living dumpster fire

For you and Su-bong there had always been an “before”. Before the tattoos and purple dyed hair, before expensive designer clothes and drugs to dull his emotions, before the penthouse and hotels a normal person could barely afford. Before fame began to dominate every step Su-bong took, before Thanos was even created. Back in the day, when it had been Su-bong, the dude who tried way too hard to appear cool in school, who tried too hard to be edgy in a way that wasn’t framed or looked down on as weird or strange. When Su-bong had only a handful of friends that he truly liked being around and wrote the cringiest lyrics known to mankind. Because the raps he grew popular with were so different from the things he had written at the age of twelve, in a messy room of a cheap apartment that his parents struggled to afford. Su-bong and you had always been part of a relationship with too many obstacles, even before fame made it harder to actually hang out casually outside of the privacy an apartment offered and long before a romantic interest in the other was found. Because Su-bong wanted to belong somewhere - a boy who had been born into a world that taught him how nothing came for free and if he wanted something, he had to either forcefully rip it out of the hands of someone else, or put in an inhumane amount of work - never belonged, not even in his own house. He didn’t belong with his parents and especially his father made that very clear, because his father believed that a few hits wouldn’t hurt his son, that physical violence would shape his son into a man to be proud of. Mr. Choi was the man who strongly believed that by hitting his child, he was doing no harm but instead helping the kid to grow stronger, to learn how cruel the world outside was and he also believed that his way of teaching Su-bong how the world worked, was the most gentle approach without raising a weak, useless human being.

You had been there for those parts. More often than you liked in all honesty and the fact that Su-bong and you were close and therefore spent a lot of time at either his or your place didn’t help with it either. Because Mr. Choi realized rather quickly that no matter how hard he’d hit his son in your presence, you wouldn’t speak up about it. Not because you thought the man’s approach was the right one, but because Su-bong’s father was someone to be feared and the adult seemed to like it that way too. Whenever a situation like that played out, Su-bong had brushed it off with such causality that it was truly concerning. Because he always said that his father was worse when no one was around - and if Mr. Choi was willing to smack his teenage son across the face in the presence of a familiar face, then what was this man willing to do when no one was there to look?

What was this man willing to do to Su-bong when your contact was minimized, sometimes even cut off entirely due to Su-bong trying to fit in with the cool kids at school? Because a child that didn’t even belong in his own house, that was never able to relax and constantly act stronger than he actually was, more confident and proud, longed to be seen. A child that wasn’t allowed a moment of calm longed for comfort and for acceptance and Su-bong was actively searching out the wrong people for comfort. Sure, he had you and you were always willing to carry the man that would grow up to be a rapper some day through the more heavy times, when his mental health got worse and his dad got more aggressive due to the amounts of alcohol the adult consumed - but there were times when your comfort wasn’t enough. Because spending time with you made the cool kids at school turn their heads one too many times, made them look too long, too judgemental. It made them laugh - because there was Su-bong, the guy that was loud and proud of it too, a man who had confidence that could be seen from miles away, someone who had no place and yet seemed to fit in, no matter if that was how he himself felt or not. And then, compared to that, there was you. Casual, not too loud but also not weirdly quiet. You had a bunch of friends of your own. Just a normal teenager, trying to survive school to then never look at those people ever again and live a life happy. No act, no facade, no fake smile. Just a normal person in a school filled with people obsessed to be seen as cool and popular by people they’d most likely never see again after graduating.

So yeah, hanging out with you - especially at school - made Su-bong less cool. But instead of simply ignoring that, the man was willing to throw it all away to be liked by people who didn’t even know him - not truly, not like you did. They knew the persona Su-bong had created to be liked by such people because teenagers were mean and the way Su-bong was when it was just you and him in his bedroom was simply something the “cool” kids didn’t fuck with. And in all honesty? You couldn’t even be mad at him. Because you understood why he did it, you knew he didn’t do it because he was ashamed of you or the friendship the two of you had, he wasn’t trashtalking you either - he was simply hanging out less and less because those other people apparently filled a gap in his mind that you couldn't. And that was okay, a little strange surely, but all in all nothing you were mad about. Maybe that was because you knew how the boy was treated at home, maybe it was because you knew things about Su-bong that no one else would ever figure out. It didn’t matter why in the end, things played out the way they did and the both of you seemed okay with that, so why bother too much?

But then school was done and it was time to find a job. School was over, no one cared if you were cool and popular during that time, no one cared who you hung out with anymore and all those people that had given Su-bong that ego boost by making him feel liked weren’t even turning around to look at him anymore. So that mainly left you in his life - the only person who still actively reached out to him to check if he was doing okay, the only person agreeing to hang out with him, now that there was this weird in-between gap. Something between being teenagers and adults, something between an entire school knowing who Su-bong was and no one talking to him anymore. And even despite that weird feeling, Su-bong was holding onto his dream - and oh dear, that guy was dreaming big. Because in Su-bong’s world he could make it, he could become a rapper. Cringy notebooks filled with lyrics that sounded even worse and beats produced on a PC that was on the edge of falling apart turned into creating a spotify account and actually looking up producers that weren’t too expensive. Recording lyrics in his closet turned into searching for a professional studio and cringy lyrics turned into lies. Because the stuff Su-bong had written during the early days had been so cringe it made you physically shudder, but it had been honest and true, a window into his soul that was so fragile and precious despite the cocky act he always put up. The things he was writing after graduating from school however, were so clearly things he had never done.

You looked up from the bed you were laying on, your head dangling off the edge as you scrolled through various instagram posts while Su-bong was performing the lyrics he had written without a beat, wanting to hear your opinion on them. And don’t get it twisted, Su-bong was a total sweetheart, the kind of guy that cared too much once close to someone, the kind of guy who would tear off his own leg to assure the people he cared about were doing well and as a close friend you did believe in him making it onto the big stages one day - you truly did. But the lyrics he had just performed made you drop your phone onto the mattress of Su-bong’s rather messy bed, a frown on your face as you lifted your head to properly look at the man who looked so utterly proud of the words he had written. “Dude,” you said as you shook your head, “You’ve never fucked anyone, let alone on the backseats of a Maserati. You’re too broke to even see such a car drive through your street.”

You bit your own tongue, instantly regretting the words that had fallen from your lips as you saw how the proud, beaming look in Su-bong’s eyes turned into something else, something closer to self-consciousness. You did believe in the man, truly, but you weren’t willing to lie to him and tell him those were the greatest lyrics ever when it simply wasn’t true. And of course you were aware that most of the raps released were about things the artist had never done, that most of the lyrics weren’t even written by the people themselves but ghost writers. But you honestly had thought for the longest time that Su-bong would be different. That he’d put out raps that were true, that reflected his soul. “The fuck do you want me to rap about then, huh? Want me to rap about this cheap ass apartment and the mold growing on my walls paired with the fact that I wear knock-off designer brands to somehow fit the stereotype? That my chains aren’t real and that my parents can’t afford food by the end of the month because my dad’s a drunk who spends money to drink and then beats his son up for being too much of a pussy? That what you wanna hear?”

The frown on your face turned into a grimace - you understood that the anger wasn’t truly directed at you but rather at the situation in general, because Su-bong wanted for his lyrics to be real, but he didn’t want to write about his reality. He didn’t want to make himself vulnerable online because whenever he was showing a softer side in his everyday life, his father was quick to remind Su-bong why soft equaled weak. and a weak son was a disgrace to the Choi name - ironic, given that Mr. Choi himself was quite the disgrace with his alcohol addiction. “Nah,” you responded instead, releasing a soft grunt as you shifted on Su-bong’s bed to sit up instead of laying on it - all that blood in your head was slowly growing into a headache and you truly didn’t need that. “But I’m saying that I liked your other lyrics better, y’know? The ones that actually captured who you are. Those were peak, stuck out from all those rappers claiming to fuck women in expensive cars or hotel rooms just to forget about them during their next line of coke only a couple hours later.”

“That’s true though,” Su-bong was quick to shoot back, clearly picking out one thing you had just said to twist those words so they would fit his point of talking. “I did do coke at one of those parties-” But you could only sigh. With a shake of your head you pushed yourself off the bed, the cheap wood creaked under your movements, the sound so loud that any other person would’ve feared for the frame to break down any moment. But you had been in this room and that very bed enough times to know that the bedframe was just a bitch. you came to stand behind the chair Su-bong was sitting on, putting your hands on his shoulders to knead out the tension that clearly lingered there. “Bong, I ain’t saying everything is a lie, and even if it would be - who cares? The point is, those lyrics don't tell people who you are and what you think, they project a picture every rapper projects onto the public. That shit doesn’t make you special.”

