreams.
We could never be something. 
-
“I was starting to worry, you know?” 
Yoongi’s voice makes you blink. You realize you’re standing among the wisteria, the breeze carrying their sweet scent over your warm skin. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. He’s leaning against a tree, his long hair down and dancing in the breeze. The thin white shirt he wears does little to hide the lines of his stomach and chest today, making you avert your eyes. 
“Why?” you ask, voice steadier than you feel. 
You walk toward a low-hanging vine, bringing your hands up to brush along the purple petals. You feel the tree shiver under your touch. You sense it, like it purrs, a response that is hard to explain but you innately know. 
“It took you longer than usual to fall asleep.”
“Can you not see me when I’m not asleep?”
“I could, but prying is rude. I only see you when you come to me.”
You turn to look at him sharply. He seems a little smug at that, the corners of his full lips twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. Your heart skips a beat for a moment before Taehyung’s words from that night play in your mind. We could never be something. 
And yet Yoongi is implying it’s you who visits him. 
You scowl and turn away from him suddenly. Yoongi makes a sound like a sigh and pushes off of the tree, his footsteps quiet as a whisper. “Have I upset you?” 
“I want to go to sleep.”
He hesitates. You cannot see his expression, but you can picture it perfectly: brows drawn together, mouth pouted slightly, head cocked.  His confusion is evident when he says, “You are asleep.”
“You know what I mean.” 
Silence, for a moment. Then, in that soft, rasping voice that you know so well, he murmurs, “Goodnight, then.” 
-
Silence greets you when you wake up the next morning. Your home is still empty - you have not seen either of your parents since you arrived the night before. Either you’re coming and going at hours they’re not around or they’re avoiding you. The latter is most likely, and you certainly don’t mind. 
Your day goes similarly to the day before. This time, when you walk through the woods, you feel a little more of a spark. You’re sure it has to do with your conversation with Taehyung, his words about dreams and reality being different but equally powerful pouring a little bit of magic back into the woods you loved so dearly.
Still, you miss the other realm and the House of Dreams, even if you’re a little embarrassed by your dream last night, recalling the way you dismissed Yoongi. 
Sitting on the ground with your back pressed against a cypress tree, you let out a heavy sigh and close your eyes, your arms hugging around your middle. You try not to think too hard about the way Yoongi looked leaning against the tree, dark eyes drinking you in. 
Yoongi occupies more than his fair share of thoughts. You hate it, the way your mind strays to him, thinking this is something Yoongi would like or Yoongi would find this funny. Only two weeks and he and Taehyung are suddenly all you know, your experiences with them painting most of your thoughts. 
Thoughts of Taehyung don’t plague you, though. 
The fluttering feeling every time you think of Yoongi has not faded with time or distance. It might be easier if he didn’t visit your dreams every night - or if you didn’t visit him in your dreams, which you don’t know how to do. 
But Taehyung’s forlorn words come drifting back to you, reminding you that there is some distinction between humans and dreams. That even for Taehyung, it cannot work. 
When you return home, your parents still aren’t there. You busy yourself with lunch and then begin practicing your letters, tracing them until your hand is cramping and your head is starting to hurt. You manage to take up most of the afternoon that way, focused solely on your studies and trying to read through your work.
Just as evening falls, Taehyung appears in the yard, hands on his hips as he looks up at your window, whistling to catch your attention. You grin when you see him, happy to have a friend, even if it’s just Taehyung. You don’t ask why Yoongi doesn’t come with him - the Eternal is busy, you’re sure - but you’re pleased to just have Taehyung. 
It becomes a routine. It’s not as thrilling as your life in the House of Dreams, but it isn’t as terrible as you thought it would be. The few times that you do see your parents, they glare at you as though you have become something evil in their house, lurking and stealing their joy. 
You say nothing to them and they stay away from you. 
It’s the same in town. You only visit with Taehyung, otherwise you are too afraid to go on your own. The villagers say nothing when they see the two of you walking around and visiting the old church, but they glare and you catch them doing the signs to ward off evil as you pass by. 
Still, Taehyung makes it worth it. He visits you nightly, whisking you away to the Desert Rose, which has become a refuge for you. You’re no better at teleporting, but you manage not to vomit on his shoes each time you do it. 
Tonight, the energy is thrumming at the Desert Rose. Your gaze lingers longer on those around you and you even introduce yourself to the people that Taehyung is familiar with. Though Taehyung opts to play a game of dice, you do not. You’re content to watch, standing over his shoulder with your arms crossed over your chest.
You feel… alive. Just like Taehyung described when he started coming here. It’s so different from your life before, and after over a week of being around people who seem to spill over with joy without restraint, you feel yourself loosening up. Becoming something a little different. Someone who wants. Someone who wants openly. 
You think about Yoongi. Once he’d told you that he wasn’t just Eternal of dreams. He also has power over desire, and he believes in indulgence. He wants to teach you to indulge more. It suddenly makes all the more sense that Taehyung likes it here. He’s someone who dives in head first to things, taking any bet someone throws his way and snatching drinks off of passing trays. 
Even his desire for Jimin is open and obvious, though you’re sure Taehyung doesn’t know that. 
It’s a lovely night. You feel warm all over, the drink getting to you as you guzzle down the remainder of your cider, which you favor far more than the ale. Jimin clambors onto the table, a cup in hand as he starts yelling the words to the song the band is playing in the corner. 
Taehyung begins to slam his wooden cup on the table in time with the beat, yelling the words and standing up as the room joins in, stamping their feet and slamming on tables. You don’t know the words but you laugh loudly, slamming your palms against the top of the table. They sting with the force of your slap, but it feels good. 
You feel good. Happy. Drunk. A little dizzy as the table wobbles and you dive out of the way as Jimin comes tumbling down. It doesn’t stop you from taking a shower of beer from Jimin’s cup, dousing you in warm liquid as you shriek and laugh. 
Taehyung catches Jimin, of course. They’re a tangled mess of limbs and wet with beer all the same, pointing at you and laughing as you blink through the drink dripping down your face. You flick beer at them with the liquid on your hands, making them howl. 
“Gross! Jimin!”
“I’m so sorry,” he gasps through the laughter, his arms slung tight around Taehyung’s neck as Jimin leans into him. “I slipped!”
“You owe me a new shirt!” 
Jimin nods, grinning so broadly his eyes are crescents as he stands properly and beckons you. “Come on, both of you. I’ll get you new shirts that aren’t soaked. 
Upstairs is a series of private rooms. The hall is lit with flickering sconces and the plush carpet mutes your footsteps. Jimin leads you and Taehyung, giggling, to a door. He thrusts it open and the three of you tip inside, stopping short at the scene in front of you.
Your hands fly to your mouth to mute your gasp, but Taehyung and Jimin collapse into another fit of laughter. If the two people in the bed are bothered by the interruption, they don’t show it. They are a tableau of pleasure, a woman laying back on the bed, arching upward as she lets out a moan. Her skin is slick with sweat, nipples hard as she teases them with one hand, another hand slipping between her legs to cradle the head of someone there.
The shock roots you to the spot. You can’t look away, completely hypnotized by the way the person between the woman’s legs moans, pressing their mouth further into her, the wet smack of their mouth loud over the woman’s trembling moans. 
You’ve never seen such a raw, carnal exchange. As Taehyung apologizes and grabs you and Jimin, pulling you back out into the hallway, you know you’ll never forget that momentary vision. Even as Jimin directs you to the right room to change your shirt in, you replay the scene over and over in your head, thinking of a different detail every single time: the pleasure on the woman’s face, the delicate bow of her back, the soft swells of her breasts, the wet sounds of the mouth between her legs. 
It haunts you. You swallow thickly when you’re done changing, skin still smelling like beer. Your mind wanders to Yoongi, wondering if this is what he was talking about when he spoke of desire. If he also meant physical desire, the indulgence of the erotic variety. 
The thought shames you so thoroughly you’re silent the rest of the night. You’re embarrassed by your immediate curiosity - angry that you even entertained the thought of being in that position with Yoongi, no matter how fleeting the idea was. 
Yoongi certainly did not mean he was going to teach you that - did he?
You shake the thoughts from your head and focus on reality. Of course he didn’t mean that. Taehyung was right when he spoke about the relationships between humans and dreams - it could never be something. 
-
Sweat trickles down your neck slowly. You feel every inch of it, your skin sensitive and over-warm. Your stomach clenches and your hands twist in your sheets as a hot mouth presses against your throat, teeth scraping, tongue licking. 
An inferno grows inside of you as the mouth sinks lower. You hear your heaving breaths, loud and ragged. Your heart beats in your ears, the staccato almost louder than the whimper that leaves your mouth when a wet, messy kiss is placed on your collarbone. 
It’s madness. It’s tortuous. It’s glorious, this feeling thrumming through you, making you twist your head to the side, muscles clenching and letting loose over and over again, your body completely at war with itself.
But it feels so good. 
One of your hands shoots to the silky, dark hair of the person kissing your chest. You card your fingers through soft strands, tugging a little. A deep, throaty moan escapes the lips pressed to your skin, breath hot and warm. 
Dark eyes meet yours, lips parted and swollen, Yoongi’s pupils blown and -
Panic explodes. You realize it’s Yoongi kissing you this way. Yoongi’s hands skimming up your sides, Yoongi’s mouth pressing searing kisses to your flesh, Yoongi’s moan that is falling from his lips, honey sweet. 
“We can’t,” you whisper, though dream-Yoongi just stares at you, eyes fathomless. “We could never be something.”
