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Death Row Inmates can have their sentence abolished if they can handle a single night in the same cell as you; the most innocent looking person they’ve ever seen.

close call | myg x reader

🎵 summary: burying your head in the sand won't change the fact that the man you love walks a thin line between life and death. and sometimes you can't outrun your worst fears.

🎵 pairing: reader x mafia!yoongi

🎵 rating: mature, 18+, a wee bit self-indulgent

🎵 genre: smut, mafia AU, guarded AU drabble though it can be read as a standalone story

🎵 warnings: smut with feelings (of course) angst, a lot of angst, super angsty you have been warned this is a veritable angst buffet

🎵 word count: 4.5K

🎵 notes: so, uh...long time no see? phew fam, these past 4-5 months have been really tough for me from a writing standpoint. i've probably written and deleted hundreds of thousands of words and just felt really out of touch with my writing voice. why am i telling you this? because therapy is expensive and because even though i struggled, i did manage to push through it and that makes me feel really hopeful about a light at the end of the tunnel where this writing block is concerned. i'd love to hear from you if you like this and thank you guys always for hanging with me 💕

i borrowed these people's beautiful eyeballs and brains on this fic and i owe them all a debt of gratitude: @hobi-gif @thatlongspringnight @illneverrecover @miscelunaaa thank you all for being rad people and writers.

You hear music the moment you step off the elevator.

The sound drifts down the long stretch of hallway before you, echoing off the walls and then diffusing into the soft carpet beneath your feet. It gets louder with each step you take towards the apartment, swelling higher as you near the heavy steel door.

The sound makes you frown.

It’s dark and melancholic. The cadence is sloppy and the notes bleed into one another like muddled watercolor paints. There is no real melody to speak of, no cohesive thought binding the chords together. They hang in the air overhead like a line of mismatched laundry.

It doesn’t sound anything like the beautiful music Yoongi makes when he sits down at his piano. The lovely, lilting melodies he pulls from the instrument after you’ve both slept in and made love on Sunday afternoons.

That observation alone is enough to give you pause about what awaits you on the other side of that steel door. Never mind that it’s three o’clock in the fucking morning.

You take a deep breath and slide your key into the lock.

Behind the heavy door, your apartment is shrouded in blackness.

In the dark, the couches and lamps and artwork are reduced to rudimentary shapes and outlines. You drop your bag and coat on the table in the foyer, peering into nothingness until your eyes slowly adjust.

Until the man you love finally takes shape.

Yoongi is hunched over his piano, dark hair falling into his face as one hand pounds carelessly away at the keys. The instrument produces a series of sounds so mournful they make goosebumps bloom up the line of your back. Slivers of moonlight slip between the gaps in the curtains, casting shadows across his silhouette.

You take a few cautious steps closer and the finer details start to come into focus.

The rocks glass gripped tight in his free hand. The papers strewn haphazardly across the piano’s lid. All around him the air seems unsettled, crackling with a dangerous energy that makes the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

Then music comes to an abrupt stop.

“I waited up for you.”

He speaks without so much as a glance in your direction, the sound of his voice strangely foreign. There’s a hollow quality to it you haven’t heard before, some peculiar disconnect between the words and the man speaking them.

“I see that,” you say slowly, stepping closer. “Did you want the neighbors to wait up for me, too?”

Yoongi doesn’t laugh at your jab. Doesn’t do or say anything at all, just continues staring down at the keys.

Your heart starts to pound a bit faster.

You close the distance that remains and slide into the empty space beside him, close enough now to breathe him in. Close enough to make out the scent of his damp hair, the spice of the aftershave clinging to his skin. Close enough to smell the whiskey he exhales with every heavy breath.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Guess I’m a little fucked up.”

Guess so. You could count the number of times you’ve seen Yoongi drunk on one hand and you’ve never seen him drunk like this. Like he’s trying to drink himself numb. Like he’s trying to drink himself to blackout.

“It’s okay,” you lie, as if anything about this scene you’ve walked into is okay. “Happens to the best of us sometimes.” You reach a hand out to brush the hair away from his eyes, breath catching in your throat when he turns to face you.

He looks like he’s been to hell and back tonight.

Eyes haunted and skin pallid but for the ruddy whiskey flush across his nose and cheeks. He holds your gaze for only a few heartbeats before looking away. Like he’s embarrassed to be in this state. Like he’s embarrassed for you to see him this way.

Worry immediately climbs up your throat and threatens to claw its way out of your mouth, but you take a deep breath and force it back down. You stroke your fingers across Yoongi’s brow, sweep them over the curve of his jaw. He leans into the touch and catches your hand with his, turning his face to press a soft kiss to your fingertips.

“Yoongi, did – did something happen to you tonight?”

Your stomach twists at the pained expression that comes over him, at the way his eyes fall shut like he’s trying to push away a terrible thought. His grip on your hand tightens and so does your chest.

“Yoongi?”

“Listen, Doc,” he breathes, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

That awful twisting in your stomach sharpens. If you hadn’t known something was wrong – horribly wrong – before this very moment, you certainly know it now. You watch with your heart in your throat as Yoongi sets his whiskey down to reach for the papers strewn across the top of the piano. He presses them into your hands and you stare down at them, afraid to look too closely at the fine print.

“Look at me,” he commands quietly, and you immediately snap your eyes up to meet his. “This is important. This is everything. My accounts, the investments. This apartment and two properties in Daegu. It’s all here.”

The room goes quiet as Yoongi gives you a moment to absorb his words. As the meaning in them slowly begins to crystallize inside your brain. He watches the realization wash over you with a troubling calm, completely composed as you begin to stare back at him in wide-eyed horror.

“If anything happens to me, you take this money and you get the hell out of Seoul,” he continues evenly, as though the two of you are discussing dinner plans or something equally as innocuous. “You buy a house on Jeju and you spend the rest of your life working on your tan. Do whatever you want with it. But it’s all yours.”

Now you think you might be sick.

“Tell me what is going on.” Your voice comes out brittle as spun sugar, barely audible over the heartbeat now pounding violently in your ears. “You can’t just come home and say – ”

“The first thing you do is go to Namjoon. He can walk you through everything. He has copies of –”

“Yoongi, please –”

“Hoseok has copies, too. Just as a backup,” he keeps talking like he can’t hear you at all, undeterred by your rising panic. “They can have cash to you that same day if you’re strapped. Plus the rentals in Daegu have –”

“Yoongi, listen to me – ”

“So it’s not like it’s a finite amount of money. There will be more coming in every –”

“Stop!” You’re shouting now, barely able to think around the noise in your head. “What – what the hell is wrong with you?”

You stare at him in utter disbelief at how easily these words seem to come to him. By how unaffected he seems to be while speaking your worst fears out loud. It has to be the whiskey that’s making him like this. It has to be the reason he can sit here and calmly lay out a blueprint for his death while you’re falling apart in slow-motion.

But he’s not calm anymore, is he? Not now. Not if the spark of anger that lights behind his eyes is any indication. Your outburst seems to have jarred Yoongi out of whatever bizarre state you found him in. Now the set of his jaw is hard. Now his dark eyes bore into yours, the intensity in them unnerving.

“Let’s just talk about this in the morning.” You swallow thickly and add,“You’re drunk and I’m exhausted and – ”

“We’re going to talk about this now,” Yoongi interrupts, in a tone so cold and flat it makes you shiver. “We’re done tiptoeing around the shit that makes us uncomfortable, Doc. We’re not doing that anymore.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m done letting you pretend that this situation is normal. Because it isn’t. You need to get it through your head that every single time I walk out that door there’s a good chance I might not come back.”

He could have slapped you and it would hurt less.

It doesn’t matter that he’s right – about the way you lie to yourself about the risks he’s taking. About the way you don’t allow your mind to dwell on what he’s doing when you wake up and he’s not there. It doesn’t matter that he’s right about the hundreds of ways you’ve come up with to avoid the uncomfortable truth. It still hurts like hell to hear him spell it out so plainly.

“This money – ” Yoongi pauses to drag a hand over his face, “ – This money is the one fucking thing I can do for you if I’m not here, Doc.”

You let your eyes fall to the papers in your hands, the fine print you’d barely been able to see just a few minutes before now painfully clear. Line after line after line of numbers – numbers so long you’re afraid to acknowledge where they begin and where they end. Numbers so long they seem ludicrous. You don’t even know where to begin wrapping your mind around this kind of wealth.

And it means nothing to you. Not without him.

Tears start to fall against your will. Angry tears you try to hide but Yoongi sees them anyway. He reaches for you, tipping your chin up with his fingers and swiping at your cheeks with one calloused thumb.

You sit there with watery eyes and a battered heart and watch as the change comes over him. As the fire in him dies out and the frustration slowly drains from his features. He strokes your face until the storm behind his eyes ebbs away completely, leaving only remorse. Regret.

“God, I’m sorry, Doc,” he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.” He presses kisses to the bridge of your nose, your wet lashes, your hair. “I’m such an asshole, God, I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything. Not until you’re sure you’re not crying anymore, not trembling anymore. You wait until you feel strong enough to use your voice without falling apart all over again and then pull away to look him in the eye.