But Su-bong seemed quite set on making a point, on proving you wrong right where you stood, even as his body relaxed under your touch and he let out a relieved sigh as your fingers massaged the tension straight out of him. He liked you, he truly did, especially because you were honest with him, because you weren’t just saying shit to please him like he had done to those cool kids during the majority of his time in school just to be ghosted nowadays. But in that moment, he just wanted to make a point, wanted to bring across how necessary he thought it was for his future career to fit some basic standards every rapper seemed to fulfill. “The people listening to my songs on spotify like me.” Five people. Five goddamn people, but they had messaged Su-bong on instagram, had told him that he was doing good for a rookie, that he should continue and had potential. But they liked his music - liked him. “Bong, they don’t like you, they like Thanos. Y’know, the version of yourself that you put out there - they don’t even know you, man.”

“You can’t-” but your words words were cut off by the furious purple-haired man that had just smashed his grinder onto the hardwood floor beneath your feet, causing the metal of it to leave ugly scratches on the wood and the weed that had still been inside the object to spill, creating a mess releasing a smell that clouded the entire apartment. A smell that would linger even after the mess itself would be cleaned up - not like it mattered, Thanos smoked inside most of the time anyway. The scent of weed was pretty much stuck to every wall and every piece of furniture, probably all the clothes you two owned as well.

“Fuck you,” the angry rapper bit back in quite the harsh tone. He didn’t bother to look at the weed covering the floor, not caring about any kind of mess that came out of this argument with how ragefilled he was at that moment. It showed how fragile the mind of an addict was. At least Thanos’ mind was pretty fragile, whether that was caused by his addiction or not you weren’t sure about, but you knew that the drugs did bring out a side that was more willing to throw hands, more willing to yell, scream and cause a scene. It wasn’t necessarily a violent side, not always at least and usually the rapper locked himself away in the room he had set up to write and record his music to not let it out on innocent people - to not let it out on you. But today it was a little different, a little more intense than usual. Because today it wasn’t caused by drugs but by the lack of them. Sure, the rapper known for his addiction and his crude and sometimes kinda nerdy lyrics - at least when it came to Marvel - had a stash of weed literally sprawled beneath his bare feet, but for someone with a high tolerance when it came to drugs, someone like Thanos, weed wasn’t enough to scratch the itch under his skin and dull his mind. “I can do the fuck I wanna do, you ain’t tellin’ me no.”

And usually you wouldn’t, usually you didn’t care if the rapper spent his money on drugs way too expensive. But rent was due soon and the job you were working didn’t pay enough to cover it all - your part of the rent, his part too and groceries. So if the purple-haired man would spend his last won on the damn drugs he was addicted to, he wouldn’t be able to afford rent, which meant neither of you would be able to afford rent. This had all been so much easier when Thanos was making an insane amount of money with his music, but that was years ago. Given his record and his public image that was still well known though, finding a part-time job to keep it all afloat was impossible for the rapper that was slowly falling from grace.

“Geez, Su-bong, think for a moment-” but once again you weren’t allowed to finish your sentence, the rapper did not want to reason, did not want to see the bigger picture. And you understood it, if that made it better or worse you weren’t sure about though. Because addiction wasn’t something that was easy to deal with and withdrawal was something even worse than addiction itself. “Don’t fucking call me that,” the rapper almost seemed to growl as he took a step forward, closing the distance between the two of you, stepping right into the weed while kicking the grinder that was still laying on the floor aside to not step on it.

See, Thanos was a man to easily rile up, especially during withdrawal, but usually things were just as easy to play off as a joke and while the purple-haired rapper had more attitude than healthy for one with the size of his ego, he never truly stayed mad for long. Usually the tension bled out when it was time to go to bed because despite the tough guy attitude the rapper worked quite hard on to uphold and project onto the public, he was just a big, stupid teddy by the end of the night, unable to sleep without the both of your bodies touching in some form or way. Names however were a particularly sensitive topic, a topic so emotional and overwhelming for the purple-haired addict, that he never truly explained why. So no, calling him Su-bong just to get across how serious you were this time wasn’t a good choice and yes, it had indeed been stupid to think the man would take the general situation more seriously if his government name was involved. Because it led this conversation - though with all the raised voices and ‘throwing objects' thing, it was much more an argument, if not a full blown fight the two of you were having - into the opposite direction. Instead of calming the rage boiling within the rapper, it only worsened it.

“Sorry,” the word was delivered by a set of lips tightly pressed into a thin line, Thanos though, didn’t care for a verbal apology from your side and that showed when the mimic of the rapper losing his popularity hardened, usually warm and relaxed brown eyes glazed over, darkened. “Down,” the voice saying that one simple and yet very effective word was deeper than the natural voice of the drug addict already was, purposely pitched down to send a shiver down your spine and cause your body to obey the command without hesitation, without overthinking much. Knees crashed against the floor, falling onto spilled weed and solid wood. Your knees would bruise, that was for sure, but your mind was filled with static noises playing way too loud to be even the slightest bit concerned about a little scratch or a few bruises that would fade away eventually.

Your adamsapple bobbed as you swallowed, eyes locked onto Thanos’ own, not even daring to flicker away for even the tiniest moment. He’d notice and it would worsen the situation long term wise. Hands that felt too soft and too gentle with the context of the argument above your head touched your face, ran along your jaw, your cheekbones until the index finger of his right hand eventually settled right underneath your chin, urging you to tilt your head up into a position that was uncomfortable and would make your neck arch by the end of this. “Apologize,” the tone in his voice hadn’t changed one single bit, the sound so deep, you practically felt it vibrating through your body. The look his eyes held seemed cold - but you knew better, knew that this was kind of something you deserved, something you had caused by not watching your tongue, by letting things slip that had actually hurt the man that probably had been born this confident and cocky. And even though you didn’t understand why the name Su-bong bothered him so much, caused him so much pain, you knew you should’ve been respectful of the boundaries the rapper had laid out - no fight justified making your partner uncomfortable after all. So you did as he demanded.

Knees scraped over the bare floor, flakes of weed clung to your skin as you shifted closer without taking your eyes off the man towering above you with such ease. Thanos was taller than you, even when you were standing on your feet he was a good head taller than you - probably more. So now that you were on your knees and the purple-haired man wasn’t, it became clear that he wasn’t messing around. The tattooed hand that disappeared in your hair as he forced your head closer to his crotch even as your body was still shuffling over the floor to get closer to his body, to make this position as comfortable as possible. He wasn’t as concerned for your comfort as you were however and you got it, truly, this was meant to be a punishment after all, a demonstration that the slip of your tongue wouldn’t be treated all that kindly. So you stopped your attempts in trying to get closer to Thanos, understanding the non-verbal message the rapper was sending you crystal clear. Hands wrapped around his knees to stabilize your upper body and prevent it from crashing into your boyfriend’s legs - the only action he seemed to allow in that moment without disapproving it immediately. Your lips brushed against the front of his sweatpants, moving slowly and gently against the fabric in a manner that resembled an apology - exactly the kind of apology he demanded of you.

The hand in your hair that was adored by colorful nail polish and black ink poked into his skin tightened and twisted between soft strands of hair, grabbing a fistful of those strands and tugging on them. His foot was placed in front of your knees, preventing you from moving closer with your entire body and therefore forcing you to lean towards him with nothing but your upper body. With a sharp yank he removed your lips from the crotch of his pants, eyeing the wetness your lips had left behind on the fabric, then those eyes flicked to roam over your face. There was a dull, subtle question behind those dark orbs and you nodded. Another sharp pull of your hair forced you to arch your back to follow the lead of the rapper’s hand, biting back the noises of pleasure that threatened to spill from your lips - but those weren’t welcome in that moment, this wasn’t something you should be greeting with enjoyment, at least not the visible and audible kind. This was still a punishment. “Pants off, onto the bed, ass up, face down.”