“Of course we can,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. “You are everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” 
The weight of his gaze is blazing. You feel your skin burn under the heat of it, you feel like it’s harder to breathe, you feel the sweat run down your spine, your arms, you feel like you’re overheating, it’s hot it’s too-
-
You wake up to something screeching. For a moment, daylight blinds you. You hold your hands in front of your face, shielding your eyes from the light. But the light is an inferno of heat against your hand, making you gasp and choke on thick air as you blink sleep away, trying to make sense of where you are. 
Fire. It isn’t daylight you’ve woken up to, it’s fire. 
Leaping up from bed, you throw your sheets off, scrambling to push yourself against the wall. The flames are already high, licking toward the ceiling and filling your room with thick, grey smoke as the fire eats at the old wood of your house. 
The screech comes again, the shutters on your window rattling. Heart pounding, you slide your hand along the wall, fingers trembling as you press them into the wood, trying to find the metal latch to open them. You cover the lower half of your face with your opposite arm, coughing into it. 
Your fingers slip on the latch, sweaty and shaking. You inch closer to the window, getting a solid grip on the metal and flipping it upward. The latch clacks and the windows swing open, a gust of wind entering the room. It makes matters worse, the oxygen fueling the fire into a rage as it climbs higher and jumps towards your bed. 
You look frantically around your room, realizing you can’t take anything. The writing desk in the corner is aflame, all of the sheets of paper and your hard-earned practice curling into smoke as they’re consumed, your letters from Yoongi turning to ash. 
“No!” you sob, realizing those things are lost forever.
Again, there’s a wild screech. You turn to look out the window to see a large, brown owl - Guardian, you realize - screeching, flapping its great wings, gold eyes fixated on the fire. It yells at you again, as though imploring you to move. 
You take a breath and dive out the window. For a moment as you fall toward the ground, you’re reminded that this is the second time you’re having to use it to escape danger. That thought sinks like a stone in your stomach, going down, down, down until it rests weighty in your gut.
The smack of the ground rattles you. Every part of you hurts, bones jolting as you roll until you’re flat on your back, gasping as the air leaves your lungs momentarily, knocked out of you. Scrambling up despite your limbs protesting in pain, you look up at the fire crawling over your house. 
That’s when you notice it - the noise and the yelling of voices. Inside your home, with the roaring and crackling of the fire, you couldn’t hear the crowd outside. Now, you see them in full. They carry torches and farm tools, some of them with axes and hoes, others with scythes. 
They don’t see you yet, giving you a long moment to stare open-mouthed as the pieces of the puzzle slide together. They’ve set your home on fire because of you - they’ve tried to kill you. Because they think you’re a demon and because they think you’re an evil creature. 
Heart in your throat, you scan the lines of the faces. Toward the edge, you see your parents. A group of women consoles your mother, holding her by the shoulders gently as she stares into the orange flame. Your father stands a few feet away, almost by himself, watching and watching and watching. 
They knew you were asleep. And your window had not been closed before bed - you’d been leaving it open at night so Guardian could come and go as he pleased. 
You sit there on the ground, staring in shock, for too long. Someone notices you and points, screaming something that you cannot hear over the blood rushing in your ears. Panic seizes you and you scramble to your feet, sliding a few times as the crowd runs at you.
There’s no time to see what your parents do. The image of them watching their home burn with the thought of you inside is fresh in your memory, a razor-sharp cut that flays you open as you turn and run. Run toward the woods where Nathaniel chased you on that fateful night. 
Run to the woods you almost died in. Run to the woods where Yoongi swooped in and made a promise to protect you. 
Darkness descends. You think for a moment as you enter the woods that you won’t get lucky a second time, that your luck has run out. It’s the panic that scrambles your thoughts, and the memories of Nathaniel chasing you through these woods make you stumble and fall. 
You don’t make it far. You trip over a tree root and tumble into strong arms. The smell of clove and cinnamon is overpowering as you look up at Yoongi, who pulls you into his chest. You let him, sliding your arms around his middle and pressing your face into his neck as you squeeze your eyes shut.
“I’ve got you, little lamb.” His voice is dark as the shadows that wrap around you, cool and soothing to the touch. “They cannot hurt you.” 
As Yoongi whisks you away like that fateful night, you hear the echoing voice scream behind you. Devil! Demon King! The Dark God!
-
“It’s my fault,” Yoongi murmurs, cradling your face to inspect it for the tenth time. He’s crouching in front of you, dark eyes wild as he inspects your face for any damage. You pull your jaw from his grasp - even if his touch tingles pleasantly - and look in the other direction. “I should have known.”
“Yes,” Taehyung snaps behind Yoongi, arms crossed and presence thundering. “You should have.” 
There is no fire going in the library tonight. You have a feeling Yoongi has extinguished it for obvious reasons, but you say nothing. You look over Yoongi’s dark head to where Taehyung is raging, his face pinched with anger. You give him a look and he tosses his hands in the air. 
“What?” he demands. “It’s true.”
“Taehyung.”
“I’m not going to lie to him. He should have known sending you back was an idiotic idea. Thinking anyone would have accepted you was an oversight.”
Yoongi grits his teeth and stands. You watch as he visibly tries to control his frustration, taking a step back from you. Tonight, he’s dressed in all black. His cloak is still on and his necklaces pool at his throat, the silver cold in the dark of the library. His hair is pulled back out of his face and you think he looks like the real Eternal, tonight. 
He turns to Taehyung. “You know why I sent her back.”
“Yes, your fucked up sense of morality and-”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not sitting right here,” you snap. You ball your fists in your lap. You’re still dressed in night clothes and the scent of ash and sweat is heavy on your skin. You stare at your hands. “I want to go to bed.” 
“Alright.” Yoongi’s extended hand appears in front of you. You drag your eyes up to meet his. Gone is the anger and severity, replaced only with a soft, almost fond expression. “I’ll walk you.”
Putting your hand in Yoongi's, you let him pull you out of the chair. 
You could be mad at him if you tried. Perhaps it would be easy to blame Yoongi for sending you back to keep some semblance of normalcy in your life. Maybe you would feel lighter if you got angry with him for promising to protect you, but only being able to physically do so, unable to shield you from the hatred of your community. 
If you tried, perhaps you could blame him for not letting you drown in the first place. For bringing you here with the fantasy that you could exist with one foot in each world. 
You’re not mad at him, though. Unlike Taehyung, you don’t need to wonder why Yoongi wanted you to spend two weeks in the real world. The real world is yours. It’s where you belong. To want some sort of normalcy for you or hope that you’d be able to pick up your life there anew was perhaps shortsighted, but rooted in the desire to do good for you.
So you’re not angry with Yoongi, though you’re not sure you’re pleased either. 
The walk to your room is silent. Yoongi has let go of your hand but he walks close enough that your arms brush, sending shivers down your spine. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing, and he seems content to let you keep your thoughts to yourself. 
This isn’t how you wanted to see him for the first time since your two weeks spent in your realm.
The inside of your room is warm, but there’s no fire. You almost ask if he’s doused every flame in the house, and protest that you’re not afraid, but you don’t. He follows you into your room and shuts the door behind him. You walk toward the chaise and sit on it, looking up at where he hovers by the door. 
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. The emotions there are deep, but unreadable. “It was foolish of me to think they’d accept you as you were. Foolish to think that maybe the relationship with your parents might mend.” 
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I am thousands of years old. Humankind has not changed so much in their ability to fear the unknown and react violently. I do know better, but I…”  You wait for him to explain further, but he doesn’t. Yoongi lets the sentence drift off into the night. Instead of finishing it, he ventures, “Are you sure you’re unharmed?” 
“Yeah, Guardian was screeching at the window.” 
“Guardian?”
“Yeah, the owl. I assumed you sent it to watch over me.” 
Yoongi frowns. “No, that’s what Taehyung was for. I did not…”
“What?” You see the look on his face change, shifting from confused to steel calm. “What is it?” 
“Hoseok,” Yoongi mutters, turning to exit your room. “Try to get some sleep. I have a meddling owl to deal with.” 
As he moves to close the door, you lean forward. “Yoongi?” He looks up, eyes wide, expression soft. He looks like a dark star, just then. The light from the window makes him glow from within, his eyes endless pools, his power ebbing in the room, a constant energy. “Thank you.”
His mouth turns downward. “For what?”
“Saving me. Again.”
His eyes darken. “Your safety will always be paramount to me. I’ll do better.” 
“I think you’re doing the best you are able.” 
“Thank you for saying so.”
Silence hangs between the two of you. It’s heavy, filled with friction that wasn’t there before. You squirm where you sit, suddenly unable to meet the set of eyes pinned to you. You’d  forgotten what his gaze could do to you in person, and now the full force of it is dizzying. 
“Goodnight, little lamb.”
-
A gentle scratch sounds on the other side of the window. You look up from your writing desk to the windows facing the mountains. Beyond the first sprawling peaks, you see the tallest of them all, the dark mountain wreathed in shadow and lightning. 
The thunder rolls, vibrating your bones. You stare at the mountain, feeling the hair at the back of your neck stand on end. You grip the quill tight. 
Beneath the hum of thunder, you hear a scratching on the glass again. You squint, but you see nothing there. Just open air and those ominous mountains in the back, watching you as you scrawl your letters. 
Carefully, you set the quill down and get up. The floor is cold as you walk toward the window, which is strange. The floor is always warm in your room, as are the walls and most of the House of Dreams, fueled by whatever magic lives through Yoongi. 
Near the glass, you almost feel how cold the window is. You frown and lift a hand, pressing a single finger against a pane. It’s freezing to the touch and you yank your hand back, perplexed as you stare at the single fingerprint left by your warm skin. 