“Why are you so angry, Yoongi?” You dab at your damp cheeks with one sleeve and straighten your spine, lift your chin. “Why are you so angry with me?”

Yoongi exhales deeply as he takes the papers out of your hands and wraps his arms around you. He pulls you in close, close enough to feel the way his heart is hammering inside his chest. Close enough to feel the way his throat works as he swallows over and over and over again before he speaks.

“I’m not angry, Doc,” he says after a while, voice thick with emotion. “I’m afraid.”

He’s passed out by the time you get out of the shower, face pressed deep into his pillow.

You dig in his drawer until you find his oldest, softest t-shirt – the one with the hole in the neck – and then you slip it on. You slide beneath the covers and press yourself to him; bury your face into his back. He doesn’t stir.

I’m afraid.

Yoongi’s words echo in your mind as you lie there in the dark praying for sleep to take you. You think about all of the horrible shit he’s confessed to you after a hard night, all the truly terrifying shit you’d only gotten wind of after a night of beers with one of the loose-lipped maknaes. Not once has Yoongi ever uttered those words to you.

Not once has he ever admitted to being afraid.

You lie there in the dark and try not to think about what that means. Try not to run down the list of terrible possibilities, one by one. You lie there for what feels like forever, certain that sleep will never come.

But eventually, it does.

You wake to the sound of the shower running.

A quick pass of your palm over the sheets beside you finds them still warm, so you slide over a bit – burrowing into that part of the bed that still smells like him. You lie there and listen to the water fall until you can finally summon the will to move.

Your hair is wild this morning on account of sleeping on it wet. It mocks you from the mirror as you brush your teeth, as you comb through it with your fingers, trying to tame the flyaway strands. Yoongi’s worn t-shirt skims the tops of your legs, the soft, tattered edges brushing against your thighs.

This is how he finds you when he opens the bathroom door – dressed in his ragged hand-me-downs, hair chaotic, a mouthful of fluoride foam. He stops to lean in the threshold and your eyes rake over the beads of water still clinging to his skin, the towel slung perilously low on his lean hips.

“Hey.”

Steam billows out from the open bathroom door and Yoongi shoves a hand into his wet hair, brushing back the curtain of dark strands that fall into his eyes. They tumble right back into place, disobedient. You spit and rinse.

“Hey yourself,” you reply slowly, unsure of where he’s landed this morning after all the emotion of last night. Probably a bit unsure of where you’ve landed, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Not as bad as I probably should,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.

He steps closer and you force yourself not to look down, not to be distracted in any way by the dusting of hair that starts low on his abdomen and disappears beneath the terry cloth knot. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, but fight the instinct to curl into it.

“I’m sorry about last night, Doc,” he says quietly. His eyes are clearer this morning, but the sadness still lingers. “I was way out of line.”

You shrug, toeing at a non-existent spot on the gleaming marble. “Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a long time and – I think I just kind of lost my shit. I should have done better.”

He cups your face in his hand and tilts your chin up, compelling you to look him in the eye.You find his gaze turbulent – some strange mix of contrition, arousal. Fear.

“Last night – ” he stops to blow out a heavy breath, “ – Was a shitshow, Doc. Hoseok was two steps away from taking a slug straight to the head. Everyone was shooting. It was fucking chaos.”

Suddenly it feels as though you’ve swallowed a spoonful of sand.

“But he’s, okay? Right? He’s not – ”

“No, he’s not,” Yoongi breaks in, saving you from having to voice the rest of that thought out loud. He drags the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “He’s okay.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re okay, too.”

“What about you?”

Yoongi’s entire body tenses at that question. His hand drops away from your face and the muscles in his shoulders and arms stiffen as he takes a half-step back. He sucks in a breath so sharp you nearly hold your own in response.

“I’m not going to push you,” you explain, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, you’re not ready. But if you tell me you’re afraid, then I’m going to ask you why, Yoongi. You have to know that.”

Yoongi drags a hand down his face, the tips of his ears pinking as a flush branches across his chest, his neck. You can’t help but feel like you’ve embarrassed him and the guilt is instantaneous, sinking in your stomach like a stone.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Really. We don’t have to do this right now. I can give you some space.”

You turn to make good on your promise, but you don’t get far. Yoongi catches your wrist with one hand, pulling you back to him with a firm grasp. “Don’t go,” he insists, dark eyes pleading.

“Then I won’t,” you promise. “Tell me what you need and I will do it, Yoongi. I swear it.”

He nods slowly, chest rising and falling with the series of steadying breaths he takes before he speaks.

“I went a really long time without anything to lose,” he starts. “It never mattered if I was out in the streets taking stupid risks every night because the only person who ever counted on me is me. Now all I can think about is you. What’s going to happen to you if I fuck up out there and get myself killed.”

“Then don’t get yourself killed.”

The words come out strained, despite your best attempt to make them sound lighthearted.

“It’s more than just that, Doc,” he persists, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. “Sometimes I worry that there will come a day when you wake up and decide this is too much for you. That it’s not what you signed up for.”

Your heart seizes painfully inside your chest. “No.” You shake your head vehemently, rejecting the notion with your entire body. “I won’t. I couldn’t.”

“The truth is that I can’t remember how I used to process all this bullshit before you. Now I think I have no idea how to do it without you. And that’s – ” He trails off, letting the thought hang in the air.

“Scary,” you murmur.

“Terrifying,” he corrects.

“Look at me, Yoongi,” you insist, stopping to swallow past the tightness in your throat. “I know what I signed up for. I know who you are. And I don’t want anyone or anything else. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes you off balance with his kiss. It’s frantic, frenzied – tongue in your mouth, lips at your ear, teeth at your pulse point. You gasp when he crushes his towel-clad hips to yours, the swollen outline of his cock already growing against your belly.

“I love you so fucking much, Doc.”

Yoongi growls the words into your mouth, blunt fingertips digging into the rounded curves of your ass. You free your hands long enough to tug at the towel around his hips until it falls away, snaking your fingers between your bodies to seek him out. Yoongi hisses when you wrap your warm palm around his cock, grip tight as you stroke him from base to tip.

“I need you, Yoongi. Right now.” You whisper the admission against the corner of his mouth, one hand guiding his cock to the juncture of your thighs. He shudders when he realizes you’re bare beneath his old, thin t-shirt, as you slide the length of him against the slippery heat that’s already pooling between your legs.

“So fucking wet already,” he gasps, the muscles of his stomach straining when you rock against him, slicking him with the moisture between your thighs. He shoves impatiently at the hem of your t-shirt, swearing under his breath as he tears it over your head without a single care for its fragile state. Then he tongues at both your nipples, gets them messy and wet before taking one of them between his teeth.

You whine at the drag of his tongue, at the rough way he toys with it until the peak is stiff and throbbing in his mouth. His hips rock faster against yours, cock now gliding easily through your wetness. Your inner thighs are slick with it and when Yoongi takes your other nipple into his mouth you can feel yourself grow even wetter.

You dig your hands into his damp hair.

“Yoongi, oh god, yes – ” you gasp, when he adjusts the angle of his slide so that he’s stroking against your clit. He likes the praise, he always has – and he drives closer, harder, just to hear you gasp again.

“I gotta get inside of you,” he mutters, cock twitching when your hands find and squeeze the muscles of his lean ass. “Right now, before I come like this.”

You release him from the vice grip of your thighs and turn around for him, pressing your palms flat to the counter. In the mirror, you watch as he runs one appreciative hand down the slope of your back. His fingers linger on the curve of your ass for a moment before he slides them lower, slipping two fingers inside of you.

Your hips jolt at the friction and Yoongi swears under his breath again.

In front of you, Yoongi’s reflection looks serious, brows knit in concentration as he slowly fucks you with his fingers. A flush spreads across his chest and up his neck as he works you, one hand pressed into the small of your back while his other hand stays buried inside your cunt.

“Yoongi,” you beg, arching your back to push harder against the heel of his hand, “Please just fuck me already.”

He chuckles darkly, slipping his fingers out of you. Then the slick sounds begin. You watch him in the mirror as he strokes his cock, jerking roughly at the blunt head before he’s pressing it to your entrance.

Then he’s pushing forward, sinking that first thick inch and your body gives way with little resistance. You’re so wet he buries himself to the hilt with one fluid thrust.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, pulling out all the way to the tip and burying himself again. “Shit, that’s so fucking good.”

He experiments with that same stroke a few times, reveling in the way your whimper each time he bottoms out. But he needs more, you need more, and after a while he abandons the slow, torturous pace and sets to fucking you with determination.

Your fingertips go as white as the bathroom counter.

He knows your body well by now, can bring you to the brink and back with just a few expert touches. The force of his thrusts makes you fold over and he uses the angle to his advantage, one hand gripping your ass tight as he fucks you and the other reaching for your clit. The combination of both touches has your legs shaking, the sound of his ragged panting sending a sharp spike of arousal directly to your core.

“Come for me,” he says from between clenched teeth. “You’re right there. I can feel it.”

He bends down to scrape his teeth against the back of your neck, his strokes becoming more erratic with each thrust. And you arch harder into the press of his fingers. Then you are coming, so damn hard your arms give out and you collapse against the counter, body pliant and weak.

