#I’m not trying to like. shame anyone or anything. but please stop seeking out reassurance and comfort over not boycotting

[vexenya]

Maybe a hot take but if for whatever reason you cannot boycott maybe keep that to yourself? Don’t go around telling everyone and the dog “omg I have to eat McDonald’s 😢 I can’t afford anything else” because 1) there are plenty of better and cheaper options, trust me I’ve been there and I didn’t eat McDonald’s a single time when I was there. And 2) when you say things like that you’re clearly trying to get people to sympathize with you and reassure you that you’re not a bad person and you’re not doing anything wrong. People are literally dying, this situation is not about you.

Decades in the future, when all this is in the history books, people in Palestine won’t remember that you couldn’t stop drinking Starbucks because it’s the only coffee shop in your area. They’ll remember that people in a first world country refused to do the bare minimum to help them.

[inkyblinders]

Dancing with the Devil: Part II

Part 1

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

Author’s note: This was so embarrassing to write not because of smut...but because I’m crushing hard on Adrien Brody right now. And I can’t even share this obsession with anyone because… he’s kinda niche? Someone please reassure me that I’m just going through a phase because dear God why can’t I stop watching Darjeeling Limited just to see him ahhh.

The story picks up right after the end of Part 1, so I recommend reading that first. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated, let me know what you think!

Summary: Following your meeting with Luca Changretta, you face the Shelby family and Tommy's reaction. (2.6k words)

Warnings: Smut, angst, swearing

Tag: Let me know if you would like to be added or removed

@anythingwriter, @rrtxcmt, @shut-chan

_____________________________________________________________

You barely make it into your bedroom before he is all over you. The buttons of his crisp, tailored shirt fall like marbles. He moans when you nip the skin of his neck, right over his tattoo of the black cross, legs tangled together like a depraved waltz.

When he grinds into you, you shudder deliciously at the hardness that meets between your bare thighs.

How easy would it be for him to kill you after he fucks you, leaving your corpse twisted in the bedsheets. You know Tommy would find it when he eventually remembers that he has not seen you for days.

“Signorita, you know I come to you with the most honorable of intentions.” He murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts.

“You're not a very honorable man then.” A laugh that turns into a gasp as he trails his hand lower and strokes between your legs. No, not very honorable at all. And pretty soon all thoughts of honor are forgotten as he coaxes a moan from your throat.

His fingers are magic. The cold outline of his onyx rings scald your skin each time he crooks a finger inside you. Knowing exactly what you need, seeking your depths, swirling, rising to rub the clit, all the while exploring the flushed expanse of your body with his other hand.

Shoulder to breasts to hips and back again.

Without meaning to, you’ve let this stranger take control of your entire being. But God, do you crave this pure ecstasy.

It’s as if he wants to know precisely how much you can take before you're undone. So when you clench around his hand and feel the familiar ache he is right there, helping you ride the wave of pleasure, never breaking the rhythm of his thrusting fingers even as you curse, rake your nails down his back.

You almost cry out his name when you come. But you bite into his shoulder instead.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna have to hear you next time.” He growls.

His words barely register as you come down from the high. Aftershocks spark like tiny flames. Now you are wearing his scent as much as he is wearing yours.

“Be inside me,” You whimper, tugging at his soft hair, urging him for more.

He rasps an empty warning, “What's my name, sweetheart?”

Of course. All this time you've never acknowledged you know of his identity. There was no use in trying to hide it now.

“Luca,” you breathe. And his eyes gleam with approval.

With a snap of his hips, he plunges into silky warmth. The fullness stretches you to your limit, head thrown back. It’s good, so good. Every withdrawal of his thrust is a blessing because you know what follows next. It’s him inside you again, wrapping you with his touch and the scent of tobacco and roses.

“Does your Tommy fuck you like this? Like the way I do?”

“He’s not mine.” You choke out, punishing Luca with a bite on the neck that elicits a chuckle rather than a yelp of pain.

He kisses you, your foreheads pressed together. “A damn shame for him.” Soon he starts to quicken his pace, going faster, more erratic, his breathing heavy upon your ears.

Yes, you urge him, come on, now.

And this is your chance. In a flash you roll on top of him, pinning down his shoulders with your hands. He tries to arch up but you stop him with a knee.

“How many men did you bring, Changretta?” You ask, making your voice rough to mask the lust, pressing your hands around his jugular.

It's a pleasure to see him like this. Shocked at your actions, maybe even scared. Naked with want but unable to do anything to relieve it. Unless he tells the truth.

“Fifteen. Why baby, am I not enough for you?” He laughs breathlessly, hands trailing goosebumps along your hips, tracing the contour of your breasts. The jib doesn't hurt you. After all, men have said worse. He tries to surge into you again, and his hot member pulses on your thighs.

“Do you swear on your honor? That you’re telling the truth?” You insist, squeezing him harder. The touch brands his skin as much as it brands yours.

In a voice full of self-mockery he says, “Yes I swear on my honor. Now let me in, clever Isabel.”

You take him in you, the sensations amplify a thousandfold. You try teasing him, going slowly in and out, but soon you are caught up in the sensation of him completely at your mercy and you ride him, faster, until you keen his name, until he too is undone.

****

Through the haze of dawn, he stumbles out of bed and gets dressed. Before he dons his hat once more, Luca leans down to whisper in your ear, as soft as sin.

“You tell Tommy Shelby he may expect a visitor in the night. I'm coming for him as the angel of death. The vendetta has begun…” He kisses your hair.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

The door clicks shut. You rise from your pillow, and a small, hard lump rolls next to your hand.

It is a signet ring of onyx and gold.

****

“So we all get a death letter from the mafia, but Izzy gets jewelry?” Ada huffs as the family filters into the betting shop. As usual, Tommy holds court at the front of the table, brooding over a glass of whiskey. You roll your eyes as Arthur and John try to cover their snort of laughter with a cough.

“If you want it, you can have it, Ada. He’s probably planning on killing me too.”

“Doubt it. You’re not a Shelby, and we’re the ones who killed his father. Well, someone did, to be precise.” She shoots a bitter look at Tommy, who doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Despite Ada’s matter-of-fact tone, the words cut to your heart. Not a Shelby.

It’s not her fault. No one knows you’ve been sleeping with Tommy, not even your dearest friend. It’s a lonely secret to keep, but at least you can look at the family square in the eye and not have to worry about the things they say behind your back. Or worse, pity you.

You can handle the violence and moral ambiguity of Tommy’s business. But to lose the love and respect of the Shelbys would break your heart.

“What was the mafia man like, Izzy?” Finn asks eagerly. It’s obvious the boy is thinking of the dashing, gun-wielding gangsters he’s seen in the pictures.

“He was a wrinkly old brute. Kind of like your arsehole brother Tommy.” A smile to take the edge off the insult. But Tommy only looks off into space. As if he hasn't paid attention to this entire conversation.

Arthur clears his throat. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. It was me who pulled the trigger on his dad, so the blame falls on me.” He pats Linda’s hand even as his voice is heavy with guilt.

“No one’s blaming you Arthur, you weren’t the brains behind the operation, no offense.” Ada says. He is about to say something when Polly cuts in.

“Stop squabbling like children. We’ve all voted for truce, despite everything Tommy’s done to us—” The words nearly having us hanged hover pointedly in the air. “—So let’s focus on the matter at hand." She fixes Tommy with a sharp look.

“What’s the news from Camden Town? Will Solomons help us?”

“No.” He says tiredly. And all of a sudden you feel sorry for teasing him. He look gaunt. There are shadows under his eyes, even more so than usual. Without you to remind him to eat, you can imagine his diet for the past few days consisted more of alcohol and cigarettes than anything substantial.

“Spent three hours on a fucking tour of his bakery and another pretending to drink his piss-poor rum. I think he was trying to get me sloshed so I’d forget what I came for.” Tommy rubs his head.

“He’s refusing to send his men to help. Said he’s not going to go after another oppressed people.”

“Did you tell him the Italians are rounding up Jews in their country as we speak?” Polly asks incredulously.

“Wouldn’t make a difference to Alfie. Besides, that’s just an excuse. He’s really just a fucking coward.”

Polly looks troubled at this, as does the rest of the family. Everyone had been counting on Alfie’s friendship with Tommy, however peculiar, to help them with the vendetta. What they hadn’t expected was his extreme sense of self-perseverance. How are they going to protect themselves now?

“Before everyone panics, I’d like to say something.” Tommy clears his throat, setting down the whisky.

“As you may all know, two nights ago our Izzy encountered Mr. Changretta in the Garrison. He bought her a drink and asked her to deliver an official beginning of the vendetta.” He chooses this time to finally look at you. You hold his gaze until he looks shiftily away.

“We can also assume that he has been scoping out Small Heath, looking for any weaknesses on our turf. Now, Izzy has something to share with you all.”

You stand up uncertainly. The last time a woman other than Polly tried to speak her mind at the table it had been Esme, who still refuses to come to the betting shop unless Tommy is not here.

“While Mr. Changretta was, er, indisposed at the Garrison, I found some items in his coat that I think could be useful.” You fish out a passport and a stack of papers from your skirt pockets.

“Good job, Izzy! Oh, I knew we could count on you more than my idiot brother.” Ada beams.

“Becoming a right little spy, eh?” John ruffles your hair good-naturedly. As everyone gathers around, Polly gives a low whistle.

“Goodness, if this is your definition of an ugly brute, I wonder who’ll really catch your fancy, darling.”

You flush. The documents were obtained shortly after Luca had fallen asleep. It was an exercise in agility, trying to extricate yourself from his tangle of limbs, especially when you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, encased in his warmth.

To your own credit, the papers were highly useful indeed. Some were maps of Birmingham, circles drawn in places where the Shelbys are known to frequent. The Garrison. Charlie’s Yard. The Arrow House. There was also stationary from The Stanton, a hotel just outside of the city.

There had been another piece of paper in the stack, a letter. But you kept that for yourself.

“We all have Izzy to thank for bringing us this valuable information.” Tommy’s voice rises above the chatter. “I will be personally examining all the documents and think of a plan. In the meantime, everyone stay alert, stay armed, and stay together.”

“Now if no one has any further questions, I need to have a private word with her. Alone.”

*****

You twirl the onyx ring around your finger as everyone filters out. It’s much too big but you still wear it anyways. The thick band of gold is comforting in its own way. And despite what you told Ada earlier, you don’t want to give it to anyone else.

Tommy’s curt voice snaps you from your reverie.

“Was it good, then?”

A small muscle tics on the underside of his jaw. His previously blank expression is now cold. The coward in you compels you to feign ignorance.

“What do you mean, Tommy?” You ask lightly.

“Did it feel good to have that fucking wop inside you?”

You burst out laughing. “Christ, Tommy. Did you pick up that word from Alfie? You sound bloody ridiculous when you’re trying to be crass, you know.”

“Don’t fucking change the subject, Isabel.” Tommy snaps.

“Oh, so I’m Isabel, now? You only call me that when you’re trying to get me in bed. Is that what you want? A bit early in the evening if you ask me.”

“What I want for you is to tell me how it felt having that man inside you, inside---”

You blaze with anger. “My sex life is none of your business, even if you are an occasional participant. I did what you would have wanted, and now I’ve got intel on the Changrettas that could save your arse!”

“Do you know how dangerous it could have been? Fraternizing with the enemy is exactly what got us into trouble with the Changrettas!”

“And fraternizing with them again has given us an advantage. We know how many associates he’s brought with him, and where they are staying. Good God,” Your eyes widen as you see the mutinous look on Tommy’s face. “Are you jealous?”

The silence of the room presses in until it's almost palpable. Finally he rubs a hand over his eyes, looking utterly defeated.

“I have no right to.” He says, pained. “But I am, just the same.”

The admission of his feelings would have made your heart soar a few days ago, before you met a man who enchanted you in the Garrison. You only laugh bitterly.

“What makes this different from all those other times you made me seduce the men you wanted to spy on?”

He says nothing. But what else is there to say? The past is in the past, and so many hurts have been caused by the both of you, it would be impossible to untangle it all.

You soften your voice, laying a hand on Tommy's arm.

“Let me continue seeing him. He wants me, and we can use that. You know it will be help, you know it might save us all.”

A breath flutters in your chest as you wait for his decision. If Tommy allows it, you’ll do it in a heartbeat. The Shelbys are your family, whether you're one in name or not.

But if he refuses, then perhaps… Perhaps he might actually care for you, deeper than jealousy, deeper than he admits.

“Very well.” Tommy says finally, and something in your heart shatters. The corners of your mouth curve up in a wobbly smile.

“Thank you for trusting me, Tommy. I won’t let you down.”

“You would never let me down, no matter what you do. Just…Be careful, Izzy.”

He closes the distance between you and enfolds you in a hug. You enjoy this quiet warmth, as fragile as spider's silk. With a small laugh, you pull away, patting his arm before turning to the door.

You don't look back to see if he follows.

[just-come-baek]

body rhythm

Pairing: Taeyong x reader | mentions of Seulgi x Irene | mentions of Johnny x almost everybody

Themes: smut | fluff | dance!au 

Word count: 14.8k

Summary: Taeyong and Seulgi participate in a nationwide dance competition. However, due to unfortunate scheduling, she has to drop out of it, suggesting you, out of all people, fill in. Taeyong isn't pleased with how things manage to fall out of place, but he is in no position to be whiny about it. For him, it's either learn to work with you or lose yet another time to his arch-enemy.

Warnings: a moderate amount of fluff | Johnny flirting with everybody in plain sight | Johnny stalks people out on social media | cursing | Doyoung being a huge dick | Doyoung flexing his hips | reader has inappropriate thoughts about Taeil | Taeyong being very demanding dance teacher | stressfull situations | drinking | reader is kind of bratty and Taeyong finds it really frustrating | frustrated/angry making out | as per smut | oral!female receiving | unprotected sex (never try it at home or else Imma tell your parents) | they kinda fuck in the open and kinda check our their refection in the mirror |

A/N it's my entry for song association event, I hope you like it, and also don't forget to check out other entries ^^ they must be all out by now lol

“Are you ready?” Johnny inquired as he set his fourth coffee of the day on his desk and plopped onto the swivel chair in a cubicle next to mine. It was a really long day at work, and we both had trouble sitting through the end of it. Heaving a deep sigh, I looked at the pile of documents that required my attention, groaning before I sprawled across my workspace.

“I thought it’s canceled tonight,” I spoke as I looked at my wristwatch, wincing when I realized there was still one more hour until Johnny and I could finally clock out.

A few months ago, our lovely firm, instead of giving us a well-deserved raise, had decided to provide us with a variety of extra activities. Though I’d rather get some monetary benefits, together with Johnny, we chose dance classes. Our company was paying for it, so we might’ve as well attended.

Ever since then, every Thursday, we would go to a dance class to sweat out all of the pent-up frustration. I didn’t have plenty of expectations, still bitter after the company’s decision, but the dance class turned out amazing. Seulgi was our teacher, and although she was a bit demanding, she was patient enough to teach us some sick moves. If that didn’t scream talent™, I had no idea what did.

“Well… last week, she said she might be absent today, but I got a text from school that someone will fill in,” Johnny spoke matter-of-factly. I sighed, checking my phone, reading the same text message from the studio. I really didn’t have energy for dance classes, but there was no way Johnny would let me skip.

“Do you want to grab a drink after? I think I need one, or a few,” I proposed as I sat back in my chair, trying to let my eyes rest from the computer’s screen.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Johnny asked rhetorically, smiling at me as if I just read his mind. It was almost Friday at this point, and we deserved a little treat.

Though it felt like an eternity, the clock finally struck 5 p.m., letting us leave our claustrophobic cubicles. Tomorrow we would come back for another dose of torture, but right now, we were free. Only for a few hours, though.

Quickly, I returned home to get my gym bag. Thankfully, I lived within walking distance from both – my office and the dance studio, so it wasn’t as troublesome to commute as it was for Johnny, who got stuck in traffic almost every day.

A few minutes before the dance class, I was already changed into my gym attire, waiting for Johnny. Though no one was texting me, I stared at my phone, furiously typing away. Moon Taeil, also known as my secret crush, was leaning against the wall on the other side of the corridor, and I tried every single trick my mind could come up with not to look desperate.

“At this point, he must think you hate him,” Johnny commented as he conjured in front of me out of nowhere. “You should hit on him instead of trying to bolt every time he approaches you,” he added, and I rolled my eyes at his yet another one shitty advice.

“Can you remind me why I don’t take dating advice from you?”

“Why are you attacking me? I just wanted to help. There’s no need to get so aggressive,” Johnny defended his case, not really answering my question. Johnny was a self-proclaimed love expert, but to me, he was more of a pathological playboy. Either way, he seemed to understand the secrets of flirtation to pick up girls whenever he set his mind to it.

“I am just trying not to be obvious,” I commented, stealing a glance at Taeil. It was a silly crush, and though Johnny encouraged me to go for it, I never decided to act on my feelings. Taeil probably didn’t feel this way about me, so remaining idle actually saved me embarrassment after an inevitable rejection.

“Speaking of which, I figured out why Seulgi is so resistant to my charms,” Johnny announced proudly, and I raised my eyebrow, waiting for the big reveal. Everybody in our group knew that Johnny was attracted to Seulgi, but every time he tried to approach her, she would brush him off.

“By figured out, you mean you stalked her, right?” I commented when Johnny handed me his phone, showing me Seulgi’s profile. According to what Johnny dug out in social media, Seulgi was getting married to Irene – her girlfriend of five years. “Huh,” I mused as I gave him back his phone, trying not to laugh at him. Seulgi was already madly in love with someone else, no wonder she could resist his charm.

“Call it whatever you want,” Johnny started, putting his phone away. “Just don’t hold me down when FBI finally recruits me for my impeccable detective skills,” he argued, and I laughed as I imagined him leaving our lovely company. That would be a shame; I couldn’t imagine anyone else sitting in the cubicle next to mine.

“The room should be open,” someone hollered, mentioning for us to open the doors and get inside. I had seen him a few times around the school, so I deduced he must’ve been our substitute teacher today.

Once everybody took their spot on the dance floor, the man cleared his throat. “Hello everybody, my name is Taeyong. Together with Seulgi, we run this school, and I hope we will have a lot of fun today with new choreography,” he announced politely with a practiced professionalism. Perhaps Taeyong didn’t seem as cool as Seulgi, but we had to give him a chance to prove us wrong.

Taeyong was intimidating. I wouldn’t want to be left alone with him. When he showed us a few moves, he was immensely focused on delivering one hundred percent. It was impressive and admirable, but at the same, Taeyong gave off a scary fierce aura. Though he was a great dancer and teacher, Seulgi was just better.

“I think I have a heart attack,” I panted, gasping for air. The new choreography required lots of jumping, and I didn’t expect so much cardio today. I wasn’t out of shape; however, after dancing to Taeyong’s choreography, I had some doubts.

“We should’ve skipped,” Johnny commented, bending over with his palms on his knees, supporting his huge body. Taeyong’s dance routine was too much for us, and we weren’t the only people struggling to breathe. Thankfully, next week Seulgi would be back.

***

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Johnny announced, craning his neck to look inside my cubicle. Heaving a sigh, I put my pen down, giving him my full attention.

This better be good.

“What is it? Who are you stalking this time?” I inquired, giving him the attitude. Johnny was spending too much time on his phone during working hours, but I couldn’t really frown upon it because I often caught myself doing the same thing.

“First of all, I thought we agreed to call it researching, not stalking,” Johnny clarified, and I rolled my eyes. “And second of all, it’s Seulgi. She and the other guy from the dance studio qualified for some dance competition. Check this out,” Johnny explained, handing me his phone.

Seulgi and Taeyong rocked the stage. Though I had nothing to compare their performance to, they just oozed charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent. Without any shred of doubt, they would make it to the grand finale.

“Wow,” I mused, not sure how to appropriately respond. I was happy for their success; after all, their performance was broadcasted during prime time on national television. At this point, Seulgi and Taeyong were celebrities.

“I can’t wait for today’s class,” Johnny added in excitement, hiding his phone away inside the pocket of his jacket. “I have to congratulate her.”

“Them. You have to congratulate them,” I corrected Johnny as he seemed to forget about Seulgi’s dance partner. It wasn’t a solo competition, so both Seulgi and Taeyong deserved praise. “And as if you’ve forgotten, Seulgi is not and will never be interested in you. You gotta let this one go, man,” I added, hoping Johnny would stop his relentless flirting with Seulgi. Though it was funny at the beginning, it was evident Seulgi would appreciate it if he stopped.

“I am all over her. Trust me,” Johnny reassured me, and I let out a shallow sigh, wanting to believe him. “Do you know Wendy from the HR department? I think I’m gonna ask her out. I am all over Seulgi,” he added, and it actually convinced me. Although Johnny didn’t seek anything serious at this point in his life, and when something didn’t go according to his plan, he would shake it off and forget all about it.

“Ok, I believe you,” I said, giving him a genuine smile. “Oh, and I was thinking… how about some beer and chicken after dance classes today? I’ve been craving them the whole day,” I offered, and Johnny enthusiastically nodded. It did sound like a solid plan.

Thankfully, this week Seulgi was back, and everybody appreciated it. Taeyong was a great teacher, but we were a group of beginners, and it was difficult for us to follow his routine. We just weren’t ready for such complex choreography.

Everybody had so much fun today. At first, we practiced some old routines, working on synchronization. Later on, Seulgi taught us a few new moves, which I recognized from her television performance. Admittedly, they weren’t as difficult as they looked. Maybe it was a little bold of me, but I was thinking I was doing a pretty good job today.

At the very end of the class, Johnny delivered a dramatic congratulatory speech, making people laugh out of utter cringe. It was a nice gesture, and Seulgi’s embarrassment was adorable. She would cover her blushed cheeks and turn around, hoping the ground could swallow her up. In all honesty, it seemed to be the only way to shut up Johnny.

Just when we were about to be dismissed, I heard someone calling my name. Surprisingly, it was Seulgi. She must’ve wanted to discuss something with me. Damn it, was she going to scold me for not improving? Or was it because I sat half of the song out? I just needed a short break; I had no idea it would get me in trouble.

“I am sorry,” I apologized even though I wasn’t sure what for yet. Seulgi would enlighten me in a second, so I cleared my throat to apologize to her once again. However, when she giggled instead of yelling at me, I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Johnny hollered before he strolled out of the practice room.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked, and Seulgi smiled, shaking her head.

Great, it was a relief.

“Actually, I may sound crazy to you,” she started, fidgeting a little. It was strange, Seulgi was a strong and confident woman, but right now, she seemed rather bashful. “Would you like to participate in a dance competition?”

Her question took me aback.

“What?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the topic.

“Let me explain,” she offered, and I reluctantly nodded.

By the look on her face, I could tell it wasn’t going to be a quick chit-chat. Seulgi had a lot of things to explain, so we decided to sit on the floor before she began her speech.

Patiently, I listened to everything she wanted to tell me.

Seulgi and Taeyong wanted to participate in a dance competition ever since they had decided to open up a dance school together. Last week they really thought they were going to achieve their dream. Unfortunately, as soon as they qualified and received the schedule, complications started to follow.

Maybe it was a little bit overconfident of them to think they’d make it to the finals, but it still made them anxious. Regardless of their talent, they wouldn’t be able to perform in the grand finale. Apparently, on the very same day, Seulgi was getting married.

At first, I wanted to interject that they could reschedule, but Seulgi beat me to it.

“It would be the third time we reschedule it, and I just can’t let that happen. I don’t want Irene to think I prioritize dancing over her. She means the world to me, and I’d quit a thousand times to get married to her,” Seulgi confessed, and I tried my best to contain my feels. There was something raw and pure about Seulgi’s love, and it moved me.

Seulgi’s proposition was genius in its simplicity. Together with Taeyong, she would perform, climbing up the rankings. And if by any chance, they would make it to the final round; she wanted me to fill in. Given I had been dancing at their studio for about four months I couldn’t comprehend why she chose me.

I was a rookie, for crying out loud!

Finding a substitute dancer made a lot of sense, actually. Instead of dropping out, they could find a replacement. This way, Taeyong could still make his dream come true. And next year, together with Seulgi, they could try to defend the title.

However, once again, Seulgi read my mind and answered my question before I voiced my doubts. She must’ve really thought this through before approaching me. It seemed she had rehearsed all possible inquires and came up with perfect answers.

“All of our dancer friends either compete against us or failed during qualifications,” she declared, and I hummed in response. “Unfortunately, people who already attempted joining can’t fill in for other dancers.”

“That sucks,” I commented, and Seulgi dryly chuckled.

“I think you would be a perfect fit,” she started, and I held my breath, wanting to hear what made her think I’d be able to rise to the challenge. “Everybody can memorize moves, but you have a natural passion for dancing. I can see it in class. Maybe you can’t see it yet because dancing is a hobby to you more than anything else, but I can tell you have the it™ factor.”

I was speechless. Seulgi, the dance prodigy, was praising my dancing skills. I couldn’t believe my ears. What kind of self-indulgent dream was it? Why couldn’t I dream like a normal person? I had tendency to toot my own horn sometimes, but it was just too much.

“I bet with proper training, you and Taeyong could win.”

“Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure, of course! No pressure!” Seulgi replied enthusiastically, giving me enough space to clear my mind and think about it.

“See you next week.” I waved at her, exiting the dance room. Absentmindedly, I changed out of the gym clothes and walked out of the building, almost walking past Johnny.

“Hey, what did Seulgi want?” Johnny asked, grabbing my wrist, pulling me out of trance.

“She wants me to dance in her place if she and Taeyong ever make it to the finals.”

“What?!”

 ***

At first, I was hesitant about this whole thing. I wasn’t a professional dancer, and I really didn’t want to contribute to them losing the competition. However, Seulgi really made a point that they would have to drop out anyway, so in some twisted way, my participation gave them a slimmer of hope for victory.

Once I explained everything to Johnny, he really insisted I should help them out, spitting nonsense about fame and recognition and how I couldn’t doubt myself and just go with the flow. Opportunities like this rarely occurred, and I ought to welcome them with excitement.

So I did.

Every Saturday and Sunday, I dropped by the dance studio for practice. Taeyong still intimidated me, but I could deal with it. Seulgi was always around me to nag him whenever he demanded too much from me. They balanced each other very well, and it was fun working with them. Even though each practice left me with sore muscled, I was still excited. It was tangible proof I was improving.

Seulgi and Taeyong smoothly went through the contest, winning each battle with ease, slowly climbing in the ranking. There was still plenty of work until the grand finale, but everything looked they were to make it to the very top.

Unfortunately, the closer to the D-day, the less time Seulgi had to help us during practice. With her wedding coming up, she had a lot of preparations to deal with. As a result, Taeyong and I had to practice the dance routine on our own.

“No, you’re doing it all wrong,” Taeyong yelled in irritation when for the nth time, I turned to my right instead of my left. “Do it again; five, six, seven, eight,” he added, playing the song from the very beginning.

To say I was frustrated was an understatement of the century. I was aware that Taeyong really wanted to win the competition, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. With no Seulgi to supervise him, he was unbearable.

“I think I need a break,” I declared once I turned to the wrong side again before Taeyong managed to scold me for it. Even though he shouted something again, I ignored it. With a deep sigh, I walked over to my gym bag to get my water bottle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Taeyong asked, staring down at me with his arms folded across his chest, his demeanor dominant. His eyes were drilling holes in my head, his jaw was tightened – it was evident I was driving him up the wall. It was just a matter of seconds before Taeyong would snap, lashing out at me.

