#the country so I hope that translated ^^;

[seokizaten]

Ink and His Visage [Kamisato Ayato] —⋆｡°✩

Epilogue��� [previous]

Series Introduction: Inazuma shines eternal, does that include the ordinary villager’s years of push and pull with the Yashiro commissioner?

Author’s Note: Thanks for taking an interest with my work! This is my first ever post in this platform and I’d like to spread my special appreciation with the man mentioned. I also am going to apply my love to my readers (although, excuse the angst) Love yourself always, queens! Hope you enjoy!

Months have passed and Y/N took a deep breath before getting off the ship, “Liyue…” She mumbled under her breath, looking around the place that she just used to look for. The foreign country struck her like a lightning, the culture is forever calling her to return.

At last, she decided to take a step to Liyue, inhaling the wind of artistic culture. She smiled momentarily, before starting to walk. She has a paper in her hand, written there is her grandmother’s current address. 

Now that she is in Liyue, the very first thing she wanted to do before getting settled is to meet her grandmother, and her dearest friend Zhongli. After all, it’s been a while since she last went here.

Upon arriving at the door, she took a deep breath before knocking. “Finally here.” She said, It didn’t take long for her grandmother to open the door, a smile immediately forming in her lips.

“Oh, my child. You’ve finally arrived!” She said, giving her the tightest hug. Y/N’s eyes immediately have tears upon getting reunited with her grandmother. “I missed you so much! Come on in now, come in!”

She then entered the house, seeing her grandmother’s very busy and artistic place. It seems like everything is going well for her here. “Grandmother, I have something to tell you.”

Her grandmother immediately looked at her… and gasped. “Lord Kamisato?!” She exclaimed. “Wha- What?” She asked, confused upon seeing the man next to her grandchild.

The two chuckled right after. “Ayato, grandmother.” Ayato said and bowed to her. 

Her grandmother, still confused about what’s happening, looked at them with confusion. “You accompanied Y/N here?”

Y/N smiled before speaking, “Well, we’re actually going to fetch you to go back to Inazuma.”

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow, “Huh?”

In unison, they spoke, “To attend our wedding.”

[previous]

[main]

This is a fanfiction based on Genshin Impact’s Kamisato Ayato, all made with my imagination. Please do not copy, translate, or repost to another platform without my permission!! —⋆｡°✩ Thank you so much!!

FOLLOW UP NOTE: Ayato had LOTS to make up for, and I decided to end it this way. For some reason, I will still write about two extra chapters after the epilogue; one for how Ayato won her back, and one about Zhongli's perspective during Yoshida's grandmother 500 years ago because I could never move on from Ayato's lore.

Next stop: The Gold He Holds [Zhongli]

Thank you so much for reading my work! I hope I delivered my imagination well that it had an impact to you. I will remember your names forever!

[dolls-self-ships]

had the idea of a human au for my chicken run self insert (and all the characters really, more to come on that) for a while now and I’m so glad I finally was able to fully get their designs out on paper (or I guess screen)

[burningcheese-merchant]

Wait Merchant you're latino as well? So cool! :D

I am :P my parents immigrated to the country we live in now in the 90s. English is my second language, my parents taught me our mother tongue first (my mom was actually worried I would struggle in school because of it lol. They had a hard time teaching me English because they themselves weren't great at it at the time. I did just fine because I learned English watching cartoons 😂 thank you SpongeBob, I'll forever be in your debt). I've lived my life both here and in our homeland. I visit when I can since most of the family is still back home and I miss them a lot (it gets really lonely here sometimes. All I have for family is my SO and my parents). Unfortunately, it's a long and often very expensive trip lol. But I try

[reds-skull]

Revenant Side Stories

Story VI: Farah

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [Novikov] [AO3]

This was originally going to be a retelling of the entirety of Farah's story in MW 2019, but I underestimated how long that would be, so these are more of snapshots of her life, up until 2019.

Farah is going to be a central character in part two because it will revolve around Urzikstan, so I was very excited to get into her character in depth. This was probably the hardest side story to write because I think the original story was already good (it's easier to write for something that had a lot of flaws in it rather than something good... maybe that's why I like cod after all these months lmao)

Anyway, I also decided I'm actually not done with the side stories, and the last actual one will be of... Roba, of all people. I know I made the comic for Ghost's origin story, but I never got to show what he did to Roba.

Alright That's enough rambling let's get to Farah's story

She doesn’t remember the first time she has heard of revenants. Humans who are saved from death, only to come back with abilities from worlds beyond their own. Of how they are revered, looked up to. And yet, misunderstood.

They don’t look up to revenants in Urzikstan.

The once-dead are not heroes among her people. They’re something to be pitied; people who chose to stay on earth and suffer, instead of move on to a better, calmer existence in the place after death. Take on the burden of the Reapers, dust off the dirt of their graves, and continue the endless fight for freedom.

In Urzikstan, revenants are called “those who sacrifice”.

Her baba taught her and her brother the different names of Reapers, told them tales of those who sacrifice as bedtime stories. She always found them fascinating, as opposed to her brother. They were often grim, their ending tragic and unsatisfying, but they felt more real like that. Felt more like her day-to-day life than any other fairy tale could.

She wouldn’t know how much her story would be like those, before it was too late.

The day she died is muddy, in her memory. Yet another thing she sacrificed, in order to stay in this world. A deafening whistle, followed by walls collapsing around her. Streaks of ash on the bloodless face of her mama. Pain, unlike anything she could imagine. The voices of her baba and brother and uncle, searching. The sickening shifting of concrete above her, whispers praying for mercy, the walls closing in on her-

And she dies.

At seven, before she knew how to write the alphabet, buried beneath the earth with only the pale face of her mother as comfort, Farah Ahmed Karim died. Yet, she did not move on.

The memory of the first time she saw her Reaper was clear. She may have forgotten her mother’s lullabies, or her father’s laughter. She has not been given the privilege to forget her Reaping.

The first thing she noticed was the clean air, an odd odor to it but blessedly lacking the dust she has been inhaling for what felt like hours. The lack of pain was the second - her legs no longer crushed under thick concrete walls.

The monster, was the third. A being made of sharp shapes, glistening metal melting and hardening, flowing through cracks in the stone face of the Reaper.

As the stone face moved, grinding against itself, Farah got up to her feet. Her legs screamed at her to run, but the memory of her baba’s stories calmed her. 

“The ones who take do not mean harm to the ones who sacrifice, Farah.” he told her, whispering as to not wake her brother, “they need each other. They need our sacrifice.”

“What for, baba? Why would the ones who take need to give humans their powers?”

Baba sighs, a small smile on his lips as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, “we don’t know for sure, but we must have something they don’t. Some say we humans were chosen by chance.”

“What do you think?” she asks, her endless craving to know more yet satiated.

“I think we and the ones who take are connected, somehow. I think we are the only ones that can sacrifice.”

Instead of running, instead of listening to all of her senses, Farah stepped forward, and with a small voice asked, “w-who are you?”

The stone face turns to stare at her.

“I AM MIGHT. THE STONE, THE BLADE, THE BULLET.”

The Reaper tilts its head, metal rivers splashing into an endless void.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”

Farah blinks away the tears that have gathered in her eyes, tries to speak louder, “I’m… I’m Farah? I’m a human, I’m-”

“YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, FARAH. YOU ARE DEAD, BURIED, CRUSHED.”

Her lips turn downwards, and she can’t stop the tears any longer, “w-why are you asking if you know?”

The rocks grind in an almost rhythmic way, and somehow Farah knows it is laughing. It makes her avert her eyes.

“Can… can you save my mama?” she asks, and the sound stops.

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

“S-she… I think she also died, can you-”

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

She grasps at the torn edges of her dress, sniffing her runny nose, “it’s not… it’s not fair…” her face scrunches as she sobs.

The Reaper leans forward, the light surrounding it reflecting with dazzling colors off of its body. Farah closes her eyes, not because she is afraid of it, but because she is afraid for her mama.

“I CANNOT SAVE HER, BUT I CAN SAVE YOU.”

Farah opens her eyes. Baba said he thinks only humans can sacrifice, but maybe not all humans can. Maybe mama wasn’t able to sacrifice, but…

She lifts her hands to wipe roughly at her face, tears and snot smearing on her skin. Her eyes trail up the falling liquid metal, beating heart deafening her ears.

Her voice is steady when she says, “I want to see baba and Hadir. I don’t want to leave them!”

The stones grind once more, a sort of excitement shaking the very ground.

“YOU WANT TO LIVE, FARAH.”

She nods and repeats, “I-I want to live!”

The Reaper tilts closer, its face level with hers.

“I WILL GIVE YOU THE MIGHT, THE STRENGTH, THE POWER TO LIVE, FARAH. AND I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL.”

The metal drips near her feet, heat emanating from them. It reminds her of home.

“I choose to sacrifice. For you, for baba, for Hadir. For… for mama.” Farah whispers.

The stones shift, circling her. Her breath picks up at the thoughts of crushing walls, but it is not dark here. No one is shouting. She doesn’t smell death.

 Metal singes her clothes, and she wants to jump back, but the stones stop her. It burns. It hurts.

It is not dark, but the bright colors blind her all the same.

“I ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE, FARAH.”

“MY MIGHT IS YOURS.”

When she wakes again, Farah doesn’t feel pain. She’s still under ruin, somewhere different from where she was before. All she sees of her mama is a hand, and she holds it. She notices the skin of her own hand glistening in the meager light filtering through dust and ash, like colorful metal. Like her Reaper.

It felt like hours pass before baba found her. She feels hunger and thirst, but the weight of the building doesn’t pain her anymore. Baba is crying when he finds her, pulls her out of the wreckage carefully, asking if she’s hurt.

She tells him nothing hurts. He pulls back from their embrace, his brows scrunched in confusion until he notices.

“I chose sacrifice, baba.”

Baba closes his eyes and hugs her harder, and she knows it would’ve hurt if she could feel it. He tells her everything will be alright. She wanted to believe it. She couldn’t.

They find mama. Hadir tries to wake her up, but Farah pulls his hands away. She tells him mama is in another place now, somewhere better than here. Hadir’s hands shake in hers, but he nods and pulls away.

Uncle and baba rush them home. Farah wants to cover her ears, the sirens don’t stop sounding, the noise pitching up and down along with her heart. Loud explosions make her flinch, so Hadir grabs her hand. It makes her feel safer, for a moment.

They run through the market. There’s a truck stopping in their way.

The Russians.

Baba lifts her in his arms, Uncle taking Hadir. They tell them to cover their mouth, when the Russians throw weird gas at them. It smells like the liquid mama used to clean their house, and it made her eyes itch and burn.

They enter their home, but baba doesn’t stop moving. He gives Hadir a gas mask. He will have to share his with Farah. Uncle leaves, telling baba he’ll meet them later.

“W-where are we going?” Hadir asks, clutching the mask.

Baba grabs a backpack, hidden behind the kitchen cabinets, “we’re going to the bridge, then to the mountains. There will be no sirens there.”

Farah hurries to follow him, wiping blood on her dress. Her skin isn’t bruised, but it feels weird.

“I don’t want to go…” Hadir says with a frown. Baba turns to look at him. He crouches and pets his shoulder.

“I know, dearest. I know. We will return, I promise.” his tone changed, stern like when he taught her not to touch the hot pan, “you need to be strong for your sister now, alright?”

Baba points to Hadir’s heart, “you keep mama here,” his hand moves to his head, “and you keep this clear. That’s how we survive, you understand?”

“Yes, baba.”

Baba shoulders the backpack, and begins walking towards the door, “when we get outside, you stay with me, okay?”

As he goes to open it, the handle moves, and the whole frame shakes. Someone is trying to get in.

“Stay behind me!”

The door slams open, a large man with a gas mask walking in. Farah takes a step back. The man meets her eyes and closes the door, and she stares at his gun.

Baba pleads with the man. He does not listen.

Baba throws his backpack at him, the man shooting a couple of bullets into the floor. They miss Farah’s feet by a few centimeters, and she freezes, breath held in her lungs. Hadir throws himself against the man, but gets shoved back.

The man pulls out a knife, baba manages to take it, stab the man. But it doesn’t change a thing.

It doesn’t save him, when the man pushes him to the floor, and shoots one, two, three, four bullets.

Only then do her feet unstick, and she mutters to herself, “hide!”

She runs back to her and Hadir’s room, crawling under the bed. The man shouts angrily and she hears something break.

Hadir. She needs to help Hadir!

As the man talks to someone on his phone, Farah crawls towards the kitchen, finding a knife. Mama always warned her not to play with them, but if the man catches Hadir…

In her heart, she asks for forgiveness from mama.

When she finds the man, he’s leaning against a wall, his hand clutching his side. Before she can think it over, Farah lowers and slashes at his legs. The man screams in pain, shooting a few bullets at the ground, and turns around to slap her.

It doesn’t hurt, but she drops the knife, so she runs away again.

One of baba’s tools is on the ground, must’ve fallen from his backpack. She grabs it and continues running, the man on her tail now.

The man says mean words to her, in Arabic, but her ears are pounding, her own heavy breaths the only thing she can hear. Her grip on the tool tightens.

“I’m going to kill you!”

Farah watches the man stumble in the hallway, searching.

“You’re going to see father soon, you piece of shit child!”

He trips on the rug. She sneaks closer.

“You’re dead, you hear me?! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!”

Farah runs forward, aiming for his other leg, but he turns around and grabs her hand before she can stab him.

“There you are!” he grabs her by the neck, slamming her to the floor, “got you!”

She can feel his hand wrap around her, crushing her windpipe, but it doesn’t hurt. The man grunts, before he freezes.

“You’re- you’re one of them?!”

Hadir jumps on the man’s shoulders, screaming, “get off her!!!”. He uses the knife she dropped to stab him in the neck, “get him, Farah, now!”

Farah grabs the tool, and uses all her strength to stab it into the man’s chest. He screams as flesh gives under the metal.

“It’s working! Again, sister!”

She pulls it out, and repeats.

“Good, Farah!”

And again.

Four times, until the man stops moving and making any sound. Farah takes his mask, the gun too heavy and tool buried in his gut.

Farah and Hadir return to baba. Hadir tries to help him up, but baba stops him.

“I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

Tears well in her eyes. Baba is leaving as well.

Hadir wraps his hands around baba’s, “what do we do?”

“You survive. Whatever it takes.” he turns to look at Farah, “even… even your sacrifice. Never give…up…”

Baba’s head drops. He’s gone.

Hadir stares at him for a moment longer. He gets up, “let’s go.”

They weave through the town, a murky green tinting the air. People are gasping and coughing around them, until a gunshot silences them. Hadir says it’s not fair. Farah knows.

It’s not fair, that they pass by people who get shot, and don’t get back up. It’s not fair, that she has to kill twice more, just for them to get a chance at freedom.

It’s not fair, when a man drags both of them away from it, a cruel smile on his lips as he inspects her.

It’s not fair, that she knows to recognize the malice in his eyes.

The soldiers take them to a prison. They find out she is one of those who sacrificed.

It’s not fair, she tells to the Reaper in her heart, that her sacrifice was not enough to save anyone.

She learns very quickly to hate Barkov. He learns, quicker, that his usual torture methods don’t work on her. He finds her weakness not in her own flesh, but in the flesh of the others. Hadir, in most cases. They keep the men and women separated, only allowing her to see him once every few weeks, and every time she gives them trouble, he takes the punishment. He tries to hide it, but he can’t hide his limp, or his bloodshot eyes, or the scars that keep multiplying upon his skin.

Contrasted with her flawless arms, glistening oddly in the light.

She gets into fights with her Reaper, in the earlier days. Demanding answers, for the simple question of “why?”.

Why her? Why this power, that only protects her? Why taunt her, tell her she’s under the Reaper of Might, yet show her every day how weak she is?

There are whispers among the guards, of a person by the name of “Karim”. A Commander, aiding the prisoners, attempting to contact foreign forces by transmitting messages from the inside. Barkov spends hours torturing her and the others, trying to find them. After a while, Farah notices a glint of playfulness in the wretched man’s eyes.

He knows who Karim is. He just wants to break them, annihilate the sense of fragile hope Karim gives the prisoners.

Barkov wants their spirit broken. Farah knows he will fail, because as long as any of them stand, they will not give up. For those who can't fight any longer, for those who are still with them in this hell, for Urzikstan.

They think one can uproot it from them. What they don’t know, will never understand, is that you can’t kill an idea. You can’t torture the memory of freedom out of them.

The soldiers seem on edge, mumbling in Russian about rumors of enemy forces invading Urzikstan. One of them slaps the back of her head when she stares too long.

The cycle continues - Barkov interrogates her, always keeping another prisoner in the room to torture in her place. Today it is Azadeh, younger than her by two years. Azadeh doesn’t flinch at the glint of a knife, but she screams as Barkov buries it in her thigh.

Farah’s guts burn at her wailing, at Barkov’s cocksure grin, his hand easily yanking the knife out of spasming muscles.

She breaks. Tells him she is Karim. It feels like an end.

Barkov freezes, before he pounces. Knocking her out of the chair, he covers her mouth, pinches her nose, deprives her of air.

Not many things can hurt her, but Farah still needs oxygen to live. Her wrists twitch roughly against the bindings tying her to the chair, Azadeh calls for her. Barkov snarls.

“I will not let terrorists like you ruin my country.”

My country… My country?

Urzikstan will never kneel to the likes of you.

As the edges of her vision darken, a soldier bursts into the room, his movements rushed as he informs Barkov the prison is under attack.

Barkov, always needing to have the last laugh, tells her she hasn’t saved anyone, that Karim’s role was only to doom her people, and orders his soldiers to the warehouse, to kill everyone.

Air fills her lungs as she inhales for the first time in over a minute. Barkov tells the man to take Azadeh to the warehouse, and her to solitary confinement. She gives Azadeh an encouraging nod, before they’re separated.

Karim hasn’t failed yet. As long as they’re still alive, she hasn’t failed.

Solitary is part of the older section of the building. Farah has been here enough times to know the rebar in the far corner of the cell is loose, and she herself have made sure, should the need arise, it will be easy to extract from the cracked concrete floor.

The moment the soldiers leave, she gets to work, pulling the metal with a grunt. With a few well-placed hits, Farah breaks the lock, and opens the door.

It is silent outside, in the way a graveyard is. Something sick spreads on her tongue, as she sneaks out of solitary. A few soldiers are making their way to the main cell block, to take the remaining prisoners to the warehouse, Farah assumes. The rebar feels lighter in her hands.

The first soldier she hits over the head screams as he goes down. The rest instinctively start shooting her. It doesn’t do much to stop her from caving their skulls in, besides ripping a few new holes into her clothes.

Searching the bodies yields her a key and an extra mag for one of the rifles. All of them were either empty or jammed, the frantic soldiers not recognizing her.

For them, all Urzik are the same.

Her sisters are relieved to see her approach. The gunshots scared them, fearing it was anyone but her. She opens the cell, freeing them. She uses the key to open a gun locker, and orders them to take up arms. No hesitation is visible on their faces. They all know this is an end.

Of the soldiers or theirs, it is yet to be seen.

“Our brothers have been taken to the warehouse to be executed. We are not going to let that happen.” Farah snarls, fingers aching as she grips the rifle, “are we?”

“No, Commander!” her sisters yell in unison.

Farah feels pride bubble up within her. They haven’t broken their spirit.

A series of far away explosions makes their little group flinch. Ayah asks, “who is attacking us, Commander? Are they on our side?”

“I don’t know. And as long as they distract Barkov and his dogs, it doesn’t matter. We need to move before it’s too late.”

They slam open the doors, Russian soldiers already ready at the other side. Her sisters’ aim is wobbly, the recoil more than they’ve experienced, but they have one thing the Russians don’t.

They don’t fear death anymore.

Nadia was injured in the firefight against a sniper. Ghalia has been limping since an explosion knocked her down. Darine and Azadeh are tired, they’ve been in solitary for days with little to no food or water.

They manage to hole up in the warehouse, but there’s no one there. Farah shouts for Hadir, her echo the only answer.

“Commander!” Azadeh calls, “there’s a way through here, this is must be where they are!”

Farah kicks the door open, turning right to clear the hallway, when a body slams into her from the left. She falls to the ground heavily, teeth bared as a barrel lines with her forehead. The other two soldiers aim at her sisters, Azadeh screaming in horror, “please don’t shoot!”

For a moment, Farah loses hope. Her mind supplies her with Barkov’s words.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

In the next, the skylights shatter. Precise bullets take out the three soldiers, not a single wasted shot. Ropes are thrown through the broken windows, and men wearing gas masks repel down. One of them looks at her, “Whose Commander Karim?”

Farah huffs as she pushes a dead body off of her, “I’m Karim.”

The soldier swings his weapon to the side, “we got your message” he lifts the mask up, revealing a pale face, “Lieutenant John Price. Where are the others?”

The Lieutenant offers her a hand, and Farah grunts as he lifts her, “in there. Straight ahead.”

Price looks at the dark hallway, before turning back and lowering his mask, “stay close!”

Azadeh’s expression is uncertain when Farah stops her from following them. Wordlessly, she nods and returns to her wounded sisters’ side. They both know the path ahead is meant only for trained soldiers.

Trained soldiers, and those who cannot die to a bullet.

Farah keeps her rifle up as the soldiers and her scan the hall. Tanks with warning signs plastered on their exterior line the narrow passage way, and she doesn’t need to know Russian to know what’s inside.

“Got two!” Price warns, and takes out one of the guards. The other doesn’t waste time watching his partner go down, and before one of Price’s soldiers puts a bullet in his head, he aims and shoots Farah.

Straight shot to her heart. These guards are more skilled than the ones she fought through to get here.

Two hands clamp onto her shoulders, and Price’s wide eyes stare at her through the gas mask, “you’re not wearing armor- Karim, sit the fuck down, I saw the bullet hit you-!”

Farah frowns, following his line of sight to the hole in her shirt.

“Lieutenant-”

He holds her as if she’s about to collapse, muttering, “why are you not bleeding…”

Farah grabs his hands, and the Lieutenant’s brows shoot up.

“You’re a revenant.” his hands loosen, and drop to his side.

Farah nods, “no bullet or blade can hurt me.”

Something odd passes by Price’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything to indicate what.

“Lieutenant, the prisoners are here! We need the breacher for the door!”

They run towards the back, and Farah slides to a stop at the scene.

In a room with large bullet-proof windows, where fire wars with the Russian’s sickly green gas, her brothers pound on the glass, their screams muffled.

They were going to watch them suffocate and burn.

She shakes out of her stupor when she notices Hadir. Slumped in the corner by a door, unmoving.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

Farah runs to the other side of the door, where Price and his men are attempting to pry open it. They don’t have time for this.

“Stand back!” she grunts, and Price barely pulls the other soldier away before she shoots 4 bullets into the lock.

She barely manages to catch Hadir when the door slams open, her brothers running out towards fresh air. She should feel happiness, that they were fast enough to save them.

But in her arms is the still body of her brother, the one who has been through this hell with her from the beginning. The one with their mama’s eyes, and their baba’s kindness. Farah feels tears run down her face as she presses two fingers to his pulse. Nothing.

There are voices around her, speaking to her. She doesn’t hear a thing. No sound is worth hearing when her brother’s heart does not beat.

Price crouches in front of her, his mask off despite the gas filtering in from the room. His voice is gentle when he speaks, “Karim… we need to move.”

She shakes her head. It reminds her of how Hadir didn’t want to leave their house, when baba knew they had no choice. She has no choice but to leave him.

Oh, how could she leave him like this?

As the Lieutenant urges her again, as her brothers and sisters start to realize what happened, as Farah’s fingers stay on a paling wrist, she feels it.

A heartbeat.

Hadir gasps, his hands shoot up to claw at his neck frantically, and he jumps away from Farah. Everyone is watching him carefully as he catches his breath, silent and knowing.

Farah clenches her fists, failing to quell the shaking, “...why…?”

Why did you choose this over seeing mama and baba again?

Hadir turns to face her, but his eyes don’t meet hers. They’re not the blue-gray they were before, she notices. Green, like the gas that killed him.

“You survive, whatever it takes. Never give up.” Hadir repeats their baba’s last words. “Not even death will come between us, sister. Not anymore.”

“May your soul find rest.” she says, and her brothers and sisters murmur it with her. Hadir then lifts his gaze, and he gives her a sad smile.

Price and his soldiers stand back, looking properly shaken by seeing a dead man return. For them it is an anomaly.

In Urzikstan, they all know what a sacrifice looks like.

Farah gives herself a moment more to mourn Hadir, mourn the peace he refused to receive in death.

She gets up, grips her rifle, and orders her people, “collect survivors and supplies. We’re leaving.”

“Sister.”

She stops cleaning her knife for a moment, acknowledging Hadir’s presence with a nod, before continuing, “any sign of Barkov?”

Hadir drags a chair to sit in front of her, “no, we’re secure here. The Lieutenant cleared the area well.” he watches her hands work on the sharpening metal, “I… I wanted to tell you about my powers.”

