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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 7 months

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Our Little Love part six - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

Warnings - 3.6k words of : Toxic yandere men, sub drop, crime, violence, injury, emotionally abusive behaviour, possessive behaviour, lying and manipulation, monopolising, unhealthy relationships, aftercare ish, love bombing?, Namjoon's dark side is coming out but internally (because we can read his mind but MC can't)

It’s a sting or an ache that rouses you awake, coming from your bruised wrist. You let out a soft gasp of pain, lifting your head to see Yoongi carefully applying cream to the dents the ropes had burned into your perfect skin.

“Hoseok and his stupid games,” he mutters, full focus on making sure he’s soothing the marks of their punishment, like if the evidence of them went away so would the sadness they inflicted on you as well. It was a stupid naive thought, Yoongi knew it, but your presence in his life filled him with that silly feeling of hope.

He gently rests your wrist on the bed, searching for the next limb before he notices your eyes on him. They’re blank he notices, void of anything, fuck, they really did a number on you. He couldn’t swallow down the lump of regret lodged in his throat, no he would suffocate on it until you recovered.

You feel the bed dip beside your head, but it doesn’t pull your gaze away from Yoongi as he pulls your other wrist cautiously away from where you held it against your chest. You feel fingers in your hair, the urge to nuzzle against them almost overwhelming but the memories of their harsh words keeps you still.

“Heaven,” Taehyung's deep voice murmurs loud enough for you to hear as he plays with the strands. “Does it hurt?”

At his words you feel something pierce your middle, a pain that lay dormant until it was called out. A part of him means the sting of Yoongi’s ministriations, another part of him means the hole they carved out of your chest. At first it might seem sadistic, but he needed you to feel it, if you felt empty it would be harder to coax you back, the hurt meant you were still alive, still with them, and not an empty shell they were terrified they pushed you to be.

He would take your anger, your betrayal, your sadness over the void you presented to them now. Yoongi moves you carefully from your fetal position on the bed, so you’re lying on your back, your eyes meet Taehyung’s as he peers down at you. The position has an itch of anxiety building under your skin, it's too familiar to your punishment even if you aren’t as physically as exposed, but the burn in your extremities from those ropes lulled your brain into believing it was about to happen again.

You see the frown in his brows as he watches your chest lift and fall too deeply, the look in your eyes like a caged animal looking for a chance to run. It’s when Yoongi takes hold of your ankle you pull away with a small whimper. Both men look at each other for a moment as you swallow down the rising panic.

“Little love,” Yoongi says, being as reassuring as he can, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

You inhale like your soul slammed its way back to your body, the corners of your eyes watering.

“Liar,” you barely manage to whisper, but it's loud enough that it cuts him. He deserved that. The anxiety in your limbs creeps into your chest, seizing your lungs until you’re unable to take a breath.

The hand in your hair moves to cup your face, his body lying beside you, your hand is on his chest, your insides fighting with the urge to push him away or clutch his shirt and pull him closer.

“Y/n you need to breathe,” Tae instructs against your hair soothingly, taking your hand on his chest in his. The other palm turns your head so you face him, his thumb stroking circles on your cheek. “Breathe with me.”

You want to tell him you can’t, but you try to follow his example, earning yourself a small smile on his face, the hum of danger dampening. You lose yourself to Tae as you both lie together, feeling yourself calm before sleep takes you again. The last thing you feel is soft lips on your temple, but you’re too exhausted to register it.

—

“How is she doing?” Jin asks Yoongi as he washes his hands, breaking his despondent stare at nothing.

He just nods in reply, avoiding eye contact. There were only a few times that Yoongi ever felt himself be moved to tears, but the state you were in now shoved him on the brink of a breakdown. And the worst part of it all was that they were responsible. Aftercare, especially after one of Hoseok’s sessions, was vital and they all knew it and yet because they were caught up in their own emotions they let you drop.

“That bad huh,” Jin laughs humorlessly under his breath, leaning against the door frame as he contemplates his own shortcomings. “Namjoon wasn’t lying when he told her we were the scum of the earth.”

He hangs his head back, looking up at the ceiling as if it would hold all the answers or at least grant him the ability to rewind time back to when you first woke up.

“We weren’t supposed to be scum to her,” Yoongi muttered, turning off the water that scalded his hands red, the pain was good, it felt like he was paying for his mistakes, although it was a small compensation to what he would have to pay. “The rest of the world doesn’t matter, to Y/n we were supposed to be worthy of her.”

“But we’re not,” Jin replies quietly.

“We didn’t have to prove it,” he bites back, feeling resentment towards Namjoon for bringing it up at all. He understood the need to be accepted, raging red flags and all, but to you they were supposed to be better, you were supposed to be the exception.

“What if she never forgives us,” he whispers his fears to the oldest of them, that tight invisible grip around his throat still present.

Jin can’t even bring himself to placate him, he can’t, he has the same fears.

—

Jimin’s tears crumbled their already broken hearts, but when Jungkook joined in it made them feel a despair they hadn’t felt since the day you left them.

“It’s going to be fine,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth, unsure of who he was trying to convince when a small voice in the back of his head was calling him a liar. If he could he would shoot the voice dead. “Our relationship isn’t that weak.”

Hoseok watches their leader massage his eyes as though a headache was starting.

“You need to go see her,” Yoongi says to Namjoon, arms folded, voice empty of emotion. Their fearless head of the crime syndicate had yet to visit you since the fight in the bathroom, Yoongi knew he would eat his words once he did.

“How are we going to fix this?” Hosek groans, patting Jimin’s head as he cried. The maknae was attached to Jimin’s back, both of them on the floor as they sobbed.

Taehyung had refused to leave your side, the others went in and out but Tae was afraid if he left you you would find a way to escape again, and he couldn’t live through that a second time.

“We broke her by exposing her,” Namjoon mumbles mostly to himself, thinking out loud, biting the skin of his thumb uncharacteristically nervous. “Made her feel like it was something bad…” made her pull away from us because we didn’t make her feel safe and let her drop. “Need to rebuild trust in the same way,” need to make her feel loved, “reassure her,” hold her but keep her vulnerable so she doesn’t build back up with walls against us.

His brain works fast, now that the Suho problem was dealt with, he could focus on you until the repercussions of the Captain came. He wasn’t stupid, he knew there would be some sort of retaliation, the Captain didn’t seem the sort to let things go.

“No more games,” Yoongi breaks his train of thoughts, eyes boring into him before looking at Hoseok too. “No more punishments, she never deserved any of them we were just sadistic fucks looking for an outlet for our own insecurity.”

Namjoon’s fist clenches, unhappy with the tone his usually stoic friend takes, even if his words held some truth.

“A whole world at our disposal to kick down and we take it out on our little love,” Yoongi scoffs, chuckling in disgust with himself and the others. “We really are scum of the Earth.”

—

The Captain doesn’t find the ceiling all that interesting, but it’s all he can stare at alone in the hospital wing. He’s not alone in the sense of physically, the hospital staff mill around working on the ward, he’s merely separated by curtains from the other patients, but the noise around him felt like a hum, a buzz in the background. The only visitor he had was the Chief of police telling him to stand down about the syndicate task force and then offering (ordering) him half a years paid leave.

“Take the time off,” he had said. “Recover,” he patted Suho’s shoulder before muttering, “it’ll do you some good.”

But the captain could see the truth in the Chief’s eyes, a hidden variable that was making him speak through the shadows. Kim Namjoon got to the police, he had his strings attached to every officer like they were his puppets. He only needed the top brass, they would create order and command for him. He wondered what he had on them all, how deep the corruption ran.

It seemed he was cut at the knees in more ways than one, the leader of the crime syndicate really drove that message home. He laughs at himself humourlessly despite the lack of anything funny in sight. One of the nurses giving him a judgmental side eye, wondering to herself whether they gave him too much morphine.

Suho could still feel the pain tearing through his knee and his hand, albeit dulled by the drugs in his system. The bullet had been lodged into his bone, it required surgery to be pulled out, surgery that was paid for by an anonymous benefactor. The thought of who he suspected as that person made him want to beg to put the bullet back.

Powerless wasn’t a feeling he was all that common with, even in his darkest days on the force he always felt hope, knew he would see the Sun rise another day. But Kim Namjoon had a way of drowning the Sun, and all her rays of hope. He could only pray that by some miracle, he could pull you out of the waters before your light washed out.

—

The scene when you open your eyes is eerily similar to the one before your world flipped upside down, a part of you wanted to believe the hands of time had turned back or at least you woke up in an alternative universe where the fight never happened, but the memories burned through your mind too clearly for anything else to be true. All seven of your walking talking red flags were posted around you in the room, eyes on you albeit much softer than that day, yet for some reason it puts you on edge.

“Heaven,” Jimin sits on his knees on the bed peering down at you, you notice the telling red rims around his eyes and his nose, was he crying? Why? He tries to cover it with a smile, his eyes disappearing into crescent moons but he couldn’t hide the evidence from you, you knew him too well.

He takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips before he mumbles desperately against your skin, his voice breaking, “forgive us.”

Tentatively, as if afraid you were going to break or run away, two arms wrap around your middle, the maknae lying beside you burying his head into you but you can hear the tell tale sniffles. It was rare any of them ever cried, you really must look like a state.

Your head throbs from the continuous cycles of sleep you were putting yourself through, sleep was safe and you were too exhausted to live, let alone deal with the repercussions of your relationship.

“Jungkook, you’re smothering our dove,” Hoseok sighs, arms folded as he keeps his distance. He wouldn’t say it aloud but since he and Namjoon were the directors of your punishment and subsequently the push into subdrop he was afraid of approaching you.

It wasn’t just your rejection that would break his heart, but if his presence caused a reaction of trauma, more than what you were presenting now, it would crumble him. It took everything in his will power not to fall to his knees and beg you to forgive them, and the man had never begged anyone for anything before.

Even Namjon kept himself an arm length away, sitting on the ottoman at the end of your bed, watching you as the others interacted. Soekjin had stood beside you, his fingers massaging your forehead as if he could sense the pain, but your eyes find Namjoon.

“Did you hurt him?” It was the first time you had seen him and the first words out of your mouth were about that cockroach. He can feel his anger begin to simmer dangerously, his jaw clenches before he releases a self deprecating laugh under his breath. This was cruel even for you, was it a test? Why didn’t you ask him whether he killed him, that he could answer truthfully, the details were a little more complicated.

“We didn’t kill him,” Hoseok says, his mind flashing back to standing on the roof of the opposite building holding the sniper as it took out the Captain’s leg.

“That’s not what I asked,” you whisper, eyes starting to water again.

Namjoon glances at Yoongi’s warning stare, the thoughts written clearly on his stone face, enough of proving to you how evil they truly were, the truth didn’t matter, only you did. But yet there was something inside of him urging him to tell you, a sadistic part of him that wanted to break the already cracked dusty rose tinted glasses. Was it so bad of him to want you to love the darkest parts of him? Couldn’t you hear his soul cry out for you to love him despite how bloodstained it was?

“No we didn’t hurt him Love,” he sighs, hanging his head so he wouldn’t have to meet your gaze, his fist clenching the material of his trousers. The lie tasted like coal in his mouth, but he would swallow it down even if it upset his stomach.

You let out a sound of relief, the weight on your shoulders suddenly disappeared and you could breathe freely again. They actually saw you smile, and the guilt only cemented.

“Thank you,” you exhale, the feeling of love you were holding back against them now allowed to roam back into your body. There was hope, there was a chance to heal your relationship; they listened to you despite their murderous intent, you were relieved. You were so worried they would kill him anyway despite your plea not to, but this was proof they were willing to work on themselves with you, that you meant something to them more than being their toy.

You close your eyes, feeling overwhelmed. Jimin wipes away your tears, you hadn’t even realised had slipped from the corner of your eyes.

“Our baby’s so caring,” Jin comments, trying to keep the bite out of his voice and eyes. Your gaze falls on him and he smiles, it’s the most fake thing he’s ever done in front of you but you’d believe it. Seokjin was a mastermind at manipulation, to the point he could paint whatever he wanted on his face regardless of his emotions. Namjoon had debriefed them before you woke up, the objective was to do what they did best, monopolise you back under their spell.

It throws you, the gentle expression on his face, maybe you did wake up in an alternate reality. Jungkook distracts you, pulling you closer against him, his lips on your shoulder, making his way up your neck and cheek slowly. You turn to face him, eyes in a daze, that sweet bunny smile greeting you shyly but your attention is pulled away by another.

The back of Taehyung’s fingers trace your cheek gently, another smile greeting you when you turn to him on the other side of you, finding him kneeling on the floor beside the bed. He takes notice of your glazed stare, the slow confusion on your face.

“Aren’t you the cutest little love to ever exist,” he coos quietly.

“Our only little love,” Yoongi corrects him.

“Our slice of heaven,” Jimin pipes in.

“The only heaven we’ll ever see,” Namjoon’s deep voice gruffs.

That overwhelming feeling only grew, but it didn’t feel unwanted, you felt cushioned, like you were being lifted or floating on a cloud. Gentle touches, soft words, soothing your soul quiet, letting it rest. But you were unaware a part of you was being buried.

“Our perfect Angel,” Namjoon whispered and for some reason it felt like the final nail in the coffin making you snap back to your senses.

“No,” you sit up to face him, breaking away all the physical touch they had on you. The safe space they had lulled you into with all your defences bare had shattered. “You can’t expect me to accept you for all your flaws if you won’t do the same for me.”

There’s a fight in your eyes that comes alive as you stare him down, but he keeps quiet letting you fill the silence.

“I am not perfect, YOU need to stop pretending I am,” you throw his words back at him, he fucked you with those words and made you accept their cruelty, he would have to offer you the same respite. “I am done with trying to live up to this impossible image you have of me, because every time I break the illusion I can see the disappointment in your faces and it kills me every time.”

“Little love, you are perfect,” Jin sighs, moving to sit in front of you to break the staring match between you and Joon. “All those things you think are flaws are perfect Love, they’re a part of you, of course they’re perfect.”

His thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, trying to will away the fire when it threatened to burn everything they had spent rebuilding in this room with your recovery.

“If we made you feel anything other than perfect dove that’s our fault,” Hoseok admits, “but you already know how bad we are, it’s always our fault, don’t let us fool you otherwise.”

“You don’t get it,” you frown, looking down at your lap. “When you love me like that, it's a burden.”

“Love,” Yoongi calls for you, desperation in his voice, hating that you felt that way at all. “That’s not our intention.”

“Baby,” Jungkook sits up beside you, and you start to feel confined, their bodies like iron bars of a jail, keeping you with them for a life sentence you were beginning to think you deserved. “We love you, we made a mistake, we know that, but our love for you isn’t bad.”

“It’s the one redeemable thing about us Heaven,” Taehyung adds, looking up at you even with your head hanging low, trying to meet your eyes.

You feel your eyes water, you just ached, wanting to be drowned in their love but protected from their consequences. Last time you took the coward's way out, you ran away, this time you needed to create distance, but still work on the problem without bias, without their love infecting you until you could heal them and yourself.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” you confess, holding back a sob. Your mind starting to win the war it raged against your heart and all it wanted.

Their solemn expressions snap to you, the panic in their eyes piercing you.

“What do you mean, little love?” Jimin says warningly, you sounded like you were wanting to end your relationship but you surely knew better than anyone that it was impossible. They wouldn’t let you go if you tried.

“I think we need to go on a break,” you state, your voice strained from the heavy feeling of wanting to cry in your throat.

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok shakes his head, nostrils flaring at the suggestion.

“I’m not asking,” you say firmly.

“You don’t get to make that decision little love,” Namjoon’s lips twitch as he stops himself from growling, how dare you even think it. “You’re ours.”

You both stare each other down, neither willing to compromise.

“I’m mine,” you felt in control again, you hadn’t felt this way for so long, like your soul belonged to you, you weren’t just floating in their desires, you were your own person.

“We won’t let you leave,” Namjoon retorted, not denying your statement.

“I didn’t say I wanted to leave,” you shake your head, looking at each of them before your gaze returns to the leader of the syndicate, a challenge present in both your stares. “But you don’t get to touch me, or fuck me, or play your games.”

Every one of your new rules hit them like a punch to the gut, a cruel mocking thought passing through the air between them, this was the consequences of their fuck up, and they knew if they wanted to keep you, they would have to listen.

“One last thing,” you say after a lot of deliberating, a squeeze in your throat trying to stop you getting the words out, a deep frown set between your eyes. “I don’t want you to call me little love anymore.”

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utterlyazriel · 19 days

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: apparently it is easier to push out a new chapter when its a juicy one!!!! sorry for this but did you really think i was done with the angst? oh naur babey we're just setting up the scene i envisioned when i had the original idea <3 strap in babe!

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

CHAPTER SIX :: BETRAYERS

One glimpse at your shelter as he winnows into the forest, the snow crunching loudly underfoot, and Azriel knows it deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He stands amongst the pines of the forest behind your shelter and even from the distance, he can sense the change in the air. The wind, wilder than usual, tastes faintly like danger. It's snowing. His shadows wisp about, whispering and twittering, doing nothing to ease the twinge of panic.

There are boards in the back window.

Azriel stalks forward through the snow, his ears keenly sifting through the noises of the forest around him but nothing gives way. Just like he had felt all those days ago, there’s a warped agony that clings to the sides of your shelter.

Last time, there had been blood in the snow. A trail, that led him right to you.

Today, there are only the boards in the windows.

His mind jumps to the other warriors in the camp, wondering if this is their doing— trapping you inside as some sort of sickening test. See if the bastard can fight his way out or starve to death in his own four walls.

Something like pure malice glimmers just beneath his skin, ready to rear up, but—

—But no. As he gets closer, Azriel realises he’s wrong.

This is not the work of the brutes in camp, this is you. The boards have been put up from the inside.

A series of emotions stutter and slam into each other, wrestling with one another in his chest. Confusion shares the top spot with an unwavering concern that seems to grow with every step closer. Boarded up from the inside... what possible reason could warrant you to do this?

Uneasiness coats his every nerve, an uncomfortable prickle rolling along his raised hackles. Something stirs in his chest. Azriel stalks closer to your shelter, snow slushing beneath his boots, torn between calling out and biting his tongue. He goes for the latter.

His shadows glide around him agitatedly, circling his hands where they hover over his weapons. His wings are pulled in tight. He slows as he reaches the front of your shelter.

There's no sound coming from inside. No scent of blood, no crackle of fire. Yet somehow he knows, without question, that you're in there.

As his concern winds down a notch, his rational brain begins to tick. There might be someone else in there with you. As the different scenarios get considered and discarded, Azriel lands on the most likely one. It's a trap.

The reasoning builds up the motive, spinning a story that makes sense. A Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, caught off his guard by using his latest confidant against him.

Azriel turns over the idea slowly and decisively, thinking of Brudam, of Lord Mylind, wondering if they've been buying their time all this while— and he's been too distracted with you to even notice.

Azriel curses himself for being so careless.

There's still no noise from within the shelter.

If it's a trap, it doesn't matter; the only way out is through.

Letting his hand curl around the Truth Teller, Azriel grips it tightly and pretends that the loud thump in his mind isn't the echo from his afraid heart. He can't afford to be afraid — not with what it would mean, not with how it betrays how he feels for you.

Not when it distracts him from doing what is needed from him.

His shadows spiral up around him and Azriel weaves the darkness, folding the fabric of the world til it aligns as he needs, his anger sharpening his resolve. He steps through the rippling darkness and into your boarded-up shelter with one swift motion.

It's dark inside. There are slivers of light that curl around the planks of wood, reaching in the dance upon the floor, distorted by the motion of falling snow. The air is stale, undisturbed.

Azriel's gaze scours the environment for enemies, his grip tight around his knife, prepared to unsheathe it without hesitation. His shadows fly around wildly, whispering the details of the room— each corner empty, except for the one he knows your bed is tucked in. Something loosens in his chest just a fraction.

There's no one else in here but you.

His eyes go right to your bed. It's hard to see within the darkness but your figure is there, hunched up even tighter than the last time he had found you wounded, wings pulled up in an uncomfortable hold around yourself.

As the possibility of a trap tapers away, another scenario creeps in — you've been attacked and holed yourself up before they can finish the job.

Almost as the thought crosses his mind, the scent of blood reaches his senses. Azriel stills, each limb locking up as the information filters through his mind, aided by the murmurs of his shadows. Blood, they chant, new blood.

Not blood from an injury, not from an enemy.

A sickening type of surprise coils up Azriel's spine.

"Y/n?" He dares to speak. Your name comes out like it's completely foreign in his mouth.

There's a stunned web that seems to cling to him, dulling all his usually keen senses, as the pieces of this puzzle whiz around and begin to slot into place. New blood— new blood means— it means—

"Azriel?" Your voice sounds from the darkness in the corner. It's smaller than usual, thick with emotion.