Fabric rustled as it was stripped away from bare skin. You abandoned both, your shorts and the pair of boxers you were wearing underneath, letting the clothes form a pile on the floor that was being ignored by the purple-haired man that continued to tower over you. Even when you got up on your feet to make your way over to the bed he was taking advantage of that height difference. Your shirt stayed on, it hadn’t been mentioned in the command that Thanos had spoken and so you chose to leave it as it was. You could’ve tried to please the rapper, to show off your body in ways you were certain he’d appreciate during sex - but this wasn’t about the things that Thanos liked normally, this was about obeying commands and following orders. If he didn’t mention something, you weren’t meant to do it - simple as that.

Your knees hit the floor for a second time as you laid your torso down onto the soft mattress covered in messy, bunched up sheets. Your legs pressed against the solid frame of the bed and your back arched yet again as you lifted your hips - and therefore your ass - as instructed. He hadn’t been very specific in his description of the position he wanted you in, but you had been in this very situation often enough to know that this was the one that would please him the most. Or at least it wouldn’t irritate him as much as you crawling onto the bed with your entire body. Learning from past mistakes.

Under normal circumstances there would be a praise following, but this wasn’t normal and the hard grip in which Thanos caught your hips showed that there was still some kind of anger burning within him, anger that sought an outlet and that outlet would be your body - a body that would soon find itself littered in handprints that would bruise hard enough to stay for a couple of days, maybe even up to a week, if the rapper was too caught up in his actions of dominating you. Handprints that would be accompanied by hickeys and bitemarks, raw and brutal looking. But the feeling of the rapper giving you those marks that probably looked abusive to the outside world was a feeling nothing else could ever give you, like it soothed a sore spot that was constantly begging to be treated but only received such treatment when Thanos was truly worked up about something you did.

There was the noise of fabric rustling yet again, this time it was caused by the man standing behind you with the wild, untamed purple hair. There was a smack delivered to your bare ass cheek, loud and hard. Your teeth dug into the sheets covering the mattress your chest was laying on, forcing the noises of pleasure back into your throat before they could spill and anger the man further. The smack to your ass was mainly done to cause noises that would conceal the rummaging the rapper did to find the bottle of lube - because Thanos was angry, he was pissed and seeking an outlet for those emotions, but he wasn’t cruel and he wasn’t intending to hurt you in ways he couldn’t control properly. But by the end of the day, even in those steamy situations that had the bedroom windows fogged up, he was still Thanos. Still clumsy.

“Shibal,” he muttered under his breath as his hand pushed items aside in hopes he would find what he was looking for. You kept quiet, not because he’d seriously lash out on you if you’d help, but because you were aware that he had certain expectations he held highly, especially when it came to himself. His ego wouldn’t be able to take the punch to the guts you’d metaphorically deliver by helping him - even if it would just be verbal help. “Where the fuck did we- I know it’s here, geez,” the rapper grunted out quietly as his lust filled eyes roamed over the items in the open drawer of the bedside table. But the lube wasn’t in there, to which he responded with a grunt he tried to muffle and a hand he was running through his own hair in visible frustration with the setting being imperfect for what he had clearly already played out in his head. “You stay here, I’ll get the fuckin’ lube from the bathroom cabinet.” He didn’t sound angry when saying those words, just frustrated. That man was watching too many set-up pornos. Not having lube in every damn room really wasn’t that big of a deal. “Yes, Sir.” That response however, and the way you delivered it with your teeth still holding onto the spit soaked sheets, he seemed to like.

It took Thanos a couple of minutes to actually return with the bottle in his hand, whether that was due to lust fogging his mind or to him actually having to search for some leftovers of lube - mentally you made a note to order new bottles later on, maybe tomorrow - you weren’t quite sure of, but purely from the looks of it, it appeared to be the second option. The purple hair on the rapper’s head was more messy than before and his cheeks were flushed lightly. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled under his breath once more before releasing a sigh of frustation as he tossed the almost empty bottle onto the mattress. With a soft noise it landed next to your head, causing you to turn your head to blink up at the man standing next to the bed. It was clear that the mood had shifted, it wasn’t entirely angry and pissed off anymore, no, Thanos seemed frustrated too - which was valid, given that he had been focused on playing the dominant part, on putting you in your place and punishing you for choosing the wrong name when addressing him. That tunnel vision had been broken by the simple lack of lube. “Color?” It was such a simple question, spoken in a voice so quiet it could’ve easily been swallowed by the rustle of the fabric as you turned to face your boyfriend properly. It was also a question that Thanos had asked many times before but felt so new coming from your own lips.

It was met with a shake of his head, followed by a soft grunt and eventually answered by his voice, equally quiet when he spoke, “Green.” So the situation had just caught him off guard - which, once again, was pretty fair. Thanos probably had plans already laid out in his head that equaled a movie scene, or that scripted porn shit that was too cringe and too obviously fake to properly enjoy it and it was simply bugging him that things hadn’t gone according to the utopic plan in his head. That answer caused you to turn back onto your stomach, however, face pressing into the sheets, teeth biting into the already spit-wet fabric. Your ass wiggled, as if to remind the rapper what kind of position he had left you in and that movement, as small as it had been, actually seemed to flip the switch from frustrated to a little bit more pissed than seconds ago. Because his hand met your ass again, this time not to muffle background noises Thanos was creating - this time it was with the only intention of turning you on. Because the rings around his fingers dug into your skin and the slap was harsher than the other ones. Meaner. And you liked that quite a lot.

The bottle of lube was fetched from the bed right next to you and you heard how he popped the cap open, heard the wet noises of the last remnants of the slimy liquid being squeezed out of the bottle before you felt it dripping down your cleft. Strong fingers that still carried the silver rings prevented the see through liquid to drip down onto the floor - they pushed it up again before his middle finger began to push into your entrance. It was quicker than under calmer circumstances, usually Thanos was all about foreplay - not when he was angry though, not when he was handling his own emotions by fucking them into you. So instead of letting his hands roam over your body and explore and mark every inch of your skin, he pushed his finger inside, thrusted the digit shallowly before beginning the stretching process by pushing his ring finger inside along the other. Your teeth tugged on the fabric they held onto as you tried your hardest to not make any noises that would indicate pleasure, not even when his fingers met your prostate dead on - as if the man with the crazy purple hair had the location of that sensitive spot engraved into his very mind, not even struggling to find it.

“What’s my name?” the question caught you off-guard, sure, Thanos was the kind of guy to use a lot of dirty talk and he was quite good at it too, but usually those angry fucks were only accompanied by harsh pants and quiet grunts from his side, maybe a crude comment near the end, but otherwise rather quiet. So him speaking up, him reminding you why you were in this position, why he was mad at you? Whole new dimension. The answer he wanted didn’t come quick enough though, so he purposely jabbed his fingers into your prostate with a snarl and a klick of his tongue before asking again. This time his breathing sounded less laboured and his tone appeared to accept no other answer than the one he demanded. “What’s my fuckin’ name?”

“Thanos-” you choked on his name with the way you were struggling to hold back moans while also biting into the sheets covering the bed and answering his question. Your mind had gone into autopilot at some point, still able to answer simple questions like this one but also very focused on the attention Thanos was directing towards the pleasure he wanted to give you. “Again,” he demanded as he withdrew his fingers from your hole, slapping the already reddened cheek of your ass yet another time to make sure the imprint of his hand would last and remind you of your slip up. It also showed that the name thing, the fact that you accidentally used his government name, was clearly a much bigger deal than he let on. As if it had caused him real pain to hear that name directed at him.

“Thanos~” choking on his name turned into moaning it out in what was unmistakably pleasure. You weren’t sure if it had been his original plan to force the tip of his erection past your barely stretched rim or if that was a reaction from audibly hearing you moan out his name in lust and want, but it happened and it caused the moan to turn into a hiss. Your hands curled into fists and your teeth grinded hard on the fabric caught between them as the rapper - without hesitation - continued to push deeper. It was a pain you knew, something you had not only grown used to, but something you actively craved and asked for, something you enjoyed despite the slight discomfort that came with it. So even the hiss you let out as his erection forced its way inside of you, demanded for your walls to stretch and fit around the hard shaft perfectly tight, wasn’t caused by uncomfortable amounts of pain inflicted onto you against your will. It was good, the kind of pain that left you with your toes curling and your breath hitching. With your eyes fluttering shut in pleasure and your own erection leaking pre-cum against the edge of the bed.