The fingerprint fades but the scratching sound does not. A gentle scritch scritch scritch, like a nail on the window. 
“My betrothed,” someone whispers. Your blood runs cold and you whirl around, expecting to find someone standing in your bathroom. “Won’t you open the window for me? It’s so cold outside.” 
Fear turns your stomach into acid. Your hands begin to shake as you stare into the emptiness of your room, suddenly feeling like it’s darker. Did the ceilings get taller? Is your room blurry at the edges? The scratching on the window intensifies, and with trembling lips, you turn to look over your shoulder.
There’s nothing outside, but there’s a shadowy reflection on the glass. A little taller than you. A little wider. 
“Betrothed,” Nathaniel whispers again. “Won’t you let me in to reunite?” 
For a moment, there is silence. The shadow doesn’t move. You don’t dare breathe. The shadow leaps at you and a scream tears through you -
Hands press you into something soft. You kick and scream, lashing out. Sheets tangle your legs and stick to your sweaty skin. Suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe and you thrash wildly, screaming at the top of your lungs as you claw at whatever’s holding you down.
Panic like never before seizes you. Your head smacks into something hard and it knocks you backward, suddenly dizzy as a hand comes up to your head automatically. It hurts where your fingers press into the skin, and you’re momentarily subdued by the way the room spins; the pain morphs your panic into confusion.
Breathing heavily, you blink your eyes rapidly, tears streaming down your face and vision a little blurry as you try and put the pieces together. Finally, you realize Taehyung is sitting on the floor next to your bed with his hand pressed against his forehead, in a similar fashion to your current state. Yoongi stands next to him, hands held up tentatively, as though he is about to grab you or has just let you go. 
Silence hangs in the air, your breathing ragged. Your head - which you can surmise you’ve smacked against Taehyung’s - throbs wildly. As though sensing your discomfort and sticky thoughts, Yoongi’s eyes flicker away from your gaze to your head.
“May I fix that?” he asks slowly, voice gentle. “You smacked heads quite hard. I’m concerned you may be concussed.” 
“Concussed,” you repeat back slowly. The word feels heavy on your tongue. “Right.”
Yoongi’s face colors with concern and he gestures toward you, asking permission again. It takes you another minute to put it together, but you nod dumbly, watching as he steps forward very slowly, dark eyes looking for any sign of protest or panic from you.
When you don’t bolt or swing at him, he takes another step toward you, hands reaching up toward your skull. You flinch when he reaches near and he stops, hands hovering. You can feel the heat of his skin a hair's breadth away, feel the magic skimming along him where he hesitates. 
You look up at Yoongi. His eyes are wide and full of concern, his brows pulled up. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously as his eyes shift from your head to your eyes, trying to assess what to do. You smell cinnamon and clove and it calms you a little. 
This is Yoongi. Not Nathaniel. Yoongi, who saved you from the grips of that hateful man and who brought you here. Somewhere that made you happy.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. You feel tired suddenly, like your adrenaline is waning and the aftereffects are bleeding you out. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, pressing his hands gently to your head. You wince, the lump there giving a painful throb as he does. 
“Maybe apologize,” Taehyung mutters from his spot on the floor. “Are you going to give me magic hand, too?”
“Silence, Taehyung.” Yoongi’s voice is cutting. It’s a voice you’ve never heard him use with Taehyung, your eyes shooting up to his in shock. He pays you no mind, focused on his hands. 
Warmth emanates from his palms. Immediately you feel the tingle of magic. It’s soothing, making your eyes flutter as you become dizzy again. You let the warmth wash over you, accompanied by a peculiar array of senses: dark spicy smells; the feeling of velvet against your skin; the taste of cherry wine; a warm breath against your lips.
You shiver, head rolling back a little as it grows heavy and you grow drowsy suddenly, limbs weighted, mind fading. 
“I didn’t… I didn’t know that was a dream.” Yoongi grimaces and says nothing. “Why didn’t that feel like a dream, Yoongi?”
“Sleep,” Yoongi murmurs, and his voice feels very far away. “You’ll be fine, now. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“Thank you.”
“An easy fix.” 
Yoongi removes his hand and you catch his wrist gently, eyes opening for a moment. “No,” you slur, speech heavy as the exhaustion pulls at you. “Thank you for saving me.”
You don’t know if you mean before, or when your neighbors came for you, or now. Maybe you mean all of it. Maybe you mean saving you from a life that you hated and bringing you here. You mean it nonetheless, though you’re unsure from where the bravery came to say it.
Dropping Yoongi’s wrist, you fall backward unceremoniously onto your bed. There is no fear of Nathaniel scratching at the glass anymore, your mind mostly empty, save for the smell of cinnamon and clove. 
Yoongi and Taehyung gather to leave your room, and as you fade, you catch the tiniest bit of conversation from Taehyung. “... need to teach her. It’s only going to get worse… spinner.” 
Sleep takes you. 
-
Being back in the House of Dreams feels like home. Though the lingering feeling of hot flame and the look on your parents’ faces as they watch their home burn still haunts you, you feel safer than you have in the last week. 
In the House of Dreams, there's no one to mutter prayers and sign wards against evil as you pass by. There’s no one glaring at you - except Taehyung, who pouts when you steal the last of the honey for your toast at breakfast. It’s just Yoongi and Taehyung, who talk more chipper than usual at breakfast. 
You eye Yoongi carefully. He sits at the head of the table, dressed in a beautiful, jade-colored silk shirt. His hair is pulled back in a bun, earrings dangling as he leads forward and plucks melon from the bowl in front of him. 
Yoongi lifts the fruit to his mouth. You pause chewing your toast, eyes focused on the way he bites into the fruit, lips plush around it, a bead of juice running down his chin. Suddenly you’re thinking about the night at The Desert Rose, a head between legs, a back that’s arched, skin sweaty-
Taehyung clears his throat from across the table and draws your attention. He’s staring at you with thinly veiled amusement, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. You scowl and take a large bite of your toast before swallowing what's in your mouth, feeling heat bloom in your cheeks and neck. 
Yoongi is none the wiser, chewing happily on his fruit as he scratches Tiara under her chin. She chirps like a bird and purrs like a cat, letting out small curls of smoke everytime she puffs happily. 
Your mouth twitches in a smile as you look at your plate, happy to be back with them. 
“I want you to come to the Dream Tower with me today,” Yoongi ventures lightly. You snap your gaze up in surprise. He looks casual, as though he’s not offering you to come to the place he works, filled with magic and dreams. “I think you could help me.”
“Me?”
His mouth quirks. “Is there another human prone to trouble around here that I’m not aware of?” 
“I thought you blamed yourself?”
“So I do. But yes - you.” 
“How do you want me to help?”
Yoongi grins as he pops another piece of fruit into his sinful mouth. “You’ll see.” 
Despite your excitement and the promise of a look inside  Yoongi’s lair, even him asking for your help doesn’t earn you a break from daily reading and writing lessons. When Yoongi gestures to the assigned work on your desk, you throw him a severe look followed by a pout. As endeared as he seems, he is unwavering, patting your desk chair as he walks by. 
You’re not really mad. You fall into an easy calm as you sit down and scoot up toward the desk. The fire is low and crackling in the fireplace today and the library smells faintly of cardamom as you work. Tiara flights around the second story of the room, chittering and following Yoongi - who seems to be organizing the shelves. 
Taehyung vanishes to do whatever it is he does during the day. You’re not even sure if it’s day in your world. You hope he will take you to The Desert Rose again to see Jimin and to drink cider. You love the warmth of the crowd and the loud bustle. 
The House of Dreams is quiet. 
Time slips as you work. You lose yourself in swirling letters and short reading passages, so much so that when there is a tingling presence near your shoulder, you flinch, ripping your quill across the page and splattering ink. 
Yoongi tsks and apologizes, grabbing an ink stained cloth to wipe the spilled liquid from the desk. His proximity makes your head spin, the edge of his hips grazing your shoulder as he leans over you to clean the mess you’ve made. 
Mouth drying, you drop the quill and flex your hand, coughing out an apology as you try to organize your thoughts that spill like the ink on the desk at his nearness. 
Being away from him almost made you forget how dizzying his presence could be. Yoongi regards your work in silence, but all you can focus on is the measured sound of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him, the curve of his mouth, the juice running down his-
“Ready?”
“What?” you ask, blinking and looking up at him owlishly. He gazes down at you, cocking a brow. It’s obvious he had asked you a question. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening?” 
“What were you doing?”
“... Staring.”
“At?”
“The wall?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” he questions, his voice laced with teasing. 
You scowl and shove your chair backward into his stomach, knocking him back. He lets out a loud oof and a bit of laughter as you stand and stretch, hyperaware that he’s been in a rather cheeky mood since breakfast. 
Together, you begin your walk to the tower. Tiara comes along, jumping up on Yoongi’s shoulder and curling herself around him like a scarf, her tail wrapped gently around his neck. She regards you with distaste and her tongue flickers out to taste the air, a curl of smoke escaping her nose as she huffs.
Fighting the urge to stick your tongue out at a dragon, you opt to walk in comfortable silence. 
As you do, your thoughts inevitably drift to the night before and the dream that didn’t feel like a dream. For the most part, you feel like you can tell when you’re dreaming. There’s always an opaque feeling to your dreams, something a little off. 
Now, you’re worried that perhaps you can’t tell the difference. You think that maybe you should ask Yoongi if he can help you tell the difference between being awake and dreaming, but your desire to ask is stopped as you reach the foot of stairs you’ve never climbed before. 