There's the sound of you shifting. Azriel can't move at all. Even his shadows have slowed in their surprise.

With his eyes rapidly adjusting to the dimness, he can just see the features on your face as you untuck it from your curled-up position.

Someone is beating loudly against the walls—or at least it sounds that way with how hard his heart is beating in his chest, valves working in overdrive. Is it his heart? It feels like something else, something deeper.

New blood, new blood, new blood. A thousand different instances burst from his memory, glazed in a new light.

"He tells me that your absences during training have come to be somewhat expected,"—

—"You're smaller than usual Illyrians,”—

—Hands, weathered and much smaller than most males—

—You're small but your wings are still large and beautiful, tucked up neatly behind your back. Most warriors in camp must have at least a head of height on you—

—A Fae with long hair like Cassian's, chopped at the shoulder and scraped back — and a voice softer than most. A Fae with eyes that burn with a promise for retribution, with icy fury like his own.

Each one threatens to send him staggering to his knees. How the Cauldron did he miss it? How could he have missed it? He's the fucking Spymaster of the Night Court. You've been lying to his face from the very beginning and he's believed you hook, line, and sinker.

You're smaller than the males in camp because you aren't one at all.

You're so driven to help the others, to mend the clipped girls because... because...

His hazel eyes catch on your wings, snaked around yourself protectively and Azriel suddenly feels very, very sick.

You seem to realise all of a sudden that he's real and not just some hallucinated fever-dream version of him. Despite the efforts to keep everyone out, he's here, on the inside with you. He knows.

"Azriel," You say his name again, like a plea this time. Wings uncurling a fraction, you make a move to stand but an invisible pain cripples you and he watches as you shudder, a pained whimper leaking out your mouth. An instinct within him roars to rush to your side but his feet are rooted to the floor.

"You..." He begins, his voice far away.

Something is unravelling in his chest with an alarming speed, something growing and churning, fiery hot. It feels like dread—panicky, horrified fear boiling in his stomach. He doesn't realise that it isn't his own.

"You're not a male."

His words look like they cause you more pain, agony shifting across your features, and Azriel wishes he could take them back the moment they leave his lips. But he's not wrong.

Even from across the room, he can see the quiver in your bottom lip. You're frozen in fear, he realises.

Tentatively, you shake your head. "I'm- I'm not."

You're not. Perhaps, he was wrong about you and you're not some beaten-down warrior, striving for justice against the tides that try to hold you back. Maybe you're a snake in the grass, hiding yourself, cocooning in a lie. You've been lying since the first moment you met him.

Azriel can't tell why it hurts so much in his chest, why it feels so close to betrayal, why it feels like his heart is bleeding. Who are you really?

"I—" Your words get cut off with another wince as you slump over, your cycle ravaging your body with pain. "Azriel, wait—"

He's taken a step back without even realising.

Who are you? Stranger, ally, friend; all the titles you've earned feel like they're getting stripped back forcibly and his heart warbles agonisingly in response. His shadows have picked up speed, darting around him. His wings have risen an inch, flared a little wider.

"Please," You gasp, trying to shuffle forward again but halted by the waves of pain. One of your hands grips around your midriff tightly and there's a sheen on your face that tells him you're crying. He's never seen you cry before.

Who are you? Is your name even your real name? Azriel doesn't know where the hurt is coming from, why it's so strong— except he thinks he does.

He's known from that first week with you. Known from the first time he laid eyes on your face and his very soul seemed to call out in response. He's known and he's been ignoring it all this time. His mate.

"You— you have to understand," You're still grasping at words desperately, even as you give up trying to move through your afflicted torment. Azriel takes another step back. What is he doing? "Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings."

Choked sobs begin to claw their way up your throat and Azriel feels the thickness in his own throat, connected from the inside. You're connected. The pounding on the door, on his chest, in his heart, is the only thing he can focus on, getting louder and louder. Bile threatens at his throat.

He can't be here.

"I just- just wanted to keep—" The words keep coming, even as he steps back once more, shadows swirling. Words lurch up his throat, questions, explanations, accusations. None of them escape. His mouth is dry.

His wings rustle as he tucks them in and forces his gaze down to stare at the floorboards. He's been here, lived here, in your lie for how many months? His mate, a liar.

He shifts the space between inside and elsewhere, scrunching the fabric so it aligns with somewhere, anywhere he can think of.

"P-Please, you have to understand—Azriel!"

Your call echoes as he steps through his magic, letting it carry him away from your shelter, from your agony that he can feel from the inside, from the lie he's been fed.

He lands on a hilltop and when he opens his eyes, he's looking at a familiar cabin. His shadows move about almost limply, his magic and siphons depleted from overuse in such a short time. He can feel the chill of snow on the tips of his wings which drag behind him.

He's...drained. Stunned.

And where he's always dreamed of a golden thread, a lover's tug, rooted deep in his being that connects him to his mate... there is only a pull of utter misery.

—

You had thought of this before; what it might be like to have him find out.

The trust severed. Your friend, the only one you've ever truly had, lost to your betrayal. The first couple weeks in his company as you learnt slowly to let your guard down had been the first times in decades you had been freed from night terrors.

You had thought of it then, during one of those nights—you did not want to lose him in any way.

The cost was too high, the sheer magnitude of your secret that you never intended on him finding out. You had promised yourself you couldn't, you wouldn't tell him, no matter how much you yearned to.

You wonder now if you would have been better off if you'd never met him at all.

Never trusted him, never took his hand, and stood by his side to learn how to fight. No learning how to trust after years of desolate solitude, just to have it ripped from you. No shared smiles in the dim light of the evening, glancing away when you're caught looking for too long.

No hurt, no pain, no replaying the look on his face as he uttered the secret you had kept hidden for nearly three decades.

The burning spasms of your cycle seem almost dull compared to the ache in your heart. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. You feel like you're burning up from the inside, like there's a hurricane of regret building in your chest and its' howl is as torturous as it is loud.

Time passes. Outside, the snow turns to heavy rain.

The painful throbs that wrack your body ebb and flow but the heaviness in your heart never seems to fade. You can't decide between being angry at Azriel or at yourself.

How could he be so... so unfeeling? So merciless, not giving you even a moment to truly explain?

There had been a time where you thought when he looked at you, he saw beyond the surface; more than a mutt, more than just another bastard. You half hoped he saw through your facade and didn't care anyway.

You're a fool for that, you realise now.

Your consciousness wanes as you burrow as deep as you can into your blankets, wanting them to swallow you whole, wrapped in half-hearted warmth and ribbons of pain. He's never coming back, you realise. The tears start up all over again, your heart sobbing out for a piece of it that's missing. He's never coming back.

You know that for sure— so when there's a slushing of feet through the snow and a pounding knock on your door, your hackles rise in pure fright. Your wings tuck around yourself a little tighter, right as another spasm of agony rocks through your bones. You cry out weakly, teeth gritted tightly.

There's someone at the door who's come sniffing for a fight. It's not Azriel.

[NEXT PART: MATES]

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs

#forgive me.... hehehehehe >:)#but im not sorry!!!! its been planned from the beginning!!!!!!#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger x you #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)#whom the shadows sing for #notice how there’s no moon in the header this time? :)

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goldengirliez · 12 days

Text

TIPSY MIKEY. We all stan a cute, tipsy Mikey.

09:53 pm

Nighttime is the most amazing part of the day. You can give yourself the attention you deserve, taking care of yourself, watching your favourite show, preparing a nourishing meal... All of this after the frenzy of the day, the heat of the city, the infinite traffic jams, and the overwhelmingness of your daily job.

Once you get your favourite shirt covering you up, you can't help but sigh contently, letting the perfume of the clothing fill your nostrils, the softness of the cotton fabric gently caressing your skin and the white colour of the tissue soothes your tired eyes.

His shirts are always your anchor after a long day when you haven't been able to meet. After a whole week you and your boyfriend, Mikey, haven't been able to meet because of his busy schedule due to an upcoming race and you being buried deep down the pit of work and hectic everyday life.

Just when you're about to get into the covers and call it a day, some motherfucker dares to ring the bell of your apartment, knocking at your door mercilessly. It's almost 10 pm, who could it possibly be?!

Stomping your feet towards the door of your apartment, you rub your eyes in a pissed manner, the lotion you put on your face earlier slightly oiling the tip of your fingers. When you open the door with a frustrated sigh, your eyes go from annoyed to surprised in less than two seconds. You surely didn't expect to find Draken, Mikey's best friend since the old days and a member of his racing team, looking at you apologetically while holding your boyfriend on his back, piggyback style.

You don't question him, despite wanting to do so, and let the beefy man in. He drops Mikey on your couch and he yelps, whining a slurred and slightly annoyed "Ken-chinnnnn".

You and Draken share a look that says it all: he was drunk, dead-drunk, cockeyed.

"A week is left before the big day, everyone wanted to meet up before having to go all in until the race day" Drake sighs and scratches the back of his head.

You have never seen him so shy, he must be quite tipsy too but you decide not to point that out, showing mercy for his virility.

"I'm sorry about this- he kept on blabbering about how much he missed you so I thought this was the best thing to do".

Of course, it is. Mikey's addicted to you. He loves you so much and every time he can't meet you even for a short period, not being able to hold you close and pepper your face in kisses, he loses it and does stupid things like... Getting drunk with his friends.

You can feel a sudden weight on your shoulder, strong arms wrapping around your waist like a snake and a stinging smell of mixed alcohol make its way through your senses.

Mikey's cheek is squished against your shoulder and he looks at you with big, doe onyx orbs and sweet, plump pouty lips.

His obsidian hair is a bit messy, and his cheek is slightly rosy due to his tipsiness.

You could devour him. He looks so adorable.

"Babyyy, is this really you? Fuck– I've missed you so much" winey voice and teary eyes. He always acts like a child whenever he's drunk and that never fails to put your heart in danger because of cuteness overload.

"You did great Draken, I'll take care of him, thank you for bringing him here" you smile at your boyfriend's best mate and motion him to go before Mikey throws off a tantrum on how much he had missed you and how you should have answered to his messages more often.

Just when he gets out you sigh and look at your boyfriend who's snuggling against you (probably because he's not even capable of standing still by himself), caressing your warm skin with the tip of his nose.

“Why haven't you answered any of my calls today, baby?”

It is surprising how his voice rings in your years, shaking your very core: his slurred and childish words from before have been completely replaced by a deep, low and shy whisper. He sounds pained.

You can feel the warmth of his muscles flex on your abdomen as he brings you closer to him until your back is touching his toned chest. His heart is thrumming against his ribcage, you can feel it.

“Can't focus on anything without hearing from you for so long… I get worried too, ya know?”

Your Manjiro has always been this way, whenever he got tipsy, he would always become more clingy, whinier and vulnerable.

Despite this, his charm is undeniable and you can't help but pend from his lips when his words flow effortlessly like the smoothest cream. Listening to him and absorbing his body heat is like indulging in the sweetest thing you might ever taste.

He doesn't do it on purpose, such antics become natural when he's with you: your magnecticity touches every cell of his body and makes it act on its own, getting on the right frequency just because you are there.

You're everything he needs and all he has always had.

You can't blame him for behaving like this, like the lovestruck man he is.

“I’m so sorry, ‘jiro, I've been busy… but I'll make it up to you, okay?”

His body weight leans more towards you as he mutters a slurred ‘you better'. Despite wanting to sound pissed, the smile on his face is clear as day even if his face is hidden in the curve on your neck. His satisfied tone betrays him: maybe wearing one of his shirts was a start to make up for the lost time already.

As your hand smoothes over his liquorice locks you can feel a damp, hot sensation on your neck: his hot breath reaches your skin as he kisses it in both relief and contentment, exciting your nostrils with a pungent hint of alcohol.

Once your hands make contact with his back in a fluid, circular motion, you can feel Mikey's muscles tense and melt in your hold in less than a few seconds: you prepared him a warm bath to help him ease up his paranoia about “you avoiding him” and wash off that nauseous smell of liquor that was making you sick.

The water ripples underneath his body, circular little waves expand and dissolve among the warm water whenever he moves.

Letting the fragrance of the oils and the body wash hug his senses, filling his thoughts with your gentle hand scratching his scalp deliciously with the tip of your fingers and your idyllic voice that echoes through the bathroom walls he feels at peace.

He breathes in deeply every time, his toned chest rises and falls at a slow pace and the droplets of water kiss every inch of the skin for you, sliding down his muscles deliciously.

With his eyes gently closed and his silky, obsidian hair sticking to his forehead slightly, he looks like a greek god, just for you to be blessed with.

You can't help but sigh happily as his consciousness clears up with every passing minute: he starts to make more coherent sentences, talking to you about his week and complaining about his team that put his life in such a hectic frenzy for the upcoming race that he hardly had time to check up on you.

“The only way I thought I could see you was by taking advantage of this dinner: I mean, no one wants to deal with a drunk, complaining pain the ass before the race, yeah? They had to let me come here, I'm a genius!”

You love him for that.

The soft thuds that jog up the stairs are unmistakable: as Mikey reaches your room and opens the door, you are already waiting for him in the bed, keeping the sheets warm for him, and making a comforting nest for his arrival.

He insisted that you wait for him upstairs as he brushed his teeth and dressed up, claiming that he wasn't that tipsy to be looked out for like the big baby he is.

Let's give him credit for that, he was right.

His face seems to be sparking under the warm light of your abatjour, the freshness of his body reaches your nose more and more as he walks closer to the bed, inching towards your face so you can breathe in and taste the minty scent of his mouth onto yours with a sloppy kiss.

When your hand guides its way on his collarbone, tickling his damp skin with your palm, he wastes no time hovering over your frame completely and crushing his weight on top of you, making the soft mattress sink lower underneath your bodies.

Even if Mikey has always had a quite smaller frame compared to other guys, he never fails to knock the breath off your lungs when he catches you by surprise. He might have a thing for that small puff of air that leaves your chest unexpectedly, making you yelp in such a delightful tone… but he would never admit that out loud. Where would the fun be otherwise?

Snuggling against your body, you can feel the tip of his nose playfully rub against your cheek as he kisses your jaw with a small movement of his mouth, the softest flower petals caressing your tender skin graciously.

Useless to say that you'll sleep in that position for the whole night and you have no room to argue, not when your man starts to mindlessly mumble sweet nonsense under his breath and ask questions about your week until late that night.

Mikey's head is still a bit fuzzy, his senses don't connect down on earth fully due to the fragmentary memories of the embarrassing, confused events that happened that night tormenting his subconscious, but he doesn't care: as long as your voice lulls him to sleep, all his repressed pre-race anxieties melt away; every fear of having missed out on a big event of your life that week dissolves into thin air; every inch of the emptiness that your absence brought fills up gradually, leaving him giddy inside.

He doesn't deny it, Manjiro admits that he can be whiney, childish and reckless (idiotic actually): getting drunk and causing a scene at the restaurant, screaming at the waiter because he didn't receive a flag on his entrecôte and spilling the carafe of wine on the white table cloth in front of the team before falling from the chair wasn’t the best idea to get him to your house, especially since he's an emergent public figure in the motorcycle racing industry.

But, honestly, that's all worth it if he gets to spend time with you once again, babying him the way he deserves.

English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes!

This has been in my drafts for way too long, so I decided to finish it– I'm not that proud of the outcome but I hope it brought a smile on your face regardless!

Sending y'all hugs. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

©GOLDENGIRLIEZ do not repost or modify on any platform.

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imloyaltoscoups · 17 days

Text

naughty temptation | yoon jeonghan

You sit in biology class, as you glance over at your boyfriend, Jeonghan, who seems to be lost in his own world. With a gentle nudge, you whisper, "Hey, pay attention to the professor."

Jeonghan looks at you with a mischievous grin. "But babe, I've got more interesting things to focus on," he replies playfully.

You raise an eyebrow, not quite sure what he means. But as the discussion shifts to the reproductive system, you suddenly feel his hand creeping up your exposed legs.

"Jeonghan!" you hiss, trying to suppress a giggle as you swat his hand away. "Not now, we're in class!"

He chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Can't help it," he whispers back, leaning in closer. "You're just too distracting."

"Stop it," you say firmly, squeezing his hand as it inches dangerously close to your underwear. He just smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know we shouldn't..."

His smile widens, and he leans in closer. "But it's so tempting, isn't it? Just think of all the naughty things we could do..."

You can't help but feel a rush of arousal at his sudden boldness, your breath hitching slightly. "I know, but... we really shouldn't..."

He chuckles softly, his fingers tracing tantalizing patterns along your skin. "Maybe we shouldn't, but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, does it?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and glance at Jeonghan, who seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. With a quick scan around the classroom, you realize that you both are sitting at the back, with no other students beside you.

"Yoon Jeonghan, seriously," you whisper urgently, trying to keep your voice low. "Not here, okay? We'll get in trouble."

But Jeonghan just chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Come on, babe," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

You bite your lip, torn between the thrill of his touch and the fear of getting caught. But as his hand continues its tantalizing exploration, you can't help but feel a surge of arousal coursing through you. Despite your best efforts to resist, the temptation of his touch is simply too strong to ignore.

As Jeonghan's fingers traced small circles on your skin, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the lecture. "Jeonghan," you whisper, trying to sound stern despite the shiver his touch sends down your spine, "We really shouldn't be doing this in class."

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "But you're not stopping me," he murmurs playfully, his fingers continuing their tantalizing movements.

Your cheeks flush as Jeonghan's teasing words send a jolt of arousal through you. "Jeonghan, stop," you whisper urgently, feeling the heat pooling between your thighs.

But he only smirks, his fingers continuing to brush against the fabric, making you squirm uncomfortably. "You're really getting wet, aren't you?" he taunts, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan, and instinctively close your thighs in a feeble attempt to regain control. But he's having none of it. "Open them up," he demands softly, his gaze intense as he meets your eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat as you reluctantly obey his command, feeling a rush of excitement mingled with apprehension at the thought of being so exposed in public. You slide your thighs apart, giving him easier access, your heart pounding in your chest.

As his fingers slip inside your underwear, you can't help but gasp, your hand instinctively flying to cover your mouth to stifle any sounds of pleasure that might escape. His touch sends shockwaves of sensation coursing through you, and you struggle to maintain your composure, torn between the need for discretion and the overwhelming desire building inside you.

You try to focus on the lecture, but Jeonghan's fingers persistently tease and tantalize, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Every subtle movement sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, and you struggle to keep your composure.

Glancing back, you see Jeonghan's other hand casually resting on his chin, his gaze fixed on the projector screen where the professor is talking. It's as if he's completely absorbed in the lecture, his expression unreadable, while his fingers continue their illicit exploration beneath the desk.

You bite your lip, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks as you realize the audacity of his actions.

Unconsciously, your hips begin to move in rhythm with Jeonghan's teasing fingers, betraying the growing arousal coursing through your body. You know you should stop, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.

You hear him chuckle softly, leaning forward to whisper in your ear, his voice low and suggestive. "Enjoying yourself, aren't you?" he murmurs, the hint of a smirk evident in his tone. "You can't resist me, can you?"

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, acutely aware of the risk of being caught.

As Jeonghan skillfully inserts a third finger inside you, your head lowers instinctively, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure flooding your senses. His movements become faster, more urgent, driving you to the brink of ecstasy.

Suddenly, the professor's voice cuts through the haze of arousal. "Is everything alright?" he asks, concern evident in his tone.

Before you can even respond, Jeonghan smoothly interjects on your behalf. "Oh, she's just feeling a bit under the weather, but she'll be fine," he says, his voice calm and collected, as if discussing the weather.

The professor accepts Jeonghan's explanation with a nod, returning to his lecture without further inquiry, unaware of the illicit activity happening right under his nose. You exhale a shaky breath of relief, grateful for Jeonghan's quick thinking, though you can't help but marvel at his audacity. Despite the close call, the forbidden thrill of the moment only serves to heighten the intensity of your shared desire.

Jeonghan's whispered words draw you back to reality, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "We almost got caught because of you," he teases softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You're about to shoot him a glare in response when his fingers start moving again, igniting a surge of pleasure that makes coherent thought difficult. Your grip on his arm tightens instinctively, a silent plea for him to stop, but also an admission of your own inability to resist.

"You're such a menace," you mutter under your breath, a mixture of frustration and arousal lacing your words.

Jeonghan chuckles softly at your remark, taking it as a compliment rather than a reproach. "I'll take that as a compliment," he says with a smirk, his fingers moving even faster now, driving you closer to the edge.

You can feel your climax building, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume you. "Jeonghan," you gasp, your voice barely a whisper, "I'm... I'm going to..."