Yoongi rides out his own release only a heartbeat later. Between his heavy breaths, you hear him say your name.

Your real name.

The human body is a remarkable thing.

It’s incredibly resilient; capable of withstanding terrible trauma. Designed to mend muscle, seal skin and fuse bone.

The scar that sits just below Yoongi’s clavicle is well-healed by now, barely visible at a distance. But you can feel it – what little evidence remains of both crisis and cure. You run a fingertip over the raised skin and marvel at the tiny dips and dents that live just above and just below the surface. Perfect in its imperfection.

Yoongi cracks one eye open to steal a look at you, quiet as he watches you absentmindedly map the faint line of his scar. The shower steam has evaporated now, leaving a chill lingering in the air. He draws the sheets draped around you both a bit tighter.

“This give you any trouble lately?” you ask.

“Nah. I noticed it a bit last week when it rained, but it hasn’t bothered me much since then.”

That’s another thing about the body. It forgives, but it doesn’t always forget. Pain can simmer just beneath the surface for a lifetime following an injury and some people even feel pain in limbs they no longer have. All it takes is the right trigger and all that hurt can feel fresh again.

Perhaps that’s true for more than just the body.

“You were right last night,” you admit, burying your face into the crook of his arm. “Sometimes it scares me so much to think about what you’re up against out there that it’s just easier to pretend it’s not real.”

Yoongi pulls you a bit tighter into his side, turns his head to press a kiss to the wild mass of your hair.

“Right or not, it was still a pretty fucked up way to go about talking to you about it,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you walking around every day waiting to get a call. That’s no way to live.”

Sometimes you don’t know how he does it. How he can leave this bubble of contentment the two of you have created together to go out there and walk a thin line between life and death. Sometimes you don’t know how he manages to keep one foot in that world and one foot in yours without fracturing in two.

The comfortable space you’ve settled into against him shifts as he takes a deep breath.

“You’re not going to fight me on this thing with the money, right?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’m not going to fight you about the money. I know why you did what you did.”

“Good.”

“But if I’d known you were sitting on that much money, we would have had that argument on a yacht instead of in this apartment.”

Your smart mouth earns you a pinch to the side and you yelp, pinned in place by Yoongi’s iron grip.

“That hurt.”

“It was supposed to hurt.”

Yoongi’s mouth curves into a lazy grin as you glare at him.

“Funny. Anyway if I were you, I’d be sleeping with one eye open, Min. I might off you myself and get a beach house and a pool boy.”

“I would haunt that motherfucker.”

The two of you share a laugh at that – a good one, the kind of laugh you feel from your scalp all the way to the tips of your toes. But after a while the laughter subsides. The humor slowly seeps out of Yoongi’s face. His dark eyes go serious.

“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your face in one hand. He looks down at you with such sincerity that your heart trips inside your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that right?”

It’s not a lie. Not really. He means it when he says it, though both of you know it’s a promise he’s not in any position to make. But you’ll believe it, for him. For you, too.

You close your eyes and press your cheek to his chest; allow yourself to savor the feel of his solid warmth.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know.”

hi i actually wrote something and i'm feeling very happy about this. thank you for reading i hope you find an extra $20 in your pocket 💕

— How To Lie —

+ pairing: jake sim x female reader + genre: drabble, angst, exes!au, small town!au + warnings: none + wordcount: 0.8k + requested as part of my Drabble Event #1 + summary: Coming back home wasn't supposed to be this painful. But when you saw your ex, you can't help but wonder if you ever got over him. + A/N: Hello, how are you? A new day, a new drabble from me to you! I hope you enjoy this one. Please, like/reblog this if you enjoy reading it and let me know your thoughts through an ask if you feel like it! As always, happy reading!

This part of town didn’t bring you any good memories. Anywhere you looked, you were reminded of your ex, Jake, and of everything you had experienced together. He was your first in many matters. Your first love. Your first kiss. Your first time. And your first heartbreak.

Moving away from this town had been an impulsive decision on your part but you couldn’t stay any longer. You thought that time away would heal your wounds, but now that you were back, you understood that they hadn’t healed, you simply delayed the process.

The snow fell softly, greeting your coat with tiny crystals that you carried on your journey to the small restaurant. You had agreed to meet with your parents there but you were already regretting it. The restaurant was too close to where Jake used to work at and part of you was scared you would cross paths with him.

He can’t know I’m back, you thought to yourself and fixed the hood over your head, hoping it would conceal your features. However, this was a small town, and this was the only restaurant around. If people saw you there, tomorrow morning Jake would know you were here already. You wondered how he would feel about it.

When you reached the street of the restaurant, you saw the small line that stood outside and placed yourself behind the last person, grabbing your phone from your coat’s pocket and calling your parents.

“I’m outside!” You informed your mother as soon as she picked up the phone. “Should I come in or are you still on your way?”

“We’re still parking, Y/N. Keep a place in line for us, will you?”

“Sure.” You nodded and hung up the call, saving your phone in your pocket. Next to you, someone was closing the local bookstore, locking the doors while smiling and mumbling a soft melody under their breath.

Your heart sank in your chest as soon as you understood who he was. You wanted to escape, to run away and hide, but he quickly glanced at you. The smile faded and he gulped as he looked at you, surprised.

“Y/N?” He fixed his glasses and narrowed his eyes on you. “It’s… you, isn’t it?”

You considered lying. You considered saying that he was mistaking you for someone else, but you knew you couldn’t do that to him.

He slowly walked closer to you, a soft smile greeting his features. For a while, none of you said anything. You simply looked at each other, probably noticing what had changed and what remained the same. Jake was still handsome, and your heart still ached for him. He now wore glasses and was the owner of the local bookstore, something that he always strived for.

“How have you been?” He asked, excited to see you again. “It’s been a while since you visited.”

“I’m not staying for long.” You stated as quickly as you could, not meeting his eyes. “I am only here to visit my parents. And I’ve been well. Better than ever, actually.”

“I see…” He messed up his hair, a sigh escaping his lips. Jake glanced back at you with the same expression he did when you were still together, he looked at you fondly. “You don’t have to lie, you know?”

“I’m not lying.” You crossed your arms, feeling defensive. “I am telling you the truth.”

“Then say it while you look me in the eyes. Then, I’ll believe you.”

It wasn’t a challenge. It was a request from him, one that you couldn’t abide by. Doing so would expose what you so deeply wanted to hide from him. You weren’t back only to visit your parents. And you certainly weren’t doing well. Those were meaningless lies that Jake quickly caught you on.

“It’s been too long…” You whispered, finally looking at him. Small speckles of snow greeted his hair, a view that brought both happiness as it did sadness. “Shouldn’t you… not remember these things about me?”

He shook his head, his smile never fading. “Your eyes, Y/N. They never lie to me, even when you do so. Besides, you’re—"

“Oh, here you are!” Your mother quickly approached you, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her embrace. “Look at you! We’ve missed you so much!”

When she let go of you, you looked back to where Jake had been only to find that spot taken by your father. You tried to look over his shoulder as he hugged you, only to find Jake walking away, his steps light and carefree. When he reached the end of the street, he turned back to look at you, smiling.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered and closed your eyes, preventing the tears from falling.

“We’ve missed you too.” Your father said, pulling you closer to him.

However, you weren’t just missing your parents anymore. You were missing Jake too. And that was a feeling you thought you had buried to never meet again. But then again, you hadn’t fully healed.

You simply delayed the process.

©mxxndreams 2021 All rights reserved Copying, reposting, translating and/or modifications of my work is strictly prohibited.

what do you think would happen if ur phone starting ringing when you n kat r fucking 😭

btw i love ur work.. you characterize bkg so well im obsessed

i can’t believe i’ve never done a drabble for this idea?? i can’t remember if i have and they’re one of my favourite scenarios to read. anywaysss i could get technical because i think it depends on how long since you last had sex, how long he’s been waiting to come, who’s topping, who’s calling and everything.

in all situations your head is glancing to your phone, half moaning, your eyes barely open as he thrusts into you. he hates how your attention drifts away from him at the sound of the vibration/ring tone. “keep your fuckin’ eyes on me.” and he’d pull your chin back to face him. but equally he’s finding the ringing so fucking annoying. he wants to hear you and your pretty sounds and he wants to tell you everything he’s thinking. but it’s hard when your phone won’t shut up.

so he very roughly grabs for your phone, trying not to pull out of you and presses to decline the call. then there’s not even a minute and it rings again and he’s swearing so loud. “for fucks sake. who the fuck wants you more than me?”

if it’s a mutual friend who won’t stop calling (main cast) he’s defo picking up, deepest voice ever and so annoyed, “call yn back in an hour. if you call again, i will fuckin murder you.”

if it’s your best friend, he’d still be irritated especially if he sees you a little curious to answer, “yn is busy. call her later.” and he throws the phone on the floor. you both know you’re going to explain this situation to her later. honestly she probably already knows what you’re doing right now. “make sure you tell her how good i’m fuckin’ you, yeah? how it’s worth missing her call.”

if it’s one of your family members he’s one hand by your head, still thrusting and with his other hand he’s turning your phone off. holding down the buttons and dropping it on the bed by your head to swipe it off. grunts, “does nobody want to let me make you come tonight?”

and a random guy who he knows has a crush on you, guy you used to go school with who keeps forgetting you have a boyfriend. this time bakugou laughs when he sees the name on your screen.