“I am taking a break,” I answered quickly, ignoring his angry stare. I was at my limit. If Taeyong didn’t back off, it would be the end of the practice for today. One more mean word and I’d storm out of the studio. I was here voluntarily. I was doing him a favor, and I didn’t deserve this type of treatment.

“Is it a joke to you?” Taeyong carried on, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, it wasn’t a joke to me. But at the same time, I was sick and tired of his shenanigans. I wanted him to win, but not when my mental health was on the line. He was pissing me off, and I wouldn’t let him walk all over me. “I thought you decided to help us out, but you’re not trying at all.”

He did not just say that.

“What?” I rhetorically asked, standing up, poking his chest with my forefinger. “I am trying my best here. You’re the one who makes it impossible to have fun dancing. You’re making it a chore, sucking all the fun out it.”

“Then tell me what I should do for you to finally make some progress? We’ve been stuck at this part for two weeks, and you still haven’t learned how to turn right!”

“Then go ahead and find someone else who can put up with your shit. I’m out,” I spoke, bending down to pick up my stuff, ready to leave the studio. Unfortunately, before I managed to exit the practice room, the doors opened, and Seulgi walked in with a confused expression on her face.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” She asked in worry, trying to put two and two together. It wouldn’t be the first time Taeyong and I argued, but it seemed to be the most intense one so far. It didn’t sit right with her. “Please don’t tell me you fought again.”

Briefly, I summarized what happened, and Seulgi looked down at Taeyong disapprovingly. I was glad Seulgi took my side; after all, she knew Taeyong could be too demanding.

“I am a dancer, but why does it feel I am a couple counselor? You two really have to learn how to work together when I’m not around,” she scolded us, making her point. If this whole arrangement was to work out, we both needed to establish some ground rules and learn how to put our differences aside. “I have an idea.”

Oh, no.

There was something mischievous in her tone, and I didn’t particularly like it.

“Let’s finish for today,” she proposed, and I smiled, thinking it was a great idea. Taeyong and I needed some time to chill, and calling it a day seemed like an appropriate way to do it. “Let’s go out clubbing instead!” Seulgi added cheerfully, clapping her hands in excitement.

“What?” Taeyong and I asked in unison, a bit surprised by Seulgi’s statement.

“That’s my prescription for the two of you,” she started, and I rolled my eyes. Taeyong and I didn’t get along as well as she wished for us to, but it wasn’t that bad. We didn’t need to bond over a few drinks in a crowded club. We would do just fine if Taeyong learned to go easy on me. “I believe we all can benefit from clubbing.”

“How come?”

“First of all, it will remind Taeyong that dancing is about fun, not overworking oneself,” Seulgi spoke, and I hummed, agreeing with her. “Second of all, it’ll give you a chance to loosen up. Your moves are still a bit stiff during intimate parts of the choreography,” she added, and Taeyong nodded in agreement. “And I really need something to drink because wedding planning is stressful as fuck.”

Not even thirty minutes later, we were inside the club.

“It’s a very sensual song. And you two really have to work hard to convey emotions through your dance,” Seulgi started as she sipped her tropical cocktail. “You must feel comfortable around each other and just ooze longing and sexual attraction,” she added, and I almost choked on my drink.

Performing with Taeyong was going to be more difficult than I had anticipated. When Seulgi and Taeyong showed me the choreography, I was amazed. Absolutely blown away. The way their bodies moved in synchronization left me speechless, but at the same time, I was a little bit nervous because I didn’t see myself living up to their level.

I wouldn’t consider myself particularly sexy. It made me feel awkward when I thought how seductive the dance routine actually was. I wasn’t sure I could pull this off, but Taeyong still had a lot of time to teach me.

“Take her to the dance floor,” Seulgi elbowed Taeyong, almost spilling his drink. Unenthusiastically, Taeyong looked at me before standing up and extending his arm.

Drunken people were jumping around us to the rhythm, and I awkwardly swayed from side to side, staring at Taeyong. With godlike precision, he moved, getting lost in the music. One could tell straight away Taeyong was a professional dancer.

Upon noticing how stiff I was, Taeyong shook his head, yanking me against his lean body. “How about you take a five-minute break to get that stick out of your ass? You look like you have no joints,” he yelled into my ear, his breath tickling my sensitive skin.

“I’ve had too little alcohol,” I replied, but Taeyong wasn’t having it.

“When we perform on the stage, will you need alcohol to let loose too?” Taeyong challenged with a playful smirk, and I rolled my eyes, too prideful to admit he was right. I couldn’t participate in that competition drunk. We wouldn’t win if I wasn’t able to come out of my shell and show everybody I had a sensual bone in my body.

“No,” I yelled into Taeyong’s ear. “How do I let loose?” I asked, hoping to hear some words of wisdom from him.

“Mirror what I’m doing,” Taeyong guided, and I nodded, focused on my new task. I could do that. I had been mirroring Seulgi’s movements during our classes, and I was pretty good at doing it. I could copy Taeyong’s moves.

At first, Taeyong danced a few classic moves we usually did during our warm-up routine. It was easy, and I think I nailed it. Later, he wiggled his upper body, feeling the rhythm. With envy, I observed how his body executed every single move, owning it. I wish I was half as good as Taeyong. Next to him, I probably looked like a crippled kid.

Upon noticing my struggle, Taeyong began jumping around, throwing his hands in the air. He looked ridiculous, but I remained focused on my task, dancing as if I was his shadow. Our bizarre moves earned some attention from other people, but our eyes were trained on each other, slowly getting lost in our own bubble.

I was sober, and I was on my way to owning the dance floor. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Maybe Taeyong’s charisma overshadowed my poor attempts of showcasing mine; however, I was sure I made a big step in the right direction. Slowly, I was improving.

“How about we spice it up a little bit?” Taeyong shouted into my ear, and I cocked up my eyebrow, thinking what he meant by that. “Don’t be shy,” he added, yanking me against his body. Taeyong was so close I could feel his legs rub against mine. “Come on, sweetheart. Touch me, tease me, feel me up,” Taeyong snickered, getting on my nerves. Not only Taeyong was smug for no reason, but he also quoted the song, which I was slowly growing to hate.

Taeyong must’ve assumed I’d back out. Surely, he didn’t expect me to follow his instructions and actually run my hands across his chest, shoulders, and back while simultaneously swaying my hips, earning approving stares from impressed men on the dance floor. At first, he was surprised he talked me into it, but a second later, he smirked, resting his palms on my sides, slowly exploring the valley of my butt.

I had no idea I had it in me, but Taeyong helped me discover it. We were basically grinding against each other, and it somehow didn’t feel awkward at all. We were just two people having fun.

“I’m sorry I was so harsh on you,” Taeyong apologized, shouting in my ear. “I’m just stressful all the time, and I think I may sometimes take it out on you,” he added, and I looked at his face, which was dangerously close to mine.

“It’s understandable,” I replied as I wrapped my arms around Taeyong’s neck, finding it much more comfortable. Now with our bodies pressed together, it was easier to have a conversation. “I know how much you want to win this competition. I’ll try harder,” I promised, and Taeyong released a relieved chuckle.

Who would’ve thought an adult conversation would work better than shouting at each other?

“Thank you,” Taeyong spoke genuinely, and I pulled away, staring at his face. His eyes were trained on mine. No matter how many hours we had spent at the dance studio, his gaze still intimidated me sometimes.

“Ekhm, I need a break,” I said in a desperate need to break eye contact with him. The dance floor was crowded, and it was making me dizzy. I was getting dangerously hot, and it seemed like heaven to get back to our booth and finish our drinks.

“Of course, you need a break,” Taeyong teased, sending me a lopsided smirk. “It’s okay, though. We still have plenty of time to work on your stamina,” he added as he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the crowd. Carefully, we zigzagged around drunken people, trying to make it safely to Seulgi.

Unfortunately, by the bar counter, someone walked into Taeyong, almost knocking him down.

“I’m very sorry,” a man shouted, but I could sense the words weren’t genuine.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong spoke, gritting his teeth, staring at the other man. Taeyong’s grip tightened around my hand. I figured he didn’t particularly like Doyoung.

“Taeyong,” Doyoung sighed, checking Taeyong out from head to toe before his gaze shifted to me. There was something spiteful about his lingering eyes, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. For sure, there was some bad blood between two men, and I suddenly felt an urge to know more. Inquisitiveness got the best of me.

Taeyong and Doyoung kept glaring at each other almost as if it was a competition. The tension was so intense one could cut it with a knife. I cleared my throat in a poor attempt to break their stare contest, but they didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

“I saw your last performance,” Doyoung finally spoke, scoffing. “You’re getting out of it, and here I expected to kick your ass in the finale. I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your partner got eliminated next week.”

I thought I had seen Taeyong furious, but right now, I was proven wrong. The way he looked at me whenever I was a handful during our practice was nothing compared to the way he glared at Doyoung. Taeyong was scary, and I decided to not get on his wrong side ever again.

“I’d gladly kick your ass here, but I’d rather wait for the finale. You know what people say about prolonged gratification,” Taeyong talked back, and I gasped, trying to comprehend what I just heard. Taeyong was getting cocky, and it made me nervous. I was already stressed about the possibility of performing, and he just added more pressure on my shoulders.

“We’ll see about that,” Doyoung replied, focusing his scrutinizing gaze on me. “But I have to say I kinda look forward to seeing you cry again. The way I beat you the last time was spectacular.”

“Let’s go, Taeyong. Don’t waste your breath on him. He’s not worth it,” I exclaimed, pulling Taeyong’s hand, reminding him I was there the whole time. I couldn’t listen to Doyoung talk trash about Taeyong. If Taeyong wasn’t going to walk away by himself, I had to intervene and pull him aside. Doyoung was provoking him.

“And who is that?” Doyoung asked in a mocking tone, displeased by the way I looked at him. Though I didn’t know the back story, I took Taeyong’s side. At least, Taeyong didn’t try to humiliate his rival, while Doyoung had already tried a few tricks to tick Taeyong off.

“You’re right,” Taeyong said, looking at me. It was evident he was holding himself back, trying his best not to take the bait. “Let’s go,” he added, pulling me away from Doyoung.

“Who was that?” I asked as we approached our booth. Unfortunately, I didn’t get my response. Upon arrival, we noticed that Seulgi was sprawled on the table, giggling to herself.

“Is she always like this?” I inquired, concerned about how drunk Seulgi got in such a short amount of time. We were gone for thirty minutes tops, and she was barely conscious after drinking her and our drinks.

“Aww… there you are… my dear friends,” she cooed cutely, trying to attack Taeyong with cuddles. She was adorable, but it was kind of irresponsible to drink by herself when we were on the dance floor. Thankfully, nothing happened. We returned just in time to collect her and escort her home.

“I can’t believe my plan worked,” Seulgi grinned, pointing her finger at Taeyong. “You no longer have a stick up your ass,” she exclaimed at Taeyong, too drunk to realize she should be talking to me. “And look at you! You were having fun!” Seulgi yelled, extending her arms to hug me. “I am so proud of you!”

“I should take her home,” Taeyong reasoned, considering it the safest option. He could call an Uber for Seulgi or just phone her fiancée to pick her up but bringing her home himself seemed to be the most rational solution. “Will you be alright by yourself?” He inquired, and I nodded right away. It was sweet of him to look after me too. Thankfully, I barely touched my cocktail; I could get home safely on my own.

“Don’t worry about me,” I replied casually, sending him a reassuring smile. “Just make sure Seulgi makes it home safe,” I added, warming up at the way Taeyong hauled up Seulgi, carefully leading her out of the club. It made me wonder if Johnny did the same to me. Probably. He wouldn’t be that gentle, though. If anything, he’d throw me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Or just drag me out like a corpse.

“Give me a call once you get back home,” Taeyong demanded before we parted ways.

 ***

“You went clubbing without me?” Johnny dramatically asked after I told him everything that happened on the weekend. Despite my detailed narration, it seemed as if that was the only thing he caught on to. “How could you?”

“Relax, dude,” I rolled my eyes, shuffling around my desk, getting ready for work. It was Monday morning – it was about time we start our gossip routine.

“And I was wondering… would you mind helping me researching this shady dude? There’s some conflict between him and Taeyong. And I need to know what happened,” I started, wondering if Johnny would cooperate with me and put his stalking abilities to good use.

I was too embarrassed to ask Taeyong about Doyoung. Besides, I had a hunch he would either brush me off or scold me.

“Do you know anything about this dude besides his name?” Johnny pulled out his phone, no questions asked. “Please, don’t tell me that’s the only thing you know.”

“I mean… he’s probably a dancer,” I added with a sheepish smile, making Johnny heave a deep sigh. “He must be a big deal, though. Apparently, Taeyong lost a competition to him.”

“I’ll try to find some dirt, but it may be difficult given how little info you gave me,” Johnny declared as he began his thorough research.

It took Johnny five minutes to find the correct Doyoung. It was remarkable. If it wasn’t enough for the FBI to hire him, I’d gladly present them a recommendation letter. Quickly, I opened Doyoung’s profile on my phone, scrolling through his feed.

At first glance, Doyoung seemed to be a regular bratty internet star with an overgrown ego. His follower count was impressive. Studying his profile, I learned a lot about him. Unfortunately, it had no value. There was nothing specific about his conflict with Taeyong.

“How was your date with Wendy?” I asked Johnny as I gave up on my research. Whatever was the root of their bad blood would have to remain a mystery.

“It was fine,” Johnny started, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely honest. His disappointed tone betrayed him. “She left before the waiter brought the dessert. Apparently, she didn’t particularly like when I kept calling her Wanda.”

“Ouch.”

“No hard feelings, though,” Johnny shrugged it off, trying to focus on the positive aspect of their terrible date. “At least, I’ve had two slices of cheesecake. Besides, I’m kind of into Sooyoung from the creative team now. I think she is the one.”

“Every girl you’re into is the one,” I interjected, rolling my eyes, done with his antics.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve forgotten,” Johnny chimed in, staring at me in excitement. “Taeil asked me about you,” he revealed, and I almost spat out my morning coffee.

“What?”

“Are you still into him, though?” Johnny inquired, rubbing his temple in deep thought. “I haven’t heard you gush about him these days,” he pinpointed, and I wondered if my crush on Taeil was still as intense as it was a few months ago.

Taeil was insanely hot. I kept drooling whenever I saw him operate the printer. It was inappropriate to check him out whenever he bent down to change the ink, but I couldn’t help myself. Or whenever we met by the vending machine.

Good old times.

Right now, though, I rarely caught myself thinking about him. At first, I thought it was due to a hectic schedule. I was either at work or at the dance studio or getting shit-faced with Johnny on another wild adventure with him and his friends.

It was difficult to comprehend how easily my crush faded into thin air. Taeil was still sexy as fuck, but while I appreciate his looks, I wasn’t daydreaming how to get into his pants. At this point, I was just admiring his attributes in the most nonsexual way imaginable.

Apparently, the lack of response on my part was everything Johnny needed to confirm his suspicion.

“So what? Are you into Taeyong now?” Johnny asked boldly, and now, I actually choked on my coffee, thinking I heard him wrong. How did he jump to that conclusion?

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, but it kinda looks like you’re into him,” Johnny commented, playing with a pen. “You talk about him all the time with lots of passion. I think there’s something going on between you two. Is he single?”

“I talk about him all the time because I live to complain, and recently he’s the sole reason why I gotta vent,” I defended, but Johnny didn’t seem convinced. “And I don’t know if he’s single. I don’t really care,” quickly, I rejected all accusations, but in all honesty, his words got me wondering.

Was I attracted to Taeyong?

Surely, Taeyong was ridiculously attractive. He danced well, too. Unfortunately, we didn’t click much. There was passion between us, but it wasn’t romantically stemmed. We just kept annoying each other. I wouldn’t consider it sexual. We were just getting on each other’s nerves often, unable to properly solve our differences.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey,” Johnny teased, and I fought the urge to throw the stapler at him. “I bet fifty bucks you’ve imagined him naked, fucking you dumb.”

What the fuck, John???

I did not imagine Taeyong naked!

Not until now, at least.

“I seriously hate you right now,” I complained, deciding it’s about time I focus on work.

 ***

After Johnny had planted naughty thoughts in my mind, each dance practice was unbearable. My mind was running wild, coming up with different scenarios involving Taeyong and me in intimate situations. It was wrong on so many levels, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

After months of practicing the dance routine, we decided it would be best to make some changes to the choreography. Though it was still sensual as hell, with our hands roaming each other’s bodies, we found it crucial to accentuate Taeyong’s talents.

It was a strategic plan. While typically male dancers helped the female dancers shine, we put a little twist to it. Though our performance was still pretty balanced, Taeyong had a few crucial parts of choreography, in which he would snatch everybody’s hearts.

Seulgi didn’t object to our strategy. Well… she was never there, to begin with. Seulgi was a ghost, never present during our practice, always busy doing some last-minute wedding prep.

“Let’s take a five,” Taeyong hollered as he turned off the music, sending us off to a short break. It sounded weird when it came out of his mouth, but I didn’t complain. We’ve been practicing nonstop for the past hour. At this point, I was panting.

Lying down onto the floor, I rested my head on my towel, reaching for my phone. Quickly, I unlocked it to see a series of notifications from Johnny. He had sent me a link to a video, telling me in all caps to watch it.

Having left the earphones in the locker room, I played the video quietly through my phone’s speaker. It was a short film with Doyoung. It must’ve been his performance from last year’s competition. Jamming to the music, I studied his moves.

Doyoung was really good. I mean… it wasn’t professional expertise, but I could tell he had talent. His body control was impeccable, his hip thrusts must’ve impregnated plenty of women in the audience, but his shoulder rolls were just otherworldly. Along with the female dancer, they showcased quite the performance. From the beginning to the very end, I couldn’t look away, failing to notice Taeyong approach me.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taeyong shouted, tearing my phone from my hand, double-checking what I was watching. “Why are you watching this?” He angrily asked, locking the device, wishing for it to stop playing music.

It was difficult to explain.

I couldn’t exactly tell Taeyong that I asked my best friend to do research on Doyoung in hopes of finding out what was the root of their conflict. Though we had never found anything substantial, Johnny would send me more footage to check out. However, regardless of how much stuff Johnny had provided me with, I was still clueless.

“Why are you shouting at me?” I spoke, biting on my bottom lip. I was in big trouble, so it was only logical to play dumb.

Taeyong stared down at me, demanding a genuine answer. His jaw was tensed, his knuckles around my phone turned white. It was just a meaningless clip, but it got him fuming at me. Regardless of what I’d tell him, he wouldn’t like the answer. I figured this much.

“Why were you watching that?” Taeyong yelled, raising his hand, almost smashing my phone against the floor. Thankfully, he held back and gently put it on my bag.

It was incredible how much the video affected Taeyong. The movie worked on Taeyong like a red rag to a bull. One moment he seemed fine, but once he figured out what I was watching, he snapped.

“You really want to know?” I challenged as I rose to my feet, staring at him. It was my turn to raise my voice. If he kept shouting at me, I was going to give him the same treatment. “Ever since that night at the club, I was curious. You were basically throwing daggers at each other, and I really wanted to know what happened between you two. You never bothered to explain it, and I didn’t want to push you.”

“Do you have your answers now?” Taeyong exclaimed, and I rolled my eyes, agitating him even more with my fed-up behavior. He was scary right now, but I refused to let him intimidate me. “Or do you want to read my diary too?!”

I resisted the temptation of saying yes to his offering. Taeyong wasn’t the type of person to write a dairy. He was exaggerating, but I didn’t want to provoke him further. At any mention of Doyoung’s name, wrath took control over Taeyong, turning him into his destructive self.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know shit about him,” I confessed, throwing my hands in the air. “I wanted to know what he did to you, but I came up with nothing. And believe it or not, the way he treated you that night made me worry. You’re my dance partner, and I care about you a lot, and it really hurt me seeing you in distress,” I spat, not thinking about consequences. I was talking without filter, probably spilling too much information.

My verbal diarrhea confused Taeyong. His huge eyes were staring at me in astonishment. He was studying my expression, wondering if everything I said was true. Oh, no! My reckless words made him uncomfortable. He must’ve grown to hate now.

In embarrassment, I looked down at my shoes. I felt terrible, and I needed to come up with something clever to say to save my dignity and ease the tension. However, before I managed to voice my sincere apology, I felt Taeyong’s hands cup my cheeks as he surged forward and kissed my breath away. It was sudden, but I reciprocated the kiss in an instant.

Stress, anxiety, anger, sexual frustration, and probably many other factors led us to this very moment. I had been daydreaming about Taeyong’s mouth on mine for a while now. And when it finally happened, I eagerly swept my tongue across his lips, deepening the kiss. Though I had tried my best to withstand the tension between us, I wasn’t oblivious to it.

Taeyong already knew almost every inch of my body, so his hands naturally began roaming across my skin. Moaning into the kiss, he held me closer, keeping me pressed against him.

“Taeyong,” I breathed out as I pulled away, only for Taeyong to smash his lips against mine again, successfully shushing me. This time around, the kiss was even more passionate, making my knees weak. In a rush, Taeyong pushed me against the wall, pushing his thigh between my legs. “We shouldn’t,” I spoke, but my tone wasn’t convincing at all. I wasn’t even sure who I was trying to convince that it was a bad idea.

“Shut up,” Taeyong demanded as he tilted his face, sucking on my bottom lip. His hands were on my butt, kneading my flesh, trying to make me moan into his mouth. In all honesty, it worked. Maybe, I whimpered incoherent sounds, but it’s was just a poor attempt to encourage him to keep kissing me.

Regardless of how much he was to gift me, I needed more. I wasn’t going to stop until I’d take everything Taeyong was willing to give.

I craned my neck to the side, and Taeyong quickly caught on, leaving a wet trail down my neck. His lips were delicate, careful not to leave a mark, while his hips were grinding against me, letting me feel how stiff he already was.

“Legs,” Taeyong ordered, gently slapping my thigh. Obediently, I spread my legs apart, letting his hand cup my sex. It was ridiculous how horny he was making me. Once his raspy voice echoed in my ears, I fulfilled his wish, waiting for another command in excitement.

“Please,” I begged, needing more of him. Whatever he planned on doing to me, I needed it now. Whether he was to tease me with his beautiful fingers or fuck me raw with his cock, he better do it now.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered against my skin, pressing feather-like kisses along my collarbone. His touch was driving me insane. His hands were everywhere but where I wanted them the most. This type of teasing should be illegal.

It was more than I could take, so I took matters into my own hands. I could play this game, too. With a mischievous smirk upon my face, I hooked my forefinger under the band of his tracksuit bottoms. Unfortunately, Taeyong quickly swept my hand away.

“You’re such a bad girl,” Taeyong commented before he captured my lips again, sliding his tongue into my mouth, knowing I’d talk back to him. “You have to do everything your way. Would it kill you if you listened to me at least once?” Taeyong muttered, staring into my eyes.

Yes, I was a brat. Taeyong wanted me to submit to him, and I would do it eventually, but not before I’d tease him first. What was fun in that?

“Don’t answer that,” he added, and I rolled my eyes. Though we barely hung out outside the dance studio, Taeyong learned a lot about me. Having an answer to everything was one of those things he had the pleasure of discovering.

“Just fuck me, please,” I said nicely, staring into his eyes, hoping it would be enough to make him cave. “I can’t take it any longer,” I added, rubbing my loins against his restrained cock, making him let out a guttural moan.

My plan was working. Slowly, Taeyong was giving in, probably taking his time to think about the consequences of letting me experience instant gratification. Orgasm would’ve been sweeter if he made me wait a bit more, but it was difficult for him to control his urges.

Without any doubt, Taeyong wanted to bury his cock inside of me as much as I wanted him to fuck me dumb. We withstood so many practices without jumping at each other – I should consider it foreplay.

“Fine, but I’m gonna eat you out first,” Taeyong spoke, and I almost lost it by just imagining his jaw going between my thighs. Swiftly, he knelt in front of me, pulling my leggings down to my ankles in one fluid motion. Having kicked off my gym shoes, I wiggled the fabric off my feet, sending it flying across the dance studio.

Taeyong ran his fingers across my panties, inspecting how soaked they already were. With a smirk upon Taeyong’s face, he pressed a chaste kiss against my skin above the waistband before he yanked the undergarment down.

“Beautiful,” he said under his breath before he surged his face, taking my clit between his gorgeous lips, making me tilt my head in pleasure. Frustration got me sensitive. Even the slightest touch got me purring in delight.

Taeyong licked and nipped at my entrance, and I run my hands through his hair, encouraging him to keep going. He flicked his tongue, and I buckled my hips, wanting more.

“I need your fingers,” I pleaded, looking down at him. Taeyong looked breathtaking, with my juices were dripping down his sharp jaw, with his lips turned into a satisfied smirk. He was proud of how he was making me feel. His glistening skin was the very evidence of his skillful moves. “Taeyong, please, I am so close.”

Though I didn’t expect him to, Taeyong listened to my humble request. His middle finger slid right it, making me purr in satisfaction. I could finally feel him inside of me, and it was heavenly. His palm moved quickly, working me up.

The first orgasm was building up. Taeyong was fucking me now with two fingers while his mouth was fiddling with my clit. If it wasn’t for Taeyong’s palm, holding me still, I’d buckle right into his face for more friction.

“I’m about to come,” I declared, shutting my eyes close. As tempting as it was to peek at the mirror on the other wall and check out the view of Taeyong eating me out, it was more than I could take. My instinct to squeeze my eyes shut and welcome the orgasm was too much.

Unfortunately, it didn’t happen.

Before tiny tingles of electricity could unite and explode, shooting through me like a lightning strike, Taeyong pulled away, denying me of my orgasm. It physically hurt when instead of a blissful peak, I felt nothing.

“What the fuck?” I barked angrily, ready to pull him by his hair against my sex and press him against me, so he could finish the job.

“We’re coming together, or we’re not coming at all,” Taeyong sternly replied, standing up. His lips were swollen from all the work he was doing, and they looked even more kissable.

“I’ve never pegged you for such a teaser,” I stated matter-of-factly, still a little bit butt-hurt over the way how smug he was about not letting me come first. Maybe I was a handful most of the time, but I didn’t do anything wrong to deserve such treatment.

“I’m not,” Taeyong chimed in, biting down on his lip. “There’s just something about you that makes me want to punish for your misbehavior,” he explained, and I got it where it came from. I wasn’t the best student he could work with. “Isn’t it the sweetest torture?” Taeyong challenged before he surged forward, smashing his lips against mine again, raising my thigh and giving it a gentle rub.

“Please, Taeyong, I need you inside of me,” I begged as I ground my sex against his rock-hard cock. I couldn’t comprehend how self-disciplined and patient he was; his budge was throbbing underneath his pants. It must’ve been painful for him, and he did all of that to teach me a lesson. “Fuck me, already.”

“Relax, sweetheart. I got you,” he softly spoke as he hoisted me up, pressing me tightly against the wall. “To be honest, I expected you to lose it sooner,” Taeyong added, and I hoped he was talking about my sanity. I endured more than enough; his teasing was too much.