Her hand freezes. “Immunity to the gas. I know.”

“No.”

Farah opens her mouth to question him, but when she looks up at Hadir…

Mist flows from his eyes and nose, pouring down his features. Green, toxic, smells of chemicals and death.

When he speaks, more gas flows from his mouth, “I’m not only immune, sister. I can create it.” fear paints his words.

“Enough.” she orders, though to her ears it sounds more like begging. Hadir stops using his power all the same, and it is with shame that he looks at the thin level of gas coating the floor of the run-down room.

Farah puts the knife and whetstone away, and hugs Hadir. He presses closer, and she feels his body tremble with silent sobs.

“You will not use this power. We do not need weapons of the enemy to win this war.” Her brother may be doomed, cursed forever to bear the gas within him, but it does not mean he needs to continue Barkov’s legacy.

Hadir doesn’t respond for a while, but when he pulls back, he nods. “Yes, Commander Karim.” he says, pride in the title. “What are your orders to our brothers and sisters?”

Farah sheaths the knife, her voice strong and clear, “Barkov must’ve had more prisons. It’s time we find more hands to help our cause.”

Alex Keller is… odd.

He had a surface level knowledge of the situation in Urzikstan when he arrived. Not from a tactical standpoint - CIA doesn’t let details like those escape them, of course. But from a human’s, and perhaps a revenant’s, it was clear Alex was not used to seeing such disgusting levels of violence unhidden for all to see. Barkov doesn’t need to hide it. America already knows.

The world already knows.

Keller’s abilities as a revenant proved advantageous from the very first mission they had. Infiltrating has never been easier, with a man able to become invisible to the naked eye. Later on he has told her of his weaknesses, that his form is still corporal even when see-through, and that electronic optics are able to catch traces of him. His honesty doesn’t go unnoticed, and Farah appreciates the trust he puts in her.

Hadir didn’t trust him at first. Despite his relation to Captain Price, he was wary of the American. It didn’t matter much to Farah, as long as they were amicable enough to work together, but seeing Hadir slowly let his guard down over the weeks was a moment of happiness in her days.

It helps most in days when Hadir seems distant, when a fog she can only call a thirst for revenge clouds his eyes. It feels like the times she has to fight against his violent suggestions double every new mission.

Something is brewing in his mind, she can tell. Hadir doesn’t want to share it with her.

At least Alex doesn’t push back against her orders with no good reason…

They’re on ground now, Alex using Hadir’s Sniper to scope the Highway of Death, and Farah spotting for him. They’re waiting for forces of Al-Mudahiyn, The Sacrificers, to pass through.

Al-Mudahiyn and the ULF used to be one and the same, until they weren’t. They share the goal of liberation, but where the ULF chooses to prioritize the safety of the people of Urzikstan, The Sacrificers choose the retribution on the Russians to be theirs.

Liberation will not be achieved peacefully, Farah knows that. But revenge won’t bring it either, and as much as she would hate it if it were to happen, if she had the choice to free her country but let her oppressors walk away unharmed, she would. She is sick of seeing her brothers and sisters die, and sacrifice, and bow their heads to men who see them as lesser.

In that, Al-Mudahiyn and her disagree. The militia focuses its powers on creating chaos among the Russian’s ranks, within Russia itself, and anywhere where its sympathizers live. And while they both deal in violence, Farah cannot agree to it being the objective.

It is a tool. One she will wield only as long as her enemy does. 

The SAS and CIA have begun to retaliate against Al-Mudahiyn, as has Barkov, their actions too flashy to ignore. Stealing several containers of Russian experimental gas was the last nail in the coffin.

The ULF along with Captain Price’s team decided to work together to stop them.

“One vehicle approaching from the east!”

On her mark, Alex takes down the two snipers that attempted to set up on the roof. Killing them is a calculated risk; it could alert their target and cause them to change course, but leaving them alive could’ve risked Hadir and his team, who are nearer to the road.

Two fighters from Hadir’s team take the truck and park it in the middle of the highway as a makeshift blockade. She watches as they rig it up with explosives, and orders them to wait for her signal.

Their target, as do many in The Sacrificers’ ranks, is a revenant. According to Alex’s sources in the CIA, they’re just a Revenant of Flesh. Their healing powers could save them from some injuries, but an explosion should kill them.

And if the explosion doesn’t do them in, bullets will.

They were ready for an ambush. Armored trucks, snipers, mortar teams.

“We need help! Where is Captain Price?!” Farah shouts as she fires on a few fighters making their way through the ruined house they’ve taken cover in. Alex pops up to shoot as well, but she pushes him behind her when a few bullets hit too close for comfort.

Her clothes are riddled with holes.

Hadir shouts from the rooftop beside theirs, “we cannot wait! I’ve got more firepower in the truck!” an explosion shakes the foundations of the house, “Alex! Follow me!”

Alex looks back at her, and she nods. Hadir’s intuition never failed them, his habit of preparing for the worst saved operations more than once. He’s not her second-in-command just because of their blood relation, she trusts him more than anyone else.

That is why, when green, toxic gas started covering the abandoned village rapidly, Farah didn’t dare think it was him. Hadir wouldn’t do that, he promised her.

She hears him shout to Alex that there are gas masks in the bunker. It should’ve tipped her off. It didn’t.

Coughing horribly, she ran towards the bunker, her steps unsteady as the gas coats her lungs. She has never forgotten the way it claws down her throat, burning, seizing her muscles.

Alex comes into view just as Farah’s vision begins to fade, and the last words she hears singe worse than any chemical could.

“H-Hadir… You’re… a revenant?”

When she comes to, it’s to the smell of dust. Her throat still burns, but as she coughs, she feels clean air filter through her nose. Farah blinks her eyes open, to see Hadir equip a gas mask on Alex’s face. He notices her eyes following his movements.

“Sister…” Hadir leaves Alex to approach her, his arms open. Before, she would’ve taken comfort to see he is not injured.

Now, all she sees is anger. Green, sickly, violent anger.

Farah pushes him away, but she is weakened, so his arms don’t leave hers, “how could you do this?!”

He tries to placate her. It makes her shake with exertion to get away. “I had no choice, Farah! I-”

“No. Not like this.” her eyes roll back, and before she loses consciousness again, she mumbles, “you promised…”

“-Farah!… Alex!”

She grunts. Her arms feel weighted when she pushes the dusty gas mask up and off her face. Alex does the same, trying to get up on his feet and failing.

Price’s voice invades her mind, and she winces. It is an unfamiliar feeling, still. “You’re alright, Farah. You’re alright.”

Still unused to the powers, she chooses to speak, “where is he…? Where is he?!”

Price finally reaches them, helping Farah get up, only for her to push off to rush out the crooked door, “he’s gone, Farah…”

She snarls. How dare he run, how could he leave- “no… Hadir… HADIR!!!”

“Farah!” Price follows her, catching her when she stumbles on the steps outdoors, “Farah, stop! Stop, he’s gone!”

Her fists clench on dry earth and she screams. Coward, liar, monster. No curse is bad enough to describe that fucking dog.

She feels Price wrap an arm around her, not to support, but to comfort. It reminds her why they’re here in the first place.

“There is no thief.” she tilts her head up, staring at Price’s blue-gray eyes. His brows knit in confusion, and she continues, “he created the gas. I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t know, I didn’t know…”

She feels Price pull images from her memories. She lets him.

The Captain looks through her interactions with Hadir for the past few weeks. At first, Farah thinks he doesn’t believe her word, but Price relays to her that he’s not doing it for himself.

He’s proving her she’s not at fault.

“There’s no way you could’ve known, Farah.” he says out loud.

Alex joins him behind them, leaning on another soldier, “it’s okay, Farah. We’ll get him.”

She wants to bristle at those almost meaningless comforting gestures, but the look in Alex’s eyes is pleading her to let it go, for now.

Price helps her up again, shouting to Alex, “we need to un-ass this target- NOW!”

As they board the helicopter, Farah looks down.

Corpses line the desolate streets, no bird dares to sing at the sight. Both Al-Mudahiyn and ULF fighters lay still, eyes bulging and throat scratched raw. She grits her teeth, but her eyes don’t stray from the sight, even as the aircraft rises to the air.

Alex places a hand on her shoulder after a while, a questioning hum following.

She shakes her head, and with it his hand.

A voice that has haunted her for the last two decades drifts closer to her, whispering into her ears a sentence she hates to acknowledge has never been wrong.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

At twenty-seven, Farah Ahmed Karim has lost the last remaining blood relative she had. There was no one left to mourn, except her.

In a dusty helicopter, with the smell of noxious gas still in her every breath, Farah promised to find him, the walking corpse of her brother, and stop him before he drags more of them down.

And unlike the man who once was her brother, Farah keeps her promises.

[voidcat]

They’re gonna try to add what to the penal code now?.. 😀🤡

[uncanny-tranny]

I'm so not normal about nursery songs like You Are My Sunshine... we are singing our loved ones (babies and young especially) that they are the sun in our hearts, that they warm us with their very presence and that they are so, so dear and loved. How could you hate humanity when we have this unadulterated love for each other?

[marmotsomsierost]

today i had to go hunting in the depths of the language options available in our translation setup, and i came across this:

i really, REALLY want to click the klingon and see what happens. if i click video will i be greeted by

if i click audio only will i be treated to hailing frequency beeps

i HAVE to know. i need a gullible tiny human for plausible deniability. 'oh nooo so soorrrry random chiiiild found our ipaaaaad...'

i also wanna know because if i do get video of an actual human speaking klingon then it's even more upsetting that the danes and the swedes get both audio and video translation but the norwegians don't. although that does kind of make sense. 'oh you want me to make a phone call? well okay. ...i need to make a video call? nnnn....i'm not so sure on that. can we text...no? well okay.'

[hedgehoghungry]

Twitter: @wataseyuu_

[vettelsvee]

SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque además de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[flux1563]

Behind the Spotlight ft Miyeon

Tags : virgin, multiple orgasm, BWC

Words : 14k

"Annyeonghaseyo," Miyeon said shyly, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she tried to get the attention of the handsome man sitting across the bustling café. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her long, black hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall.

The man looked up from his laptop, a puzzled expression on his face. He clearly hadn't understood her greeting. "Hi," he responded with a warm smile. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Miyeon bit her lower lip, nervously playing with the translator app on her phone. She had practiced her English lines for weeks, but the moment had arrived, and her mind was a whirlwind. She hoped the app would be her wingman today. "Yes," she murmured, holding up the phone. "I am Miyeon. From Korea. You...are...my...type."

The man's smile grew wider as he read the translation. His eyes met hers, sparkling with amusement and intrigue. "I'm Y/N," he said, pointing to himself. "And you're definitely the most interesting thing that's happened to me in this café."

Miyeon's heart skipped a beat as she read his response on the screen. She had always been curious about dating outside of her country, and here she was, trying to flirt with a white man, a fantasy she had harbored for a long time. Her group's manager had always warned them about maintaining their image, but she was on a break from her K-pop group G-idle, and she had decided that this was the perfect opportunity to explore her desires.

The café was a cozy haven from the New York City rush, its walls adorned with vintage posters and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Miyeon's eyes took in every detail, from the way the sunlight danced on the wooden floors to the clinking of spoons against porcelain cups. It was her first day in America, and she was eager to absorb the culture she had only seen in movies and dramas.

Y/N leaned in closer, his interest piqued by the beautiful stranger. "So, what brings you to the city?" he asked.

Miyeon paused, her thumb hovering over the app's screen. "Vacation," she typed, feeling a flutter in her stomach. "I want to see America...and maybe find love?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, reading the translation. He couldn't help but chuckle at her honesty. "Well, Miyeon," he began, "I'd be happy to show you around. And who knows, maybe we'll find that love along the way."

They decided to start with the mall, a place where Y/N knew she would love the blend of familiar brands and unique American experiences. As they strolled through the gleaming corridors, Miyeon's eyes widened with wonder, taking in the sights and sounds of shoppers from various walks of life. They stopped at a photo booth, the kind that promised to capture their smiles with a series of snapshots. Miyeon's excitement was palpable as she squeezed in beside Y/N, her hands shaking slightly.

The camera flashed, and they both grinned widely, the photos printing out to immortalize their first moments together. They held them up to the light, examining the images with playful scrutiny. "We look good together," Y/N said, nudging her gently.

Miyeon nodded, her eyes shimmering with a hint of mischief. "Maybe one more?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she leaned closer, her sweet perfume enveloping him. The next set of photos were more intimate, their laughter and smiles growing more relaxed with each flash. On a whim, he leaned in and kissed her cheek, catching her by surprise. She blushed, but didn't pull away. Instead, she turned to face him fully, and their eyes met, the connection palpable.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in a canvas of oranges and pinks, they stepped outside, hand in hand. The warmth of the day had given way to a pleasant evening breeze, carrying with it the distant sound of car horns and chattering pedestrians. They paused at a scenic spot, a fountain with a sculpture of a couple in a passionate embrace. Y/N took out his phone, pointing it at them. "One more?"

Miyeon nodded, her breath hitching slightly. He leaned in, his arm snaking around her waist, and they kissed as the camera clicked away. The kiss was gentle at first, a mere brush of the lips, but it quickly grew into something more, their bodies gravitating towards each other like magnets. It was a moment that seemed to freeze time, their hearts beating in unison as the world rushed by around them.

When they parted, Miyeon looked up at Y/N, her eyes filled with a newfound boldness. She took his hand, leading him to the exit. "Let's go," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "I want to show you something."

The taxi ride to her hotel was a blur of neon lights and unintelligible chatter, her heart racing as she thought about what was to come. The hotel lobby was grand, with chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the marble floor. She felt like Cinderella, except she was the one pulling the strings of this fairytale.

"Y/N," she murmured, her grip on his hand tightening as they stepped into the elevator. "My hotel." The words were barely out of her mouth before the doors slid shut, leaving them alone in the plush, mirrored compartment. The air grew thick with anticipation, their eyes locked in a silent conversation that needed no translation.

They arrived at her floor, the soft ding of the elevator echoing through the corridor. Miyeon's luxury room was a retreat from the chaos of the city, with a view of the twinkling skyline that stretched out like a sea of diamonds. She led him inside, her heart thumping in her chest like a bass in a pop song. The room was immaculate, the king-sized bed an inviting oasis in the center.

Y/N took in the opulence around him, his gaze eventually landing on Miyeon as she stood before him, her eyes a mix of excitement and nerves. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her waist. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Miyeon's response was swift and decisive. She reached up, her hands cupping his face, and drew him down for a kiss that was filled with all the pent-up desire she had been feeling since she first laid eyes on him. It was a kiss of hunger, a declaration of intent, and it took Y/N by surprise. His eyes widened for a brief moment before a smoldering look replaced his shock.

Y/N took control, his arms wrapping around her tightly as his kiss grew more intense. He dominated the exchange, his tongue delving deep into her mouth, claiming her in a way that made her body tremble. Miyeon felt a rush of heat flood through her, her knees threatening to buckle under the onslaught of passion. She moaned softly, her hands fisting in his shirt as she tried to keep up with the pace he had set.

He broke away, his breath ragged, leaving her panting and wanting more. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "And so eager."

Miyeon's cheeks burned as she nodded, unable to form coherent words. She had never felt this way before, never experienced such raw passion. Y/N's confidence and dominance were intoxicating, and she found herself eagerly following his lead.

Their kisses grew deeper and more urgent as they stumbled down the hallway towards the bedroom, their clothes seemingly dissolving away with every step they took. Buttons popped and fabric slithered to the floor, leaving a trail of discarded pieces that whispered of their desire. Y/N's hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her soft, pale skin as if he couldn't get enough.

Her own hands weren't idle, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers and pushing it off his broad shoulders. His skin was warm to the touch, and she reveled in the feel of his firm chest beneath her fingertips. His belt buckle clattered to the floor, the sound echoing through the room, a stark reminder of the urgency in their movements.

Finally, they reached the bedroom, the large, inviting bed calling out to them. They tumbled onto the soft sheets, their kisses never breaking. Miyeon's long hair fanned out around them, a stark contrast to the stark white of the bedding. Y/N's hands found the zipper of her dress, pulling it down with a slow, deliberate motion that had her squirming beneath him.

The dress fell away, exposing her to his hungry gaze. He took a moment to appreciate her beauty, the soft curves that had been hidden beneath layers of clothing. His eyes roamed over her, dark with desire, and she felt a thrill run through her. This was it, the moment she had been dreaming of.

The air grew thick with tension as they continued to explore each other's bodies, their kisses becoming more frantic. The bedroom was a cocoon, insulating them from the outside world, allowing them to lose themselves in the moment. Y/N's hands slid up her thighs, sending shivers down her spine as he gently parted her legs.

Miyeon felt her heart racing, her breath coming in short gasps as she looked into his eyes. She had never been more vulnerable, more exposed, but with him, she felt safe. Her hands found his waist, her nails digging in as she pulled him closer, her body arching towards his.

He kissed a trail down her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone, leaving a delicate line of fire in his wake. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples until they peaked beneath his touch. She gasped, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation overwhelmed her.

Their kisses grew more desperate as their bodies moved in perfect harmony, the music of their shared passion filling the air. Y/N's weight shifted, and she felt the heat of him pressing against her thighs. Her hand slid down, her fingertips grazing the waistband of his pants, and she could feel the evidence of his desire.

The moment was upon them, a crescendo of emotion and need. With a final, gentle kiss, Y/N positioned himself above her, their eyes locked. The anticipation was unbearable, a sweet agony that had her trembling.

"Be gentle, please," Miyeon whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes searched his, seeking reassurance in the sea of uncertainty that was her first time.

Y/N's expression softened, a look of wonder and respect in his eyes. "I was shocked that a beautiful girl like you is a virgin," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry, I'll make sure it's perfect."

With that promise, he began to explore her further, his hands and mouth worshipping every inch of her body. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her. His touch was feather-light, as if he was afraid she might shatter under his touch. But Miyeon was no fragile porcelain doll; she was a woman on the brink of discovering a new aspect of herself, and she craved the release that only he could provide.

Y/N's fingers danced over her stomach, teasing the edge of her panties before finally sliding beneath the fabric. Her breath hitched as he touched her, his fingers skimming over her sensitive skin. He took his time, building the tension with every stroke, until she was a quivering mess beneath him.

Miyeon's body responded to his ministrations, her hips rising to meet his hand. The feeling was so intense, so overwhelming, that she couldn't hold back the moan that escaped her lips. He looked up, his eyes dark with desire, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He slid her panties down, exposing her to the cool air of the room. She felt a flash of vulnerability, but his warm gaze made her feel cherished, not exposed. He kissed her thighs, working his way closer to the apex of her need.

When he finally reached her center, she gasped, her body arching off the bed. His mouth was hot, his tongue teasing and exploring, and she could feel herself spiraling towards the precipice of pleasure.

"Ahh, keep going," Miyeon moaned, the words spilling from her lips in a mix of Korean and English. Y/N's eyes met hers, and he took that as the green light he needed to deepen his kiss. His tongue delved into her folds, finding her clit and circling it with expert precision. Her legs fell open wider, inviting him in, her hands tangled in his hair as she held him there, urging him to never stop.

Her breath grew shallow and ragged as the pleasure built within her, her body tightening like a coil ready to spring. "Ahh, Y/N," she gasped, her back arching off the bed. He hummed against her, the vibration sending waves of ecstasy through her core. She felt her climax approaching, a warm glow that grew brighter with every flick of his tongue.

And then it hit her, a tidal wave of sensation that made her entire body spasm. Her first orgasm with another person washed over her, more intense than any she had ever experienced alone. She cried out, her nails digging into his scalp, her legs trembling around his shoulders. Her eyes squeezed shut, she could see stars behind her lids, a symphony of color and light that danced in time with the pulsing in her veins.

Y/N didn't wait for her to catch her breath. Instead, he took advantage of her heightened state, slipping one finger into her drenched pussy. Miyeon's eyes snapped open, wide with surprise, and she watched him through a haze of pleasure as he began to pump in and out of her slowly. His movements were deliberate and measured, as if he was savoring every second. She could feel herself stretching around him, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"Ahh," she moaned, the sound a sweet symphony in his ears. Encouraged, he added a second finger, scissoring them apart to prepare her for what was to come. The sensation was incredible, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that made her toes curl. "So good, fuck," she murmured in broken English, the words falling from her lips like a prayer.

Y/N took her clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking and suckling the sensitive nub. Miyeon's hips bucked, her body writhing beneath him as he brought her closer to the edge once again. He felt her tighten around his fingers, her muscles clenching with every stroke. His other hand reached up, cupping her breast, his thumb rolling her nipple between his fingers.

"Ahh, Y/N," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "I wanna pee." The suddenness of her words took him aback, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers for clarification. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from their kisses, and she was panting heavily. "I mean, it feels like... I need to pee, but it's... different."

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through her chest, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "It's okay, Miyeon," he assured her. "It's just your body's way of letting you know it's ready." He could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes, and he knew it was time to take the lead. "Just let it go, baby," he ordered, his voice firm but tender.

And with those words, she did. A gush of liquid heat spurted against his face, her juices spraying against his cheeks and mouth. It was a moment of pure, unbridled intimacy, one that she had never shared with anyone before. Y/N didn't flinch; instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving hers. He lapped at her, drinking in her sweetness, savoring the taste of her desire.

"Ahh, ahh," she moaned, her voice a symphony of pleasure as she rode the waves of her second orgasm. It was a sound that would be forever etched in his memory, a reminder of the power and beauty of the connection they had just shared. He could feel her pussy clenching around his fingers, her body trembling as she came down from her peak.

Miyeon's eyes snapped open, meeting his gaze as she gasped for air. "I don't know if it feels so good," she murmured, her voice filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief.

Y/N leaned back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smug smile playing across his lips. "Trust me," he said, "it's only going to get better." He reached for her hand, gently pulling her upright. "Now, I want to see all of you."

Miyeon's heart was racing as she allowed him to guide her to the center of the bed. He positioned her on all fours, her knees sinking into the plush mattress. She felt exposed and vulnerable, but the excitement coursing through her veins was undeniable. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his intense gaze, and she knew that she was in good hands.

Y/N's hand traveled down her back, tracing the curve of her spine before coming to rest on her ass. He gave her a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing over the tight rosette of her anus. She flinched slightly, unsure of what to expect, but his touch was reassuring. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

With a gentle push, he positioned the head of his erection at her entrance. Miyeon felt her breath catch in her throat as she waited for the inevitable. She had read about this moment, had fantasized about it countless times, but the reality was so much more intense than anything she could have imagined.

"Please, be gentle," she repeated, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to hang in the air between them.

Y/N nodded, his eyes filled with a gentle determination. He leaned over her, his hand resting on the small of her back as he began to push his erection into her. Miyeon's eyes widened, and she bit her lip, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure as her body stretched to accommodate his size. He took his time, his movements deliberate and measured, giving her body a chance to adjust to the new sensation.

But it was more than she could handle. With a sudden jolt, she cried out, "Ahhhh it hurts!" Her voice pierced the quiet of the room, echoing off the walls like a siren's call. Y/N stilled, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

Miyeon nodded, her eyes squeezed shut as she took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I just... I need a moment."

Y/N's concern was etched on his handsome face as he leaned over her, his hand caressing her back soothingly. "Take your time, Miyeon," he murmured. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

Miyeon took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his manhood fully sheathed inside her. It was a strange, almost overwhelming sensation, but she knew that this was what she wanted. She nodded again, her eyes still closed tightly. "No, it's okay," she managed to say. "I'm okay."

Y/N watched her for a moment, his hand still resting on her back. He could feel the tension in her body, the way she was holding herself so tightly. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. "If you're sure," he whispered, his voice a warm caress that sent shivers down her spine.

Miyeon nodded, her eyes still squeezed shut. She took a deep breath, her body tensing in anticipation. And then she felt it, the pressure building, his cock pushing deeper inside her. It was as if she had reached the end, but there was still more to come. She gasped, her nails digging into the bedsheets. The pain was sharp, a knife's edge that cut through the pleasure, but she didn't want him to stop.

"Fuck, your cock is so big," she managed to murmur, her voice strained and needy. "I thought it's already inside me all." Her words were a mix of Korean and English, a jumbled mess of pleasure and pain that only served to excite Y/N further. He felt a surge of pride at her admission, his cock swelling even more at the thought of being the first to claim her tight, virgin pussy.

"It's only a half, Miyeon," he said, his voice a gentle command. "Just hold it." And with that, he pushed in further, the head of his cock breaching the final barrier that stood between her innocence and the carnality she so desperately craved.

Miyeon's cry of "Ahhhh, my pussy was torn" filled the room, a mix of pain and pleasure that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the hotel suite. Her body tensed around him, the muscles of her pussy clamping down as she tried to adjust to his size. He paused, giving her time to get used to the feeling, his hand reaching around to rub her clit in soft, soothing circles.

As the pain began to recede, she felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "It's okay, you can take it all."