“who is it?” you’re breathless.

“that fuckin’ loser you went school with. he’s gonna wish he never called.”

and you’re not even coherently thinking when bakugou answers the phone, holds it between his shoulder and ear as he repositions himself.

“what?” is how he answers the phone.

“yn? erm, is yn there?”

now he’s leaning forward slightly, tip pressing your favourite spot and he’s playing with your clit. you’re noisy now, withering and grinding back onto him.

“yeah she is but she can’t talk. couldn’t even if she tried.”

you’re whining, mumbles of “h-hang uhhhh-ppp.”

“oh, okay. could you tell her i called?”

bakugou chuckles, knowing your sounds are coming across the phone and he can definitely hear them.

“can i tell you to fuckin’ give up? she’s mine, bro. you’re tryin’ to call yn and i’m fuckin’ her right now. move the fuck on.” the lines silent on the other end.

bakugou ends it with, “you already know who i am. if you wanna —fuck— if you wanna discuss this.”

“katsuki.. i needa—,”

and bakugou hangs up to focus on you.

Oh my god I love this persons prompts!! <33

“Are you blushing or is that just blood from where I slammed your head against the wall?”

when it's actually enemies to lovers >>

An Education in Malice — Part Two

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT /sexual content (not reader and az this time tho), swearing, eris having a soft spot for his sister, some low-blow comments and jokes about experienced trauma, mentions of sex, slut shaming if you squint

Word Count: 5.9k

← Part One

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was night by time Eris returned home.

The room was capped in a comfortable silence, only the crackling of the fire next to you and the soft breaths of the two hounds that surrounded you— Laney at your feet, Flint lying on the floor nearby. The couch was soft below you as you lay comfortably on it, fingers absentmindedly tracing the paper edges of the book in your hands. Despite the peace of the room, something not often found in Forest House, your mind sat heavy with racing thoughts. 

Every single one seemed to drift back to Azriel. 

You had already bathed, had already spent time delicately rubbing your skin raw of any scent, of any traces that might connect you back to your earlier decisions. It was a blessing, truly, that Eris had spent the day with his own affairs. You made a note to thank The Mother for the grace given to you— if you had returned home to your brother in the state that you had been, there was no doubt in your mind he would have made a decision even more rash than yours. 

But it didn’t seem to help. You weren’t able to wash it off as well as you’d hoped. There was something that still lingered, something ingrained into you, into your bloodstream itself. You weren't a stranger to questionable decisions— but this, this was perhaps your worst to date. 

Because there was something deep in you that now felt powerful. 

Azriel was driven by duty— by a devotion to his little family that made you angry, a devotion that left him blind and prone to defensiveness. The thought that he would have to return home, to face his family knowing he’d broken some boundary, some sense of trust…. It warmed you in a way that the fire next to you never could.  

A small creek echoed and from below you, Flint perked up, head lifting in alertness, ears perched and engaged. A moment later, Eris emerged, his eyes meeting yours instantly as he offered you a small, tired smile. He took in the scene before him as you closed the book in your lap. 

“Eventful day?”

He let out a small sigh, perching himself on the edge of the couch opposite you. Flint laid on the floor still, watching him closely as his tail thumped lightly against the ground in greeting. "I suppose.”

There was a pause as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. "And the Shadowsinger?" 

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fingers running along the edges of the pages before responding with a casual shrug. "Uneventful,” you replied, “He gave no updates.”

Eris only let out a breath in response, a single eyebrow raised momentarily.

"He’s very…reactive for a Spymaster," you added, a wry smile now playing at the corners of your lips. “You would think they’d be more collected.”

"They’re all reactive," Eris chuckled softly, his mouth turning up in a smile that mirrored your own. His gaze flickered towards the hound at your feet, and you followed his line of sight, reaching down to scratch her head gently.

"Almost more reactive than sweet Laney over here," you teased, earning a soft huff of agreement from her wet nose as she leaned into your touch.

Laney was one of the only female hounds your family owned, a true vision of regal elegance. Eris had trained her specifically for you, a hound just as stubborn and reactive as yourself— and loyal to a fault, as he had told you. 

Eris chuckled once more, a sound more gentle and quiet than his normal tone. When you turned to look at him, you were met with a face lost in contemplation, eyes glazed over as his gaze remained fixed on Laney. You frowned, feeling your brows furrow as you took him in, taking notice of the dark circles below his amber eyes.

“Go rest,” you said quietly, giving him a smile as his gaze snapped to yours. 

Eris gave you a small nod as he rose from his perch on the couch. Flint followed the motion instantly rising up from the floor to stand at his side. Your brother crossed the room to where you sat, taking large strides to the hallway behind you. There was a playful gleam in his eyes as he passed you, his hand reaching out to tousle your hair affectionately. 

"Goodnight, sister," he said softly, hand lingering on your head for a moment before he continued walking.

He made it a few more steps before you called out to him. 

"Eris," you began, turning your body to place your hands on the couch and rest your chin upon them. "I want to come to more meetings."

He turned to face you, brows furrowing in mild confusion. "Why?"

"I want to be informed.”

His eyes scanned your face. "I tell you everything I know.”

You let out a sigh, casting a quick glance toward the cracking fire. Then you looked at your brother with a small frown. “I want to be more than just a recipient of passing messages."

It was true. Although you did all the favors Eris asked of you, which extended to taking his place in meetings, he tended to avoid involving you unless it was necessary. You knew that it came from a place of protection, a sense of comfort knowing that he could perhaps save you from hurt so long as you never came near it. But you felt useless, and you wanted to do more. Collecting intel from your father’s acquaintances and listening for news was the most you’d been able to do. You didn’t want to admit that you’d been offered the taste of a newer freedom today— and you suddenly had a craving you weren’t able to smother. 

The next words that came from your mouth weren’t needed. It was wrong to guilt Eris, to take advantage of the soft spot he held for you and your power. But you did it anyway.

"I am more than just a pretty face,” you told him, “Prove to them that not all of Autumn believes females to be weak."

He hesitated for a moment, lips twitching in thought. 

"Okay," he conceded, "But not too often. We still need to avoid suspicion."

You gave him a smile. "Thank you," you said softly.

Your brother stared at you for a moment, his hand absentmindedly rubbing at the hound that stood next to him. 

"Thank you for taking my place today," He finally said, his tone sincere. "I know that meeting must not have been entertaining, with the brute and all."

A flicker of guilt sparked in your stomach, but you shrugged it away. Quickly, it was replaced with a sense of pride. What Eris didn’t know surely wouldn’t hurt him, and despite how questionable your decisions may have been, they weren’t dangerous— and certainly wouldn’t be repeated again. You gave him a grin. 

"I know how to tame beasts." 

As if on cue, Laney perked up from her position at your feet, her extended neck looking over to where Eris stood behind the couch. He let out a chuckle.

"Indeed you do.” You offered you the small, almost sad, smile once more. “Goodnight.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, you watched as he exited the room, the soft sound of Flint’s paws padding after him. 

You waited until it was quiet again, until the a distant creak of Eris's door closing reached your ears, before you turned yourself around on the couch. You brought a hand to rest on Laney’s head, leaning in closer as you gently rubbed your thumbs on her coat.

"Well that was fun, huh?" you murmured softly, the words directed more to yourself than to the hound in front of you. Laney nustled further into your touch. 

For a moment longer, you lingered in the quiet of the room, the weight of your thoughts mingling with the gentle warmth of the fire. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was going batshit crazy— this he knew for certain.

He was a sick male. A male now plagued with a disease he worried had no cure. He was on the brink of a certain madness that was driven by you, and you alone. 

A part of him wondered if your sudden involvement had anything to do with your latest encounter with him. But it made no sense— you were at every meeting with Cassian, causing him to come home grumbling about how he was forced to deal with not one, but two pretentious cunts. Yet, it was only ever Eris when Azriel was free to receive updates. 

You had always been some sort of mystery— a fact that used to drive Azriel crazy. He didn’t like unknown factors, didn’t like not knowing his threats properly. You were often shrouded away in the shadows, hidden in the affairs of the Autumn Court. In line with the Vanserra philosophies, as Azriel saw it, you, as a female, truly had no place outside of your court. The times that he did see you were all the same— some snarky comment made from your lips, a sneer at him or anyone from his family, usually Mor.

Yet, you had been there with him three weeks ago. And Azriel hadn’t been able to read you. Not properly anyway, not even when he was inside you, not even as he pushed you to completion.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he enjoyed it.

You were the perfect middle ground. Not exactly an enemy— Azriel would never betray his family so deeply. But you weren’t exactly an ally either, weren’t someone he owed even an ounce of respect to— weren’t a person he needed to keep a face with. And gods did it feel good to think about how he could ruin you— how furious your brothers would be at the idea of him enjoying such intimacies with you. Eris, especially. Azriel couldn’t kill the pretentious fucker, but he could damage him in other ways. Fucking his sister seemed like a good place to start. A wonderful place for him, at least.