“How should I fuck you?” Taeyong asked, looking around the practice room, seeking a perfect spot to stuff his cock inside of me. We didn’t have a lot of options, but I didn’t care. He could fuck me in the middle of the room, and I’d eagerly spread my legs for him. “Screw it,” he cursed, gently lowering me down onto the floor. “Do you mind?” Taeyong inquired, and I shook my head as I wrapped my legs around his hips, pressing him against me.

“Strip,” I ordered, and Taeyong smirked before he pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his lean physique. My eyes marveled at his beautiful shoulders and toned muscles. I had touched him more than I could count, but I never saw him bare, and when I finally did, I gawked.

“What about you, sweetheart? Come on, I am waiting,” Taeyong teased, and I took off my T-shirt. I was only in my sports bra, and Taeyong bit his lip, staring down at me, admiring my simple beauty. With no further comment, Taeyong leaned in, attacking my collarbone. It was hot how attentive he was, but right now, all I needed was his cock buried deep down my cunt.

Desperately, I reached to his sweatpants, palming his erection through the fabric. As soon as I touched him, Taeyong released a needy growl, rolling his hips into my hand, finally giving in to the pleasure. He lost his self-restraint, and now, he seriously needed to fill me up with his throbbing length.

“Take them off,” I breathed out, pulling by the hem of his pants. With a lowered head, Taeyong tsked before he yanked them down to his knees, wriggling out of them. Just as I expected, his cock urgently entailed my attention.

Though the thought of blowing him crossed my mind, I eventually decided not to entertain this idea too much. It was apparent Taeyong wanted to him inside of my pussy. I’d suck him dry on a different occasion. Hopefully, it would happen soon.

“Fuck me, Taeyong,” I moaned as I trembled when the tip of his cock brushed against my folds. I was embarrassingly sensitive after his ministrations, and he dared to tease me again. “Please,” I begged as I gave his length a few gentle strokes, aligning it with my entrance.

“Aaahh…” Taeyong growled, slowly pushing his dick inside of me. Inch by inch, he filled me up, stretching my walls. A lot of different sinful noises came out of his mouth as he began steadily thrusting his hips.

Taeyong’s stamina was no joke. It was hard to believe how long he could snap his hips without messing up his rhythm. His low voice mixed with my desperate moans echoed inside the room, creating a wicked symphony along with the sound of our sweaty bodies smashing against each other.

He was fucking me hard, and I was in seventh heaven. Taeyong was filling me up so good; I could come undone on his cock anytime.

“Taeyong,” I moaned his name as I watched him fuck me. Though it was hot to look at his cock disappear in my pussy, it was even sweeter to stare in the mirror. With my head turned to the side, I studied the whole picture how Taeyong was fucking me.

“I am coming,” I screamed as I felt the bliss approach. Taeyong was panting, struggling to maintain his tempo with the way my walls tightened around his sensitive cock. Once he hit my sweet spot, I was a goner. After a few thrusts, I came, digging my nails in his back.

“Fuck,” Taeyong cursed, shouting my name as he shot his load inside of me, collapsing on top of me. We were a breathless mess, our bodies sticking together, but neither of us minded. At this point, we were too spent to care. “You were incredible,” Taeyong whispered as he pulled out, rolling to the side.

“You weren’t that bad yourself,” I panted, giggling, still recovering from the mind-blowing orgasm. Thankfully, Taeyong didn’t pay much attention to my playful jab. “I meant it what I said,” I added, turning around to look at him.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Taeyong started, staring into my eyes, showing me his sincerity. “I just can’t help myself but get angry when I see him or hear about him,” he continued, and I nodded my head, letting him know I was willing to listen.

I didn’t expect that Taeyong would agree to vent to me, but when he did, I patiently heard him out. After all, I was pretty sure we were at least friends now.

“It all happened about a year ago. We were competing in the same contest, and he made my dance partner quit. Doyoung seduced her, toyed with her, and once the trophy was his, he dumped her. Because of him, I was disqualified, and she quit dance altogether.”

Listen to his story made me both sad and angry. Doyoung had been a dick to interfere like that – he must’ve known he hadn’t stood a chance against them in a fair fight. My blood was boiling in my veins as I put all the pieces together.

Sadness took over next. The way Doyoung had manipulated Taeyong’s dance partner was upsetting. The wound had been cut so deep, she couldn’t have forced herself to keep going. Doyoung had wrecked two lives, and it made my blood boil, too.

“We’re gonna beat him. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we do,” I spoke, reassuring him. It was impossible to tend the wounds, but the least I could do is help Taeyong win. For what he had done, Doyoung deserved punishment. If I were Taeyong, I’d not hesitate to beat him up.

“I hope so,” Taeyong muttered, reaching for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s still fine if we don’t. I’m pretty sure karma will get to him eventually,” he added with a sigh.

“I’ll work harder,” I declared, feeling an extra wave of determination wash through me. “I’ll try my best,” I said, and Taeyong smiled fondly, content to hear me say it.

“Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

For a while, we were staring at each other. It felt nice and somehow more intimate than all the fucking we had done. If we were in bed, I could do it all night. Unfortunately, we were still lying on the uncomfortable floor.

“Let’s get washed up before we get too sappy,” I added, trying to ease the tension. I really enjoyed it, but it was getting a little too much.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing the shower with me. You know… water bills are a bitch,” Taeyong spoke, and I giggled at his bullshit excuse, finding it incredibly cute, considering what we had been doing a few minutes ago.

“Of course they are,” I deadpanned, chuckling. Though his excuse was lame, I liked Taeyong enough to go with it. “Come on. Let’s go. I don’t want anyone to catch me naked.”

 ***

After that one time at the dance studio, Taeyong and I made it a regular thing. However, we kept it civilized. We wouldn’t jump each other’s bones in the open like animals like we had done the first time. Usually, we would go on small kind-of-dates, which consisted of picking up food, going to my or his place, and then rolling in the sheets.

We were having lots of fun. It was a perfect way to de-stress. After all, the finale was this Saturday, and we were nervous as hell. In all honesty, I was still scared, but these orgasms were numbing my anxiety.

“I think that’s it,” Taeyong spoke, and I smiled brightly, unable to contain my joy. It was the first time Taeyong ever approved of our performance. Most of the time, he was nitpicking, complaining about the slightest mistake, but finally, he was satisfied with it.

I was ecstatic; I never expected to live up to Taeyong’s approval. Through hard work and persistence, I managed to earn his eulogy.

“What should we do now? How about we order some food?” I asked, feeling in a celebratory mood. Maybe it was a little bit too early to drink to this small success, but it’s still worth a shot.

“We should do it again. We should dance it flawlessly at least a couple of hundred consecutive times before celebrating,” Taeyong seriously replied, and I rolled my eyes. Despite his painstaking nature, a couple of hundred times, it was a bit too much. Even for him. “Don’t give me that look. Let’s start again; five, six, seven, eight.”

Though usually, I’d complain and try to force him into a five-minute break, right now, I was oddly energized. We were dancing for the past two hours, and I was panting out of exhaustion. Nevertheless, the thoughts of finally mastering the choreography kept me going.

“I’m pretty good at this,” I confidently commented while roaming my hands across Taeyong’s shoulders before he twirled me around to the rhythm. I could tell that Taeyong was just waiting for an excuse to pause the music and scold me for making a mistake. However, much to his dismay, I executed every move impeccably. “I had a pretty good teacher,” I added, stroking his ego. The D-day was approaching, and Taeyong obviously needed an extra boost of confidence.

“I must admit you were a piece of work. I have no idea what kind of sorcery is this,” Taeyong teased, staring into my eyes. We had practiced the routine plenty of times; we could probably perform it in blindfolds and not make a single mistake. “I must be a magician or something.”

“Don’t push it,” I warned him in a very non-threatening tone, making him smirk. “But it’s only partially your success. Seulgi told me I have the it™ factor,” I proudly said, cracking Taeyong up, messing the choreography. “Is it a student-has-become-the-master kind of moment?” I asked, laughing at Taeyong. For the dance prodigy, he was getting distracted way too easily. It was suspicious.

With a broad smile upon his face, Taeyong grabbed my wrists, making me look at him.

“How about we finish up for today? I have a surprise for you,” Taeyong said, and I cocked my eyebrows, biting my bottom lip. “Not that kind of surprise,” he added, rolling his eyes at me. “We might get it on later, though.”

“What kind of surprise then?”

“Wait a second,” Taeyong spoke, quickly jogging out of the practice room. In a minute, he was back with a garment bag in his hands. “Here, that’s for you. Seulgi came in the morning to drop it off for you,” he explained, and I pulled down the zipper. It was going to be my costume for the contest, and I was curious how it looked.

I was speechless. At first, I thought it was a joke. I wouldn’t be able to perform in that. However, the more I looked at it, the more sense it made. It was a simple white suit shirt, but when mixed with a leather body harness, high-waisted shorts, and boots, it fitted the concept beautifully.

“Do you like it? I thought it was too revealing, but Seulgi insisted you would look amazing in it. I mean… it fits the mood, but if you’re not comfortable with it, we still have some time to find something else,” Taeyong blabbered, and my heart swelled. It was very sweet of him to consider my comfort above anything else.

“It’s skimpy, but it’s fine. I like it,” I replied, having no idea where my confidence was coming from. A few months ago, I’d be anxious to even try it on in the confines of my bedroom. However, now I was planning on showing a lot of skin on national television during prime hours on the weekend. I must’ve gone insane.

“Do you want to try it on?” Taeyong challenged, pulling the hangers out of the bag.

“You mean… here?!”

“Come on, it wouldn’t be the first time you took off your clothes in the middle of the practice room,” Taeyong concluded, smiling at me mischievously.

“Pass,” I firmly rejected his dare, even though it felt tempting. “It’s not fun when I’m doing it alone,” I added, and Taeyong grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, more than ready to discard his clothes in a blink of an eye. “Don’t fool around,” I warned him, placing my hand over his before he managed to take his T-shirt off.

“You’re right. Let’s go to my place first,” Taeyong agreed, zipping the bag before he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the practice room.

 ***

 On the day of the performance, I woke up with a terrible stomach ache. No matter how much fantastic sex Taeyong and I had, I was not mentally prepared to perform in front of the whole nation. I felt sick, almost as if my body was telling me to quit before I’d embarrass myself on national television. Stress was eating me from the inside.

“What are you doing up so early? Let’s go back to bed,” Taeyong purred in his raspy morning voice as he sneaked his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “You need to be rested before the performance. Trust me, you don’t want a camera to catch you yawning,” he added, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck, breathing hot air against my skin.

“Thanks for giving me one more thing to stress about,” I deadpanned, heaving a deep sigh, staring at the ceiling. It was a mistake. I should have never agreed to Seulgi’s proposition in the first place. What the hell was I thinking? “I think it’s a bad idea. We should quit.”

Taeyong wasn’t in the mood for my nagging so early in the morning; he was having none of it. “You’re being ridiculous. We’ve practiced so much. We’re gonna win it with ease,” he declared, pressing a featherlike kiss against my jaw. “But for real,” he added, climbing on top of me, trapping me between his thighs, “we’re going to win. And even if we don’t, it’s fine. Really, if somehow we lose to Doyoung and his partner, I’ll just punch him backstage.”

“How can you say that?” I said with a sigh, running my hands across his thighs, finding it rather calming. “I know you said we should rest, but how about…” I trailed, and Taeyong smiled before eagerly capturing my lips, reading me like an open book.

“Say no more,” Taeyong whispered before his hands traveled under my shirt.

Unfortunately, Taeyong’s phone started buzzing on the nightstand before he managed to pull my panties down. With a groan, he extended his arm, staring at the screen.

“It’s Seulgi.”

“What are you waiting for? It’s her wedding day. Pick it up,” I yelled at him as I fell on the pillow, admiring his handsome face when he was talking to Seulgi.

“Please, not you, too,” he barked, rubbing his face in annoyance. Though I barely could make out what she was saying, I figured this much Seulgi and I were suffering from the same stress-fuelled illness. It was her wedding day, after all. Even if it was obvious she loved Irene with a burning passion, she wasn’t immune to pre-wedding anxiety.

Seulgi was talking her stress away, and Taeyong just hummed and nodded his head, registering her words. For some reason, the pressure didn’t seem to bother Taeyong at all. It was weird, but at least he was the voice of reason, which could help me and Seulgi cope.

“Breath in, breath out,” Taeyong spoke when Seulgi made a pause long enough for him to interject. “I know it’s a big deal, but there’s nothing to worry about. You’re getting married to Irene. You love her so much,” Taeyong reminded her, winking at me, expecting Seulgi to end the call soon. “Everybody’s a little nervous; it’s completely normal.”

It was beautiful how close Taeyong and Seulgi were. They had each other’s backs in all types of situations.

About ten minutes later, Seulgi finally calmed down. Taeyong’s reassuring words swept the anxiety away, and she was more than ready to get married to the love of her life.

Once Seulgi hung up, Taeyong threw his phone on the bed and secured my legs around his hips before he leaned forward, giving me a quick kiss. “Seulgi says hi, by the way,” he added, sneaking his hand under the hem of my panties.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” Taeyong looked down at me, creasing his eyebrows in confusion.

“She knows?” I yelled, unable to comprehend how, on Earth, Seulgi figured out I was in Taeyong’s bed. She couldn’t know. She wasn’t even there when our romance bloomed. “How?”

“Yeah, is it a bad thing, though? You didn’t want to fuck me in secret, did you?” Taeyong challenged, not really answering my inquiry. Did Seulgi figure it out on her own? Or did Taeyong told her about us? And, the biggest question mark was: what were we to begin with? “Seulgi must have some sort of sixth sense. She was bothering me about the sexual tension between us since day one of your training.”

“I wouldn’t call it sexual tension per se, but there was something going on,” I replied, reminiscing how rocky our beginning was. “But I think we were interrupted…” I reminded him, and Taeyong with a playful smirk on his face dived right between my thighs.

 ***

 The streaming should begin at 8 p.m., but we had to arrive before 5 p.m., so the make-up artists and stylists could prepare us for the performance. Sitting in that chair and waiting for all pampering to be over with was stressful as fuck. I tried to preoccupy myself with an idea of Taeyong, but whenever someone threw a question in my direction, I was being pulled out of my train of happy thoughts.

I wanted to get on the stage and be done with it. Unfortunately, whoever funded that contest didn’t think of the mental health of its participants when making today’s schedule.

Punctually, the show began its transmission at 8 o’clock. However, at the very beginning, the MC had to introduce all sponsors. Going through them took him about twenty minutes. Then, they interviewed some of the eliminated dancers, asking them questions either about their experience in the competition or simply who they thought would win.

Later, they decided to rewind the contestants’ moments in the show. At first, they showed Doyoung and his partner, and a few experts analyzed their performance, wondering what the odds of them winning were.

When the host announced the rewind of Taeyong’s and Seulgi’s stages, the jury only talked about the sudden switch up, confirming it was the first time it ever happened in the grand finale. It startled a lot of people why would Seulgi drop out, but Taeyong explained it in a brief interview.

“It was a crazy coincidence, but Seulgi couldn’t participate today because she is getting married today,” Taeyong revealed, and the audience cooed loudly, obviously supporting her choice. “I was stressed at first, but Seulgi found an amazing dancer to take her spot. She really chose well,” he added, and I looked at him, trying not to cry in front of everyone.

It was almost impossible to fish out a compliment from Taeyong during practice, but right now, he did it on his own accord, melting my heart with his words.

“Everybody is dying to know more about your partner,” the MC started, shifting his attention to me. I didn’t particularly like to be put in the spotlight, but before I managed to spit some nonsense, Taeyong butt in, rescuing the day.

“Although she doesn’t have much experience in dance competitions, I think she’s a great dancer. To think of it, she is my secret weapon,” Taeyong added, and I almost ran into his arms, feeling too overwhelmed by his speech.

“Alright then, let’s see what you got after a short commercial break,” the MC cheerfully announced before I bolted out of the stage as I felt the stress crept into my head.

“Calm down,” Taeyong softly spoke as he approached me, holding my hand, drawing circles with his thumb. “You’ve got this. Just focus on me,” he added, flashing me a reassuring smile before kissing my knuckles.

“Awww… isn’t it adorable?” Someone snickered, and I didn’t need to turn my head around to know it was Doyoung. He was like a venomous snake, trying to sneak into our subconscious and make us even more anxious. It couldn’t be fair play.

“Buzz off,” I barked as I didn’t want to let him tick Taeyong off. Taeyong was my safety pin, and I didn’t want him to go full rage on Doyoung. Their backstage battle would make it to the news, but I’d rather prevent it from happening.

“With Seulgi on your arm, I was giving you a five percent chance of winning,” Doyoung started, ignoring my warning. “Now, when she’s gone, I won’t even have fun beating you on the stage,” he added, and I almost surged forward to punch him. If it wasn’t for Taeyong, who held me in my place, I’d definitely rearranged Doyoung’s face.

“Don’t let him get into your head,” Taeyong whispered into my ear, and I nodded my head, sighing. Then, it struck me. Doyoung’s motive wasn’t to mess with Taeyong but with me. He knew I was the weakest link, and he wanted to guarantee his victory by making me doubt myself. His words rung in my head, but one look at Taeyong helped me relax. We had practiced it a thousand times; there was not a chance I would make a mistake.

“Come on. Let’s go. They’re calling us out,” Taeyong mused, pulling me towards the stage.

The silence filled the auditorium when we got on the stage, taking our respective places. I stole a glance at Taeyong – he was mouthing words of encouragement seconds before the MC announced our performance.

I can hear it callin'

Loving the way you wanna talk

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

Callin', something in the way you wanna talk

On two sides of the stage, we moved to the rhythm, telling the story of two strangers lusting over each other from afar. With hunger in our eyes, we tried to seduce each other with sharp movements, showcasing our attributes.

You got me sayin', you got me sayin'

How you doing? Tell me what's your name (Ey, tell me what's your name?)

What's your sign? Feeling like you are into me

Taeyong ran up to me like a man enchanted by the siren’s voice, rolling his body against mine. It was his moment to shine; everybody’s eyes were on him as he owned the stage with his overflowing charisma.

Baby, we're two distant strangers

I know you don't speak my language

But I love the way she's talking to me (Talking to me)

I can hear it callin' from where you are

Loving the way you wanna talk

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

It was a classic game of cat and mouse. Though our bodies were so close to each other, we moved in perfect synchronization, careful not to brush against each other. The chemistry between us was undeniable, and the feeling of yearning was visible from the very last row.

Max, max, max, we can have it all (To the max)

If you back, back, back, back, back it up (Back it, back it)I'll take you where you wanna, got the gas in the tank (Wow)

If you really wanna make it last (Git, git, git)

Finally, as the song slowly progressed to the end, we were showing intense frustration. We were portraying two individuals, yearning for intimate contact, who were hastily losing their minds over uncontrollable passion.

I can hear it callin' from where you are (Callin', woo)

Loving the way you wanna talk (Love the way you talk)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up (Yeah, yeah)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

The song was to end soon. The last chorus rolled in – it was our cue. After all teasing, we finally made the connection, ready to combust out of raw craze. After three minutes of painful longing, we were to reach completion.

I can hear it callin' from where you are (Callin', woo)

Loving the way you wanna talk (Love the way you talk)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up (Yeah, yeah)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

It was all or nothing. We were finally together, touching each other with fervor.  The audience was eating our performance up – particularly when Taeyong showcased his flexibility and body control.

Tell me how you like it babe (How you)

I don't even know your name (How you, ey)

I love the way you're talking to me

It was finally time to finish our performance with a bang; we needed to show something spectacular, something Doyoung wouldn’t ever think about. As the singer began the last verse, it was my cue to run into Taeyong’s embrace. The second the last syllable rolled of the singer’s tongue, Taeyong caught me in his arms, and the lights went out to add a dramatic twist to our performance.

For a while, the audience was silent. However, a few seconds later, they roared in excitement, clapping loudly, showing how much they enjoyed our stage.

The MC was congratulating us, but I was too thrilled to register his words. I still couldn’t believe I performed on national television and didn’t trip and smash my face.

I had no idea how I found myself backstage, but there was a high chance Taeyong led me off the stage. I was too overwhelmed to do it on my own.

I even forgot that Johnny, together with Yeri – the love of his week, had backstage passes. I only remembered that when he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug, congratulating me.

“You gotta quit that office job and start dancing professionally,” Johnny ordered, and I smiled, glad that he enjoyed my performance. “We both gotta quit. You’ll be dancing, and I’ll be a badass FBI agent.”

“You two were great,” Yeri politely said when Johnny let me go. “Thank you so much for letting me backstage.”

“No problem,” Taeyong replied as he grabbed my shaking hands. “Are you okay?” He asked, cupping my face, making me look at him. “You rocked the stage,” he added before he leaned forward to peck my lips.

Ignoring Johnny’s perplexed expression, I wrapped my arms around Taeyong in a comfortable hug. I hadn’t suitably introduced Johnny to the concept of me dating Taeyong, but hopefully, our interaction got the message across.

Emotions were slowly fading away, but I still needed Taeyong’s support. I was a rookie, and I had no experience with this type of stress. Something was calming about Taeyong’s aura; I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but I wasn’t going to question it.

“Anticipation is killing me,” I muttered against his skin. “Can he already go on that fucking stage?” I yelled, wondering why Doyoung’s performance didn’t start yet. I knew the MC was building up tension, but it was too much for me to handle.

“We could always skip,” Taeyong casually spoke, and I pulled away to look at him. What the hell was he talking about? I hadn’t agreed to help him out, so we didn’t wait until the end. “If we lose, we lose. If we win, your friend can accept the prize, can’t he?”

“Are you insane?”

“Maybe a little bit,” he answered with a bright smile, brushing stray hair off my forehead. “I just want to know the result already so we can go to Seulgi’s wedding and congratulate them,” he added, and I nodded my head. Though we couldn’t participate during the ceremony, the least we could do was to show up ridiculously late to the reception.

“Can they hurry the fuck up now?” I craned my neck, trying to find Doyoung and his partner. They were arguing about something right behind the curtain. Everything seemed they weren’t in the right headspace.

“I don’t think I want to see their performance,” Taeyong whispered, tightening his grasp on my waist. “How about a quickie in the dressing room? What do you say?” He proposed, and I smacked him, telling him to behave. It was tempting, but we really shouldn’t. I wouldn’t walk up that stage with messed-up post-sex hair.

“Get a grip,” I added, gently elbowing him. “Let’s just hit the snack table. I am hungry,” I spoke, pulling him away when the MC invited Doyoung and his dance partner onto the stage.

While munching on snacks, we stared at each other fondly. In some weird way, we were helping each other cope with anticipation and stress. Though it was tempting to check out their performance, we decided it was for the better if we didn’t.

They performed to “Hips Don’t Lie,” and it was almost impossible to turn my head around to check out Doyoung’s sick moves. Having considered all the videos I had seen of him, I was sure he looked gorgeous.

“What about a little peek?” Taeyong questioned, unable to control his urge to see his rival’s performance. “I thought I could endure it, but I can’t,” he added, and I nodded, giving in. Instantly, we ran to the nearest screen to watch their stage.

It was everything I imagined. Their moves were executed with precision and grace, but entertainment-wise, I was bored. They had the skills, but something about the general concept didn’t fulfill my expectations.

No matter how great of a dancer Doyoung was, he just could not pull this song off as the original artist did. Regardless of how hard he swayed his hips, it just didn’t live up to its potential. Though I wasn’t educated enough to give an honest review, it felt meh.

The audience in the studio whistled and shouted once they finished their performance, giving them a round of applause. With genuine smiles, Doyoung and his partner bowed before they ran off the stage.

Now, only thirty minutes of aggressive advertising, and we would know the winner.

“Is it too late to agree to that quickie?”

“You should’ve said so earlier,” Taeyong answered with an innocent smile as he reached to hold my hand. “The best I can do is cuddles,” he added, leading me to the couch, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. “It feels nice.”

“It does, but it doesn’t take my mind off things like a quickie would.”

“Don’t even try. I am not going on that stage with a boner in my pants,” Taeyong warned, peeling my hand off his thigh, pressing a delicate kiss against my knuckles.

Though it wasn’t as preoccupying as sex, it was still nice. And most importantly, it took our minds off the unbearable anticipation. A staff member actually needed to gently shake Taeyong’s shoulder to remind us that the MC was calling us to the stage.

Taeyong’s hand didn’t leave mine once we were waiting for the big reveal. It was fine if we lost. Next year, Seulgi and Taeyong would definitely make it to the top.

When the MC announced the winner, a few confetti bombs exploded. The audience roared in excitement, but I had no clue what was going on. Uncertainty was over – one of us won.

Stress, anticipation, and anxiety slowed down my reactions. However, I figured it would be weird if Taeyong picked me up and spun me around in his arms if we lost. It could only mean one thing – we did it.

We won.

Taeyong’s acceptance speech was short and simple. He thanked everyone who succored him discover his passion for dancing, who supported him throughout his dream, who directly helped him get this far, and me.

When I was handed the microphone for the first time that evening, I basically rephrased Taeyong words. Maybe it wasn’t my dream, but it felt damn good to assist Taeyong in achieving his. It was a bumpy road, but overall, it was all worth it.

The MC handed me a statue after shaking my hand, congratulating me once more. Taeyong, on the other hand, was gifted a huge check for 20 thousand dollars.

“Let’s go,” Taeyong whispered to me, running off the stage with me.

 ***

It was shortly before midnight when the Uber parked in front of the hotel where Seulgi’s and Irene’s reception took place. It was beautifully decorated with lights and flowers, making it look like a magical castle.

Though the security didn’t want to grant entrance, one of Seulgi’s aunts recognized Taeyong and told the man to let us in. She was nice enough to help us out, but she still found some time to glance disapprovingly at my stage costume. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gossiped to her entire family I was a prostitute.

As soon as we walked into the ballroom, Seulgi noticed us. She was sitting by the table, eating the wedding cake with Irene. In an instant, she rose from her chair and ran up to us, throwing herself on Taeyong’s neck.

“You won! I knew it!” She shouted as she gave Taeyong a bone-crushing hug. “Irene and I sneaked out for a while to watch your performance. You smashed them,” Seulgi added before she turned to me, congratulating me too.

“You were amazing,” Irene approached us, sending a polite smile. Unlike Seulgi, Irene was much calmer and collected.

“You are finally married,” Taeyong spoke, beaming. “You better have everything recorded. I gotta know every embarrassing thing that I missed,” he added in a teasing manner, earning a playful jab from Seulgi. “I bet you cried during your vows.”

“Congratulations,” I chimed in, breaking their friendly banter before it properly started. It was Seulgi’s wedding day, after all.

After we caught up, Seulgi and Irene walked off to the dance floor, leaving us by the table alone. For a while, we admired them. They looked absolutely stunning in their white suits, dancing, basking in happiness.

“Do you know where the gifts are held?” I inquired suddenly, looking around.

“Why? Did you have time to get them anything?” Taeyong asked before he stuffed his mouth with a chocolate glazed strawberry. “Or are you thinking of stealing some?”

“I just want to give them my part of the prize,” I started, making Taeyong choke on the fruit. “Seulgi’s the rightful winner, and I think it’s only right.”

“Are you sure? It’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, I know, but I really want to do that,” I replied, fiddling with my fingers. “I don’t need this money, so I want to give it to her.”

“You’re so hot right now,” Taeyong said, making me turn my head in embarrassment. “If that’s what you really want to do, do it. But remember, you earned it.”