But he interrupts you with a mischievous grin. "Let go," he murmurs, his voice filled with desire and command, pushing you over the edge into ecstasy.

As you reach your climax, you lower your head again, biting down on both hands to stifle any sound of pleasure that might escape. You feel the intensity of the moment wash over you, leaving you breathless and trembling with ecstasy.

Jeonghan withdraws his fingers from inside you, and before you can even process what's happening, he brings them to his lips, licking the remaining juices with a satisfied expression. "You taste delicious, babe," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.

You blush furiously at his bold actions, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at the intimate exchange. Despite your protestations, a part of you can't help but be thrilled by his uninhibited desire.

Afterwards, Jeonghan acts as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, returning to his normal demeanor as if he hadn't just sent you spiraling into ecstasy. You can't help but marvel at his ability to switch between playful seduction and casual nonchalance, leaving you both exhilarated and utterly captivated by his charms.

As the bell rings, signaling the end of the lecture, Jeonghan leans in to whisper, "Thank you for making this class bearable."

You roll your eyes playfully. "I didn't learn anything, thanks to you," you retort with a smirk.

He grins back at you. "Well, who needs lectures when you can learn so much more interesting things with me?" he replies with a wink.

You playfully smack his arm. "You're just horny 24/7," you tease, unable to suppress a giggle.

He chuckles, unfazed by your comment. "Guilty as charged," he admits with a smirk. "Since we don't have any classes for today, why don't we head to my dorm and continue where we left off?"

You raise an eyebrow, considering his suggestion. "Hmm, tempting," you say with a grin, already imagining the possibilities. "Lead the way."

....... ≿━━━━༺JEONGHAN༻━━━━≾ .......

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moonstrider9904 · 2 months

Text

do i wanna know?

one shot masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 | beta read by the wonderful @jedi-hawkins and @freesia-writes

Pairing: Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been seeing Crosshair for months when he's on planet, seemingly only as friends. But one night when he's back, you meet him at your favorite bar, and you get the feeling his flirtatious ways might mean a bit more. Should you get your hopes up, or would that be your heart's last mistake?

Tags: 18+ only. Smut, oral sex (female and male receiving), female masturbation, unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, light nipple play. Flirting, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of war and canon-typical violence, foul language, angst. Also, I am basing some of Crosshair's appearance on this magnificent art here.

Word count: 7056 words

Playlist: Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

The man who filled your thoughts that night leaned over the billiards table. He closed the left eye, leaving the right, tattooed eye open, and he shoved the cue forward with a strength and precision you couldn’t help but find seductive. The sound of the resin clinking as the multiple billiards balls made their way across the table was soon replaced by whistles and calls celebrating Crosshair’s trickshot, after which he straightened up next to the table and looked at his opponent, holding out his hand to collect his wager.

Crosshair had won yet another match that night. As he took the amount of credits he’d wagered from his last opponent, he dismissed himself from the competition with a carefree wave of his hand, and with dark amber eyes, he made his way to you.

“Don’t you look pretty there, cheering me on,” he purred.

You crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on the chair pretending you didn’t care much for what he was saying. “You say I’m pretty, but you’ve barely paid attention to me tonight, handsome.” You smirked at him and winked when you finished your sentence, and Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk back as he took a seat across from you.

He took another sip out of his whisky and looked over at your glass of beer. “You nearly finished that.”

“My point exactly,” you shrugged.

“Come now,” Crosshair moved his chair over closer to you and slid his glass to match his new position on the table. “I was getting credits to spoil you.”

Your head jerked in his direction and you pouted up at him. “Really? How?”

Crosshair chuckled next to your ear, his warm breath over your skin sending shivers through your body. “I was thinking… we could get another round of drinks…”

“Uh-huh?” You prompted as your body leaned closer to him against your will. You could spend weeks, months even, trying not to appear too needy or desperate to him, trying to balance out your pleas to have him closer with your wit and your sarcasm, but all Crosshair had to do was lean in close and purr at you, and you were on your knees.

“We can have as many as you want,” Crosshair continued, “and then…”

You turned and met his eyes when he trailed off. “And?”

He leaned back on his chair and took a sip out of his whisky. But you, in turn, leaned forward to match him, taking the drink from his hand and sipping on it yourself.

“And then what?” You asked again.

Crosshair chuckled, the sound deep and enticing. He took his drink back from you and set it on the table, only to then reach for your chin with his hand, cold from the icy drink he’d just held. Crosshair looked you in the eyes, and for a moment you swore his gaze softened, but it soon regained its usual fire as his grip tightened when he pulled you close.

“Play your cards right and tonight might be your night,” Crosshair crooned.

You felt yourself clench around nothing between your legs, and before you had a thought of what to respond, Crosshair got up from the chair and made his way past the billiards tables to the bar, where he gestured to his drink and yours at the bartender.

That man was dangerously sexy.

You thought he’d come back to the table with you, but instead, you saw him heading towards the back of the bar when his glass was refilled. He looked back at you and signaled you to follow him, and you obeyed. Before leaving, you took the last fried cheese stick from the plate at the center of the table and ate it on the way, and when you walked past the bar, the bartender handed you the beer bottle Crosshair had ordered for you. You took it with a smile and followed Crosshair behind the bar to a storage room. It wasn’t too dim that you feared for your life, but it wasn’t well lit enough to attract any other attention to it, and inside it, Crosshair waited for you. You watched him stand there sipping from his whisky, looking gorgeous in those dark gray trousers and pitch-black shirt topped by a black leather jacket.

Crosshair turned around and let his gaze pierce into you, and a smirk formed on his lips as he approached you. Unsure what to expect from him, your heart squeezed when he reached his arm past you to close the door behind you, and when he pulled his arm back, he once again took his hand up to your chin and lifted your face up to look at him.

“Cross…” You sighed.

He chuckled. “You do want this, right?”

“Yes,” you nearly moaned. You set your beer down next to you on one of the boxes and let your hands snake up his chest until they found rest at the base of his neck. His free hand slid down your body and found the curve of your waist, pulling you closer—he didn’t need many more words before finally leaning down to kiss you.

It was everything you’d been fantasizing for months. Crosshair’s lips were warm and they kissed you with intent, igniting your veins and drenching you between your legs. You couldn’t help but whimper into the kiss as you clung tighter to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You had to stand on your toes to press yourself closer to him, feeling yourself getting drunk on the whisky you could taste in him. Your arms shook, your legs felt as if they wouldn’t hold you up, and your heart threatened to beat out of your chest when you felt his hardness begin to press up against your body.

“Take me,” you mumbled. “Take me now, Crosshair.”

He chuckled. “Needy. How cute.”

With a strong grip, Crosshair led you towards one of the larger crates in the room and he let you go just to pat on the surface. You obliged and hopped onto the crate, sitting and parting your legs to let him press closer to you. With one hand still holding his drink, Crosshair wrapped an arm around your waist and resumed kissing you. Hungrily, you kissed him back and ran your hands all over his body. You felt the lean lines on his back and the strong muscles on his chest. You tried to get a feel of his arms, but there wasn’t much you could feel over that leather jacket, so instead, you let your hands return to his abdomen. Through the fabric, you could feel the lumps of his abs as well as some of the scars he’d gotten over the years, but choosing to focus less on the soldier and more on the man, you let your hands make their way downward.

Crosshair let the hand on your body travel as well. He felt himself getting harder at the sight of you in front of him, eager to let him in, your legs parted letting the fabric of your skirt barely attempt to hide the panties from his sight. His hand brushed down past the end of your skirt over the skin of your thigh, and Crosshair let his nails slightly dig into your flesh as he ran his hand down your leg. You whimpered and tightened your grip on him, your back straightening and making you press your breasts onto him, a reflex Crosshair may have enjoyed too much as you felt him grin into your lips.

His hand made its way up your body again. You felt his touch going up your leg and your belly until it eventually reached your chest, and he let his fingers expand over the curve of one of your breasts. Your breath hitched when Crosshair caressed and massaged you, squeezing with the perfect amount of strength to send your mind reeling without any pain, and soon, his fingertips found the bud of your nipple, which he freely pinched just enough to draw a moan from you.

“Fuck…” you whimpered.

Crosshair gave a low laugh. “You’re gonna have to be quiet, darlin’. We’re only allowed in here so long as we don’t make a scene to the whole bar, understood?”

You nodded, licking your lips before reaching down to grab the hem of your blouse, pulling it up and off your body. Crosshair’s gaze darkened as he glanced at your breasts and the delicate black bra that covered them. You reached back to undo the hook of your bra and he helped you take it off, growling as he saw the way your breasts fell freely. With a smirk, Crosshair managed to tear his gaze from your mounds and looked you in the eyes, holding his glass out to you.

“Hold this, darlin’,” he gave you the glass.

Dazed, you held onto his drink. Crosshair now had both of his hands free, and he first held the sides of your torso with his fingertips resting on your back, and he pulled you up while bending down and trailing kisses starting at your collarbone. He traced his lips over your chest, relishing in the way your panting made it go up and down while he brought his hands to your front again. Crosshair took one breast in each of his hands and resumed the massaging and caressing, and soon after, he started lightly pinching at your nipples before bringing his lips down at the level of your breasts.

You suppressed a moan as best as you could when Crosshair placed his lips over one of your nipples. He gently sucked on the bud while his hand continued to massage the other one, making you crave more. You slowly rubbed your hips against the crate under you and felt the dampness between your legs delicious with the friction. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you felt your own pulse down between your legs, so you threw your head back and enjoyed as Crosshair had his way with you.

Much to your pleasure, Crosshair soon resumed his way down, and the emptiness on your breasts was soon compensated by the sight of Crosshair kneeling down before you with dark eyes as he reached for your panties under your skirt. You wiggled to help him get them off and felt the cool air against your moist cunt. You heard Crosshair suck air in through his teeth, and he let his hands slide from your ankles up your legs until firmly grasped your hips.

When you finally felt his tongue against your cunt, you had to constantly convince yourself not to succumb entirely to the bliss—you didn’t want a shattered whisky glass ruining the moment. You moaned as quietly as you could, but the ecstasy wasn’t any less present in the lack of volume. Crosshair pressed himself deeper into your flesh, devouring you, expertly working his tongue and his lips over your all too sensitive clit. You couldn’t help but use your free hand to continue massaging one of your nibbles, just a little extra to enhance the pleasure you already felt.

And as Crosshair flicked his tongue quicker over your clit, you felt yourself getting closer to climax, causing you to press your hips forward onto him. It made him moan, his voice rumbling low in your flesh and making you roll your eyes back, dangerously close to release. Crosshair’s pace didn’t relent. He continued to suck away at your clit until you felt your hips quiver and the temperature of your body oscillate between hot and cold. Your mind went blank as you tried your best not to moan out his name—you were sure everyone out at the bar would hear you if you did. Your body squirmed on that crate as Crosshair continued to make you his own, and you were so gone that you barely noticed when his tongue left your pussy.

You whined softly when you realized he’d stopped. Crosshair was standing back up, and he reached for the glass of whisky in your hand, taking a long sip of it and downing half of its content. Crosshair grunted as the alcohol burned his throat, his chest heaving slightly after his efforts with you. You didn’t hold out your hand to take the glass from him again—messy as you were, you weren’t close to done. You wanted more, and you wanted him. You got down from the crate, and Crosshair watched you in confusion that turned into delight when he saw you kneeling down before him and reaching for the zipper of his pants.

“Oh, such a good girl,” Crosshair purred as he reached his free hand down to brush your cheek. You were still focused on undoing the button and zipper, until you finally pulled down the fabric to free his erection from confinement.

Your mouth watered at the sight. Sucking him off was yet another of the fantasies you’d had for months, just one more thing you dreamt of doing with him every time you met up with him at the bar. Every time you’d questioned if Crosshair was into you had led to that moment, alone with him in that storage room. He’d already claimed you, now it was your turn. You wrapped your fingers around his girth and took him into your mouth, starting off with just the tip, sucking and circling your tongue around it getting used to the taste.

Above you, Crosshair downed the rest of his whisky and set the glass down on another box beside him with a loud toc, moaning softly and whisper-grunting out “Fuck!” as you took more of his length in your mouth. Your breathing deepened, struggling ever so slightly at the fullness in your mouth, yet resolved to see it through. Still, you were aching between your legs as if your folds begged to be touched. It wasn’t like you needed both of your hands to suck Crosshair’s dick, so you took one of them down and rubbed small, quick circles on your clit, whimpering softly into his shaft.

Crosshair looked down at you. The way you had his cock in your mouth, the way you touched yourself, it nearly made him lose all sense of reason. His gaze softened at you as though it were filled with wonder and adoration more than desire. Crosshair reached a hand down and took some of your hair in his hand, stroking the curve of your head before resting his hand down beside your cheek again. The gesture prompted you to look up at him, and when you did, you nearly climaxed again when you noticed how beautifully he was looking at you. At that moment, Crosshair didn’t look like a man only thinking of sex, he looked like a man who adored you completely. Yet another one of your fantasies was coming true.

Your vision blurred, however, when your rubbing on your clit made you climax again. The waves of your orgasm made your lips tighten around Crosshair’s thickness, drawing a low moan from him. He mumbled a few other words you didn’t bother listening to. You were too deep in your orgasm to make sense of anything anyway. You only came to your senses when you felt his hand tugging your cheek ever so gently, bringing your rubbing on your clit to a stop as you looked at him again.

“I want to cum inside you,” Crosshair whispered as he helped you up and hastily helped you back onto the crate where he first had you.

You sat in a similar position as you had initially, with your legs parted and welcoming him to do whatever he wanted with you, and Crosshair leaned in close enough to have to rest his hands on the wall behind you just after sliding his length into your warm, wet walls. Your hands clung to his shoulders, clawing at the leather jacket that made him look dangerously handsome, and you felt your body bouncing with every thrust he gave into your hips. You could hear Crosshair grunting softly between luscious thrusts, as well as the sound of the bottles of alcohol within the crate clanking against each other with his movements. Softly, you whimpered—your cunt was already too sensitive from two orgasms. A third one was beginning to creep up on you, this one boiling deep inside you and promising to rattle you to your very bones. While you waited for it, you looked at Crosshair, his eyes dark and focusing on yours as he fucked deep into you.

You took a hand behind Crosshair’s head, curling your fingers in his hair, as you rested your forehead on his while never breaking eye contact. You wanted to be looking into those eyes when the pleasure took over you, and by the stars, it was everything you dreamed. When the waves of your third orgasm started, all you saw was Crosshair. All you felt was him. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tightened your grip, feeling your arousal dripping from your cunt and splashing your skin, and by extension his, and the only thought in your mind was his name. Not long after your walls had clenched around his cock, you heard Crosshair give a grunt and you felt his warmth filling you inside.

You had longed for that sensation, and it was unimaginably better than you ever could have anticipated. Crosshair then stopped his thrusts as the ropes of hot, thick cum continued to splash inside you, and when he was done, he slowly pulled out of you as you both attempted to catch your breaths.

The entirety of your weight still rested on the hard crate underneath you. You couldn’t feel any of the cold from the wall anymore. Its temperature had merged with the one Crosshair had made you feel—your inability to think about anything other than the wall behind you lay testament to how dumbfoundingly well he had just taken care of you. Your breathing slowed as you made contact with his beautiful amber gaze, his irises making you shiver with expectation as he got up and began leaning closer and his arms snaked towards you. Perhaps he had more in mind for you? You silently begged he would.

Your heart skipped a beat. Without warning, you felt the contact of Crosshair’s bare fingertips on your own, heedfully sliding across your palm from your pinky finger and forward towards your thumb. What you thought was an honest gesture of taking your hand turned out to be him reaching for his trousers for a pack of cigarettes, and before breaking eye contact with you to pull one out, you saw something flash in his eyes you didn’t know what to make out of.

Crosshair lit the cigarette and took a long inhale like it was the fresh air he yearned for. He watched you as you slowly regained composure and reached for your bra and your blouse, attempting to dress again.

“Need help with that?” He crooned.

“I’m good,” you replied. “But let me know next time you want to take these off me.”

Crosshair scoffed, taking another breath from his cigarette.

When you finished dressing you got down from the crate and stood firmly on the ground. You made your way over to Crosshair and he opened the door of the cellar, standing aside to let you through first. You smiled at him and were just about to step out the door when you hastily remembered your beer was still in there—no way you were gonna leave that abandoned. Though you focused on your drink, you did manage to hear Crosshair chuckle as he walked after you back towards the bar.

Crosshair draped an arm around your shoulders as you both walked back to the table you’d chosen earlier. He pulled a chair out for you to sit and went across to sit in front of you, and shortly after, a waiter brought him another glass of whisky. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d ordered—were you that awestruck from your recent encounter in the cellar?

“Do you want anything else, doll?” He asked you.

“What?” You snapped your attention to him, stuttering. “No, no, I’m… good.”

Crosshair chuckled. You could tell he was just being cocky.

The night wore on mostly in silence as you finished up your drinks. Though many of your daydreams had just become reality, you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. You were happy to suggest more things, but you were also curious to see what Crosshair had in mind. If nothing else came up, you would ask him to your place, and maybe he could spend the night, maybe you could play something on the holo for background noise while he made you his own again…

You set your empty beer bottle down on the table and looked up at him, your eyes wide and beckoning him. In one gulp, he finished his whisky and began to stand up, and you followed.

Crosshair looked over at the bartender. “Put it on Hunter’s tab, will you?”

You saw the bartender nod, but you quickly focused on Crosshair again as he adjusted his jacket. He put the cigarette out on the ashtray on the center of the table and finally looked at you, smirking softly as he began to make his way towards the exit with you next to him. The cool air hit you hard when you were out on the street, and without any prompt, you felt Crosshair placing his jacket over you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

You both stood in silence, and the absence of words or plans was destroying you. Finally, you reached within you for courage.

“Would you like to go back to my place?” You asked him.

Crosshair chuckled as he reached a hand for your chin, letting you see the snake tattoo that was prominent on his forearm. The gesture and the ink made you clench around nothing all over again.

“You still want more?” He hummed.

“Yes,” you admitted. “But I was also thinking maybe we could just… spend the night? You know, if you’re tired. Just us.”

He chuckled again. “Can’t. I ship out early.”

Your heart sank. “Crosshair…”

He raised a brow at you, prompting you to speak.

“I want to know…” you trailed off. “What we did back there… it wasn’t nothing, right?”

“Did it feel like nothing?” He asked.

“Well, no—”

“Don’t fix what isn’t broken, darlin’,” he evaded you.

“You know what I mean,” you said. “We’ve been meeting up for months. I want you, Crosshair, more than just in a hidden cellar.”

Crosshair sighed. “Please don’t go and ruin this. Not now.”

You felt your heart plummeting inside you. Were you delusional? Those times his eyes had softened at you, his fingers brushing your cheeks with such care, was it all yet another daydream you’d fabricated? Had you just made an utter fool of yourself?

“Oh…” you whispered. “I…”

He sighed. Crosshair looked like he was about to say something else, but you didn’t want to give yourself more reasons to get your heart broken.

“That’s fine, I… I got it wrong,” you said before he could speak.

“Come on, doll,” Crosshair faced you. “I’m always on the move and way too close to blaster fire for us to be a good idea.”

“Then what the hell was that back there?” You gestured at the cellar.

“I like to have my fun.” Crosshair shrugged.

Fury boiled within you. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you mean, that I’m just a bit of fun?”

“I mean I’m not tied down, and neither are you,” Crosshair looked you in the eyes. Whatever emotions he showed before, this time you were sure he was completely serious.

But knowing he was being honest didn’t make things any easier.

Crosshair sighed. “Look, just…”

You looked at him, not knowing whether to hope for him to say something to remedy your feelings or not.

“You’re great,” he said. “And I look forward to seeing you when I come back to this planet. But don’t mistake this for something else. You’d be wasting your time with me.”

“I wouldn’t,” you tried to appeal, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Crosshair, I am mad for you! Tonight has been everything I’ve been yearning for months. You are all I want, this is all I want.”

He didn’t say anything to you. He simply looked you in the eyes with dismay.

Slowly, you unwrapped your arms from Crosshair’s waist. “But… you don’t want that.”

Crosshair looked upset. You figured he wasn’t a monster, and anyone would appear upset when making such a rejection. For your sake, you wouldn’t make anymore of it. Crosshair was difficult to read as it was.

You took his jacket off and handed it to him. “You’ll be needing this.”

“Babe, don’t do this—”

“You either do or you don’t, Crosshair,” you said, unwilling to have your time be wasted. “And right now you’re telling me you don’t, so…”

For a moment, Crosshair seemed to sadden.

You sighed. “I should just go home.”

Crosshair tore his eyes from you for a moment and he took the jacket from your grip in a surprisingly gentle manner. “I guess you should.”