“Shibal-” your boyfriend cursed under his breath, the undertone in his voice - clear pleasure and want. “You better remember that shit, won’t let ya slip up and get away with it this easy again.” With those words he bottomed out inside of you and before your mind was able to catch onto that fact, his chest was pressing against your back and his forearms were digging into the mattress on both sides of your head. The man was breathing down your neck, hard and hot as his teeth caught your earlobe which muffled the following words slightly, “Clear?” - “Very clear,” you responded, this time you didn’t make him wait, knowing better than to sour his mood again. Besides, the way he was so obviously showing off that he was not only bigger and stronger than you but also so very clearly in charge while making it seem like the easiest thing he’d ever done was insanely hot.

Usually Thanos was the type of guy to ease into sex slow and gently, he liked the possibility of causing you pain, but only in ways he could control, in ways that he could measure how much pain he was inflicting upon you and overstretching your body without proper preparation was not one of those ways. In that moment however things were a little different, they were a little more heated and laced by anger that still lingered within the rapper’s mind. So instead of going slow, instead of letting you grow used to the stretch of his erection entering your barely prepared body, he began to move. Not slow, not gentle - hard, deep thrusts of his hips pressed your body further into the bed, making the wood of the bedframe creak and the headboard slam into the wall. It was loud, not because of the noises the two of you were making, but from the sounds that were born from movements that indicated punishment underlined with pleasure. Your nails scratched along the sheets, fingers tried to hold onto something but found nothing solid enough to reach for. Until fingers clearly much stronger than your own intertwined with yours, giving you something that felt like it was enough to hold onto, enough to prevent you from drowning in every feeling rushing through your body.

There was the burning pain caused by the stretch, the pain caused by hips slamming against your ass over and over again with no sign of easing the pace even the slightest bit. Pain, caused by the fingers that had intertwined with your own, fingers that were squeezing too hard like Thanos had reached out for your hands purely to have something he himself can hold onto in that intense moment of pleasure, lust and domination. But it wasn’t all painful and most importantly, it wasn’t uncomfortable - there was lust too, expressed by your body by an erection forced against the mattress, coating the sheets in a see-through layer of pre-cum that was drooling from your tip as the taller man fucked you into the sheets like he would die if he dared to stop. There was comfort in the way Thanos’ breathing was just as shallow and laboured as your own, the heavy pants of warm air colliding with the skin of your ear as his lips kissed the sensitive skin right behind it before tugging it into his mouth to bite down on it.

You lifted your hips up - or at least you tried to do so as best as you were physically able to, with the weight of your boyfriend pressing you down - eagerly meeting every single thrust. The thought of touching yourself crossed your mind, but with the way Thanos’ hands had caught your own and the knowledge that this wasn’t purely about pleasure but also about teaching you a lesson you didn’t even try to. Thanos could be rough when fucking you into the sheets after a fight, but the man was quite far from cruel, he wouldn’t leave you high and dry, no matter how angry he might be. He wasn’t a bad human being, no matter how much the public media of Korea tried to paint him like the devil himself. “Please,” the plea was quiet, overshadowed by the noises caused by the headboard slamming into the wall over and over again, by the smack of skin on skin each time the rapper’s hips met your ass and by heavy panting caused by the both of you. “I’m sorry- I’m really sorry- Thanos, I didn’t mean to-”

Your point was proven correct when one of his hands loosened around your own and instead encouraged you to lift your body off the mattress a little - just enough for his tattooed hand to fit between sheets and sweat slicked skin - to then, eventually, wrap around your own erection. The pumps of his hand along your shaft matched the pace of the thrusts his hips had set and teeth that had been tugging on your skin parted so his lips could press a kiss to your skin instead, soothing the roughness a little. His voice was deep, filled with the obvious arousal his body was feeling and raw, unfiltered lust. A shudder ran through your body as your mind began to process the words he was speaking with a small delay. “I know.” He wasn’t saying that he forgave you, that you redeemed yourself by being a good boy for him - but he didn’t need to say it either. The way the pace grew slightly softer said it all. He continued to use his teeth to leave marks on your neck, still squeezed your hand with his own in a grip that was unnecessarily tight, but it showed in his body language that those words, that breathless, fucked out apology you had delivered, had pleased him on a deeper level.

It wasn’t long after that his thrusts began to stutter until his hips jerked forward harder than before, wanting - no needing - to bury himself inside of you as deeply as physically possible. Your body was flooded with the familiar warmth of his orgasm, a pleasant sensation you had felt too often and yet you found yourself unable to actually grow tired of it. His arm that was holding his body up, to prevent his weight from crushing you entirely, shook as pure pleasure and relief washed over the purple-haired man, his breath hitched as he buried his face between your shoulderblades, trying to collect himself. The hand he had wrapped around your erection however kept up the pace, kept pumping, kept stroking over the hot, slick flesh, as if his only purpose was to bring the same pleasure to you that you had given to him. But he hadn’t said a word about finishing yet, despite his actions clearly wanting you to feel the pleasure of an orgasm too.

The place was stuffed with people you’d never seen before. The kind of people any sober mind would stay as far away from as humanly possible - not you though. And maybe that had to do with the fact that your mind was many things, sober however, wasn’t one of them. So between bloody noses caused by coke and passed blunts you danced along to music that seemed too shitty to be played at a place like club Pentagon, too shitty to entertain the minds of high people, too shitty to actually set a decent mood. And yet somehow it still fitted into the picture perfectly.

Shoulders bumped against each other, stumbling feet filled the dirty floor of the club and before you knew it you were knocked face first into a solid chest that was surprisingly firm given that most junkies were not built fit - drugs did that to the human body, you knew that just as well as any other person in the building. And yet the man with the solid build had his hands on your shoulders to steady your swaying body in no time, preventing you from falling right into the next person. His voice was muffled by the music and the conversations happening around the two of you and maybe the drugs you yourself had taken were also slightly to blame for the fact that you did not understand a single word that fell from the stranger’s lips.

Where you lacked hearing, your vision made up for though, because the purple hair of the stranger looked sinfully good. Sweaty and slightly greasy from what you assumed came from a long night of partying and maybe a missing shower as well, but in a room that reeked of sweat anyway it didn’t really matter. Beads of sweat rolled down the stranger’s neck, bright green fabric of a washed out shirt soaked it right up before it could reach the skin below the guy’s collar and a pair of baggy - and equally washed out - jeans covered not only his legs but also most of his sneakers. Seriously, how that dude didn’t trip over the legs of his pants was probably the only question filling your head at that very moment.

Eventually the stranger’s voice broke through the music and the noises and even through your drugged out mind; “Earth to pretty boy, are you with Thanos?” The look on your face must have shown the confusion you felt when you heard him speaking pretty well, because the next thing you heard was a low, amused chuckle. A chuckle that sounded beautiful to your ears, by far better than any tune that had ever reached your ears. A small, confused, “Huh?” left your lips, your voice slightly hoarse by singing along to trashy songs and smoking a blunt or two. That response earned you another chuckle by the handsome stranger with the beautiful voice, a louder one this time and before you were fully aware of the situation, the stranger with the purple hair had wrapped an tattooed arm around your shoulders to guide you to a spot you weren’t aware of.

The bar. You and the handsome stranger ended up at the bar, seated on stools too unsteady to carry either high or drunk people properly, stools that were made so people under the influence of whatever would fall off them eventually. “Pretty boy like you should be more careful,” the purple-haired one hummed, watching you out of the corner of his eye while his finger tapped against the glass that contained a funky looking drink he had just ordered. “Might end up in a weirdo's bed with how high you are.” You snorted at that comment, followed by a light, amused shake of your head, “You talking about yourself?” Your words came out slurred, like the tongue resting in your mouth wasn’t quite under your control - but the purple-haired stranger didn’t seem to mind. “Thanos ain’t no weirdo, pretty boy.”

There was that strange name again - Thanos. Under any other circumstances you would have argued, would’ve commented on how it did seem quite weird to talk about himself in the third person. But your mind was filled with vibrant colors and dull noises that seemed oddly relaxing despite how freaky the reality actually was, so you didn’t. Besides the guy - apparently named Thanos - seemed like good company. He wasn’t as annoying as most people, wasn’t asking questions he’d forget the answers to anyway. So yeah, maybe you could look past the fact that the man found it necessary to speak about himself in the third person, it was a quirk that definitely made him more unique than any other man in the crowded club. “Sure,” you simply responded with a small shrug, wrapping your fingers around the glass that contained Thanos’ drink to lift it to your lips and steal a sip of the fruity smelling liquor. “If you say so.”