“I am sure.”

“Then let me spoil you with my prize,” Taeyong offered, staring into my eyes. At first, I thought he was joking, but when his gaze didn’t even falter, I understood how serious he was. “Well… look at that. What are the odds?” Taeyong spoke as a familiar melody echoed within the walls of the grand ballroom. “It’s our song. Shall we dance?”

Having glanced at Seulgi, who whispered something to the DJ, I smiled at Taeyong. Though I was sick and tired of Love Talk already, it was kind of our song. We had been listening to this song too much, and regardless of how good it was, the prospect of it being our anthem terrified me.

“One last time,” I gave in, accepting Taeyong’s invitation, letting him lead me to the dance floor. Despite having mastered the choreography to it, I just wrapped my arms around his neck, slowly waltzing to it.

“That’s nothing like we practiced,” Taeyong pinpointed, and I chuckled, shaking my head. “I don’t mind, though. It’s comfy,” he added as his hands found purchase on my hips.

“Seulgi doesn’t look pleased. She didn’t expect us to perform, did she?” I whispered into Taeyong’s ear, hugging him closer. “Also, it can’t be our song. We have to change it; the sooner, the better,” I complained, but Taeyong just chuckled into my ear, humming softly.

Instead of giving me an actual answer, Taeyong decided to sing it.

“I love the way you're talking to me.”

[ddarker-dreams]

🎀 scarlet ribbons.

ITS SELF INDULGENT FRIDAY BOIS !! time for scarlet ribbons headcanons that i’ve been working on in between commissions, this is essentially just a reverse harem ...  there’s no yandere here for once, just some vibes... click here for an explanation ! the reader described here is the same in all the scenarios. i’m using she/her pronouns for this reader.

Bruno Bucciarati;

He forms a special kind of attachment to you, seeing as you’ll be the second person to join his team. You won over his compassionate heart, preventing a much crueler fate. As a foreign exchange student, you had taken out a loan with Passione to complete your education. The problem is, the egregious amount of interest being too much for you to pay back on time. Bucciarati had been ordered to collect your debt. Instead of following through with his orders, he used his favor with Polpo to let you pay back your debt by working for Passione under his leadership.

Appreciates the dynamic and resolve you bring to the group. While he tries his best not to show favoritism to any members of his team, you’re someone he always looks out for extra much. Not because he thinks of you incapable, but because his care for you runs deep after knowing you for years. He’s definitely going to catch onto the others holding similar feelings for you though.

Acts a bit different towards you in one on one scenarios, versus when the others are around. He’s more relaxed when it’s only the two of you, speaking of matters not relating to work and checking up on your well being. Bruno realizes he could listen to you for hours, enjoying your unique perspective. He also finds your foreign accent endearing, and has mentioned it to see how you blush at the compliment.

Super sweet with you, always has looked out for your best interest. He’s your go to when you feel stressed about your situation, providing the support you need, since he’s the only person aware of your circumstances. Bruno is reassuring, helping you in the moments the debt to the organization feels impossible to overcome. He’s offered to help pay for part of it, but you always refuse, feeling grateful enough to him as is. It pains him to see you hurting, but he does anything he can to make you feel better. Always pays for your meals though, no matter how much you raise a fuss about it. 

Giorno Giovanna;

There’s a certain warmth in you that he wasn’t sure what to think of at first. Giorno is an astute individual, making observations from afar, watching you joking and smiling with the rest of the team. He eventually comes to the conclusion that your presence fills his stomach with butterflies, seeing your more lighthearted approach to life. There’s something intoxicating about it, and he’ll jump for any opportunity to spend time with you much to the annoyance of everyone else, they already had enough competition wtf.

He’s a coy little shit at times. Giorno sees how the others look at you, especially how obvious Narancia and Mista are. When they get defensive over how much Giorno is talking to you, he’ll just flash a faux innocent smile and ask what the problem with it is. It’s more effective on Narancia, who just ends up sputtering before slinking away in defeat. Mista can kinda deflect the accusation better, though there’s still a blush on his face. Giorno knows what he’s doing lmaoo

It infuriates Abbacchio how obvious he is with you, like, the audacity of this man. Just swinging into Bucciarati’s team, trying to woo you away. Giorno is always asking for your opinion on how to proceed with certain things, even if his mind has already been made up. Anything just to talk to you. Most likely going to receive Abbacchio’s scorn the most for this, especially since Giorno will lean closer to you when you’re answering his questions. Giorno is just going :) , meanwhile Narancia is furiously taking notes. (”Okay, so if I ask [First] about this, I have an excuse to get closer to her...!)

He did strongly in school, maybe not as well as Fugo but is definitely academically gifted. So that means when he enters the picture, Fugo has some Competition for the English speaking buddy role. Giorno can understand most simple phrases and is capable of following the conversation, occasionally interjecting when he feels confident enough. Fugo might try and make his conversations with you more complicated because of this, since he’s petty and wants all your attention. You’re meant to be his English speaking buddy >:( !!

To be honest, Giorno’s not really sure what he’s doing, despite the suave impression he gives. Giorno has charisma, sure, but this is all very new to him. He’s still learning as he goes, and pays very close attention to how everyone else interacts with you. Anything to see your preferences, so he can use it to his advantage later. Has a large mental file on you, that comes in handy. He isn’t so much flirty, but more seeking out your company and thoughts on things.

Guido Mista;

Poor Mista almost friendzones himself in a way... he doesn’t mean to, but he wants to warm up to you in his own way!! And that way is through joking around and a lot of “friendly” banter. The friendly banter is more like thinly veiled flirting. He tries so hard to act cool and mysterious around you, like a Clint Eastwood character. Ends up being super goofy, though it works in his favor since he gets to see your cute smile!!! Victory!! 

Mista has no shame. He’ll show up outside your apartment, food in hand, saying he wants to come over and hang. He even lets you pick the movie if that’s what you want to do!! A true honor, since Mista is willing to sit through stuff he wouldn’t normally be interested in all for the sake of winning you over. <33 

Probably tied with Narancia for the most Unfortunate Mishaps to occur when attempting to woo you. Some favorites include, but are not limited to: when he tried giving you flowers but they kept making him sneeze, that time he was leaning against your door frame and fell over, and basically anything that happens when the Pistols come out. They wanna be his lil wing men, but they keep screwing him over... :< 

“[First]!! [First]!! We’re bored, come hang out with us instead!!!!” You’ll end up with a flurry of Pistols swirling around you very often, putting Mista’s affection for you on full display. It irritates Fugo the most, he almost wants to smack them away like they’re flies lmao. They might start sweatin’ when they see Fugo’s eyebrow twitch, the Stand often interrupting your conversations with the blonde. Mista tests his patience for sure. 

Pannacotta Fugo;

A bit of a typical tsun towards you at first. He’s all acting high and mighty, huffing about the newest member of the team not being as bright as him. In reality he just thinks you’re vvv cute, and doesn’t know how to process it. You greet him and his brain just kinda short circuits, and he gives a standoffish insult before running off to hide his blush. Bruno would find it endearing if not for his feelings for you lmao.

How he gets over this initial stump at the start of your relationship is by acting like you need his help. Especially if you stumble over any Italian words, namely Naples lingo being more difficult to master. He takes it upon himself to help you out... in reality he just really wants to spend more time with you. Also, seeing you stumble over words is precious, he tries not to tease you about it though. Does occasionally...

You end up being roommate at the start!!! To save money, but it’s whatever, who cares about the practical reasoning behind it. What matters is that he gets to spend even more time with you than the others. The problem is that Narancia and Mista make a point to come by often, which he finds to be very irritating. They even crash at your shared apartment at times, but because of how messy they are, don’t get an invitation to live permanently. Fugo is smug about how you picked him due to his cleanliness >:)c

English speaking buddies !! He might not be fluent in it, but he’s better at it than everyone else. Also a lot more capable of learning it, just for the sake of impressing you. Gets this very pleased look on his face when you two speak in simple English, Narancia staring over, pouting for being left out. It’s like a special connection or something, not that Fugo would ever admit to saying that to you. He’s flexing his academic muscles. 

Narancia Ghirgha;

Anyone could look over at Narancia and see his huge heart eyes for you. You like the same foreign music as him!! You can speak another language!! He wants to learn English from you, and keeps asking. Sometimes butchers the pronunciation but god it’s so cute who cares. Teach Narancia one phrase and he’s gonna be saying it nonstop for the rest of the week. Fugo, the only other member to understand English on a decent level until GioGio, is gonna be miserable whenever this happens. That’s his thing with you! Why can’t Narancia get something else, smh ...

If you recommend him a song he will not stop listening to it. Also expect a lot of discussions about different artists, mostly hip hop ones when Narancia is leading the conversation. He thinks it’s so cool you understand what they’re saying!! Is gonna ask you to translate them a lot. He kinda just stares at you, mouth agape when you’re singing along, like woah!! His crush is so talented. 

His most treasured moments with you, is when you recommend one another music, and share headphones. Sometimes you just bob your head to the rhythm, or sing along. Whatever the case, he gets to be close to you, and his brain is practically turning to mush at the fact your thighs are touching. 

Fugo did him dirty once in the past. Before Narancia realized he had Competition for your affections, he went to Fugo, asking how to compliment you in English. He should’ve known by how Fugo was staring at him with the most malicious smirk that he made a mistake. The next day, when meeting up at Libeccio, he came up to you. Chest puffed out, proud after a night of practicing his phrase. Then proceeded to say to you in English, “I am a fucking idiot!!!!” looking all smiley and excited. Needless to say, you almost spit out your food and laughed about it for a long time. Narancia has been planning his revenge on Fugo ever since...

Narancia follows you around like a lost puppy at times, but he’s a lot of fun to hang out around!! He’ll buy you gelato, and even lets you have a bite of his food if you ask. No one else has this special privilege. There is a time you offered to let him try a sip of your drink, and he almost melted. All his brain could think of is, indirect kiss, indirect kiss!!!! One of the best moments of his life tbh. 

Leone Abbacchio;

Abbacchio put a lot of effort into distancing himself from you. Why do you smile so much?? It makes him uncomfortable being around you, someone who is basically sunshine stuffed into a human body. It reminds him of all his shortcomings, which he feels he has no shortage of. But when you make the initially irritating decision to keep speaking to him, only giving space when you felt he really needed it, it won over his little grinch heart. 

He’s been wrapped around your finger ever since. Unlike the other bumbling buffoons who are tripping over themselves to get an ounce of your attention, he plays it cool. More of a Bucciarati approach to things. Asking about your interests, letting you do most of the talking so he has no chance to embarrass himself (like *cough* Narancia *cough*).

Next to Fugo, is most likely to call other members out on their nonsense. He wouldn’t dare do so for Bruno, but everyone else is fair game. The main victim to this treatment is Giorno. Abbacchio might even offer some “advice” to him, giving false information all under the guise of assisting Giorno’s pursuit of you. He takes a more hands off approach on everyone else. 

He doesn’t want to invite you over to his place because of how dreary it is, so he has to find other ways to get one on one time with you. This mostly happens by talking about things no one else finds of interest to you, namely makeup or other fashion things. 

You are the only person who gets to call him any nicknames, the one you lean towards typically being Abba. Narancia once made a mistake of calling him this, only to earn a very threatening glare. When you do it though, he has to push down the urge to smile. How cute!! 

Trish Una;

Gay rights time . Trish looks at you and immediately thinks wow, perfect girlfriend material right there. Still acts a bit reserved at first, considering her complex situation and how she’s still piecing it all together in her heard. Since you’re the only other girl on the team, she gets the benefit of Bucciarati assigning you to be extra close to her. All according to plan heheh >:) 

When she flirts, she goes all in. Asking about what kind of perfume you wear, your favorite shade of lipstick, what kind of outfits you like the most. All of it is under the pretense of getting to know you better, and while she does enjoy that aspect of it, she might start adopting some of the things you find appealing. She is 100% gonna ask to borrow your shirts and makeup, and extends the same offer to you. 

Trish is far more playful with you than the others, who all just kinda stare at the interactions like ??? When you were her bodyguard, she always subconsciously went to sit down next to you. No one else on the team can say anything, since she’s the boss’ daughter after all !! She considered you more of a distraction from her anxiety inducing situation at first, seeing as you had shared interests to speak about. Over time, your doting nature over her won out. 

Would be pissed if you ever got hurt trying to defend her. You might joke around about how you’re her bodyguard, not the other way around. Trish just can’t bear the thought of losing someone important to her, after all she’s already lost. 

Her phone background is a selfie the two of you took, even after she eventually distances herself from Passione to advance her singing career. Expect lots of texts messages, checking up on how you’re doing!! Trish unfortunately has a busy schedule, that requires a lot of traveling for her concerts and other bookings. Though anytime she is near Naples, she’s messaging you and asking to meet up. <33 

[babbushka]

A Million Things

Mob Boss!Kylo Ren x Reader 

2.2k; Content Warnings: Light murder/mention of murder, NSFW (Subby!Kylo, humiliation/verbal humiliation kink, praise kink, sloppy jerking off, crying during sex, begging, name-calling) 

Available on AO3! 

                                                 ---------------------

He knows he’s in trouble, knows as soon as it happens. It all happened so fast, Kylo is still breathing hard, his heart racing, his palm clammy as you hold his hand in the car, as you squeeze it tight. He loves you so much, loves that even when he’s in trouble, you still want to hold his hand.

It’s a silent car ride, away from the fundraiser, back towards the great big penthouse in the sky that you and he call home. Dopheld, for once, is blissfully quiet, and that’s only because he can sense the tension in the air.

Only when you’ve walked with him down the pretty marble lobby and corralled him up the private elevator, when you’ve got him back behind the closed doors of your bedroom and pushed down so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, do you let go of his hand – and that’s only to wind a fist tightly into his hair, yanking his hair back.

“What the fuck was that back there?” You frown at him. Your voice is lovely, so lovely and warm, even laced with seriousness like this. There’s no note of anger, not a hint anywhere other than the way your brows crease ever so slightly, and a rush of adrenaline washes through Kylo’s body.

You’re the most dangerous woman in the world, the most dangerous person, and you both know it.

He can’t help but bite down on the inside of his cheek, can’t help but widen his eyes ever so slightly when he looks up at you, can’t help but blush crimson because that thought, that knowledge of just how lethal you are, makes him hard.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He grumbles, baritone rich and deep and bouncing around in the quiet of the room, bouncing around inside your chest.

“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to talk about it, I asked you what the hell were you thinking?” You tsk back softly, soothingly, tightening the hand in his hair. His cock leaks in his nice pleated trousers, and he has to work hard to suppress a moan.

“He just – ” Kylo huffs, frustrated thinking about the series of events that led you both here – how some snobbish Englishman had been chatting you up entirely too casually, how he’d been eyeing your body up and down, how he had shot him for it – he pouts and puffs his lips up and tries to be nonchalant when he says, “He was looking at you.”

“He was supposed to be looking at me Kylo he was -- are you hard?” You cut yourself off midsentence, realization coloring your tone, and Kylo flushes bright red with embarrassment.

“What?” He doesn’t dare blink, doesn’t dare do anything at all, other than silently beg you to do exactly what he hopes you’re going to.

You grin as you release your death grip on his hair, and oh, he knows he’s in for it.

Kylo’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, and you carefully, slowly, slide a foot between his legs. Using your knee, you pry his thighs apart and there it is, the long thick line of his cock straining against the fabric of those trousers. 

You can see it twitching, jumping at the thought of punishment, at the thought of your sharp silver tongue and wicked words, and for a second, you debate making him come in his underwear for all your trouble.

“Is that it, you were thinking with your big cock instead of your brain?” You scold him, already stepping out of your heels, reaching behind you and working on the zipper on the back of your dress. He tracks the movement with great interest, watches as you slip the expensive garment off and let it fall to the floor.

“Baby…” Kylo licks his lips and moves to touch you, but you quickly smack at his hand and reach out to snatch his chin between your manicured fingers, holding him steady.

“Let me see it.” You practically seethe, your jaw hard set even as you’re standing in front of him in just a bra and panties.

How you wield such power, such authority with ease, makes Kylo weak. His cock is so hard, it’s throbbing for you, leaking all over himself, his hands shake as he pulls it out through the fly of his trousers. His beautifully cut head is flushed dark and angry, desperate, he’s so desperate for you his hips are already moving, already squirming under your touch.

“Absolutely fucking obscene.” You sneer as you dig your fingers deeper into his chin, his jaw, and his eyes flutter shut as pleasure sparks up his brain, up his spine, “How do you do anything with that between your legs, hm? How do you function, it’s disgusting. Jerk off, go on, touch yourself, you’re so frantic for it go on.”

At the permission, Kylo’s hand practically flies to his cock, wrapping his calloused fingers around it and squeezing it as tightly as you’ve got your hand on his jaw. He smears his precome up and down his shaft, slicking himself up with it, moaning as the ridges of his veins nudge against his palm. He’s already breathing hard, already biting at his lip so hard he’s sure it’ll bleed, and it only spurs him on further.

You unhook your bra and let it fall to the floor, before pushing him to lay back further onto the mattress and straddling his waist. He’s still dressed, completely and fully dressed, down to the white bowtie around his neck, and somehow he feels more vulnerable than ever. He has to fight not to come right then and there.

Your body is gorgeous above him and he strokes himself off hard and fast. You’re so close to him that he goes nearly cross-eyed to see you, to focus on you. He can feel your nipples brush against him through the starched white of his dress shirt, he can feel the heat coming from your pussy as you grind yourself down on his waist, he lets you pry his mouth open and spit on his tongue, he swallows it all – he’ll swallow everything you’ll ever give him.

“C-can you – ” He whines, can’t even get the words out, can’t even ask, he trips and stumbles over his own tongue as he twists his fist up and down the length of his shaft, hips bucking up against his own hand, so hot in his tuxedo, hot hot hot underneath you.

“What? What do you want from me, want me to touch you?” Your voice is mocking and teasing in a harsh way that has him spurting up onto his hand, oozing and dripping and drooling the way you spit onto his tongue.

“Please!” He gasps, his balls drawing up tight, his stomach tensing and fluttering as his arm grows sore, tired, burning burning burning in the best way, wanting nothing more than this, than you.

“Well too fucking bad.” You snap loudly, and Kylo has to squeeze the base of his cock with a hard moan so he doesn’t come before you tell him he can, if you ever tell him he can. “You’re going to get yourself off and come all over yourself like the greedy slut that you are.”

“Unghh, fuck, I – ” Kylo hiccups, giving himself in to you, letting the shame rip through his body and make his heart pound loud loud loud in his ears, his dick throbbing pulsing aching, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby I’m sorry forgive me.”

“Is this okay? Do you want me to keep going?” You cup his cheek sweetly and sincerely, looking into his eyes with a seriousness that he doesn’t have the words to tell you how much he adores, appreciates. You check in on him, the way he checks in on you during times like these, never wanting to go too far, never wanting to really hurt him.

“Please – please don’t stop – please, I’m sorry.” He assures and reassures, until it dissolves into babbling, big fat tears pooling up in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks, wetting his hair. “Please, please – baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why I bothered to bring you today, knowing how you get, how you’d undoubtedly cause a scene. A stunt like that could’ve gotten us caught and then where would we be, hm? You think you get to come in this pussy in prison?” You give in finally, letting go of his face and pulling his free hand, the hand that’s been twisting and curling in the neatly made comforter, guiding it underneath the fabric of your panties.

“No! No I – I didn’t mean to.” His fingers automatically seek your folds, and he moans loud when he finds you soaked, when he finds that your body is as wet for him as he is hard for you. It takes two seconds of fingering you and sliding through the heat of your pussy for him to cry out, “Oh fuck, fuck I’m going to come.”

“Beg for it, whore.” You lick your teeth, and Kylo is quick to oblige.

“Please – please honey, baby, please let me come I’ll be so good, I’ll be good for you I just – oh shit – I just need to come, I’ll do anything, please!” He’s so hot, sweating all over, hot for you, desperate for you, desperate to come, he has to come, he’ll kill anyone, do anything, burn down the world for him if you asked, if you let him come.

You know, and you love him, love this giant man quivering and sobbing tears of pleasure pain beneath you, so you kiss his cheek softly, kindly, and ask, “Where do you want it?”

“In you, please please let me fill your cunt up.” He chokes out, and you grin.

The second you’re nodding with approval, Kylo’s ripping the panties off you. The cotton doesn’t stand a chance against his strength, and it doesn’t even bother to try. He’s lifting your hips up and seating you down down down on the hard length of his dick before he can even take a breath, coming in you so blindly that he jackknifes up and almost smacks you in the face with his face from the intensity of it.

He’s on cloud nine, when he comes. It’s such a forceful orgasm that he almost thinks he’s blacked out from it, from the feeling. There is nothing but you, and him, and a velvety heat enveloping your bodies – he isn’t a particularly religious man, but he wonders if this must be what Heaven is like. 

He doesn’t know if he’s just fucked up and hallucinating, drunk off the way you make him feel, but he can almost visualize his come pouring into you, can almost hear it hitting your walls as your pelvic muscles grip him tight. Such a tight pussy you have, he thinks. Or maybe he says it, he doesn’t know. Everything is beautiful and soft and warm, in his head.

He can feel something then, the soft presses of your lips all over his face. Slow, careful, gentle presses that lull him back to reality, and he whines, his eyes stinging from salty tears as he cracks them open. Your face fills up his entire field of vision, and with a trembling hand he caresses your cheek.

“Thank you.” His voice is thick and you simply shake your head with a kind, loving smile.

“Shh, it’s okay honey, you’re okay.” You roll yourselves over so you’re both on your sides, and you gather him up in your arms, nuzzle his face into your chest and smooth down his hair. “I’m not angry, beautiful boy.”

The praise floods through him and where your bodies are still joined, he comes a little harder, making you chuckle fondly, adoringly.

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” He rubs his nose into the pit of your throat, having half a brain cell to think about the sonofabitch that wound you both up in this position. It’s a lie, and you see straight through it, and he knows it.  

“Yes you did, but that’s okay.” You hum happily, carding your fingers through his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp, making his whole body melt and relax into bliss in your arms. You kiss his temple in small little smooches, smiling at the lipstick prints that are left behind. “I love you so much, you did so well. We would’ve killed him sooner or later.”

“Yeah?” He cranes his neck to look up at you with surprised brows. The Englishman was a large donor to your particular fundraiser, Kylo wonders what he might’ve done to irritate you into thinking about killing him.

“Mhm, drink this.” Is all you say, reaching over to the nightstand and plucking a bottle of cool water. He knows you’ll tell him more later, when he’s awake enough and sharp enough to pay attention.

“I like when you’re mean.” He says apropos of nothing around a big sip of water, and you laugh, and he smiles, and everything feels right and good in the world.

“I’m never mean.” You wink at him, and he nods, because no, of course not.

You’re many things, a million things, things so wonderful and perfect and deadly and sexy as shit, but not mean. 

Of course not.

[james-rowan]

Here’s my (very late, sorry 😓) contribution to the @dualrainbow Pride event. Thank you To_Dragons for helping me edit.

Ships: Montagne/Blitz, Lion/Doc, Valkyrie/Finka and Castle/Maverick

The Pride Festival

The Austin Texas Pride Festival was held on a hot, sunny afternoon, and it smelled of fair food, sunscreen and energy. It was colorful, and bright, mrainbows everywhere, adorning stalls, signs and, of course, people.

To the European operators who had been to Pride events before, it was not only loud, but bold. From the outfits, that ranged from simple rainbow wristbands to full on outrageous outfits (or just a jockstrap), to the signs and stalls and performance stages. Couples were embracing, kissing and making out openly and passionately, without shame or guilt, not only couples but the rare poly groups, finally able to carry on with open affections and taking full advantage. The atmosphere was infectious. It had already claimed Maverick and Castle, who walked very close to each other -despite the heat- hands in each other’s back pockets. They also were very unrestrained with the kissing.

And Montagne thought that he and Blitz could be overly affectionate. But then he was still waiting for his lover to meet them there. He had flown out on his own specifically for this.

Their group included the aforementioned Castle and Maverick, Valkyrie, Finka, himself, Lion and Doc.

They had traveled from Fort Polk, Louisiana, where they, that being the FBI SWAT, SEALs and GIGN, and one tagalong (at her vehement request) Finka, were doing training with the U.S. Army rangers stationed there. After two weeks of a field exercise in muggy swamplands, their Pride group had been excited to go somewhere dry, but unfortunately Houston did not live up to the Texas desert stereotypes; it was almost as humid as Fort Polk. But at least here there was civilization. And Montagne himself was excited to finally see Blitz.

“Schatz!”

Speaking of whom, he was charging at them, looking very much the part of a Pride attendee. He caught his lover in his arms, swinging him around once, despite the soreness from training, then dipped him into a deep kiss. that gained the awe and cheers of not only from some in their own group, but several onlooking strangers as well.

When they finally parted , Lion muttered, “They’re acting like they haven’t seen each other in a year.”

The couple ignored him as Blitz held Monty out in arms length to appraise his outfit. He tutted, “Not to live up to the stereotype, Schatz, but what are you wearing?”

Montagne looked down at himself. He was wearing a lightweight button down with rolled up sleeves, dark trousers and shined shoes, nothing offensive, if a bit formal compared to everyone else, but the reason was important.

Blitz himself was dressed the complete opposite, wearing a loose stringer tanktop that exposed his toned shoulders and even his pecs when he moved just right. Jean cutoff shorts, sneakers with colorful laces, large sunglasses, a backwards ball cap, wristbands: every article of clothing was either rainbow colored, or had an inclusive pride flag adorning it.

“Euh… what’s wrong with it?

“If it were any other day, nothing,” Blitz said. “You look sharp and sexy as ever. But this is Pride, American Pride, ja? Look around.”

Almost everyone was wearing Pride merchandise, had flags draped on their shoulders, or had face paint of various LGBTQ+ symbols, from obvious t more subtle. The bolder were the ones wearing much more and the even bolder much less.

Blitz grabbed his hand, “Come, we’re fixing this.”

“Aren’t we a little old for…”

“Psst, nein. This will be fun, ja? To dress up as we please, get swept up in the atmosphere.”

“We can already dress as we please.”

“I mean colorful, and silly, no fashion rules to hold us back. Come on!”

With that Blitz dragged him off, leaving the rest in their wake.

~

“Well,” Finka chuckled. “Hi to you too, Elias.”

“Those two are disgusting,” Lion snickered. “How long have they been together? A year?”

“Two,” Finka said. “With no signs of slowing down.”

“Their honeymoon phase is going to last forever at this rate,” Valkyrie said.

“That explains why Gilles is going to…” Lion stopped himself, eyes wide.

“What is Gilles going to do?” Valkyrie was now very interested.

“Olivier, you wanted to show me something?” Doc, the amazing man he was, quickly interjected.

Had it been a few months ago, Lion would have been confused, but now Doc had bailed him out enough times during conversations that he immediately went, “Ah right, this way.”

“We’ll go with you,” Valkyrie smirked.

“Non, non, it's private,” Lion said.

“The good Catholic boy he is, he cannot share,” he said, steering Lion away before he could reveal too much.

Out of earshot, Lion mumbled, “How can you be nice while mocking me at the same time?” Lion was a bit prickly at the Catholic comment. It has always been a point of mockery for people outside the church.