Not much scared Azriel. Not much at all. But this, this hunger he felt, the enjoyment he got from experiencing you, it scared him enough to instantly seek out something to distract him. 

But there was an itch he wasn’t able to scratch.

And that itch looked like you, smelled like you, sounded like you–

Azriel blinked hard, trying to shake off the haze of his thoughts. His attention snapped back to the present, finding himself gazing down at the blonde kneeling between his legs. Her blue eyes met his as she sucked on him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock as she worked the base of him with a perfectly manicured hand. 

She removed her mouth from his tip, hand still pumping the length of him as she looked up at him with wide eyes. A seductive smirk danced on her lips as she bit down on them. "I love sucking your cock,” she whispered huskily, “Does it feel good?"

Azriel stared at her for a moment, eyes still slightly glazed over. He bit the inside of his cheek as he hesitated. Then he nodded. 

"Keep going.”

He wrapped his hand in her hair, guiding her movements as he took control, bucking into her mouth with urgency. But every thrust, though pleasurable, felt unsatisfying. 

He tried for a few more minutes, tried to readjust himself on her blue velvet couch, tried to lean his head back and close his eyes as he bobbed her head on his cock— nothing worked. The image of three weeks ago was seared into the back of his eyelids, staring back at him every moment he blinked. He was stressed, frustrated, and had a boiling anger that had only continued to build up recently. Nothing seemed to be working for him, not in his duties, not in his life, not even in his sexual activities. 

He tried to focus on the sensations coursing through his body, on the pleasure the female before him was offering so freely to him. But every noise she made, every movement she made, only served to remind him that he was too on edge to enjoy it. And fuck, Azriel couldn’t even remember her name. With a frustrated growl, he pulled her off with a pop, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. She frowned as Azriel’s hands left their place on her scalp.

When he wouldn’t reach her eyes with his own, she climbed up on him, her voice a seductive purr as she offered herself to him. 

"Use me however you want. Let your frustrations out."

For a moment, Azriel hesitated, his mind torn between desire and something else, something deeper. He could do it— and he could probably enjoy it. So long as she wasn’t facing him, so long as he could pretend it was...you?

With a sudden surge of energy, he pulled himself up, his hands gripping her tightly as he threw her onto the bed. She let out an excited sequel as he moved towards her, positioning her at the edge of the bed for him to slot himself behind her. As he entered her, a low groan escaped his lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. 

Her high-pitched whine echoed in the room, mingling with his grunts of exertion as he pounded into her, his grip on her hips firm—  almost bruising. She let out breathy moans in response, her body arching against his as he began to move relentlessly, beginning to buck his hips into her fast and hard.

It was then he felt a cool sensation trailing up his body, disembodied whispers drowning out her words of praise.

She walks along the mortal lands, his shadows whispered, deep in the forest.

The female below him gave another whine. 

Alone, Alone, Alone. 

Quickly, Azriel pulled out of her, leaving her gasping for air and reaching out for him in confusion. But he was already moving, hastily gathering his clothes and rushing towards the door.

Without a word, he threw some money onto the nearby dresser, barely sparing a glance as he made his way out of the door. She turned herself around to stare at the scattered payment on the counter, a frown marring her features. With a frustrated grumble, she fell back onto the bed.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Eris hadn’t told you much.

Beron’s men were thinly spread these days— running in and out of the court, falling into hushed whispers behind your father’s private quarters. Eris’ soldiers told him as much as they could, but with their low numbers, there wasn’t much they could do, not many places they could sneak to without notice. 

Eris was still recovering from the loss, from the men he lost to Azriel and Cassian’s slaughter— to Briallyn and her ability to render them mindless attackers. Your brother wasn’t only mourning his forces, but his friends as well. All of them meant something to him, their loyalty, the bond he had formed to gain their trust. But he would never admit it, not to himself, not even to you. There was no time for mourning in the Autumn Court. 

So you found yourself along the border to the Mortal Lands now, seeking out any sign of where your father’s men may be hiding out. From what you’d gathered so far, they had some areas of rest in the moral lands, areas that were hidden far enough to where they couldn’t be trailed, but close enough to Koschei if it was needed— and that was your fathers entire plan. He was getting desperate, he was getting paranoid— scared of his future, scared of Eris. 

You paused, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. There was a bristle behind you and you lifted your chin in response, taking a deep breath of the air. Something flickered within you. Without turning around, you spoke into the stillness of the forest.

"Do you always stalk the females you fuck, or am I just special?" 

A voice, hard as stone, responded from behind you. "I'm not stalking you."

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting the shadowed figure emerging from the depths of the trees. Azriel stood before you, his expression flat as usual. His shadows spread out from his form, floating around him like a faint black outline. 

"Then what do you call following a lady into the woods from afar?" 

Azriel’s face remained stoic, save for the slight raise of an eyebrow. 

 "Show me a lady and then maybe I'll tell you," he said, voice dripping with a sardonic wit that set something inside you alight— something deep in your gut.

You let out a sound of surprise before you were laughing at the snark, lips curving into a smirk. Azriel tensed, his jaw tightening as the sound reached his ears.

"Oh, someone's feeling playful," you remarked with a teasing lilt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Rhysand give you a longer leash?"

Azriel said nothing in response, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you unable to stay still. A moment passed as his eyes continued to bore into yours. And then he spoke, a tone cutting through the air like a finely sharpened blade. “You’ve been avoiding me."

There was a tinge of irritation in his tone that made you want to grin. 

So he’d noticed.

It was unintended at first, truly. Things were difficult in Autumn recently, with all the whispered rumors of your father planning something questionable. You found yourself only able to attend the meetings in which Eris met with Cassian and his, now, prized mate. 

But in the back of your head, a part of you was amused at the idea that Azriel may begin to overthink— that a part of him would get frustrated that you were just out of reach. You weren’t exactly sure why that reaction would be warranted, but you knew it would happen nonetheless. You had an idea, now, how that pretty little mind of his worked. After all, he was a paranoid, anger-prone insomniac. Those types rarely made sane decisions. Seeing him before you now, on edge, irritable, it made it worth the wait. 

You raised an amusement eyebrow.

“Have I?"

The feigned innocence in your tone burned deep with annoyance in Azriel’s gut. He grit his teeth in response. 

"Yes," he replied.

You scoffed lightly. "You have a mighty inflated sense of self. I don't decide my activities based on the likes of you."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but you swore a flicker of something passed through his darkened eyes— a hint of frustration, perhaps. It was delicious. 

"You've begun to join Eris in our meetings.”

Your eyebrow quirked up in response. You said nothing. Azriel continued.

 "And yet, never the ones with me.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes in a narrow-squint as you ran your tongue along your teeth. Azriel’s eyes dropped to your lips, tracing the motion. A grin grew on your face.

"Have you missed me, Shadowsinger?" 

“No,” Azriel responded swiftly, “I’m suspicious of you."

"Yeah?" You crossed your arms across your chest. Once again, Azriel’s eyes fell as he took in the motion. “And whys that?” 

His eyes seemed to narrow at the playfulness in your voice, but he gave no further physical reaction, simply continuing to hold your gaze as he responded. "I don't trust you.”

You rolled your eyes. "Get in line."

"You are bordering the mortal lands," Azriel stated, his voice a low rumble. "If there are updates regarding Koschei, we should be informed."

"Why?" you challenged, a note of defiance now coloring your tone. Azriel’s jaw clenched, light pouring through the trees in a way that made the shadows on his face even harsher. His own moved around him in an uneasy dance. 

"Because we have an agreement." 

"Uh uh," you retorted, shaking your head. "You have an agreement with Eris, not me. I don't owe you shit."

His self-control was wearing thin now. Azriel hadn’t forgotten how much you tested his patience— but the past three weeks had somehow softened the aggravation he felt around you in his own mind. He was being reminded now, in real time, why it was a good idea for him to keep his distance. 

"Careful," he growled. You didn’t miss the slight twitch in his wings, still carefully tucked between his shoulder blades.

You raised an eyebrow.  "Is that a warning or a threat?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened. Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, a predatory grace in his movements as he took a step closer.

"Both." 

"Let me guess,” you said mockingly, “If I'm not an ally, I'm a threat.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, shadows swirling around him like a storm brewing. “Yes.”

You pursed your lips, taking a step towards him. Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, a small crease forming between his brows as he traced the movement. A heat stirred within you. 

"Do you fuck all your threats?" 

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his temple as his shadows danced with a restrained bite. You paid it no mind as you continued to step closer to him, closing the distance between you.

"That's why you're really here, isn't it?" 

Your voice was a low, sultry taunt. You were inches away from him now, looking up at him through your lashes as you reached a hand out to touch his chest.

He tensed beneath your touch. With a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, you slowly trailed your fingers up his chest. It took Azriel a moment too long before he grabbed your hand.

Your smirk widened, eyes flickering to where his scarred hand wrapped around your wrist. You met his eyes next, a deep, angry, brown that bore into yours. 

"How did it feel?" you said, voice dropping to a low purr, "When you went home and looked your brothers in the face, knowing you'd done yet another thing to disappoint them?"