Miyeon took a deep, shaky breath, her body adjusting to the feeling of fullness. "Move, Y/N," she urged, her voice a needy whimper. He began to rock his hips, moving in and out of her with a slow, torturous rhythm that had her gasping for more. She felt her walls stretching around him, accommodating his girth as she grew wetter, her arousal coating his shaft with a slickness that made every movement feel like a delicious agony.

"Fuck, 12 inches of white dick is inside me," she moaned, the words spilling from her lips in a mix of Korean and English. She had never felt so full, so complete. Her voice was a sweet symphony of pleasure, her moans echoing through the room as he began to increase his tempo. Each stroke brought her closer to the edge, her orgasm building like a crescendo within her.

Y/N watched her, his eyes hooded with lust, as he pumped into her. "You're doing so good, Miyeon," he praised, his voice a gruff growl that made her pussy clench around him. "So tight, so wet."

Miyeon felt a rush of pleasure at his words, her body responding to the praise. "I'm gonna cum, Y/N," she whimpered, the words a desperate plea for more. Her hips began to rock back into his, her movements growing more frantic as she chased the orgasm that hovered just out of reach.

With a groan, Y/N pulled out of her, leaving her pussy feeling empty and begging for more. He sat back on his heels, his cock glistening with her juices. "Look at what you do to me, Miyeon," he murmured, his hand stroking his length. "You make me so hard."

Miyeon watched him, her eyes glazed with lust as she felt the wetness between her legs. She had heard of squirting before, but had never experienced it herself. The thought of it was both exciting and a little intimidating. "How do I do it?" she asked, her voice a breathless whisper.

Y/N leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers. "Just keep breathing," he instructed, his voice a gentle command. He slid his hand between her legs, his thumb finding her clit once again. He began to rub in firm, slow circles, his other hand reaching down to squeeze her ass. "Relax, and let it happen."

Miyeon took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed. She felt the pressure building, the warmth spreading through her core. Her pussy clenched around his thumb, her body begging for release. And then it happened. A gush of liquid spurted from her, soaking the bed beneath her.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise and arousal as he watched her body convulse with pleasure. He had never seen anything quite so beautiful. "Fuck," he breathed, his hand still working her clit. "You're so perfect."

Miyeon's legs trembled, her body still riding the waves of her climax. "Ahh," she moaned, collapsing onto the mattress with a boneless thud. Her skin was slick with sweat, her hair a wild tangle around her face. She had never felt so alive, so alive and yet so utterly spent.

Y/N, his eyes never leaving hers, took her by the hips, gently lifting her ass into the air. His erection, still hard and slick with their combined arousal, nudged at her entrance once more. "Ready for more?" he asked, his voice a seductive rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

Miyeon took a deep breath and nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She had never felt so exposed, so open to someone else's will. But with Y/N, she felt something she had never felt before - a deep sense of trust and desire that overwhelmed any lingering fear.

And then, without warning, Y/N thrust into her fully, his entire length filling her in one swift, powerful motion. Miyeon's eyes snapped open, and she let out a sharp cry that was muffled by the pillow beneath her head. Her body tensed around him, the suddenness of the act taking her by surprise, even though she had been anticipating it.

"AHHHHH, SO BIG I AM CUMMING AGAIN," she screamed, her voice reverberating through the quiet hotel room. Her pussy clamped down around his cock, her walls pulsing in time with her racing heart. It was as if the dam had broken, and her orgasm was a flood that threatened to consume them both.

Y/N's pace grew more urgent, his hips slapping against her ass as he drove into her with a ferocity that took her breath away. Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over her, each impact leaving her trembling and begging for more.

"Ahh, it's bulging under my stomach," Miyeon panted, the sensation of his cock filling her to the brim making her feel so full she thought she might burst. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within her core.

Y/N's hand slid down to her stomach, feeling the base of his cock as it stretched her. His thumb dipped lower, teasing her clit once more as he watched her face contort with pleasure. "You're so tight, Miyeon," he murmured, his own voice strained with effort. "I can feel your pussy gripping me."

Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up at him, a mix of pain and pleasure on her face. "Ahh, yes," she panted, her hips rocking back into his, urging him deeper. "It's so... intense."

Y/N leaned over her, his hand moving to cup her face as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, Miyeon." His thumb traced her cheekbone, his eyes never leaving hers as he continued to fuck her with a rhythm that was both punishing and loving.

Her body responded to his words, another orgasm building within her. "Y/N, I'm gonna cum again," she panted, her voice a desperate whine that sent a thrill through him. He could feel her pussy tightening around his cock, her walls pulsing in time with the racing beat of her heart.

Miyeon felt the pressure building, the warmth coiling in her core. Her body was reaching a new peak, one she hadn't thought possible after her first explosive release. But with Y/N's expert touch, she knew she was about to shatter again. "I... I can't hold it," she gasped, her voice a mix of pleasure and fear.

Y/N's eyes darkened with excitement as he watched her, feeling her pussy clench around him. "Don't hold back," he urged, his hips driving into her with a relentless pace. "Let it out, Miyeon."

Her body obeyed, and she felt the warm rush of liquid building up, pooling inside her until she couldn't hold it in any longer. It felt like she was going to burst, the pressure was so intense. And then, with a whimper, she felt it. Her pussy clenched around his cock, and she squirted again, but this time the sensation was different. His cock was so deep inside her that she could feel the warmth of her own arousal trapped, unable to escape. It was an exquisite sensation, one that made her want to scream with pleasure.

"Ahh, fuck," Y/N groaned, his hand tightening on her hip. "You're so fucking wet," he murmured in amazement, his voice thick with lust. He pushed into her harder, his cock sliding through the slickness she had created. "Your squirting is making it so much better."

Miyeon's cheeks flushed at his words, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Her body had never responded to anyone like this, and she was eager to give him what he needed. She pushed back into him, her movements growing more erratic as she felt another orgasm building.

"I wanna cum, Miyeon," Y/N said, his voice strained as he fought for control. "Tell me where do I should put it."

The question sent a thrill through her, a mix of excitement and fear. She had never had a man ask her where he should cum before, and the idea was both taboo and incredibly hot. "Inside me," she gasped, her voice shaky with desire.

Y/N's eyes met hers, and she could see the fire in his gaze. He began to fuck her harder, his strokes deep and demanding. Each thrust sent her closer to the edge, and she knew she wouldn't last much longer.

Miyeon's pussy tightened around his cock, her orgasm cresting. She felt his cock swell even more, and she knew he was close. "I'm gonna cum," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Inside me, please."

With a roar, Y/N gave into his own release, his cock pulsing deep within her as he filled her with his cum. She felt the warmth spread through her, a sense of completeness that washed away any lingering doubts or fears.

"Ahh, Miyeon," he groaned, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. His grip on her hips tightened, holding her in place as he emptied himself into her.

Miyeon could feel every inch of him, his seed filling her, making her womb throb with the sheer fullness. It was a sensation she had never felt before, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. "Ah, so full," she moaned, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N withdrew slowly, his cock slipping out of her with a wet pop. He watched as a stream of cum and her own juices trickled down her thighs, painting the bed in a mess of passion. The sight was more erotic than any porn he had ever seen, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at being the one to bring her to such an intense climax.

Miyeon's body went limp, and she collapsed onto the bed, her legs shaking uncontrollably. The feeling of his hot cum leaking out of her was strange but oddly satisfying. She looked at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and a hint of awe. "Was that... normal?" she asked, her voice shaky.

Y/N chuckled, his own chest heaving from the exertion. "More than normal," he assured her, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You're incredible." He reached for a towel, cleaning her up with a tenderness that belied his earlier ferocity. "Your pussy is a wonderland," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire.

As she lay there, panting and sated, she couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. She had faced her fears and given herself to Y/N completely. And in return, she had experienced pleasure beyond anything she could have imagined. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N took her in his arms, pulling her close. "No, thank you, Miyeon," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "That was the most amazing experience of my life."

Their bodies remained intertwined as they drifted off to sleep, the aftermath of their passionate encounter still lingering in the air. Throughout the night, Miyeon's body remained a testament to the intensity of their love-making. She felt her pussy spasming, releasing more of her sweet juices onto the sheets. The warmth of his embrace was the only thing keeping her anchored in reality as she floated on a cloud of pleasure.

As the hours passed, their breathing synchronized, and the room grew quiet except for the occasional sound of their bodies releasing the tension of the day. Miyeon's pussy continued to spurt out liquid, her body reacting to the presence of his cum still deep inside her. It was as if her body was trying to cling onto the feeling of being filled, even as she slept.

The dawn broke, and the first rays of sunlight streamed through the hotel room's windows. They awoke to find themselves still entangled, their bodies sticky with sweat and cum. Y/N kissed her forehead, his eyes filled with affection as he took in her peaceful expression. He knew that he had been the one to give her this moment of pure bliss, and it filled him with a sense of accomplishment and pride.

Miyeon stirred, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. She blushed, remembering the events of the night before. "It's morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Y/N chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "It sure is," he said, his voice filled with a gentle teasing. "And we've got a whole day ahead of us."

The mention of the day ahead brought a spark to Miyeon's eyes, and she leaned in to kiss him, her lips hungry for more. But as she did, she felt the warmth between her legs, a reminder of the night's activities. She pulled back slightly, a look of embarrassment crossing her face. "I'm still... leaking," she said, her voice a whisper.

Y/N looked at her with a knowing smile, his eyes filled with lust. "It's okay," he assured her. "It's just your body's way of saying it enjoyed itself." He leaned in, his tongue sliding along her bottom lip before delving into her mouth.

The kiss grew more intense, and Miyeon felt the familiar stirrings of arousal. Before she knew it, he had picked her up effortlessly, his arms cradling her as he carried her into the spacious bathroom. The large, sunken bathtub was filled with steaming water, the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a sight that took her breath away, and she couldn't help but feel like a character in a romance novel.

He placed her gently into the tub, the warm water lapping at her skin as he followed suit. They sat facing each other, the water up to their chests, and began to kiss once more. The warmth of the water was soothing, a stark contrast to the fire that raged within her. She felt his hands on her thighs, sliding upward, and she parted her legs without a moment's hesitation.

Y/N took advantage of her openness, his hand moving to her pussy. He found her still slick with cum and her own arousal, and he began to stroke her gently. Miyeon's eyes fluttered closed, her breath hitching as she felt the beginnings of a new orgasm. The water sloshed around them as she leaned into his touch, her hands reaching for his shoulders to steady herself.

Their kisses grew more urgent, their tongues dancing together as his hand worked her clit. She could feel the water lapping against her sensitive skin, adding to the sensation. He pushed two fingers inside her, his movements slow and deliberate, and she moaned into his mouth. The feeling of his cock growing hard against her leg was all the encouragement she needed to rock her hips against his hand.

Y/N broke the kiss, panting, and leaned back slightly. "I want you to ride me," he said, his voice a gruff command. Miyeon's eyes widened, but she nodded eagerly. She straddled him, the water sloshing around them as she positioned herself over his erection.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself down onto him, feeling the tip of his cock breach her entrance. "Ahh," she gasped, the sensation a mix of pleasure and pain. But she didn't stop. She kept going, her hips rising and falling as she took him inch by inch, her eyes never leaving his.

Y/N's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as she grew more comfortable. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt her pussy clench around him. "Keep going, Miyeon. Take all of me."

Miyeon nodded, her own eyes glazed with passion. She leaned back, her hands bracing herself against the edge of the tub. The water lapped at her breasts, adding to the sensation as she began to bounce up and down on his cock. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pleasure through her, and she couldn't help but moan.

"Ahh, Y/N," she gasped, her voice a sweet symphony of pleasure. She felt his cock swell even more, filling her completely. "I'm gonna cum," she panted, her hips moving faster.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N pulled out, leaving her pussy gaping. He watched, entranced, as Miyeon's hips lifted off the tub's edge, her pussy squirting uncontrollably. The sight was like nothing he had ever seen before - a fountain of pleasure that seemed to flow endlessly. She threw her head back, her body shaking with the intensity of her climax.

"Ahh, ahh, Y/N," she panted, her voice a desperate plea. "I can't stop squirting."

He watched her, his eyes hooded with lust, as he reached for her waist. Before the flow of her orgasm could cease, he pulled her back onto his cock, burying himself to the hilt. The suddenness of the movement made Miyeon's eyes go wide with surprise, and she let out a scream that pierced the quiet morning air.

"Ahh, my pussy was torn again," she gasped, the pain mixing with pleasure as she felt herself stretch around his thickness once more. But she didn't push him away. Instead, she leaned into the sensation, her hips moving in a rhythm that was both desperate and needy.

Y/N took her hips in his firm grip, holding her in place as he pumped into her. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the bathroom, the water in the tub sloshing with each movement. Miyeon's orgasms came in waves, one after the other, each one more intense than the last. She couldn't believe how much she could take, how much she craved the feeling of being filled to the brim by him.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she threw her hands over her mouth to stifle the moans that threatened to escape. Her body was no longer her own; it was a vessel for his pleasure, and she reveled in it. Each stroke brought her closer to the edge, each guttural groan from his throat making her pussy clench around him.

"Fuck, Miyeon," he grunted, his own orgasm approaching. "Your pussy feels so fucking good." He pulled out, his cock glistening with her juices. Without a moment's hesitation, he guided her face closer, her eyes wide with surprise and lust. "Take it," he ordered, his voice thick with desire.

Miyeon opened her mouth obediently, her heart racing. This was new to her, but she trusted him completely. She took his cock in her mouth, her throat tightening around the head as she deep-throated him. She could feel him swelling, his cum building at the tip as he fucked her mouth with the same fervor he had used on her pussy.

He watched her, his eyes filled with a mix of amazement and lust. Her eyes watered, but she didn't pull away, taking his length deeper and deeper until she couldn't handle it anymore. And just when she thought she couldn't take it, he came, his hot seed spurting into her mouth. She swallowed it all, her body trembling with the effort of holding back her own screams of pleasure.

The taste was unlike anything she had ever experienced - salty and bitter, but somehow addictive. She licked her lips, savoring the flavor of him, feeling a sense of power in the act of giving him such pleasure. "All of it," he growled, and she eagerly obeyed, her tongue darting out to catch any stray drops that escaped.

As she swallowed the last of his cum, she felt another orgasm building within her. Her pussy clenched around his cock, and she moaned around him, the vibrations sending him over the edge.

With a roar, Y/N grabbed her hips and slammed into her one final time, filling her mouth with his cum as he emptied himself into her. The feeling of his release only served to heighten her own, and she came again, her pussy clamping down on his cock in a spasm of pure bliss.

When it was over, they remained connected, their bodies entwined in the warm water. "Swallow," he murmured, and she obeyed, her throat working to take all of him in. She felt his cock twitch in response, and she knew that she had done well.

They lay there for a moment, panting and sated, their bodies entangled in the aftermath of passion. The water grew cold around them, but neither moved to get out. The bond they had formed was stronger than any physical sensation, and for the first time in her life, Miyeon felt truly alive.

Miyeon looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of love and awe. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming his name.

Y/N leaned down, brushing a kiss against her swollen lips. "The pleasure was all mine," he said, his voice a low rumble. He knew that this was just the beginning, that their connection would only grow stronger with each shared moment of passion.

The water grew cold, but they remained in the tub, their bodies intertwined. The sun had risen high in the sky, casting a warm glow over their entwined forms. It was a new day, filled with promise and excitement, and Miyeon couldn't wait to see what it held for them. With Y/N by her side, she knew she could conquer anything America had to throw at her.

After they had caught their breath, Y/N helped Miyeon out of the tub, his hands lingering on her wet skin. They dried off, and he handed her an oversized jacket. "This is all you're wearing today," he told her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. She looked at him questioningly, and he smirked. "It's a surprise, but trust me, you're going to love it."

Miyeon slipped into the jacket, feeling the warmth of the material envelop her. It was so large that it practically swallowed her, reaching down to her mid-thigh and hiding everything beneath it. She felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of what might come next. Was this a new kind of fashion statement? Or was there something more sensual behind his choice of attire?

They left the hotel suite and stepped out into the bustling streets of the city. Miyeon was used to the flashing lights and crowds of Korea, but there was something different about this place, something that made her heart race in a way she couldn't quite explain. She looked up at the towering skyscrapers, feeling both tiny and powerful at the same time. Y/N took her hand, leading her through the throngs of people with a confidence that was as intoxicating as it was reassuring.

Miyeon's mind raced as they walked, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and curiosity. What was Y/N planning? Would they be recognized? What would people think of her dressed so... unusually? But as they strolled, she realized that no one was paying them any mind. They were just two people in love, enjoying a day out in the city. And for Miyeon, that was all that mattered.

The lingerie store was tucked away in a corner, a beacon of lace and silk among the concrete jungle. The moment they stepped inside, the scent of vanilla and sex hung in the air, making Miyeon's cheeks burn. She had never been in a place like this before, but the way Y/N's eyes lit up as he perused the racks made her feel like she was in the most natural place on earth.

"Y/n, my pussy still leaking," Miyeon whispered, feeling a little embarrassed but also incredibly turned on by the fact that she was sharing this intimate detail with him. He looked at her with a knowing smile, his eyes filled with mischief.

"I know, baby," he said, his voice low and soothing. "And that's exactly why we're here."

Y/N led her to a rack filled with the tiniest, most delicate pieces of lingerie she had ever seen. Thongs, panties, and g-strings in every color and design imaginable beckoned to her, and she couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. He picked out a black lace thong, holding it up against the light to inspect it. "This one," he said, a grin playing on his lips.

Miyeon took the thong from him, her hands trembling slightly as she stepped into the dressing room. The plush carpet beneath her bare feet felt like a cloud, and she couldn't help but feel like she was in a dream. She slipped off the oversized jacket, revealing her naked body to the mirror. Her skin was flushed with excitement, her nipples hard from the cool air conditioning and the anticipation of what was to come.

Y/N followed her into the dressing room, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. He couldn't believe his luck, having this gorgeous, famous woman all to himself. Without a word, he reached out and flipped her around, her body now facing the mirror. She gasped in surprise, but her eyes remained locked with his in the reflection.

He positioned her just right, her feet spread apart and her ass pushed out. "Look at yourself, Miyeon," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You're so fucking beautiful."

Miyeon stared at her reflection, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and arousal. She had never seen herself this way before - vulnerable, exposed, and so utterly desirable. Y/N's hands roamed over her body, his fingertips tracing the lines of her hips and the curve of her ass. She watched as he slid the thong up her legs, the lace tickling her sensitive skin. The reflection in the mirror only served to amplify the sensation, making it feel as if she was being touched by a hundred different hands.

Once the thong was in place, he stepped back, his cock already hardening at the sight of her in the skimpy lingerie. "Turn around," he instructed, his voice firm but gentle.

Miyeon obeyed, her breath catching in her throat as she saw his expression - a mix of hunger and admiration that made her feel like the most cherished thing in the world. She had never felt so exposed and yet so powerful. The lace of the thong barely covered her pussy, leaving little to the imagination.

"Now, bend over," he said, his voice a low growl. She complied, her hands on the dressing room chair, her ass high in the air. The thong stretched tight across her cheeks, the wetness from her pussy seeping through the fabric.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of her spine. She shivered under his touch, her body responding instinctively. And then, without warning, he pushed the thong aside, exposing her to the cool air. He bent down, his mouth hot and wet against her skin. "You're mine," he murmured.

Y/N's hand found her pussy, his fingers sliding through the slickness that coated her folds. He teased her clit before plunging two fingers inside her, making her gasp. The sudden intrusion was enough to make her legs wobble, but she managed to stay upright, her eyes never leaving the mirror. She watched as he began to stroke his cock, his hand moving in a slow, steady rhythm.

Miyeon felt a rush of heat as his fingers curled inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out, her eyes wide with a mix of pain and pleasure. Y/N noticed her struggle and leaned in, his hand covering her mouth to muffle any sound she might make. The feeling of his warm skin against hers only served to make her more aware of the delicious pressure building within her.

He pumped his cock faster, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. "You're going to cum for me, right here," he said, his voice a low command. And Miyeon nodded, her body already responding to his words. She felt her pussy tighten around his fingers, her juices coating his hand as he worked her closer to the edge.

The tension grew unbearable, and she felt the orgasm building like a storm within her. Y/N's hand moved from her mouth to her neck, his grip firm but not painful. "Come for me," he whispered, and she couldn't hold back anymore. Her body convulsed, her pussy spasming around his fingers as she came, her eyes squeezed shut with the intensity of it.

The sound of his hand slapping against her skin filled the dressing room, the only noise other than their harsh, uneven breaths. He didn't stop, pushing her through the orgasm and into another, her body shaking with each stroke. She felt his cock throb against her ass, knew that he was close.

With a final, powerful thrust, he pulled out, his cock pulsing in his hand. She watched in the mirror as ropes of cum shot out, painting her ass and the floor of the dressing room. "Swivel your hips," he ordered, his voice strained with his own climax.

Miyeon did as she was told, the movement making her pussy clench around the remnants of his fingers. He groaned, his hand moving to cup her sex, his cum mixing with hers. She felt a thrill of power, watching his hand move over her, marking her as his.

As the last tremor of her orgasm passed, he reached for his phone. "Smile, baby," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. He snapped a mirror selfie, his cock still glistening with their combined release, and her pussy swollen and red from their love-making. She couldn't believe she was doing this, but something about the moment felt right. The raw intimacy of it all made her heart race.

Miyeon looked into the camera, her lips curving into a wicked smile as she leaned into him. The mirror captured them perfectly - two bodies, one in the throes of passion, the other caught in the afterglow. The photo was explicit, but it was also beautiful in its honesty. It was a visual representation of their connection, a memory that would stay with her forever.

They left the dressing room, the sound of their laughter mingling with the soft jazz playing over the store's speakers. The clerk at the counter raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply ringing up their purchases with a knowing smile. Miyeon felt a thrill of excitement as she realized that they had just had sex in the middle of a lingerie store, and no one had even batted an eye. It was as if the universe had conspired to give them this moment of pure, unbridled passion.

Y/N took her hand again, leading her out onto the sidewalk. The city was alive with energy, and she felt it pulse through her veins, making her feel more alive than she ever had before. They turned a corner, and she saw it - a sex shop, the neon sign blinking in the daylight. "Hey, Miyeon," he said, turning to face her with a playful smirk. "Ever played with sex toys?"

Her eyes went wide, and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "No, I haven't," she admitted shyly. The thought of entering such a place was both terrifying and thrilling.

Y/N's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Then it's about time we change that," he said, pulling her closer. He led her into the sex shop, the doorbell chiming as they entered. The air was thick with the scent of latex and musk, and Miyeon couldn't help but feel a little nervous. But she also felt something else - a sense of excitement that grew with every step she took further into the store.

They wandered through aisles of vibrators, dildos, and restraints. The walls were lined with DVDs, their covers displaying scenes that made Miyeon blush. But Y/N didn't seem to mind her inexperience; if anything, it only made him more eager to introduce her to new pleasures. "Choose something that catches your eye," he said, his hand brushing against hers.

Her gaze fell upon a display of anal plugs, and she felt a thrill of excitement. The idea of being filled there was both scary and intriguing. She pointed to a small, pink one, and Y/N nodded with approval. "Good choice," he said, taking it off the shelf.

He moved on to the next aisle, and her eyes landed on a pair of nipple clamps that were attached to a small, buzzing device. "But we need this too," he said, holding them up for her to see. She blushed a deeper shade of pink, but couldn't deny the curiosity that sparked within her. He demonstrated how the clamps could be adjusted for different levels of intensity, and the vibrations sent a jolt of anticipation straight to her core.

After paying for their purchases, they stepped out into the bright sunlight, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the warmth of the sex shop. Y/N led her to an empty park nearby, the only sounds the distant chatter of pigeons and the rustling of leaves in the trees. It was a hidden oasis in the middle of the bustling city, and Miyeon felt a strange sense of calm wash over her as they sat down on a bench.

He handed her the bag with the lingerie and the sex toys. "Open it," he said, his voice low and commanding. Miyeon's heart fluttered as she took the bag, her fingers fumbling with the paper. Inside, she found the small pink anal plug and the set of nipple clamps, the sight of them making her stomach clench with anticipation.

"Open your jacket, Miyeon," he ordered again, his eyes never leaving hers. She looked around the deserted park, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. But the thrill of doing something so daring in public was too tempting to resist. She took a deep breath and did as she was told, letting the oversized garment fall open.

The cool air hit her bare skin, making her nipples harden even further. She watched as Y/N took the nipple clamps from the bag, his eyes dark with desire as he approached her. He took one of her breasts in his hand, his thumb brushing gently over the sensitive peak. "Look at me," he murmured, his voice a soft command that she couldn't ignore.

Miyeon met his gaze, her heart racing as he leaned in to kiss her, his lips brushing against hers with the same gentle touch he had used on her skin. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding into her mouth as his other hand found its way to her other breast. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, rolling it gently before the cold metal of the clamp closed around it with a sharp pinch.