“I could ask you the same. You have quite the talent for it. Far more than I can hope to achieve.”

“Most of the time I don’t mean to.”

“I know.” Doc’s tone softened into a reassuring one, giving his side a squeeze. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have found common ground, mon coeur,” he said. “People also tend not to question when a Catholic needs to do private things, no? With Islam it works quite well.”

Lion took a deep breath, but understood. It was nothing malicious. “Thank you. I didn’t want to be the one to fuck that all up.”

It had taken years to come to a mutual understanding, let alone to find a way to deal with their mutual attraction to one another. It was a rocky, long road, but here they were. Lion hoped one day they would be exactly like Blitz and Montagne, or even just Castle and Maverick.

Lion brushed his forefinger against Doc’s hand, tentatively seeking to hold it. Their relationship was so new, so fragile, like a baby bird or sugar glass, too easy to hurt or shatter. A hundred things, even things gentle or nice, could ruin a relationship, if you looked into it. And considering their history, before they got together… where just one off hand remark would destroy a truce they had established between each other, setting them at each other's throats once again. Lion never wanted to go back to those times. He’d do anything to keep it from degrading back.

Doc immediately took hold of his hand, as if he had been waiting to do so all day, giving a loving squeeze.

Warmth flooded Lion, he felt a giant stupid grin spreading across his face. It was almost too much, as he felt pricks in his eyes, as he squeezed back. He glanced sideways at Doc, finding him gently smiling, mellow as always when he was content. He wanted nothing more than to sweep him up and kiss him fiercely, but maybe then it’d be too much. He’d settle for this for now.

After browsing a couple stalls, he remembered something. What did the relationship advice he found on that one website say? That he should always seek to compliment and let someone know how much their actions mean to him, so he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words.

“You know,” Lion said, barely able to be heard over the crowd. “I’m so glad you’re willing to hold my hand.”

“Willing? I want to,” Doc corrected, bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

Lion smile only grew wider, and he had to look away as red creeped from his ears to his cheeks now. “J’taime.”

“J’taime.”

The warm fuzzy feeling in his chest threatened to burst, helped along by with the anxiety, the pervasive fear that this was about to be ripped from him at any moment.

They grabbed something to eat and sat down on a bench. If American food was considered greasy, their fair food was simply lard on a plate, with maybe some sugar or ketchup for seasoning. They commented on this to each other, when something caught Lion’s eye. There were older women and a couple of men wearing t-shirts, that said “free mom hugs.” (the men’s shirts said ‘dad’) As implied, they hugged everyone who came up to them. Some hugs were light and quick, and some deep and heartfelt, lasting many minutes. Lion’s eyes followed one of them until he came upon a group of them, holding signs, the same message written on them.

“Is that what I think?”

“Hmm?” Doc looked up. “Ah, probably. Hold on.”

To Lion's horror, his fellow frenchman asked a nearby American who they were; the man explaining with a bright smile that they were a charity organization that helped LGBTQ+ youth, and they gave out hugs - of course -, for any who had been rejected by their families for their sexuality.

Small talk ensued, in which Lion was only half-participating in as he ate, and when the man finally left, Doc nudged his side.

“You’ve been glancing at them this whole time. Go on, go talk to them.”

“I don’t need a hug.”

Doc tsked, “That’s a lie.”

“Huh?”

“If anyone needs a hug from a father figure, it is you, no?”

“I…” Lion paused then shook his head. “No, I’m over it, I put it behind me. It happened over a decade ago, after all.”

Doc raised an eyebrow, one of his infuriatingly knowing smiles tugging at his lips.

“They are for this who were disowned for being homosexual, Gustave. I was not...”

“And your father would have accepted you being with another man? Or is it only teens getting their girlfriends pregnant that he takes moral issue with?”

Lion didn’t have an answer for him. Well he did, just not a verbal one. There were so many reasons his father wanted nothing to do with him.

“I’m over it,” he repeated, but this time with less conviction.

“Then it would be of no consequence,” Doc said, squeezing his hand. “Go on.”

It was an awkward walk to approach them. He had to remind himself he was a soldier, he had faced death multiple times, fought against some of the most dangerous people in the world and this- This was just a civilian man at a pride event. Much older than him, sure, with a kind face and beard. But he realized as his step grew increasing hesitant that it wasn’t the human he was afraid of, but his soul, and what it could do to his own with just a few brash words.

What was he even going to say? “Hey I saw your sign, my dad hates me, can I get a hug?” That was ridiculous. Maybe lean into the role this man was offering to play, “Sorry dad, I was a fuck up, I can't change?" Or… "sorry you were not capable of loving me the way I am?" Both sounded completely rude to say to a stranger.

But as he approached, the older man met his eye, and there was no need for questions, nor words. The dad only smiled at him and opened his arms.

Lion found himself in the other man’s embrace before he even realized, hugging him as if his life depended on it. The older man matched his energy, a hand on the back of his head as if Lion really was his own child. Time seemed to stretch on and on; Lion had been anticipating a quick hug, just a little taste of what he got so envious of every time he saw someone have a loving moment with their parent, but no, his body refused to let go and so did this stranger. This stranger who held onto him with a fatherly patience Lion once thought only existed in fantasy.

The lump growing in his throat ached. He tried swallowing it down, but it only made it worse.

He shouldn’t have done this. He thought he was over it, yet it hurt, it hurt so fucking much…!

He wanted to run, he wanted to stay, he wanted…

“It’s alright to cry,” the man whispered. “I got you.”

“My real father disowned me.” Lion wasn’t proud of how strangled his voice sounded, or how he let some tears escape.

“I’m so sorry, son,” the man replied, rubbing his back gently. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Nobody does.”

“I never could give him a reason to love me.”

“Children don’t need to give a reason. They’re supposed to be loved by their parents, no matter what mistakes they made, real or imagined. You deserve to be loved.”

Lion was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to will away the need to sob. This was a happy moment, a validating moment, with kind words, and warmth, why did it hurt so much then? His fingers clutched at the man’s shirt, as he gently rocked them. It didn’t feel infantilizing, it felt relieving, needed, like a hole finally being filled.

“You can cry, you know,” the man whispered again. “Emotions are made to be expressed. You don’t have to be strong, not here, not with me. I know you’re hurting, Don’t worry, I’m here.”

A choked sob escaped, and Lion pressed his face into the man's shoulder. “There you go, let it out, I’m proud of you.”

There was no coming back from that. He broke down, and it was ugly.

Lion sobbed into his arms, all rsesemblance of control disappearing, but the father held him through it all. It lasted way longer than Lion thought possible, but they eventually subsided, and he was still being held as he calmed down. When he felt strong enough to break the embrace, he was met with a gentle, fatherly smile.

“Do you feel better?”

“Oui.. yes, thank you,” he wiped his face with his own shirt. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” the manhe said. “I’m just doing what fathers were meant to do.”

“Merci.”

They talked for a little while after. About what happened with his father, his family, himself. The cynical side of him expected them to reveal their ulterior motive, asking him for charity donations, to attend a church service, or even a cult, but they didn’t offer him any flyers or business cards, just warm words... water and tissues. At least he wasn’t the first grown man to cry like this in their arms. They were genuinely good people.

Doc had been waiting patiently for him on the bench, and stood up to embrace him and kiss his cheek upon his return. “How do you feel?”

“Drained,” he said. Then he added, “Relieved. I guess you were…” he caught himself. “No, you were completely right.”

“I’m glad you went then, mon coeur.”

Lion needed a smoke. Before got to know him, Lion would have assumed the doctor was too high and mighty for a nicotine fix, but then found out he was a man in a high stress job like the rest of them, and didn’t judge. Except on the mandatory substance abuse powerpoints they all had to sit through every few months.

He lit up, drawing the smoke in and letting it mellow him out. Every so often he would think back and a few more tears would leak out.

He wiped his eyes with his thumb. “You know why I was so happy that you took my hand?”

“Non,” Doc said, rubbing his back. “But please tell me.”

“I was at the store with my mother and father,” he said. “I was just following along, and I see my mother offer her hand to hold, you know, this gesture…”

He made it. Doc patiently nodded.

“Well I was nearest to her, I think. I was so happy, I remember feeling loved, all warm, because my mama wanted to hold my hand.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

Lion took a deep breath. His voice shuddered, “She let go, non.. she threw my hand away from her, in utter disgust. As if I were disgusting. She snapped, ‘I don’t want your hand.’”

Lion ducked his head. “It was a small thing, yes, but it hurt, it hurt so much. Turned out she wanted my father’s hand, not her son’s, not mine.”

It was a few beats later before Doc said, “How old were you?”

“Four, maybe five,” Lion said. “I hate that feeling, those moments where you finally feel happy and loved, and the next second someone shatters it completely. Despair is a good word for it, I think.”

“How often did these types of things happen?”

“Plenty, I was a disgusting child, after all.”

“No,” Doc said. “She was just… cruel.”

Lion huffed, not a wry laugh, just disbelieving. “You’re not going to tell me that she tried her best?”

“Did she?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Then I think not,” Doc said softly, cupping Lion’s cheek. He leaned into the warmth.

"I still get this horrible… fear when I want to take someone’s hand, or show any affection. So I usually don’t.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, mon cher. And if I ever make you feel the way your mother did, I want you to tell me.”

Lion nodded, looking down, not entirely sure if he would. Doc tilted his head back up. “Hey, I mean it.”

Lion took his hand and almost went for a kiss, but the deep moment was interrupted by Blitz and Monty approaching. Lion quickly turned away so neither of the two could see his red puffy eyes, but he did see Monty was wearing a stringer tanktop, tie dyed rainbow, and adorned with rainbows in body paint and a look of subdued embarrassment any time Elias had his back turned. Blitz was going a bit overboard on this look.

“Have you seen Meghan?” Blitz said, “unless you have a bag?”

Doc pointed them into the right direction, as Lion quickly drank his water.

“Olivier, are you okay?”

“He just needs some alone time with me,” Doc saved him. Again.

The pair offered their sympathies to Lion (much to his annoyance) and wandered off to find the two women.

“Don’t you ever dress me up that garishly,” Lion snickered.

“Please, mon coeur, I have taste,” Doc said, before grabbing his knee and squeezing, voice now whispering in his ear. “Besides, I prefer you out of your clothes.”

He nipped his earlobe before Lion could exasperate out his name, earning a yelp instead.

Any semblance of protocol melted into genuine, unmasked joy just to be in each other’s company, in a welcoming space where they could be open about themselves Gustave himself was intent on kissing his lover better.

~

Finka and Valkyrie had been watching a stage performance when Blitz appeared at Valkyrie’s side, grinning, as usual, and... now covered in glitter?

“Meghan, can we borrow your purse?”

“Huh?”

“I don’t want to have to carry around Gilles’s shirt all day.”

Valkyrie turned fully to see Montagne, who had trailed in after him, no longer wearing his tasteful, understated ensemble, but had been attacked by rainbows and what looked to be the same shimmer bomb that Blitz must have been caught in.

“No, you’re going to get glitter in it,” Valkyrie frowned.

“Please? I’ll clean it out for you myself.”

“Glitter?” Finka said, turning around. “We have to ride back with your boyfriend, and you wore glitt-”

Finka must have caught sight of Montagne’s giant pecs escaping the too small, flimsy shirt, because she turned bright red and turned back to stare very intently at the performer.

All Valkyrie herself could think was ’damn Montagne is strong and it shows’, but that was it, of course. Her girlfriend however was bi, with a particular weakness for large people with muscles.

“Och, I almost forgot,” Blitz said cheekily. “You have any sunscreen? Gilles wasn’t prepared for this outfit.”

“I don’t think any of us were prepared,” Finka snipped, still keeping Montagne out of her line of sight. She pulled out a sunblock bottle from her cargo pocket and tossed it over.

“You alright there, Lera?” Blitz asked as he caught it.

“I’m fine, it's just hot,” she replied, still avoiding eye contact, “The weather, I mean.”

Blitz grinned, “He is hot, isn’t he?”

“Mon cher…” Montagne groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just…”

Meghan clapped her hands, “Okay, go away, go be gay somewhere else. We have enough that of our own over here.”

Blitz ignored her, looking at Finka with a grin, “What do you think of us getting temporary hair color? I was thinking of dyeing our hair rainbow.”

“Well, you’ve gone this far,” Finka said, pointedly staring at Blitz’s eyes. “Might as well go full golubok.”

“Hah, ja, I like the way you think, I…”

“Here,” Meghan said, grabbing Gilles’s shirt from Blitz’s hands and stuffing it into her purse. “Go dye your hair now. Go on.”

“Alright, all right.” Blitz grinned, holding up his hands and going. Montagne sighed deeply, a twitch working its way through his cheek before following. Odd, but not her problem. She had someone much more important to worry about.

“You’re into muscles, huh?”

“You know I am,” Finka said sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Valkyrie laughed, “It’s fine, he got great boobs.” That caused Finka to snort. “You know, for a man.”

Finka laughed longer than she expected, but it was always nice when her girlfriend had one of her genuine laughs.

“It's always nice to see real muscles,” Finka said. “Real ones, from being big and strong, and healthy.”

“Oh, you mean some like mine?” She flexed, tattooed arms positively sexy as the bulged.

Finka’s eyes got a hungry glunt to them, she put her hands on Valkyrie’s arms, feeling the solidness beneath her fingers, “Yes, just like that.”

Finka kissed her girlfriend long and deep, and Valkyrie relished being able to do so in the open, without the anxiety of having some bigot laying eyes on them and causing a scene. It was annoying enough to deal with the old people (and the occasional man similarly aged man) she had never met before tsk at her for daring to have tattoos and being too buff, saying she was too pretty to mark herself up like that and ask how she was ever going to find a man looking like that. She had already broke the glass ceiling for women in something as prestigious and hardcore as the Navy fucking SEALs, but there were still so many in American society that were convinced that women existed to look pleasant to men, regardless of if said women even wanted a pet man or not.

The kiss was broken when Finka’s wristwatch timer went off, and her girlfriend quickly drank from her water bottle. It was such a practiced motion, Valkyrie wasn’t entirely convinced Lera was aware she was doing it, and it made her heart ache. When she was finished, she wrapped her arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Later they were browsing stalls, and Finka gravitated towards one that was selling pride flags and shirts, not only the standard colors for each identity group, but also the ones that represented multiple identities within the same flag. Finka fingered a nonbinary one with a heart in the bisexual colors on its center. Interesting choice.

“I’d love to see you wear one of these, babe.”

Finka smiled, but shook her head, “I don’t know…”

“Come on, I’m not trying to pull a Blitz on you, I’ll wear one with you.”

“And what am I going to do with it afterwards?”

“Keep it? We’re not in Russia, our base is in Greece, basically its own sovereign territory.”

“When you went through SEALs, there were dissenters that tried to prove your were lesbian so they could get you removed from the program, didn’t they?”

Valkyrie shrugged, “Yeah, but they failed.”

“The last thing that the Russian government wants is one of it most elite spetsnaz operatives in an international effort to be homosexual,” Finka explained. “Its not illegal, yet, but my existence could be considered ‘propaganda.’ I might not just be removed from Rainbow, or Spetsnaz, or the Russian military, I could be jailed.

“Ah.”

“You know what Russian prison is like? I might be able to survive the system if I wasn’t sick, but I am diseased. They’d deny me my medication, not let me stay hydrated or fed or exercised and I’ll...”

“Hey, hey,” Meghan said, quickly drawing Lera into a hug. “I’m sorry, it was just a silly idea.”

“I’m…” she took a deep breath then nodded. “Thank you.”

Meghan kissed her forehead, holding her hands. Lera usually had to be stressed, well, more stressed than usual, to go on such a downward spiral so quickly. Being at such a Pride event, probably, if anyone found out. Finka didn’t believe her own Rainbow Spetsnaz brothers to out her, they were too close, but it was still risky.

“The Soviet Union used to accept openly gay people, did you know that?”

Valkyrie shook her head.

“Not a lot of people do, even in Russia. It was the early years, of course, but they gave gays rights they never had before. But then, of course, the Soviets needed more bodies. Bodies for war, and bodies for work, and of course, they believed gays were the reason that their population wasn’t pumping out babies at a fast enough rate.”

“Oh.”

“It all comes down to child production, doesn’t it? You know this.”

“Unfortunately I do,” Valkyrie said. “Not even just governments but families too. When my grandma found out I was lesbian, she sobbed, crying about how she won’t have any grandbabies from my father’s line. Then she blamed my father for raising me too military, while blaming my mother for letting me compete in high level sports.” She adopted a shrill, tottering grandma voice, ‘Sports always turns girls into dykes. I wanted greatgrandbabies from every child! But you made her want to turn into a boy!”

“Blin.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“My own parents alway knew I would like girls,” she said. “Enough to be surprised and confused when I brought home boyfriends that I was genuinely happy with. They cited my, uh, how you call it, boyishness? Well, I never felt comfortable in the woman’s role and they, knowing what my siblings and I had…, they didn’t really feel a need to pressure us to do anything but stay as healthy and active as possible.”

Meghan slowly began to realize this was turning into much more than a simple sharing of stories, and squeezed her hands in support.

“I never liked being…. I don’t know how to put this. I didn’t like the gendered language used for me. And I never felt when people were talking about women, they were talking about to me as well. Just as I thought the rules and expectations boys are taught growing up applied to me as well. You know, don’t cry, be tough, treat women with respect, fight those who try to push you around. Then I learned of this new concept a couple years ago, someone could be neither. I laughed at it at first but...”

“Lera…” Valkyrie said softly, with a loving smile. “Do you want me to use they/them for you?”

Her… their eyes lit up. “Would you? I mean, I’m not sure just yet, but I would like to try them out. “Non pun intended?”

“Hmm? Oh yes,” they were positively beaming. They were so beautiful.

“Just to see. I mean, I still have to use she and her at work but, just in private.”

“Of course, babe.”

Valkyrie cupped their face and kissed them deeply.

She ended up buying Finka something, a silver bracelet in the colored stones in the nonbinary colors as the setting. Something simple and discreet yet powerful where it mattered.

~~

Montagne had texted the couples to be on their way back to the group when Blitz finally realized he wasn’t just looking like a rainbow, but rather a discontented victim of a rainbow being sick.

“What’s wrong, Schatz?”

The giant man sighed, folding his arms over his chest.

“So… there is something wrong…?”

“If it were any other day, I wouldn’t have minded, but today…”

“Where else could you do this…?”

“It is not the location, it is the look!” he gestured down at himself. “The timing of it!”

“I don’t understand… ok, ja, I can see why I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Montagne raised a glitter encrusted eyebrow.

“Ok, completely carried away.”

“Mmm.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not the fun you were having that I have a problem with, I am used to your antics.”

Blitz went pink, and bashful. Like a puppy being scolded.

“And you know I love your antics, ge added quickly. But why of all days,” Gilles trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose, and very nearly getting glitter in his eyes.

“Because… its Pride…”

“Yes, you’ve been saying this the whole time.”

“We can go wash it all off, I’m sorry,” Elias said, crestfallen as he moved past him towards the bathrooms.

Montagne caught him around the chest with his arm just as the rest of the group returned, “Non, it's fine… its fine. Perfection is not needed.”

He saw Doc and Loon quickly fumble for their phones, thankfully behind Blitz’s back. Once they nodded, he guided Blitz back to in front of him. “These past few years I’ve known you, you’ve done nothing but make me happy. Your antics, your jokes, your dedication, your downright sweetness, even the way you tap your helmet during exercises. Even before we started seeing each other, your smile would light up my heart and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Gilles…”

Gilles sank to one knee, pulling out a shining wedding ring from his pocket.

“Will you marry me?”

Elias had clapped his hands over his mouth, unable to process this. Their group, except for the GIGN of course, were surprised and estatic. Valkyrie even exclaimed “So that’s what you French bastards were hiding.”

Blitz still hadn’t answered, his eyes shining.

“Elias?”

“Ja! Natürlich sage ich ja, du großer Dummkopf!”

“I assume that's a…”

Blitz very nearly bowled him over to give him his acceptance kiss. He lifted him up as he stood, Elias straddling his hips and swung them around, a dazzling display as the glitter caught the sunshine.

“I’m sorry I got irritated, I just wanted this to go a certain way,” he breathed when their lips parted.

“Schatz, you could have proposed to me covered in mud and sweat.”

“I know,” he said. “But I still wanted to make an effort. I wanted to do it right.”

“You did,” he said. “Look at you, covered in rainbows, just to make me happy, ja?

“Mmm,” he said as Elias lowered himself back to the ground.

Blitz understood now. Gilles was a traditional romantic after all, wanting the candlelit dinners and picnics at the parks on Sundays. He wanted that to extend to his proposal but Blitz was too excited to have silly fun to notice.

“Hey,” he said. Despite the heat they couldn’t stop embracing. “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too.”

“If you want,” he whispered. “We can still have your perfect proposal night.”

“Two proposals?”

“Ja, why not? I’ll still be excited.”

Gilles gave it a thought. “I’ll have to make things more romantic between us,” he murmured. “Just to throw you off so you don’t know when its coming.”

“Oooh,” Blitz said, draping his arms over Gilles’s shoulders. “I like the sound of that.”

They dazzled them with another sweeping, showstopping dipped kiss, because of course they did.

“I agree with Lion,” Finka laughed with a grin. “You two are disgusting.”

Blitz laughed into Gilles’s mouth, and flipped her off without looking away.

“Great, now those two set the standard for romantic proposals,” Maverick said.

“Does that mean we’re going to be competing now?” Castle said, perking up.

“I’ll win,” Valkyrie declared. “The rest of you might as well quit now..”

“Pfft, nah, man, if anyone’s winning that it's me.”

“You know, we French have romance in our blood,” Lion said. “I wouldn’t even have to try and I’d win.”

While they dissolved into bickering, the silent ones of their pairs all shared a look, realizing at once what their partners had implied.

Blitz and Monty still had yet to look up from their glitter makeout, oblivious to what they had just started.

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 15

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Read on Ao3

King Rhoam had to collect himself, letting out a huff of defeat, grappling with whom he should be most angry. The thought occurred to him that he was partially to blame. What if his stern treatment of Zelda had stunted her ability to unlock her power, or worse... had chased her into the arms of that man? He feared it was true, but he couldn't let it show. This was one of the worst possible outcomes coupled with one he never would have imagined. It was a lot to take in, but he felt - no knew - that as King his immediate concern was the Calamity. Finding a fitting punishment for that man would have to be considered later - if there was a later, which was unlikely without Zelda's fully realized power. But Rhoam knew if he had the chance he would be willing to break her heart one final time if it meant that man was dealt with appropriately. In time, she would move on and she would thank him someday.

Rhoam surveyed the Champion's shaken expressions. The wind silently sent the tall grass rippling, giving an unsettled atmosphere in the wake of what had been witnessed. Rhoam turned his back to them, focusing on the beast that was encircling Hyrule castle. There was a long pause before he spoke. "Champions, it is time to take to your Divine Beasts. Although we may lack the means to seal Ganon away, we must continue to defend Hyrule until the very end."

Impa took in the expressions of the Champions and spoke. "Wait, Your Majesty. If I may… Astor gave a warning regarding the Divine Beasts, and considering that Ganon has already taken control of the Guardians I think we should listen. We must be prepared for anything Ganon may throw at us."

Rhoam turned. "Are you seriously suggesting we listen to the ramblings of that insane man calling himself a prophet?"

"But, Your Majesty… What other choice do we have?"

"Not a chance! I'm not going to hearken to anything that man has to say. By the goddesses, he's going to need someone holier than Hylia when I find him!"

The Sheikah woman shifted uncomfortably but stood her ground. "But, Your Majesty..." This time, Rhoam could detect the tiniest hint of disapproval in her voice, perhaps even veiled disgust, a tone that believed he should be begging Zelda's forgiveness for humiliating her and treating that prophet with such disrespect since it was so painfully obvious Zelda cared about him for some reason Rhoam couldn't comprehend. "What about Princess Zelda? I'm worried for her."

"You think I'm not?" Rhoam said, irritated.

"We can't be so quick to give up on her, nor can we discount the effort she has put in. If we take extra precautions we can still use the Divine Beasts to locate her. I choose to remain optimistic and believe she will access her power very soon."

Rhoam was at a loss. Impa was too much like a friend to Zelda, not the advisor he had appointed her to be. He was baffled at how she did not at all seem angered by Zelda's shameful display and complete abandonment of her duty. Rhoam was about to rebuke the Sheikah woman when the four champions and Link gave a nod of agreement at Impa's words. The King stood silently as the group began to devise a plan to oppose the blights, should they appear.

oOo

Zelda opened her eyes and looked around, assessing the place Astor had taken them. It appeared to be an area of the Lost Woods she was unfamiliar with. Yet there was something distinctly different about this place from those dreary woods. There was an abundant amount of Silent Princess flowers everywhere, more than Zelda had ever seen in one place. She knew immediately that there was something otherworldly about this place.

"No one will bother us here," Astor said calmly. Zelda could tell he was growing more accustomed to her touch. He was not as eager to let go of her as he had before. The shoulder of his robe was damp from her tears. The prophet took notice but mercifully said nothing.

"Where are we? It looks a bit like the Lost Woods, but… It's just so beautiful." She looked up, seeing stars dimly giving their light through the canopy of the trees. Was it always night here? A beautiful, illusionary realm where time remained still?

Astor gave Zelda's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It's a place of respite I think. I found this place after I cut ties with the Yiga Clan. And I think for you, rest is well deserved."

Zelda dropped her gaze. "How can I rest when everyone is facing the Calamity, while I am here in relative comfort and safety? Already, Father has accused me of running from my duty… And he has no reason to think otherwise… At least from his perspective. I..I'm so ashamed. I can only hope that with your words, the Champions will be safe." Zelda said, tensely, still trying to recover.

"He's an ignorant old fool with neither the blood of the goddess or the gift of prophecy. As a prophet of the Calamity, Ganon impressed its fear of your power upon me, sending me visions of things to come, so I know you will awaken to your power soon. That is fate's true course that Ganon seeks to upend. And, I'm not unaware of how hard you've tried. I have watched your pains to unlock your power for some time now." And it was true. All those years he had watched with calm assurance that Calamity Ganon would rise and bring Hyrule to its knees, she trained by praying in freezing cold water until she collapsed and bore the brunt of her failure that only stung more as the years rolled by.

Zelda gave a small nod of acknowldgement, although she was too broken down to take much comfort in his words. She wanted so much to touch his face and tell him how much she loved him, but she held back, not wanting to feel any more vulnerable than she already did. She was afraid she might hurt him on account of the fresh bruise he had received. It was clear that her father had struck him. "I was so afraid of what Father might do to you. I'm so sorry for asking you to accompany me back to the Castle". H-he's a mean old man…" Zelda sniffed, breaking into a relieved but slightly tearful giggle.

Astor smirked slightly, finding Zelda adorable in her moment of catharsis. "You managed to abide that man for seventeen years? I see that you are stronger than I would have thought. And don't be sorry. There's nowhere else I need to be except by your side."

Zelda smiled a bit at his words. It was such a relief to see her smile again.

Astor continued. "I never thought it possible, but you were able to pull me back over the threshold and away from Calamity Ganon. No one has given me the amount of consideration you have."