You managed to meet his gaze. You didn’t want him to be out of your life, as much as you were heartbroken by him pushing you away. And the thought of him being out at war, all alone, with his life on the line every day… The idea of something happening to him and you not being in his life somehow was even more dreadful than the idea of losing him whilst having had the chance to love him.

But there was no changing Crosshair’s mind.

“Be safe,” you managed to say.

Crosshair looked at you again, his eyes laden with sorrow. Had you been more naive, you would have expected him to tell you not to leave, that he was wrong, he’d been an idiot, that he did want to be with you. But waiting for something that wouldn’t happen was too painful, and you decided to be the one who left first.

You walked homeward without looking back, and as a tear rushed down your cheek, you tried your best not to blame yourself for thinking your feelings could go both ways.

Blue and white specs of hyperspace surrounded the Marauder. Crosshair sat in his usual chair, in his usual pose of having one leg crossed over the other while the Firepuncher rifle rested across the length of his shin. Holding the rifle, his thumb tapped rhythmically over the scope in tandem with the beat of the song he was listening to on two very discreet yet very loud earbuds. The bass and the guitar, the strong and steady drums reminded him of himself, but the lyrics only made him think of you. The stoic sniper kept a straight face during the multiple times he listened to it, and his mind was able to ponder on many things at once.

What were you up to? Why was he doing something he’d openly laugh at someone else if they were doing the exact same by listening to a rock song thinking of you? What were you wearing that day? How many more men had perished in the battle he was headed to since he and his squad received the briefing? Was it even still daytime on Coruscant? And if it was night time, were you in the arms of another? He hadn’t given you a reason to cling to him anyway, not the last time he’d met you.

He focused his mind on you, your eyes staring up at him, the warmth of your body against his and the pitch of your little whimpers, the way your fingertips curled around his hair when he made you squirm and how your soft lips felt on his skin. He thought back to the moment he nearly took your hand and fooled himself into grabbing a cigarette instead. And then he’d done it again when he told you it was all a bit of fun, when he said he didn’t want to be yours, when he stood there watching you walk away from him.

Despite your absence, Crosshair had been seeing you for nights since his shore leave on Coruscant ended. You were constantly on his mind, much to his annoyance. The fact that every dream and every song lyric brought your face back into his sights was a constant reminder of his own incapacity to admit something so basic—but if it was so basic, why did that feeling fucking eat him away from the inside out? Crosshair sneered. He was at a point where he feared only the unspeakable horrors of war would succeed in removing you from his mind, a fact he didn’t know if it would be terrible or merciful. But he, alongside everyone inside the Marauder, was in for one hell of a battle, already forecast to be one of the bloodiest of the war.

If that didn’t do it, nothing would.

Crosshair’s head swayed forward and back as exhaustion took over him, and he had no sense to even make out how beneficial it would be for him to get a few winks of sleep before reaching the trenches that waited for him on landfall. Blurs of you raced through his mind as the chorus of the song echoed in his subconscious for another countless time, and after what had only felt like seconds, Crosshair regained consciousness to a Marauder that was navigating the transition between space and the tremorous atmosphere of their destination.

Even the clouds foretold the misery that waited for them down there.

Crosshair still had the earbuds on, shielding him from the sounds playing out before him, but he was able to make out Hunter’s silhouette approaching him as he mouthed the words be ready, and a cold shudder took over Crosshair as he saw Hunter had an aura of dread in him as well.

The Marauder shook from the heavy turbulence around it. Crosshair removed the earbuds and slipped his helmet over his head, and he took his rifle, ready for anything. If he made it out alive, he’d probably ask you out for whisky the moment he saw you again.

You couldn’t help but feel wary when your doorbell rang. No one ever visited you, you weren’t expecting anything to be delivered, or anyone to drop by, you didn’t even have anything planned that night. In the absence of anything going on, you figured you’d make your way across your little apartment to the door.

“Who is it?” You called.

From the other side of your door, you were met with hesitation. You were then surprised by hearing your name being spoken in a coiled, smooth voice, its pitch low that made your name sound like the galaxy’s rarest delicacy.

You opened the door.

There stood Crosshair, dressed in black and gray like he usually would when he met you at the bar. This time he wasn’t wearing a jacket, and the short sleeves of his shirt let you see the snake tattoo on his forearm that you loved so much, as well as the veins and thin layer of hair that made you wild. Still, as much as you loved that tattoo, the detail of a fresh, light-brown scar on his other forearm didn’t escape you.

You still hadn’t forgotten the way you’d parted the last time you were with him—you weren’t about to foolishly welcome him in again.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, your voice plagued with more genuine curiosity than the spite of the walls you tried to put up.

Crosshair didn’t speak. He stepped forward and took you in his arms, quickly wrapping them around your silhouette as though clinging to your back and waist. The way he pressed your body to his was alien, but by no means unwelcome. You felt his heartbeat quicken against you as his grip gradually tightened, and as he straightened his back, you had to lift yourself to be on your toes.

“Crosshair?” You inquired.

He gave a brief shake before steadying himself again. “I needed to see you.”

With a brief sigh, your heart sank. You’d watched the news over the past few days, and now that a soldier was clinging to you for dear life, you managed to put two and two together.

“You were on Umbara, weren’t you?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, somber, yet comforting.

Crosshair loosened his grip just enough to look you in the eyes, and the snark and wit were suddenly gone from his gaze replaced by revelation.

“Your brothers?” You followed up. “Are they okay?”

“They’re all fine, but…” Crosshair trailed off. “Too many platoons. Too many families were broken.”

You never thought he cared that much. You gently reached a hand up to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your warmth while having one of his own hands fly up to meet your own, holding your palm closer to him. You could see the remorse in his eyes, but you wouldn’t be arrogant enough to believe that remorse was only caused by you. You feared the answer of your next question.

“Did you…?” You couldn’t even bring yourself to finish the thought.

Crosshair shuddered at the memory of a blue and white helmet under his scope. He shuddered at the thought of what would have been and how many more would have fallen if Rex hadn’t run past him waving his arms. The idea of someone, anyone, using him against his brothers, controlling him with sinister motives and turning him against his own brothers… Crosshair knew how dangerous he would be, and the thought terrified him.

“I need you,” Crosshair admitted. “All that time, I needed you. I didn’t want to die out there. I didn’t want to kill one of my own.”

“Hey…” You comforted him. “None of you knew.”

Crosshair cupped your hands with his face, the gentle gesture rendered desperate with his grip giving away how starved he was.

“I need you,” he said again, a faint growl appearing in his voice. “I need to know if you feel this agony when you’re away from me, if you’d be the only home I would return to. I want to be too fucking busy being yours to die out there. I want to be yours I’m willing to crawl back to you every fucking time.”

Your eyes widened in endearment and disbelief at the words he’d spoken. “I thought you didn’t want that…”

Crosshair’s gaze and grip softened as he leaned in closer to you until his lips fell on yours. He only broke the kiss to look you in the eyes again, more serious than he ever could be.

“I was an idiot,” he admitted.

You chuckled softly. “You kind of were. But so was I. I should have admitted my feelings too, long ago.”

Crosshair smiled softly and shook his head. “Wouldn’t have made a difference. I’m too stubborn.”

You giggled, cupping his face. “I like you stubborn.”

His smile turned into a smirk. “I know.”

Your hands traveled over to his chest, where they rested gently. “Would you like to go somewhere? Clear your head?”

“I was wondering if you’d let me take you up on the offer to spend the night,” Crosshair answered without hesitation.

You smiled. “Absolutely.”

“But no cheesy soap operas on the holo,” Crosshair added.

“You sure?” You grinned with mischief. “Scandal Gal is getting really good. I think Flair and Puck are finally gonna get together.”

Crosshair directed a deadpan stare at you, but that was one of your favorite expressions on his face. You giggled, wrapping your arms fully around his shoulders as you softly kissed his chin.

“I’m here and I’m yours, you hear me?” Your tone softened.

A subdued exhale left Crosshair as his gaze turned gentle on you, but his grip around your waist hardened. Before you made sense of the door of your apartment finally closing, Crosshair pressed his lips to yours with his movements quickly igniting a passion between you. You forgot the holos and the music and whatever refreshments you could have offered your guest. There was only one thing you wanted to do that night.

The stumbling between your apartment’s door and your bed was a blur, but as soon as you were able to make sense of being in your bedroom, you felt Crosshair picking you up and setting you gently on the bed. He crawled on the bed too, perching himself up on his knees to pull his shirt up over his body to cast it aside, and you couldn’t help the tiny whimper that left you at the sight of him.

Crosshair was gorgeous, with his beautiful bronze skin apparently glowing in the light of your room. The snake tattoo on his forearm seemed more prominent when he was shirtless, but your eyes were drawn to the area of his chest where you couldn’t help but stare at the thin layer of hair near the center, as well as the little 99 tattooed underneath his left pec. There were also scars scattered around his torso, all balanced out with the lean lines of his muscles.

He smirked at the sight of you, proud that you apparently liked what you saw. You knew he wasn’t done, for he then proceeded to undo his trousers, which you gladly watched him do. When Crosshair was naked in front of you, you hurried to take off your blouse and your pants, which he helped you out of, until at last you lay bare and naked underneath him.

The electricity of the moment paled in comparison to the cellar at the bar the other night, an occasion far more desperate and wanting at the time. This was far more intimate, even romantic, as Crosshair leaned down and made contact with your skin. You felt yourself engulfed in his warmth as he kissed you again. He switched between your lips, your chin, and your neck, ravishing you and making you feel like you were among clouds. You rested your head back on the pillow and let him have his way with you, which would pleasantly surprise you sooner rather than later when you felt his fingers beginning to stroke you between your legs.

A moan escaped you like honey. Crosshair applied the right amount of pressure to your folds to make the pleasure begin to flow through your body, steady and delicious. Your arms wrapped around his back, pulling him closer as you continued to kiss him, and when you brushed your tongue past his lips to wrestle with his, you felt his long finger slipping inside your walls to stroke and curl inside you. Hungrily, you moaned into him, partly wishing it was his cock inside you rather than his finger, but you wouldn’t rush things.

Delectably slowly, you felt yourself getting closer to climax, and the way your moaning escalated lay testament to that. Your grip around Crosshair was as hard as it could be, and when he began to feel your walls tighten around his finger, Crosshair emerged from your lips and gasped for air, looking into your eyes. You pleaded to him with your gaze not to stop, to please continue and push you over that edge you so desperately wanted. All it took was a smirk from him to finally do it, and you began to quiver underneath him as you moaned loud enough for the adjacent apartments to hear you. Incoherent mumbles escaped you, but among them, Crosshair was able to make out the words kiss me, please, and he obliged.

You drowned in the feeling of his lips on yours while your orgasm endured, and as the waves wore off, you felt Crosshair shifting your positions. Now, his back lay flat on the bed and you were on top of him, and it was only then that you broke the kiss to position your entrance on top of his erection. You both moaned in unison as you sat down on him, and with his strong hands, Crosshair helped you bounce up and down rhythmically.

“Come here,” Crosshair beckoned.

You leaned forward while Crosshair continued thrusting upwards, and you enjoyed the feeling of being close to him once again. Your lips found his and you kissed him with the same fire as before, only pausing to look into his gorgeous eyes as the pleasure filled you again. Your attention lingered on every one of Crosshair’s tiny grunts and moans—they were enough to send sparks through your whole body, and you felt you could listen to him do that forever. Crosshair’s grip on your hips tightened, thrusting into you at a speed you felt was impossible, and at that rhythm of pounding, you quickly shattered over him in another orgasm, moaning louder than before and quaking on top of his body. You felt your arousal squirting out of you and dripping onto his skin, a feeling you knew he picked up on when he moaned deep and delicious into the room. Not long after that, the familiar sensation of hot ropes of cum strewing inside of you made you see white, and you felt your body rise and fall in tandem with Crosshair’s heavy breathing as he slowed down and tried to recover himself.

“Mine…” Crosshair mumbled. “Fuck, you’re mine.”

You moaned at his words and leaned down to kiss him. “All yours, handsome…”

With the strength he had left, Crosshair tightened his grip around you and flipped you over, and now, he was on top of you.

Your man, your lover, was nowhere near done with you, and you were ready for nights like those to become a regular part of both of your lives.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging and/or commenting to show support ❤

#tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair smut #crosshair smut #moonstrider writes #the bad batch smut #tbb smut #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction

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cuubism · 4 months

Text

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire.

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin.

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it.

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly.

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.”

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool.

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.”

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.”

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.”

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.”

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment.

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.”

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—”

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump.

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century."

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience."

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being."

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening.

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this."

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment.

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure.

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?”

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much!

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least.

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub.

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up.

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle?

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning.

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths."

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had.

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack.

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve."

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent.

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust.

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair.

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering.

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it.

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived.

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke.

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying.

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?"

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish."

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it."

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?”

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

#rip hob lol #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #temporary character death #such a hilariously different tone than the last thing i posted

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zazter-den · 9 months

Text

Twisted Reverence

Minors Do Not Interact

Synopsis- You were so caught up in avoiding the Bakugous and Endeavors of the world, that you forgot that dangerous men can sometimes be soft.

Now it's too late.

Warnings- Yandere Deku, NonCon, Babytrapping, Lactation, Imprisonment.

Tags-Aged up(obviously), SoftYandere!Izuku, SoftDom!Izuku, Afab!Reader, Pregnant!Reader.

Word Count- 1K words.

Izuku leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead before moving his hand to caress your swollen belly as you lay on his bed. Izuku's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he felt the slight movements of your unborn daughter beneath his fingertips. His emerald eyes flickered with a mix of adoration and possessiveness.

"You're doing such a good job carrying our little one," he whispered with a hint of pride "She's going to be just like her father, a hero in the making." His voice was soft, but brimming with excitement.

Izuku's calloused hand trailed down from your belly to your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a feather-light touch. He leaned in against your ear as he purred, "Let me help you relax, darling. I promise, I'll make you feel good."

His lips descended to your neck, placing a series of soft, tender kisses along your skin. He nipped lightly at the sensitive skin, taking care not to leave any marks. His hands moved to skim over your curves, his touch firm yet gentle, eliciting a shiver down your spine.

"I know you hate me, my love," Izuku whispered heavily against your neck, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and sorrow. "But I'll show you... how good we can be together. How much pleasure I can bring you."

His thick fingers dipped lower, tracing along your inner thigh, their warmth contrasting with the cool air of the room. Izuku's touch became bolder, his fingertips pressing against your slick folds, seeking out your swollen clit.

"Give in to me, darling," Izuku murmured huskily, his voice dripping with twisted reverence. "Let me take care of you, completely and utterly. Let me make you forget about everything else, and only focus on the pleasure I can give you. You belong to me now, and I'm going to show you just how much I adore you." His touch was skilled, teasing and coaxing pleasure from you with each stroke. Whether you liked it or not, Izuku knew you inside and out.

Izuku's lips curved into a sly smirk as he continued to stroke your soaked folds with tantalizing skill. His fingers moved faster, adding more pressure on your sensitive clit, his touch becoming rough with terrifying precision.

As Izuku continued his ministrations, his lips found yours, claiming them in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every crevice of your mouth with a hunger that matched the intensity of his desire. The grip on your body tightened, pulling you closer to him as his own arousal grew, mingling with the heady scent of lust that filled his bedroom.

He pulled away from the kiss, lips trailing down your neck as his mouth found its way to your breasts, his green curls tickling your face for a brief moment. The sight of your swollen nipples, leaking with milk, sent a jolt of hunger through his veins. Izuku's tongue flicked against your sensitive flesh, lapping up the sweet nectar that spilled from you. He suckled on each breast, his teeth grazing and tugging at your nipples, simultaneously gentle and demanding.

The No.1 Hero lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping the underside of your curvy thighs, positioning you to straddle his lap facing him. You could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your folds, aching for release. Izuku guided you down, impaling you on his member in one steady motion.

With the way you were seated on his thick dick, his thumb still grinding your clit, you really couldn't help it. A moan escaped your lips as he filled you completely, stretching your walls with a pleasurable sting. The swirl of sensations was intoxicating. Izuku's rough hands gripped your hips firmly, setting a rhythm that was both relentless and somehow controlled. But that was the Izuku Midoriya you knew.

With each thrust, Izuku bullied that sweet spot inside you, driving you to the brink of ecstasy as he pumped into you with unwavering determination. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies colliding, mixed with your huffed gasps of pleasure and his husky moans. Your hands found support on his chiseled chest, fingers brushing over a few of the many scars lacing his tan body.

Izuku's mouth found yours once more, claiming your lips in a heated kiss. Tongues tangled, breath mingling, as you lost yourself in the pleasure that consumed you. His thrusts became more desperate, the pace quickening as his climax approached.

As the intensity built within him, Izuku felt your walls clench around him, a pulsing heat that pushed him closer to the edge. With one final, barely restrained thrust, he filled your with his undeniably potent seed. A shiver ran through you as you felt the familiar feeling of cum leaking from your poor pussy, wet trails dripping down his balls and onto the sheets beneath you.

Izuku held you tightly, his breathing ragged against your hair as waves of the pleasure pulled from you still coursed through your body. He pressed gentle kisses against your temple, whispering words of affection and adoration.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice filled with a poisoned sincerity that gripped your chest in a painful vice. "And I'll do whatever it takes to make you love me too."

Izuku's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessive force. He pulled you closer to him, the hard length of his cock still buried deep inside you. His muscular arms wrapped you in a unyielding hug, as he pressed more kisses to your hair. The sensation sent waves of conflicting emotions through your body, pleasure mingled with distinct feeling of being caught in trap. "I won't let you go," he whispered, breathless voice echoing in your ears. "You're mine now, my love, and I'll protect you, provide for you both. You don't have to worry about anything anymore."

There was a darkness in Izuku's emerald eyes, a glowing possessiveness that made your heart race with trepidation. He leaned in, nuzzling his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a low and dangerous murmur. "Trust me, darling, you will grow to understand. I just want what's best for you. And that includes being with me."

An original broke artist haiku:

Buy Me a Whiskey

Because You Want Me Tipsy

So I'll Write More Smut

#yandere izuku #izuku x reader #deku x reader #yandere bnha #yandere mha #mha smut #yandere #mha x reader #bnha x reader #yandere x reader #bnha smut #minors dni #dark content #tw noncon #dividers by @cafekitsune #Zaz drabbles

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bunnysbrainrot · 9 months

Text

Obedience at its Finest

Relationship: Lucifer!Castiel x fem!Reader

Content: degradation, pet play (remember when he called Crowley his 'puppy'? exactly), BDSM, slapping, oral (male receiving).

Summary: Castiel had accepted Lucifer to take over his vessel, leaving you as collateral for Cas's agreement with Lucifer. No harm would come to you, at least not in the way that you think. The Devil himself decides to see how far he can push to break you, you can only hope that you'll last. Though you had been attracted to Castiel before, his whole new persona takes you by surprise.

A/N: I was really excited to write this, so I'm hoping it gets the love it needs! Chapter two is already being brainstormed. This one may get pretty intense, especially in further chapters. If that's not what you're looking for, feel free to send a request!

Everything was different. The whole world had flipped upside down and it left you and the Winchesters confused. Castiel had agreed to let Lucifer himself take over his vessel over a month ago. The one thing no one anticipated was the Devil taking you, as 'collateral', he said. You were immediately swept away with a snap of his fingers, the last thing you saw being Sam and Dean's torn expressions while Satan whisked you away.

Now you stood in a throne room, the click of Lucifer's shoes being the only sound as he strode over to you.

"Tell me, I've had you here for quite some time," he opened, "do you know why I chose you instead of a Winchester?"

It was something you had contemplated for a while, why you of all people? Your eyes met Lucifer's as he smiled deviously down at you. He clicked his tongue when you shook your head, eyes wide with nervousness. His potential is unmatched to anything you had seen before. Just a snap of his fingers - hell, a single thought, could kill you. But he had every other chance since kidnapping you to finish the job and get rid of you, why...?

"Well, A: It's a pain in the neck - having a Winchester and Dad knows who else on my ass forever? Pass."

Lucifer stood beside you, craning his neck to ogle at your face while it remained still as stone.

"Come on! You gotta warm up sometime, geez. Don't you wanna hear what 'B' is?" His tone was jovial, a constant taunting when he spoke to you. Your eyes met his - the eyes of someone who once was your friend, potentially much more if it weren't for God's 'Favorite' taking over his life. Part of you mourned silently over Castiel, though you knew he wasn't truly gone, and that he was in there somewhere. Behind the, pun intended, devilish grin on his face.

You gave him a curt nod, to which he let out a deep breath.