Her gasp was muffled by his mouth, the pain quickly morphing into a throbbing pleasure that made her pussy clench with need. He waited for her nod before attaching the second clamp, the sensation sending a shockwave through her body that made her toes curl.

With the clamps in place, he leaned back, his eyes taking in the sight of her - her nipples standing proud, a stark contrast against the soft fabric of the jacket. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Miyeon felt a thrill of excitement as she reached into the bag once more, her hand trembling slightly as she pulled out the small, pink anal plug. She had never used anything like this before, but the memory of his fingers inside her last night made her eager to try.

Y/N noticed her nerves and took the plug from her, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He leaned in, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Trust me," he whispered. "You're going to love this."

Miyeon took a deep breath as she felt the tip of the plug nudge against her tight hole. The coldness of the material made her gasp, but she remained still, her eyes never leaving his as he slowly pushed it inside her. The sensation was strange, a mix of discomfort and a building pressure that sent sparks of pleasure through her body. She felt a twinge of pain, but it was quickly overshadowed by the feeling of being filled, a sensation that was both new and exhilarating.

Y/N's hand guided her through the process, his eyes never leaving hers as he worked the plug in deeper. He was gentle, his movements measured and precise, ensuring she was relaxed enough to take it without causing her too much pain. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her nerves. "You're doing so well."

When the plug was fully seated, he stepped back, his eyes raking over her with a mix of pride and lust. "Now," he said, his voice a low growl, "it's time for you to put on the lingerie."

Miyeon nodded, her heart racing as she opened the bag once more. She pulled out the black lace thong and matching bra, the delicate material feeling almost sinful against her skin. She slipped on the thong, the lace caressing her sensitive pussy, and then slid the bra on, her breasts spilling over the cups. The clamps on her nipples tugged with every movement, sending a fresh wave of arousal through her.

"Good," Y/N murmured, his eyes dark with desire. "Now, put the jacket back on."

Miyeon complied, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled the oversized jacket over her lingerie-clad body. The fabric rubbed against her sensitive skin, sending a shiver down her spine. With the thong in place, the plug nestled in her ass, and the nipple clamps tightening with each breath she took, she felt like a bomb ready to explode with pleasure.

They walked out of the park, her heart pounding with each step she took. The wetness between her legs grew more pronounced, and she could feel the fabric of the thong sticking to her skin. Each time she took a step, the plug inside her moved, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through her body. "Y/n," she whispered, her voice thick with need, "I can't wait anymore."

He nodded, his eyes dark with desire. Without saying a word, he led her down a side street, his grip on her hand tightening. They turned a corner into an alley, the shadows swallowing them up. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the walls, the only indication that they weren't the only ones in the world. He pushed her against the brick, his body pressing into hers, his cock already hard and demanding.

"Here?" she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and excitement.

"Here," he confirmed, his voice a low rumble. He reached for her jacket, pulling it open to expose her barely covered breasts to the cool air. He leaned in, his mouth capturing her nipple, his teeth grazing the metal clamp. The sensation was almost too much, a blend of pain and pleasure that made her pussy throb with need. She moaned, her back arching as he continued to tease her.

Miyeon could feel the eyes of the city on her, could almost hear the whispers of those who might be watching. But she didn't care. All she cared about was the man before her, the man who had claimed her so completely, so utterly, that she would do anything for him.

Y/N's hand found her pussy, his fingers sliding through her wetness. He groaned against her skin, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves through her body. "You're so fucking wet," he murmured. "Do you have any idea how much you turn me on?"

"Yes," she breathed, her voice shaky with need. "Please, Y/n. I need you."

Without another word, he shoved her down to her knees, his cock standing tall before her. She took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip as she sucked him deep. His hands were in her hair, guiding her, controlling her movements. She could feel his excitement, his desire for her, and it only served to fuel her own.

He pulled her to her feet, his eyes never leaving hers. He pushed her back against the wall, the rough bricks scraping against her skin. With one swift movement, he pulled the thong to the side, his cock sliding into her pussy. She gasped as he filled her completely, the plug inside her ass adding to the sensation.

"Fuck it was so full," Miyeon whispered, her voice a mix of amazement and pleasure. Y/N's eyes blazed with lust as he began to thrust into her, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing through the alley. The plug inside her moved with each stroke, the pressure building until she thought she might split apart.

Her pussy was so wet that she could feel it running down her thighs, and she knew that she was going to squirt soon. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Ahh, I wanna squirt," she managed to say, her voice breathless.

Y/N groaned at her words, the sound of her need pushing him closer to the edge. He pulled out, his cock glistening with her juices. "Do it," he growled, his eyes never leaving hers. "Squirt for me, Miyeon."

Her body responded instantly, her pussy clenching around the emptiness he'd left behind. The plug in her ass was a constant reminder of his claim, the pressure inside her building. And then, it washed over her - a wave of pleasure so intense that she couldn't contain it. Her pussy began to pulse, spurts of her juice squirting out, coating the alley's floor with a sweet, musky scent.

Y/N watched, his hand still on his cock, stroking it with renewed vigor. His eyes never left hers as he brought himself to the brink, her orgasm pushing him over the edge. "Cum with me, Miyeon," he said, his voice tight with need. "Together."

And with that, he thrust back inside her, his cock filling her completely. The sensation of being so full, so claimed, sent her spiraling into another orgasm. Her pussy clenched around him, her squirt mixing with his pre-cum as he drove deep, his movements punctuated by the sound of their bodies slapping together.

He picked her up, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Miyeon wrapped her legs around his hips, her feet dangling in the air as he fucked her against the wall. The cold brick pressed into her back, adding to the sensation as he moved within her. She could feel the plug inside her shift with each stroke, the pressure building until she was sure she would shatter.

"Ahh, so full," she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt him swell inside her, his cock thickening even more. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came, his seed spurting into her womb, filling her completely.

Miyeon's body responded in kind, her pussy clamping down on him as she squirted around his cock. The feeling was overwhelming, the intensity of their shared climax making the world around them fade away. They remained like that, locked in their passion, for what felt like an eternity.

When it was over, Y/N's arms remained around her waist, supporting her trembling legs. They both panted, their breaths mingling in the cool air. He leaned in, kissing her gently. "You're amazing," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

Miyeon couldn't help but smile, her body still singing with the aftershocks of pleasure. "So are you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. They stayed there, their bodies joined, for a few more moments, basking in the afterglow of their love.

As they pulled apart, Y/N tucked his cock back into his pants, his gaze never leaving hers. He helped her stand, his eyes lingering on the wet spot between her thighs. "Let's go back to the hotel," he said, his voice low and filled with promise. "We've got more exploring to do."

Miyeon nodded, her heart racing with excitement. She knew that there would be no going back to the innocent girl she was before she met him. But she didn't care. With each new experience, she felt herself growing, becoming more of the woman she was always meant to be. And she knew that with Y/N by her side, she could conquer the world.

They walked out of the alley, the city's noises rushing back in. But it was different now - the world had shifted on its axis, and nothing would ever be the same. They were no longer just two people; they were a force to be reckoned with, a symphony of desire and passion that could never be silenced.

The hotel lobby was a blur of marble and chrome, the chandeliers glinting in Miyeon's eyes as they made their way to the elevator. She was acutely aware of the plug in her ass, the throb of it reminding her of their earlier escapade with every step she took. Y/N held her hand, his grip firm and reassuring, as if he knew the tumult of emotions swirling within her.

The elevator ride was silent but for the faint sound of their breathing, the anticipation palpable. When they reached the room, he didn't even bother to close the door behind them before he pinned her against the wall, his mouth on hers in a searing kiss. His hands roamed her body, tracing the lines of the nipple clamps and the plug, his touch sending shivers through her.

Miyeon's hands moved to his shirt, frantically working the buttons free. She needed to feel his bare skin against hers, to reaffirm that this was real. Her fingers danced down to the waistband of his pants, finding his cock, already hard again. She stroked him through the fabric, his groan urging her to go further. He pulled away from her, his eyes smoldering with desire as he reached for the zipper of her jacket.

In one swift motion, he stripped her of the oversized garment, the nipple clamps digging into her sensitive flesh as they swung freely. He took in the sight of her in the black lace lingerie, his gaze lingering on her erect nipples and the wetness staining the crotch of her thong. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with need.

With trembling hands, Miyeon helped him remove the clamps, the sudden release making her gasp. The sting of pain was quickly replaced by a rush of blood, making her breasts feel even more sensitive. Y/N discarded the clamps on the floor, his eyes never leaving hers as he hooked his thumbs into her thong and pulled it down, exposing her to him once more.

He reached behind her, his fingers sliding along the base of the plug. "Ready?" he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she braced herself. And with one swift motion, he pulled the plug from her, the sudden emptiness making her whimper.

"Ahh," Miyeon said, her body shivering with the loss of the intrusion.

"Suck my dick, Miyeon," he said, his voice a command that she couldn't resist. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees before him, her eyes never leaving his. He stepped closer, his cock mere inches from her face. She could feel the heat radiating off him, could almost taste the desire that coated the air.

Miyeon leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to taste the tip of his cock. He was already hard, the evidence of his desire for her gleaming in the soft light of the hotel room. She licked all the way down the shaft, her tongue tracing the veins that stood out in stark relief against the velvet skin.

"Yeah, Miyeon, just like that," Y/N groaned, his hands tangling in her hair. He guided her head, showing her the rhythm he liked, the depth he craved. She took him in her mouth, her throat working to accommodate his length as she swallowed him whole.

He watched her with a mix of awe and desire, her eyes watering slightly but never leaving his. "You're a natural," he murmured, his voice tight with pleasure. "So eager to please me." His praise sent warmth through her, bolstering her confidence. She took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock as she took him back out.

The sound of her sucking grew louder in the quiet room, the only other noises their heavy breaths and the faint "gluk glukk gluk" of her saliva. She felt the pressure building in her jaw, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the way he was looking at her, the way his hips began to rock slightly, urging her to go faster.

Y/N grabbed her hair, his grip firm but gentle as he started to set a rhythm. Miyeon's eyes watered as he picked up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of her mouth with increasing speed. She could feel the muscles in her throat contracting around him, her eyes fluttering shut with the intensity of the sensation.

His hips began to move in time with her bobbing head, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Miyeon felt a thrill run through her, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him. His breath grew ragged, his grip on her hair tightening as he approached climax. She moaned around him, the vibrations sending a shiver down his spine.

"Miyeon, baby," he grunted, his voice strained. "You're going to make me cum." She nodded, eager to taste him, eager to show him just how much she wanted this. Her mouth moved faster, her cheeks hollowing with each suck. His eyes rolled back in his head, his body tensing as he reached the peak.

And then, with a strangled groan, he came, his warm cum spurting into her mouth. She swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him as he filled her throat. His grip on her hair loosened slightly, his body going limp with the force of his orgasm.

Miyeon looked up at him, her eyes shining with satisfaction. He leaned down, kissing her deeply, the taste of himself still lingering on her tongue. "You're perfect," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

With a gentle tug, Y/N led her to the couch, his cock still hard and demanding. He laid her down, her legs spread wide, the damp fabric of her lingerie clinging to her skin. "Now," he said, his voice a low growl, "I want to feel you all around me."

He slid into her, his cock filling her pussy in one smooth stroke. She gasped at the sensation, her body tightening around him. He began to move, his hips setting a steady rhythm that made the couch creak in protest. "Your dick feels so good," she moaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and amazement. "So...so good."

Y/N's eyes never left hers, his expression one of pure hunger as he fucked her. "Your pussy," he ground out, "is so tight, Miyeon. So wet." He leaned in, his teeth grazing her ear. "I can feel how much you want to cum."

Miyeon's hips bucked against him, her pussy clenching around his cock as she neared the edge. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "I need to cum."

Y/N's movements grew more urgent, his strokes deeper, harder. "Cum for me," he growled, his own need echoing in his voice. "Show me how much you like my cock."

Her body responded to his words, the pressure building until she couldn't hold back any longer. "Ahh, I'm cumming!" she screamed, her body shuddering with the intensity of her orgasm.

Y/N watched her, his own climax building. "Again," he demanded, his voice strained with effort. "Cum for me again." And with a few more powerful thrusts, she did, her pussy spasming around him as she screamed out his name.

The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking - the slap of skin on skin, the wetness of her pussy, the harshness of their breathing. And through it all, Y/N remained focused on her, his eyes never leaving hers as he brought her to peak after peak.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, he slammed into her, his cock pulsing as he reached his climax. He filled her with his seed, the sensation sending her over the edge once more. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their shared release.

For a moment, the world outside the hotel room ceased to exist. There was only the two of them, their bodies joined, their hearts beating as one. And as they lay there, gasping for breath, Miyeon knew that she had found something special, something she had never even dared to dream of.

Y/N pulled out, his cock slipping from her with a wet sound that made them both shiver. He leaned in, kissing her softly as he wrapped her in his arms. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice a promise and a declaration.

Miyeon nodded, her eyes shining with love and lust. "I'm yours," she said, her voice a soft echo of his.

With a smirk, Y/N picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. He carried her to the kitchen, the coldness of the marble countertop a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. He set her down gently, his cock still hard and demanding. "I want to feel your tight pussy on my dick," he said, his voice a low growl.

Miyeon leaned back, her hands braced on the counter as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one firm thrust, he was inside her, her wetness coating him as he filled her completely. She gasped, her nails digging into the counter as she felt him stretch her open. "Ahh, so good," she moaned, her hips rocking back to meet him.

Y/N leaned over her, his hand cupping her face as he kissed her deeply. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and amazement. "Your pussy is perfect."

Miyeon's eyes never left his as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of her with a delicious rhythm that made her toes curl. "Your dick is so big," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. "It feels so good inside me."

Their bodies moved together, a dance of passion that had been building since the moment they'd met. The kitchen was now their stage, the gleaming appliances the only audience to their love. Y/N's hips snapped against hers, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her body. "I want you to cum," he said, his voice tight with his own need. "Cum all over my cock."

And Miyeon did, her body bowing as she shuddered with the force of her climax. She screamed his name, her pussy contracting around him as she squirted all over the counter. The sensation was like nothing she'd ever felt before, a mix of pleasure and power that left her breathless.

Y/N watched her, his eyes dark with lust. "Again," he said, his voice a demand that she couldn't refuse. He began to pound into her, his strokes deep and unrelenting. She moaned, her pussy clenching around him as she neared the edge once more. "Y/n, it's so good," she panted. "I'm going to cum again."

And she did, her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm. He followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his cum. They remained like that, their bodies joined, for a few moments longer, the kitchen a testament to their passion.

When it was over, they both leaned against the counter, panting and smiling. "That was amazing," Miyeon whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

Y/N leaned in, kissing her softly. "It's just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with promise. "We've got all night."

With that, he picked her up again, carrying her to the balcony. The cool evening air kissed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. He set her down on the edge of the railing, her legs draped over the side. She could feel the cool metal against her back as he positioned himself between her thighs, his cock pressing against her already-soaked pussy.

He pushed into her, filling her completely. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice a low rumble. "So tight."

Miyeon gripped the railing, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on. She could feel the cool air against her bare skin, the sensation heightening every stroke he made inside her. "It feels so good," she whispered, her voice a moan of pleasure. "Your dick is so big."

He began to fuck her in earnest, his hips pistoning into her with a rhythm that made her toes curl. She could feel his cock stretching her, filling her up until she was sure she couldn't take any more. "You're so wet," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Your pussy is begging for it."

Miyeon nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "It's so eager," she said, her voice breathless. "It wants to cum."

"Cum for me, Miyeon," he urged, his strokes growing faster, harder. "Let me feel you squirt all over me."

And with that, she did. Her pussy clamped down on his cock as she came, her juices spurting out over the balcony. She could feel the wetness running down her thighs, the sensation making her even more sensitive.

Y/N watched her with a smirk, his own need building. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and command. "Keep going."

Miyeon's body responded, her hips moving in time with his. She could feel another orgasm building, her pussy tightening around his cock with every thrust. "Ahh, Y/n," she moaned, her voice a desperate plea. "It's so full."

"Your pussy is so tight," he said, his voice strained. "It's like a fist around my dick."

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she came again, her body shaking with the force of her climax. The sensation was almost too much to bear, but she didn't want it to end. "More," she begged, her voice a whimper. "I need more."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, his strokes becoming more urgent. "You're going to get it," he promised. And with one final, powerful thrust, he reached his own climax, filling her pussy with his cum.

They stayed there for a moment, their bodies joined, the sound of their heavy breathing the only noise in the night. And as they looked into each other's eyes, Miyeon knew that she had found something that went beyond the confines of a simple vacation fling. This was something real, something that could last.

"Y/n, my pussy," she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming his name. "It's sore." But even as she said the words, she felt a thrill run through her. The pain was a reminder of the pleasure they had shared, a badge of honor that marked her as his.

Y/N's only response was to kiss her deeply, his tongue delving into her mouth as his cock remained buried deep within her. He didn't care that she was sore, that her pussy was tender from his relentless pounding. All that mattered was the desire that still burned between them, a need that seemed to grow with every passing moment.

He picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom. The soft light from the lamp cast a warm glow over their entwined bodies as he laid her on the bed, the sheets a tangled mess from their previous encounters. He positioned her so that her legs dangled over the side, her pussy open and inviting.

Without a word, he slid into her again, her moan of pleasure muffled by the kiss. His strokes were slower now, more deliberate, as if he were savoring every inch of her. And Miyeon, despite her protests, couldn't help but arch her back, her hips meeting his thrusts as she sought her next release.

They fucked like that for hours, Y/N's cock never leaving her pussy except to tease her clit or slide into her ass. She came over and over, her body a symphony of sensations that she had never before experienced. Each orgasm was a crescendo of pleasure that left her trembling and weak, her voice nothing but a series of incoherent cries.

In the window, her body was bared to the night, the cool breeze whispering over her skin as he took her from behind. In the bathtub, the warm water lapped at their bodies as he pounded into her, her cries echoing off the tiles. And in front of the corridor, the risk of being caught only added to the excitement, the possibility of discovery making her pussy clench around him even tighter.

The hotel room became their playground, each corner a testament to their passion. The bed creaked under their weight, the couch bore the marks of their desperation, and the floor was sticky with their mixed juices. And still, Y/N didn't stop. His stamina was like that of a creature from myth, a beast that feasted on her desire and grew stronger with each passing moment.

As dawn approached, Miyeon's voice was nothing but a series of breathless gasps. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, painted with sweat and the evidence of their love. But she didn't want it to end. With each new sunrise, she felt herself changing, growing more and more into the woman she was always meant to be.

And when the sun finally peeked through the curtains, they were still at it, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself. The soreness was forgotten, lost in the haze of their shared ecstasy. And as the first light of day bathed the hotel room, they collapsed onto the bed, their hearts racing and their bodies sated.

Miyeon looked up at him, her eyes shining with love and lust. "More," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper. And Y/N, his body still hard and ready, smiled down at her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Always," he promised, his voice a low growl.

And with that, they drifted off to sleep, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in unison. They had conquered the night, claimed every inch of the hotel room, and each other. And when they woke, the world would be theirs to explore once more, their love a beacon that could never be dimmed.

Days turned into nights and back again as they reveled in their newfound freedom. Y/N had become more than just a lover; he was her confidant, her guide, her everything. And with each passing moment, their bond grew stronger, their desire for one another insatiable. They fucked in every corner of the hotel suite, leaving a trail of passion in their wake.

The time came when Miyeon had to prepare for her flight back to Korea. The thought of leaving him was a knife to her heart, but she had an idea. "Y/n," she said, her voice soft and filled with hope. "Will you come back to Korea with me? Be my personal assistant. That way, we can be together all the time."

Y/N looked down at her, his eyes filled with love and lust. "I'll do anything for you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. And with that, he nodded, sealing their fate together.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of excitement and nerves. They fucked in the back of the limo on the way to the airport, the thrill of the unknown driving them closer together. And once they were back in Korea, nothing changed. Y/N was by her side, fulfilling his duties as her personal assistant and her lover with equal passion.

After each concert, when the screams of adoring fans had faded into the night, they'd sneak away to the quiet solitude of her dressing room. There, amidst the glitter and chaos, he'd peel away her stage costume, his kisses leaving a trail of fire on her skin. He'd fill her up, his cock claiming her once more, reminding her that she belonged to him, and he to her.

Their secret love affair grew with every day, every touch, every whispered promise of more to come. They'd steal moments in the green room, his hand slipping into her pants as they talked over the day's schedule, her body tightening around his fingers as she struggled to keep her composure. And in the quiet of the night, when the world outside was fast asleep, they'd explore each other's bodies with a hunger that never waned.

In the bustling city of Seoul, they found their own brand of nirvana. Y/N would take her to secluded places, his cock buried deep inside her, as they made love in the shadows. The thrill of discovery, the danger of being caught, it all added to the allure. They were unstoppable, a force that could never be contained.

And so it went, their lives a tapestry of love and lust, of passion and desire. Every day was a new adventure, every moment a chance to push the boundaries of their love. They were bound by something far stronger than duty or obligation, a connection that transcended the ordinary.

In the end, it was clear that this was no fleeting fling, no holiday romance. This was something real, something that would last. And as Miyeon looked into the eyes of the man who had claimed her body and soul, she knew that she had found her home.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "For making me feel so alive."

Y/N kissed her softly, his hand tracing the line of her jaw. "The pleasure is all mine," he said, his voice a promise. "Forever."

Their story didn't end with the final beat of the tour or the closing of the hotel room door. It was just the beginning of a love affair that would span continents and conquer hearts. And as they stepped into the bright lights of their future together, Miyeon and Y/N knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They had found in each other a love that was as fierce as it was tender, a bond that was unbreakable.

[empty-movement]

WAKE UP BABES NEW YOJI ENOKIDO BULLSHIT TRANSLATED

Mobile Suit Gundam GQuuuuuuX writer Yoji Enokido's commentary from the two Revolutionary Girl Utena script books for the episodes of Utena that he wrote....TRANSLATED.

We sent these two 1998 script books, The Rose Bride and The Rose Crest, to Nagumo, who confirmed there are indeed deviations in the published scripts compared to the final result...so I guess that's these puppies on the scanner chopping block! But in the meantime, the episode commentaries themselves have been translated, as always, by our friend Nagumo, with Ayu Ohseki editing! Downloads to the scans of these pages in Japanese are included! Read them here, at From the Mouths of Babes, our creator commentary/meta site!

The Rose Bride (Episodes 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 14, 15, 22, & 23) The Rose Crest (Episodes 25, 26, 30, 34, 37, 38, & 39)

What have we got??? A handful of highlights:

The 100 boys that died were Class D, for 'des' (Death.) Afterwards, they began skipping D and going straight to E, like we do with skipping floor 13

Nanami thinks the letters from Ends of the World are ridiculous.

More mentions of Terayama Shuji's "Pastoral: To Die in the Country"

Multiple explanations for incest that boil down to 'it's drama baby'

Kanae probably knows about Akio and Anthy, deep down.

Juri and Kozue 'seem to understand each other well.' (shifty eyes)

The character 時 (“time”) is shared between Tokiko and Souji. Souji borrowed the character from Tokiko’s name to incorporate it into his false name.

"...somewhere deep within Anthy, she has unknowingly started seeing Utena as a Prince. That’s why Akio’s Sword of Dios disappears and “Utena’s Sword of Dios” manifests."

Confirmation that Nanami called Saionji 'Kyouchi' because he's been part of her life pre-dating Ohtori

Anthy appears as Miki and Kozue's new mother-in-law because 'Bride' as a concept is shared and it's an anime so nothing is real

Utena doesn't pick up on the vibes Akio's throwing until he takes her shoes off

His favorite scene to write was the badminton one.

Akio's birthday is based on Cesare Borgia's, because Cesare and Lucrezia are Akio and Anthy inspos

Akio is not a duelist, and because of that, his name lacks a reference to plants, which everyone else has.

"It is likely that as her Christ, she knew Anthy would deny her three times before the cock crowed."

The last scene had originally had it snowing, but they felt a more hopeful and uplifting aesthetic served better in the end.

[usedpidemo]

Cherry ((G)I-dle Minnie)

For you, nothing compares to seeing your favorite artist live, doing what they love the most.

For Minnie, nothing compares to the continued echo of a roaring crowd screaming her name.

But when it’s all said and done, nothing compares to the sound of her one and only fan shouting her name while he’s giving every last inch into her.

—————

Checking your phone, you see the posts on social media. While everyone else is still inside that stadium, Minnie is nowhere to be found, disappearing right after her 30 minute set, no-showing the arbitrary farewell walk around to the fans. Not that everyone cares or will give her heat for her sudden absence, but her presence leaves quite a noticeable hole in the venue.

Judging by how she’s opening the door to her hotel room, you can guess as to where she’s gone. 

Looking through your recorded footage, her eyes kept a steady track on you, as if she personally singled you out. Giving you flirty winks, subtle flying kisses in your direction, smiling at you even as she hosts the rest of the audience between transitions—the signs were there all along. You were caught up in the moment of her performance to properly notice.