Yoongi looks down at you as he begins ascending, giving you a gummy smile that sends your pulse galloping after him. You curse your traitor heart, trying to remember what Taehyung said to you about the relationship between dreams and humans. It could never work. But… you’re here. In Yoongi’s home, and you don’t know how long you’re allowed to stay - if you’re ever supposed to go back again.
Both of you seem to completely ignore that you were brought back to the dream realm ahead of schedule, that maybe going back is no longer an option. 
There are doors leading to rooms as you ascend the stairs. Yoongi ignores all of them in favor of climbing up, up, and up. Your calves burn by the time you make it to the top, pausing to catch your breath and sweep your eyes across the large, circular room. 
It’s stunning. Glancing up, your mouth falls open in surprise when you see that there is no ceiling, but a mass of writhing cosmos and something like a night sky. The nebulous display casts a lavender and blue glow on the room below, the two-tone light shifting and moving. 
There are all manner of things in the room. Tables covered in papers, rich rugs with different designs, chairs and bookshelves and curiosity cabinets and glass cases full of glowing things that you cannot identify. Tiara hops off of Yoongi’s shoulder and floats on small wings toward a pile of blankets, twigs, and leaves that looks like a nest.
What demands your attention most, though, is the massive stone dais in the room, with a stone column about waist high with something that looks like a bowl carved into the top. From where you stand, you can see there’s liquid in the bowl that moves and shimmers with its own glow. Occasionally, a sparkle or wisp of color drifts from the cool surface.
Energy vibrates in the air. You can feel it like a static on your skin and taste it like a buzz on your tongue. You’re drawn to the dais, taking a step forward and halting. It feels like a hum shivers through you. You look at Yoongi, questioning. 
“The dream pool,” he answers, as though you have any idea what that is. 
He walks toward it and looks back at you, hesitating before he offers a hand. Excitement shoots through you as you take his hand and he pulls you toward it. Your hand tingles where you hold his. Even when you reach the dais and he lets go, there’s pins and needles left behind. 
“This is where I help create dreams for those who can’t do it on their own.” 
The liquid in the basin brightens as Yoongi steps up close. You watch as a watercolor of lights splashes across his face. He looks down into the bowl lovingly, a soft smile on his face, and so much adoration in his eyes that you find yourself watching him instead of the magical water in the bowl. 
“This room is full of things that help inspire dreams. I make everything myself but Taehyung likes to help - he likes to decorate and fill the room with items that inspire creativity.”
“Somehow I think dream personified doesn’t need it.”
He shoots you a grin. “You’d be surprised. Come look.”
Tentatively, you step up next to him. You’re aware of how close you stand, his sleeves brushing yours as he places a hand on the basin. It comes up to your stomach and is two feet in diameter. The water looks so much deeper than you thought. You’re unable to see the bottom, an illusion that makes you dizzy.
Like the sky above, the water shimmers and moves with its own set of stars and colors. It feels alive, like whatever power is in the dream pool recognizes you and wakes up, spinning as you look into the glittering surface. 
“I can feel and hear people dream,” Yoongi explains. “It’s like a frequency that I can tap into. I can turn it on and off at a whim. Those who don’t struggle to dream are so much quieter than those who cannot dream. I listen for those who cannot, and I come here and focus on them in my mind’s eye before creating them a dream. I pour in thoughts, feelings, scents, sounds, memories and the like into this bowl. I think it, and so it appears.” 
“How?”
“What you’d call magic. Really it’s just divine power. This is a part of me,” he says, tapping the rim of the basin. “Just like dreams are.”
“How can I help you do… this?” you ask, gesturing wildly to the water.
Yoongi’s smile is angelic. “You have the raw capability of a dreamer. Someone who dreams so powerfully and loudly that it can’t help but catch my attention.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your imagination and your ability to come up with things is more innate than most people. You’re an innovator, a great conjurer of stories and fantasies. It’s a rare gift in humans. Some call you Spinners - you can spin dreams up just as easily as I can, with practice, but you cannot do so without a tool like this basin.” 
“A spinner.” You remember the night before, hearing the word on Taehyung’s lips. “Are there others?” 
He nods. “Under fifty in the entire world. I believe you’ve met another one. He’s the one Taehyung visits.”
“Jimin?” 
“Mhmm. He’s like you. You have no power though, not in your world. Just raw ability.”
“So if I were to use this… pool of dreams, I could give people dreams.”
He nods, smiling. You smile back at him, his happiness infectious. You like the way his eyes crinkle when he grins broadly at you, the way his cheeks tint pink. It is strange to think that this soft man in front of you is also the same dark, powerful god who has swept in to save you, whose voice haunts your dreams and whose phantom touch lingers in all of the places that it shouldn’t. 
Licking his lips and rolling his shoulders, Yoongi takes his stance at the basin. You watch, fascinated as he sweeps a hand over the surface, not touching the water. It ripples an entire rainbow of colors, casting shadows on his face when he peers down into the water as the surface smoothes out like a mirror. 
An opaque image materializes on the surface. You watch as Yoongi concentrates. Slowly, things begin appearing. A cerulean ocean, waves rolling gently against a sandy beach. Foam clings to the sand. Starfish of every color - blue, green, red - begin to dot the beach. A gull cries above, so clear it feels like you’re there. Then you smell it - the salt, the brine. The subtle scent of driftwood. A breeze blows against your face, carrying the cool ocean mist. 
You let out a laugh as Yoongi smiles, his eyes never leaving the images unfolding in the basin. You watch as a dolphin crests a wave, earning a gasp from you. You’ve never seen a dolphin, only heard about them in passing from fishermen from the coast. They spray water high into the air as they break the waves, moving smoothly through glittering waters. 
It feels so real and warm, the dream bright and full of hope. Happiness. Excitement. You feel what Yoongi pours into the basin, your toes curling as though you can feel hot sand beneath your feet. 
“The trick,” Yoongi explains carefully, “Is imagining everything that would make it feel real. It can’t be just what you see. It has to be what you hear, what you feel, what you smell, what emotions you evoke. You have to do all of these things at once - you have to believe in them all at once. Dreams about real things are the easiest. More complex dreams can include anything you can imagine that humans believe to be fake: dragons, brownies, griffons.” 
“How do you know what to give?” 
“You feel it. Place your hand on the side.” 
Carefully, you lift your hand to the side of the dream pool. You hesitate and look up at Yoongi, eyes wide. He gives you an encouraging nod. You place your hand on the bowl, feeling the warm stone. 
A pulse of energy flows through you. You gasp, flinching a little as you feel the basin come alive under your touch. You close your eyes as sensations flood you: hopelessness, stress, exhaustion. Suddenly, Yoongi’s dream makes sense. He instills a sense of peace and serenity at the beach, of hope and wonder with the dolphins, of rest with the cool wind and warm sand. 
“Amazing,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “This is wonderful.” 
“I’ll do some more. Keep your hand where it is. You’ll feel what it is they feel. Try not to think too hard about anything while you’re connected - let me do the work.” 
Watching Yoongi work can happen with your eyes closed, you realize. You lose yourself in time and space. No longer are you in the Dream Tower. Now, Yoongi walks you through the world.
You enter through dreams, feeling sudden sadness or loss, even heartache. Every dream you encounter, there is profound suffering at the beginning. Yoongi gently sends the pain on its way, observes what each dreamer needs, and begins spinning up images. Sounds. Feelings. 
Rain falls on your face as you stand over the tops of a misty forest. It’s gentle and cool to the touch, soothing. You smell pine and damp earth, giving you energy. Your toes feel the wet grass beneath you, grounding you and making you feel more centered than you ever have.
Wheat brushes the tips of your fingers. You look out into a sea of gold, healthy crops bending with the wind. An azure sky stretches mile after mile, not a cloud in sight as the sun heats your skin. You smell fresh air and hear the grasshoppers buzz among the fresh stalks of wheat, feeling the reward of growing healthy grain. 
A dog runs after a ball. The hills are the brightest shade of green you’ve ever seen, the dog dashing up the hill and barking loudly. You feel laughter bubble up your throat and unfettered joy as thick clouds float by. The dog grabs the ball and runs back, its tail wagging and coat shiny. You feel nostalgic and happy to be reunited with a friend. 
Fireflies flicker to life in a forest at night. They alight on the tree branches and your arms, casting gold luminescence on your skin. You marvel at them, spinning in a circle as you look at the dark trees. You smell the maple sap and the bark, you hear the crickets.
It’s just like the woods near your house -
Your house. 
A slice of fear goes through you. You remember the darkness of the woods as Nathaniel tried to drown you, the press of his fingers into your skull. The roaring of the flooding water and the burning of your lungs. The fireflies flicker out one by one and the darkness begins to grow. You’re suddenly terrified. Curiosity vanishes and is replaced with deep fear. 
You taste stale water in your mouth. You smell the smoke of your burning house. You feel water rushing up to your ankles and inching higher, you hear the screams of Nathaniel’s vitriol, you feel your lungs start to fill, the air stars to leave, the roots of the trees grab at your feet-
A sharp yank pulls you out of the forest. You gasp for air, falling backward off of the dais and onto the floor. Gentle hands cradle your face and you hear a deep voice calling out to you, speaking your name through the dull roar in your ears. 
Blinking, you look upward to see Yoongi inches away from your face. His eyes are round and gentle, his hands steady. Warm. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he leans over you. A strand of dark hair escapes his bun, falling across his forehead and eye. You don’t know why, but you think it looks dashing. 
“Hey,” he murmurs, searching your face. “Are you with me?” 
“Yeah,” you rasp, lungs heaving. “What happened?” 
His thumb brushes back and forth across your cheek as he sighs, but he doesn’t let go of your face. “You thought of the night that I saved you. Your fear was powerful. Raw. As you started to remember things you grew more afraid and you took over the dream.”