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere," he said encouragingly. Lucifer stepped to the side to make a path behind you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. "You see, I can admit that I may have taken you because of a... personal affection. If you know what I mean."

His lowered voice shuddered through you. A hand wandered to your chin, cupping beneath it to lean your head back, eyes meeting Lucifer's. You let out a small gasp at the motion that made him smile with great satisfaction.

Lucifer hummed, "Interesting. You like that?"

His taunting continued as a warmth spread over your body. He continued, "Well, I thought you and our buddy Castiel here were a bit closer than just friends. Or at least, that's what you wanted it to be."

The words sank in your gut, the truth behind them was a weight you couldn't shake. You didn't get the opportunity to admit your affections to Cas before he worked with Lucifer. It was a chance you had lost hope on, now that the Devil was involved.

He leaned closer to your ear, raising goosebumps across your neck when his warm breath brushed against your skin. A shuddering exhale left your lips, a familiar tightening in your stomach began to begin.

Was there seriously any way you were actually attracted to this?

"Let me tell you a secret, okay? Since Castiel never had the balls to tell you, I'm going to do him the favor." Lucifer's lips planted a soft kiss on your neck, just under your ear.

"He likes you, too. Well, that's one way to put it, at least." Your eyes shot open wide in shock, breath hitching in your throat.

"That's not true," you retorted.

He shook his head, "It's true. Very true, actually. I mean, Cas was actually the one who begged me to spare you. He really said 'to hell' with those Winchesters, eh? Would've been more fun if that were literal."

The mix of flirtation and teasing confused you. What was his game here? First he takes over your friend's body, then he confesses his endearment for you?

Lucifer's hands travel to your waist as he brought his hips to your rear, "Say, I have a way we can kill two birds with one stone, here. You like Cas, Cas likes you, I like you. I think we could have a little fun with that."

The tight sensation in your abdomen grew ever stronger, your thighs shifting together to stifle the feeling. This didn't go unnoticed by Lucifer's keen attention, eyes raking over your tense body.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he knew you wouldn't dare. Couldn't. So, he continued, "I think you like that idea. Dirty, dirty."

He wove around you to face you properly. Lucifer cupped your face in one hand, fingers tightening around your jaw. His voice lowered to a whisper once again, his voice gravelly.

"You see, you're a depraved little thing. Unfortunately I don't think your precious Castiel could handle it - but I can. And I have a feeling that you'd let me," Lucifer drawled on, trailing a finger down your throat to between your breasts, hovering just above the apex of your thighs. It would be an outright lie if you told him this wasn't exciting for you. Though he was in your friend's body, Lucifer's teasing, his sheer dominance, spurred you on.

Ever since keeping Lucifer company, he dictated everything that happened to you. No harm had come to you, in fact it was almost nice. You were doted on, though you didn't always accept it, prioritized with the best food and bedrest you had ever gotten. It seemed like Lucifer would go above and beyond to earn your affection and trust.

Today he had chosen a sophisticated outfit: a black button up shirt with a slim fitting black skirt to match. Your legs were adorned with delicate gray tights, black Mary Jane shoes to bring the outfit together. It was his favorite.

"Now, let's see how well you listen," purred Lucifer. "On your knees, pet."

Though logic told you to disobey, you lowered down, kneeling before him. The Devil rewarded you with a smile and a finger under your chin, angling your head upward.

"Good, good. I still think we could work on the obedience aspect of it. You're listening, sure, but I need more. As the true King of Hell, it's only fitting that you serve me as I need." He landed a firm pat on your cheek, the impact leaving you clenching your thighs.

He carded his fingers into your hair, gripping you securely to maintain your eye contact, "Let's start with that shirt. I want to see what's underneath."

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons, but Lucifer took over and tore down your stomach, buttons scattering across the floor. He growled lowly as your chest was finally exposed to him, your breasts caged in a black lace bra. He noticed how your perk nipples pushed against the padding, as if your body was telling him where you needed his touch. Pushing your shirt past your shoulders, Lucifer tugged it off and cast it to the side, his hands finding the clasp of your bra to unhook it. The air of the room made your skin crawl, the swollen buds on your breasts aching from the cold.

"Arms behind your back, sit up straight."

You obliged willingly, weaving your fingers together to present your chest to him. Lucifer ran a hand over your breasts, squeezing roughly, eliciting a moan form you.

He snarled, lazily drawing out the words, "Nice fuckin' tits." Hearing this come from your friend's mouth shocked you, though his degrading tone had you clenching your walls. Lucifer landed a sharp slap on your tit, a red splotch newly painted on your skin. Your mouth hung agape in pleasure, panting softly as he landed several slaps, paying special attention to your nipples.

It brought him pure joy to see you like this - your body writhing in ways that begged for him to touch you, shaking thighs trying not to let you fall to the floor, the bit of spit that spilled from your mouth and onto your lovely breasts. Finally, you were becoming what he wished for: a perfect slut. His new favorite toy.

"Dirty girl," said Lucifer. Two of his fingers gathered the drool from your chest, immediately thrusting into your open mouth. You gagged harshly, but the way his free hand gripped your hair made you whimper. Lucifer's smile was crazed, the joy of seeing you like this had surmounted his self-control.

You coughed desperately when his fingers left your mouth. Two hands reached under your arms and hoisted you up to your feet. It would take some time for your knees to get stable at this point; you felt like you could drop to the floor at any second. Lucifer cupped your face in both hands and roughly crashed his lips into yours, his tongue already begging for entry at your lips. Letting him in allowed Lucifer to ravage your mouth - greedy lips and hands alike moved across your neck and face until Lucifer had his lips firmly on your collarbone.

"Please... please, sir," you whispered. What you were asking for, you had no idea. All you needed now was any bit of friction to your swollen clit.

Lucifer's husky voice danced over your skin, "Such good manners. What does my precious pet need?"

'Pet' echoed in your head while you tried to calm your senses and form something coherent. Your reply came out in short bursts between panting breaths.

"I need... more... Want you... to... touch me."

All thoughts had left your mind from his touch, the only ache in your body being for him. To serve. To obey.

He paused, fingers rolling a nipple harshly between his fingers, "Nope. That's not how it works."

You cried out in a blend of pain and pleasure.

"You don't need anything. You want me to touch you. You want me to fuck you, to bury my cock so far into that little cunt until you're nice and stretched out," his voice grew louder with each passing second. The dominating voice took you over completely, bringing tears to your eyes.

Though you were crying, Lucifer smiled at you, seeming pleased at the outburst.

"Be a good doggy," he ordered, "and beg."

Your voice came out more desperate than you intended, pleading desperately to him, "Please, sir. I want more of you. I can b-be good."

This settled well with Lucfier, his only reply being a finger pointed to the floor, a silent command to get on your knees again. You followed the order quickly, knees scraping lightly across the stone.

Now with his hips at your eye level, Lucifer looked down at your blushed face. Thoughts of Castiel flicked through your head - if he would be willing to take you like this, how much you would like it, and how nervous you were to ask him to do it himself. Even still, this seemed to be the next best thing. The Devil gripped your jaw gently with one hand, quickly unbuckling his belt with the other. His busy fingers fiddled with the button and zipper of his pants and cast them to the floor. What waited for you now was an aching erection through his boxer briefs, twitching slightly as your mouth neared it.

"I have one job for you," announced Lucifer. His hand moved from your jaw and into your hair, tightening his grip to control your head.

"Use your tongue."

With a snap of his fingers the boxers disappeared, his thick length breaking free and hovering tauntingly in front of you. Lucifer gripped the shaft of his cock and smacked it against your cheek. His expression showed his amusement at your drooling mouth and half lidded eyes.

He tapped the head of his cock on your lips, "Open."

And so you did. The thick head now rested on your outstretched tongue, tasting of the precum that had leaked from him. Lucifer positioned you by your gripped hair before thrusting into your throat, slowly at first. Inch by inch, your mouth took in his cock, until he reached the back of your throat with a displeased grunt. His thrusts became more urgent, pushing farther back into your mouth than you could handle.

Or so you thought.

Lucifer shoved your head down, the sounds of your gagging filling the room while your spit fell to the floor in messy strands. For what felt like an eternity this went on, his grunts growing louder as he used you.

He tugged you off of his length, leaving you to gasp beneath him. You coughed while tears streamed down your cheeks. Lucifer gave you another grin.

"Good doggy."

Hi again, I hope you enjoyed! If you would like a second chapter, let me know in the comments. Thank you all for your support. <3

-Bunny

#supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spnfandom #castiel x reader #castiel #lucifer x reader #lucifer supernatural

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shineonyoucrazyyandere · 7 months

Note

Hello, I did not want to disturb but I wanted to know how the stands of Bucci-Gang + Trish and Diavolo would behave in front of their beloved?Since they are manifestations of his soul, they would also show his Yandere side, sorry if it is a lot of work and I love how you write

*just so everyone knows I keep a lot of asks and hope to eventually write them later if I really like the concept…even if it may literally take an eternity to get to them*

So since this is Yandere focused I’m going to lean on that, but you’ll get to see the expressions of obsession as I write.

Yandere Bucciarati Group + Diavolo and Trish’s stands reacting to their darling

Bruno Bucciarati

Generally speaking Sticky Fingers particularly seems to “stand guard” around you. It’s fingers sometimes float across your skin, gentle touching. But at a moments notice is quick to use its ability if Bruno even suspects you trying to escape or pull something. There are times where you feel it grab your arm and drag you closer to its master.

Leone Abbacchio

Since his stand doesn’t really have offensive capabilities, it tends to like also hanging around you. Though if Abbacchio really insists on you not leaving his side, Moody Blues will do its best to keep you still. If he decides to use his ability depending on where you’re at, it does it relatively quickly and quick to pause with precision if it’s something like seeing your face sleeping at night. Simply watching you seems to be one of its favorite things to engage in.

Guido Mista

The Sex Pistols pretty much adore you, even the troublemaking number stops being a nuisance when you’re around. If you can see them, they insist on you feeding them when mealtime comes around. They may slightly pester Mista saying you’re better at doing so simply for holding food a certain angle. He enjoys this as much as the pistols do, and even if you can’t see them and feed them they still generally cheer when you’re around. if anyone outside the gang and Mista himself, they’ll end up reacting somewhat hostile. Snide or sarcastic remarks if someone tries to romance you.

They’ll also pester Mista if he hasn’t seen you in a few days due to a job or something he had to take care of on his own.

Narancia Ghirga

Aerosmith’s flight patterns seemingly change course a bit when you’re around Narancia. Out of protective instinct, it seems to fire it’s bullets/weapons more aggressive if you’re in any sort of immediate danger. Or if Narancia is tracking, Aerosmith seems to get a quick reading on you, fast. For some reason if the stand was used casually, the way it would fly around would be akin to something at an air show. Presenting the way Narancia may be excited to be with you.

Pannacotta Fugo

Purple Haze is interestingly affected by Fugo’s obsession for you. It stops obsessing over its arms, drooling minimizing to almost nothing. It’s aggression in battle nearly quadruples, out of getting rid of anything that Fugo considers a threat. So there’s times things may or may not get out of control or on the other end of the spectrum killing something with almost unusual precision . But it settles once knowing you’re safe, this may or may not exhaust Fugo occasionally. Under the surface Purple Haze would be pleased if you came to check on Fugo out of concern.

Giorno Giovanna

Gold Experience and Giorno are pretty much in sync almost constantly. It generally likes to express certain flowers that evidently have deep romantic meanings as a gift. It’ll daze you in a heartbeat if you try to sneak off somewhere, giving way to its stand master taking care of you for a few hours. Generally it seems to enjoy kissing your hand, and occasionally turning an object into a small animal for you. It doesn’t hesitate to turn something that you own into an animal to track down either if it means being in your presence again.

Aromatherapy is another thing it seems to do with plants, especially after Giorno figures out what your likes, dislikes, (and potential allergies) are.

Requiem is basically game over for any escape attempts with a stand, and even if you’re hesitant takes some effort to try and comfort you. Caresses and touches that would be comforting in a normal context that’s not having you run in terror from a mafioso.

Diavolo

Due to his violent tendencies and tactics, King Crimson is intense in presenting Diavolo’s dark desires. It’s touches are tight and unbelievably strong, that it tends to leave bruises on your body. Erasing time is smooth and precise, inducing confusion from trying to escape Diavolo. The stand is of course as impulsive as it’s stand master, your legs are broken or are knocked out as quick as your thoughts to wander.

Trish Una

Spice Girl has some impulsive traits that King Crimson does, as much as Trish probably doesn’t want to admit it. This stands intensity shines through sitting on your lap, arms around your neck. Not caring in the slightest if you can see it or not. It gives faint phantom kisses on your cheeks, and certainly uses its abilities to keep you in place no matter the area. It tends to also enjoy having you match Trish someway, even the smallest accessory it enjoys seeing Trish put on you to coordinate. Like you and her were meant to be.

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moog-rt · 3 months

Text

GO TO HELL [ch. 5]

[Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader]

Previous: Chapter Four

➨ Chapter Five

Next: Coming Soon...

Premise:

You love your friends. You really do. But sometimes it needs reminding when one of them accidentally sends you to Hell.

Despite falling into the hands of Hell’s loveliest princess, finding a way back to the world of the living proves difficult as you tiptoe around its king.

A/N: Hold onto your britches, this chapter is chock-full of our Big Boss of Hell! Also, my sincerest apologies for the slight cliffhanger last chapter. Fingers crossed it doesn’t happen again!

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER FIVE

You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him.

The man took a step forward and you promptly launched a ladle at him, backpedaling behind the couch as he dodged it. You huffed when it only missed by a hair.

A plethora of household items were strewn about the hardwood floors of the foyer. Books, spray bottles, spoons (you broke into the crate containing the unpacked kitchenware in search of more ammo), etc. were scattered further and further away from their original home as you used them as a way of keeping him a safe distance from you.

“Please, put the skillet down,” he said, inching closer and closer to you, hands outstretched.

If he thought he could trick you into giving up your only form of defense, he was sorely mistaken.

“Stay back!” you hissed, grabbing a wrought iron skillet you had chucked at him earlier. He could try all he wanted to get at you, eat you, skin you, auction you off on the black market… You simply refused to let him have you without a fight.

“I’m not—” He was taking another step towards you but paused as you readied your weapon. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You eyed him for a moment before taking a long, deep breath. Seeing that as a sign that you were trying to settle down, he carefully came closer.

Thunk!

A single swing of the skillet sent him toppling over.

He may have been your newfound friend’s father, but you were not going to roll over and show your belly in the face of potential danger. Being a parent did not make a person automatically worthy of your trust.

“Okay,” he said in a pained tone, slowly sitting up with a slight sway to him. “That’s fine...”

He crawled onto the couch, slouching over and cradling his head where you had made contact. Without lowering your weapon, you put yourself on the other side of the couch, standing at the arm and watching him very carefully.

The two of you remained silent as he rubbed at his growing welt.

It was awkward…

Why were you actually starting to feel bad about defending yourself? The guy had jump scared you and wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone when you were clearly panicked. He just kept following you, insistent on getting you to calm down but giving you no good reason to.

Honestly, what kind of logic was that? That’s like pelting beach balls at a child with a crippling fear of spherical objects and expecting them not to flinch just because you said it won’t hurt them.

If he wanted you to feel less threatened, he could have just planted his ass on the ground and waited for you to come to him like a stray cat.

“You weren’t supposed to arrive until this afternoon,” you stated.

“Right…um,” he said, looking off to the side, “You know, I just didn’t have much planned this morning, and it worked a bit better for me to come earlier—”

“Charlie told you she wouldn’t be here.” Your eyes narrowed. You knew he was making shit up, and you wanted him to know that you knew. If he wanted to beat around the bush, you would be delighted to become more proficient with the skillet.

“Right again!” The hand that cradled the side of his head moved to rub at his eyes as he sighed. After retracting his hand, he turned to face you, propping an elbow on the backrest of the couch. His eyes ran up and down your body, fully taking you in without your costume, which caused you to shift uncomfortably. Whether or not you were recognizable to him as the ‘demon’ he had already met was still to be determined. “You’re an odd duck, you know that?”

You shot him an incredulous look.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” he said, jerking his head in your direction. “Showing up all caked in makeup or paint or whatever it is you people wear nowadays. You and Charlie were being painfully suspicious!”

“So, you decided to sneak in when you knew she would be away? To snoop?” you asked, putting a hand on your hip. “You know that’s breaking and entering, right?”

“I am her father,” he scoffed.

“And that makes it okay? If I called to tell her you let yourself in, you think she’d be fine with it?”

“You’re going to snitch?!” his voice went a pitch higher, and he scooted to the edge of his seat.

You took a step back, tightening your grip on the skillet.

“Maybe.”

You had no way of ‘snitching’ on him to Charlie. Your phone was fried, and even then, you weren’t too sure that your provider would have coverage in Hell. And to top it off, you didn’t even have her number…but he didn’t need to know that.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling something to himself as he crossed his arms.

“Why didn’t she just tell me you were human?” he asked no one in particular, throwing his arms out. “That is what you are, correct? In all my years, I have never seen a sinner nor hellborn look as human as you do.”

“Yeah, well…Charlie thought you might freak out if you knew,” you said.

He looked taken aback by that explanation before beginning to sputter.

“Freak—freak out? Because you’re human? I married a human. Her mother was a human!” His hands were waving around as he gestured along with his words.

“We didn’t really want to take any chances…” you said slowly, head tilted away but eyes still locked onto him. “The last time a demon saw me, I was nearly torn to shreds…or eaten alive… I’m not sure exactly what they had planned for me, but it didn’t seem like it’d be pleasant.”

“No, I can’t imagine it would be,” he sighed as he straightened out his hair.

This guy didn’t give two shits, did he?

He snapped his fingers and, with a plume of sparkling smoke, his top hat appeared in his hands. It had previously been about ten feet away on the floor from when you had knocked him upside the head.

“Now just how did you stumble into Hell without the minimum requirement of death?” he asked as he brushed invisible dirt from his hat before placing it back on with a few adjustments.

“That’s a great question,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ve got a friend who thought it would be a good idea to try to summon a demon. Obviously, they screwed up, ‘cause it sent me here instead.”

He cackled, and you stood there with a blank expression, cheeks growing hot. Why you were feeling embarrassed over something you had no control over, you weren’t sure.

Well, come to think of it, you did have a bit of control over whether or not Devon had the essential, hard-to-acquire ingredient needed to make the whole thing happen in the first place. Maybe it was karmic justice for your pulling unethical shenanigans in the workplace.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, so they say,” he said, shooting you a shit-eating grin.

You rolled your eyes and turned to walk away.

“No, wait–don’t leave!”

You ignored him. Since he was there, you might as well give him his shit back. You would have preferred it to be under different circumstances, such as those where you still had your disguise as a buffer or Charlie returning them in your place (because you’d be back home safe and sound).

But there was no better time than the present, so they say.

You put down the skillet and grabbed the stack of books by the front reception area where you left them after being thoroughly disappointed by their contents. It appeared that Charlie’s father followed you over, as you turned around to find him looking over your shoulder to see what you picked up.

Lord have mercy on your heart.

“Okay, you have to stop that!” you scolded, taking a quick step back.

“Stop what?” he asked with a look of pure innocence.

“Popping up behind me and shit! Somebody needs to put a bell on you or something. Every time you show up out of nowhere, it gives me a goddamn heart attack,” you said, shoving the stack of books into his arms. “Here.”

“What–”

“The books you lent me. We were hoping to find something that could help me get back home but they’re all kinda…not helpful for that,” you explained, toying with a strand of your hair.

“That’s why you and Charlie were there?” he said, looking down at the books with an unreadable expression.

“Well…yes.” You tilted your head. “She thought that’d be the best place to look.”

He sighed before tossing the books up just for all of them to vanish into thin air. You blinked in surprise.

He must have been a magician when he was alive.

“I don’t understand why she didn’t just ask me,” he stressed, throwing a hand up. “I mean, I’m her dad. You’d think it would be instinctual for her!”

“She probably wasn’t sure how you’d react,” you said, looking off to the side. This felt like it could easily spiral into a family therapy session, and even if you were qualified, you did not sign up for that.

“I just have to prove myself to her!” he said in a determined tone, throwing an arm over your shoulder to walk you back over to the couch, “I’ll get you home lickety-split!”

You stiffened at the unexpected contact but conceded to his will, nonetheless.

“Like, now? I could be home today?” you asked, eyes alight with hope.

“Ah…I don’t now about that. It’s been quite a while since I’ve gone to Earth so my skills may be a little rusty, but it won’t take me too long to brush up on them,” he explained as he plopped you both down on the couch. “I’ll have a portal open and ready for you to hop through in no time!”