That, and your intrusive handmade banner is quite easy for her to notice.

Speaking of—Minnie’s been holding your banner the entire ride back, finally setting it aside on the dining table. With every glance at your simple ‘I love you’ message, her gummy smile only widens. It’s heartwarming to see your effort be rewarded in quite the grandiose manner. A simple acknowledgement would have been enough—a simple heart, a wave, a general glance in your direction, anything.

You never expected to share a ride back to her hotel before she personally guided you inside her personal place.

She always points out how cute your handwriting is. That you went out of your way to write in Thai, even if it's evidently using Google Translate, saying that she’ll keep it in her place in appreciation. 

And so, you have to address the elephant in the room:

“Why me?” you ask, as your gaze wanders around her hotel room, quite simple in design and only meant for simple overnight stays. You can see the venue you were in minutes ago from the large window, a lifetime away thanks to the nighttime traffic. 

“Because I saw it!” Minnie replies, grinning, falling into her usual idol posture like muscle memory. Hands folded together, classy, even if her still-worn stage outfit says otherwise. Casually flaunting off her tight figure and toned little belly just for you. It’s hypnotic. “Flew in from far away just to see me perform here? You’re committed.”

“I mean—you haven’t performed in my country in years,” you remark, bitter at the thought. One of your driving motivations is to at least see her if the worst happened. Fortunately, they’re here to stay a little longer. Nevertheless, your patience was far past its breaking point, and you had to take matters into your own hands. “You have no idea how long I waited for you to come back.”

Minnie frowns, apologetic and empathetic over your plight. “Sorry. We want to reach out and perform everywhere, but—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it all the time, no need to remind me,” you interrupt, unwilling to hear the same rote excuse for the umpteenth time. Of course it’s the company’s fault, and not you for living in an unprofitable market for international artists to perform. “But that doesn’t matter now. If you ever go and tour, I’ll try flying out here again, like I did just for you.”

Almost immediately, her downcast expression shifts into a look of joy. “Aw. I hope it doesn’t mean you’re going broke for us. It’s not worth it.”

“Of course not,” is your reply, as if you anticipated this exact response. “I wouldn’t even think about going on this trip if I knew I’d be eating cup noodles for the next month.”

“Sounds fun,” Minnie jests, approaching you and brushing loose strands of your hair covering your forehead. Cupping a hand on your cheek, she whispers against your other cheek, her breath hot: “I’ll pay for whatever you need. Flight tickets, hotel accommodation, transportation—name it and I got you covered.”

“Everything’s been accounted for, but I appreciate the thought,” you remark, your eyes following hers. Staring into each other’s gaze intently, her warmth and sincerity in full bloom, you’re falling deeper in love with her. “I—I just didn’t think this would ever happen.”

“No one does,” is her remark, tone sensual, pulling your head closer against hers. “Now I want to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

Her breath tickles your ear, sending chills down your spine. “What’s your favorite song I did tonight?”

You pause, give her a subtle smile, which she immediately reads. Like she already has a clue.

“I think you already know the answer.”

She breathes against your skin in the shape of a chuckle and a smirk. The song begins to play moments later, courtesy of her own phone.

Minnie quietly mouths the lyrics in your ear, and you can’t help but lean closer to get a feel of her lips kissing your skin. You sense the ripple of her waist against yours, a gentle rustle of her shrinking skirt. You engross yourself in the moment that you don’t notice her hands dragging you with her in the direction of the living room couch.

Pushing you onto the sofa right as the second line hits, Minnie continues mouthing the words to her own song effortlessly, dancing before you so sexily knowing she’d never try on stage in a million years, even with their group’s more risque concepts. Her eyes demand every bit of your attention—not that you had anything else in mind but her. 

A private performance, meant only for you. Turning her hotel room into a club, you’d be throwing what little money you have for her if you had anything left. 

And by God, she loves it. Relishing how whipped you are for her. Doesn’t matter if it’s one or thousands, she lives for the attention and praise.

As the chorus hits, Minnie drops to the floor, stomach down ass up, kicking her heels up in the air, her stare remaining fixated at you all throughout. Rehearsed and practiced, yet looking so natural. You can only watch in awe, wondering how long she’s been waiting for the opportunity, how many times she’s done this before to others, and how the stars perfectly aligned for you to have this personalized moment.

It’s torturing you right now that you can’t reach out and touch her, even if you wanted to.

Picking herself off the floor, she saunters toward you, your nerves tensing with every moment, every step forward. Fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your pants, it’s all purposeful how she moves: every sway of her hips, her hands running down her svelte figure, the twirl when she’s standing right between your legs, flaunting her petite ass peeking through her skirt before squatting down in front of you, an arm’s reach away.

The lyrics perfectly describe the situation: 

“Oh no, here we go. Watch me shake it low.”

It’s like she’s daring you to take her and make her yours.

Her ass lingers far longer than what you can perceive. No matter how desperate you are, you can’t bring yourself to move a muscle, do anything but admire and watch helplessly even as Minnie offers herself to you on a silver platter. Not for lack of trying; your mind can’t handle what’s happening right now.

She looks over shoulder with a wicked grin, as if this isn’t the first time she’s left someone victimized with her deliberate teasing.

As if that wasn’t enough, when she spins around to face you, she drags your hands off your pants, replacing them with her own. Leaning forward, her hot breath reacquainting with your skin, followed by the faintest of air kisses. Slowly but surely, she clambers onto your lap, creating unbearable heat between your legs. 

There’s no denying it now. 

Instinctively, your hands find purchase on her ass, squeezing them hard, drawing a moan out of her. Minnie responds in kind, rolling her head back, grinding her hips on your lap, fanning the flames. Her tummy right in your face, you bend forward and kiss her, tracing a path up to her crop top, resting between her chest. Her fingers find their way around your neck, inching herself closer to you till you can hardly breathe.

“Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do this,” she sighs, breaking herself free from the immersion of her own performance. Glancing down to find your face between her bra, she pulls on your face, drawing your gaze to meet hers. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” you huff, returning to kiss her bra. “But I’ve got a feeling this wasn’t the first time.”

Minnie laughs. “No shit.”

“Just you, or do the others—”

“You already know,” she interrupts, cupping your chin and redirecting your eyes back on her, shutting you up. “Now can we go back to the moment?”

Without another word, she leans down and meets you for a passionate kiss. Eyes closed, letting your feelings do all the talking. At that moment, you’re not fan and idol, but two lovers finding solace in each other’s arms. The only break is when she pulls back to lift your shirt over your head before you’re passionately making out to her own song again.  

She doesn’t even bring up the fact that your hands have been on her ass the whole time. If anything, with every squeeze, she moans softly into your mouth, making music.

But you can’t stay like this for long. Not when you’re both close to reaching your natural climax.

Breaking off the kiss for a second time, Miinie takes a moment to admire you, smiling. Her face, flushed with crimson and lust, keeps you in place while she silently unhooks her top, slipping it off her shoulders before tossing it to the floor and joining your shirt.

Before she tries to kiss you again, the sudden music stoppage snaps both your attention. 

“Ah, fuck me,” Minnie whines, quickly climbing off your lap to reach for the phone on the other side of the living room, buzzing loudly as she races to shut it down as quickly as possible. Giving you a proper look at her half-naked body while she hurriedly mashes buttons on her screen, you’re imagining that’s what she normally looks like in the mornings. 

“Well tell them I felt nauseous and had to rush to the hospital,” she says while clicking her tongue seemingly giving instructions to someone over the phone. When her eyes find yours, she grins cheekily, playing off the situation as nothing but a minor inconvenience. “No one’s gonna find out, surely.”

Like you weren’t casually singled out by staff, escorted out of the venue and riding inside one of the artist’s cars before being told to wait inside for a good 30 minutes before you could finally get out. Under any other context, this would have been a kidnapping case.

“Just give them the usual statement,” she whines, annoyed that she’s getting calls at such an unfortunate time. “I did my set, no? That should be enough. No one’s gonna care by tomorrow,” she adds, before cutting the call and the music picks up where it left off.

“Sorry you had to hear all that.” Minnie sighs as she casually lets her skirt fall to the floor, leaving her in only underwear as she saunters back to you. “I probably should have listened when they said this wasn’t a solo concert.”

To save her from further embarrassment, you remain quiet, but your face can’t hide your amusement watching it unfold in real time. One way or another, you’ll never look at her the same way again.

“Gosh, I gotta ask Yuqi how she does it,” she huffs, setting down her phone on the living room table. “Anyway, where were we?”

You don’t know exactly how to respond, nor do you have the answer to her question. And yet you have an idea as to where this is gonna end.

—————

The song continues to play on loop in the background as Minnie guides you to the bedroom, hand in tow, skirt lost somewhere on the living room floor, before falling onto the bed belly first, spreading her legs wide and baring her holes for display. Showing her pussy to you, she is wet and leaking. 

“Fucking use me,” she huffs, looking over her shoulder, voice raspy, losing herself to her most feral desires. “I know you want this as much as I want it.”

“Fuck, Minnie, I—” Not even your half-assed attempt at reluctance stops you from unraveling with her; it’s  laughably unconvincing. Lining your erect cock against her aching core, drawing a prolonged whine from her needy lips, her passionate sigh makes you shiver in anticipation. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You wouldn’t be positioning yourself behind me if you didn’t,” she remarks, pointing a finger toward your cock. “And that thing wanted me the moment I climbed onto your lap.”

She’d plunge your cock straight into her needy cunt if she could.

Instead, she reaches for the tip, gives it a gentle flick, causing your breaths to go haywire. Sparking a fire within you, Minnie only has one purpose in mind: to set you ablaze. You see it in her inviting smile—her eyes—drawing her fingers back, daring you to finish what she started.

Plunging into her cunt without hesitation, Minnie’s cry of pain and pleasure immediately fills the room and beyond. Obscene, obnoxious, you’re making a statement to everyone that you’re gonna fuck her—hard.

Fingers clamped on the headrest, and then onto the pillow, hanging on for dear life. Her muscles tensing and her hips bucking against yours. All while you’re still trying to adjust inside her; you haven’t moved a muscle since entering her. The only thought permeating your mind is how goddamn tight she feels around you.

The idea of unloading everything into her right then and there floats around your mind, but you begin dragging your cock out, now lathered in sheen and slick, before pushing back into her invigorating heat. 

And fuck, Minnie takes every inch effortlessly. Letting you take charge, giving you free reign over her body. With every stroke, every thrust deeper, she fucking screams. Doesn’t matter that you’re leaving gaping imprints on her skin or that you’re hammering into her with reckless abandon, she only cares about the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her veins.

Like a man possessed, you’re throwing your all into her, pounding her balls deep like your life depends on it, like this is your one and only chance—which it may as well be. 

“So incredible—can’t believe you’re letting me do this—” you rasp, pumping into her so hard the bed begins to quake. Both your hands rest on her svelte waist, wrapped like a vice as you deliver one devastating stroke after another. You can only imagine how she looks, but you get a sense that it’s pornographic and salacious.

“It’s been so long—” she whines, her voice cracking and jumping with every word in response to your thrusts. Her own fingers are gripped to the pillows, lifting her head to keep herself loud and clear, like she isn’t making quite the commotion this late at night. “So goddamn big—oh fuck—more—”

With her ass bouncing and rippling with each thrust, you’re left in a state of trance. God, she looks so good with your cock impaled in her pussy, with cum leaking and dripping from her holes. Accompanied by the filthy sounds of flesh slapping flesh, there’s no better sight for your dizzy, tired eyes. It only serves to spur you on, to keep you moving—as if you need any more motivation.

Giving her no respite, maintaining quite the chokehold you have on her, you lean forward against her ear, and your erratic breaths—your little vibrations—sends her into upper heaven. You haven’t uttered a single word, yet your looming presence drives her crazy.

“Pull on it, baby. Please—” Minnie cries, pertaining to her hair, barely held together by a loosened tie and prayers.

As much as you want to say anything back, the vice grip she has on you is just as strong, if not stronger. So intoxicatingly tight, gathering your thoughts into something coherent proves to be an immense struggle. It gets to a point where you don’t know who’s truly in control here.

And seeing as you’re doing exactly that—pulling on her hair as you kiss the helix of her ear, unable to keep up with her tempo—you sense the end is coming. And fast.

Still, there’s no relenting. She feels too good to slow down for even a moment, fearing that if you do, this unreal bliss is lost forever. So you hold on, redirecting all your focus on everything else about her body: exploring her back, lifting her on her fours, twisting her body in your hands—anything to keep your mind off the idea that you’re falling apart. 

Your unrelenting pace supersedes every effort you’re making. It’s a relief that Minnie is fucked beyond coherence right now, losing herself in her own ecstasy. Nevertheless, you’re mentally counting down the little time you have left.

“Almost, Minnie—” you coo into her neck, rolling her on her side, lifting her helpless figure, squeezing on her breast. Fighting with the dying remains of your resolve to keep the fire alive before it fans out, Minnie looks absolutely drained, her body pushed far beyond its limit. “I’m so close—”

“Inside—” she barely manages to whine, palming your back, pulling you into a warm embrace, unwilling to accept any other outcome. Eyes completely shut, just letting pleasure freely flow in and out of her veins, rolling her hips up as you thrust into her, your grip on reality collapsing in real time. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna—”

Her voice goes high, breaks her train of thought as you sense her crumble underneath you, her climax hitting at the apex. The heat of her walls suffocating, putting you in an inescapable chokehold, her legs wrapping around yours—the intention is clear: you’re gonna stay there, cum inside, and lay it all on her. 

It’s only right that your own orgasm follows. 

Holding her through your own end, every second an eternity in itself, as you bury yourself balls deep, letting Minnie milk you for all your worth. Shuddering as your bodies intertwine as one, bracing as every spurt of cum you give her with hits with the same level of impact as the previous burst, like fireworks exploding. Can’t make out a clear visual as your vision goes blurry, so you take solace in her arms as the pulse in your loins gradually dies.

Until the only thing you can hear is each other’s heartbeats.

Minnie’s a delicate treasure, one of one. Despite fucking her into shreds mere moments ago, you can’t go out like this: pressing your weight on her, dangerously close to passing out under the afterglow of your own orgasm.

Fortunately, Minnie sees the scene differently, smiling: “Wow.” 

She’s roaming her hands down your arms, warily glancing at the aftermath between your legs. A fresh puddle has formed on the sheets, now stained beyond repair. “That’s—a lot more than I thought,” she remarks, laughing at herself.

“That’s what you do to me,” you say, brushing her hair side, softly kissing her. As you try to pull back, Minnie sinks further, keeping your lips locked a few more precious moments longer. 

You need to take a breather; blink a few times to let everything sink in: that she’s the one who made the advance. Every single opportunity.

And as the mood slowly dies, as both of you stare into each other’s eyes, uncertain of what happens now, her phone rings loudly in the background again.

You give her this look, as if to say: ‘Seriously? In this ungodly hour?’ To which Minnie merely smirks before rolling out of bed. As if this was expected. Hell, she looks surprised that it didn’t happen mid-climax.

Limping out of the bedroom, making a strong case not to fly out tomorrow, even though she won’t have activities for the next few days. Learning from earlier, she hides herself out away from your view before she returns with her phone in hand, throwing it right in your direction, falling short of landing on your face.

“Not this time,” she remarks, wagging her finger, reading your mind. “And for the record, they completely bought it.”

You can only laugh and shrug as Minnie climbs onto your lap, falling into your arms. —————

(A/N: Kind of a quick one, apologies, not really much time to write filth when you're almost graduating. Currently stuck in thesis hell with only a few weeks left before the semester ends, so please bear with me a bit longer. A few months into 2025 and Blind Eyes Red is still one of my favorite K-pop songs released so far, who knew the lyrics were horny as fuck? That made the rest of the idea a lot simpler. Thank you for reading!)

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, slow burn, strangers to reluctant allies, nonidol au

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Warnings: violence, onomatopoeia, switching btwn chris and chan (but its the same person), russian (there will be translations), mullet chan...

a/n: I liked this piece a lot actually, and I hope you do. dw, there will be more parts (relax...), uhh my longest so far? 5k words? yeahh..if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

next...

Christopher Bang is dead.

The world had been convinced that Christopher Bang was dead.

His funeral was quiet, attended only by select FBI agents and a few grieving colleagues. A closed casket. No family to claim him. A legend reduced to whispers in the hallways of Quantico. They said he died in an operation gone wrong, a noble sacrifice to protect the country. Christopher Bang had never been an ordinary FBI agent. He was a prodigy—recruited young, trained hard, and shaped into one of the Bureau’s finest operatives. His reputation was legendary, whispered in briefing rooms and hushed conversations. He was the kind of agent you sent when failure wasn’t an option. His career had been built on precision, unwavering loyalty, and an unshakable sense of justice. He wasn’t just good at his job; he was the job. His instincts were lethal, his mind sharper than the blade he always carried strapped to his thigh. From high-profile kidnappings to dismantling international crime syndicates, Chan had seen it all. And for a while, he believed in the mission. Believed in the Bureau.

Until he didn’t.

The cracks had always been there, but Chris only started noticing them after Operation Nightfall. Nightfall was supposed to be routine—an undercover mission to infiltrate an arms smuggling ring with direct ties to high-ranking officials. The Bureau had been tracking them for years, their operations spanning across borders, feeding civil wars, and keeping global conflict at a steady boil. This was supposed to be the mission that brought them down. Chan had spent months buried deep in the criminal underworld, assuming the alias of a ruthless gunrunner. He had earned their trust, gathered intelligence, and secured evidence that could take down some of the most powerful players in the game including politicians and government officials who were supposed to be on his side.

That was his mistake.

Because when the time came for the bust, nothing went as planned. The moment his team stormed the compound; they were met with bullets. Not from the criminals, but from their own men. The FBI’s tactical unit, the very people meant to back him up, had turned their guns on him and his informant. It was a hit. Chan barely made it out alive. His informant, his only lead to the bigger players and his best friend, was executed in front of him, and he had been left for dead in the chaos. A staged accident. A casualty of war. But Chan had survived. Wounded, disoriented, and betrayed, he disappeared into the underground before the Bureau could finish the job.

It took weeks for him to recover, to put the pieces together. The truth was uglier than he could have imagined. The people he had trusted had sold him out to protect their interests. He had two choices: fight back and risk everything, or disappear.

Chan chose to disappear.

Faking his death wasn’t easy, it never was but it was the only way to move undetected. He had to erase Christopher Bang from existence. Burn his past. Cut ties. He left behind no body, no trace, nothing for the Bureau to track. The world mourned him, but he watched from the shadows. And from those shadows, he did what he did best.

The glow of your desk lamp cast long shadows across the scattered case flies, illuminating worn folders that had become your life for the past three weeks. The first time you saw Christopher Bang; he was nothing more than a file on your desk. You didn’t mean to stumble onto his case. It had been a late night at the office, one of those quiet, lonely shifts where the air smelled like stale coffee and ink-stained fingertips. Fewer voices, more room to think. Most agents had gone home, the bullpen dimly lit by the glow of monitors. You had been assigned to a different case—routine arms trafficking, nothing out of the ordinary. But in the midst of your research, his name popped up not once and that didn’t sit right with you. At first, it was a footnote. A long-forgotten alias linked to an offshore account. It should have been nothing just another dead man’s forgotten assets. But then, the details started to unravel, one thread at a time. The account had been accessed recently. Money had moved. And whoever had moved it knew exactly what they were doing.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard of your system as you scrolled through classified financial records, piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The deeper you dug, the more the numbers twisted into a dead end. As you combed through the financial web, his name resurfaced again. Your breath hitched.

“Ok, what the actual fuck?”

The world buried that name two years ago but here it was, tied to a forgotten alias buried in offshore transactions. “Thats impossible.” You turned in your chair toward the stack of classified files and papers piled on your other desk. Quickly, your flipped through the pages and pushed aside other papers. The alias wasn’t obvious, Chan had been careful but when you spotted it, you knew. The name was one you had come across years ago during a different case, linked to a false identity the Bureau once used for deep-cover work. An alias that had supposedly died along with him. Yet here it was alive and well, funnelling money through ghost accounts. The neatly organised system you prided yourself on was gone, replaced by a frantic need to confirm what you already feared.

“Come on, come on...” you muttered, flipping again past cases that had long since gone cold. The scent of ink and the faint musk of time filled your senses as you pulled open another manila folder, the edges frayed from years of handling. And when you saw it, your pulse spiked.

FBI CLASSIFIED: CONFIDENTIAL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

BANG, CHRISTOPHER CHAN

Stamped in bold red ink across the top was a single word that now could’ve been a lie.

DECEASED

Swallowing hard, you spread the contents across your desk. A black and white photo of Chan stared back at you, his badge clipped neatly to his suit, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

Name: Bang, Christopher

Alias(es): Phantom, K-Strike, Shadow OP

Date Of Birth: October 3, 1997

Place of Birth: Sydney, Australia

Nationality: Australian/Korean

Last Known Rank: Senior Special Agent – FBI covert Operations Unit

Specialization: Deep cover infiltration, counterterrorism, tactical reconnaissance, financial crimes, high-risk asset extraction

Status: Deceased (as per Bureau records, declared KIA during Operation Nightfall, 2023)

You glanced through the pages of his physical and psychological evaluation, very impressed by his results. On his classified operations list, Nightfall was disclosed as a failed mission declaring his KIA, which should have solidified his name as a martyr in the agency’s war against organised crime. People who die in the field don’t get forgotten so quickly. When you reached the last page however, a small text at the bottom was handwritten which stood out to you;

FILE STATUS: ARCHIVED

NOTICE: Any activity involving this alias or financial transactions linked to Agent Bang should be considered a breach of classified intelligence. Further investigation requires authorization from the Director’s Office.

Signed, M. Reynolds.

You grabbed his mission report, flipping through the pages searching for what you might have missed. Nightfall had always seemed too clean on paper. A mission that ended in disaster, yet conveniently wrapped itself up without loose ends. No body recovered. No autopsy. No real proof of death, only ‘witness reports’; a term that had been conveniently vague. You stomach twisted as you skimmed the list of operatives present during his last assignment. A few familiar names, including higher-ups who were still active in the Bureau today. And one name in particular...

Deputy Director M. Reynolds.

You stiffened. Reynolds had been the one to officially close Chan’s case. If Chan had supposedly faked his death, Reynolds either knew about it or it was one of the reasons he disappeared in the first place.

The weight of the situation dwelled heavily on your chest. You weren’t just looking at a missing agents financial trail. You had reopened a case the Bureau had long since buried. And if you weren’t careful, you’d be buried alongside it.

Deputy Marcus Reynolds was once one of the most respected figures in the Bureau a man who built his career from bringing down high-profile syndicates. But Chan had seen what others hadn’t: the cracks in his so-called justice. Their relationship had always been tense. Reynolds saw Chan as an asset useful but too unpredictable. Chan, on the other hand, never trusted Reynolds, especially after noticing discrepancies in classified reports. The deeper Chan dug, the cleared it became Reynolds wasn’t just complicit in the corruption; he was orchestrating it. His last mission, Nightfall, had been an evident setup. The intel had been too clean and easy. As if someone wanted him in the field open and vulnerable. But when it went sideways, Chan realized too late, that he was the target. And he had to disappear.

Reynolds closed the case within 72 hours, an unusually fast decision for a high-ranking agent’s death. Because if Christopher Bang was dead, he couldn’t expose what he knew.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and hushed conversations. You moved quietly, off the books, following leads that didn’t exist. It was dangerous work digging where you weren’t supposed to. But you had always trusted your instincts, and your instincts told you something was very wrong. You kept this new discovery to yourself of course, exposing it may open multiple Pandora’s boxes that couldn’t be closed. You didn’t know why you chased him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, the need to understand why a man like that would fake his own death. Or maybe, deep down, you knew that whatever he had been running from was still out there. The breakout came unexpectedly. Against the dim glow of your laptop casting shadows across your apartment walls. While cross-referencing transaction time stamps with recent disappearances, you noticed a pattern- each financial movement coincided with a known safehouse burning to the ground. It was subtle, almost untraceable, but not for you. When you saw it you knew. Christopher was surviving. Amongst all the locations you had scouted one hadn’t been touched yet. An old decommissioned safehouse outside the city; a place you remembered from your early years at the Bureau. Officially, it had been abandoned after an op went sideways and unofficially could be Chan’s hideout. If he was still alive.

You grabbed your gear- a discreet sidearm, burner phone, flashlight, and the flash drive with all the evidence. The drive that proved the Bureaus corruption against Chan and why he had to disappear. The drive that could get you both killed.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you navigated the overgrown path toward the building. It stood hidden between skeletal trees, its exterior worn by time, but the security measures were still intact. A rusted fence. Motion-triggered floodlights ones that shouldn’t work but flickered on as soon as you stepped closer. He was here you were so sure of it. Your breath came shallow as you approached the side entrance, pressing against the damp wall. The door had been reinforced new locks, fresh welding along the hinges. Not abandoned at all. He’s careful.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small USB device. It wasn’t the evidence neither was it just a tool; it was bait. Plugging it into the old security panel, you let it do its job—overloading the system for a brief five-second window. It was all the time you needed.