You blink once. Twice. Remember the way that the fireflies suddenly flickered out and how the water started to rush in from nowhere. “I did that?” 
“I didn’t expect you to be such a natural. I had a feeling but… you caught me by surprise and shoved me out.”
“I can do that?”
“When I’m caught off guard, yes. You took control of creating the dream and turned it into…”
“A nightmare.”
He nods. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think you would think that forest looked the same, but I was wrong. I keep… having oversights. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”
“Good at what?”
“Being human.” 
Silence suspends between you. You’re sprawled on the floor of the Dream Tower with Yoongi hovering over you. His knees are pressed against your hips and his shirt collar is hanging low as he leans, revealing more skin than you’ve ever seen from him. You don’t dare drop your eyes from his, staring at their dark depths.
The space between you is minimal and neither of you move. You hope he cannot hear the way your heart hammers in your chest or sense the way your body crackles like lightning, sparking at his proximity. The nightmare you made is long forgotten, replaced with his touch, his smell, his closeness. 
Yoongi holds your face delicately, like a treasured item. You cannot imagine that he means to hold you so, but the sudden want that licks through you is powerful, your desire for him to hold you like you’re something precious surprising you in its strength. 
“You make me want to get better at it.” His voice is soft, barely even a whisper. 
“At what?”
A gentle laugh. “Being human. It is unfamiliar, but I wish to know more of what it's like. To have more of the instinct.”
“Why?”
He pauses. “Because I’ve lived for thousands of years, and never really had the chance to try.” 
It is a similar sentiment that Taehyung had shared. The thought of Taehyung makes you smile, sitting up suddenly. Yoongi leans back on his haunches quickly, careful not to knock heads. “What?” he asks, noting your sudden excitement. 
“Has Taehyung ever taken you to the Desert Rose?”
“No, I can’t say I’ve been interested. Why?”
You grab his hand. You notice the way he seems surprised, but he doesn’t pull away as you scramble to your feet. “You want to see what it’s like to be human. I know a place.” 
-
Yoongi makes a face as he sips the beer Taehyung has thrust into his hands. You and Taehyung laugh, tossing your heads back with it. Yoongi looks unimpressed but continues to drink nonetheless, his dark eyes scanning the crowded bar. 
He sticks out like a sore thumb. Eyes are immediately drawn to Yoongi wherever he goes. You think everyone must feel the divinity as he walks by them, his power a magnet for attention. Even sitting at the table with you and Taehyung, tucked near the door, people turn in their seats to get a good look at him or pause when they enter the Desert Rose. 
It doesn’t help that he looks beautiful. Air had gotten stuck in your throat when he arrived at the library at the appointed time to meet you and Taehyung to come here. His hair hangs in soft waves around his face, earrings peaking between inky strands when he moves his head. His dark shirt is long-sleeved but unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a strip of pale, smooth skin and his layered necklaces. His eyes are glittering tonight, almost like constellations are held within. 
Yoongi is the night. The black pants and black boots paired with the shirt make him look like a dark prince. Perhaps the son of the moon, even. You notice the way the stares turn from curious to hungry, Yoongi lighting a fire among those around him. 
Jealousy sours your stomach. You hate that it does, but it’s like a second instinct, some sort of possessive monster rearing its head as you avert your gaze when a beautiful man asks Yoongi if he wants to dance. Yoongi shakes his head, giving a polite smile in return before turning away and chugging more of his drink.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was nervous. 
“Thousands of years old and a room full of people scares you,” Taehyung teases, confirming your suspicions. Yoongi’s gaze is thin as a razor. “You should get out more. I’ve been telling you that.”
“Eternals don’t make a habit of walking around the human realm. Our presence disturbs the natural chemistry of the world.”
“Then why did you spend so many days in the wood-”
Yoongi kicks Taehyung under the table. He hollers in pain as Yoongi glowers, making you giggle. Though he’s no natural among the crowd, you can see that he’s trying to fit in. He watches the way people slouch in their chair and he imitates it. Drinks more of his beer, not because of the taste but because it's what people do here. 
Music thrums in the room. There is a crowd of people clapping their hands and dancing, stomping their feet along to the music. You nervously look at Yoongi throughout the night, trying to see if he’s enjoying himself, wondering what he thinks of the place. 
A couple near your table knocks over a pitcher of mead as the man presses the woman into the table in an arduous kiss. You can’t help but watch for a moment, entranced by the way he kisses her as though he’ll die if he doesn’t, as if her lips are the last thing he wants to remember. 
Sensing Yoongi’s gaze on you, you glance at him. He stares at you, drinking you in before his eyes drift to the couple you’d been studying. Embarrassment heats your face as you bring your cup to your lips, hiding behind the tankard as you take large gulps of cider. 
The cider takes the edge off. It makes you feel warm and loose, though you’re still a little nervous with Yoongi’s quiet countenance sitting beside you. 
“Jimin’s here!” you announce excitedly, clapping your hands together when he appears downstairs. Taehyung’s knee bumps into the bottom of the table as he jerks to turn around. “Jimin should meet Yoongi!”
“I would love to.” 
Taehyung groans. “No, please.”
“Why not?” Yoongi demands. “Should I not meet the human that brings my friend here most evenings? Should I not meet the friend of my -” Yoongi looks at you and stumbles over his words. “- my friend?” 
Friend. You’re not sure if the word fits, exactly. But you don’t know what else it is that Yoongi would call you. Friend implies something beyond acquaintances, which you are sure you are. But it fits like an ill-sized dress, hanging crooked on your frame.
“I don’t want you to scare him off!” Taehyung protests. 
Yoongi looks dubious. “Why would I do that?”
“Shut up,” you hiss as Jimin notices you. You lift your hand in an eager wave, beckoning him over. “Yoongi, be nice.”
“I am nice. Do you think I’m not nice?” 
Instead of answering him, you get up to greet Jimin warmly with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a brief hug. When you step back, you see Yoongi’s burning gaze, a tick in his jaw as he stares Jimin down, tonguing his cheek. You hiss at Yoongi and snap your finger to signal for him to drop the severe expression. 
He looks at you and his features smooth out as he rises to his feet lithely, reaching an arm around you. Yoongi startles you when he places his hand on your mid-back as he leans forward to shake Jimin’s, introducing himself. 
The contact is so brief that you wonder if he had done it at all as he sits down. For a moment, you’re the only one standing, staring at Yoongi in confusion as the three men sit. They all look at you expectantly and you plop down suddenly. 
“Are you alright?” Jimin asks, mirth evident in his voice.
“Yes,” you answer quickly, still recovering. It felt like a deliberate touch. Firm, but gentle. Polite, but… something. “How are you?” 
To your pleasure - and Taehyung’s evident relief - Yoongi and Jimin get along fine. If Jimin is put off by Yoongi’s peculiarity, he doesn’t show it. You wonder if he’s used to being around Taehyung, who has his own strange charm and inhuman energy vibrating around him. 
Yoongi says little, but seems comfortable. You watch him as he watches Taehyung, who has stars in his eyes every time he looks at Jimin. He leans closer to Jimin as they mutter about something conspiratorially, giggling behind their hands. Jimin brushes a strand of hair out of Taehyung’s face and the love that blooms in Taehyung’s expression is so evident that you wonder if Jimin knows. He has to know. And he looks like he feels the same. 
When Jimin drags Taehyung up to dance, you encourage them, shooing them off toward the growing crowd of people spinning around the room. Tables are shoved out of the way, chairs scraping to make room for the revelers. You move your chair some as your table is pushed, making the beers tilt dangerously. 
Yoongi grabs the leg of your chair and pulls it roughly toward him. Before you can say something, someone stumbles where your chair just was, toppling into the table next to you. You look at Yoongi with shock and he winks before returning to lounging in his seat, watching the crowd. 
Now that you’re sitting much closer to him, you can smell him. Still, you try to relax, watching as Jimin teaches Taehyung the steps to the dance the crowd is doing. 
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Yoongi says over the loud voices. “This is nice. I see why Taehyung likes it.”
“You don’t hate it?” He makes a face and you laugh. “Yoongi, you hate it.”
“It’s a bit loud, but I don’t hate it. I like the quiet. I like… solitude. But not always. This is a good break.” 
“So you never just… stroll among the people sometimes?”
“Never had a reason to.”
“But how can you make dreams if you don’t know people?”
“Dreams are inherent to me. They are an instinct. They aren’t born from people. They’re born from something rawer than that. People just happen to dream.” 
You hum, not sure that you follow. Silence lulls between you as the song changes. “This place is so different from anywhere I’ve been,” you tell him. “My mother and father would have hated a place like this where people want so freely and people are so… provocative.”
“Life is provocative. So is nature, and magic. And dreams.” 
“Is that why you’re a god of desire, too?” He nods once, his eyes on you. “Can you… sense what people innately desire? All the time?” 
You don’t ask the real question, which is: Can you tell what I desire when I’m with you? Still, Yoongi shrugs a shoulder. “Snippets. LIke I said, I try not to pry. I don’t think that anyone here needs to be inspired by me to delve into what they want here, that’s for sure.” His eyes darken. “Though perhaps there is one.”
It is not your imagination when he says it. You know that he means you. This you are sure of. You stare at Yoongi, the rest of the room fading away. He stares right back at you, as though willing you to agree, or to deny his claim. Your heart speeds up and you feel the sweat on your neck, the slick on your palms. 
“You said you’d help me indulge.” Your voice shakes when you say it. “How… do I do that?”
Yoongi’s mouth kicks up at the side. He leans forward and offers you a hand. When you just stare at it, he laughs. “Dance with me.”