“It–It’s that easy for you?” you asked, aghast. If Charlie knew he could do that all along, she should have just bit the bullet and asked him. Daddy issues be damned!

“Hah! I used to be able to do it with my eyes closed!” He leaned into you as he emphasized his words. “Usually, I’d charge a sacrifice or something of the sort, but you’re no sinner. You shouldn’t have to be subjected to this hellscape until you’ve earned it.”

“That’s–uh–very kind of you,” you said, smiling and nodding along whilst looking longingly at the front door of the hotel. It was generous of him to offer his services to your cause, but a social buffer would be appreciated considering your circumstances. You hoped Charlie and Vaggie returned soon.

The man continued to converse with you on the sofa for the next hour, and slowly, you felt your anxiety begin to fade. He turned out to be quite the chatterbox, and his commentary was mostly light-hearted and humorous.

Occasionally, he would stand up to poke around the entryway, commenting on anything that wasn’t quite up to his standards. That left you to come to your hostess’ defense whenever you could. After all, the hotel wasn’t technically up and running yet seeing as you weren’t an actual guest and Angel had yet to move in.

After getting all the parental nosiness out of his system, he settled back down beside you and began asking you about your life on Earth. You had to tell him again what you did for work–he apparently wasn’t paying attention the first time–and what all went into it.

The conversation jumped from topic to topic but left little room for you to ask much about him. His interest in Earth and humanity’s accomplishments was overwhelming.

When Charlie and Vaggie finally returned, they were greeted by the sight of the two of you chatting away and sipping on tea, which had been manifested out of thin air. You were highly skeptical of it at first but had decided to drink so as not to spite the one person who could get you back to Earth. You were pleasantly surprised by its flavor and relieved that it didn’t appear to be poisoned or drugged.

“Hey, Dad…” Charlie drawled as she walked up to the couch. It was clear that she was surprised he had beaten them home. “I thought you were going to come, like, an hour from now.”

“I had some free time this morning, so I decided to swing by a little earlier,” he said after standing up to nudge his shoulder into her, “Can’t put a price tag on extra time with my darling daughter.”

“Right…” Charlie said with a strained smile, looking off to the side where her eyes landed on Vaggie. She perked up and pranced over to her side, grabbing her hand to introduce her.

Her dad was ecstatic over getting to meet her girlfriend. You thought he was overbearing when you met him, but that was dwarfed in comparison. He was even more touchy and fumbling over his words.

Vaggie did her best to be polite.

“Haha…so–uh, have you been given a tour of the hotel yet?” Charlie asked, glancing over at you.

“I poked around this area a bit–-didn’t want to intrude too much,” her father chuckled with his hands propped up on his apple staff.

“I thought it would be better to leave that to you,” you said as you stood up to join the group, teacup in hand, “I still struggle to find my way around.”

The night prior, Vaggie had caught you wandering aimlessly on the fourth floor after attempting to find your way to your room on your own. They offered to walk you there since they understood the halls could be a maze sometimes, but you had decided to be stubborn, insisting it was straightforward enough. Clearly, you had overestimated your skills.

That being said, it was a miracle you were able to make it to the foyer that morning.

Vaggie chuckled a bit as she recalled the memory.

Charlie smiled at you knowingly, as well, indicating that the story had been relayed to her. She looked back at her dad for only a moment before her eyes darted back to you, eyes widening as the smile dropped from her face.

“Oh–Oh my god!” she squawked as she rushed to your side. “You’re not–Why aren’t you…” she waved her hand in circles as she tried to find the word she was looking for before leaning in to whisper, “...you know.”

Your eyes narrowed as they rolled over to look at her father.

“I barely rolled myself out of bed when he came knocking,” you explained, “Believe me, I tried to avoid being seen, but…”

But you were hunted down like a mouse running from a fox. Even when you thought you were in the clear, it seemed like he knew exactly where you were and where you would go next.

That man was scary.

“But you can’t hide something like that forever~” he sang, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you against him. “However, I never imagined it would be this darling little human.”

He jostled you slightly as he spoke, and you could feel your face warming up from both his actions and his words. However, he had no right to be calling anybody else ‘little’ considering his stature.

“We really need to get her a new phone,” Charlie said to Vaggie, “If she could have called or texted us, we might’ve been able to intervene.”

Charlie’s father scoffed.

“What kind of sinner do you take me for? I’m not an animal, you know––” he began to argue but paused to turn his attention on you, retracting his arm. “You threatened to call her earlier, but you don’t even have a phone?”

Your lips twitched into a guilty smile, and you took a step closer to Charlie.

“You’re a filthy little liar!” He jabbed a finger in your direction.

“You were breaking and entering!” you pitched back.

“I am her–”

“Okay!” Charlie tucked you behind her and put a hand up in front of her dad. “How about that tour then?”

She put one hand on your back and the other on her father’s as she began to lead the group of you through the hotel. You were secretly glad you were getting another chance to look around and get a grasp of the layout.

When you dared to glance over at her dad, he was already eying you bitterly, and the only thing you could think to do was shoot him a sheepish smile in return.

The childish part of you wanted to stick your tongue out and blow a raspberry, but you knew better. He made it clear he had some level of magical abilities, and to what extent, you weren’t sure. That last thing you wanted to do was learn the hard way. Besides, you needed to be on his good side so he’d help you get home.

As the tour progressed, he thankfully dropped his spiteful demeanor towards you in favor of soaking in as much of Charlie’s attention as he could get. You could tell that he was just happy to be near her.

It was sweet.

There were a few times where he exchanged some words with you lightheartedly. It reassured you that you hadn’t managed to say or do anything to genuinely piss him off. Rather, it seemed he was just the dramatic type.

You made it back to the foyer, and when Charlie was finished explaining her ideas for redeeming sinners, she waited eagerly for her father’s thoughts. She was disappointed that he had more opinions on the hotel’s appearance than its purpose, but she didn’t push the subject.

She would have a better chance pitching the idea to him once she had a few successful patrons to use as evidence that sinners could, in fact, be redeemed.

“I can certainly help you spruce the place up a bit,” he said as he waved his stick around the room, “After filling this place up with furniture and maybe adding a bit more light…I’m sure it will look wonderful, honey.”

He sent her a prideful grin, which she subtly rolled her eyes at.

“Thanks, dad… I really appreciate it,” she said as she pulled him into a hug. His face lit up before he shut his eyes and melted into her embrace.

When they parted, he made a gesture at you.

“I was also telling your friend earlier that I’d be more than happy to get her home. I just need some time to warm up. Don’t want to accidentally drop her off in the middle of Antarctica,” he said whilst nudging her and chuckling at his own joke.

“Oh! Well, I don’t really think we need your help with that…” she said, looking away.

You sent her a baffled look.

“We already found some people–today, actually–that can get her home,” she stated with a firm nod of her head. “So no need to worry about that! Sending over furniture is more than enough, which, again, I really appreciate!”

“Nonsense, this is what good fathers do! Besides, I highly doubt they could be more efficient than me,” he huffed before turning to grin at you. “I promise to have you home in no time.

♡ ♡ ♡

Tag List: @spookysisters @for-hearthand-home @crescent-z @mixplara @juskonutoh @tinywolfiegirl @lafy-taffy @glowinthedarkbones1150 @froggybich @darling-angel222 @preciousbabypeter @itzabbeym @mrspepper1885

#lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #demon summoning #occult #charlie magne #charlie morningstar #x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer is trying to be a good father

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borathae · 1 year

Text

"All it takes is one evening of getting Yoongi drunk to find out just how needy this man can actually get. Alternatively: Yoongi is drunk and that means his restraints are gone. So he decides to ride you, because that's all he really wants to do."

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Smut

Warnings: sub!Yoongi, Dom!Reader, he is cute & a lil bratty & also a total painslut, then his instincts kick in and he becomes so fucking needy, like SO NEEDY, she is so gentle but also slaps his face like twice, she calls him a good boy & a slut, consensual drunk sex, needy pegging in cowboy & lotus position, lotsa making out, butt spanking, cock slapping, anal fingering, handjob, blowjob, edging (m.receiving), multiple orgasms (m.& f.receiving), prostate milking, so much cum, so much drool, he squirts, belly bulging :’), vaginal fingering, he has his fangs out, biting, a very vocal Yoongi, i just need him to know that he is cute, loving aftercare

Wordcount: 10.8k

a/n: this is Sanguis!Yoongi when he is drunk and trusts her completely. It's so cute and hot and I just want him to be happy. hahah help me. I love them so much, I'm gonna rip off my own face skin and cry about them

“I wanna be fucked”, Yoongi whines against your neck, pressing your hand to his clothed crotch. He begins rubbing himself against it, lips parting in a needy moan.

“What are you doing?”

“Wanna be fucked, please”, he is lulling his words, tugging you closer as he tries to get your hand inside his pants.

“And you decided that in the middle of the hallway?” you laugh, feeling your stomach tingle in excitement. He is so needy. It’s so hot when he is.

“Yeah”, he whines, “come please. Come”, he orders in a huff of air and tugs you with him as he stumbles to your wing.

“Okay, okay I'm already coming. Holy moly, you really didn’t do well with that wine, did you?”

“No”, Yoongi giggles the word. Yeah. He giggles. He giggles as he shakes his head and lifts his shoulders to his ears, adding two little skips into his steps on top of that.

“Okay, wait. Love, slow-“

The door falls closed.

Your back hits it.

Yoongi cages you in and grabs your face to kiss you.

Deep.

Passionate.

Needy.

And sloppy.

He tastes like desire and wine. He sounds desperate. Feels like fucking heaven. His knee is between your legs, punching up the fabric of your floor length dress and grinding right against your pussy. The thin fabric of your panties does little to mask how amazing his thigh feels.

“Fuck Yoongi”, you rasp, tilting your head back. The kiss breaks but he litters your neck with wet kisses instantly.

“Fuck me”, Yoongi answers you in a keen, dragging his tongue up your pulse point until he ends it with a flick right under your ear, “wanna be fucked, please”, he begs in a whisper, letting his voice tickle your ear.

You went out tonight. Like every year, the university hosted its late autumn masquerade ball and like always, you wanted to go. As did Taehyung and the boys of former Sanguis and, well, Yoongi wanted to go too once he saw how excited you were. He went with a suit and black mask like every year, while you went with the prettiest dress inspired by the Regency period and an intricately done venetian mask. Taehyung made it for you. Your masks have long been discarded by the front door. As has Yoongi’s long coat somewhere on the endless hallways of the estate.

You had so much fun at the ball. There was zero drama and even less danger. Just dancing, laughter and way too much booze. One should also mention that you did a lot of making out and that Hoseok ended up winning the costume contest with his realistic Mothman costume (it looked hotter than it sounds, promise). Back to the booze however. You drank a lot, all of you, to the point where you had to call a cab back to the estate because none of you were able to drive. Yes, even Yoongi. The Creator who normally never gets drunk because he'll heal before that could happen. Not tonight however, no amount of healing will get this man sober again. And you love it because drunk Yoongi means clingy Yoongi and that’s one of your favourites.

Most of you arrived home safely except for Hoseok who refused to come as he met a woman at the ball and he wanted to spend the night with her. The others were all busy too. At Seokjin's place. No further details needed.

Which left you and Yoongi stumbling to your wing and Yoongi acting the horniest you have ever witnessed him act.

You witnessed Yoongi drunk one time before tonight. It was back when you were still on the road and you came back from a dance. That night will always stay in your memories. It truly will.

Yoongi swoops you off your feet, making you squeak because you didn’t expect it.

He grunts, swaying from side to side dangerously.

“Don’t drop me, I’m serious”, you warn in a laugh.

“I’ve got you”, he lulls, stumbling down the hallways, “kiss me, wanna be kissed please.”

“Mhm my prince”, you sigh, kissing him gladly.

It was strange at first to return to university after everything you went through. People looked at you weird, but you tried to ignore them. The masquerade ball is too much fun to miss out on. Especially this year when the world was finally safe. Even Yoongi let loose, asking you for one dance in the ballroom while the others got drunk in the disco. It was very nice, but also the moment you realised just how wasted Yoongi was as he whined about how pretty you were in front of other people and he never does that.

Thump.

“Ah Yoongs”, you gasp.

“Sorry.”

Yoongi just hit the door with your back, now fumbling with the doorknob to open it.

“You said you’ll be careful”, you whine.

“Sorry”, he tries to kiss you, “don’t be mad. Are you okay?”

“Yeah I guess”, you giggle, “what are you doing?”

“Tryna open the door. Is it stuck or something, the fuck?” he tries to wiggle the doorknob.

“You gotta push.”

Yoongi does it with little pressure. The door opens instantly.

“Oh”, he lets out, sneaky a shy glance at you, “I knew that.”

“Mhm sure”, you say and chuckle, “kiss me, you idiot.”

“You's mean”, he mumbles and leans in to kiss you. He stumbles to your bed, dropping you on top of it and without ever breaking the kiss, he climbs atop your lap. He plops down, moving his hips back and forth in a needy grind while his hands are cradling your face. Your legs are tangling over the edge, as are his feet.

“I'm mean?” you ask him in a chuckle.

“Yeah. You messing with my heart. It keeps racing”, he says, guiding your hand to his chest, “feel it.”

“Yoongs, your heart stopped beating three thousand years ago.”

“Oh yeah”, he flutters his lashes, “doesn’t matter. Being with you's making me feel flutters in it”, he says, tapping his chest with your hand, “right there. Tingles so much.”

You twist his shirt and pull him close. Yoongi falls with a surprised gasp, gasping again when you kiss him deeply. He grows limp atop of you, except for his hips. They begin wiggling like crazy. And his feet. He begins kicking them happily.

He cups your face, breaking the kiss solely for the purpose of littering your face in big smooches.

“Loveyou, you's the best, loveyousomuch”, he slurs his words but they are clear to you.

“You are so drunk”, you giggle in a squeak.

“Ye, drunk on you”, he retorts, wiggling cutely, “is what you said to me. Remember?”

“Ye. I do.”

Yoongi kisses up and down your nose, moving on to your left cheek. He makes loud kissing noises, mixing in the occasional "mwuah" or a lulled confession of his eternal love.

Truly, drunk Yoongi is the most precious treasure on earth. Freed of his restraints and anxiety, he finally becomes who he wants to be deep down. This is him. This is the real Yoongi. And you can’t get enough of him.

Yoongi ends his love attack by sucking in your cheek and biting it gently.

“Ah Yoongi”, you gasp, moving away.

He releases you with a bop, gawking at you with puckered lips.

“What?”

“You bit me.”

“I did not.”

You snicker, reaching up it squish his cheeks.

“You're so cute.”

He huffs out air, cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips, using his tongue for it until you moan and kiss him back with just as much passion.

Yoongi is the best kisser on earth. No. In the universe. Gentle but so passionate. Sweet but so rough. Loving and oh so skilled. Kissing him is paradise. Kissing him while you are both stupidly drunk? The best experience ever. You don’t ever want to stop. He makes you so happy. He feels so right. He is so perfect.

Overwhelmed by your feelings you break the kiss to litter his face with kisses.

“My cutie. My Yoongi Boongie. My handsome prince”, you mumble, kissing every inch of his perfect face.

Yoongi lets it happen with squeezed shut eyes and his prettiest gummy smile. He kicks his feet the whole time, wiggling his hips because nothing in the world could contain the happiness he currently feels.

You end your love attack by kissing his lips, falling back into the most passionate kiss ever. You are smiling so much, holding each other, feeling so high on one another.

His fingers begin fumbling with your dress. Clumsily and without any sort of plan in mind. Their only goal is to get you out of that dress.

“Shit. Goddamn it”, Yoongi breaks the kiss to curse under his breath.

“What's wrong?”

“Your dress's not opening. Why's it not opening?”

“Maybe ‘cause you're tugging on the collar instead of the lacing?”

“Oh”, his fingers slip, “I knew that. Just wanted to test you”, he mumbles, changing his grip to finally open your dress.

“Yeah, sure you did”, you say in a chuckle.

You sit up to help him, giggling when Yoongi gets off your lap to fall to his knees before you. He tugs the dress down your legs, caressing your ankles as he helps you step out of the big heap of fabric. He discards it on the floor and moves on to taking off your shoes.

Once they are discarded as well, he lowers himself to place a worshipping kiss upon your left instep.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes mesmerised by him. You are towering over him atop your big bed while he lays worshiping by your feet. You feel hot all over because of it.

Yoongi kisses your right instep as well, ending it with a little hiccup.

“Scuse me”, he lifts his head, “I'm so drunk. You have really pretty feet.”

“Well thank you, my prince”, you say and giggle, lifting your foot to dance it up and down the buttons of his dress shirt. Yoongi arches into the touch, presenting his palms on his lap as if he was made to do so.

He is fully dressed while you are barely clothed. Only a matching set of satin lingerie is keeping you modest. Yoongi can’t seem to take his eyes off of it, breathing heavily while his thighs squeeze together desperately.

“Can I see you tonight?” you ask him, trying to open his bow tie with your toes. You are failing miserably.

Yoongi replaces your toes with his fingers, opening the tie and letting it drop on the ground. He begins opening his dress shirt afterwards, submissive eyes glued to your face. This is his answer. He feels really sexy tonight. He knows that it is because of the booze. The knowledge doesn’t stop him, on the contrary, it encourages him. If he ends up doing something embarrassing, he can just blame it on being too drunk and then you won’t be able to judge him. He feels so confident tonight. Confident and like the hottest person ever born.

He drops his shirt on the floor, gasping softly when you stop his fingers from opening his belt by stepping on his hand.

“Stand up”, you order.

Yoongi obeys, getting to his feet before you. You tug him closer by his belt. Yoongi stumbles with wobbly knees, feeling his stomach tingle. He loves it so much when you are rough with him. He stumbles, catching himself on your shoulder.

“Careful”, you giggle, hugging his middle with your cheeks squished against his soft tummy.

“Sorry, is really hard to stand”, he lulls, hugging you back.

“I know, I’ll be fast”, you say, placing a loving kiss on his tummy before lifting your head. You smile at him, eyes spilling over with love. You are still hugging his waist, “you're so handsome, my love.”

“Thanks”, Yoongi mumbles, swaying his shoulders from side to side. Your sweet words only strengthen tonight's feelings. He is so, so sexy and handsome. Yoongi loves feeling that way. It makes his tummy all tingly and his brain all fuzzy.

You turn your head and bite him.

“Ah”, he gasps, cupping your head.

It was a gentle bite. Nothing more than a nibble of love. But it was on his tummy. And his tummy is terribly sensitive. Yoongi rubs his thighs together, swaying like crazy.

“Don't do that”, he whines.

You release his skin, “why?” you ask, gazing up at him with sparkly eyes.

“Feels so much”, he whispers, scratching the spot you bit.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Ye.”

You scrunch your nose up, giving him a blinding smile. One last kiss to his tummy and you sadly release him, moving on to getting his pants down. He slips out of his shoes as you work, wanting to waste as little time as possible.

The belt buckle hits his thigh as you let it fall open. It doesn't hurt, merely making a metallic clinking sound.

Yoongi is holding his breath, looking down at you with his lower lip between his teeth. You are opening his pants. One button at a time until it is finally done. You run your hands to his butt, slipping them inside the pants and tugging them down but not before squeezing his round buttocks.

He gasps because of it, feeling dizzy. The pants fall down, pooling by his feet. You touch his hips, tugging him closer. Yoongi steps out of his clothes, finally he is freed of them. He would feel really self conscious on other days, but tonight he feels good. He is so handsome when he is naked. That’s how he feels.

Your eyes are glued to his clothed cock. It is already straining the fabric of his black briefs.

“All mine”, you whisper, making his knees buckle.

“___”, he moans your name, climbing onto your lap messily. He grinds against your thighs instantly, kissing you with a needy mewl.

You chuckle because the kiss surprised you, breaking it just so you can grin at him.

“I'm yours”, he lulls, “is true. All yours”, he says, fighting you gently just so he can kiss you again.

“You're so freaking cute”, you say, “goddamn it Yoongi, I love you like crazy.”

“Love you too”, he mumbles, hiding his giddiness by pushing you into the sheets and burying his face in your neck. He begins kissing your skin instantly, nibbling and sucking on it until you feel lightheaded. The thing with Yoongi is that he loves biting. Obviously because he is a vampire. He loves biting, but he doesn’t want to go too far, which results in those really tingly and gentle bites all over your body. And they drive you insane. Truly insane.

Yoongi whines, lifting his head. He is pouting at you.

“Why? What’s wrong now?” you whine and chuckle.

“I wanna suck your tits. Why do you have a bra on?”

“Tzt, crybaby”, you arch your back off the mattress, “open it.”

Yoongi follows gladly, opening the clasp in the back and pulling the straps off your arms. He throws the piece of clothing over his back.