Zelda's lovely green eyes lit up and Astor knew those dark days serving Calamity Ganon were finally over, and most surprising to him, he hadn't realized how awful those years had been until now. It was disorienting, like waking up from a distended dream. And he couldn't resist her any longer. No one had ever held to him or looked upon him in the way she did. He couldn't be the one to help her unlock her power, he knew that, but he wanted to at least pretend.

"How can I help you unlock your power…?" There was a sensual note in his voice, as he cupped her cheek, still damp with tears. Zelda's breath hitched in anticipation as he dipped his head to meet his lips to hers. She gave a small sigh of happiness, trapping his lips with hers, wishing she could savor the moment for all time. A single tear slid down her cheek, feeling a sense of release, drinking deeply of that kiss. She pulled down the hood of his robe, being careful to avoid the bruises on his hollow cheeks as her fingers grazed his pallid skin.

"Take all that you need from me," He breathed between kisses, taking her in the most intimate embrace before grabbing her under the ass and hoisting her up with some effort. Zelda gave a surprised but pleased sound.

"Exquisite..." Astor complimented, giving it a squeeze.

Zelda giggled and kissed him again, slowly, intensely, though she wobbled a bit, Astor struggling to support her weight. An intoxicating warmth spread throughout her whole being, her body yearning for his undeniably. But a dim feeling of sadness began to creep in as she wondered if they ever truly had a chance to be together that wasn't in secret. Would anyone ever accept them when there were so many reasons they would object? He would likely be put to death, and she'd have no say in the matter. Yet she couldn't stop herself from loving him.

If I can't realize my power, there might not be life after the Calamity, Zelda scolded herself.

Astor gave a pleased laugh. "Alright, Your Highness. You're breaking my arms." He set her down, with an apologetic look.

Zelda uttered an almost involuntary whimper of longing, reaching out for him again, her anxieties starting to overtake her again as doubts plagued her more than ever. "Lay down with me while I fall asleep?"

Astor gave her a stunned, blank expression for a moment.

"Hey, don't make this difficult." Zelda teased, pulling at the strings of his robe.

"Y-yes, Princess" Astor laughed as they kissed, carefully taking off his gold belt, the string of beads around his hips, and collar that hung over his shoulders. He helped her remove his robe, which was held together with hidden clamps. Astor draped the robe over her shoulders, and Zelda wrapped it around herself like a blanket, taking a moment to enjoy its softness and the warmness of it.

Zelda's gaze moved over him, admiring his silhouette. Under the robe, he wore a high-collared crimson shirt and a pair of black riding pants that did not appear ancient and worn like his robe.

They laid down together on the moss-covered ground. Astor slid his hand under the robe which was draped over her, sliding his hand over the curve of her hip where the folds of her pure white dress gathered. His name escaped her, softly. Zelda raised up slightly to lean on his chest and kissed him vehemently. Astor greedily wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing back with savage abandon.

Zelda drew away slowly, pushing his braided lock of hair away from his eye absentmindedly, noticing the fine lines under his eyes he hid under dark makeup. His dark brows tensed as he smiled a bit, giving her an affectionate but pensive gaze

Zelda sensed there was something he was keeping from her. Like there was something haunting him. Was something going to happen to him that he knew about? He was a prophet after all. She couldn't imagine the heavy emotional toll that came with glancing one's own future.

Zelda could barely keep her eyes open. It wasn't long before she fell asleep in his arms.

"Happy Birthday, Princess…" Astor had waited such a long time for this fated day, the day Ganon would rise. Yet, he was not spending it as he would have originally envisioned. He could barely comprehend that he was lying next to the Princess of Hyrule, helping to comfort her on her darkest day. And for the first time in his life, he understood what it was to love and be loved.

[wonjaekook]

Golden Sweet, Golden Sick

A/N: I want to make it very, very clear that I am in no way encouraging this kind of behavior or saying it’s okay, at all, ever. Like everything I write here, this is entirely a work of fiction and is not intended to portray the real personalities of any of the people involved. If someone does anything like this to you or you do this to anyone else in real life, please find help. That being said, this is a type of character that I’ve never written before and it was kind of interesting to write; this is very much meant to be a story-driven piece. Stay safe and enjoy :) (I also have a Jaemin fluff coming soon to make up for this!)

21 Tropes: 11. Yandere + gold w/Jaemin

Description: You would be his forever, one way or another.

Word Count: 14k

Genre: horror/thriller, fluff (kind of?), angst (kind of?), slight smut/suggestive (nothing super explicit in that realm, but there are multiple mentions/allusions)

Warnings: creepy behavior, blood, death, very descriptive violence (seriously, it gets bad), manipulation, drugging, swearing, alcohol, mild suggestive/sexual content and mentions, all around bad things

He doesn’t know when he started feeling this way about you. Na Jaemin has always been the perfect example of everything - athlete, student, boyfriend. Then, you came along and tore his world apart. The more time he spent with you, the more he thought about you until every other breath he took was solely for you. He knows it’s not normal. Yet… he doesn’t feel like there’s anything he can do about it now. It’s too big. It hurts and it feels so good at the same time. It’s a reason. A force propelling him towards something: you. He also knows he would treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Cared for. Protected. Loved. So, he listens as you talk to Heejin, straining his ears against the noise of the lunch room.

“You know that new exchange student from Germany, Liu Yangyang? I really like him.”

“Oh?” Your best friend gives you a knowing smile. “I didn’t know you were into foreign boys.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

Heejin laughs at your bashfulness. “Do you think he likes you back?”

“I don’t know,” you say, cheeks pink at the idea. “He’s really sweet and funny to me and…”

Heejin hooks an arm around your shoulder. “If he doesn’t like you back, he’s an idiot. Look at you! You’re perfect wife material.”

“Hold it right there,” you say, holding up your hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. “No one said anything about being anyone’s wife. We’re still in high school and it’s just a crush.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Are you going to ask him out?”

“Maybe on White Day? Is that too cheesy?” The thought of asking him out makes you nervous, but you can’t just expect him to come to you first. He might be too shy.

“Y/N, you’re too cute for this world.” As she affectionately pinches your cheek, the bell signaling the end of lunch rings, cueing all the students in the cafeteria to get up and rush to class. Your best friend starts backing away in the opposite direction than you’re headed. “See you after class!”

You’re blissfully unaware of Jaemin’s eyes following you.

About a week later, you’re gearing up for White Day in a few days when you get the news. You respond with a broken heart, thinking about how the chocolates you had prepared at home are now going to waste, after Heejin tells you what she heard from some of Yangyang’s friends. “He’s going back? To Germany?”

“Yeah… it’s a shame he has to go back home early. I wonder what happened.” She looks at you. “Hey! Maybe this is your chance. Even if you don’t think you can do long distance, you should tell him how you feel anyway.”

“I… okay!” Taking your best friend’s advice, you run outside to meet Yangyang after classes are over. The question of why he didn’t tell you he was leaving earlier in the class you had with him itches in your mind. You consider yourself to be friends at the very least - why hadn’t he told you? A moment after you think that, you spot him. When he sees you approach, you think you see him tense up. “Yangyang!”

“Y-Y/N…” He seems anxious, his eyes dart around and he’s shifting uncomfortably.

Brushing off his strange disposition, you jump straight to the point. “Yangyang, are you really going back to Germany?”

“Erm, yeah… family… I mean! Personal… stuff.” His eyes land on something behind you for a moment, remaining fixed there, before he looks down at the ground.

“Oh,” you pause, solidifying your decision that you have to tell him after hearing him confirm it himself. “I just wanted to tell you that… I like you. I’m sorry I don’t have any chocolate or anything to make it a proper confession, but-”

“It’s fine!” Yangyang’s words come out rushed and high-pitched. “I’m sorry, Y/N, I can’t accept your confession. I really have to go, sorry.” Your heart sinks at his words, a sad pout adorning your lips. With one last glance behind you, Yangyang practically bolts away, heading towards the student parking lot. Trying to follow where his eyes were, you glance behind you, but see nothing of interest. There’s no one there. With a heavy heart, you trudge back into the school. How had he gone from warm to cold with you in such a short amount of time?

The first thing you do is seek out your best friend. She looks excited to see you for a second before she notices you moping. “Did it go badly?”

You nod, dropping down to sit on the stairs next to her. “He rejected me. He was even acting weird! So closed-off and distant. It wasn’t like him. Am I that off-putting?” You try to pull out your phone, look at your appearance, but Heejin grabs it from you, putting it facedown on one of the steps.

“No! No way it’s you, it’s definitely him!” The indignant face she makes has you feeling a bit reassured. “He’s probably distracted by whatever it is that’s making him go home. You’ll find someone better anyways, I promise.”

You sigh, resting your chin on your hand. “It just sucks.”

“I know. But, hey, it’s okay. It would’ve been hard to have a relationship with an exchange student anyways.” Heejin pats you comfortingly on the pat, attempting to reassure you.

“I know, I just…” You sigh heavily again, blowing some hair out of your eyes.

Heejin glances at her phone and shifts uncomfortably. “Y/N, I’m sorry, but I really have to go…”

“That’s okay, your review session is important. I’ll be fine.” You scrub at your eyes, not caring about the redness you’re causing. You’re not crying yet, but you feel like you’re on the verge of doing so.

“Text me if you wanna hang out later?” Once you nod, Heejin bids you farewell and hurries away. With your best friend gone, you can’t help but feel a little more lonely.

At that moment, Jaemin is walking by, but he stops when he sees you with tears in your eyes. He knows instantly that his plan worked. Well, he knew that it worked when he saw your interaction with Yangyang, but the further proof is encouragement to him. The sadness on your face almost makes him regret what he did, but he knows he can make you happier than Yangyang ever would. If there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that. “Y/N,” he says, feigning confusion, “what’s wrong?”

You would say you’re acquaintances, kind of friends at best, with Jaemin - you’ve had a few classes together and hung out in groups before, but you’re not close. You’re a little hesitant to answer, but you figure he’s just asking out of courtesy. “Nothing,” you say, sniffling slightly, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N…” The tone with which he says your name is gentle and pleasant to your ears, almost relaxing. He closes the distance between the two of you, sitting down next to you on the stairs. “You can tell me. We’re friends, right?”

That makes you look up. Na Jaemin, one of the most popular, good-looking boys at your school, considers you a friend? Then again, he’s also renowned as one of the sweets guys in your grade, the type to take care of abandoned kittens he finds in cardboard boxes and walk grannies across the street. The smile he gives you tells you that he’s being sincere, so you can’t help but give him a tiny, sad smile back. “I just got rejected.”

His eyes widen. “Who would reject you?”

“Liu Yangyang. I confessed to him because he’s going back to Germany soon, but he doesn’t feel the same.” Saying it out loud, you realize how silly you sound being so upset about it. Like Heejin said, it really wouldn’t work out with him being so far away. “God, I’m so stupid. Sorry for bothering you with this, Jaemin. I probably look like an idiot right now.”

“You aren’t stupid! Anyone would be upset if they got rejected.” He doesn’t know who to be angry at for making you feel this way about yourself - himself or Yangyang. Your pain hurts him ten times as much it hurts you.

“Thanks, Jaemin,” you mumble.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” He contemplates for a moment and, before you can tell him that he doesn’t need to do anything else, he stands up. “That’s it! Let’s get ice cream.”

“Jaemin, you really don’t have to-”

“It’s my treat, come on!” He takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. Seeing that he’s not giving up, you reluctantly let him guide you. It’s a little colder outside than when you met Yangyang earlier given the season and time of day. You expect that he’ll just take you to the convenience store across the street from the school, but he keeps going, bringing you to an actual ice cream shop two blocks away. Every so often while you’re walking, he’ll glance behind him, like he’s making sure you’re still there, and smile at you. It feels nice to be acknowledged like that.

He relishes in how you let him take your hand and guide you down the street. He had let go after he helped you up because it would have been a little strange if he kept holding on to you when you’re not that close yet, but the warmth of your hand lingers on his fingertips.

The little bell on the door dings as he pushes it open, holding it for you. Walking in, you give a small bow to the man behind the counter. You’re about to order when Jaemin stops you with a hand on your forearm. “My treat, remember?”

After he asks you what you want, you watch him go up and order, smiling at the cashier, polite as his reputation says. Even in his school uniform, he looks exceedingly handsome. Jaemin returns to you a moment later, handing you your ice cream, and you thank him. You sit with him, eating your respective flavors, when you decide to prod him a little. “Jaemin, why are you going through all of this trouble just for me? I’m sure you’re busy.”

“I can’t just let my friend be sad. Plus, honestly, I’ve been wanting to get closer to you for a while now.” If you would have to place it, you would say Jaemin is acting shy. No way. Na Jaemin, shy about saying he wants to be better friends with you? If you were closer to him, you would call him cute for that.

None of what he said is a lie. It’s just not the full extent of the truth. He wants to be closer to you than anyone else. He wants you to only look at him. He blinks, looking away from you and trying to get the dark thoughts out of his head for now.

“Let’s hang out more, then,” you say, more cheery than you’ve looked since he’s met up with you. “We can be closer, if you want.”

You get Na Jaemin’s number that day after he happily agrees.

It’s not too long before you’ve forgotten almost entirely about Yangyang. Jaemin does a good job of getting your mind off of him, off of everything that’s preoccupying you, honestly. He’s almost a miracle cure, ready to talk whenever you need him, always kind, always charming. When he starts walking you to some of your classes, offering to carry your books like a character out of a movie, that’s when your heart finally melts for him.

As you get to know Jaemin, you also pinpoint what the unease you’ve been feeling for months is. It’s the feeling of eyes on you, at all hours of the day, when you’re in public, when you’re with family, when you’re with friends, when you’re alone. You’re not exactly sure when the feeling of someone watching you started. The ever-present pit of discomfort in your stomach. All you know is that Jaemin makes it better. With him, you feel safe.

He’s not sure when the longing started. The headaches. The constant need to be with you. All he knows is that only you make it better.

“Heejin, I like him so much, I don’t know what to do.” You clutch dramatically at your heart, pouting. “He’s just too perfect.”

Sadly, your best friend is more skeptical than you. “Yeah, that’s the problem. He’s too perfect and every girl falls for him.”

“He treats Y/N differently, though, you can see it,” your friend Renjun says from next to Heejin, looking up from his chemistry homework. “Believe me, I’ve known him for years. He only acts that way with girls he likes.”

“Injun, don’t give me hope.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m just telling you like it is. You know I’m not the type to sugarcoat.”

That’s true enough. Renjun is the one who started the group hangouts that you first spent time with Jaemin in and he has known him for much longer than you or Heejin. It’s also not in his personality to say things he doesn’t truly believe.

“Okay, that’s fair,” Heejin says, turning back to you. “Then, Y/N, if you were to go on the dream date with the dream boy, what would you even do?”

“If someone asks me out, I want our first date to be cute and simple. Let’s go take a walk in the park or something and get ice cream. Maybe give me a flower when he comes to get me. I dunno, maybe I’m being dumb,” you laugh, pushing your hair away from your face. The thought of going on a date with Jaemin- you mean, someone, has you feeling warm and blushy.

“There’s no use trying to be sly. When you say someone you mean Na Jaemin and you want ice cream because that’s where you had your first unofficial date,” Heejin says, smirking.

You stick out your tongue at her, scrunching up your face. “If you keep being weird about it, it won’t happen.”

To your surprise, despite Heejin’s continued weirdness about it, Jaemin approaches you the next day. Immediately after you greet him, he’s looking at you with those adorable doe eyes of his, making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. A simple, “Y/N, I like you a lot. Would you go on a date with me?” from him has your heart beating out of your chest and it takes all of your self control to not spin him in a circle and hug him right there.

Jaemin shows up to your first date that following Saturday with a single white and red carnation, which he tucks behind your ear when you meet him on the sidewalk.

If it’s possible, he’s even more perfect than what you imagined. He’s out of a dream - walking with you slowly, his hand brushing yours as you walk and talk, remembering your favorite flavor from the last time you got ice cream together. If you’ve never felt lovesick, you certainly feel it now. By the time the date is drawing to a close and Jaemin is walking you home, he’s politely asked if he can hold your hand, which you quickly obliged. You can’t help yourself from asking him about his decisions as you’re approaching your house.

“Jaemin, how’d you know?” His hand feels warm and comfortable in yours, your fingers interlaced. “Did Heejin tell you this is how I wanted a first date to be?”

He puts a perfect mask of surprise on his face. “Really? This is just how I thought the perfect first date should go and I thought you would like it, too.”

That, along with everything else, makes you feel like you’ve finally found the right guy. You feel safe with Jaemin, warm and secure, and the paranoid feeling of someone watching you isn’t present with him around. Maybe he’s your guardian angel. Maybe he’s your soulmate. Either way, you’re glad you found him.

He asks you to be his girlfriend after your second date, to which you eagerly agree. When you get home from that outing, your parents can see the change in your face and Heejin is the first to hear the news when you call her soon after. She mentions something about ‘if Na Jaemin ever hurts you’ but, in your joy, you insist that everything will be fine and peachy.

Two days later, when he meets you between classes at school, his hand instantly moves to interlace with yours as you walk, making your heart rate pick up and a light blush cover your cheeks. Each step seems almost lighter than the last and, when you would ordinarily shy away from the looks and whispers of your classmates as you pass by them, his warm gaze on you alone makes everything alright. When you reach your class, he stops, but doesn’t let go of your hand. There, in front of the prying eyes of your schoolmates, he leans down and kisses you for the first time. It’s soft, sweet, and very Jaemin, should you have to describe it. Your eyes, which you had instinctually shut when he moved closer, open after he pulls away and you find that he’s smiling brightly at you, a sort of happiness that you’ve never seen from anyone else before in his eyes.

“Have fun in class,” he says softly, as if he hadn’t just kissed you in front of everyone, before he walks off in the direction of his own class. You’re dizzy in the best way and practically glowing as you force your feet to move into the classroom and to your seat. Renjun, who you share the class with, looks up at you as you practically melt onto your desk and into your chair.

“Did Jaemin strike again?” He questions, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You nod, lifting your head to look at him. “He just kissed me in the hallway.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Get a room. Seriously.”

You’re too distracted by the fuzzy warmth in your chest to reply something snappy back.

Jaemin makes a habit of sneaking little kisses between classes or after lunch or whenever else he gets a chance and you can’t say you mind it at all. After a little while, the small pecks he places on your lips when he drops you off at home or in any other area more hidden from the gazes of others become more intense, more full. His hands, once respectfully staying at your hips or cupping your cheeks, tangle in your hair and edge ever so slightly under your shirt after you say that it’s okay. Even so, he’s always one step ahead of you, always patient, always asking permission, always backing off when you give even the slightest sign of being uncomfortable. It’s a tugging back and forth of how far you’ll go that lasts for months, leaving you with a lot to think about when you’re alone at night. In those times, in your distracted state, you forget about the blinds of your room being open, your body on full display for anyone who may be looking in. Not that anyone should be watching you. Not that you think anyone is.

Every time, you let him push the boundary a little further until, one day, you’re at his house with the intention to study together. That intention is quickly forgotten as he murmurs sweet words in your ear about how ‘you look so pretty today’ and ‘that shade of lipgloss looks so nice on you, I wonder what it tastes like?’

With unmatched eagerness, you welcome his touch, his lips on yours, the little sighs he lets out as he kisses you and pulls you onto his lap. Your energy fades into uncertainty and insecurity as his hands drift to the edge of your shorts and his lips travel to nip and kiss at your pulse. He feels the change, but simply holds you closer, his fast heartbeat seemingly pounding into your chest because of your close proximity. He feels your heartbeat as much as you can feel his.

“Jaemin,” you murmur, distracted, as he presses kisses to your neck, “I’m a virgin. I don’t know if…”

He’s heard enough of your conversations about the topic with your other friends and watched enough of your late-night sessions to know. He would be upset with how sloppy you are about exposing your body to the light when your blinds are open, but it allows him the best view he’s ever had, so he figures that he can’t complain much. Not that he could ever tell you.

Once that confession leaves your lips, he pretends to be surprised, stopping his actions, straightening up, and cupping your cheek with his hand while looking in your eyes. You look so pretty there, your cheeks pink with embarrassment, lips parted and lipgloss smeared slightly, hair slightly out of place from when he ran his hands through it. Above all, he loves the feeling of being able to read exactly what you’re thinking from your eyes and the way your body is positioned. If he could keep you here like this forever, he would. “That’s okay. If you want to stop, I’ll wait for you. I don’t want to pressure you.”

He doesn’t have to worry about pressuring you. You’re his, anyways. His and his alone.

The warmth in his eyes is comforting to you. His free hand still strokes your side just under your shirt, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. “I think… I want you to continue. Please.”

The slightest desperation in your voice sets him off. You want him. You need him. Your own desire for him brings him more pleasure than any amount of sex with someone else ever could. But he holds back the urge to just take you right then and there. “I’ll go slow, baby. Tell me to stop if you ever want me to.”

One day, maybe not soon, but eventually, he knows he’ll have you where you’ll never tell him to stop. You’ll want him just as much as he always wants you.

“I know we’ve never talked about it before, but I’ve been thinking. About the future, university, all of that.”

Jaemin’s words surprise you. Of course you had thought about bringing it up with him, but the past few months with him had passed so fast and so blissfully that the topic always slipped your mind with him. You hum in response, signaling him to continue.

“I want to go to Korea University.”

He had been listening to you gush about Korea University to your parents and other friends for months, so he’s nearly certain you would be happy when he says your own dream school is also his. However, your expression falls for a moment, throwing him off. Are you not happy he wants to go to the same school as you?

You pull yourself together quickly, forcing a smile onto your face. “That’s great, Jaemin! What makes you want to go there?”

You want to go there. “Well, their academics are great, and…” As he gives the speech he had rehearsed about the school, he watches the flickers of insecurity swim in your eyes, your smile a poor mask for how you really feel. “Where do you want to go?”

You clear your throat, your toe nudging the floor awkwardly. “I… I actually want to go to Korea University, too.”

He reaches for your hands, clasping them gently in his. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t know whether you should tell him or not, but you know by now that he won’t give up on getting the truth from you until you’ve spilled it. With a sigh, you try to find the words to explain how you feel. “I just don’t want it to seem like I’m just following you. I don’t wanna come off as some clingy girlfriend who only chose a university because her boyfriend wants to go there. I don’t know, does that make sense?”

Voicing your thoughts out loud, you suddenly feel stupid, like you’re making this out to be a bigger deal than it is.

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, all Jaemin feels is regret. He made you feel this way? How could he do that? It’s a sinking pit of disappointment and anger in himself that makes it hard for him to speak for a moment. But, he’s become far good at acting to show his internal frustration now. He squeezes your hands, making you look up at him. “Y/N, I promise you don’t sound like that at all.” I’m a fucking idiot. “It’s just a happy coincidence. You should go wherever you want to without caring where I’m going.” I can’t be without you. “You’re your own person. Nobody thinks you’re just following me.” I want to worship the ground you walk on.

“Really? I… thanks, Jaemin.” He lets his regret serve as a lesson for how to approach these kinds of things with you in the future. I’ll never let you get hurt again, not from me, not from anyone. Never again.

When you and Jaemin move in to Korea University in the fall, the way your excitement lights up your eyes makes him feel equally as giddy. Of course, he also has his own reasons. For the most part, any of the guys that even remotely present a threat to your relationship back off as soon as they see your hand in his. You make safe friends who do safe things. He can keep you even closer than before. For once, he feels secure. At least, for a little while.

There’s one guy. In your calculus class. Jaemin doesn’t like him. Not at all. He doesn’t like the way he looks at you or the way he trails you slightly after class. You’re clearly uncomfortable because of him, too. He’s overheard you tell him, ‘please leave me alone, I have a boyfriend.’ When he doesn’t back off, that’s justification enough. Jaemin only plans it out a little bit. The red haze that takes over his vision every time he sees that guy is the final push. That guy… he’s easy enough to follow. Easy enough to trap in a secluded place. To Jaemin’s surprise, he’s even easy enough to kill, too. There’s no blood. He doesn’t even struggle as much as he thought he would. If anything, it’s exhilarating.  His breaths come quickly and shakily through the mask covering his face as the last of the light leaves the other guy’s eyes. He would never, ever bother you again. Taking someone else’s life to protect you? It’s the highest form of protection. The highest form of love. That first kill… it feels almost as good as when you first told him you loved him. This way, he can show evidence of his devotion to you. Not that he can tell you. You’re too soft-hearted to know. But, now… now, you’re safe. That’s what he tells himself, as he walks home, as he throws the clothes he was wearing in the washing machine, as he lies in bed and sends you his typical goodnight text. You’re safe. He can keep you safe, from now until forever. He wouldn’t think his next greatest concern would be so close to him.

One breezy fall day, Jeno texts him. He hadn’t seen him in a while - they went to separate high schools and then separate universities. Jaemin can’t say his mind has entirely been on his friend when he has other, closer people to worry about. Two years ago, that would’ve been a different story. Now, when his entire mind is consumed with you? The stray thought Jeno appears in is always a result of seeing his name pop up as the sender of a text.

JN: hey!! your best friend is coming to korea u for a baseball game on saturday!

JM: oh shit, really?

JN: hell yeah dude

JN: do you have any plans on friday?

JM: i actually have a date with my girlfriend that night

JN: i promise i won’t take up your whole night then! do you have any time to squeeze me

in? lmao

JM: i suppose, you wanna meet y/n?

When you first meet Jeno, everything is fine. He’s so similar to yet very different from Jaemin and has a nice smile. Jaemin had told you a little about him before but never elaborated, so you’re excited to talk to him more. Jeno has a natural, soft sort of charm about him and you quickly become comfortable with each other, unaware of the look that your boyfriend is giving you.

He had thought everything would be fine. For a moment, it is. He introduces you to Jeno, all smiles and jokes, but doesn’t realize his mistake until afterwards. He doesn’t like the way you smile at Jeno. Your smiles should be only for him. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He hadn’t thought like that for a while, not since he got rid of the guy from your calculus class. But are thoughts like that all bad? He’s only looking out for your relationship. He’s only trying to keep you close to him.

It’s times like these he forgets about the adoring look you always have in your eyes for him, all the moments only he gets to witness, all the I love yous. All that’s left is the need to have your every expression, your every breath. No matter who stands in the way.

As the hour ticks on, he keeps coming back to that thought. Are you ignoring him? For Jeno? You wouldn’t even dream of cheating on him with his best friend, would you? No. His gaze turns to Jeno. He’s smiling that handsome, charming smile that makes even strangers on the street fall for him and Jaemin’s jaw clenches. How dare he look at you like that. How dare he.

Time passes far too quickly for you and Jeno and excruciatingly painfully slowly for Jaemin. Finally, finally, the hour is coming to a close and, when your boyfriend reminds you that you should leave soon, you step out to use the restroom. As soon as the door clicks shut, Jaemin turns to Jeno, grabs him by the collar, and slams him into the wall. With you gone, the ever-present pounding at Jaemin’s temples returns and his temper flares even more. Jeno groans, wincing as his head hits the concrete. “What the hell, Jaemin?”

“What the hell? What the hell is wrong with you?” His hand tightens around his collar. At that moment, when Jeno looks into his best friend’s eyes, all he sees is a profound emptiness. The Jaemin he knows is gone. Or was this Jaemin there the whole time? “Keep your eyes off of my girlfriend.”

“I don’t have my eyes on your girlfriend, you lunatic!” Jaemin’s knuckles press into Jeno’s collarbones. “You just introduced us!”