“Dancing? That is indulging?” 
“You might be surprised.” 
Tension goes taught between you. You feel it sizzling in the air as you stare one another down. Yoongi’s hand remains outstretched, beckoning. Slowly, you put the cup of cider down and slide your hand into his. You’ve done this so many times, letting him lead you somewhere or help you up. 
When Yoongi grips your hand and pulls you to your feet, it feels different than all the times before. The soft, gentle Eternal of dreams has melted away and left something sharper. Darker. Edgier. Your heart flutters butterfly-fast as he leads you to where there are people spinning in tight circles on the floor. 
Yoongi yanks you toward him, pulling you into his chest. One hand loops over his shoulder, your palm cradling the back of his neck, while the other grips his. His hand goes snuggling around your waist, pulling you firmly to him as he ducks his head toward your ear, voice deep and soft as he whispers, “Follow me.” 
You would follow him anywhere, you think. Anywhere at all. 
Dancing is not something you ever recall doing. It wasn’t necessary where you grew up. Most of your festivals in town were a reserved affair and you’d never been to any parties or celebrations. Most weddings were stiff and formal, and not for merriment as much as respect. 
Now, your world turns into a kaleidoscope of color and laughter. Yoongi spins you around the room, his feet smooth and fast. You stumble to keep up at first, but Yoongi is a confident lead, his steps instructing yours, his hands pulling and guiding you as you go. 
Laughter rushes out of you. You cannot help the glee that glitters in your veins. Yoongi’s laughter is like spilled moonlight. You look up at him with a grin, seeing his gummy smile as he dips you suddenly, making you squeal. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You know he won’t drop you but the exhilaration is in your veins as he lifts you back up, crushing you to him. 
Your arms and legs burn with effort as you continue. The song changes and Yoongi lets go and spins you. You go crashing into Taehyung’s arms. He’s a far worse dancer than Yoongi, and the two of you are a mess of tripped feet, trilling laughter and elbows into ribs. He pushes you back to Yoongi’s waiting arms. 
It terrifies you how much it feels like home, like a key sliding into a lock. Your arms go around him as his hands squeeze your waist. You come alive where you touch, looking up at him. He watches you, the shadow of his lashes framing delicate eyes. His mouth is red and soft. 
Yoongi’s eyes dart down to your mouth. Your breath catches and he moves a little closer, pressing his head to yours, noses brushing. The entire world vanishes and it’s just Yoongi, his lips so close you can almost taste them, his fingers digging into your hips. 
Your eyes flutter shut just as someone crashes into you. You scream as you’re knocked hard into Yoongi, the two of you stumbling as he catches you from falling over completely. The crowd goes wild with laughter as a man is sprawled on the ground, laughing and drunk, having lost his balance. 
A breathless laugh escapes you as you and Yoongi straighten, separating a little. The moment between you is shattered, clattering away like pieces of broken glass as you catch your breath and gather your wits. You look around, searching for Taehyung only to see him alone at your table, eyes heavy and gaze lingering across the room. You turn to see Jimin leaning on the bar, smiling at something a woman is whispering in his ear. 
Glancing back at Taehyung, you see him shove away from the table and storm out the door. Yoongi notices this too, but he’s slow on the uptake, his hand still on your hip. You shake off his hold on you and go after Taehyung, shouting his name.
Taehyung is just outside the Desert Rose, head tilted down and shoulders pulled up tight around his ears. When you touch the small of his back, he flinches, gazing at you with tear-stained eyes and a look so crestfallen you feel your heart crack.
He sniffs. “This is why,” he whispers. “This is why I told you we can never be. Humans and dreams - we aren’t. We don’t match.” 
“Taehyung,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say. You open your arms and he leans into you, folding in half as he sobs, breaking down into your shoulder. You hush him gently, holding him tight and squeezing him, trying to pour your love into him. 
Over Taehyung’s shoulder, your gaze settles on Yoongi. He watches the two of you in silence, face impassive. And your heart breaks a little more, realizing the truth of Taehyung’s words. 
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sweethoneycn · 1 year
Text
So Wrong But So Right
Step brother Neteyam X reader
Request- HERE
⚠️minors DO NOT interact⚠️
Word count: 5.3k
Warnings: Female receiving, Soft simp neteyam, p in v, squirting, Male masterbation, loss of virginity and blood, tw/stepcest
Plot: Your step brother neteyam has been secretly in love with you since childhood and as you got older he refused to find a mate. Wanting no one but you. One day when you returned from training duties, you walk in on your neteyam touching himself. The rest is unknown as eywa decides their fate.
💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓
“Dads gonna kill me” neteyam says, holding the cut on his arm, watching you as you scurry around him to collect healing herbs. Moving quickly before you two had to return home.
“No.. just tell him you fell” you say. Grabbing a handful of yalnabark, running over to him kneeling down as you work quickly to grind the herbs.
“Sis.. look at this wound, I’m gushing” he says, holding his skin together with his hand.
“There’s no way we’re talking ourselves out of this one..” he says. Watching you slowly panic in front of him.
He had pierced himself with his own arrow, only being nine years old. He was inexperienced and your father warned the both of you not to take the weapons without supervision. And the way the arrow was caked with his blood, there was no way you’d be able to lie yourselves out of this one. You sat in front of him, defeated. Not knowing what to do. But you had to do something, Neteyam was always taking the heat for you and your siblings. It was only right that you did the same for him.
Without thinking you grab his arrow, swiping against your skin. Opening your flesh, matching the wound that he had on his arm. Neteyam gasps, bringing himself to his knees. Cupping your thigh in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
“What are you doing?!” He shouts. Applying pressure as the blood squirted out of your leg. You wince at the pain, removing his hands from your thigh placing a glob of yalnabark wrapped in a cloth on the cut. Tying it around your thigh tight.
“I’m saving our asses, once dad sees I’m hurt. He won’t question that you were helping me.. and got hurt in the process” you say. Pushing him back down on his butt to finish wrapping his wound.
“We all know he’s a sucker for me, just trust me” you say. Wrapping his wound the same way you did yours. Standing to your feet and holding your hand out for him to grab. Neteyam hesitated at first, unsure of your plan. But grabbed your hand anyways.
Suddenly you wrapped your arm around his shoulder, using him as a crutch. Quickly putting on the water works for your father. Neteyam watched in awe at your scheming ways, shaking his head as a small grin crossed his face. You noticed, laughing at his reaction.
“What.. the tears always work.. now come on” you say, stepping first and bringing him with you. Limping your way to the village as he held your hand that was slinked over his shoulder. Wrapping his arm around your waist to better support you.
Neteyams heart fluttered at the thought that you’d go to such extreme lengths to protect him from your fathers wrath. His heart thumped in his chest as he felt your body pressed against him. His cheeks turned pink as he blushed, holding you up as best as he could.
He knew it was inappropriate you were his ‘sister’ but he couldn’t help the feelings you just placed in his heart.
——-
“Lo’ak.. leave me alone..” you groan. Moving away from your younger brother poking at your skin. Working overtime to annoy you. It was like his job to be the annoying little brother who took every minute out of his day to bother you. You couldn’t stand it.
“Come on.. tell me” he says. Pushing his head into your arm on all fours. Pulling away and pushing it into you over and over. You stood still as he knocked into you, trying your best to ignore him. But to no avail.
Grabbing his ear, you twist it causing him to hiss and fall to the floor.
“You never listen” you seethe, gripping his ear. Refusing to let go until he surrendered.
“My ear! Y/n let go!” He shouts. Wiggling under your grasp, trying his hardest to wiggle free, but every time he moved. Your grip only tightened.
Neteyam walks into your family hut to see the events in front of him. Laughing silently as he shook his head at his idiot brother being scolded. His eyes falling to you as your lips pulled tight into a thin line. Looking up to meet his gaze, flashing him an obnoxious smile.
“What did he do now?” He asks. Busying himself with putting his weapons away his body turned away from you, not actually caring to know what it was Lo’ak did. He didn’t have to do much to get a beating.
“B-bro.. get her off.. please” he whines. Staying still afraid to move as you’ll only grab on tighter, like a viper wolves jaw around its prey.
“Nope, if she’s got you like that.. you did somehin’ to mess with her” he says. Laughing at his brother's anguish. You laugh with him, knowing his words were true. It took a lot for you to lose patience and when it came to Lo’ak, you had the most of all. So it only made sense that he completely pushed you over the edge, for you to have him in this state.
“Cmon bro..” Lo’ak cries. Pulling up slightly to look you in the eye. Kneeling in front of you, rubbing his hands together like he was starting a fire.
“Truce.. t-truce” he cries. Wincing in pain. You let go of his ear. Pushing his head as you released him. He stands to his feet quickly attempting to bolt for the door, but not fast enough before you kick him swiftly in his ass as he runs away. Laughing at his childish demeanor. It was no secret that you were the only one to control him. Your mom couldn’t even put him in check. You had a lot of pride in that.
“He's such a skxáwng” you laugh, turning to neteyam as he cleans his knife.
“What did he do anyways?” he asks. Glancing up at you briefly, quickly turning his eyes away from you.
As you got older he found it more difficult to look at you. His secret love for you would show all over his face if he stared for too long, so he made it a point to avoid eye contact. And to his benefit, you never noticed.
“He was asking me if Aria had a mate.. she doesn’t but I’m not telling him that” you say. Crossing your arms over your chest. Eyeing neteyam as he nodded his head at your response, keeping his attention on cleaning his knife.
“Speaking of.. when will you be mated” you ask. Tilting your head to the side to see his face clearer. Neteyams breath catches in his throat, coughing on his air awkwardly. Placing his knife down to clutch his chest. You eyed him up and down, confused as to why the question stunned him so badly.