“That's really expensive, just saying”, you snicker.

“Is fine”, he dismisses you and gathers your breasts just to bury his face in them.

“Mhhm Yoongi”, you sigh, closing your eyes in delight. His lips are so soft, his tongue so eager. He is nibbling again, biting and sucking every inch of your chest without ever going too far. It feels so good. His fingers caress your skin as he kisses you. He adds just a little bit of strength every now and then, sending electric sparks through your veins each time he does.

Yoongi giggles, kicking his feet happily. He is so, so happy. You are so perfect and the fact that he can kiss you feels so, so good.

He lifts his head only to rest his cheek on your breasts, sparkly eyes gazing up at you.

“You're so pretty”, he whispers, sparkles in his eyes growing, “and soft and warm and perfect. You's so perfect.”

You smile, running the back of your hand over his cheek, “you're so cute.”

Yoongi looks away, wiggles and then attacks you with the tightest hug in human history. You squeak, allowing him to shake you around as he does everything in his power to squeeze you against him.

Somehow in the sweet mess of it all, he managed to change positions so you were fully resting on the bed now, heads supported by pillows and toes facing the foot end.

Yoongi breaks the hug, but stays close enough that he can kiss your neck. He is humping the side of your leg, panting against your skin.

One arm is still under your head while the other is draped over your tummy. Not for long however, just as Yoongi begins mewling softly and his cock is oh so hard against your leg, his hand begins traveling down your body, soon disappearing inside your panties.

You open your legs happily, sighing his name when his fingers begin feeling up your pussy.

“So wet”, he whispers, drawing circles on your soaked entrance.

“It's your fault”, you answer him in a sigh.

Yoongi snorts and giggles, rubbing against you in a giddy squirm.

“You always say so much”, he whines, “so mean.”

“I'm not mean I'm-oh”, you struggle with your words because Yoongi just buried two of his fingers inside of you and is now moving them in and out carefully, “I-I'm telling the…truth.”

Oh, he's got you so sensitive already. Being with Yoongi does that to you. You like him so, so much and being with him makes you so eager for his touches that whenever he finally gives them to you, you can barely even handle them. It feels so nice to be touched by Yoongi. Especially when he is as perfect and cute and amazing as he is tonight.

You slip your hand into his briefs, palming his cock.

“Wait”, he gasps, tensing up.

“What's wrong? Don’t want it?”

“No, is just that. Wanna be naked.”

He abandons you for just a second as he wiggles out of his briefs. You do the same, watching him with the biggest heart eyes ever. Whatever was in the wine tonight made him brave. You are so giddy. Normally it takes Yoongi at least an hour of sex to feel safe enough to undress and now he is doing it willingly during foreplay. He is so perfect when he is like that.

Yoongi drops into the sheets and shimmies back to you. You roll to your side, kissing his lips with sighs of his name. Yoongi purrs, kissing you back with a dizzy head. It happens naturally that his hand slips back between your legs. You lift your leg, draping it over his hips to give him better access. Yoongi buries his fingers back in your pussy, forcing a shudder to run through you.

“Feels so good”, you whisper.

“Good, you’re so pretty”, he whispers.

“Yoongi.”

“What's it?”

“Yoongi, you feel so good”, you sigh, gazing into his eyes.

He seems mesmerised by you, eyes racing between yours.

“I'm so drunk”, he whispers.

“Me too”, you snicker.

“You're not real. I'm so drunk, you can’t be real”, he lulls.

“Does that feel real?” you ask him, wrapping your fingers around his cock. You give him slow strokes up and down as best as possible in the position, putting more pressure each time you reach his tip.

“Y-yeah”, Yoongi croaks, squeezing his eyes shut, "oh god", he huffs out and whimpers softly.

“It's real, Yoongs”, you promise him.

“You's real”, he sighs, throbbing in your hand, “I'm so lucky”, he adds in a barely there whisper.

“I'm lucky too”, you breathe, closing your eyes as you fall into the sensation.

Soft moans, gasps for air, sounds of eager touches. The room fills with the melodies of your pleasure, mixing with the ruffling of sheets and the sounds of kissing each time one of you steals a kiss or two. You both know you won’t be able to orgasm soon. You are too drunk for that. But you don’t mind because it’s so goddamn amazing to be close and to touch each other and to feel those nice tingles of a loving hand for as long as you want to. You don’t want to climax because being with each other like that, all dizzy and droopy and bursting with happiness, is the best reward ever.

Yoongi stubs you with his nose, calling your attention. Your eyes meet. He looks so droopy. His face is glowing now that you are sharing so much heat with each other.

“Finger me”, he lulls.

Your hand around his cock falters.

“I'm sorry?” you gasp.

“Want your fingers up my butt. Please”, he begs, wiggling his hips.

“Hot. What the hell? Hot?”

“Please?”

“Uh heck yeah? This is the hottest thing you ever said. Let me just get the lube.”

You hate that you have to end the amazing thing you currently had going on, but this is more important. Yoongi never asks for things. At least not for himself. He'll take what you give him, but he will never ask for more. Even while you are doing something he won’t ask for another spot to be touched and you are left figuring it out yourself by accidentally touching his favourite spots and making his body shake involuntarily. So to have him ask you to do something to him, especially butt stuff, makes you want to squeal. This is the best night ever.

Yoongi is on his back once you return, welcoming you back by grabbing your waist and scrunching his nose up.

“I can't believe you're letting me do that to you.”

“Want it so bad”, Yoongi says and opens his legs, “is that good? Want another position?”

“No. No, it’s perfect. You’re perfect”, you say, having to kiss him because otherwise you would have exploded in emotion. He is the best person ever.

Yoongi kisses you back, mewling quietly.

“You're so perfect. My perfect man”, you mumble, feeling him up desperately.

Yoongi barely handles the touches, writhing under you with flutters in his tummy. His skin is so sensitive. Your palm is so soft and warm. He can’t handle how good you make him feel.

The kiss breaks once you reach his inner thighs, Yoongi has more important things to do. Like gasp your name and part his pouty lips. His skin feels electric wherever you touch it.

“The prettiest. You’re so pretty”, you praise, “and soft. Why are you so soft?”

“I'm soft”, he repeats, wiggling his toes.

“Yeah you are. Wanna keep squeezing you”, you say, squishing his inner thigh right next to his cock.

Yoongi keens, parting his legs more. It tickles, but also feels intense. His cock begins aching because of it, yearning for a touch.

You don’t give it to him, which he dislikes at first until he can feel your touch on his balls. You massage them gently, forcing the warmest sparks to course through his tummy.

“Except for there. You’re so hard”, you say, squeezing them until it hurts.

Yoongi gasps, opening his legs further. His balls feel like bursting.

Slap.

“Mo-oh my god”, he chokes out and arches his back.

“That was a reward for being so cute”, you tell him.

“Want it again”, he begs, touching your tummy with shaky fingers. He scratches your skin softly, “please.”

And because he is so adorable right now, you can’t deny him. You slap his balls a second time, ending it with a harsh squeeze.

Yoongi moans in gratefulness, letting his eyes fall closed by rolling them back first.

“You're so sexy like this. Fuck, Yoongi”, you rasp, spanking him one last time before moving on to a new spot. You know better than to keep going. Yoongi can - and did - cum from cock torture and you don’t want this to happen. Yet.

Yoongi wants to complain at first, but doesn’t when he feels your fingers brush against his hole. Just once and nothing more than a feather light touch. He is so sensitive that it felt a million times more intense however. He chases you, tilting his hips to make it easier for you. He drops them again the second you touch him, veins filling with tingles.

You put more pressure than last time, drawing circles.

“Feels so good”, he sighs, seeking you by rolling his head to the side. Like this he can almost bury his face in your tits.

“And I haven’t even started yet”, you whisper, sending shivers down his spine. You sound so confident. Yoongi feels dizzy. You are so hot like this.

Your touch retreats for a moment. A click lets Yoongi know that you are covering your fingers in lube. Another click as you close the bottle then you touch his rim.

“Ah”, he gasps, twitching in surprise.

“Sorry, was that too cold?”

“No, is good”, he says, shivering when you begin moving, “is so good. You so good.”

“You're so sensitive”, you put the slightest sound of teasing into your voice, making Yoongi huff out air.

He flusters way too easily. He can’t bear to be teased. Especially not tonight when his senses are so heightened because of the booze. Of course he is sensitive. He danced with you and kissed you and you called him handsome so many times. He had to get sensitive. It was unavoidable.

“Now take a deep breath for me”, you whisper.

Yoongi obeys, releasing it a second later despite his efforts. He can’t help it, your finger is in his ass and that feels so good.

“Slipped right in. Wow my Boongie, you’re so greedy, aren’t you?”

He nods his head vigorously.

“Love your finger. Is so good.”

“Of course you do”, you whisper, moving it in and out of him slowly. To get him used to it. To feel him up. To enjoy his tight warmth for as long as possible.

“Don't stop”, he whispers, adding a breathy “please” as he widens his eyes at you. His pouty lips are parted and his sparkly eyes widened. He looks so cute right now.

“Oh my Boongie, you’re so cute”, you giggle, scrunching your nose up before leaning down and rubbing the tip of your nose against his’. His eyes flutter closed, a sigh slips past his lips, “my dearest love”, you whisper, curling your finger in search for his favourite spot.

“Good, is good it’s- ah, a-ah”, Yoongi gets out, voice pitched in surprised pleasure.

“There? Right there?” you ask, massaging the spot inside of him.

Yoongi opens his legs, thighs twitching involuntarily. He purrs deeply, scrunching his nose up as he nods his head.

“Yeah, right there”, you rasp, drinking in his expression, “you're taking me so well, my prince.”

It is fascinating just how tight and warm he feels around you. Truly, Yoongi’s warmth is so addicting and quite frankly, adorable as well. You realised that whenever he is close to you and he feels especially happy, he becomes warmer than on normal days. As if your presence in itself gives him enough nutrition for his body to heat up. You love to cuddle him whenever that happens, which results in Yoongi purring happily and becoming even warmer.

“You're burning up, love”, you whisper, kissing his temple.

“Feels so good”, Yoongi sighs, “one more, please.”

You slip your ring finger inside, eliciting a raspy purr from him. It vibrates deep in his chest and is filled with his honest bliss.

“Like this?”

He nods his head, cock twitching angrily as you scissor your fingers.

“You're so tight, I’m surprised that you can take me.”

Yoongi peels his eyes open, frowning at you.

“What?” you ask in a chuckle.

“Don't slutshame me.”

“Slutshame you?” You snort, “what are you talking about?”

Yoongi closes his eyes, “shut up.”

“No, no I'm not. Are you telling me that you’re my slut? Mhm Yoongi? Is that it?”

“No it’s not. Stop. Take your fingers out. I don’t want it.”

“No? You don’t? So if I do this, you don’t want it?” you challenge, curling your fingers against his prostate. You begin massaging it, forcing him to gasp and shudder.

You get to your knees between his legs and wrap your hand around his cock.

“And if I do this, you don’t want it?” you taunt, jerking him off quickly as you continue fingering his greedy bum. Quick and hard, just like you jerk off his leaking cock. It’s what deserves for pretending that he isn’t into it.

Yoongi squeaks and grips your hand with trembling fingers. He writhes, thighs trying to close in a desperate attempt to flee from the harsh fingering. It’s too much, Yoongi doesn’t know how to handle it. It feels too good.

“Mhm? If I do this, you don’t want it? Mhm?” you challenge with hunger in your eyes. He is shaking so much, it’s so cute. His bum looks so good taking the harsh finger fuck, his cock is all twitchy and leaky.

“___”, Yoongi gasps and lets out a loud “ah” followed by a whiney moan. He is trying so hard to get your hand to stop, weak fingers barely closing around your wrist.

“So cute. You’re so cute when you're shaking. You’re such a cute, little slut, Yoongi love. Such a cutie”, you coo, forcing his cock to leak all over your fingers.

“Please not so, so fast”, he begs, squeezing your wrist weakly.

“Why?”

“Cum”, he gets out and arches his back with a whiney little sound escaping him.

He feels fucked. Your fingers are so fast and know exactly where to touch. It’s like you're already fucking him. That, mixed with the dizziness of the booze and Yoongi swears he is going to crumble any second now.

“Please slow”, he begs, gasping for air.

“Cute”, you rasp and slow down, but only so you could take him into your mouth. Yoongi arches off the mattress, fingers twisting the sheets and cute hole squeezing around your digits. You are fucking them in and out of him slowly and to their fullest, giving Yoongi a taste of how it feels to be stretched out over and over again. He takes you so well, sounding oh so perfect doing it.

“No please”, he gasps, “___, please”, he whimpers, throbbing in your mouth.

He tastes so good. Like desperation and pleasure. You love it so much, slurping it up hungrily. His cock fits down your throat so nicely. Yoongi normally hates it when you deep throat him. Not because he dislikes the feeling, on the contrary he loves it, but because he is always scared that he will make you gag and therefore uncomfortable. He doesn’t have to worry about that tonight, because you are drunk. And when you are drunk, your gag reflex ceases to exist. It’s probably the added boost of confidence. You won’t ever complain, it feels so fucking empowering to be able to take his entire cock down your throat without needing to gag.

Yoongi is appreciating it as well, thighs trembling like crazy and hole pulsating around your fingers.

“You're really un-unfair”, he stutters, punching up the sheets with his toes as he curls them. Nothing else helps. He is getting his ass fingered and his cock throat fucked. He wasn’t ready for what he bargained for when he asked you to finger him. You are too good and way too eager to destroy him.

You slip off of him, allowing your drool to drip down on him. It runs down his veiny shaft until it soils his dark pubes, marking him as your property.

“So you don’t want this?” you rasp, playing with your spit, “mhm? You don’t want any of it?”

Yoongi swallows heavily, recovering for a short moment with quick pants for air.

You pull your fingers out, anticipating his reaction.

“No”, he whines breathily, “no, back. Please back”, he whispers and you hear him.

You do. But you want to tease him. You press your wet fingers against his soft rim, drawing slow circles on it. It’s remarkable how relaxed and loosened up he already feels.

“Back”, he breathes.

“Mhm? What was that? I couldn’t hear you”, you tease.

Yoongi places his hands on the back of your head, pushing you down shyly. He bucks his hips up, hitting your nose with his cock. It makes you giggle because it was funny to be nudged with his cock.

“Please”, he whispers.

“You're so fucking cute”, you gush, taking him back into your mouth. He glides over your tongue until your throat hugs him tightly. Only then, do you stuff your fingers back into him, using your wrist to control the movements. Deep and quickened and just enough to force him to twitch inside your mouth over and over again. You moan deliciously and begin bopping your head up and down, going fast because it makes him whine so cutely.

Yoongi grips the sheets again, hitting his head against the pillow twice before he decides to arch his back instead.

“More fingers please”, he begs, shaking when you purr around his cock. Deeply and deliciously. The stretch of his hole which follows makes him shake again. You listened, now burying your pointer finger in his butt as well. Deep and so thick. Your fingers in that position stretch him out so much.

“___”, Yoongi moans, “___ please. Please.”

Yoongi is awkward. About literally everything, but especially about his sexuality. Now. He never looked for labels or definitions. If a person attracts him sexually then so be it, he never cared about what was between their legs or what that would make him. He does care about how he fucks however, what he receives and how he receives it. Because receiving is hard for him, especially butt stuff. He doesn’t let anyone other than you close to this part of his body. It’s too intimate, makes him too vulnerable and requires a level of trust only you – and maybe Jungkook – achieved. So yes, Yoongi is awkward about butt stuff. Even if he loves it so much. So, so much. But this right here? This right here makes him want to keep begging you and act like a complete slut. This is the endgame. The real deal and he is burning up.

“Thank you”, he croaks, thighs shaking each time you fuck your fingertips against his prostate.

You moan around his cock, sending sparks through his veins. He is too sensitive.

“I'm gonna- ah”, he gasps, gripping your hair and twisting it desperately, “you're making me cum”, he croaks, relaxing his muscles in preparation for the warmest most amazing high ever.

Stop.

Pain and suffering.

Agony.

Yoongi has to sob and writhe.

You stopped.

Slipped off his cock, removed your fingers. They are gripping his thighs now, forcing him to stay open even if all he wants to do is close his legs and rub them together.

You laugh. Tauntingly and with enough craze in it to make Yoongi’s skin crawl in hot, dumb pleasure.

“You didn’t actually think that I'd let you cum did you?” you ask and laugh, “oh Yoongi, you’re so gullible.”

Yoongi whines and wraps his fingers around his cock, trying to jerk it off. Anything please.

Slap!

You slapped them away instantly.

“Ah”, he gasps, peeling his eyes open just in time to watch you place yourself atop of him. His legs, you force to stay open by keeping his thighs thrown over yours. Like this, your crotch is pressed right against his ass, taunting him because there is no cock inside him but all he wants is for you to stuff him with your strap.

His grabby, misbehaving hands you pin right above his head, digging your fingers into him in a strong grip.

“Keep those hands where they belong. Hear me?” you growl.

Yoongi rarely falls into subspace. Entering that state means giving up control and letting another person see the part of him he is most ashamed of. He thinks there is nothing wrong with wanting to be like that when other people want it, but he thinks it’s embarrassing when he wants to be like that. You however make it easy to fall. And fun. And quite frankly you make him love every fucking second of it. He feels so tiny and weak and that’s all he wants right now. That and your strap.

“Yeah”, he gets out.

“You do? So why did you try to touch yourself, mhm?”

“I'm a slut”, he lulls, going dizzy under your piercing gaze.

“No, that’s not it is it? Tell me the truth.”

Yoongi shakes his head, earning himself an aggressive roll of your hips. He mewls, wishing for another one.

“Tell me Yoongi, tell me.”

“I'm a brat”, he keens, rubbing himself against you by wiggling his hips needily. He needs the friction, needs to feel as if you are already fucking him. Oh god, it doesn’t feel the same. Yoongi wants to cry, why doesn’t it feel the same? He needs to be fucked so bad.

“Exactly. You’re a brat”, you rasp, abandoning his wrists to scratch down his arms.

Yoongi keeps them above his head naturally, mewling your name with closed eyes. He opens them a second later when you slap his face and therefore surprise him. They are widened and glassy, looking at you with so much submission burning in them. You slap his other cheek, gripping his face right afterwards. Your fingers dig into his cheeks as you keep him hostage.

“Don't look at me like that. It makes me feel bad that I had to slap you”, you rasp, forcing even more submission into his droopy gaze. “What's wrong?” the question may be of nurturing nature, but Yoongi knows your true intentions behind it. This is to mock him, to force him to voice his wishes even if it embarrasses him so, so much. He wants to kiss the ground you walk on. You are so mean and perfect.

“Fuck me”, he gets out, feeling his cheeks heat up instantly.

“That's not very polite of you, is it?”

“Fuck me please. Please. Please fuck me”, he begs, trembling desperately. He wants to burst, he is so embarrassed and weak and fucking sensitive. He should stop humping you like a needy dog, because it makes him want to cum but he can’t stop. It feels so good to grind against you.

“There we go. That’s better”, your features soften in fondness, “you’re so perfect when you’re being my good boy”, you praise, releasing his cheeks to instead caress them gently.

There you go again. Messing with him. To go from slapping his face and calling him a slutty brat to caressing his cheeks and calling him your good boy. Yoongi can’t handle it. He felt so perfectly degraded only to be lifted and be made feeling like the most treasured person on earth. He is too drunk and giddy for that.

Yoongi whines and throws his hands over his face, kicking the sheets.

“Please just do it, why are you so mean?” he mewls.

“Why?” you giggle, tugging his hands away to beam at him, “why are you so shy, huh? It’s just me.”

“Yeah, it’s you. Exactly”, he pouts.

Your eyes soften. You rest your chin on his hands as you hold them.

“You’re so cute”, you whisper, stubbing him with your nose. Yoongi closes his eyes, chasing you with a tilt of his head. You stay, whispering the words against his lips, “do you wanna be my good boy and get the strap for me, mhm?”

He nods his head in obedience.

“Good boy, such a good boy”, you praise, rolling off of him, “off you go, get my strap”, you order him and as Yoongi climbs out of bed, you can’t help yourself and slap his butt just once.

“Hey”, he complains, pouting at you with furrowed brows.

“You’re so cute”, you snicker, giving him the biggest heart eyes.

He huffs out air and turns his back to you to waddle to your sextoy dresser instead. He takes out his strap of choice and waddles back to bed. You watch him with a fond grin on your face, stifling a giggle because his walk is rather hilarious.

“Don’t look at me. I hate walking with a boner”, he whines, making you laugh.

“I think you look cute”, you say, “you’re swaying so much, my love. Are you really drunk?”

He falls atop your lap, rubbing himself against you. He nods his head, humming deeply.