-

It was hard to tell how you ended up at a penthouse that seemed way too fancy and expensive before the night even ended. A penthouse that - on top of looking ridiculously expensive - didn’t seem to fit Thanos in the slightest. But then, on the other hand, you had known that man for maybe a couple of hours, so were you really in the position to judge what fitted the purple-haired, handsome man that had somehow managed to drag you all the way through Seoul to the place where he appeared to live? Probably not. Because maybe the vibe of expensive did fit Thanos if only people actually knew the man. You weren’t given much time to really think about what kind of apartment would fit the purple-haired stranger, not with the eager, tattooed hand that was wrapped around your wrist, dragging you through a long hallway before playfully pushing you against the closed door that waited by the end of it. Hands covered in ink danced over the shirt that covered your torso and hid away the binder underneath. He was mapping out your body with everything he had, hands that roamed over your torso and lips that kissed along your jaw, up your chin until they eventually made contact with your own lips.

He was a good kisser, even under the influence - or maybe because he was under the influence? It didn’t matter, because the chemical taste that lingered on his tongue as it pushed past your parted lips combined with something that was purely him tasted too delicious on your very own tongue to dwell on that question for little more than a second - maybe two. Your own hands were buried between purple strands of hair that felt just as soft as they looked, slipping through the digits without a single tangle in them like the man in front of you was some perfect movie character. Unreal, too good, too perfect. But Thanos was real. The way he touched and kissed you was real too and just a moment later it all became too real when exploring hands found the hem of your binder and pushed underneath them.

It only took one quick blink for the stranger with the gorgeous features and the pretty eyes to stumble backwards a little, creating a distance between your two bodies that felt just as cold as ice compared to the heat that had been growing stronger and stronger only a single moment ago. “You’re a chick?” The voice that asked that question sounded rough and the lips that delivered them were glistening with spit and slightly swollen from the kisses he had shared with you. The look in your eyes must’ve been pretty confused because he tried to underline his spoken words by gesturing vaguely towards your chest, as if that would clear up anything. And to be honest - it partly did. Because as your high mind caught onto the meaning behind his question, you were quickly shaking your head in response, denying being a woman. You weren’t.

“What?” you mumbled under your breath, more out of reflex, as you continued to shake your head. A deep breath filled your lungs as you looked up at the rather tall purple-haired man standing still in front of you - even though now there was less touching involved and he wasn’t as close as he had been earlier. But Thanos was still there, still just staring. He hadn’t kicked you out yet, so that had to mean something - right? “Nah man, I ain’t. I’m trans, y’know? I identify as a man. I-” You stumbled over your own words as you tried to give the handsome stranger that owned the expensive looking penthouse you were in an explanation, your tongue heavy from the drugs, from the pretty pink pills and the white powder, from the nicotine rushing through your veins and the alcohol causing your movements to turn a little more clumsy than they already were when sober. Thanos seemed to be a mind reader, with the way he just proved over and over again how unfairly perfect he appeared to be, because before you even had the slightest chance to burst into a ramble that the two of you were too high to follow anyway, he chuckled. Soft and deep, not the mocking kind of chuckle that one would expect from someone so confident and handsome as Thanos, but rather a soothing and calming kind.

“Relax,” there was a big warm hand that cupped your jaw in a way so gentle, so soft. Not the kind of gentle and soft that made it seem like the purple-haired man was worried about possibly breaking you or harming you if he made one wrong move, but instead the kind of gentle and soft that just spoke for a certain care he seemed to hold within himself. Almost as if he wanted to show you and let you feel that he was a safe space, that there was no justification needed within those pricey walls the stranger appeared to be calling his home. Judgement free zone, no explanation rambles needed. Just the confirmation that he was using the correct pronouns for you, just making sure that this wouldn’t turn out utterly embarrassing by the end of the night and the two of you were on the same page. His thumb caressed the skin of your cheek as he tilted your head ever so slightly, assuring that your eyes stayed on him and him alone - not like there was anything else that you claimed as important or interesting enough in that moment to be looking at instead of meeting his eyes.

-

Thanos seemed like the ‘fuck and dip’ type of guy, the type of guy that got off on how many people he slept with - the more, the better. So it was sort of surprising when he actually called the number you gave him that night, high on so much more than chemical and plant based drugs. It felt strange to hear that deep voice asking you to grab coffee, even weirder, however, was coming back to his penthouse quite regularly. You had been prepared to be one of many people to be hooked up with, not truly expecting him to reach out but giving him your number regardless. And while it was strange, weird and surprising to have the purple-haired hottie reaching out, it was one of the more welcome surprises of life. And the fact that despite the heated sex you two had indulged in that night, it didn’t turn this thing into anything weird or tense, made this all so much better. Because it felt so utterly normal, almost domestic, to lay on the huge couch that dominated the living room of the penthouse, a blunt pinched not only between your lips but his own as well.

It was easy to be around the guy, despite how loud he could be. Not that he was screaming a lot, Thanos was just like a hurricane of vibrant colors and loud noises, of rushed movements and twitches. And not to diagnose him with something he might not have, but he definitely gave off undiagnosed ADHD vibes - and maybe that was what made it so easy to be around him. It didn’t feel forced, he never made you feel like you had to act or talk a certain way to fit into something, he just took you as you were. “‘nd Se-mi is throwing this party on saturday and I thought, ‘hey, why not bring my pretty boy to join in?’,” the purple-haired drug addict rambled under his breath as he blew a cloud of smoke into the thick air of the apartment before bringing the blunt back to his lips and inhaling another drag. His eyes that had been glued to the ceiling for this entire ramble flicked over to lock with your own, raising one of his black, bushy eyebrows at you, “So? You up? Bet my homegirl would like ya.”

Many of your friends didn’t understand why you were dating the rapper in the first place - and seeing it under the light of his public image that the purple-haired wildcard tried to push so very hard, it was quite understandable. Lyrics that glorified the high only cocaine could bring, social media posts that were quite aesthetic shots of colorful pills sprawled out over Su-bong’s nude torso while he was surrounded by what the media classified as ‘hot’ and ‘attractive’ people, no matter what gender they identified with - if they were pretty or handsome and fitted the aesthetic and image that ‘Thanos’ was, they were visible on his instagram and twitter for sure. You yourself made an appearance ever so often.

And despite all those beautiful looking people always seeming to surround your boyfriend in the public, you were never worried he might ditch you for someone ‘better’, someone the public eyes saw as ‘more fitting’ - because Su-bong never once gave you the feeling of being on the same level as all those strangers visible on his social media posts. You were always above those nameless faces he didn’t care enough about to remember. Because why would he dare to look for someone better when you were all he could ever ask for? Those people out there were hungry to sink their teeth into his flesh because he was successful - you on the other hand didn’t care for fame or money. And it was a clishee, both Su-bong and you were very aware of that fact, because it sounded so surreal. A rapper dating a man that wasn’t after money and fame, that wasn’t begging his boyfriend to appear more often on his instagram, that wasn’t asking for expensive jewelry and designer clothes simply because Su-bong had the money.

The thing no one really got was the small but very important fact that Thanos was loud and wild, extroverted and to some extent even extreme - but Su-bong wasn’t. It was like they were two entirely different people. Because while the lyrics released under the artist name ‘Thanos’ were vulgar, sexual and sometimes even straight up disgusting, the man himself, behind closed doors and turned-off cameras, was such a sweet guy that only longed to love and be loved. To be seen as the human he simply was - just another man in the world, wanting to make his mother proud, wanting to make his boyfriend feel loved. Because even the most famous people had basic human needs by the end of the day.

Or by the beginning of it.

The sunlight coated the bedroom located in the penthouse you two lived in together into a warm, cozy shade of orange, warming the air up and- from behind you, you heard a sleepy grunt before a warm face was pressed between your shoulder blades. A mumbled, almost inaudible, “Not that shit again,” broke the silence that filled the room, followed by the soft rustling of the sheets that was caused by Su-bong who was trying his hardest to hide away from the warm sunlight most people would’ve embraced. He was not a morning person in the slightest, but the way he showed that he hated mornings was simply too adorable. Nothing like the persona he had created for the public to entertain. “Turn it off,” the purple-haired rapper complained as a pair of tattooed arms tightened around your body, drawing you in closer to block out more of the clearly unwelcome sunlight that the world was forcing the grumpy man to endure.