“I see you. I see the way you’re looking at her. Wanting to take her from me. Undressing her with your eyes. I thought I could trust you, but you’re like every other man. You’re-”

“You’re insane,” Jeno rasps, not fighting back for fear of hurting his friend. Even if he’s acting like this, he’s still Jaemin. Right? “What are you talking about? What happened to you? Jaem, I’m not trying to steal your girlfriend. You’ve known me for how long? You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Jaemin is practically shaking with rage, but Jeno’s words start to get to him. There’s clarity in his eyes for a moment, Jeno can see it. Right then, you open the door back into the room. You see Jaemin pinning Jeno to the wall and you frown, concern marring your beautiful face. Jaemin instantly relaxes. “Jaemin, what-”

He lets go of his friend and gives you a sweet smile. “It’s nothing.”

You glance at Jeno, who still looks shaken as he runs a hand through his hair and adjusts his shirt. “Jaemin-”

“We should go, right? The movie is in thirty minutes.” He reaches for your hand, taking it gently in his. When you keep looking at Jeno, who appears to be relatively untouched other than his slightly disheveled clothes and hair, your boyfriend’s eyes darken. You don’t see, but Jeno does. His blood cools, afraid of whatever is possessing his friend. The moment of clarity is gone. Jaemin’s face then morphs into a perfect mask that makes Jeno almost believe the encounter never happened. He tugs on your hand, getting your attention. “Come on, Y/N.”

“Alright…” You grab your bag, Jaemin’s hand never leaving yours. “It was nice finally meeting you, Jeno.”

“You… you, too.” The tone he’s using with you reminds you of an old memory, but you can’t quite place it. You let Jaemin pull you along and out the door. He starts up a new topic and you forget about the strange incident for a while. He’s always been too good at distracting you.

He’s in your dorm room that night, cuddling with you in your bed and holding you close with a hand on your hip and your head tucked in the crook of his neck. Mumbling into his chest, you reflect on your day. “It was really nice to finally meet Jeno.” He hums in response, hoping that’s all you’ll say about the topic. You continue. “Hm, I never got his Kakao. I-”

“Why do you need his Kakao?”

The way he interrupts you is uncharacteristic of him, so you shift in his arms, trying to look at him better. “What do you mean? He was fun to talk to. I could bug him and ask him questions about you.”

He relaxes at that. You’re too perfect - the definition of a loving, devoted girlfriend. The least he can do is give you that same devotion back by keeping you away from other temptations. Away from even Jeno, who he can’t trust anymore. Not after today. He sighs, his thumb running over your hip soothingly. “He’s garbage at responding to messages. You wouldn’t want to text him, anyways.”

“Mm, okay, whatever.” When you make a noise of contentment and lie back down in the same position as before, he knows everything is fine once again.

Jaemin lets himself get carried away far too often. He knows he does. But the way you make him feel - lighter than air, higher than the stars - is what causes it. He wouldn’t give that up for anything in the world. The sound of your clothing rustling and the little kisses you exchange with him in the library, in a secluded corner than hardly anyone goes to, sound so loud in the small space, but the feeling of being with each other is sweet enough for both of you to drop your guard for a little too long.

“Jaemin,” you half-whisper, half-giggle, “stop.”

His hand slides up your thigh slightly higher, the tickling sensation turning into something more warm and anticipatory. “Do you really want me to?”

You hide your mouth with your hand and mumble into it, your face growing hotter by the second. “Someone will see.”

“No one will see. Y/N…” His hand barely slips under the edge of your short skirt before you hear laughter from down the row of bookshelves. You and Jaemin both freeze, looking to the source. Three guys, one you recognize from one of your classes, are standing at the end of a nearby bookshelf. You had been so busy with Jaemin that you hadn’t noticed them approaching.

“Getting busy in the library, are we? Mind if we join?” You don’t catch the tightening of Jaemin’s jaw and the near murderous glint in his eyes. All you feel is your face heating up and embarrassment as you lift your boyfriend’s hand away from your thigh. After it leaves your skin, his hand curls into a fist.

“Yeah, we mind. Get lost.” Jaemin’s face displays irritation and a hint of a threat, but the guys just laugh.

“You’re telling us to get lost? We were just admiring you feeling up your pretty girl in the library.” A second guy speaks, his eyes raking over you, making you feel exposed.

Jaemin stands up suddenly, the chair squeaking backwards at the sudden movement and startling you. “You guys wanna die?”

“Jaemin, come on…” You reach up to grab his hand, tugging on it.

“What? I’m just complimenting your girl.”

“Bastard, keep your filthy eyes off of her or I’ll-”

“Jaemin,” you whisper, pleading with your eyes, “please.”

When he meets eyes with you, the tension in his shoulders loosens a bit and he sighs. “Fine. Let’s go.”

You laugh about the embarrassing incident with him later that night. A few hours later, his body count triples. The police report the accident as a drunken run-in with a group from the bad side of town. Jaemin watches you frown in concern when you see the news. The baseball bat he had used is shoved in a garbage bag under his bed.

The second year of university, he asks you if you want to move in with him. He had planted the seed of the idea in your head months before so that, when he finally asks, you eagerly say yes. You know your relationship with him is serious, more serious than the relationships any of your friends have, but you’re more than happy to take that step with him. Your parents love Jaemin, so you have no problem convincing them. In fact, as you move in, you have no problems at all. On the first day, you spend your time taking things out of boxes and dancing around the small apartment with your boyfriend, who takes every opportunity he can to pull you into hugs or plant kisses all over your face. Sunlight streams in through the windows that you have yet to put curtains on. After a break in the middle of the day to, well, break in the bed that the two of you will share, you finish setting up and step back, observing your new living space. Jaemin turns on some music, pulls you closer, and the two of you sway back and forth.

He can’t describe living with you as anything other than bliss. Where he can see you and hear you and feel you at so many hours of the day. Except, somehow, his head hurts even more when you’re gone. You… you’re the addiction he could never get rid of. He needs you. When you’re sad, he’s sad, when you’re happy, he’s happy.

You, on the other hand, walk a little faster past dark alleys, look around more than your friends do. It’s that feeling of eyes, still present whenever Jaemin is gone. You just want that feeling to go away.

When he comes home to the sound of you crying one night about a month into the semester, an unsettling feeling instinctually warps his emotions. His body instantly runs hot and cold and he sprints to where you are, seeing you curled up on your shared bed, sobs racking your body. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He tries to stay focused, but an all-consuming rage starts to fill him. Whoever made you cry is going to regret being born. He’ll punish them himself. You shake your head, continuing to sob, and he slowly unwraps your hands from around yourself, moving them until you’re clinging to him instead and he’s pulling you into his arms. “It’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay.” It takes you a few minutes more to calm down, your sobs slowly turning to sniffles and a few more silent tears. He strokes your hair, keeps your head cradled in the crook of his neck. “Tell me what happened, baby.”

You shake your head, mumbling out a response against his shirt. “It’s stupid…”

“You’re crying, it’s not stupid.” His voice is deadly serious, cold as stone, and you hug him tighter. He realizes how he sounds and softens his voice. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me…”

“Jaemin,” you say, your voice muffled, “you’re too good for me.”

His heart nearly stops. You’re in pain. You might leave him because you think he’s too good for you. You might leave him. “No,” he croaks out, his own emotions threatening to consume him, “I’m not. You’re the one who’s too good for me. Why would you ever think that?”

“This girl from my class… she said it and… it just got me thinking and… she’s right. You’re-”

Suddenly, Jaemin is kissing you. It’s not a new action, not in the slightest, but this kiss feels different somehow. He pulls away, leaving you breathless. “She’s wrong. Y/N, you’re perfect. You’re my entire world. If you think I’ll ever leave you,” you can’t leave me, “you’re wrong. You’re my sun, more precious than gold, and I’ll do anything for you. You’re my angel and without you, my world is dark. I would have nothing without you.” He finds his tongue loosened, spilling words that he wouldn’t normally admit, drunk on rage and desperation and the clawing fear that you’ll leave him. Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me. His hands tighten around you almost painfully. He kisses you again, a short press of his lips against yours, and lets out a shaky breath. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” You whisper against his lips, letting him kiss his love into you. With his words, your insecurity starts to melt away, leaving a different sort of nagging unease at the back of your mind. A bitter taste in the back of your throat that you can barely tell is there, but is sometimes strong enough that you can tell something is wrong and doesn’t go away even if you brush your teeth a thousand times. That sometimes comes and goes quickly as he starts to kiss you with a feverish need. You don’t know why, but something seems off about Jaemin.

A few hours later, he’s holding you, lying in bed with you. His hand cards through your hair, his eyes earnest and soft as he gazes at your now relaxed face. “Who was it? That said that to you.”

“Kim Yuna. From my biology class. You shouldn’t hate her, though. She’s probably just jealous that I have such a sweet, loving, handsome boyfriend.” He smiles at that, but his insides grow cold. Tomorrow night, maybe. That’s when he’ll punish her.

The next night, he slips a sleeping pill in your drink at dinner. A colorless, tasteless thing just so you won’t wake up when he leaves to do business that night. When you go to sleep, more drowsy than usual, Jaemin’s arm is around you, spooning you against his body, his own soft breaths landing on your exposed neck and his heartbeat not quite in sync with yours. You don’t feel as he untangles his body from yours after he’s sure your breathing has slowed enough for you to be asleep, you don’t see as he slips on a black hoodie, jeans, and gloves and steps outside, you don’t hear as Yuna screams when his blade sinks into her once for each tear she made you cry, you don’t realize what’s happening as he knocks out a homeless man that reeks of alcohol and presses the blade into his hand. All you know is the feeling of Jaemin wrapped around your body, embracing you loosely, the morning light coming through the curtains casting pretty shadows on his face, and the low, rumbly sound of his voice as he tells you “good morning” when the soft tracing of your fingertips on his cheekbones wakes him up.

On your third anniversary of being together, it seems like you and Jaemin have the same idea. You beat him to giving him his gift, presenting him with a gold colored ring, the outside carved with delicate vines and your anniversary date carved into the inside. You were afraid that it would be too much - you’re not even engaged yet, and you’re sure it’s a yet - but the way he hugs you and promises to wear it as much as he can validates your decision and you practically glow when you smile at him. Then, from the depths of one of his coat pockets where he was trying to keep it hidden from you, he pulls out a little box. Inside of the box is a beautiful, simple gold necklace. It has a tiny heart charm on it that, when you flip it over, has the hangul of Jaemin’s name carved into it.

“I always want to be close to your heart,” he says, a whispered confession in the space of your small apartment, “just like that.” After he secures the chain around your neck, you’re tugging him out the door, to the nearby ice cream shop that has replaced the one you used to go to back home and that both of you have grown to love.

It’s late by the time you get back and both of you have class tomorrow. You’re no longer shy about being naked in front of him, so, as you’re getting ready for bed, you don’t even ask him to leave the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches you change clothes, a smirk of satisfaction coming to his face. You’re his. The satisfying feeling that comes with you wearing the necklace with his name on it is the same contentment that comes with eating a good meal or waking up from a nice nap. He feels complete, whole, because you’ll always have a piece of him with you.

At least, it’s enough for a moment. Like with eating or sleeping, the feeling eventually fades and he’s left empty once again. He doesn’t even pretend he’s not watching you anymore. His eyebrows draw together, furrowing under the confusion he feels as he watches you reach behind your neck, attempting to unclasp the necklace. “What are you doing?”

“Hm? I’m getting ready for bed. What’s wrong?” You stop moving for a moment, giving him a look. There’s an expression on his face that you don’t recognize. His eyes are on your neck.

“You should keep it on.” He has enough control of himself that he can make it sound like a suggestion instead of the command he truly means it to be. There’s a crippling sort of fear inside of him at the thought of you taking off his gift. It’s not a feeling he can explain, but he’s certain something terrible will happen if you take it off. He doesn’t want you to take it off. You can’t take it off. The next word he lets out has a hint of his desperation leaking out. “Please.”

“Your necklace?” You muse, tracing the chain with your finger. “Jaem, I love you, but I’m trying to get ready for bed. I have to take it off.” You reach back again and he strides over to you quickly, his hands sealing over yours. His grip, normally warm and comforting, feels tight, choking now, his knuckles just barely pressing into your neck where his hands wrap around yours.

“Keep it on.” He insists again and you blink at him slowly. What’s wrong with him?

“Jaemin, I have to take it off. I don’t want to choke in my sleep,” you say, resisting the push of his hand against yours. His eyes are desperate, the chain on your neck straining slightly under the combined force of both of your hands as he fights against you.

“No. Don’t take it off.” The grip of his hands on yours suddenly becomes harsher, stronger, and you whimper, feeling the gold press marks into your skin.

“Jaemin, let go, that hurts!” Your back to your vanity, you can’t move away any further. When you look into his eyes, your stomach drops in fear. You had never seen him look this scary before, but at this moment, he is murderous, terrifying. This isn’t the sweet boy you had fallen in love with. Something is very, very wrong.

“Promise you won’t take it off. Promise!” The way he phrases it sounds almost childish, but you know there’s a threat behind the words. What would he do to you if you disobeyed him?

“Okay,” you say, voice barely a whisper, “I won’t take it off.”

His hand shakes as he unlatches it from the chain and cups your cheek. He’s normally warm, but not now. Now, he’s ice cold. “Promise me.” His eyes are full of passion, but somehow dull at the same time, as if he lost a part of himself and is trying to fill it in another way. He’s a void, empty and trying desperately to drag you in.

“I promise.” You force the words from your lips.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a lump catches in your throat as he reaches up to stroke your hair. You’re afraid of what you just agreed to. You don’t have the strength or will to pull away as he slowly presses his lips to yours. His lips, which had once been familiar, feel foreign now. His eyes still have that dullness to them when he pulls away. You used to think he had all the stars in the universe in his eyes, but now something has drawn all the light out of them. “I love you,” he says, those eyes burning deep into your own, sucking you in.

“I-” You don’t know anymore. “I love you, too, Jaemin.”

“You’re mine,” he says, pecking you on the lips again. “You’ll never leave me, right?” You shake your head, like you’re in a trance. “We’ll be together forever.”

“Forever.” You echo, your voice ringing hollow.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, fingers grazing your cheek before they fall to take your hand, “let’s go to bed.” You let him lead you to the bed, let him tuck you in next to him, let him pull you into his arms, let him whisper goodnight to you like he usually does. There’s something so off-puttingly normal about the way he moves now that has you unmoving in his arms, tense and unable to relax. His arms around are usually so comforting, but now… now, they feel like bars of a cell. Shackles. What happened to him?

Sometime, somehow, you slip into a fitful sleep.

He can’t sleep. Not until he feels you relax in his arms, finally drifting off. The room is too dark for him to see more than just the faint outline of your features, but he stares, eyes wide open now that you’ve drifted off. Slowly, carefully, as to not disturb you, he untangles his limbs from yours. He just wants to see.

Slowly, he makes his way to the window, opening the curtains quietly. Cool moonlight bleeds through the glass, casting long shadows around him and falling on your figure. The gold chain on your neck still glitters, even with just that little bit of light reflecting off of it. From his view at the window, he swears he can still read his name engraved on the necklace and he can’t help but smile at the thought that you would be his forever.

The way you look, comfortably asleep in his bed, face and body completely relaxed and at ease, stills the pounding of his head for just a moment. It’s only gotten worse recently. The only time it doesn’t hurt is when he’s with you, when he can see you and feel you and touch you. You’re both his poison and his antidote. There is no cure. Not that he would want one - he only wants you. It feels like it’s only ever been you.

He wasn’t always like this, but, now, it’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t need you as much as he needs air. It wasn’t until he met you that he realized how dangerous the world is, how greedy the eyes of men are. You’re a flower that he needs to protect from anything that could harm or sully you. He will take care of you, even if it means putting you in a glass case and killing anyone who gets near.

That’s right - you would look prettiest if you stayed in this room forever, he’s sure. But you wouldn’t have that. That’s okay. If everyone else is part of the outside world, he would be the glass protecting you.

What good is a bird if it’s not in a cage?

Satisfied at the glimmer of gold around your neck, he draws the curtains shut once again and returns to your side.

You wake up before Jaemin does. The morning light dances over his face, making him look as pretty and innocent as ever. What happened to him last night? Your mind flashes back to the cold, empty look he had in his eyes, and all you can do is shut your eyes and turn away, facing the opposite direction from him. One of his arms is slung over your abdomen, but it feels like it’s burning into your skin. It’s early enough that your alarm hasn’t rung yet, but you know it will soon. You’ll have to go about your day like everything is fine and normal. That thought has your stomach turning. Just as you’re about to get up and out of bed, your morning alarm goes off. Jaemin groans and his eyes flicker open as he turns slightly, pressing the button to turn off the beeping. He shifts so that both of his arms are around you, pulling you against his body.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says in that gravelly morning voice of his between the moist kisses he plants on your neck. When you stiffen in his touch, he frowns, pulling away slightly. “What’s wrong?”

You muster up the courage to speak to him. “Jaemin, we have to talk about last night. What happened to you?”

He appears confused when you say that, which confuses you in turn. “What are you talking about? After we got back from getting ice cream, you were so tired that you went straight to bed. You barely even said goodnight before you were out.” Your eyebrows furrow. It felt so real. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I…” Was that all it was? A really vivid dream? Now that you think about it, that makes sense - your Jaemin wouldn’t do something like that in reality. Lying in bed with you, he’s the Jaemin you’ve always known: his eyes soft and warm, his voice low and sweet, his arms gentle around you. “I guess so. Sorry, Jaem.”

His hand shifts under the covers so that it ghosts over your upper thigh. He looks at you with those pleading puppy eyes, his tongue not-so-subtly darting out to wet his lips. “I could make you feel better, if you want.”

You swallow hard, body already anticipating him. His distracting abilities are phenomenal and you really need that from him right now. You know his diversion would get rid of that last little bit of doubt in your mind and you always give yourself enough time before class to be ‘distracted’ by him, after all. Your golden necklace shines in the little bit of sunlight coming through the curtains as you move to get closer to him. “Shower first?”

“I prefer breakfast first.”

When you’re finally properly getting ready about thirty minutes later, you glance down after washing your face. On the palm of your hand is a trail of bruises shaped like the chains of your new necklace.

He made a mistake. That much he knows. The way you pull away from his touch, the lingering fear in your eyes, they hurt him more than anything. But, you kept the necklace on. Maybe he feels guilty, or like he’s slipping up. Maybe that’s why he agrees to go to your friend’s party with you a few weeks later. Prior to then, he always distracted you with dates and sex and anything else he could to keep you from going out to things like that but, now, maybe it’ll be okay. That’s what he convinces himself of for a few days.

Now, seeing you in the tight black dress that you had gotten for the occasion, anxiety about the event creeps up on him. His eyes rake over your figure and all he can think about is the attention you’ll get from other men, the lustful stares, the wandering hands. You can’t go out like that. That thought finally prompts him to speak. “Y/N, you shouldn’t wear that.”

“Why not? I think it looks good on me.” You twirl, as if your dress isn’t so tight that it’s incapable of flaring out. You try to be playful with him, hoping that what he said was a joke. When you came out, all dolled up for the party, you had expected a ‘wow’ or ‘isn’t my girlfriend so sexy?’ Anything but what had actually come out of his mouth.

“That’s not the point.” He grits his teeth, doubling down. Though the way the piece of fabric hugs your every curve is a welcome sight to him, his possessive side wins out - like it always does. After that slip-up with the necklace, he knows he should be trying harder to repress it so that you don’t notice, but he can’t help it. Not then, not now.

You stop moving, staring at him with a quirked eyebrow and a hand on your hip. He’s really serious? “The point of a party is to have fun and look good, is it not? Come on, Jaem. If you’re allowed to look good, so am I.”

“You look good in everything, “ he says, pushing his tongue to the inside of his cheek in frustration as he eyes you up and down once more, “you just shouldn’t wear… that.”

You press your lips together in a tight line. Your next words are a dare you hope he doesn’t take you up on. “And what do you mean by that, Na Jaemin?”

He grits his teeth again. You’re really not getting the message? “I don’t want you going out looking like a whore.”

Your eyes widen and he immediately knows he’s made another mistake. Before he can even attempt to apologize, you’re throwing on the black heels you bought to match your dress and hissing out a response. “Well, you can just stay home while your girlfriend of three years acts like a “whore” with her friends, then.” You raise your fingers to make air quotes around the offending word. The golden necklace with his name on it glimmers around your neck as you turn, grab your bag, and storm out the door.

Instantly, his head starts pounding and it feels like his heart has been filled with molten lava. “Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, “fuck.” By the time he catches his breath and has the thought that he should catch you, apologize, do anything to stop you from going out, he knows you’re long gone, in your friend’s car who was coming to pick you up. He can’t make you come back. But, he can…

The jeans, loose button up, and baseball cap are a good enough disguise. You gave him the name of the club that party is at a few days ago, so it’s easy enough for him to make his way there and slip inside through a back door. Sit in a booth near you with a little divider that blocks his face unless you’re purposefully looking through it but doesn’t block the sound of your voice. Spare a glance at you before he sits down, where you’re so beautiful that you glow even under the dim lights of the club. At times, your voice is low enough that he can’t hear it over the throbbing bass filling the venue, but he hears enough. He can tell that when your friends ask what’s wrong, you’re trying to perk up and act like everything is okay, but it’s not. He upset you. But he can deal with that later. Right now, what matters is that you’re safe.

He hears as your friends get up to dance, but you say you want to finish your drink first and you’ll join them soon. The thought of you dancing with a stranger makes him swallow hard and clench his fists, the skin over his knuckles turning bone white, but he doesn’t have enough time to be angry about that before someone, recently emerging from the dance floor, sidles up to you. From his stagger and how his voice is far too loud, even for the club, Jaemin can tell he’s drunk. Whether he knows it or not, this man is choosing his fate by what he says next.

“Baby,” he drawls, making Jaemin want to gag and punch him at the same time, “why don’t you come dance? Give me some company.”

“I have all the company I want here,” you say back, your voice louder than normal but still more even and quiet than the stranger’s. You idly swirl the remainder of your fruity drink in its glass with sluggish circles of your wrist.

“Come on, have some fun. Have some fun now and we can have some fun later.” Jaemin’s breathing starts to come out unevenly, the edges of his vision turning red.

“I have a boyfriend. Please, leave me alone.” That makes the red go away for a moment and a swell of pride take its place. His beautiful, loyal girlfriend. That feeling goes away as the stranger speaks again.

“Bitches get boyfriends and start pretending they’re too good to have a little fun? Your dress screams that you’re begging for some dick. I could fuck you better than any-” With each word that comes out of that vile pig’s mouth, Jaemin’s nails press tighter into the skin of his palm, nearly drawing blood.

“I don’t appreciate you talking to my friend like that!”

He lets his shoulders sag as your friends approach from the dance floor, driving off the stranger. He leaves with a few more curses while Jaemin makes careful note of his face. His eyes lock on the table as he thinks about everything he could do to him for daring to even look at you. For a moment, it’s almost like he can already taste the blood. Then, just before he’s about to get up and tail the guy, he hears your soft sniffling and the consoling words of your friends.

“Y/N, it’s okay, he’s gone now! We can enjoy the rest of the night.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, quietly enough that he has to strain his ears, “I just started off the night really bad. Jaemin was supposed to come with me and I just totally stormed off without him and…” He can tell from your babbling that the alcohol is getting to you. “I want to go home. Knowing Jaemin, he’s probably beating himself up over this right now and I just don’t think I’m in the mood to be out right now. Sorry for ruining your party, Gowon.”

“It’s okay! You didn’t ruin anything. Go get your boy.” She cheers you on, much to Jaemin’s delight. You’ve always been soft-hearted enough that even when he said something unforgivable to you, you still want to go home to him. You’re wrapped around his finger even tighter than he thought you were. He can smile at that.

As you’re on your phone, arranging a pick up, he slips back out. No matter how much he wants to follow that guy, to punish him for what he said to you, it’s more important that he meet you now. When he gets back, he does his best to change, throwing the clothes that now stink of the club into his laundry basket, changing into something more casual, and spraying on an extra coat of the cologne he was already wearing, your favorite scent on him, just to mask the smell more. He hopes it’s enough that your tipsy self won’t notice. Not a moment later, you’re clumsily unlocking the door and walking in, shutting the door heavily behind you. He rises to meet you, emerging from the bedroom to see you throwing your heels to the side.

When he sees the tears in your eyes, he approaches you with a quiet call of your name. “Y/N? What happened?”.

“Jaemin, I’m sorry for walking out on you like that,” you sniffle, peering up at him with teary eyes, “I know you just care about me. You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone out wearing this. A guy tried to get me to go home with him and he told me he thought I wanted some dick because of my dress. I’m sorry.”

Another step forward, then closing the gap and working to dry the tears smearing your makeup. “No, baby, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have called you that. If I went to the party with you, that guy wouldn’t have even dared to approach. I know I hurt you, I’m sorry.” He pecks you on the lips several times and you wrap your arms around him in return, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. He hadn’t been drinking, but the sweetness of your lips drives him wild, making him feel dizzy and drunk. He mumbles against your lips. “Let me make it up to you.”

Later, when your body is still under the sheets, the gold chain still comfortably resting around your neck and your makeup sloppily wiped off in the few minutes you managed to stay awake after he was finished ‘making it up to you,’ he lies awake, watching your quiet breathing like he always does in times like these. If he stops looking at your face, he’s afraid the regret of not following the man who had harassed you would consume him, make his headache rise again, make him drag himself out of bed to go track him down, no matter how difficult of a task it is. Even when he pulls you closer and tries to sleep, all he can think about is him. His last thought before he drifts off himself is that he’ll find him. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon.

Jaemin isn’t sure whether to call it lucky or unlucky when he’s out on a picnic date with you, enjoying the setting sun in the park, and he sees the guy from the club. The man doesn’t seem to recognize the growing anger on his face, instead sauntering over to you and allowing Jaemin time to compose himself slightly.

“I’m sure you remember me from the club the other day, sweetheart.” Jaemin’s jaw clenches. How dare he speak to you? How dare he?

Your eyes also narrow, irritation clear on your face. “I thought I asked you to leave me alone.”

“And miss the chance to look at your pretty face?” His gaze then shifts over and he eyes Jaemin. “So, this is the cuck who lets his girlfriend go out dressed like a slut?”

“You’re the asshole who tries to hit on other guys’ girlfriends?” Jaemin fires back.

“Yeah, and I could’ve been successful if her friends hadn’t interfered.”

“You think you could piece of shit like you could ever get a girl like mine?”

“I could get a common whore like her any day.”

That comment is what has him leaping out of his seat and grabbing the man’s collar. His fist connects with the man’s face once, twice, three times, and he’s on the ground, kneeling over him and slamming his fists into whatever he can hit - eyes, nose, jaw - over and over again. He’s no match for your boyfriend and, for a moment, all you can do is watch. Watch as Jaemin effortlessly holds down this man and hits him, blood covering his fist from where the other man’s nose is now clearly broken. Luckily, the area is pretty abandoned, so no one is there to witness the incident, but you’re still yelling, grabbing onto Jaemin’s shoulders and shrieking at him to get off of the man. Jaemin’s fists slow and you pull him off the other guy, who crawls backwards, spitting blood.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?!” His face is all shades of red and purple, blood smearing across his nose and mouth when he wipes at it. “You’re fucking insane!”