The remark hit Azriel in his gut, twisting in his stomach with a burning intensity that he wasn’t used to. Whether it was anger, guilt, or annoyance as the vulgarity, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hand, eyes narrowing with a dangerous flame as he stared down at you. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t tear away from his gaze. There was an addicting sense of satisfaction at having struck a nerve with him once more. You took a second to revel in the discomfort you provoked, in the way his muscles tensed at your voice– in the scent change you smelled in the air, now thick with unspoken desire and heady arousal. 

Azriel leaned down, voice dropping to a heated whisper. "I've done a lot worse than you."

He released your hand from his grip. You let it fall to your side.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you said with a knowing grin. "And it eats you up the same, doesn't it?"

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as bat an eye at you. A moment passed. And then another. Something flickered across his face. You could have sworn his eyes were now adorned with an amusing glow, that the corners of his lips tilted upwards. 

"How was it when you returned home covered in me?" he challenged, voice edged with a sweet, sweet, bitterness. “In my scent, filled with my cum?”

Shivers rippled across your skin as a cool sensation cascaded over your body. You glanced down, watching as dark shadows slithered up your form.

You took a deep breath, ignoring their ghostly touch as you raised an unphased eyebrow in response. "No one batted an eye," you replied coolly.

The shadows continued to move in Azriel’s silence, now wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip that made your heart race. You gritted your teeth at the sensation, pushing back the rush of memories that were now flooding into your mind— memories of the last time his shadows had caressed your skin, tracing every curve and dip of your body with intimate knowledge. Your eyes met Azriel’s.

"Guess you didn't leave that much of an impression.”

A low snarl escaped Azriel's lips. "Or perhaps they're used to you carrying a male's scent.”

You mocked him with a smirk, taking a step back to maintain your distance. His shadows fell from their position around your neck swiftly, rushing back to his body as Azriel's jaw clenched.

 "Well now I'm getting mixed signals. Last time I was deprived of a male’s touch, now I'm a whore?"

Azriel said nothing. His teeth seemed to grind against each other with such force that you half-expected them to break under the pressure of his frustration.

"For someone who is so sensitive about his delirious crush being called a slut, you're sure eager to throw such terms around to me." 

Your words dripped with a sense of sarcasm, a sense of mockery, that Azriel could almost feel. His wings flared out slightly in response. 

"I never said that," was his only reply. 

It wasn't an apology. No, Azriel wanted to make sure that whatever words he said were the exact ones he meant. A memory tugged at the corners of his mind, a reminder of the last time you’d stirred such a response in him, of when he had called you those very words in the heat of passion— if he could even call it that. And you had responded in kind, your body yielding to his touch with a fervor that belied any notion of innocence.

Before he could stop himself, he felt himself speak once more. "Although you seemed to enjoy it quite thoroughly when I did."

Deep in your chest, there was a flicker of flame, his words igniting a spark of something within you. You bristled at the insinuation, but dutifully ignored the comment— ignored the connotations that came with it. Instead, you hummed in response, shaking your head. 

"That's the thing with you hypocrites. You never just own up to it, do you?”

With a faint smirk still playing on your lips, you took a few steps backwards, eyes trained on him and the shadows coiling around his arms. 

“Always a displeasure to speak with you, Shadowsinger.”

As you turned around and began to walk away, there was a queasy feeling in your stomach, a realization that you'd do something to be in this position again, to find a way to rile him up. The thought of igniting that volatile spark between you, setting off sparks like last time—it was too tempting to resist. 

But as you felt the burning of his gaze into your back, you couldn’t ignore the nagging truth. He wasn't just a fun toy to play with. Azriel was obsessive, that much you could gather from him— from his history with Morrigan, from his methods of interrogation, from his pride as a spymaster. And the way he was before you now, with the intensity that he regarded you with, it would surely prove to be a problem; a hindrance to being able to help Eris to the best of your ability. 

And before your fun— before any amusement you found in Azriel— came one thing. Your loyalty to your brother. 

With a steadying breath, you paused and glanced back at him over your shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," you called out, "If you follow me again–"

You turned around completely to face him. With a hand wreathed in flame, you lazily pointed to his hands, fisted at his sides. 

"I'll pick up where your brothers left off.”

Azriel's gaze flickered down to your hand,  down to his own, and then back up to meet your eyes. 

You brought the same hand near your lips, blowing a kiss in his direction. Azriel watched as a flame danced in the air, swirling and twirling in the shape of a small heart. 

Then, without another word, you turned and left, disappearing into the forest. 

His gaze followed the flickering flame as it dissipated into the cool breeze. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found Eris in his room, seated at his desk as he wrote on one of many scattered papers.

Eris’ room was more full of life than one would expect, adorned with a carefully curated selection of artwork that perfectly showed his refined tastes. Various books lined the shelves of his walls. He had always been quite the scholar at heart, with a keen eye for art and literature. It was a side of your brother that few outside the family knew— a facet of his personality that he shared with Lucien. It was one of the things they shared so closely, but they never talked about it, never truly had any chance to bond beyond the trauma of existing in your family. 

The thought of it made your heart hurt. You pushed it away as you moved to sit at the edge of Eris’ bed, watching as he put his papers together before turning to look at you. When he met your eyes, you shook your head. 

 "Nothing,” you said, “But I wasn't able to get far, anyways.”

Eris lifted an eyebrow in response. “What do you mean?”

"That Shadowsinger sure knows how to keep himself busy.”

There was a tick in Eris’ jaw that told you he was more than annoyed— and that he had a few choice words he was fighting to say. But, instead, Eris simply rolled his eyes. 

“Of fucking course,” He said as he leaned back in his chair. He ran a hang along his face. "Are you able to handle him?"

You resisted the urge to snicker, at both your brother’s irritation and the experiences you’ve had with Azriel. Your mind replayed the subtle giveaways that Azriel’s body had given in response to your taunts— and then continued to pour in images of how those taunts had led him to succumbing to a primal desire. 

You met your brother's gaze with a smug shrug. "Yes,” you responded, “Very well, I’d say. He hasn’t killed me yet.”

Your words were a simple joke, but Eris seemed to tense at them nonetheless. You frowned, but the reaction was short-lived as he nodded in thought. His eyes flickered to yours. 

"Good, because I need you to take my place.”

You blinked, your brows furrowing as you leaned forward. 

"What do you mean, ‘your place'?" 

Eris met your gaze casually. "Meeting with them," he clarified, his voice steady and unwavering.

“You want me to go in your place permanently?”

You knew for certain that the look on your face was nothing short of annoyance and disgust. 

"For now," Eris replied evenly. "If they’re suspicious of you, give them a reason not to be."

You paused. Your mind raced with countless disembodied thoughts and images, the realization that you’d be around Azriel once more– and much more often; that you'd have to deal with them all. Deal with them and their blinding arrogance. Eris, for all of his outward appearances, had an ability to be diplomatic— to a certain extent at least, given his bite. But you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not all the time, not without your brother. Your previous meeting with Eris, Cassian, and Nesta proved your point— one more comment from you, and you were sure the brute or his death-bride would have killed you on the spot.

You tilted your head at Eris. 

"And you’ll follow the leads with your men."

He nodded.

He needed your help. And if you weren’t able to keep Azriel at arms length, the least you could do was keep him occupied enough so his wandering eyes wouldn’t travel to your brother. Now that— that was something you could do. You could ruin him.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and lifted your chin.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll do it.” 

Eris gave a laugh. “How sweet that you thought you had a choice.”

You rolled your eyes as Eris stood up, brushing himself off slightly as he walked towards you. 

"But you do know that I will have to tell them our suspicions eventually.”

You scrunched your face, looking up at him with a distasteful, frustrated frown. 

"Why?" 

He lifted his brows, baring a facial expression that mirrored that of an exasperated parent. 

"Because we have an allian–”

You interrupted him with an annoyed flick of your hand.

"Alliance, yes, I know," you muttered. "Which I still don’t understand."

Eris sighed. "Y/n—"

A pent-up frustration bubbled beneath you, a simmering heat in your stomach that made you feel antsy. You did your best to bite it down, to swallow the annoyance that was suffocating you, but it was no use. You were never good at holding back your outbursts.

"No, actually, doesn’t it bother you?" you asked, your voice rising slightly. "That they think they're so much better than you, than us?"

Eris clenched his jaw, but he remained composed. This was a conversation you’d had many times before, a frustration that you’d voiced and struggled with since you learned what the emotions of hate, of contempt, truly were. 

"I don’t worry myself with what night-dwellers think of me.”

You let out an angry breath. 

"Yet you're put in a position to constantly defend yourself.”

Eris was losing his temper now, his voice growing strained as he fought to keep composure for your sake.  “I don’t enjoy aligning myself with them, but it's what's needed.”

"I would kill Beron tomorrow if you’d let me. We could do it alone."

Eris shook his head firmly. "No," he stated, his tone left no room for argument. "That is a risk I’m not going to take. Not with you, not with our mother."

"They will never see you as anything worthy of respect, Eris.”

“Their respect is not something I need,” he snapped, "When I’m fixing this court, it won’t matter.”

"It matters to me.”

There was a strain in your voice that you didn’t notice until Eris’ eyes softened. And then he was letting out a deep breath, looking at you with the hint of a frown. 