Unbeknownst to you, that your stepbrother had no intentions of finding a mate. If it couldn’t be you, he wanted no one.
“That’s private” he says, clearing his throat. Attempting to focus on the task before him. But becoming distracted as you scoot closer to him. Brushing your shoulder against his.
“Come on, since when do we keep things from each other” you say. Trying to get the information out of him. He was twenty three years old, his paternal clock was ticking. And everyone around the village was curious, including you about whether or not there was a lucky girl.
“I’m not telling you” he says. Moving his arm away from you, attempting to create more distance. His cheeks turning pink as he blushed at your prying. You noticed the hue in his skin change. A devious grin forming on your lips.
“Is it Mutali?” You ask. Pushing him again. He shook his head no, swallowing the lump in his throat. You think harder, tapping your finger against your lips.
“Is it… Tu’em?” You say. Trying to find the name of the woman that fancied him the most. And by the way he blushed at the names you spoke, you had a good idea it was one of the two. But you couldn’t be more wrong.
“No y/n.. now knock it off” he says. Looking you in the eyes this time. His demeanor completely changing. It hurt him to know that you had no clue of his feelings for you. That he had to keep it hidden knowing you’d never be mated to him. It ate him alive to think he had to one day choose a woman that wouldn’t be you. And it was the last thing he wanted to talk about, to you especially.
“Fine.. I’ll just ask dad” you say. Shaking your shoulders and holding your chin up as you rolled your eyes. Suddenly the tent flap opens. Walking in, your father.
“Ask dad what?” Jake says. Walking to you to place a soft kiss on your forehead, Neteyam watching the whole show. Scoffing as you smiled at your father.
“Hi daddy!” You coo, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug. Glancing over at neteyam. He was pleading with you silently not to bring up his mating to your dad, it would only fuel the fire in Jake to find him a mate. And then it would really all be over.
“I was gonna ask if you-“ you began, but were cut off by neteyam covering your mouth with his hand.
“Y/n please… don’t” he whispers in your ear. Watching Jake as he removed his hunting gear. Quickly letting you go as Jake turned to the both of you. You flash neteyam a confused look. Unsure why he was so against you asking about his crush. But you respected it, even if you didn’t want to. You nodded your head at him.
“Are ya gonna ask me? Or what?” Jake says, turning to you. Placing his hands on his hips. Studying you and your brother. He noticed you both were acting strange but he left the awkward situations for your mother. Brushing it off.
“R-right.. I was going to ask abouttt.. SEX!” You shout.
Neteyams hand came up to his mouth, covering his lips that hung open. Absolutely dumbfounded at your boldness. But you at least didn’t bring up what you really wanted to.
Jake stood frozen in his place, astounded and almost distraught that his little girl was asking about.. sex. Again another conversation that he planned on leaving for your mother. He cleared his throat, standing up straight before answering you.
“Baby girl.. you’re still too young to understand, you should.. talk to your mother about that. She can explain it… better” he said. Hesitating with the last word he spoke. Flashing you an awkward smile before rubbing your cheek in his hand. You just returned the smile, fluttering your eyelashes. Playing the game with your father that you were so good at.
Neteyam couldn’t help but fall deeper in love. You always took the heat off of him, putting yourself in awkward situations in front of your parents to spare his feelings. He was falling deeper for you everyday.
“Sure daddy.. I’ll ask mom” you say. Turning to neteyam as he pretended to gag, sticking his finger down his throat. You slapped his shoulder, snarling at him to quit it. And he did. Melting like butter for you.
“Good, now go to your grandmother, you have training” Jake says. Lifting his chin in the direction of the hut flap. Signaling for you to ‘get out of here’. You oblige, turning to neteyam and sticking your tongue out.
He couldn’t help but laugh, you are completely irresistible.
——-
You spent your evening with your grandmother, doing Tsahik duties. You had no clue why you had to partake in these training sessions because you won’t be Tsahik. Whoever your brother chose as a mate would be, so you couldn’t help but think it was just a way for your parents to keep you busy.
Bidding your grandmother farewell, you make your way to your family pod. Exhausted from the day. You knew you’d be walking into an empty home, your mother was visiting the metkayina with Tuk and Kiri, Lo’ak claimed he was with a friend every night but you knew that was a lie. And neteyam had his own hut, for when he chose a mate. And your father was never home by eclipse, he was too busy patrolling the parameters of the village.
Pushing past the tent flap, your eyes at your feet. Unknowingly walking into something you’d never expect. You heard a small whimper and the slapping of skin, looking up to be met with your step brother neteyam, fisting his cock. His eyes screwed shut, his mouth hanging open. His legs spread out in front of him as he lay on the floor. Fur pelts under him for cushion.
You watched as he pumped his member firmly, his length too large for his entire hand to fit around it. Working his mushroom head. Suddenly he spits on it, a long string of the liquid falling from his lips. Landing on his cock for lubrication. You didn’t know what to you, you stood frozen in front of him. Taking in the sight before you, your mouth hanging open as you watched him.
Lifting his head, his hair falls behind his neck. Revealing his quivering lips. He was close. But instead of busting, he opens his eyes, where he’s met with the gaze of his step sister. Eyeing his erect cock. His eyes widened in fear, letting go and throwing a blanket over his waist. Quickly standing to his feet.
“Shit! Y/n what are you doing here?”
You were too stunned to speak, turning around with haste to face the door. Your eyes darting all over the wood as you try to piece together what you just saw.
“I.. live here” you croak out. Your words are harsh as your throat dried up. Fiddling with your fingers as you shut your eyes tight.
Seeing your brother in such an intimate way, should have had you running away screaming. But you faltered, your feet planted in the ground like the roots of a tree. You were unsure why, but you were curious.
Neteyam covered himself, just barely. Holding the blanket in his hand. Gripping his cock beneath it. His hips still visible, his ‘v’ line prominently exposed. He looks down at himself, still not moving to cover his body. Looking back up at you. Eyeing your slender back. Wondering the same thing you were. Why wasn’t he leaving, why weren’t you both freaking out. Both questions you couldn’t answer.
“W-what were you doing?” You ask naïvely.
“I was.. I was uh..” he stutters, trying to come up with a lie. There was no way his sweet innocent girl knew what jerking off was. He tried to play it off as best as he could but was failing terribly.
“You were jerking off” you say suddenly, your back still turned to him. You opened your eyes, darting them back and forth as you waited for a response.
Neteyam stood in shock, sick to his stomachs that you knew exactly what it was that he was doing. Then suddenly he got jealous, wondering who it was that corrupted your innocence. He wished it was him, he wanted to be your first for everything. He took a step closer to you, expecting himself to stop where he was. But he kept going. You could hear his feet stutter against the wood of the hut. You could feel his presence zeroing in on you, sending a shiver down your spine. You gulped hard, unsure what he was doing. Not knowing that he was still completely naked.
“Yes.. I was” he says slowly. Watching as goosebumps formed on your skin. Still curious as to why you haven’t left. Suddenly you turn to him, quick as a whip facing him. Eyeing his body up and down, stopping at his hand lamely covering his cock. Your eyes flashing up to his quickly.
He looked at you quizzically, searching for any sign of uncomfortability. But to his surprise he wasn’t finding any. You looked more curious than anything.
Neteyam, taken over by his arousal from being caught. And you standing before him, eyeing his naked body up and down. He decided to test the waters, dropping the blanket from his waist. Exposing his erecting cock once more. Your eyes widened at his sudden boldness, but you once again couldn’t look away, no matter how hard you tried.
He was large, exceptionally well endowed. His veins pressed tightly against his erection. His cock jumped as if it were throbbing to be touched. His slit leaked precum as it stood at attention. Your mouth began to water.
The truth of it all, you were not biologically related to neteyam. Despite how you grew up, it was only natural for your body to react to a naked man before you. And the history you had with him, only made that strange desire stronger. As if he was what you wanted all along. You didn’t dare push the sudden urge to rip him to shreds away. Out of fear of hurting his feelings.
When neteyam noticed your eyes flicker under the dim light as you locked eyes with his member. He took it as a sign to step closer to you, holding his arms out to his sides. As if he were showcasing his body.
“Y/n” he says breathily. Slowly closing the space between the two of you. You watched as the shadows behind him began to surround you, towering over you with his large build. His mouth was parted, small pants coming out of his mouth as he looked at your small frame below him. You said nothing taking in the sight of him. Still confused as to what was happening to you.
“The question.. you asked me earlier” he says. Coming off more as a statement. You gulped hard, swallowing the air that was trapped in your throat. Looking up at him through your thick lashes. Melting him right in front of you. You were so good at that.
“Y-yes” you say. Nervously, forgetting entirely what it was that you asked him. Looking to him for answers.
“You asked me who I had a crush on.. if I fancied anyone” he whimpers. Bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek. Once again, you were unmoving. Stuck under his gaze. Nodding your head once more, agreeing with his previous statement.
“Do you really.. want to know the answer to that?” He asks. His face, getting closer to yours. His lips just inches from yours, the more he spoke threatening to brush them against your skin.
“Mhm” you whimper. Unable to form words. Your body betraying you with every second you were in his presence. His beautiful face, captivating you as he looked into your eyes. His broad and strong muscles, flexing as he tensed above you.
“Then promise me.. promise you won’t let me suffer any longer. If I tell you” he says. Looking you in your eyes with the utmost admiration. His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek. You nod your head in response, watching him intently. Completely forgetting that he’s naked in front of you.