Click. The lock disengaged. Heart pounding, you stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and aged wood, but there were signs of recent use—a makeshift bed, scattered papers, a half-empty glass of water on the counter. A map was pinned to the wall, red markings circling names you recognized. People who had gone missing. People the Bureau wouldn’t miss. People Chan had eliminated. Then, movement.

A whisper of sound behind you. Before you could react, an arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just hard enough to warn, not to harm. A gun was at your temple, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine.

"Who sent you?" The voice was deep, familiar. You swallowed hard. "You did." A pause. His grip didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull the trigger either.

"You should have stayed away," he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Calculating. But underneath it all—a flicker of something else. Something human. "I couldn’t," you whispered. "Because you didn’t."

 A sharp exhale—barely a whisper—was the only warning you had before you were tackled to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as your wrists were wrenched behind your back, pinned in an unbreakable grip. The cold press of a gun barrel met the back of your skull, and the weight of a solid, muscular frame held you immobile against the dusty floor.

"One last time," a deep voice murmured above you, low and lethal. "Who sent you?"

You gritted your teeth, twisting slightly beneath him. "No one." A pause. The weight above you shifted slightly, but the gun didn’t move.

"Third times a charm, princess. Try again."

His voice was cold, but something about it struck you—not just familiarity, but certainty. You had found him.

"Bang Chan," you rasped. "I found you." That was the wrong thing to say. The grip on your wrists tightened, his knee pressing into your lower back with just enough force to make your ribs groan. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping. "Yeah?" he mused, almost mocking. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

You sucked in a breath, your pulse thrumming against the barrel of his gun. "Your offshore accounts," you admitted. "One of your old aliases popped up in my case files. I traced the transactions—saw the pattern. You're covering your tracks, but you missed one."

A slow exhale. He was processing. Then, suddenly, he yanked you up. Your legs scrambled for footing as he hauled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. He spun you around, and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His hair was longer now—jet black, damp at the ends, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. It fell into his sharp eyes, barely concealing the raw intensity burning behind them. The years had refined him, hardened him—his jawline sharper, his muscles defined beneath the tight black shirt clinging to his frame. He adjusted his grip on his gun, holding it lazily by his side but never out of reach.

But what struck you the most was the way he was looking at you. Like he was deciding whether to kill you or let you live. "Prove it," he ordered, his voice softer but no less dangerous. Your breath hitched. "I have proof of the Bureau’s corruption. On a flash drive. I brought it with me." His gaze flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then abruptly released you, shoving you back slightly. "Don’t follow me next time," he muttered before turning away.

Your heart still pounded as you watched him move, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he returned to whatever he had been doing before your arrival.

You took a step forward. "You're just going to pretend this didn’t happen?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

Your frustration flared. "So, what, you’re just gonna keep hiding in the shadows? Killing off whoever you think deserves it?" Chan finally looked at you again, his expression unreadable. "That’s what ghosts do." A beat of silence stretched between you before he turned away again. "You should go back to where you came from," he said, voice quieter this time.

But you didn’t move. Because now that you had found him, there was no way in hell you were letting him disappear again.

Chan had stripped off his tight black shirt, revealing the sharp, battle-worn lines of his torso—faint scars cutting across his chest and shoulders like remnants of a past he didn’t care to remember. He pulled a clean, loose shirt over his head before dropping into his chair, exhaling as he propped his combat-booted feet onto the wooden desk. A plastic bag of heated ramen sat beside him, the faint steam curling up as he ripped open the top. The scent of instant broth filled the air, and with a slow, almost lazy motion, he dug his chopsticks in, slurping up a mouthful without a care in the world.

But when he turned his head, there you were. Still standing. Arms crossed. Stubborn as ever.

His chewing slowed. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm not leaving without an explanation." Your voice was firm, unwavering. Chan let out an amused scoff, flicking his eyes away as he continued eating. "Not my problem."

"It is," you shot back. "You disappeared. You faked your own death. People thought you were murdered, Chan."

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even pause, still chewing. "And?"

"You don't get to just vanish without an answer," she pressed, stepping forward. "You were one of the best agents we had. Then one day, you’re gone? What was I supposed to think?" Chan finally lowered his chopsticks, resting them on the rim of the ramen cup. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, with a lazy, almost bored movement, he reached for the gun beside him. The soft click of the chamber sent a chill down your spine.

Without lifting his feet from the desk, he cocked the gun and aimed it directly at you. "You should go," he murmured, voice laced with quiet threat.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "You’re not going to shoot me." Chan tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes. And then—

BANG.

The sound shattered through the room. A sharp sting cut across her cheek as the bullet tore through the window behind her, the glass shattering into a thousand shards. A thin line of warmth traced down her skin—a graze. He had aimed for the perfect near miss. Your breath hitched, heart hammering as she stared at him in disbelief.

Chan twirled the gun in his fingers before leveling it back at you, still slouched in his chair.

"I don’t bluff, darling," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk.

The weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to make your next move. But you wernt going anywhere. And by the way Chan’s lips curled into a smirk, he knew too. The silence stretched between both of you, thick and suffocating only broken by the soft plink of glass shards hitting the floor behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t take a single step back. Instead, you exhaled sharply, leveling your gaze with his, voice steady. "Fine then," she said, brushing a thumb over the fresh graze on her cheek. "I guess I’ll just go back and tell Reynolds where you are. Let him know his little ghost isn’t as dead as everyone thinks—"

The reaction was immediate. Chan’s boots hit the floor with a solid thud as he swung his feet off the desk. His once lazy posture vanished as he stood, slow and deliberate, the air around him shifting into something darker. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no frustration—just a cold calculation in his eyes as he started toward her.

"You see, that’s where you make your first mistake." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, as he took another step forward. "You think Reynolds is the one pulling the strings."

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Chan smirked. "Your second mistake? Threatening me. You don’t have the leverage you think you do, sweetheart." Another step. He was close now, towering over her. She could see the sharp lines of his face, the way the dim light cast shadows beneath his jawline.

"And your third mistake?" He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down as he scoffed. "Letting me get this close."

She stiffened, but he didn’t move—just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was reading her next move before she even made it. Then, his voice dropped lower.

"How long have you been in the agency?"

She swallowed, keeping her stance firm. "Five years."

"Hm." He studied her, gaze lingering on hers a moment too long. "And in those five years, did you ever stop to wonder why you care so much about this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because you disappeared. Because none of this makes sense, and every time I get close to an answer, another door shuts in my face."

Chan hummed, considering her words. His gaze flickered between her eyes like he was searching for something.

"And?" he pressed, voice barely above a whisper now.

She exhaled. "And because you were one of us. One of the best. If they turned on you, who’s to say they won’t turn on me next?"

That made him pause. For the first time since she walked in, something flickered across his expression—something almost unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, the distant sound of the city outside the only thing between them.

Then, in a tone laced with something far heavier than before, he murmured, "They already have."

Chan’s gaze flickered back to her, something sharp settling behind his dark eyes. "What’s your name?"

You hesitated for only a second before responding. “Y/N.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he walked back toward his desk. Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to her. "Tell me something. Did you tell anyone about this little research project of yours?"

You straightened. "No."

He let out another humourless chuckle. "You should’ve left it alone. Left me alone. Whatever you found, whatever little breadcrumbs you were following, you should’ve buried them. I was doing just fine in the dark." Your jaw clenched. "I'd rather work under the right leaders than serve corruption."

He stopped, tilting his head slightly. He was about to respond when—

A voice. Muffled, hushed yells from outside. His entire posture snapped into something rigid, head whipping toward the sound before his gaze cut back to you, something deadly brewing beneath his calm exterior. "You cleared your tracks, didn’t you?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes told a different story, survival mode kicking in.

"I did," you shot back, but even as you said it, her stomach twisted. Had you been wrong? Had you been followed? Chan scoffed, already moving. "Of course you did."

Then, instinct kicked in. He grabbed a duffel bag from beneath the desk, moving swiftly, shoving in stacks of cash, fake passports, and a few flash drives you barely caught a glimpse of. He zipped the bag, yanking open a drawer and pulling out two guns, checking the clips before tucking them into his waistband. The voices outside grew closer. Chan turned to her, jaw tightening. "See what you’ve caused?" Before she could respond,

CRACK!

A bullet shattered through the window. Her body froze for half a second, but Chan was faster. He yanked you down, his grip firm as another round of shots rang out, tearing through the walls. "You just had to come looking for ghosts, didn’t you?" His breath was hot against her ear, voice low and edged with frustration.

You didn’t have time to argue. Not when the next shot nearly clipped the spot where she was just standing. The sound of heavy boots against concrete echoed through the abandoned building, growing closer with each passing second. Mixed in with the rapid orders were voices speaking in clipped Russian. Chan’s body went rigid.

"Чистите здание!" Sweep the building!

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched around the grip of his gun, the muscle in his temple ticking as he processed. Russians. He cursed under his breath. His gaze flicked to her. "Stay close, don’t do anything stupid." You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance.

With practiced ease, he slung the duffel over his shoulder, grabbed your wrist, and yanked your toward the back of the room where the garage was. Another voice cut through the air. "Если увидите его—убить сразу." If you see him—kill him immediately.

Chan’s grip on you tightened. "Move.”

The gunfire had stopped, for a while but Chan knew better than to think they were safe. The silence was worse—it meant they were moving, repositioning. The Russians didn’t shoot blindly; they cornered their targets like hunters. He pulled her through the darkened hallways of the safe house. The air was thick with dust, the only light coming from the flickering emergency bulbs that barely held power. His pace was quick, calculated, and she had no choice but to keep up.

They burst into the garage, Chan’s boots crunching against the concrete floor as he beelined for the nearest car. He didn’t care which one just one with gas and working tires. He threw the duffel bag into the backseat, yanked the driver’s door open, and turned to you.

“Get in.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. But he wasn’t in the mood for second-guessing.

“Now.”

There was something about the sharpness in his voice, the raw edge of urgency, that made you obey. You slid into the passenger seat, barely buckling up before the roar of the engine cut through the silence. Chan reversed so fast that the tires screeched, burning rubber as he whipped the car around and sped toward the exit. The second they burst onto the empty road, the garage door behind them rattled. A second too late—the Russians had reached the safe house, but they were already gone.

His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenching as he forced his breathing to steady. But Y/N wasn’t stupid you saw the shift in his composure. The rigid tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerous behind his eyes.

“Who were they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Since I became a ghost and not dead, someone put a bounty on my head.”

“A bounty?” She blinked, processing. “By who?” He hesitated, just for a beat. Then, his lips curled into something bitter. “A former Russian cartel.”

Silence.

“Wait? A Russian mafia?!”

Chan rolled his eyes, his grip flexing on the steering wheel. “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart.” You turned in your seat, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You mean to tell me you pissed off the Russians? The same ones who wipe out entire families without blinking? And you thought, what? That they’d just let you go?”

He shot her a look, unimpressed. “I did die, remember?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “They weren’t supposed to know I was still breathing.”

“But they do know,” she pressed. “No shit.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it.”

She stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. “What did you do to them?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but he wasn’t seeing it—his mind was elsewhere.

“Something they don’t forgive,” he murmured. And somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else.

The road stretched endlessly before them, a dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the night. The drive was silent. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the car’s frame and the distant wail of sirens in the city. Chan’s hands remained steady on the wheel, his foot pressing just enough on the gas to keep them moving fast but unnoticed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “So, are you willing to become a ghost, just like me?” His voice was low, unreadable.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “What?” Chan exhaled through his nose, still keeping his eyes ahead. “You found me. Which means others can, too.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, slow, deliberate. “Now that you know I’m alive, you’re at risk.”

You let the weight of his words sink in.

“If you want answers,” he continued, “there’s no going back. You either disappear, like I did, or you keep living with the lie that I’m dead.” Silence settled between them. The reality of the situation pressed against you, suffocating in its finality.

You didn’t know what to say.

All you wanted was the truth—why he disappeared, why his name kept surfacing in places it shouldn’t. But now, you were tangled in something far more dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “I just… I just want to know the truth behind everything.”

Chan scoffed under his breath. “Truth comes at a price.”

You turned back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were ready to pay it.

Chan's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the dashboard. His mind was running a mile a minute—running through every possible reason why they had found him so easily, why she had been so careless.

Or maybe… she hadn't been careless.

Maybe they were watching her before she even found him.

He pulled into the parking lot of an old roadside motel, one of those places where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie red glow over the cracked pavement. He killed the engine, but neither of you moved for a moment.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Here’s the deal, Y/N," he said, voice low. "You have two choices. You stay here tonight, in this room with me, and by morning, you’re gone. You forget you ever found me, forget what you saw, and go back to playing by the agency’s rules." He let the words settle before continuing.

"Or…" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "if you're actually ready for this life, if you’re ready to stop working under men like Reynolds and start chasing the real truth—you stay until morning."

A pause.

"But if you stay, there’s no going back."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a loaded. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you refused to show any hesitation. You had risked too much and come too far. He was giving you a way out, to turn back and pretend none of this ever happened. Btu you couldn’t do that.

“You think came al this way just to walk away now?” you finally said, arms crossed as you met his gaze head-on.

Amusement flickered in Chan’s eyes. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered.

“No,” you shot back. “I don’t.”

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[nikixkoo]

𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

pairing: jungkook x f!reader.

word count: 4.2k

content warnings: smut [MDNI], unprotected sex, make out, kind of public display, jungkook’s a bit (a lot) possessive, and lots of teasing.

a/n: hi! it’s niki here. 𐙚 this is my first time writing, but i hope u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed doing it. english isn’t my first language, so please be kind if something isn’t right written! lots of love, muak. ≽^•⩊•^≼

She’s everything he hates to love. He’s everything she pretends not to need.

summary: In the world of wealth, secrets, and perfectly polished lies, you walk through the marble halls of the most prestigious university in the country like you own the place, because you practically do. Heiress of an empire. Flawless reputation. Everyone wants you. Everyone fears you.

Except him.

The only one who’s never looked at you like you were fragile. The only one who sees through the diamonds, the designer, the perfectly curated mask. Your favorite person, your first secret, and your biggest weakness.

You push his buttons. He tests your limits. You make him jealous on purpose. He pulls you into his bed like it’s nothing.

It’s not official. It’s not healthy.

But it’s yours.

The sun hits the field like a spotlight, casting golden light over expensive turf and even more expensive egos. Cleats scrape, whistles blow, and the boys of Rutherford’s lacrosse team move like they’re auditioning for the front page of some legacy magazine. At the center of it all, Jeon Jungkook.

Fast, lethal, and disgustingly good at everything. He runs drills like a general, yelling commands, barking orders, and still managing to look like a god dipped in sweat. The kind of boy that makes good grades and bad decisions.

Today’s practice? Open to the public.

Translation? It’s a flex. A show. A power move.

And of course, you’re there. You’re always there. Not for the game. Not for the sport. But for him.

You sit front row, sunglasses on, designer outfit hugging you like sin, legs crossed like a weapon.

You know he can see you. You know he wants to look. And he doesn’t, not once, until he scores the final shot, whips his helmet off, sweat in his hair, and finally lets his eyes land on you.

He doesn’t look away when he meets your eyes. He drags that gaze down your legs, up your figure, and settles on your mouth, like he’s remembering the last time he had you underneath him, begging. The way you moaned his name with your lip gloss smudged and your voice wrecked.

The crowd starts to thin after the final whistle, mostly girls pretending not to stare, and boys pretending not to envy.

You stay seated. You know he’ll come to you.

The crowd is gone, and Jungkook walks out of the changing rooms like he’s got the whole world in his back pocket.

Still damp from the shower, curls sticking to his forehead, gym bag slung low over his shoulder. He’s in his uniform pants, but the top is gone, replaced by a thin black t-shirt that clings to his chest in all the ways that make you want to bite something.

He sees you. And he doesn’t look away this time.

He slows as he reaches you, shadow falling over your seat. You’re still sitting like the spoiled goddess you are, legs crossed, lip gloss fresh, phone in hand like you weren’t just watching him like a movie you’ve seen a hundred times and still crave.

You don’t even look up. “Took you long enough.”

Jungkook snorts. “Didn’t know I had a timer.”

“You always do.” You finally glance at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. “You just pretend you don’t hear it ticking.”

There’s a pause. A beat of quiet so thick it feels heavy. His eyes roam your face like he’s searching for something, maybe your limit, maybe your weakness. But the truth is, you both know the answer already.

“You like pushing me, don’t you?” he murmurs.

You tilt your head. “Only when I know you’ll push back.”

The tension coils in the air, charged and dangerous.

“You wore that outfit for me?”

“You scored that goal for me?”

Touché.

He steps closer. Just a little. Close enough that your knees could brush if you shifted, but you don’t. Neither of you moves. You’re locked in that perfect space where tension thrives, just shy of something unforgivable.

“People are starting to talk,” he says quietly.

You hum. “They’ve always talked. They just don’t know what to say now.”

His gaze drops to your lips again. “They think you’re mine.”

You arch a brow. “Aren’t I?”

A beat passes. He doesn’t answer.

And maybe that’s your favorite thing about him, that he never says the things he feels. Not out loud. He says them in stares. In clenched fists. In the way he only kisses you when no one’s watching.

You stand, finally. And the shift is magnetic. Now you’re the one in his space. You fix the collar of his shirt like it bothers you, like touching him doesn’t set fire to your veins.

“Walk me to my car?” you ask sweetly, even though it’s not really a question.

He doesn’t respond. Just steps aside and lets you lead the way, like always.

You don’t talk.

Not until you’re leaning against the door, and he’s standing too close, eyes flickering from your lips to your neck to the space between you that’s already melting.

“You’re exhausting,” he mutters.

“And yet,” you smile, “you keep coming back.”

He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, mouth ghosting over your ear.

“I should let someone else deal with your attitude.”

You grin, unbothered. “You won’t.”

Tic tac, tic tac. He doesn’t answer.

Then his lips are on yours. Rough. Familiar. Dangerous.

Your lips move at the same pace as his, the tip of your tongue touching the piercing of his lower lip every time it enters his mouth, causing chills to run through your body.

It doesn’t last long. It never does when it’s this heated. He pulls away like he hates himself for it, and you fix your lipstick like nothing happened.

His breath is still warm on your lips, and his hand is still wrapped around your waist like he forgot how to let go. His gaze is locked on you. Dark, unreadable, burning.

You smirk, like none of it fazes you. Like your knees didn’t almost give out thirty seconds ago.

“Missed me?” you murmur.

Jungkook exhales a sharp breath. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “And you like it.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, just a second, his eyes flicker like he might kiss you again.

But instead, he drops his hand from your waist and takes a single step back, like space is the only thing keeping him sane.

“Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?” he mutters.

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in his tone.

“This game you play,” he goes on, voice low and dangerous. “Showing up, looking like that. Acting like I’m just some guy you can tease whenever you’re bored.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he cuts you off. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You cross your arms, chin raised. “And what if I do?”

He laughs under his breath, bitter. “Then you’re more cruel than I thought.”

You take a step toward him. “And you’re more obsessed than you pretend to be.”

That gets him.

He looks at you like he wants to say something, something real. Something that would make this whole fake, undefined thing very real, very fast. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in again, mouth brushing your ear.

“I could ruin every guy who looks at you the wrong way,” he whispers. “And the worst part? You’d love it.”

You swallow hard.

He’s right. You would.

But you can’t let him have the last word, not today.

So you turn your head slowly, lips ghosting over his, your voice just as quiet, “You won’t do it, though. Because you don’t want people to know you care.”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t.”

You smile. “Then why haven’t you left?”

A beat. He doesn’t answer.

He just watches you walk around the car, heels clicking like a countdown. Before you slide into the driver’s seat, you glance at him one last time.

“See you around.” You echo sweetly.

Then you shut the door and drive off, leaving him standing there. Alone, silent, and very, very messed up.

Your dorm is a war zone.

Shoes tossed across the floor. Perfume clouds lingering in the air. The faint bass of the party already vibrating through the walls from four floors down. And in the middle of the mess, you.

Dressed in baby pink, your favorite color. Tight, tiny, and just shy of dangerous. Glossy lips. Winged liner. Hair perfectly undone.

You look like heartbreak with a trust fund.

“I swear to God,” Val says, flopping onto your bed, “if Jungkook shows up with that skank again—”

“Valeria,” Mar warns from the bathroom, “we’re not calling her that.”

You grab your earrings, smirking. “We are if she shows up in that tacky rhinestone top again.”

Val snorts. “Queen behavior.”

Mar pops her head out, mascara wand in hand. “Are you even gonna talk to him tonight?”

You pause.

“No.”

The silence is loud.

Val lets out a dramatic sigh. “You two are exhausting. Just admit you’re in love, make out against the nearest wall, and let the rest of us live.”

You grab your purse, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Mar mutters. “With benefits and unresolved trauma.”

You flip them both off with a perfectly manicured hand and head for the door.

The party is already on fire by the time you step in.

Music pulsing. Air thick with perfume, sweat, and secrets. Someone’s spilled tequila on the marble floor. There’s a fight brewing in the kitchen. And all of it fades the moment you see him.

Jungkook.

Center of the room like he owns it.

Black tee hugging his body like sin. Tattooed hand lazily holding a drink. And a girl, that girl, clinging to him like she’s got the right.

She laughs too loudly. Leans in too close. Touches his chest like she’s not two seconds away from being buried alive.

You freeze. Smile cracking.

Valeria steps beside you, looking bored. “Oh. He brought that one.”

Mar sips her drink. “Didn’t she throw up at the Halloween party?”

You glare. “Why the fuck is she touching him?”

Val raises a brow. “Better question, why do you care?”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy watching.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Or maybe he has, and he’s pretending he hasn’t.

Because that’s what he does, right?

Pushes. Pulls. Drives you crazy, then reels you back in.

You down half your drink in one go. You don’t storm off. That’s for girls who lose.

You walk. Chin high, back straight, smile razor-sharp.

He wants to play games? You wrote the damn rulebook.

And right on cue, there he is—Kim Jisung, legacy boy, wine-stained lips, and a crush on you so big he’d probably kill Jungkook for just breathing near you. You find him by the bar, bored and beautiful.

“Dance with me,” you purr into his ear.

He doesn’t hesitate.

You don’t look back, but you know Jungkook’s watching. And that’s the point.

The music gets louder. Lights blur. Jisung’s hand slides a little too low. His breath is a little too close.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s not the one you’re thinking about.

Not the one you want.

He finds you in the hallway, half-drunk on power and tequila.

“You think he can touch you like I do?” Jungkook’s voice is low, dark, dangerous. “You think he knows what you like?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “Are you seriously jealous right now?”

He laughs once, sharp and humorless. “You don’t get to play the victim, princess. Not after the way you looked at me all night. Like you wanted me to lose it.”

You tilt your head, lips curved. “Did you?”

He’s in front of you in a second. Hand against the wall next to your head. His scent all over you, soap, sweat and sin. His eyes drop to your lips.

“You don’t want him,” he says.

You hum. “Maybe I do.”

He grits his teeth. “Liar.”

“You’re not my boyfriend, Jungkook.”

His smile is slow. Infuriating. “No. But I’m the one who fucks you so good you forget your name.”

Your breath catches.

He sees it, how your fingers twitch, how your lips part.

And he leans in even closer, brushing his mouth over yours but not kissing you.

“I could take you right here,” he whispers. “Push that bratty attitude right out of you.”

You clench your jaw. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because you want me to,” he says, cruel and sweet. “And I like watching you beg.”

His body cages yours, eyes dark, jaw tense.

“You’re playing with fire,” you murmur, tilting your head, lashes fluttering like you’re not completely wrecked by the way he’s looking at you.

Jungkook’s breath is heavy. Controlled. But you know him. You know what’s under all that control. And it’s dangerous.

“You think you’re the only one who knows how to play?” His voice is low, lethal. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at him?”

“Maybe I wanted you to see.” You smirk, brushing your fingers over his chest. “Maybe I wanted you pissed off.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Congratulations, princess,” he growls. “You got what you wanted.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy. Tension so sharp it could slice you both open.

His hand slides up your waist, fingers splaying across silk and skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet, no, he’s crueler than that.

“I should leave you standing here,” he whispers. “Let you think about what you’ve done.”

Your breath catches, again.

“But I won’t.”

Because the thing is, Jungkook doesn’t do restraint where you’re concerned. Not when you look at him like that. Not when your lips are swollen from teasing, from smirking, from wanting.

He presses you back against the wall, one hand on your throat—not tight, just there. A warning.

“You want me angry?” he murmurs. “Then take it. Feel it.”

And finally, finally, his lips crash into yours.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s teeth, heat, and too many nights pretending you’re just friends.

You tug at his shirt. The hallway is too public. Too risky. Too perfect.

But just as it starts to blur, right when you think he’s going to lose it completely, he pulls away.

“I hope he saw that.”