"Don’t let it.”

His voice was softer now. The same voice he’d used to soothe you during thunderstorms, the same voice that coached you through learning how to control your fire. 

"I hate them. I hate that we have to cater to them because they're our only aid right now."

"The feeling is mutual. That’s what makes this work.”

“But we have reasons to hate them," you countered, “Very valid reasons.” 

Eris sighed, a tired resignation in his tone. “They believe they have reasons, too.”

You fell silent, shaking your head in disbelief as you bit the inside of your cheek. That simmering anger still boiled beneath the surface—  the anger of feeling wronged, of being backed into a corner and then being punished for biting. 

Eris watched you closely, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"They do not matter," he reassured you. "They will never matter— not truly. We use them now, and you will never have to be near them again."

You nodded as Eris brought you into his chest, giving you a small hug as he held your head in his hand.  

But a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind. Deep within the corners of your mind, deep within your chest, something told you that his words were wrong. Something old— something strong. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

a/n: who is ready for some nasty slutty feral enemies with benefits… 😋😋 ME YALL ITS MEEEE

i was worried about writing a part w no smut but these dynamics need to be built up first 😮‍💨 its so funny to me that both her and az are like ya... i have the upperhand here.... i am winning....

enemies who actually don’t like each other >>

enemies who didn’t “always love” each other >>

enemies to forced proximity trope >>

the future of malice! az & malice! reader going from no respect towards each other to playful flirting banter >>

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

G/t July 2022 Day 12: Borrower

Borrower AU for Transformers: Rescue Bots. I talked about this one for a bit with @nonbinary-octopus so I hope they like seeing it as a chapter! 