A soft chuckle rumbled through your body, earning you a soft smack onto your stomach by the tattooed hand that belonged to your boyfriend. “I can’t close the blinds if you keep holdin’ onto me like you’re gonna drown if you let go,” you responded, the chuckle still audible in your voice as you spoke. Half-way turned around, you were able to see the scrunched up, displeased expression on the rapper’s face that - in all honesty - looked more like a grumpy little child. Which somehow made Su-bong look even more adorable, especially when he released a small huff like your words were insulting in any form or way.

Those were the things neither the media nor your friends saw. The lazy, sleepy mornings that you got to enjoy every morning. You were quite fine with those greedy fans believing that the first thing the man did in the morning was to pop a pill or snort a line, then hop out of the bed like he owned the world. Because you knew that this image they had of him was wrong.

“Fuck that, I ain’t letting ya go, baby, don’t ya even fuckin’ try ‘nd trick me into that,” the grumpy man holding onto you so tightly mumbled, his voice still giving away how sleepy he really was. As if to prove his point, the arms wrapped around your body tightened some more, hands pressed insistently against your bare stomach, assuring that you didn’t dare to get up, assuring that you stayed close to him, that you wouldn’t leave him alone in the bed way too big for one person. The hum of agreement you let out did not seem enough of an response to assure you really wouldn’t get up - even if it would only be a minute to close the damn blinds - so you turned around in his arms until you were face to face with the sleepy man that kept insisting for you to stay in bed with him. His eyes were closed, even as your nose brushed softly against his own he didn’t bother to open them. So you did the only logical thing there was to do - you nuzzled into the warmth of his body, until each limb of his was tangled with one of your own, until your chests pressed against one another so tightly that Su-bong could feel your heartbeat, until he could feel every single breath you took - no matter if you were inhaling or exhaling.

His hands - which were now located on your back due to turning around to face the purple-haired man - stopped pressing down, instead his fingers lazily danced over your skin in weird shapes that most likely only Su-bong could make out. But the gesture was soothing, it caused you to let out a small sigh of comfort as you nuzzled your nose into his cheek, breathing in the weird mix of sweat and expensive shampoo that always seemed to cling to the man. But it wasn’t unpleasant, not to your nose anyway. “You win,” you hummed against his jaw, leaving a short yet not meaningless kiss behind. The sound Su-bong let out was something between a proud grunt and a sleepy hum as he shifted to bury his face in your neck, making it pretty clear that he just wanted you close at that very moment. “Ain’t no way you’ll ever beat me, handsome. Fuckin’ won the rigged game of life the day I made this ass mine.”

So no, dating Thanos wasn’t a risk. It wasn’t what people outside thought it was, it wasn’t just being a placeholder until the rapper decided someone else was more beautiful or more fitting for his image. Su-bong knew what it meant to get his heart smashed to pieces, he knew what it meant to get hurt by the person one loved most and every choice he made, every action of his that was affecting his relationship with you was a silent promise that he’d do better. That he would always give the best he could offer - even if that wasn’t much on some days. He wasn’t a cheater or a fuckboy, he wasn’t the careless heartbreaker moving from one person to the next even though he easily could be all of that. He was a man suffering from depression and addiction. A man that was just asking to be loved, even though he wasn’t perfect. Even though he was broken and his mind was kind of fragile, even on his good days. But he still loved, because underneath all that pride and confidence, hidden beneath the ego trip he was riding in public, he had a heart that was too big for his body, a heart that loved in such a pure and intense form that made it almost overwhelming.

Being raised in a town so small that they all believed in the same good, all-seeing being had never truly been a bad thing for you, though that might have been because you had never known anything else. You weren’t online that much, never truly got past the pages on social media that preached the same things your parents had taught you since birth. You can’t miss things you never had, after all. So no, it wasn’t annoying to go to church every sunday with your family, it wasn’t hell-ish to not be allowed certain things that were painted out to be sinful either. You yourself believed in God after all, you wanted to be good and pure in his eyes, followed certain rules or guidelines because you wanted to. You were quite okay, lived a good life, had friends that loved you, had a family that loved you.

And a single person changed all of that by simply moving to the same town you had lived in your entire life. It wasn’t because he was the new one, because suddenly he was the topic of every conversation. It was because he didn’t believe and as someone who had never met a person who didn’t believe, as someone raised under an umbrella thinking that most likely every person roaming earth’s surface was a believer, you had no idea on how to handle this type of situation at all. So when the new guy in town had first approached you, it had been a nice and relaxed conversation until he made it quite clear that he wasn’t interested in religion in the slightest. Su-bong was a blunt and crude young man who spoke things how he saw them, he didn’t bother with false kindness for the sake of keeping up the peace of the town, he didn’t bother to lie or pretend so he’d remain ‘the nice young man from next door’. He was loud, not only with his voice but also with pretty much everything else.

The tattoos he didn’t even try to hide, tattoos that he seemed proud of on top of it. Hair dyed in a color as unnatural as purple, the helix piercing he showed off with pride - like he was proud to stand out in a town that seemed to copy and paste people. A rebel that appeared to be following his own rules, the one that blasted music from his apartment so loud that the entire town was able to listen to the lyrics about ‘smashing pussy’ and ‘popping pills’ or ‘snorting lines until noses bled’. Lyrics that went against everything you had been taught, lyrics so impure and sinful that they made your skin scrawl whenever you dared to even think about them. So a natural reaction would have been to keep your distance towards the strange, misbehaving man, right? To pretend he didn’t exist and move on with the peaceful life you had been living and ignore the almost blasphemous behavior of Su-bong.

But you didn’t because for once there was something other than a black and white way of thinking, of seeing. It wasn’t good and bad, it was ‘do what you want as long as you don’t hurt others’. Different from the way everyone in this small town was behaving, different from all the rules and guidelines you had followed your entire life, different from everything your parents had taught you. He was interesting. Not just because of his appearance that stuck out, that forced people to turn and stare because of how bold it was, but also because of the way he viewed the world and the people living in it. Su-bong was not the type of guy to say that believers were bad, even though most believers said that those who chose not to follow the guidance of God were lost and troubled souls. Doomed souls, even. He just didn’t care. And that was quite fascinating to you.

So while the town decided to ignore Su-bong for his stay - they all seemed quite convinced the lost soul would either find his way in God’s arms sooner or later and change to fit in - you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because how could one ignore a man as unique and confident as Su-bong? And the people living in the town seemed quite happy with the fact that you and Su-bong were befriending each other as well, clearly thinking you’d help the purple-haired man to find the right path. In all honesty though? You didn’t bother to force your own beliefs onto him. Su-bon respected you for believing in a God that he himself clearly didn’t. So why couldn’t you just simply do the same and respect his choice in not seeking out the good, all-seeing being? So religion was a topic that rarely came up. Sometimes it did when it became clear that the purple-haired one was doing drugs. Drugs that were stronger than weed, more dangerous too. But you tried to keep it down because by the end of the day the both of you were adults after all. You made your own choices and so did Su-bong.

Life became peaceful again, less tense. It seemed like everyone was getting used to Su-bong’s presence - and while you weren’t quite sure if that was a good thing yet, it did mean that you spent more and more time at the purple-haired man’s apartment.

How that pretty baby blue pill had made it past your lips was hard to recall, especially with the strong effect that it carried and now unleashed upon your body. But in that moment, during that high, while that warm feeling of bliss and calm filled your every cell, it felt like maybe for a couple of minutes God wasn’t watching you. Like the Father Himself had allowed you to feel something so out of the ordinary just for the sake of experiencing it, willing to close his mind in the moment you had agreed to that pill.

And this was how you found yourself laying on Su-bong’s chest, pawing at the man’s pecs like a cat trying to get comfortable. “It ain’t fair,” you whined into the chest of the man who was looking at you with a mix between amusement and a certain softness that only seemed to appear whenever the two of you were alone. A certain softness no one else seemed to be allowed to witness appearing on the purple-haired man’s face. “Like you’re so handsome and I’m not allowed to touch. I don’t want to sin, Su-bong. You have to believe me, I don’t want to, but you make it so hard not to.” It was useless to tell the purple-haired man that you didn’t want to sin, that you truly wanted to remain pure and good in the eyes of God because Su-bong couldn’t care less about whether you wanted to sin or not. In his world, there was no such thing as ‘sinning’ in the eyes of divine judgement after all, he was the type of man that simply did what felt right and good in the moment. And yet you found it quite important to mention that you weren’t willingly thinking those thoughts that were impure in the eyes of others.