And then he walks off. Leaving you against the wall. Pissed, panting, and ruined.

2:37 AM. You slam the door shut behind you.

Not loud enough to wake your roommates. Just loud enough to feel it. To feel something.

Your heels hit the floor first, followed by your jacket, then your body. Flat onto the designer duvet you bought out of boredom last fall.

Everything feels too much. Your skin still burns where he touched you. Your lips still tingle like they’re waiting for more.

And your heart? That traitorous thing is pounding like it doesn’t know the difference between lust and loathing anymore.

You press your fingers to your mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

He kissed you. No, he devoured you.

Like you were his punishment and his reward all at once.

And the worst part?

You let him. You loved it.

You told yourself you had the upper hand. That he’d be the one crawling back.

But now you’re the one lying on your bed, thinking about his hands, his voice, the way he said:

“I hope he saw that.”

God. He’s so annoying. So cocky. So hot when he’s mad.

You roll over, burying your face in your pillow.

You shouldn’t have gone with that guy. You shouldn’t have cared about Jungkook being with that girl.

But you did. You do.

And now you’re here, lying in your palace of silk and envy, trying to convince yourself this isn’t getting out of hand.

You’re not in love. You’re just obsessed. Right?

Right?

Your phone buzzes from the floor where you carelessly tossed it earlier.

You ignore it for a second, maybe out of pride. Maybe because you already know who it is.

But when it buzzes again, you glance over.

koo ♡ [2:47 AM]:

still thinking about me?

You blink.

Another message lands before you even finish rolling your eyes.

koo ♡ [2:48 AM]:

didn’t know you were into public displays. should’ve kissed you harder.

And then, as if he didn’t just detonate a bomb in your chest:

koo ♡ [2:49 AM]:

sweet dreams, princess.

You stare at the screen. Heart hammering. Skin flushed.

Pillow no longer enough to hide your grin, or your frustration.

God, you hate him. You want him. You hate that you want him.

You type something. Delete it. Type again.

You [2:52 AM]:

u’re so full of yourself.

His reply is instant.

koo ♡ [2:53 AM]:

🤥 you weren’t complaining when i had you against the wall.

You let out a strangled laugh, biting your lip so hard it stings.

He’s cocky. He’s smug. He’s impossible.

And he wins.

Because now you’re wide awake, cheeks hot, thighs pressed together, and you know—

This isn’t over. Not even close.

Saturday nights used to be chaos.

Drinks. Laughter. Parties you’d barely remember and dresses you’d only wear once.

But tonight?

Silence.

Your friends are out with their boyfriends—tragic, really. You stayed behind under the guise of needing rest, but mostly because you couldn’t stand the thought of pretending to care about some mediocre couple’s anniversary dinner.

Now it’s just you.

Satin robe. Hair up. Music low.

A glass of red wine you’re not even sipping anymore.

You’re sprawled across your bed, legs bare, mind racing with thoughts you shouldn’t have… of him.

Then, you hear three soft knocks. Your stomach flips.

You don’t need to check. You know it’s him. Of course it’s him.

You open the door, and there he is. Jeon Jungkook, dressed like a sin you’d commit twice, hoodie half-zipped, jaw sharp enough to hurt, that same smug glint in his eyes like he already knows you’ll let him in.

You lean against the frame. “Didn’t know we had plans tonight.”

He shrugs, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Maybe I was busy.” You close the door behind him.

He turns to face you, eyes raking over your robe, your bare legs, the curve of your smirk.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, “looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want, Jungkook?”

He doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you. Like he’s trying to decide if he wants to tease you or ruin you.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says finally. “Figured you might need company.”

“You figured wrong.”

He smirks. “That so? You always answer the door in lingerie when you’re not interested?”

You don’t respond.

You just turn and walk back to your bed, knowing he’s watching your every move.

He follows, he always does. The tension stretches, electric and maddening.

“You look comfortable,” he says, eyes still glued to your legs.

You tilt your head. “You look needy.”

He laughs under his breath, leaning back like he owns the room. “I am.”

You hate how that makes your heart race. Hate how your thighs clench. Hate how this game always ends the same.

But you love it, too. The way he looks at you like he’s starving. The way he speaks like he’s daring you to lose control first.

“You should leave,” you whisper.

He leans forward slowly, voice like smoke. “You should make me.”

His voice is low, cocky, soaked in heat. You should slam the door in his face. You should tell him to fuck off.

But your thighs press together. And you don’t move.

Jungkook steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how this ends. His eyes drop to your robe, the slip of skin peeking out, the hint of lace beneath. You don’t bother hiding it. You know what he came for.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

You say nothing.

You just tug at the tie of your robe, slow and calculated, and let it fall open an inch, enough to show the soft dip of your waist, the lace of your panties, the fact that there’s not a bra in sight.

His jaw flexes.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Then he’s on you.

The kiss is instant, hot and brutal, mouths colliding like magnets. His hands grab your waist, your ass, your everything, like he doesn’t know where to start. You let the robe slide off your shoulders, pooling onto the floor in a puddle of satin and sin.

He groans against your lips, breaking the kiss just to stare.

“Turn around,” he says, voice wrecked already.

You smirk, walking slowly to the bed, hips swaying, his eyes glued to every step.

You don’t even hear him undress, just the soft shuffle of fabric, the sound of his belt hitting the floor, the low curse under his breath when you bend over the edge of the bed.

He’s behind you a second later.

You feel him. Warm, solid, hard. His hands smooth over your hips, your thighs, spreading you open with a possessive grip.

“You like teasing me, huh?” he mutters, his voice thick, lips brushing your ear. “Walking around like that. Knowing I’d show up.”

You grind back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. “You always show up.”

His laugh is low, dark. “Because I know what this pussy tastes like.”

Then he drops to his knees.

You feel his mouth first. Warm, wet, and filthy. Dragging his tongue from your entrance up to your clit, slow and deliberate. You gasp, thighs trembling, fingers clenching the sheets.

He moans like he’s savoring every drop of you, his tongue lapping and sucking until you’re squirming, until your knees feel weak and your back arches without permission.

And then his fingers—two, thick and perfect, sliding inside you with ease. Curling just right. Pushing every button you forgot existed.

“Fuck, Jungkook…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs into your cunt. “Say my name.”

You do. Over and over.

Your moans fill the room, echoing off the walls like a song he knows by heart. You grind into his face, desperate, needy, shameless.

But he pulls back before you can finish.

You whimper, lifting your head to look back at him.

He wipes his mouth with his thumb, eyes dark with something dangerous. “You’re gonna take me so fucking well, baby.”

He strokes himself once, then twice, before grabbing your hips and lining up behind you.

“A spoiled little brat like you?” he groans, pushing inside, inch by inch. “You were made to be ruined.”

And god, he does.

He sinks in slow, deliberate, like he wants you to feel every inch of him stretching you open. And you do. Every fucking inch. Your hands grip the sheets, head falling forward as your mouth drops open in a soundless gasp.

“God, Jungkook…”

He groans, hips flush against your ass now, buried to the hilt. His hands grip your waist like he owns it, like he owns you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, dragging out slowly just to slam back in, making your legs jolt. “Missed this pussy.”

You can barely breathe.

He fucks you like he’s angry. Like you owe him. Like every roll of his hips is payback for every smirk, every tease, every time you walked past him like you didn’t need him.

Your body shakes with every thrust, skin clapping against skin, the room filled with the obscene sounds of sex and low curses.

“You wanna act like you don’t care?” he grits out, fingers digging into your hips. “Like I don’t fuck you better than anyone ever could?”

You cry out when he hits that spot, the one he always finds, like your body was made for him.

“You gonna walk away from me again?” he growls, voice wrecked, fucking into you harder now, unforgiving. “Let some other guy touch what’s mine?”

“N-no, fuck—”

You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. You just shake your head, moaning, melting, unraveling under every filthy word, every punishing thrust.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, low in your ear now, his chest slick against your back. “Say it.”

You choke on a moan. “I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I’m yours, fuck, I’m yours—”

He groans like he’s losing control, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, pulling your back to his chest. The angle makes you whimper, makes your toes curl, your eyes roll back.

“You feel that?” he whispers, grinding deeper, slower. “That’s how you beg without saying a word.”

You’re close.

So fucking close you’re shaking, nails clawing at the sheets, your body clenching around him so tight he swears under his breath.

“Cum for me,” he orders, voice rough, hand tightening on your throat just enough. “Be a good fucking girl and cum.”

And you do.

It hits you like a wave, loud, violent and blinding. Your legs tremble, your whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you, soaking his cock, your moans turning shameless and broken.

“Fuck,” he grunts, hips stuttering, losing rhythm. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Take it—”

He throbs inside you, spilling deep, pulling your body back against his as he groans your name into your skin. His thrusts slow, messy, drawn-out until he’s spent and breathless.

Silence follows.

Just the sound of your panting, your bodies tangled, your skin flushed and marked.

And then his lips brush your shoulder.

“Still think I should’ve left?”

You laugh weakly, voice ruined. “Shut up.”

He pulls out slowly, and you wince, sensitive. You collapse on the bed, and he follows, arm thrown lazily over your waist, breathing steadying.

And in the quiet, with your body still buzzing and his cum dripping between your thighs, you hate how safe it feels.

How much you want him to stay.

How much he already knows he will.

Part 2? Probably yes.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter seven: working with the colonel

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you and caleb work through the week. two domestic moments between you too! will you finally let caleb into your heart?

word count: 9.3k words

warnings: not proofread!

author's note: hi everyone! thank you for waiting so patiently! part 8 will be up shortly!!!! i hope you enjoy <3

content warning: mentions of previous smut, light vulgar language, let me know if i missed anything!

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

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The hum of the aircraft’s engine can’t seem to leave your ears as you step away from the aircraft and down the tarmac. Your backpack bounces off of your body with every step, the gust of air from the airplanes making your hair fly all over the place, the smell of burning fuel stinging your eyes, consuming all other smells from the country’s base. It’s almost overwhelming with how chaotic your close surroundings have become. It leaves you feeling dazed, your bones vibrating against your muscles.

The tingling sensation that courses throughout your body slowly dissipates the further you walk from Caleb’s aircraft. Your eyes remain foxed on his broad shoulders, watching as he navigates you, as well as the other soldiers from his squadron that were told to come, off the tarmac.

Every so often, though, Caleb glances behind his shoulder at you. You catch a glimpse of his violet irises behind his dark aviators, a hint of a smile flashing across his lips before he goes back into his stoic Colonel demeanor.

Every time he does this, your heart speeds up. It thumps inside your chest, the heartbeats joining the vibrations from the heavy aircrafts, before fading away once you leave his line of sight.

For once, you had the chance to see Colonel Caleb in action, in all of his glory. You’ve heard all of the stories of his impressive military career through the grapevine of all the other translators that have helped him out when he was lower ranked.

His reputation was cutthroat. Caleb never hesitated to make a choice, the correct choice, no matter how much blood was shed, although he did try to save as many lives as possible. He isn’t like Colonel Heath who was willing to sacrifice his own men in order to save his ass. Colonel Caleb was also known for how swift and decisive his missions turn out to be.

A patrol that should have taken a week turn outs to be just three days long. A traitor refused to give out information ? Call Colonel Caleb, he’ll make them squeal.

Through the past year, you never even knew it was your Caleb that is the man behind all of the rumors and stories you’ve heard. Life is weird like that, right?

You look away from his back and notice the other groups where your work friends stand. All of the groups come to gather as one with the general at the helm. The soldiers take their leave, though, and leave all of the translators and officers behind. You watch as they leave, their stoic faces remaining as they march in sync. A hand rests itself on the low of your back, your gaze drifting up and to the side, Caleb now by your side.

“Come on, pretty bird,” Caleb’s voice is cheery despite his emotionless face, “we don’t want to be the last ones there, do we?” You shake your head, the new environment now becoming all too real. Caleb guides you through the security personnel, a hard glare from his eyes letting you pass through with no inspection.

Your eyes wander around the inside of the new country’s military office. The Fleet’s uniforms, ones that you are all too used to, are black with white pants whereas the country you’re in wears deep greens and reds with hints of silver rather than the gold you’re used to. Subconsciously, you’ve stayed close to Caleb’s side, either standing right behind him, placing a subtle tap on his back to let him know that you’re there, or standing right at his side with the excuse of being his personal translator to help you get by.

Caleb is quite amused by this. He has to stop himself from looking at you while dealing with paperwork, that has already been filled out, and getting the proper security clearances for the two of you. He likes that you found him to be safe person. You could have run away to any of the other officers and translators but you stuck by his side…maybe the two of you are becoming closer than you think. Caleb is definitely not going to complain about it or point it out because he knows that as soon as he does, you’re going to go back to avoiding him and pushing him away.

It’s a risk that, quite frankly, he isn’t willing to take.

“I need you to ask them something,” Caleb’s voice draws you out from your thoughts. Your anxiety settles inside your stomach, flicking at the breakfast you had that morning. You raise an eyebrow and feel as he pulls you forward. “Ask them where your security clearance badge is.”

“Excuse me,” you begin your conversation with the intimidating woman who sits at the desk.

While you speak to them, Caleb watches from behind. The top of your head floats at the bottom of his vision while the woman sits at the center. He narrows his eyes when her eyes meet his. Her fingers tap against the desk while you explain, to the best of your ability, that you’re going to need to go where he does.

“You see,” you lean in, getting her attention, “the Colonel gets a little cranky when I’m not there with him. He doesn’t trust anyone else other than me and I doubt that you’ll want to cause your higher ups any more trouble, right?” The woman nods. A small smile spreads across your face despite the feeling that someone is watching you weighs on your shoulders. “Great! So you’ll get that for us?”

The woman nods once again and turns to the side. You take a step back and feel your back collide with Caleb’s hard chest. A few of his medals poke into your back. A silent gasp escapes your lips from the sudden contact. You move to walk away but his gloved hand rests itself on your side, holding you there. You don’t dare break away, feeling his chest push into your back with every breath he takes.

The uniformed woman pops back to her desk, badge in hand. She holds it out and Caleb reaches from behind you, plucking it from her fingers. He turns your body and moves you away from the desk.

Many eyes within the office stare at the two of you, all of which belong to the other country. Their eyes are much more darker than yours with no variety in color such as your hues and Caleb’s familiar purples. Their uniforms are pristine with no wrinkles or faults in them; every medal in the formal dress is perfectly aligned, not daring to be crooked.

You always knew that a military career was something you didn’t want for yourself. Who would want a life of rigid routine and the constant reminder that your life is dedicated to a country that is willing to use you to benefit itself?

Then again, you’ve always been on the pessimistic side of things so maybe your way of thinking isn’t a fair way to look at it. Besides, Caleb chose this life. You have to respect his profession, right?

“What did you say?” Caleb asks, his hand slipping to your lower back once again. You don’t look up at him, shrugging in response. “Let me guess,” the two of you slip into an elevator with some of your peers and their officers. Caleb stands behind you, the front of his body pushed up against your backside. He leans down, his mouth grazing the outer shell of your ear, and whispers under the voices of the elevator, “Did you say that I’m a monster and to just give in? Or did you tell her that I simply cannot be reasoned with and have to have you with me at all times, making me look like some kind of psycho?”

“I don’t have to do anything to make you look crazy, Caleb, you are more than capable of doing that on your own,” you quietly retort. Caleb chuckles and draws his head away from yours.

The elevator doors open and you, who are at the front of the pack, quickly rush out, breaking into the room with Caleb hot on your trail. You turn on your heel and your heart pounds in your chest. The man enters your close proximity once again. He wears a dark smile on his face before it vanishes in less than a second. Other officers approach him and steal him away for a conversation, barely glancing at you. A sigh escapes your lips.

You sneak away where the other translators stand and spark up a conversation of your own with them. You pick up on Caleb’s dominating and effortlessly cool voice, the sound lingering on the outskirts of your attention while you smile and laugh with the other translators.

“Do you know what your schedule looks like?” Diana, who stands to your left, asks you. You breathe out a small, hesitant chuckle and scratch the back of your neck.

“I think the Colonel and I are going to be stuck in endless meetings about the Deepspace Tunnel.” It’s the truth, yes, but you also made sure to omit the meeting he was told to attend with the General, one that will have with another country.

What’s the meeting about? You’re unsure. You have trust in Caleb, though, that it’s one for peace and not war.

“You are so lucky to be paired up with him,” Diana sighs. She looks over your shoulder, eyes soft and in a trance. You follow her gaze; she’s looking directly at Caleb. Your ears immediately heat up, cheeks following suit. “He is so cute! I got stuck with Major Wilson. He’s so…old…and so wrinkly…”

Irritation bubbles from within your chest as the other women begin to giggle and fawn over Caleb. You turn your head and rest your chin on your shoulder. Caleb stands tall over the other officers, who are much older and probably shriveled in their age, and he wears an emotionless expression. You can’t read how he’s feeling, only getting the occasional movement of his brows to let you in on his own irritation.

Whenever he shifts in his spot, the women swoon. Diana grabs onto Shiza’s arm when Caleb looks in their direction; his eyes latch onto yours for a brief moment before he turns back away. Shivers run down your spine but the annoyance you feel only grows when Diana claims that he looked at her.

“Put in a good word for me, yeah?” Diana nudges into your side with an oh so obnoxious giggle, a giggle that is like nails on a chalkboard.

Your eyes scan Diana’s face. She’s pretty, yes, but is she really Caleb’s type? No…you don’t think she is. She’s everything you’re not: fake, phony, and makes her eyebrows way too dark and way too round for her face shape. When she smiles, you spot a little black speck tucked between her teeth. Ugh, gross. Did she not check before she left for work? That’s embarrassing.

You fake a smile and fake a laugh, matching her energy, before your face falls serious.

“We are here for work, not pleasure, Diana, let’s act like it.”

The words come out of your mouth sharper than you intended them to be. Your eyes widen and you stare at Diana, who raises an eyebrow at you with a look of shock that you were so careless with your words. How can you hold back, though, when she has Caleb’s image in her mind, her desire for him so open and free for all to see.

You had to say something about it, right?

You clear your throat and tuck your hair behind your ears, avoiding her gaze as well as the others who look at you like you’re a madwoman. You shift out of the group, standing on the outside, while the others shared surprised looks and side eye of your sudden and uncharacteristic outburst.

An awkward silence fills the group. You rock back and forth on your feet, heartbeat prominent in your ears. Before anyone can say anything, the General walks in, cap tucked underneath his arm. Your group turns to him and everyone nods in sync with your hands behind your back and posture straight just like how the Fleet taught you. He smiles at your group, having known to be very nice to the translators and mediators who help him out. His smile is replaced with a scowl when he look at Caleb and the other officers.

“Change of plans. They, somehow, ran out of room. We’ll be at the hotel down the street with the other countries,” his voice is rough and low, definitely a smoker, at least one pack a day. “Be on your best behavior and don’t rack up the bill too high,” he coughs and covers his mouth, turning around before disappearing once again. The General is like that, though. Always to the point and never hears what anyone else has to say, not that there was anything to say about the hotel change.

Your gaze flickers to Caleb’s. He stares at you, the corner of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. You roll your eyes and look back forward, face scrunching up.

You already know that he has something bizarre planned. It’s inevitable. Caleb likes to surprise you, which is something you learned from the month he left you random gifts on your doorstep, and to be honest, you didn’t know if it you should find enjoyment in his surprises or if you should pack up your life and move back to Linkon.

“I need to figure out which room Caleb is staying in,” you hear Diana’s voice from behind you. You don’t move, not wanting to show that you’re listening in, and slowly inhale. “Maybe the Colonel needs a late night visit.”

Your face contorts. Your nostrils flare, lip curling upward, and your gaze narrows in on the elevator doors. You slowly inhale and exhale, taking deep breaths to try and calm down the sudden onset of anger that floods your body. It is so unusual that you’re reacting so viscerally to another woman wanting to flirt with Caleb.

You could care less about who he does and does not fuck! Okay, maybe fuck isn’t the right word here, but you still shouldn’t care about what he does in his private time. You are the one who made it clear to him that the two of you are acquaintances. You are the one who made for sure he knows that you aren’t interested in him. If anything, Caleb should go after Diana! He should take a peek into whatever it is she has to offer him and indulge himself in the attention he’s receiving.

And you? Well, you can watch whatever show is playing on the hotel’s television with a pint of your favorite ice cream.

I hope I’m not roomed next to either of them. You think to yourself.

A gentle touch lulls you from your inner dialogue. You open your eyes and sigh, looking up at Caleb. His hat is tucked between his arm and side, his hair slightly disheveled but somehow he makes it work, and his eyes are fixed on yours.

It’s just the two of you in the room now, unless you want to count the security cameras that cover every angle of the military’s lobby. It still unsettles you to know that your every move will be watched and every action dissected and broken down, trying to see if there are any underlying motives that you may have.

“Pretty bird…we have to go,” Caleb’s voice is low, soft. The bubbling anger turns into a meek simmer. Your fists unclench, watching as his posture straightens and he places his cap back onto his dark locks.

“Are you doing anything tonight, Colonel?” you ask, knowing damn well that it’s an attempt to get him away from Diana and all of the other translators who want a piece of him.

“What?” Caleb blurts out. He blinks at you, shocked by your sudden question. Your eyes met his and all of the oxygen in his lungs seemed to escape him. He stammered and stuttered, earning an eye roll from you.

“Never mind. Forget I even asked,” you huff out and exit the embassy’s lobby, following behind the other people from Skyhaven who pile into cars.

Caleb, now out of the limbo you’ve thrown him in, takes his place at your side. The last car pulls up and, as fate would have it, it is just the two of you who will be inside. The black car with heavily tinted windows comes to a stop next to the two of you on the curb. Caleb looks down at you, perplexed expression still on his face. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He sighs and watches as one of the soldiers from inside steps out and opens the backseat door.

The drive to the hotel was even more awkward than you imagined. Caleb’s eyes never left the side of you face and he watched you while you watched the outside world pass by.

The capital city looks like it has been stopped in time hundred of years ago. Cobblestone still lines the streets and many of the buildings’ architecture has a gothic look to them with stained glass and sharp pointed arches. Unlike Skyhaven, many of the buildings are built from stone and lime mortar instead of reinforced steel and glass. You love how different the city looks; you wonder if there is history you can learn about the country if you ever find the time to explore between meetings and avoiding Caleb.

“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Caleb speaks. You don’t look back at him, smiling at the images of big and grand courtyards that people sit and eat in so casually.

“Okay,” you hum.

“If you wanted to do something,” he whispers so the driver cannot hear. You shrug.

“It’s fine. I can figure out what to do on my own,” you glance at his reflection in the car window. It’s faint but still there. You watch as his once hopeful face falls. He literally looks like a puppy had been told it’s about to get a bath instead of being promised treats.

“Can we—” Caleb is interrupted by the car stopping. His backdoor opens and he groans. He turns his head back to look at you but you have already left the car, closing the door behind you. His fists clench before he gets out himself, placing his hat back on his head.

Soldiers are lined up along the hotel’s perimeter. They stop passing pedestrians, asking for identification or a hotel key card to prove that they are staying there. Caleb knows that the heightened security is good, especially since you’ll be staying here. He’s going to keep a close eye on you, though, and be waiting outside your door in the morning when you’re ready to take on the long day ahead and he’ll be the last person you see when you go back to your room.

Although, if it were up to him, you’d be joining him in the suite Skyhaven is bound to give him so you’re only a room away instead of a whole different space entirely.

You follow the soldier to the safety of the hotel lobby. You flash your security clearance card to the guards at the door just in case, in which they nod and tell you to move on. The soldier then passes you off to a woman dressed in a neat and form fitting red dress. You smile at her and take the hotel keycard she hands you.

Caleb enters the hotel, blowing off soldiers and other military guards that try to stop him. Once they spot the Colonel insignia on his chest, they back away. His eyes scan the room for you, quickly spotting you just a few feet away. Out of the corner of his eye, though, movement catches his eye.

Professor Lucius crosses his field of vision, heading straight in your direction. Caleb’s blood goes cold. 

He watches the professor closely. The bony man moves across the room, going unnoticed, slipping and weaving through the few people inside with ease. His cane hangs from his fingers. It sways back and forth, slowly coming to a halt the closer he gets to you. Caleb’s feet move in your direction, picking up speed.

He can hear your screams from his nightmare. The way you cry out his name, the whines and pleas for someone to put you out of your misery while he is forced to do nothing. He moves in tandem with Professor Lucius, miming his every move.

If he moves to the left, so does Caleb.

If he take a step to the right, so does Caleb.

He can’t let the Professor get to you.

“Your luggage has already been delivered to your room. If you see that anything is missing, please call us and we will do our best to find it for you,” her voice is so soothing and so sweet. You smile at her, replying with a thank you and begin to walk away when Caleb’s fingers wrap around your waist. His fingers dig into your body, the man wanting to touch your skin once again but having to settle for the faint warmth through your clothes.