Contains: Fear, kidnapping, and I think that’s it

Wordcount: 1.6K

~~~

“What’s rule number one of scavenging?” 

“Never be seen.” Cody answered automatically as he walked alongside his oldest brother. They were on their way to the living room through the interior of the walls. 

Keep reading

I am the center of your world

Xiu Xiu, Chapel of the Chimes (2002)

Max belongs to @wolfxplush 😋

Stella Octangula

Alastor's nice little daily walk in Pentagram City.

stray kids jerking off (18+)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: masturbation (duh); stray kids being gross boys (/pos); mentions of watching porn, sex workers, sex toys (nipple clamps, dildos, fleshlight), pillow humping and plushie fucking, filming, semi public masturbation, dacryphilia, breathplay, degradation, slight pain kink; some fantasies include group sex, member x member, cnc (quick mention in leeknow’s paragraph), oral, dom/sub dynamics. the author gets a bit delusional in the second half of changbin’s part, but it’s fine. reader is not mentioned.

this is pure fiction for entertainment purposes only.

bang chan

he wants to jerk off more than he really has time to, so for reasons of convenience chan has made a habit of getting off in the shower, usually in the mornings. at this point he feels like he almost needs it to really start his day. there’s something so comforting about locking the bathroom door and stepping under the soothing spray of the shower. the water doesn’t provide the perfect glide of his fist around his cock, but chan is more than happy to make do with it. chan shivers, half from the temperature of the water pelting against his back not having adjusted to his liking yet and half from the way his own fingers trailing his stomach, short nails lightly scratching over his thighs until there are goosebumps spreading on his sensitive skin. chan is always aware of the time crunch he’s in, so he can’t allow himself more teasing or exploring. morning wood makes it easy for chan to be quick anyways, it doesn’t matter that his thoughts are still slow and muddled because his body reacts to his touch just fine. even with the wall of sound the spray of the shower creates chan knows he’s just a little too loud when his firm hand around his half hard cock makes him groan with relief. it’s all routine from there, building a familiar rhythm with his hand against his cock, his other hand gently tugging at his balls to bring him along easier, feeling the pleasure build nice and steady until he’s knocking his head back and panting with the telltale taste of his impending orgasm in the depths of his groin and the tip of his tongue, then watching his release shoot against the tiled wall in tacky spurts before swirling down the drain between his feet as he lets the feeling of satisfaction settle into his bones for a moment. no one questions why chan always seems so flushed early in the mornings despite not necessarily being the one to take the hottest showers and chan is grateful for this little bit of peace, too.

↳ his dirty little secret: sometimes when chan feels really overwhelmed and tense, his go to jerk off fantasy is the thought getting gangbanged - with love - by people who know just what he needs. it could be random strangers in his fantasy or people he already knows and trusts in real life, it doesn’t really matter when all he can think about is all of them taking him apart and putting him back together again, overwhelming him in the best way and then slowly bringing him back down, making him feel exhilarated and humiliated and safe at the same time. chan likes how easy it is to get lost in fantasies like this and how nicely they have him cumming. it’s almost worth dealing with the flipside of having to come down all by himself after.

leeknow

minho makes a point it of masturbating with purpose. for him jerking off does not happen just to scratch an itch, it’s all about having time to make himself feel good and powerful and fully satisfied. minho likes watching rougher stuff, cnc and throat fucking videos. he leans against his door and imagines he is fucking someone’s face, his thick thighs straining as he viciously thrusts his hips to force his cock in and out of the tight ring of his hand. he’s not necessarily loud when he gets off, but anyone standing outside of minho’s door might hear his breathless moans of “ah, ah, ah” and whispered curses. he sometimes wonders if anyone has heard him fuck his fist before, trying to how he would react to catching someone listen in on him. minho’s precum drips on his bedroom floor when he envisions cumming on a willing tongue and he just wishes he had someone he could order to clean up his mess for him. it never takes long for minho to burst right after that, balls drawing up tight and his body bowing away from the door as he jerks himself through his high, groaning with every spurt of his cum splattering on the floor.

↳ his dirty little secret: sometimes when he gets bored of imagining the actors from his favorite pornos or his recent celebrity crushes minho thinks about having his way with his members when he gets off. chan and hyunjin’s perfect lips. jisung’s small mouth. changbin’s eagerness. coaching seungmin through his fear of hurting someone with his braces and teeth. jeongin’s intense, defiant eyes. felix’s insatiable urge to help. minho imagines their faces streaked with his cum, dripping down their cheeks and cupid bows in the living room, strings it growing tacky in their perfectly styled hair backstage, pooling in the hollow of their pliant tongues until he lets them swallow for him. minho figures it’s just because he actually knows and had a connection them that these fantasies make him cum harder than anything else. it’s not like he’s really that desperate to put his colleagues - his friends - on their knees for him. and yet, he can’t deny that his harmless little fantasies have an effect on him in real life. but if minho can’t watch jeongin’s throat move when he chugs water after rehearsal or chan sucking candy between his lips on a break anymore, at least not without feeling a tug that travels from his stomach all the way down to his balls, well then that’s just a weird coincidence.

changbin

he owns a fleshlight and he is kind of addicted to it. when it comes to getting off alone, nothing can beat the feeling of the slicked up, rubbery walls sucking in heavy erection. there’s excitement that comes with simply taking the box from the upper shelf of his wardrobe - all changbin’s prized possessions are hidden away just in case one of his curious members ever feels the need to rummage through his room. changbin likes teasing himself before getting to the main event, using his fingers to push more cold lube than necessary into the small toy, nipples hardening against his shirt and cock stiffening in anticipation as he feels around the rubbery walls of his well-used pocket pussy with the pads of his fingers. sometimes changbin gets himself so horny he can only think about getting off inside of the fleshlight - fuck the cleanup. with shaking hands changbin jams the toy between the footend of is mattress and the bedframe, a bit too low for him to fuck it without any efforts, but changbin has enough experience to know he can manage just fine if he bends his knees a bit. it never takes long for changbin to cum like this, hunched over his bed and pushing his needy cock in and out of the forgiving fleshlight in a brutal, mindnumbing pace. even though changbin relies on his toy almost every day, it still makes him groan and whimper like the first time. when he doesn’t have his fleshlight with him, changbin usually tries to get off by cupping both of his hands around his cock and fucking himself inbetween his palms and fingers, trying his best to put pressure around himself to mimick the suction of a pussy - real or fake - that he’s usually spoiled with.

↳ his dirty little secret: sometimes, especially when they’re on tour, changbin likes imagining he’s fucking a fan. maybe it’s someone who caugh his eye at a show, just a quick glimpse of their sparkling eyes and sweaty face in the crowd enough to spark something inside of changbin that he keeps thinking of it again now, when he uses the time where everyone else is sleeping to unwind. changbin likes edging himself on nights like this, imagining being the best fuck for someone who already dreamed of - already knew of - him being this good. it feels amazing to him, being worshipped for his skills, both on stage and in bed. and even if it’s only in his head it has changbin’s body shuddering with a full-body orgasm when he finally lets himself cum to the thought of his pretty admirer begging him to cum inside. changbin is very aware of his image, which things he should and shouldn’t do - but sometimes he can’t help but seriously wonder how many warm bodies could be available to him if he wanted them. and that thought has him ready to get off again.

hyunjin

he prefers a drawn-out, sensual experience over mindlessly chasing a quick orgasm - even though hyunjin sometimes can’t help but get desperate too. hyunjin is very receptive to sensory play and he likes toying with himself almost as much as he likes others doing it. hyunjin loves how his nipples pebble between his fingertips, how his stomach caves under his own teasing caresses, how his thighs tremble when he smoothes his hands over them. he loves how ice cubes make him jump and whine, how pinching himself makes his hips buck upwards for a split second, how tying a blindfold over his eyes makes any type of stimulation on his cock feel so much more intense. hyunjin really gets into letting himself get lost in different sensations that make his breathing pick up and his balls tighten with delicious pleasure, rutting his leaking cock against a soft pillow while his fingers scramble to close around his own throat or scratch barely noticeable welts down his sensitive skin. hyunjin gets loud just before he cums, always on the edge of being overstimulated from the anticipation of his orgasm and he can’t help but shudder and moan, a drawn out sound that lasts as long as his high before ebbing off into a whimper with the aftershocks of his playtime.

↳ his dirty little secret: hyunjin likes teasing himself even when he knows he can’t get off right now and definitely has played with himself during meetings and rehearsals. barely noticeable of course, just barely teasing his tip through the fabric his pants because it feels so nice, subtly adjusting himself just to get a bit of friction without letting anyone see he’s half hard. hyunjin has to lock himself in the nearest bathroom get off immediately when there’s a break or his meeting ends. there’s no more time for setting the mood or pretending there’s romance in the way he tugs at his cock over the open toilet when the past half hour of frustration from his own teasing and the fear of getting caught by someone even now catches up with him. hyunjin almost feels disappointed when his little game with himself ends in a choked off sob and his cum hastily flushed away, but there’s a different type of fun in returning from the bathroom with his lips bitten raw and his spent cock sensitive beneath his bottoms, a noticeable reminder of what he just let himself do every time he moves.

han

han jisung gooner agenda. if he weren’t so busy, jisung figures he would be playing with his dick all the time. it’s too easy to get him going, but it’s the worst when he’s scrolling through nsfw twitter. just looking of course, but immediately getting swept up by the hentai clips and masturbation challenges and especially the audios that tell him to just let go, just keep watching, to get addicted, to keep thinking eith his dick. it never takes long for jisung to feel himself ache and strain beneath his sweatpants, by now he never fights the urge to pull them off with his boxers and leave them in a messy heap on the floor while he clicks on the next clip and wraps his free hand around his leaking cock with a hiss. jisung is hyper sensitive even to his own touch though, which is a good thing that makes him feel euphoric and pathetic, but makes jerking off pretty overwhelming for him too. he tries edging himself so he can feel the good part of it longer, torturing his sensitive, aching cock with the rising and ebbing of almost reaching an orgasm but not quite, brows furrowing tightly every time he almost can’t stop himself from blowing too early when he touches himself just right. ultimately most of jisung’s jerk off sessions end with him cumming twice. the first one happens almost unexpectedly, while he’s still trying to hold his orgasm at bay and just can’t do it anymore, body arching upwards and his flushed cock twitching in his fist, his other hand scrambling to clamp over his mouth in a futile attempt to hide his gurgled scream. he’s usually far more gone, overwhelmed and sweaty drooling into his pillow when he’s nog whimpering desperate, overstimulated sounds into his empty room by the second one. his hips instinctively keep grinding against his blanket even after he’s milked himself of the last pathetic dribbles of cum, still chasing the friction against his raw cock until the pain gets to exhausting for him.

↳ his dirty little secret: jisung spends money on sex workers who will degrade him. it’s not a bad thing, jisung knows it isn’t and he likes that he has the money to indulge in services that feel more comfortable and personal and intense for him. but it despite being very open with how fucking horny he is, he keeps this part of his endeavors a secret because he knows most of his friends wouldn’t understand. he’s not interested in hearing comments like “why would you pay for content when it’s all over the web?” or “why are you paying so much for someone to talk to you when you can just pay someone to fuck if you’re that desperate”. jisung knows what he wants and what he needs. and the short, mean audios that are only meant for him that he gets for his money are more than enough to do his head - and his poor cock - in.

felix

he is a sight to see when he gets off, even if he doesn’t realize it to the full extent. felix is always pretty and he knows it, he’s very in tune with which angles are the best to bring out his features, which expressions are the most charming for his face, hyperaware of his visuals - even when he’s getting fucked. this is different. in the privacy of his own bedroom, felix doesn’t have to worry about what anyone thinks of the faces he makes when he indulges himself. felix likes the way his jaw slacks when rubs over the sensitive head of his cock, how his brows furrow when he circles a finger around the rim of his greedy hole. the sounds he makes just for himself in thise moments just spur him on to make himself feel better, the low groans just as much as the high whimpers - as long as he can let himself be free and vocal with his pleasure it’s just another testament of how good he’s being to himself. felix likes how he moves around his bed too, feet rustling his sheets when an onslaught of perfect stimulation makes him squirm and kick, his toes curling into the soft fabric when his body draws tight like a bowstring when he gets close. and then there’s his orgasm, powerful and mind-numbing because felix knows just how to keep touching himself and when to stop to guide himself through beautifully. felix likes having sex with others and he doesn’t want to go without it for too long, but there’s nothing that can beat the comfort and relief he gets from taking care of himself.

↳ his dirty little secret: felix likes using toys but he is very meticulous about hiding them them from the others - not as easy of a feat as you expect, simply because of how many items felix owns at this point. he just likes the added sensation that something as simple as clamping his nipples or sucking on a pretty pink dildo can give him. there are many things felix has bought for himself that he hasn’t even dared to try out yet, from outfits that seem too ridiculous now that he holds them in his hands to toys that he just doesn’t feel ready for yet - but some nights, when curiosity overcomes him, felix gives something new a try while he imagines he has a gentle but demanding dom pushing him to take more. felix doesn’t let himself get overwhelmed with pleasure too often, he can’t really overstimulate himself even with the help of his toys, but he always just cums so much harder when he’s made himself cry just a little.

seungmin

getting off is nothing too special, if you ask seungmin. it’s something most people kind of do, most people don’t talk about, nothing to be too dramatic or experimental about. seungmin lies it quick and easy, one hand down his pants, the other scrolling through his phone for inspiration to speed up the process - no need to use precious creativity on creating horny scenarios when everything seungmin could ever need to get him going is right there, on the little screen inside of his palm. seungmin thinks he might have conditioned himself to jerk off inside of his boxers when he was a teen when privacy was rare and time was rarer. he doesn’t mind that it’s still his favorite way to do it. the angle puts some strain on his wrist, sure, but the lack of free movement makes his warm and close over his stiff cock, the way the cotton rubs over his tip, the way he can feel his precum smear over the fabric - it’s all heaven to him.

↳ his dirty little secret: seungmin knows lots of people have them: hard kinks, gross kinks, fetishes they know have been hiding inside of the all along or surprising gut-punches of carnal lust. he doesn’t judge other people for theirs usually, but it’s just different whenever it’s him who gets blindsided with it, who gets caught up in a video that’s too much, too extreme, too strange - and instead of scrolling through the endless options of different porn the website has yet to offer his eyes linger a bit too long and suddenly this is what he’s cumming to, mouth hanging open in a silent gasp of disbelief and icky, overwhelming pleasure. post nut clarity has seungmin closing all of his tabs, deleting his search history and swearing off porn for a while. and still, somehow seungmin keeps coming back to those videos that feel so wrong - in more ways than one. seungmin doesn’t even want to watch those clips again, he tries telling himself. they’re too weird, too disgusting, too dark maybe - but all those thoughts do is heighten the feeling of anticipation and the prickle of shame when he types in just the right keywords “for the last time” again.

i.n

whenever it’s possible jeongin likes taking his time when he masturbates. he knows he has a pretty cock - people have told him - and sometimes he likes watching himself jerk off through the camera of his phone, leaving the rings on his long fingers when he pumps his fist over his straining erection, watching the way precum leaks from his tip through the camera of his phone. jeongin likes getting completely naked, watching sweat building up on his face and stomach as he works himself up with quick strokes and the way his muscles shift as he tenses and squirms before finally cumming all over his lower stomach. jeongin doesn’t make a lot of sounds when he gets off, mostly lots of heavy breathing, biting down on his lower lip when he cums. honestly, he’s such a humper too, mostly his mattress because it’s just the right amount of firm friction against his sensitive cock, but he likes holding his pillow up against himself too, adding pressure with his hands while he ruts against it. whenever traveling lets jeongin have a double bed with two mattresses he forces his cock into the slit inbetween, fucking into the tight gap like a fleshlight until he can’t keep his orgasm at bay anymore. jeongin usually cums a lot - long spurts of pearly cum - and once he gets close he’s not too good at controlling it, leaking all over himself and the bed, so he usually does a lot of laundry no matter where he is.

↳ his dirty little secret: he has a habit of buying small stuffed animals and taking out just enough of the filling to force his cock inside. he quickly moves the little body of the toy up and down his cock, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal. jeongin can’t look down because of the shame, but the friction is so perfect to him. no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop himself from cumming inside and ruining it entirely, turning the plushie into a soggy, defiled mess. at one point he gives in and just buys a fleshlight to put it into a bigger stuffed animal he owns. that night jeongin swears he almost sees heaven from how hard he cums.

aquaphobic hydrokinetic