“I’m drunk too”, you say.

“I wanna fuck”, he whines, “please put it on. Why are you taking so long?”

“Oh excuse me that I can’t really move when you’re plopping yourself down on me”, you laugh, pinching his sides.

Yoongi giggles, writhing away, “don’t tickle me”, he whines, rolling off of you. You chase him instantly, gripping his waist just to tickle him more. He laughs squeakily, pushing at your chest, “please stop. I hate it.”

“Sorry, sorry”, you snicker, caressing his waist instead, “I couldn’t resist. I love it so much when you laugh.”

“Put it on please”, he begs with burning cheeks. Truly, he is adorable. You realised by now that Yoongi gets those really pink cheeks when he's drunk. Paired with his naturally shy blush and he looks beyond adorable.

“I am, I am”, you say, slipping on the harness. You make sure that everything sits in place, sighing happily because it grinds against your clit all nicely. You are going to love using it, that much is for sure. You climb back on bed, “done, you- eeek”, you squeak in surprise as Yoongi grips you by your shoulders and throws you into the sheets.

He climbs on top of you, intertwining his fingers with you and pinning your hands above your head. Like this, his long hair is hanging into his face, framing his glowing features.

“Wanna ride you”, he confesses, grinding against your tummy.

“Hot”, you whisper, gawking at him with a dizzy head.

“So stay please”, he begs, widening his eyes.

“Okay. I’ll stay”, you whisper, having to smile, “you're so perfect, my prince.”

“You too”, he says, stealing one kiss from you and then he shimmies down your body, sitting down on your lap. He reaches for the lube bottle and opens it with one hand as the other is busy feeling up your strap.

He spills the lube all over it, lips curling into a dirty smirk as he begins jerking it off while his other hand grips your waist, thumb tracing your tummy.

“You're so fucking hard”, he rasps, leaning over you so his hair was hanging all into his face again. He places his hand right next to your head, lowering his eyes playfully, “you're so fucking into me, aren’t you?”

“Uuuh…yeah?” you let out a breathy laugh, “what the hell is happening? Where's my shy Yoongi Boongie gone?”

“He left”, Yoongi says and laughs, kissing you midsmile which results in him biting your lower lip and tugging on it until you moan, “wanna eat you up. Fuck, I can’t wait to get your strap.”

“You're so hot”, you squeak out, head feeling dizzy in disbelief.

“I know”, Yoongi says nonchalantly and straightens up, placing his hand on your tummy for support. He lifts himself, shimmying up your body until your strap was aligned with his hole. He grinds on your tip back and forth, half-lidded eyes glued to your face. “Wanna take you so bad, princess.”

“Then do it”, you rasp, gripping his hips and giving them a little push down.

Yoongi lets you, widening his stance so he could take you easier. The bulbous head breaches him after a second of struggle, forcing an audible gasp out of him.

“Now I’m in. There we go”, you say, caressing his tensing thighs, “how's that, love?”

Yoongi sinks down further, placing both his hands on your tummy. Like this, his fingers are tickling your sides nicely. He huffs out air loudly, scrunching his nose up.

“How's that, mhm?”

“Good”, he croaks and bottoms out, arching his back just so his ass sticks out. His lips curl into a dirty smirk, eyes falling closed, “fuck yeah”, he rasps, chasing your girth with smooth rolls back and forth, “ah fuck. Yes, princess. Fuck princess…”

“You're so hot, I can’t believe that you’re real”, you get out, feeling dizzy. He is rubbing the strap against your clit each time he moves his hips. You are not missing out on any of the sensations, that much is sure.

“Fuck. That feels so good”, he moans, straightening up and tensing his tummy. He begins moving up and down on your cock, not wasting any second with going slow. He is drunk, dumb and horny. And free. He feels so fucking free right now. No self doubt, insecurities and mean voices in his head telling him that he is ugly. Just silence, pleasure and loud voices telling him how much of a sexy motherfucker he is riding your cock. And he wants it. Wants the rush of confidence it gives him, chasing you with fast movements.

“You're so hot, holy fuck, you’re so hot”, you pant, gawking at him with a racing heart.

Your words only encourage him to keep bouncing on you. He doesn’t care about how loud he sounds doing it, he doesn’t care about what faces he is making or how his cock moves. He'd ruin the moment on other nights, questioning every single thing, but not tonight. Tonight he is free and desperate for more. More. More. More. Give him more. Make him fall freely. More.

“Keep going, holy fuck, you’re so hot”, you praise, slapping his bouncing cock.

“A-ah”, Yoongi’s hips falter. He looks at you with ruby eyes. Your gazes meet, electric sparks course through your veins at the connection. “again”, he orders, fucking his hips into your palm.

“You drive me insane", you rasp, spanking his pretty cock.

“Yes”, Yoongi throws his head back, bouncing on your strap within seconds. Hard and fast and with the intent to not stop any time soon. That’s what he needs. Pain and pleasure. It’s the same thing to him and drives him absolutely insane.

Moaning his name, you spank his cock a third time, watching in delight as this makes it leak. You wrap your fingers around him, spreading the hot slick all over his length.

“Please continue, feels so fucking good”, Yoongi begs, dropping his head back in synch with his hands slamming down on your thighs. Like this, he is grinding on your strap more than he bounces, but the desperate freedom in his movements remains. He is making sure that his hole will remember tonight. That much is sure.

Wet squelching joins the slapping of skin and Yoongi’s unapologetic moaning, mixing with your mewls and the sound of you jerking him off.

“Leaky boy, you’re so wet for me”, you taunt, holding his cock just so you can spank the tip with your other hand.

Yoongi trembles, squeezing your thighs. He whimpers, chasing the pain with desperate hips.

“There we go, keep leaking for me. Love that so much”, you praise, rewarding him with a merciless slap to his cockhead followed by you jerking him off with two hands.

“I’m cumming”, Yoongi gasps, “I'm cumming, I’m cu- ah!” he yelps, releasing all over your torso as he thrusts into your fists. It lands on parts of your face as well, feeling hot on your skin.

“Yes Yoongi, yes”, you growl, forcing him to shake uncontrollably by jerking him off quickly, “cum for me. You perfect slut, cum for me. That’s it, shake for me. Love it when you do.”

Yoongi writhes, slamming his hands into the pillow on each side of your head.

“Fuck”, he hisses, following it up with a throaty mewl and his lips curling back to reveal his exposed fangs. He chases you. Harsh and fast. His hole is so tight, his cock so sensitive and yet he can’t stop. He can barely even think. All he runs on, is pleasure. It feels so good. He never felt like this before. Is this what he could have if only his own head wasn’t holding him back so much? Is this how sex could feel like?

Yoongi slams his hips down on you over and over again, drooling from his parted lips because that’s what he does when he feels too good. It normally only happens when he eats your pussy, but tonight you’ve fucked him into complete dumb pleasure.

You don’t mind that he is dripping onto your face, gazing up at him with droopy, foggy eyes. You have never seen him like that. So utterly lost to the pleasure. He has no idea how much this fuels you, how you are shaking in bliss because it feels like a dream come true to have him act so freely.

Your right hand moves around his cock, while your left runs up to his chest. You pinch his nipple, rolling it between your fingers afterwards.

“___”, Yoongi moans, squeezing his eyes shut, “___, I’m yours”, he pants, throbbing in your hand.

“Yeah you are. Fuck, you’re mine. Fuck, Yoongi I can’t stop cumming you’re so hot”, you growl, shaking again because his words just felt too good to hear.

“___, I’m cumming too”, he croaks, scrunching his nose up, “you're milking me”, he adds and groans, climaxing all over your tits and neck.

“I’m milking you?” you gasp, laughing breathily, “oh my fucking god, keep talking like that and I’ll break you.”

“___”, he moans, fucking his pulsating hole through the tightness. His prostate feels on fire and yet he can’t stop. This feels so good. You feel so good.

Yoongi straightens up and grips your thighs again, showing you his fangs as he throws his head back with an agape mouth.

“___ I’m yours!” he moans loudly, arching his back. His cock is leaking like crazy. His white milky pleasure is running down your tummy by now, soaking the sheets. And yet he can’t stop, leaking continuously as he fucks himself stupid on your strap.

“Holy fuck”, you choke out, “holy fuck, you’re so hot”, you whimper, spilling tears, “Yoongi, my Yoongi, you’re my Yoongi”, you sob, gripping his cock.

“I'm yours”, he moans deliciously, “spank me, please.”

You grant him his wish instantly, spanking his throbbing cock.

“Again”, Yoongi demands, chasing your hand.

Slap!

“Again”, he growls, clenching around your strap. He can’t get enough of being fucked and spanked and milked. He wants it so bad. Needs it like air.

Slap!

“Yes! Again.”

“Yoongi, you’re leaking like crazy”, you rasp, voice trembling in pleasure. You spank his cockhead, rubbing your palm against it afterwards.

“Yes, again please again”, he begs, convulsing on you with trembling thighs.

Slap!

“Holy fuck, you’re making me cum”, Yoongi laughs darkly, ending it with an audible gasp and an aggressive, “fuck.”

He arches his back, shifting your strap deeper into him. He hasn't noticed it yet, but like this you can see your cock inside of him. It is bulging his tummy, moving each time he bounces on you.

“Yoongi”, you moan, “Yoongi, why are you so hot?” you keen, spanking his cock with all the love you have for him. You can’t believe that he is real. And that the universe aligned your paths, “I'm so lucky. So fucking lucky”, you say, digging your thumb into his belly bulge in synch with your hand connecting with his cock in a slap.

“Woah”, Yoongi gasps, holding your wrist, “woah, woah, woah.”

“Feel that? That’s my cock moving inside you”, you taunt, grinding against his bulge.

“Holy shit”, Yoongi croaks, squeezing his thighs around your hips.

“Yeah that’s it. Feel it. That's how deep I go”, you growl, slamming your hips into him as best as the position allows you to.

“You're making me…cum. ___, I can’t stop”, Yoongi chokes out, shaking in anticipation.

“You're so hot, holy shit", you spit, fucking him angrily. You need him cumming again, need him to continue making a mess on you.

“Yes, yes, yes”, Yoongi chants, chasing you, “now. Now. Ah, now- ah!”

You can feel his high hitting him. You can’t believe it’s real, but you do. His tummy tenses and begins convulsing, taking your cock with hungry ease.

“Fuck, I can feel you cumming”, you growl, digging your thumb deeper into his belly, “you’re so hot.”

“A-ah”, Yoongi lets out and flinches, “no. No. Nonono why?” he sobs and comes to a stop abruptly, forcing you to lift your eyes. He is gawking at you, lips pouted and eyes sad. His hands are on your stomach, fumbling nervously.

“What's wrong?” you ask him, “don’t wanna make yourself cum anymore, mhm?”

Yoongi blinks rapidly, parting his lips.

“What's wrong?”

“I healed”, he confesses.

You furrow your brows in confusion.

“I'm sober.”

“Ah”, you understand immediately. His powers healed him. The sobering up process, which takes normal humans many many hours, is sped up for Yoongi. Which means he is clear in the head again and self-conscious. And being on top of your lap with your strap inside of him after he fucked himself senseless is not his preferred comfort place to be.

You sit up, forcing him to tilt his head back in order not to headbutt you. Your lips are almost touching, your bodies are grinding against each other, smearing his cum everywhere.

“So? Means I gotta fuck you dumb again”, you rasp, eyes pinning him down, “I wanna fucking ruin you.”

He widens his eyes. You grab his hips and force them to move. Back and forth in smooth rolls, forcing your strap to grind against his sensitive insides.

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, falling around you in a tight hug. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, his chest is melted with yours and his hard cock is rubbing between your stomachs.

“Oh god”, he gets out, shuddering desperately.

“That's it, my prince, hold me close”, you whisper and wrap your arms around him, hugging him close, “don’t stop now, you fucking love it so much. Hold me baby, hold me.”

Yoongi thanks you with little moans and stuttering hips, fingers twisting in your hair and parted lips moving against your neck.

He is naked with you. Naked, hot and bursting in pleasure. And now you are hugging. Yoongi is actually able to feel your naked skin against his own as you make him drown in pleasure. He is in paradise. He gets to hug you naked. You are hugging. And he is sober for it. Which means, he'll actually remember it tomorrow.

“Please don’t stop”, he begs, chasing you with growing desperation. He can’t help himself. It feels so good to have you inside him.

“I won’t, my love”, you promise him, bending your legs so he can sit even more comfortably.

Yoongi arches his back, moaning each time his little bubble butt connects with your lap. The position forces your strap to go so deep. Yoongi feels fulfilled in ways that still feel like a dream to him.

“Such a good boy, you’re doing so well”, you praise him, caressing his hips. He tingles because of it, chasing you with even more eagerness. He has more leverage like that. When he was riding you, he didn’t really have a lot of support and Yoongi fucking loved it, but this right here is on a whole other level. To be able to lean against you, to rest against your body and find support in your hug gives him so much comfort. Comfort, but also the opportunity to move on your strap like he needs to. Fast and desperate. Yoongi bends his legs, hooking them behind you and begins moving like he needs to.

“Please don’t stop”, he begs you, drooling all over your shoulder, “oh god, it feels so good.”

“Yeah it does. You fuck me so good, love. So fucking amazing”, you rasp, rubbing his round buttocks in an encouraging manner.

Yoongi hates being a vampire. There is no denying that. He hates it so much, except for when he has sex with you and his powers make him feel everything a million times more intensely. That’s when he fucking loves his nature. That and when his instincts kick in and force him to act against his will in the best way possible. Like rut against you as if he was an animal in heat for example. Or drool all over you because his head tells him that it was feeding time, but he forces his body to feed on something other than blood. Your warmth and the pleasure only you can give him. It tastes so much better than any amount of blood could ever taste.

Yoongi fucks fast and hard once his instincts kick in. The gluttonous, insatiable hunger for whatever addictive substance his body got a taste from takes control of him and makes him its puppet. And that substance was your strap tonight. Your strap and the deafening amount of pleasure you make him feel with it.

Yoongi may be sober again, but mentally he is completely and utterly busted. Intoxicated on the instinctive urge to fuck and rut and ruin his little hole. Your loving hug and comforting warmth encourage him to go even harder.

“I can’t stop”, he croaks, trembling harshly, “I can’- ah, stop.”

“That's so fucking hot. You’re so hot, my love”, you moan, feeling lightheaded. He is moving the strap over your clit as he bounces on your length. Mixing that with the sound of his needy fuck and you are this close to giving up, “you feel so good, Yoongi. So good.”

“You. Too. Ah”, he gets out, breaking his lips away from your neck to instead cup your cheek and pull you into a messy tongue kiss.

You kiss him back gladly, loving every fucking second of it even it is oh so sloppy. Saliva gets mixed, loud moans exchanged and tongues shoved down throats. Truly, this is the kiss between two people utterly lost in the pleasure they give each other. It is nasty and it is fucking glorious. Breaks for air are scattered throughout the kiss, Yoongi uses the opportunities to curse and moan your name. You use the opportunities to praise him and call him handsome.

“Oh god, fuck”, Yoongi croaks, moaning weakly when you run your fingers under his lips.

“You’re drooling so much”, you rasp, forcing him to drool even more.

“Feels so good”, he whimpers, resting his forehead against yours. He knows that he is drooling. His entire chin is covered in it. It’s so embarrassing to him, but you fuck him so hard that he doesn’t even mind right now. Even in his sober state, he doesn’t care. You have him dumb and stupid on your strap, chasing his high because that’s all he wants.

“Spank me”, he begs, “please ___, please.”

“Spank you”, you repeat, “fuck Yoongi, you drive me insane”, you moan, connecting your hand with his bubble butt.

“Aa-ah”, Yoongi lets out, convulsing on top of you.

“Like this? Mhm? Is that what you want?” you taunt, landing another spank.

“Yes”, he mewls, “oh ___”, he sobs, falling around your neck. He hides his face in your shoulder, fighting for air as his body moves all on its own. It is sloppy and uncoordinated, but makes him feel so good.

“Good boy”, you praise, spanking him harshly, “you’re my good boy. Such a good boy.”

It burns so much. Yoongi sobs and forces his lips to lift from your shoulder. He guides his trembling hand to his own mouth and bites down hard. If he hadn’t, he would have ended up biting you instead and that would have made him hate himself forever. So he bites his own hand, moans muffled and body trembling like crazy.

You haven’t noticed it yet, enjoying the tighter hug he gives you and spanking his pretty butt.

“Eeh”, Yoongi squeaks, jerking into you, “hgngeng”, he lets out, coming undone from the pain and pleasure. One last time, but this time feels so good that Yoongi starts squirting all over your bodies, clawing at you because quite frankly he is a little scared of what happens to him.

You join him in his wet bliss with a pounding head, holding him so close that you could honestly merge with him.

“Holy fuck that feels so good”, you whimper, moving your hips into him needily.

Just five more strokes and then Yoongi begins flinching in discomfort, tapping your back in panic. He releases his hand, gasping loudly.

“No more”, he begs, “I can’t anymore.”

“Mhm love”, you purr, slowing down your movements until you come to a stop.

Yoongi grows heavy on your lap, flinching and twitching as he recovers. You are both so fucking sweaty, but still hold each other tighter. It’s all you need right now. To hug as you recover. No words need to be spoken – quite frankly neither of you could – and no touches need to be exchanged. Just a hug. One honest, loving hug which says everything the two of you can’t say right now.

You feel sobered up as well. Not a lot, because you are still really dizzy, but the needy fucking definitely helped your mind clear up a little. You still feel ruined though, but that’s only because Yoongi always does that to you. You finally find strength in your arm, running your hand up and down his lower back. Just a little, on the area of where his tailbone and his buttocks meet. His skin is covered in goosebumps instantly.

“Nobody gets me like you do”, Yoongi whispers, voice completely ruined.

“I feel the same, my love”, you breathe, nuzzling your nose into his neck.

“Did I actually do that?”

“You did”, you smile, caressing his hip, “you were amazing.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Hush, don’t start like this. You feel good right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, so good.”

“Then don’t ruin it with stupid questions. You know that your brain’s mean. Don’t start believing it.”

“I know, sorry”, he whispers.

“It’s okay. You’re my most loved. You know that, don’t you?”

“I am?”

“You are, my love.”

“I love you too”, Yoongi breathes, hugging you tightly, “so fucking much.”

You giggle, squeezing him right back.

“Oh Yoongi Boongie, you are so sweet.”

He purrs, snuggling into you. He sighs, growing heavier on your lap.

“I’m done for”, he whispers.

“Yeah same. I have no idea how often I just orgasmed”, you say, making him chuckle.

“Same”, he says, wiggling his hips, “we’re so dirty.”

“Yeah I know”, you snicker, making him snicker as well.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks.

“Of course not”, you assure him, “why? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. No, I was just asking because I lost control.”

“You did?” you gasp.

“Yeah”, he says and huffs out air, “felt so good, it’s not my fault”, he whispers in a little whine.

“So that’s how you lose control? Oh my fucking god Yoongi, you are so hot. What the hell?” you gasp, forcing him to lift his head just so you can smooch his lips.

He managed to lick them clean so you would have no idea that he bit himself, except for one little stain of blood on his chin. You wipe it away, furrowing your brows.

“Did you bite yourself?” you ask him.

“No?” he lowers his eyes, “shut up, you’re so mean. It’s your fault”, he whines with a pout.

“Wow okay, I see how it is”, you laugh, “fine, I’m taking all the blame, but I’m not regretting it. You were so hot”, you say, pecking his lips.

Yoongi grumbles, but smiles shyly, leaning into your touch with closed eyes. He looks utterly content with the situation.

“My pretty prince”, you whisper, grinning goofily, “I wanna eat you up.”

“Mhm”, he hums, wiggling his toes when you bite his cheek gently.

“So sweet”, you say, snickering, “also sweaty as fuck”, you say, smacking your lips.

“Ew, you’re so weird”, he whines, pushing at your chest gently, “why would you say that?”

“Why? It’s the truth”, you tease, laughing when he pulls a funny face because of it.

“I’m insecure, don’t say that”, he whispers, pouting cutely.

“Gosh, I’m sorry”, you caress his cheek, “I was only teasing, I don’t mind when you’re sweaty. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah”, he mumbles.

“Mhm good”, you peck his cheek, “still wanna take a shower together? I feel really sticky.”

“Give me two minutes. My legs are dead”, he says, sighing loudly, “seriously, they’re dead.”

“You’re so cute. Of course, take as much time as you need”, you say, “I think you just like sitting on my strap and you’re pretending that your legs are weak.”

Yoongi stays silent but huffs out air, making you snicker and pat his butt.

“Be quiet”, he mumbles, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“I am, I am”, you say, chuckling fondly.

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