Your eyes shoot up to his face and you expect to meet his gaze but instead he stares at the woman. She hands him a separate key card and begins to say the same thing she said to you. Caleb, on the other hand, has another idea. He walk you two away, heading straight for the elevator through the near empty hotel lobby. Your gaze darts around, trying to see if anyone notices the way he’s pulled you to his side.

A tall and slender man watches you two. His tiny features send chills down your spine. He wears a brown suit with patches on the elbows, his hair as white as snow, with deep sunken cheekbones. His mere presence leaves you feeling unnerved, your hand finding itself on Caleb’s wrist, hugging his hand tighter to your side. The man gives you a simple wave of his fingers, leaning against his wooden cane. You turn your face away, body now covered in goosebumps. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss under your breath, being pushed into an empty elevator. The doors are forcefully closed behind him. He reaches to the side with ease and presses a single button. You gulp and look back up at him, wondering what’s going through his mind.

Caleb’s face is blank. His eyes, though, radiate the urgency to keep you safe, to keep you at his side. His heart pounds in his chest. The tips of his ears are pink. His grip on your waist tightens as the Professor’s distinct laugh fills his ears.

But he can’t give into his emotions. His memories of you are on the line if he does.

“Caleb,” you cross your arms over your chest, “what are you doing?”

“Stay with me.”

“What?” an unexpected chuckle leaves your mouth.

“I don’t trust these people. I need to keep you safe. Please just…stay with me,” Caleb’s eyes soften.

“Caleb…I can’t.”

The words hang in the air between you. Your eyes scan Caleb’s face, watching as the muscles underneath his skin twitch. You hold your breath, chest popped out, watching as he closes the distance. His eyes look everywhere but at your own, moving from your eyebrows to your cheeks, memorizing the way your hair falls over your shoulder and the way the jacket hangs from your body. A sigh escapes his lips and he cups one of your cheeks with his left hand. Caleb leans in and presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. You follow suit and reach up to hold his wrist, your thumb grazing over the top of his hand.

“Please…” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours, “I don’t know what I’d do if you get hurt because of me.”

“I’m not going to get hurt, Caleb,” you breathe out. Caleb pushes his face in but you pull back, having him follow you. You shake your head and he sighs, his hands dropping to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes. “I’m going to be okay—”

“You don’t—!” Caleb catches himself. He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice once again. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you reach both hands to cup his cheeks, “you want to know how I know that?”

Caleb opens his eyes and looks down at you. You can see the wheels in his brain turning. He nods; it’s small yet desperate, his entire sanity clinging onto it. You sigh and run your thumbs back and forth over his cheekbones. His purple irises burn into yours.

“I know I’m going to be safe because you’re here with me.”

It’s the truth. You do feel safe with him, in the sanctity of his arms. To be honest, you feel as if being closer to him, by staying in his room, will only cause more trouble. Maybe some distance will be good, yeah? If anything happens, you have his phone number memorized at this point so you can call him. You know he’ll come running to save you.

The elevator doors open with a ding. The air is heavy around the two of you. Caleb gently squeezes your waist one last time before stepping backwards and out of the elevator. His Colonel comes off his head, his hair messy and slightly sticking outwards. You sigh at his appearance, your heart swooning.

Caleb looks exactly like he did on the first day of high school. He has the same tired expression on his face with his hair disheveled as always. He had just come back from an early morning run to calm his nerves, he told you. The two of you walked side by side along the sidewalk. He carried your backpack while you held his printed out schedule in his hand, comparing it to yours.

It’s memories like these that remind you that you know the Caleb outside of her. You know who he is when she isn’t around, or when anyone is around for that matter. You know the Caleb that everyone loves and adores, the Caleb that they can lean on.

But you know the Caleb that they didn’t get to see. The one that waves to you from the street before his nightly and morning run. The one that spent over an hour helping you with a math problem you couldn’t solve. The one that protected you during dodgeball in freshmen gym class. The one that gave you the first butterfly of your collection as a gift to say sorry.

Caleb was the only one who said sorry to you.

The elevator doors slowly close. Caleb’s face disappears behind the steel doors. You stand in the heavy silence, basking in all of the regret that forms on your chest, weighing you down. The elevator doesn’t move, hanging in its spot. You stare at the panel of buttons, looking at the open door button at the bottom.

You can go after him, chase him down the hallway, beg for him to let you in his warm embrace one last time. You can beg for his forgiveness for being so cold to him. You can ask him to help you with your two bags, knowing that he would take on the load himself instead of letting you do it.

Press the button. Go on, do it!

Your voice is loud inside your head. The words echo before fading into nothingness. Your hand slowly extends towards the panel of buttons, your index finger hovering over the open door button. You bite your bottom lip, rolling it back and forth between your teeth.

Why are you hesitating? What’s holding you back? Don’t you love—

The elevator begins to move. It sinks to the lower levels. You shudder, a breath escaping your mouth.

Oh.

Life made the choice for you, didn’t it?

You press the button that leads to your floor, just two floors below his, and watch as the hand on the elevator’s floor list moves closer to the ground level. It stops on yours and you slip out, keeping your head hung low as your scurry down the hall and into your bedroom.

See? you think to yourself, it was never meant to be.

The week proceeded to go by so slowly. You grew fond of a routine that you and Caleb fell into, though, one that you subconsciously looked forward to ever since the first morning you were there. 

Every morning, Caleb stands outside your hotel door while you got dressed. He knocks four times and you knocked back twice. He always had three things in hand: two coffees (one for the each of you) and an apple. Once you left your room, you took the coffee in your hand and drank half of it before reaching for the apple he always took a bite out of. You jokingly call him selfish, which he doesn’t refute, and you stand in the elevator side by side ready to deal with that day’s meetings.

You wish you could say that the meetings are interesting. They probably would be if you could keep up with what Caleb and the other leaders were talking about. While you translated for Caleb, you scribble down notes for him, mentioning anything peculiar that the person said or a phrase that you wanted to look into. He knew that keeping your hand busy was a way for you to focus better, so he didn’t mind watching as you worked.

Throughout the way, when you two are on a break, he compliments you on your penmanship in a world that is almost only digital. You laugh at him and roll your eyes, hiding your blush while looking away.

At every meeting, Caleb always pulled out your chair for you (if it was an option) and he always had his hand on your back when entering and exiting the rooms. He took the lead, as he usually does as Colonel, but also made sure that people give you the same respect that they gave him.

Caleb may not know their language, but you do. You’re the one holding all of the cards in your hands. It’s up to you to decide how to translate a word if they speak in a phrase or in slang terms. You are the one with all of the power in the room, not him. You deserve more respect than he does.

It is the morning of the last day of the peace summit. You wake up bright and early, the wind blowing in through your window, the bottom of the curtains swaying back and forth. Sitting up in bed, you yawn and stretch out your body.

The breeze is warm. It brings you immense comfort, wrapping you in a blanket. You fall back onto the bed, arms curled over your head, legs spread apart. You take up the entirety of the mattress. The white sheets are bunched up beside you, messily thrown about the bed. A tired smile creeps onto your face.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your gaze drifts towards the door of your hotel room. Your stomach flutters and you draw your legs together. You hesitate. There’s another knock, a little more forceful, yet still quiet just enough to break through the quiet of the morning.

“Caleb?” you call out.

“Are you not up yet?” Caleb’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door. You groan and shake your head, hoping that your silence would be answer enough for him. “Come on, open up!”

“Too lazy,” you push through words out as your stretch your body again, a small squeak escaping your lips before you relax back into the bed. “You can break in if you want, I don’t care,” you mumble, eyes drooping closed, your body slowly slipping back into sleep.

To you, it feels as if seconds have gone by when the door swings open. Your body jolts awake, eyes big and wide. You watch as Caleb saunters into the main room, well, you suppose it’s the entire room. The Fleet didn’t really go all out on lowly translators like yourself. You watch him through one open eye in bed. You’re laid on top of the sheets, slowly pulling them over your face.

Caleb sighs with content. He watches you curl back up into a bad, hiding your face from him. Your legs are exposed, wearing a simple pair of pajama shorts matched with an oversized t-shirt. They disappear under the blanket and he wishes he had just one more moment to look at them, to memorize how they look so he can imagine you waking up beside him in bed during a gloomy Skyhaven morning. Who needs the sun when you’re right here?

Caleb places the two coffees and pastry bag on the room’s desk. His hat sits next to the cups. The man glances at you from over his shoulder, a slow push of wind causing your arms to stretch up and into the air. A small smile forms on his face and his heart races in his chest. Caleb takes a couple of breaths to calm it down, not wanting to get too excited, and glides across the room. He sits down on the side of the bed. The mattress dips down and rolls you over to face him.

The white sheets slip to the side and unveil your face. A sleepy smile is on your lips, your eyes closed.

Are you still dreaming? Are you happy that I’m here?

Caleb places his hand on your hip, his thumb grazing against your soft, untouched skin. Oh, how he wants to lean down and kiss the exposed area, to show you just how much he loves you.

“Good morning,” he tilts his head to the side. You open your eyes an sigh, mumbling a ‘morning’ in return. “Let’s get ready, yeah? We have one last meeting to attend before we’re done.”

“That’s not true,” you groan, slowly getting up. Caleb wraps an arm around you, his fingers snaking under the fabric of your shirt and onto your skin. His calloused skin is a stark contrast to yours. You love how it feels against you, though. “I have a whole day of translating speeches for you.”

“That you do.”

“And I get to be stuck in a small booth when it happens. Boo.”

“Boo,” Caleb whispers and brushes the hair out of your face. Still under sleep’s trance, you lean into his touch and sigh, your body fully melting into his grip. “Come on, have some coffee, wake up.”

The coffee cup slowly floats over to the bed. He catches it and holds it out to you. You lazily take it, your fingers barely holding onto the cup so Caleb has to hold the bottom, and you bring it to your lips, the caffeine immediately hitting your body. Your eyes slowly grow bigger and bigger, the dull sleeping sensation freeing from your body.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking another sip. Caleb nods. His fingertips trace the line of your jaw before cupping your face.

The pad of his thumb lays on your bottom lip. Your heart pounds in your chest. You suddenly become aware of the situation you are in. Old and worn out pajamas grace your body, your hair is a mess, and your breath probably smells since you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. Your eyes try to meet his but Caleb is focused on your lips. Your breathing grows shallow. He gently swipes his thumb across your lip. Caleb pulls away, his eyes finally meeting yours. For a moment, you swear you could hear his pounding heart as well.

“You had some coffee…” his words are quiet and are formed like an excuse for being to close to you, for pushing the boundary that has begun to evaporate between the two of you.

“Oh,” you breathe out. Caleb pulls away and stands. He looks down at you, then at his watch, then back to you.

“I’ll give you some time to change,” he clears his throat and slowly exits your hotel room. The door clicks behind him and you melt into the mattress, overing your face with a nearby pillow. A muffled and very frustrated yell is absorbed into the pillow. You pull it away and sigh, getting dressed.

As expected, the meeting is delayed by an hour due to technical difficulties. You sit inside a small room that overlooks the grand auditorium. You instantly spotted Caleb as soon as you stepped inside. You watched him as he moves around the room with ease, speaking with close allies and avoiding any enemies that the Fleet may have.

You also spot the tall, old man from the hotel lobby your first day here. He, like you, keeps a close eye on Caleb as well as other Farspace Fleet officers. He stands next to the General. Their heads lean into each other every so often as they observe the room. You wonder what they talk about.

Caleb sits down in his designated seat. He sighs to himself and rolls his head back, rubbing his eyes. The ear piece in his ear has been unusually quiet ever since you tested it with him earlier. He loosens his tie and looks around the room. He looks over his shoulder and looks at the line of mirrors that reflect the room. His purple eyes scan them.

Which one are you in?

“Are you trying to find me?” your voice comes from the earpiece. He inwardly chuckles, slightly nodding. “You’re close.”

Am I?

Caleb begins at the leftmost window. He slowly makes his way to the other side, listening to your soft coos of him getting warmer and warmer.

“Oof,” you shake your head from the booth. You’re practically leaned up against the two way mirror, looking down at him, your breath fogging up the glass. “You’re cold again. That’s a shame. I thought I remembered that you’d always find me.”

Caleb brings his eyes back to the left. He counts the windows before landing on one. He cocks his head to the side, a small grin appearing on his lips. You smile back, as if he can even see you, and lean back in your chair.

“Well would you look at that,” you purr, “you found me.”

You watch as his lips move. You can just hear the smugness in his silent tone, the arrogant and winning attitude shining through. Maybe show some humility next time, Caleb, girls love it.

“I need to tell you something,” you admit, rocking back and forth on your heels, “I’m going out tonight with the other translators…and a few others from other places.”

Caleb’s eyes widen. He stares at the window. Anxiety forms in his chest. His heart race slightly increases but it stays steady enough to not cause any alarm bells in his head to go off. He sits up in his chair, leaning forward. You copy his actions and sigh, knowing that it must be killing him to not be able to respond back.

“You’re going to behave, yes?” you playfully ask, wanting to lighten the mood. “And you better not be in front of my door when I get back. You won’t get…pretty bird privileges if you are. Nod so I know you understand.”

Caleb’s fists clench. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, anticipation bubbling in your chest. You’re toying with him, yes, having a bit of fun before he goes full bodyguard when you get back. Also, Caleb deserves to have his head spin for the night, to spend hours worrying about you.

He did break into your hotel room, after all.

His fingernails threaten to break through the leather of his gloves. Caleb sighs and relaxes into his seat, knowing that he is not going to win this battle. After a few more seconds, he slowly nods. You breathe out, relieved that he’s loosening the leash he has you on.

“Thank you.”

Much to your surprise, you come back to your hotel room early that night. The dinner with all of the other translators was fun, yes, but you began to feel the win get to your head and, well, everyone knows what happens when you have a little too much to drink.

Caleb wasn’t at your door. A part of you felt relieved while the other part felt remorse for being so curt with him earlier. Poor guy didn’t even have a chance to defend himself or to protest against your wishes.

Did he even survive the few hours you were away? Guess you’ll find out tomorrow morning.

Your bed felt so comforting to get into despite it not being your bed at home. It was what you got, though, and push the complaints out of your head. You wiggle under the tight sheets, liking how it holds you against the bed like when your dad aggressively tucked you in as a child. A small smile spreads across your face, eyes closed, ready for sleep to come and take you.

But it doesn’t.

An hour of tossing and turning in bed does you no good. Your mind is wide awake despite your body ready for sleep. The ceiling is undeniably boring and against your better judgment, you get out of bed and make your way to the balcony.

The night air greets you like an old friend, warm with a slight chill to it, the perfect temperature. You sigh into the night sky. In Skyhaven, the stars shine brighter and the moon is much bigger. You...miss it. You miss the constant clouds and rainstorms. Everyday here has been nothing but hot, leaving you finding shelter near an A.C. in the hotel and building where the Summit is being held.

A slow gust of wind pushes your hair out of your face and over your shoulders, hanging over your back. You sigh and close your eyes, soaking in the warm hug of the breeze.

Caleb is also out on his balcony right now. Instead of the stars and moon, he watches the blinking lights of flying planes overhead. In Skyhaven, one can see the blinking lights of satellites and space ships. A slow breath leaves his lips. A plane disappears behind a fluffy, gray cloud. Oh, how he wishes he was in the sky right now, his second home (the first being in your arms, of course).

He is just about to go back inside when he catches a glimpse of the top of your head. You’re two floors down and two rooms to the right. The Colonel steps to the edge of his balcony, looking down at you. He leans against the metal railing. His purple eyes focus on your tiny frame, the large t-shirt sliding off of your shoulder. He watches as you slowly inhale and exhale, the Colonel quickly joining in.

Is this you in your true self? The you that can be seen when nobody is watching? He loves it.

You open your eyes and stare at the bright, white moon. Its full body makes the night sky bright with the stars being mere specks of white that litters the black sky. It truly is a sight to be seen. You can’t help but wonder if Caleb is awake.

“Psst…pretty bird.”

Holy shit. Are you a psychic? 

You look above you. Caleb’s chuckles fall down to you.

“You’re very cold right now.”

Ah, so he is to the left of you. You follow the direction of his voice, hands gripping the metal railing of the balcony. You look up, craning your neck to look around other balconies. Caleb’s face comes into view and you proudly smile, leaning against the metal bars.

“Is this what it feels like to be found?” Caleb quips. You can’t help but laugh and shake your head at him.

“It feels nice, doesn’t it?” you shoot back. Caleb nods. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Same,” you huff and turn away, looking back into the night sky. “The moon is pretty tonight.”

“You’re even more beautiful,” Caleb mumbles under his breath. “Do you need a sleeping pill or something?” He calls out. You shake your head and look back up at him.

“Hey…this reminds me of something,” you lean back over the edge of the railing, looking up at him. He raises his eyebrow, looking down at you. “Freshmen year. Miss Hart’s English class. She made us recite the Romeo and Juliet balcony scene in class. Except, you’re Juliet and I’m Romeo.”

Did we? Caleb inwardly sighs. I…I don’t remember.

You watch Caleb’s face contort once again like it did not even a few days ago. Silence overtakes your body. You nod and look away, catching the hint.

Of course, he didn’t remember. It probably wasn’t important enough to remember, anyways. It was stupid of you to bring up. You wipe a stray tear that falls from your eye, the sting of rejection and defeat all too familiar to you.

“Pretty bird?” Caleb catches your attention. You stare at him, hiding your glossy eyes from him. “Let’s not reminisce in the past. Let’s make new memories.”

“New memories,” you sigh to yourself. Your head rolls back, neck exposed.

Caleb stares at your skin under the moonlight; he wishes he could be down there with you, to hold you in his arms. He’ll never let go. He’ll recite any damn passage from Romeo and Juliet if it meant that you would look at him the same way you did that morning.

“Sure, why not,” you call out to him. His face lights up.

“Do you mean that?” he asks. You nod and his heart grows three sizes. “Let me come down there. Let’s make a new memory. Maybe I can help you fall asleep, too.”

“If you’re trying to get my pants off, Juliet,” you look up at him and narrow your eyes, “it isn’t going to work.” Caleb scoffs and rolls his eyes, not that you can see it very well, and his face scrunches up.

“Well, Romeo,” Caleb’s laugh is breathy with just the right amount of rasp to make your brain do a double take, “I was thinking more of us watching a shitty hotel movie.”

“Oh.” You look away, feeling the heat rise up on your cheeks.

Just a movie. Okay. Yeah, you can do that. It wasn’t really what you were expecting. Maybe a part of you was expecting the pants off part but this works too!

“Your place or mine?” you ask with a small smile, not looking in his direction. When you don’t hear a quippy or lighthearted answer from your childhood friend, you finally look up at Caleb’s balcony to see that he is —

Not there?

You lean forward and over the railing, trying to get a better look. Where could he have possibly gone? Does he not want to hang out with you? Well…damn. You never thought that Caleb would ever reject you—

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your heart stops. You slowly turn to look at the door, the only light coming from the small peephole in the middle of the stocky wooden panel. A few seconds pass. Your heart starts to beat again. You come back inside the room, creeping closer to the door. With every step you take, your heart skips a beat, beating faster and faster as the distance between you and him slowly diminishes. You grab the doorknob and push it downwards. The man on the other side pushes it open.

Caleb stands in the doorway, his hand flat against the door above your head. He looks down at you. The light from the hallway seeps through his messy hair, creating a halo like effect around his head. He takes a step forward, his broad shoulders filling the diameter of the frame. You take a step backwards and let go of the handle.

Caleb and you take each step slowly; every move is deliberate and calculated. The door clicks shut behind him. The two of you stand in darkness. You don’t dare to move but Caleb does, entering your close proximity. His faded blue shirt brushes against your purple one. You struggle to watch him in the darkness.

The light above your head flicks on. A small breath leaves your mouth, eyes wide open when you tilt your chin up to him. His eyes latch onto yours. His gaze alone sends chills to the spot between your legs. He doesn’t look away.

“Nice room.”

“It’s shitty and you know it,” your breathing is shaky, suddenly becoming aware that Caleb is here. He is here in your small hotel room, invading your space.

The funny thing? You don’t seem to mind anymore.

“You should have stayed with me when I offered,” a small smile twitches on his lips before his face falls again. You nod and stifle a laugh behind a closed mouth.

Being the first one to move, you turn away and scramble for the bed, tripping over your own feet but recovering quick enough for him to just barely notice. You pull back the bed’s sheets. The side of the bed closest to the balcony is yours.

Selfishly, you took this side because if an intruder were to come in, Caleb would be closest to them. While he fights them off, you’d make your escape to the balcony and hop to the neighboring one to seek refuge.

The mattress dips beside you. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Caleb’s shoulder brushes against yours, a spark of electricity igniting between you two. Your legs are tiny compared to his. He’s just a hunk of a man, gargantuan in every way possible.

Well, that’s not true. You don’t exactly know what he’s packing downstairs.

“What should we watch?” Caleb’s voice draws your face to look at him. He watches you from the corner of his eye. He turns the television on and the light paints his skin in the faint colors from the vibrant musical that plays. You silently gulp and look at the screen, needing a break from his dominant demeanor.

“Anything is good with me…as long as it isn’t horribly depressing or grotesque or has that one actress with the weird nose to forehead ratio or is basically propaganda from the Farspace Fleet.”

Caleb slowly turns to look at you, his mouth slightly agape from your list of no’s. You glance over and briefly meet his gaze before immediately turning back away. You grab one of the decorative pillows that separate your bodies and pull it to your chest, tucking your chin into the material.

“Alright…I can find something along your very relaxed guidelines,” Caleb muses with an amused chuckle.

After a few minutes of him clicking through channels, and you endlessly vetoing what he has to offer, you have found yourself tucked into his side. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pinned against the headboard. The tips of his fingers slipped beneath your shirt, gently swirling circles and stars into your skin. The side of your face is placed against his shoulder, one hand on his chest. You shake your head as he clicks through the channels. He smells even better than before. His cologne is intoxicating, the underlying musk drawing you in, making you want to stay attached to his side the rest of your life.

You truly don’t care what you watch with him, as long as it’s good and entertaining. All you really want to do is sit here with him and listen to his slow and steady heartbeat.

“Pretty bird,” Caleb breathes out, giving your side a gentle squeeze, “let’s pick somethin’, yeah?” You nod with a quiet yawn, already feeling the effects of sleep working on you.

He clicks through a few more channels before it lands on a romcom from decades ago. You don’t shake your head, which causes Caleb to look at you. Your tired eyes widen from the snappy dialogue. You love just how sarcastic and witty the love interests are with each other; the push and pull between them is absolutely electric. Caleb smiles and places the remote down, finally happy that you found something good to watch.

Every other minute or so, the two of you laugh. The laughs are tired and sometimes mixed in with a shared yawn. Your eyes begin to droop, your head fully leaning into Caleb’s shoulder. Quiet breaths, borderline snores, leave your mouth. You’ve succumbed to the blissfulness of sleep. You tried to fight it off as best you could but your efforts were futile. His embrace tightens. He feels your body relaxing, melting into his. He’ll sit upright all night long with you if it means that you’re able to get a peaceful night of sleep, that you won’t be harmed by nightmares like he is.

Soon, he follows, the quiet sound of the romantic comedy lulling him to sleep and, for once, he isn’t burdened with a nightmare.

Caleb wakes up to the sound of you rummaging through your luggage. He’s typically a light sleeper but with you he didn’t wake up once through the entire night. That’s a success, truly. The Colonel leans his head up, being sure not to move too much to alarm you. You’re dressed in a suit, one that hugs your curves just right while being loose enough to allow your body to breathe. A smile spreads across his face.

“Mornin’, pretty bird.”

You jump in your skin, standing up right with loose earrings in your hands. You turn to face Caleb, whose hair is messy, eyes half-lidded from sleep. The sight of him makes your heart flutter, your stomach quivering from your budding school-girl crush on him. His eyes scan up and down your body, heading tilting to the side. His brows knit together before they come back up to your gaze.

“We…we don’t have any meetings planned today. all we have is the gala tonight. Why are you…” his voice falls off, unable to find the proper words to string together. You sigh and run your fingers through your freshly dried hair, smelling like the hotel’s clean shampoo.

“The General called the room this morning. He asked me to assist him and…” you stammer, circling around to his side of the bed. You struggle to put your earrings in, a frustrated chuckle emitting from your throat. “I mean, you know how it is. Can’t really say no, can you? When they say jump, we say—”

“How high.” Caleb finishes your sentence, disappointment tinged in his voice. He looks in the other direction, looking out of your open balcony door and into the morning light.

Caleb knows what it’s like to be a lapdog to those who hold power over you. He knows exactly how it feels to be summoned in the middle of the night because the power above him, one that he plans on breaking free from, wishes for him to make someone disappear.

“I’ll be back soon…hopefully…but I will definitely be back for the gala, so…save me a dance, okay?” you smile at him, half out of breath, fastening the last piece of jewelry to your body. Caleb finally looks back over to you, a small and weak smile appearing on his face. You’re too busy and frazzled to notice the strain in his face, the anxiety that rips throughout his body while he watches you leave the hotel room.

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