“I’m unable to choose anyone… because I’ve already chosen” he says. Leaning his face down until he’s looking straight into your eyes. Tears began to well up in the corners of your eyes. Your lip quivered as you held back soft sobs. Your eyes dart from one of his eyes to the other. His heart fluttered, you looked so lovingly as he uttered the words. Almost as if he said what your heart has wanted unknowingly, before this very moment.
Without another word spoken, another thought coursing through his mind. Neteyam planted his lips against yours. Sucking air through his nose sharply at the contact he had with your soft skin. Your eyes became heavy as they fluttered shut, leaning into the kiss. No matter how forbidden you thought it was, if it was wrong.. then why did it feel so right.
Your body sank into him, your chest falling against his as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Pulling you flush to his skin as close as he could, roaming his hands up and down your back. Starved to feel every inch of you, because if he was dreaming. He wanted to savor this moment for as long as possible. Your hands roamed up to the back of his neck, locking your fingers together as you jumped slightly. Neteyam catches you, placing his hands under your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you over to where he was just moments before. You could feel his member brush against your skin, leaving a wet trail of his precum in its place.
You moaned into his mouth, your lips never leaving his as you kissed him with a feverish pace. Lowering himself down to his knees, Neteyam placed you on the soft blankets below him. Locking his lips onto your neck. Pushing your head out of the way gently, granting himself more access. Sucking gently on the skin, leaving purple bruises against your blue skin.
“You’re all.. *kiss*.. I’ve ever.. *kiss*.. wanted” he says between kisses. Making sure to pay attention to the area that made your skin shiver. Already learning the ins and outs of your body. Paying attention to how you responded to him. His head reeled with the fact that he had you this way, he had only dreamed of making you his since the day you showed him your unconditional love. He made it a point to worship the ground you walked on. Now it is time for him to worship your temple. Your body.
Your slow and steady breaths turned into long harsh pants as he explored your body. You arched your back in an attempt to break any space that may have been between you. Throwing your hands down to your body quickly as you untie your clothes. Working on the thin strings, pulling the fabric from you. Your plump and perky breasts falling free from the cloth. Staring neteyam in the face as he comes up off your skin. Looking at you for confirmation. Wanting to roll one around on his tongue.
You push his head down into your chest. Neteyam opened his mouth instinctively. Taking the soft bud of your breast into his mouth. Rolling it around with his tongue, sucking on it lightly. Causing your cunt to throb behind your undergarments. Small moans escaped your chest as he worked your soft flesh. The attack of his tongue like one of an expert. Your body, shivering under him.
Coming off with a pop, his hands work quickly to untie your loincloth. Ripping it from your body when the strings wouldn’t participate. Wiggling his hips into yours. You could feel his cock as it pressed firmly against your wet slit. Working to find it, so that your walls would clench around him.
“Do it… do it Te” you moan. Pushing further down under him to catch more friction on his sex. He moaned as your wet cunt brushed against the base of his cock, leaving your juices just above his balls. The trail of his kisses slowly making their way further down your abdomen.
“I want to take my time with you” he says. Dipping his head lower. Stopping just below your navel. Sliding his hands under you, propping them under your waist, pushing your cunt into his face.
You whined your hips, brushing your pussy against his chin. The sudden friction causes you to moan. Neteyams eyes dilated at the sound of your noises and the way your sweet scent wafted over his nose. Without another thought he dips his head now. Taking your swollen bud between his lips, sucking the bundle of nerves gently. His body sinking further down in between you, resting his belly on the cot.
His large hands gripped your thigh as he sucked your pussy. His lips coming off your clit repeatedly just for him to quickly take it back in his mouth. Your legs began to shake.
Neteyam pressed his chin into the opening of your cunt. Pushing into it as if he was attempting to fuck you with his chin. His eyes traced their way from your hips all the way up to your face, watching you as your face screwed up in pleasure. It was so wrong, but it was so right.
“Ne-neteyam” you moan. Bucking your hips into his face, soaking him the more he ate you. He gulped your juices as if he were parched, making sure to get every last drop.
His tongue swirled around your hole, swiping his tongue up and through your slit repeatedly. Coming off the top of your clit with a flick. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, feeling yourself getting closer to your release. Unsure if you were able to hold back any longer.
“Mm, you’re gonna make me cum” you moan. Reaching down to fist his hair in your hands. Pushing him into your pelvis as you rode his face. He hummed against your skin, unable to breath as you fucked your hips into him. The vibrations sending you over the edge.
“Aha..ahh I’m gunna” you whimper. Swallowing your screams back. - “gonna cum!” You shout. Pulling his face away from your slit, dropping them to your sides as your hips jolted into the air over and over. Your white cream seeping out of your cunt as your pussy contracted around nothing.
Neteyam sat up, panting above you as he watched your pussy pulsate. From the orgasm that he just gave you, licking his lips clean of your juices.
“So pretty” he says. Leaning himself over you. Giving you a second to come down before he started rubbing his mushroom rip up and down your slit. Your body began to settle, opening your eyes to look at him.
“You’re a virgin, right?” He asks. Leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. You look up at him nervously, afraid to answer. Worried whether or not he was willing to pop your cherry. Nonetheless you nod your head, biting your lower lip. He noticed your change in demeanor.
“I’ll be gentle I promise.. okay?” he says. Leaning down once more to kiss you. This time lingering a little longer than he needed to.
“O-okay” you say. Bracing yourself for the moment he broke your walls. But you were ready, and you were no longer ashamed that it was your step brother between your legs. If it wasn’t meant to be, you would have never been brought here.
Neteyam rubs your slit gently with his tip. Watching your face closely as he gathered your juices around his length, making sure to be properly lubricated. He looks up at you, flashing you a reassuring smile before he presses his cock against your entrance. Slowly pushing into you, ripping your walls in two. You winced at the pain, throwing your hand up and gripping his arm to stop him.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks. Worry plastered all over his face. Your grip loosens rubbing his skin to assure him that you were fine.
“N-no.. keep going” you say. Locking his eyes with yours. Reaching up to kiss his collarbone. He does as he is told, pressing his cock further into you.
“Let me know if it’s too much.. okay” he says. Breaking past your hymen, where you felt a pop. Your breath hitched in your throat. Your eyes screwed shut as the pain suddenly turned into a burning sensation. But as he pushed farther the burn turned to pleasure. And then nothing but lust.
“Oh.. my god” you moan. Throwing your head back as he bottomed out inside you. Taking a breath himself as your pussy clenched around him. Biting his lower lip as arousal washed over your face. He took it as his invitation to start moving. Pulling his hips back, his cock sliding out of you until just the tip was inside.
He pushed back into you with a little more speed, breaking the tension. You felt no more pain and you wanted more, thrusting your hips to meet his. His ball’s squishing against your ass.
“Uh!” You moan. Causing neteyam to pick up his pace. No longer needing to be cautious. Your bodies melting into each other and becoming one. You looked down to where you two met, Neteyam following your gaze and doing the same. Watching as your pussy sucked him right in. Coating his skin with your juices, glistening under the dim light in the hut.
“Mm fuck” he whimpers unable to look away as he fucked your pussy. His hips snapping into yours, balls deep every time your pelvis met. Whimper at the sight of him disappearing inside you.
“Oh I love you.. I f-fucking love you” he growls. Holding your leg open with his hand.
Pulling his head up to you, you look him in the eye. Forcing him to make eye contact with you. His lids were heavy, looking at you through slits as his mouth hung open. Whimpering uncontrollably above you.
“L-look at me” you moan. Holding his head in its place, gripping his chin between your thumb and index finger. A bead of sweat, falling from his forehead.
“Baby” he whimpered. Feeling his tip hit your cervix over and over. His eyes rolled in the back of head. The veins in his neck protruding as he held himself up over you. You leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips. Breaking away as he angled his hips slightly, hitting your g-spot. Suddenly coaxing your orgasm out of you.
“Uhh! Aha! I’m.. oh I’m cumming!” You whine. Squirting all over his lower belly. Soaking you and everything beneath you. Your body jolted as your orgasm rang through your spine, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he kept hitting that sweet spot.
“Ohh yes.. yesss, making that pussy cum” he growls. His arms buckling under him as he felt his own orgasm nearing. His hips lost their rhythm as he pressed into you. The squelching noises from your cunt sending him over the edge. You held him close to your neck, burying his face deep in its crevice. As he moaned against your skin.
Neteyam felt his belly tighten and his balls clench. His coil snapping as you dug your nails into his back.
“Oh baby.. aha ahh I.. I’m cummingg” he moans. Turning into a whimpering mess above you. His moans are muffled by your skin. Spraying his seed deep in your womb as you caressed him. He snapped into your hips once more, sinking himself deep inside you, pumping his load in you. Your breaths scattered as you felt his cock twitch against your walls.
Neteyam went limp on top of you. Breathing heavily as his orgasm coursed through his body, shivering the more he came. After sitting for a moment he lifts up. Pulling out of you, reaching to the table beside you to grab a cloth. Leaning back on his knees, still out of breath. To clean you up. His thick seed seeped out of you, twinged pink from him breaking your hymen. Taking your virginity. He looked up at you. Worried that he hurt you. Cleaning the area gently.
“Does it hurt?” He asks. His brows pinched as he focused on your swollen bleeding slit. You flash him a smile, never being happier. Everything you felt in this moment was anything but pain.
“No Te, it feels fine” you say. Lifting up on your arms, pulling your slit away from him. Before reaching up to grab the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Pulling away from him.
“I’ve never felt more fine” you coo, staring into his eyes. Nothing but adoration on his expression.
And in this moment, the both of you didn’t care if what you just did was meant to happen. Only focusing on the fact that it felt right to do it.
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