“Like, you’re just so handsome, you feel warm and cozy and I really, really feel like I could kiss you, but-” you were interrupted by a tattooed finger that brushed against your lips in an attempt to silence you. Su-bong’s voice was low, it sounded a little lazy, a little high on the same drugs that you had also agreed to indulge in. But it was nonetheless a comforting sound - that fact alone was wrong, in the back of your mind you were aware of such. But the bliss and the warmth that was partly caused by drugs and partly caused by two human bodies simply being close to each other drowned that fact out. “If ya think it’d feel good, it ain’t a sin, pretty boy. Ya think God wants to deny you pleasure? Nah, my boy, sky daddy wants ya to indulge. So forget about that fucked up sin mentality shit for a sec and just, y’know, do what yo want.”

You knew that the next action would lead to prayers spoken on repeat with no end, that you’d beg for forgiveness over and over again until it would eventually be forgiven that you indulged in something your parents had always claimed sinful, but in that very moment, in that rush of bliss and that moment of simply laying on Su-bong’s chest, it felt like maybe the man with the attitude problem and the strange yet quite unique way of viewing the world could be right. That kissing another man wasn’t as unholy as people made it out to be. Because truly, why was it so different from kissing a woman? The action itself was the same after all. A kiss was a sign for love and it was always preached to love instead of hate. So why could a man not simply love another man in the same way that other men loved women?

“You’re too loud for that shit,” the man with the vibrant purple hair grunted as they headed back to the room where the beds for the attempting players were set up along with the neon marks on the floor that indicated their voting positions. They were heading back from the second game, the adrenaline still rushing through their veins just like the effect that those sweet, colorful pills the former rapper stored in the cross pendant that hung from his necklace was. Oh the high those candy looking pills could cause, it was the most intense high you had felt in a while.

In response to the words spoken by the purple-haired junkie walking next to you, you snorted, clearly disagreeing with the words spoken by him. Sure, you were more vocal than most men would be, that wasn’t something you’d deny given that it was the simple truth, but having Thanos telling you that you were too loud for a quickie in the bathrooms? Yeah, that man was definitely being dramatic there, you weren’t that loud - at least from your very own perspective you weren’t. And you yourself should know best if you were loud in bed or not, right? “I’m not that loud, bitch.”

Those words caused Thanos to roll his eyes at you, clearly not buying it - you on the other side believed those words were true, if demanded - and the circumstances you two found yourself in were demanding it - you definitely were able to keep quiet and tone down the noises you made while being pleasured. Well, at least you really thought that was the case, before you never really had to keep quiet while the former rapper fucked you. Sure, sometimes in bathroom stalls in shitty clubs with equally shitty music and drugs that were even worse Thanos had asked you to at least try and not let the other people around know how good he did you - but that had never been anything serious. The worst outcome out of such situations was that security would kick you two out and blacklist you. In this little game you and your best homie had signed up for? Shit, that was life or death type shit and as much as you were willing to risk your life for money while playing stupid kid games, you’d rather not take a bullet to the head while getting your world rocked by the pierced dick of the former rapper.

“Bet,” the purple-haired druggie responded with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. And maybe that should’ve been the point for you to realize that he would go and try his hardest to in fact prove you wrong. But your mind was working slower than usually due to the drugs, so you simply - and honestly quite dumbly - agreed to the bet.

Which was how you found yourself in his bed in the middle of the night. The announcement for the lights to turn off had been hours ago and the only noise that actively filled the room in which you, Thanos and 454 other players stayed in to sleep, eat and possibly bond were the rather soft sounds all those strangers made in their sleep. Well that and the rustling of fabric that was caused by the guy who had once been an active rapper. Because Thanos was on it - kicking away the blanket that was truly too thin to provide any form of comfortable warmth in a room that felt cold. The blanket wasn't the only fabric being removed.

Soon, your face was buried in the pillow - it was a shitty pillow, that you could tell, not nearly as soft as the pillows Thanos himself had in his own bed. It smelled like the purple-haired man positioned behind you though, so that was something positive.

With your ass in the air, the cheap, green tracksuit pants pulled down to your knees Thanos held you in place. One tattooed hand strongly held onto your hip, making sure your ass stayed up no matter how much your body would jerk and squirm under his touch, the other hand was occupied otherwise. Two fingers were buried knuckle deep in the heat of your body and that asshole had not bothered to take off his rings. So with every thrust that the former rapper aimed against your prostate, that ring he wore on his goddamn index finger caught onto the tight, clenching ring of muscles. The thing that bothered you most about the slight pain that silver jewelry caused was that you liked it though. Like it actually felt good, the way Thanos managed to let the pain bleed into pure pleasure.

Your teeth were sunken deeply into the fabric of the pillow, biting down on it to prevent noises from slipping from your lips, hoping dearly that those small whimpers that did escape your throat whenever the former rapper behind you hit the prostate with a little more force than necessary went unnoticed by the man causing you pleasure. “Fuck-” you grunted around the pillow between your teeth, squeezing youreyes shut in pleasure as those skilled fingers hit the G-spot of your body over and over again, causing your erected dick to leak a drop of pre-cum.

With nails clawed into the rumpled sheets and a body that trembled from how good it felt it was safe to say that you were a mess through and through. “Good boy,” Thanos growled from behind, letting his colorful painted nails sink into the flesh of your hips a little as his torso leaned forward, the clothed chest of the former rapper pressing against your bare back. And it wasn’t that you had taken off the jacket or the shirt that were part of the tracksuit you had been woken up in, no, the shirt had simply slipped from your back to bunch up around your shoulders when Thanos had forced your face down into the pillow. “Takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

The purple-haired man’s voice gave away how aroused he was by the pure doing of fingering you, there was no need for him to actively fuck you, to split you open on his own erection that trobbed under the fabric of both his boxershorts and his tracksuit sweats. No, the sight of you all needy, trying so very hard to prove that you could in fact stay quiet was enough for him, he did not need more. And yet Thanos was confident to eventually make you lose that silly little bet he had thrown in the room earlier. There was no way his ego could take a loss like that, especially when he knew how vocal you were.

Stars danced over the darkness that surrounded you when you closed your eyes in order to focus on staying quiet. Stars that exploded into bright dots when your orgasm eventually crashed over you. It was a little embarrassing, if you were honest, the way you spilled your load onto rumpled and messy sheets without a hand on your dick to provide the friction you had been craving. The way you had simply managed to fall apart in a room filled with sleeping people, completely and utterly untouched and onl be the heavy stimulation of your prostate.

With laboured breathing you were confident that those skilled fingers that were still penetrating the swollen G-spot inside of you would leave your body within the next few seconds, that Thanos would simply lay down next to you, maybe jerk off and go to bed afterwards - you had orgasmed and you had managed to stay somewhat quiet after all. But that wasn’t what the former rapper with the wide grin on his face intended on doing, though, so he kept those two fingers buried inside your ass, still pounding, clearly causing overstimulation. He would prove you wrong, would show you how loud and messy you really were, no matter what you yourself thought about that. He’d show you that having a quickie inside the bathroom stalls was not possible with someone as loud as you.

With a whine you reached out, trying to catch his wrist in order to get his fingers to stop. But before you could do so, before you had even the slightest chance of touching him, his hand was the one wrapping around your wrist, pinning our hand against the thin mattress right next to where your head laid. Your eyes searched out his - which was kinda hard to do in the dark - all while skilled fingers kept rubbing and pushing over and against the sensitive spot hidden away inside your body. Shudders ran through you, shudders so obvious that they made Thanos smirk, that caused him to apply ever so slightly more pressure and thrust his fingers a little harder, a little more forceful.

“Too much-” you were able to gasp out as your hips jerked, not sure if they should chase the pleasure that was indeed becoming too much or if they should try to wiggle away, to put distance between your body and his hand. Thanos, though, only kicked his tongue in response, followed by a shake of his head - not that you were able to see that though - as if to tell ‘No, not too much. Take it’, and maybe you could. Maybe you could take what he was giving and push through the overstimulation that forced a pitchy whine out of your throat, followed by multiple gasps. It was sort of insane, the way constant prostate stimulation could affect the body so intensely.

Because it didn't take long for your dick to harden again - which earned an approving grunt by the former rapper kneeling between your spread legs, not even attempting to pull away. No, Thanos was clearly enjoying this, enjoying how slowly you began to grow louder and needier, how your body chased his fingers while also trying to push them away, reject them. He was watching closely, the way you reacted to his touch, to his words and reactions. “Shut it and take it like a good slut.”

Before you could wrap your pleasure-drunken mind around it, another load joined your first one on the already messy sheets. It was accompanied by a scream - a scream of pleasure definitely, but a scream nonetheless and even the attempt to muffle it by biting onto the pillow was only doing so much to dampen the loud noise that your body made.

Okay, so maybe a quickie in the men's bathroom was a bad idea. Maybe you were too loud. Because if those were the noises you let out by only the feeling of his fingers, then it was quite obvious there were louder ones, needier ones reserved for his dick.

See, living with a person like Wade Wilson was special. Special because it was more exhausting than Logan had ever imagined. But it was also rewarding in many, different and surprisingly tasteful ways, as the Wolverine was granted to find out.

Wade was a freak. So when Logan entered the kitchen one morning he had found a bell. The thing was pink, even had a cute little bow on it and white letters read ‘ring for sex’. It was a simple thing, really, one of the less freaky things Wade had bought over the short period of time the two mutants had been living together. And oh lord have mercy, Logan was able to give people an entire list of freaky things the merc had ordered ever since the Wolverine from another earth had agreed to move in with Red. And the list was long, so very long and partly disturbing.

And that same pink bell that Logan had found on the kitchen counter a week ago, was now filling the apartment with the softest and yet annoying sound the Wolverine knew. Because Wade had just gotten home from a mission and the merc had turned it into a little tradition to ring that bell after every little adventure he went on. Actually, no scratch that. Wade was ringing that bell whenever he got his greedy little hands on it - which was often. And that was the reason - to Logan’s sensitive ears - the sound was highly annoying.

Then a groan from the living room was heard - Logan’s groan. The fabric of the old, worn out couch shifted, moved over the equally old and worn out cushions and the wood of the couche’s frame creaked under the heavy weight of Logan’s bones. Slow, heavy steps made their way towards the kitchen of the apartment and Logan was grateful for Al to be out of the house. The old lady could be quite lovely - at least to the Wolverine from another earth she was - but she couldn’t stand the noises of sex. Him and Wade had to learn that the hard way.

Wade was sitting on the counter. The bell was set down on the flat, clean surface next to him. His legs were dangling, his suit still drenched in blood from the mission he had been on for the entire day. The merc’s head was tilted to the side and even though he was wearing his mask, the grumpy, old Wolverine knew that underneath that red fabric there was a massive smirk.

And so the brunette grabbed Wade’s waist, hauled him off the counter and tossed him over his shoulder with zero effort, like Wade was just a sheet of paper, like the man wasn’t packing a bunch of muscles and strong bones himself. And so they made their way over to the only bedroom of the apartment - with Logan, who was carrying Wade thrown over his shoulder and Wade, who was dragging a chair behind them to put in front of the closed - and later locked - bedroom door to give Al a heads up in case the lady got home early from playing bingo with her friends.. Neither of them liked it very much when the old lady walked in on Logan and Wade. Especially Al - and she couldn’t even see the impure things Wade and Logan were doing in the bed all three of them shared. And she was grateful for that, God knew it, at least that’s what she said.

“About damn time your ass comes back to me,” Logan growled out in a deep, grumpy voice and yet Wade knew he didn’t mean it, wasn’t actually as annoyed as he acted. Because - believe it or not - Logan could be a little drama queen if he wanted to. At least that’s what Wade said, but who knew how true those words actually were - probably only Wade and Logan themselves.

“Sorry,” Wade responded in a tone that reflected his cheerfulness as much as his legs that kept happily kicking against Logan’s so well defined abs - at least they did so until Logan wrapped his other arm around them strong calves, pressing them to his chest with such force that it caused them to stop moving. Logan released a single, low grunt. “Some cockblocking shitface kept me on my toes, told ‘im I have a feisty little Wolvie waitin’ for me, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Wade,” your voice rang through the apartment, the noise bouncing off the walls until it reached the mutant you called out to. The merc emerged from the kitchen, with his arms crossed over his chest and a small smirk on his lips he eyed you up and down. “Babycakes,” the older man teased in return, the skin where his eyebrow would be located if he were to have body hair lifted up.

With your sketchbook under your arm and Logan by your side - you ignored the fact that you were dragging that man through your apartment like a dog on a very short leash, he followed suit and didn’t seem like he was having a bad time. Really, the opposite appeared to be the case. Not that it mattered in that very moment. “I need your body,” you blurted out, not even thinking about how wrong those words could come across - especially if you considered that it was Wade fucking Wilson you were talking to, there was no chance this man wouldn’t notice the double meaning of the words just spoken by you.

“Straight to the point, I see,” the merc seemed quite delighted by your choice of words as he pushed off the doorframe and started to walk towards you and Logan, that sly smirk on his lips didn’t fall for even a second. Red took a hold of the hem of his sweater and without a care in the world he pulled it over his head and let it drop to the floor. And really, it wasn’t like you’ve never seen Wade naked, the man could be quite confident about his body if only he wanted to. And yet your eyes were glued to his naked torso the moment the fabric revealed scared skin to not only your view, but also Logan’s. Who exhaled a little heavier than needed at the sight of the shirtless merc. “That’s not what he-” Logan began to speak, the older mutant clearly wanted to explain to Wade that he could keep his clothes on for that, wanted to tell Wade that naked skin wasn’t needed. But before he could ruin this sight for you, your hand covered his mouth and therefore muffled his words, “Sh, sh, sh, lemme have that.”

The merc only smirked at that sight, moving to unbutton his pants as well and really who were you to stop your boyfriend from undressing? Instead of telling Wade to keep his clothes on, you turned towards Logan instead, an eyebrow raised at your other boyfriend as if silently asking why he wasn’t getting undressed too. Logan grunted, the gruff man batted your hand from the collar of his shirt and with a silent roll of his eyes he also started to strip out of the fabric that covered his skin. “Thought you wanted to learn anatomy,” the brunette mutant grumbled as he tossed his shirt onto the nearby table. His eyes were scanning Wade’s body - it was clear that you weren’t the only one enjoying the view that the mercenary delivered. And you really couldn’t blame the wolverine mutant, not when Wade was a feast for the eyes with all those muscles that stretched over his fit body and the cocky smile his lips had curled into.

“And I thought you were horny,” Red almost purred as he moved over to the same table Logan had tossed his shirt onto. Acting as if they were in a movie - or for that matter maybe even a shitty porn - he swept all the things covering the wooden surface of the table right off of it, clearing it in one smooth motion before he himself laid down on top of it in a somewhat seductive pose. With his eyes constantly on his lovers Wade shifted, exposing more of his body with every change of position. “Wanna draw me like this?” he asked, laying on his side with his hand on his hip and his head propped up on his other hand. “Or like that?” Wade continued, sitting up. One of his hands rested on the center of his chest, the other covered his crotch - or at least he pretended to do so because the man’s private parts were quite visible, regardless of what the pose suggested.

Logan only rolled his eyes again, his attitude remained somewhat grumpy as he pushed Wade to the side to sit down next to him. Compared to the merc, the wolverine remained somewhat dressed - means he was at least wearing boxershorts. Even if those did little to hide anything, you were able to see what you wanted to see and while it seemed Logan had decided to simply keep it a little decent, you knew that the older mutant was aware of how revealing his underwear was. Logan was aware how good his body looked and what sort of effect it had on you and Wade most of the time, little he did to rile you up was done unintentionally.

“Just- geez,” you mumbled under your breath. Your hands clenched around the pen in your hand, the sketchbook pressed firmly against your chest as you watched the two men you were dating doing their very best to distract you from the original plan of drawing them. “C’mon baby,” Wade hummed in a tone that was way too suggestive, way too deep to be taken casual. “Use your words.” And oh, how you hated that you loved what those words did to you. Yes, Wade was a flirt, so was Logan which really wasn’t a big help. But that. That he was doing full on purposely, doing his best to take your mind off of the drawing, to guide your thoughts to something dirtier, something that still included both of them. Your eyes darted between Logan’s muscular tits - the man was moving his muscles subtle enough to let you believe it was done unintentionally, yet enough to make them bounce a little - and Wade’s poorly hidden crotch.