“Yeah?” Jaemin says, his voice eerily even. He’s not even breathing hard. It’s like all he had done was stand up. Subconsciously, your nails dig into his arm and you can feel his quickened heart rate.“Maybe I am.”

“You fucked with the wrong guy, kid. You’ll regret this, you’ll really regret this.” The man’s voice shakes - he clearly is having the same realizations about Jaemin that you are. Still, he spits out threats as he shakily rises to his feet and stumbles away.

He disappears from view, but Jaemin’s eyes continue to blankly stare in that direction. All you can do is look at him. Never, not once, have you seen him physically hurt anyone. He never gets into fights, never hits people, never even looks at anyone the wrong way. But that - whatever just happened - was so easy for him. What happened to him?

You find that’s not the first time you’re asking yourself that question.

He seems to snap out of his thoughts a moment later, turning to see you staring at him, a wide-eyed, scared expression on your face. “Let’s go home,” is all he says before he’s stiffly packing up the things you had brought with you. When he extends his hand for you to take, you grab onto it out of habit and see some of the warmth return to his eyes. He’s smiling at you gently, tugging you along the path back home. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” After you nod, your words come out as more of a murmur, as if you’re afraid to ask him. Because you’re afraid to ask him.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling a beat later, “my fists hurt, though.”

“Why did you do that?”

He looks away from you, focusing on the sidewalk ahead of him. “I just lost it for a second because of what he said to you. He… he had no right.” His thumb runs over your knuckles, a motion that would normally be soothing. Now, you’re not sure how to feel.

“Jaemin, where did you learn to fight?” How did he learn to do it so well?

“I did taekwondo for a while as a kid, then Jeno and I took some kickboxing classes together in high school.” At that, you relax. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. It makes sense, more sense than anything else in the last few minutes has. You cling to that answer, forcing down the rising concern in your mind, shoving that feeling into a dark corner of your thoughts and hoping you never have to see it again.

You just want things to be okay. Maybe that’s ignorant and selfish, but you don’t want to think about Jaemin any differently than you did not even an hour ago. You don’t know what you would do if things weren’t okay.

When you get home, he lets you clean up his knuckles and wrap them in bandages. They had split and started bleeding a bit when he was punching the other man, though you try not to dwell on that. The man got up and walked away and, though he didn’t look too pretty, he’ll live.

Why are you afraid that he might not?

Shaking the thought off, you raise his hands up, pressing a kiss to the bandages on each of his hands. When you look up at him, he’s gazing down at you, his eyes soft and warm. That’s the Jaemin you know, you tell yourself. “No more fighting, okay?” You whisper, keeping eye contact with him.

He leans forward, quickly capturing your lips in a kiss. Something about the kiss reminds you of the first time he had kissed you in the hallway three years ago, where the only thoughts you had about him were honey sweet and full of wonder. “As you wish,” he mumbles against your lips before going back in to kiss you again.

When you’re sleeping later that night, his arms are around you as usual. Once again, his thoughts are consumed with that man. He’s not scared of him. No, why would he be? He’s scared for you. As long as that piece of filth lives, he can come after you. He can keep hurting you so long as he still draws breath. He had already drawn his blood - he just needs to go a little further next time. Keep hitting him until the light leaves his eyes. He can try to understand what he did wrong in his grave. Taking a shaky breath, Jaemin tries to ignore the phantom taste of blood in his mouth, the feeling of the hot, irony liquid coating his hands that isn’t there, not yet. I need to kill him.

“Doll, do you want to go out tonight? I want to make up for ruining Gowon’s party for you.”

It’s a few days later, the next weekend, when he speaks up. You look from your laptop, where you had been idly checking emails and doing a little bit of schoolwork. “The club? You didn’t ruin anything, Jaems.”

He rolls over so that he’s next to you in the bed, his arms circling around your waist. “I know I did, Y/N. You don’t have to deny it.”

Your hand idly goes to his hair, threading through the silken strands. “I would be okay with doing some drinking and dancing with you. But only if you want to!” You recognize that his offer is somewhat strange, not something he would usually bring up himself, but you imagine it would be fun to go to the club with him.

“Wear something pretty tonight,” he says, winking at you slyly before he rolls away, getting off of the bed. “I’m gonna go shower.”

This time, you don’t pull out that same tight black stress, opting for something a little less showy, something you’re sure your boyfriend will be happy with. Your heels are a little more modest, your makeup a little more simple. When it’s late enough and you’re both ready, you do a little twirl for Jaemin, who whistles in appreciation. “My pretty girlfriend,” he says, reaching for your hand so he can spin you, “are you ready?” You nod.

He knows he is.

It’s a different experience, arriving through the front and not the back, but he welcomes it. All it takes is a single sweep over the club for him to find the man from before, his face still swollen with bruises and some sort of strong alcohol in his hand. Good.

You greet the three friends who you invited out as well. Jaemin had told you to get others to come, that it would be more fun. You sip on a fruit drink, one with less alcohol than last time, and his hand rests idly on your thigh, his fingertips playing with the lace edge of your dress. He smiles at your giggling comments, feigns listening to your friends as they talk, makes all the right moves. Finally, the man from before stumbles out the back door, alone. Jaemin excuses himself from your group, saying something about the bathroom.

The man is outside smoking when Jaemin catches up to him. “Hey,” Jaemin says, catching his attention, “I wanted to talk to you.”

It takes a moment for the man to recognize him. When he finally does, he throws his cigarette down, clumsily putting it out with his boot. “You… I told you that you’d regret what you did. C’mere.”

“Let’s talk somewhere more private, yeah?” The man scowls before following him. They enter a side alley, somewhere quieter, away from all prying eyes.

“Don’t want anyone to see you get the life beaten out of you, kid?” The man drawls, stumbling slightly in his drunkenness. He raises his fists. “Hope you said goodbye to your girlfriend.”

He throws the first punch. Sloppy as expected, easy enough to sidestep. Jaemin’s leg sweeps out, knocking one of his feet out from under him. He falls to the ground, smashing his head into the broken concrete of the dilapidated alley. Not one to give up, the man gets up after a moment, attempting to hit him again. Another easy dodge and Jaemin is using the momentum to slam his palm into the man’s head, sending his head into the brick wall of the alley with a sickening crack. A spot of blood is barely visible on the bricks in the dark. He crouches down next to the man, who is breathing hard, trying to get up but unable to because of the spinning of his head. For a moment, Jaemin just watches him attempt to get up, slumping back down over and over again. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t breath any harder. In fact, he hardly does anything at all. He just watches.

Slowly, he begins to speak. “Do you understand now?”

The man gurgles out something that resembles a curse and Jaemin reacts lightning fast, lifting the man’s head up before slamming it into the ground again. Another cracking sound, more blood.

“Do you? Do you know what you did?”

All that comes out is a groan this time. The bloody mess of a man reaches out and Jaemin’s shoe lands on his fingers, crushing them. The man barely has enough strength to cry out.

“No,” he says, putting more pressure on his fingers, “you don’t. And you never will.”

He lifts the man’s head and, with both hands, smashes it down again. And again. And again. A pool begins to form under his head. Jaemin’s hands are coated with blood now, he knows it. He can feel the liquid splattering onto the sleeves of his loose black dress shirt. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

It’s all for you. Always for you.

Jaemin has been gone for too long. When you wonder aloud about his whereabouts, one of your friends mentions that they saw him go out the back door. Confused, you get up, saying you’re going to go check on him. Behind the club, there’s litter, scattered bottles of alcohol, and cigarette butts, one of which is still smoking slightly. You frown, making a quiet noise of disgust. People are really that careless? From farther away, you hear a cracking noise, like the sound of someone breaking open a watermelon on the first day of summer. Some sort of sick intuition has you following the source of the noise, leading you to the opening of a side alley.

It takes a moment for you to process what you’re seeing, but when it sinks in, your gasp gives you away. Jaemin’s head turns towards you fast, too fast, before he relaxes when he sees it’s you.

“Y/N,” he says, “you weren’t supposed to see this.” He speaks like he was just hiding Christmas presents and you had caught him, or like he was stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Not… not this. The way he rises to his feet is stiff, like he had just woken up from years of sleeping.

It’s the same for you. You’re finally awake. Years of blindness, of willful ignorance. Now, you can finally see.

You can’t speak. There’s blood over everything and you know it isn’t his. “Baby,” he says, using that same sickly sweet tone of voice, “what’s wrong?”

Something about his question finally makes it so you can breathe again and your shallow, panicked breaths make the easy expression drop from his face. “Y/N…” He reaches out and you step back, so he stops, looking down at his hands with a dead, appraising expression. The attempt he makes at cleaning off the blood covering his hands just smears it further on his pristine skin and wipes some onto his pants. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean to get so messy.”

“Jae…” You can’t even bring yourself to finish his name. You want to run, but your legs won’t let you. You take a step back, but stumble, nearly falling down. He catches you and your skin crawls as you feel the blood on his hands transfer onto yours.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, too calm, too cold, too detached, “he won’t hurt you anymore.”

What is he saying?

“I dont… I don’t understand… why…?” You can’t keep your eyes off of the body slumped in the alley.

“Stop looking at him.” Jaemin’s grip on you is crushing, even more so than the night he had prevented you from taking your necklace off. A night that now clicks back into your brain as you realize that this is the real him. He had lied to you about it being a dream. What else had he lied about? Whoever the man in front of you is, you don’t know him. This can’t be him. But it is. You can’t deny it anymore. You shut your eyes at the pain and he lets up. You slowly open your eyes to meet his. When you look at him, he raises a hand to cup your cheek. “I promised I would protect you. I love you, Y/N. More than anything in the world.”

“You killed him,” you breathe out, unable to look away from the void of Jaemin’s eyes now, “you killed him.”

“He deserved to die.” The words come out as a growl. It’s beyond Jaemin’s imagination how you can possibly be sympathizing with this man. “After what he said to you? What he wanted to do to you?”

“He’s still a person!” You shriek, trying to jerk away from him. His grip tightens.

“No man,” he says, “no one like him is a person to me.”

The image you have of your boyfriend, who you’ve been with for three years and known for four, morphs in your mind. Where he had once been so pure, a golden ray of sunlight that you wanted to dwell in forever, you realize now that the shadows he’s casting are darker and longer than any of the light he’s given you. You’ve been in denial for far too long. Jaemin is a monster.

With all of the strength you can muster, you fight against him. Trying to pull away, get away, run from this person that you no longer know, that you’re not sure you ever knew. You take a step away and his arms are around you, embracing you in a crushing motion that makes it feel like you can hardly breathe.

“Don’t run. You can’t run.” He says, pulling you more firmly against him, his grip impossibly strong, impossibly tight. Against your will, you start to sob.

The shackles he placed on you years ago were made of gold, but shackles nonetheless. Maybe some part of him really does love you. But, a larger part of him is sick. Too sick for you to fix and too sick for you to escape. It’s a familiar scene, you, wrapped in his arms, your tears sliding into his shirt. His arms are a prison and, all this time, you’ve never had any hope of escape at all.

“Shh,” he cooes, stroking a blood-covered hand over your hair and tucking your head against his chest, “it’s okay. Everything will be okay. I’ll keep you safe. From everyone.

“Forever.”

[lotusthekat]

Equivalent Exchange

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Rating: T

Relationships: Alphonse & Edward

Characters: Alphonse Elric, original minor characters, Edward Elric

Summary: Alphonse realizes he's no longer immortal in the most painful way.

*Slightly canon divergent as in that Ed keeps his automail

Word count: 1.649

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: I had this idea at literally 5 AM last night lmao. Basically I love Alphonse with my whole heart, and tbh I’m pretty sure he’d develop a huge guilt/hero complex after everything he went through.

I’m still new to this fandom, though, so I apologize if anyone is OOC. Hope you enjoy it!

(There might be some medical inaccuracies here though.)

TRIGGER WARNINGS - minor violence, major character injury, blood, near death experience, swearing and implied child abuse

Please do NOT ship the Elric brothers.

--

Alphonse can barely register anything at this point.

He’s running after the man pulling a little girl with him. Al’s legs move in spite of the unbearable, bleeding pain in his abdomen. The boy pushes past people who are barely interested in what’s happening.

Al screams after the man. The little girl is crying and trying to escape, but the man refuses to let her go. Al runs, but his body won’t resist for too long; he knows it, but he doesn’t stop.

His head is dizzy and heavy, and everything around him darkens. Al yells again, only it’s weakened. His legs don’t cooperate with him any longer and he almost trips, if not for the wall beside him. Al is panting, as sweat drops roll down his head. The man and the little girl are almost disappearing from his vision.

No, don’t stop! Go after them, you idiot!

His willpower isn’t enough to force his body to move. Al is soon on the ground, blood dripping on the pale sidewalk. People are whispering around him. They don’t approach.

All the boy hears, though, is the weight of his failure.

It’s what eventually makes him collapse.

--

The headache from the blazing light forces his eyes to open.

Then Al is, once again, in a hospital room. Except it’s a lot smaller, considering he’s not in the Central anymore. It might be the closest first aid post in his hometown, if he’s not mistaken.

The doctor speaks to him, explaining Al was stabbed, but that it’s not a huge cause of concern. He hasn’t lost too much blood, though it might hurt every now and then, so Al only needs to rest and not move a lot – specifically not run while with a stab wound, he lightly scolds.

Since Al is quite well-known from his time as an alchemist with Ed, the doctor doesn’t ask him who he is and tells him that they called his brother just now. Ed should be arriving soon.

Al nods again. He doesn’t say anything at all.

The doctor leaves him be, the room as quiet as the patient inside. Al’s hand reaches his bandaged stomach, lightly touching the cloth. Al doesn’t mind the pain from the wound. Not as much as the little girl’s horrified look is ingrained in his brain.

Al recalls what happened. He was doing groceries on his own – aside from wanting to take a walk in town, to breathe the air and feel the soft breeze. He would then go back home and have lunch with his brother and Granny Pinako, while Winry is back in Rush Valley. Al has been walking well as of late, so Ed wasn’t too insistent to come along.

It wasn’t supposed to go this wrong.

On the way, Al heard a little girl crying in an alley. She was so scared, and he tried to talk to her. Like that, the punch right to his face was really far from expected.

As it turned out, it was a middle-aged man that had assaulted him, and he grabbed the little girl’s arm with force. She was crying louder. He’s not sure now if he was her father, but it was still definitely infuriating.

Despite the pain, Al demanded he left her alone – and it only enraged the man more when he saw his face. Apparently, he’d once been under the military, and King Bradley’s fall disbanded many soldiers and officers. He also knew who Al was, so he despised him for “meddling in things that were none of his business”.

Al is no stranger to a fight, obviously. The problem is, he’s not a suit of armor anymore. That shouldn’t be a problem, of course, because he’s glad to be human again.

But being a human doesn’t absolve him of the hard and heartless punches he got, nor did it defend him from a stab right through his stomach. And worse, it was far from helpful to save the little girl.

And then Al was running after them, screaming, struggling to reach out to the small girl. He knew she was in danger, and he couldn’t let the man get away with her.

But Al is no longer immortal. He has no infinite stamina, and his body cannot take the same blows he did in the past. So, the stab wound was enough to knock him down. He couldn’t do anything to save her.

All he could do now, is to be stuck here hearing her cry from afar.

Al’s hands clutch the hospital clothes, inhaling and shutting his eyes fiercely.

…

Though, not going to lie, the loud running steps and a door opening wide do alarm him. But he’s quick to realize that his brother has arrived.

“Al!” Ed yells, rushing to his bed. “Al, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, brother,” Al replies numbly. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. The doctor said I just need to rest for a while before I can go home.”

Ed exhales. “Holy shit, Al,” he curses under his breath, clutching one of his blond bangs with his hand. “Care to tell me what the hell happened?”

Al doesn’t face him. He doesn’t think he can.

“Al,” Ed insists, clearly impatient, “they told me you ran after the guy while you were losing blood. Do you have any idea how reckless that was?!”

“As if you can tell me off for being reckless,” Al mumbles.

Obviously, it annoys Ed even more. “This is different, Alphonse! You’re not immortal anymore! You’re not invincible and you could actually die with no going back!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Al raises his voice.

“Then WHY did you do it?!”

Al has had it. “Because I needed to save the little girl, Ed!”

Ed is thrown off by the sincere, frustrated statement. “Little girl?” He asks, not sounding as angry as before.

“The man, he”— Al swallows a lump —“he had this little girl with him… I found her in an alley, and she was terrified. I wanted to help her but then he hit me. And when he realized who I was, he punched me and stabbed me; and then he ran away with her.”

The girl’s face is in his memory, her eyes wide, hurt, scared. His arms shake.

“All I could think, was that I had to save her,” Al explains. “I-I had to, Ed. B-But I couldn’t protect her. I collapsed and he got away.”

His brother’s presence is no longer loud. Ed’s expression is sympathetic and sorrowful. Al lowers his head, shame weighing onto him.

Ed approaches him and puts both hands on Al’s shoulders. “Oh, Al… I’m so sorry.”

Al can’t help but flinch at the metal touching his skin. Ed’s automail is cold and hard against his fragile human body. Ed couldn’t quite get his body parts back, but it’s something he doesn’t mind.

Al refuses to look up still.

“Brother,” Al opens his mouth before realizing. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I am more than grateful for getting my body back, and I would never reverse it. But…” The sniff that comes from him sounds child-like. “I know people are still out there to hurt others. To hurt us. But how can I protect them? H-How…” he hiccups, “h-how will I protect you, when I’m this useless?”

Ed’s hands still. “Alphonse…”

Al hides his face, unable to deal with this shame. He’s really useless to others. He can’t do anything, because he’ll definitely die, and people will get hurt because of him.

He knows everything is an exchange. Al might not be an alchemist anymore, but life is still based around it. In order to get his body back, Al gave up his immortality to grow up with his brother and his friends. He gave it up so he could be able to hug Ed again. So he could sleep and eat, and breathe. But when Al needs that strength again, he does not have it. He cannot save others. Like he couldn’t save a girl right in front of him.

What if people go after his family? What if they get to his brother? What will Al do?

Al’s endless guilt is quieted a little, however, once he’s pulled in a hug, his head lying against Ed’s chest. His older brother holds him tight around his shoulders, whilst he smooths Al’s short, blond hair.

“Al,” Ed speaks to him softly but firmly, “you’re the strongest person I know – with or without the armor. But you don’t need to risk your life to save us like you did before.”

“But she needed help, Ed,” Al sobs, “s-she needed…”

Ed sighs and hugs him closer. “I know. I’m sorry.”

They don’t let go for maybe an eternity. It takes a few more hours before Al is free to go. He can walk just fine, but he can’t run for his life again. In the meanwhile, Ed has his arm around the younger’s shoulders, watching everyone passing by like a hawk.

Al is far from feeling better. He doesn’t think he’ll recover from it, even if his brother might be right. At least Ed welcomes his grief, as they still think of past lives they lost in their journey.

The younger Elric remains silent. Ed doesn’t try to make him talk. He does get to reassure him with his presence and soft words.

“I’m going to take care of you now, okay?” Ed tells him. “You don’t need to fight anymore.”

Although Al is around the same height as Ed, he feels small as he hides his face in his older brother’s shoulder, like a child seeking for protection. His lip quivers and the tears fall silently. It might seem a little pathetic, but Al doesn’t pull his face away; and Ed squeezes him as well, kissing the top of his head.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Gaetan | An Alternative Payment

Requested by Shadowwright

Summary: After losing your husband to a monster still terrorizing the homestead of you and your young baby every single night, your desperation is worse than your fear. When seeking for help in the local village, you stumble into a witcher from the cat school. Ironically enough living up to his name, he wants something you have, and that does not mean coin.

Word count: 4300+ Relationship: Strangers Tags: Breastfeeding, lactation kink, angst

For the fourth time tonight, you found yourself at her crib, concerning yourself over your daughter’s crying form. A desperate sigh left your lips, and when you scooped her up, her wails somewhat lessened. She cuddled into you, holding onto your familiar scent, and though her eyes were still shut, she knew that she was safe.

Something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Ever since your husband passed away and an unknown creature roamed around your farm at night, sleeping was not part of your schedule any more. It was a monster you did not know the name of, yet what it had taken from you was irreplaceable.

For whenever you managed to lay down into the bed once warmed by the man you loved, you became overwhelmed by the sights you had seen that fateful morning. Torn up, shredded to pieces, beyond recognition. Only because he was out to find some firewood.

It cost him dearly, but it had cost you more. Whatever was left to bury, you took far away from the farm to prevent any corpse-eaters to sow even more dismay.

When your stomach had swollen to the point of utmost discomfort, you knew that you couldn’t give up,  that you had to live for your little one. Though you had thought of it, you never dared to truly leave the farm. It was all you had left of him. A somewhat painful reminder, albeit bittersweet. It wasn’t like you were welcome elsewhere, either.

But when your daughter finally came, you found yourself back in your sorrows. You truly wanted to keep on fighting, but it was difficult. Especially when no one was around to help you out with a three-month-old baby.

“Sssh… You’re okay.” you whispered in her ear, kissing the side of her head. You held onto the light of the flickering flame of the candle on the table, hoping it would take the noise from outside away.

It didn’t. It never did. What did the beast need at your farm, anyway? It wasn’t like you had corpses laying around, and your farm was a bit away from the outside world.

You were never one to ask for help, and the people around the village a little away always cast weird glances your way whenever you were in town. After all, you were quite on your own, and when you and your husband settled here, you sometimes heard rumours that you were a witch practising her unholy craft in seclusion.

Those whispers only increased when your husband passed and your stomach kept on growing. It left you wary of everyone close and if anyone knew about the monster terrorizing you, they would most certainly put the blame on yourself.

Punishment for your sins. And even though you weren’t a witch, you almost started to believe that the gods were indeed chastising you, for whatever faults you did not know.

And so your heart was constantly struck by fear and shame, even though there was nothing you could do.

In your arms, your daughter began to stir. She was hungry, finding herself looking for the comfort of your breast. A soft sigh left you, almost relieved. The breastmilk you produced for your child was enough to feed triplets, and even though your daughter was quite a greedy baby, it was barely enough to take the pressure away.

Another punishment, perhaps.

The connection you felt to your daughter through feeding her while she took large gulps from you, the sound outside was blocked out by the trance you entered. It was just you and the little one, forever connected. It was the only cause worth living for, and whatever you had to go through, you would survive for her.

And when she finally fell asleep, you could see sunlight through the cracks in your shutters.

Carefully, you put her down in her crib, tucking her in underneath the worn sheepskin. Stepping outside, you found the footsteps of the beast, large and ever fear-inducing.

Nothing was broken, nothing was missing and the orchard laid extremely peaceful, as if nothing ever happened, apart from disturbed earth near the door. The sunrays stroking your face were calming and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Even though you hadn’t slept, you lived to see another day.

Looking back at your house, you knew that you had to do something about it all, because you couldn’t just keep on living like this. It had been going on for at least a year now, and you feared many more if you didn’t take any action.

So you tucked your slumbering child into a basket and hung it around your arm, able to see her sleep as if there was no evil in the world. With a note in hand, hastily scribbled that you were being terrorized by an unknown beast at night, you made your way to the village.

Of course, you immediately got dirty glares from the citizens, some of them not even bothering to look you in the eye. You made your way to the notice board, pinning the note to the wood.

“What’s that?” A stranger behind you said. You looked behind you, seeing an old woman looking at you in disgust. “I’m just putting up a contract for someone to help me out.” “No, that.” She pointed at the basket around my arm.

“That’s my daughter.” “Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The woman rolled her eyes, as if it was obvious. “You should give that child away before bad things happen to you. A witch shouldn’t have a child. You’re going to eat it, aren’t you?”

Your mouth fell open and you shook your head, barely any sound coming out.

“I’m not—” “Don’t try to hide it!” Someone else spat, an elderly man with just one eye. “Been some time since your husband’s been around, huh? You ate him too, I'm sure of it!”

Tears sprang into your eyes and you were on the verge of crying, your voice breaking as you muttered: “Stop that nonsense! I’m not a witch! My husband has been killed by the beast mentioned in the note!”

Another stranger decided to meddle in the conversation. “They should take your innocent child away and get you to Novigrad to burn you at the stake!”

A teenager nodded, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah, there is no way that she could survive—” he closed his mouth, seemingly flustered by something before turning away.

“What did you say?” you pressed, but the boy rushed off.

You turned to the few villagers who had gathered around you, one looking at the notice board. “Huh, the person who’s going to help you will probably never return either. You will capture and kill him and put his limbs in your potions!”

Threateningly, they started to close in on you. Instinctively, you put your arm over your daughter, who had awoken and started crying. “No, please! Stop!”

“We won’t back down from you, you mongrel. There is no one going to help you now!”

“Help, please!” you cried out, but no one came to aid.

“We should attach a stone to her legs and throw her in the lake. If she floats, she’s a witch!” “Good idea, Bartholomew. I can get the stone, if you fetch the rope!”

One of them grabbed your arm, your baby only wailing louder. “Come on, tramp!” A woman tried to grab the basket with your baby, but you held onto it for dear life.

After all, she was all you had. An older man lifted his fist, ready to strike.

“Why won’t you listen, you fucking—” “Stop!” The man who was about to hit you let his hand hover in the air, awkwardly standing there whilst a loud voice boomed everything to a halt.

“I’ll help her. Get away from her.”

From somewhere within the crowd, people started to mutter among each other. A few stepped aside, revealing the man who had offered his aid.

Cat-like eyes drilled in yours and he narrowed his eyes at you, your arm wrapped around your baby, halfway lifted from the basket in an attempt to comfort her. “Bring me to the place where the monster appears and I can see what I can do.”

“But she is a witch, sir.” a woman said. “And I’m a witcher.” “Are you going to kill her? You must, if she truly is a witch.”

He turned to the woman, gritting his teeth. “Listen, missy. I’m not one to judge one’s actions, and you aren’t one either. If this woman truly is a witch, it’s none of your business.”

“But she killed her husband!”

The witcher looked at you again, something with reassurance in his eyes. “I’ll find that out for myself. If that is indeed the case, I will kill her.” But you could already read on his face that he didn’t suspect you of anything.

You nodded meekly, lifting your babe to rest her on your chest, trying to calm her down.

“Follow me, master witcher.” you said, turning on your heel to head back to your home.

“They don’t like you much, do they?” You let out a scoff and shook your head. “Well, they think I’m a witch. Just because my husband and I preferred living in seclusion.”

He grunted. “Why don’t you leave?”

“I have nowhere to go.”

Another grunt. The rest of the walk was in silence, apart from your daughter sucking on your finger.

“May I ask your name, sir?”

“Gaetan.”

“Nice to meet you, Gaetan. My name is (Y/n). Ah, here we are.”

You took your key from your apron and unlocked the door, pushing it open. But other than entering, like you had gestured for the witcher to do, his gaze was already fixated upon the large claw marks littering the place.

“Quite the beast.” he said. “I can tell. It widowed me.”

“How long ago?”

Your gaze shot up to find his, confusion in your eyes. Why would he care about that?

“I don’t see why that would be necessary to know…” “So I can know for how long the monster has been prowling about.” Gaetan stated.

Of course. You blinked a few times before replying: “A month or two before I fell pregnant. So a little over a year right now.”

He silently nodded. “You may enter.” you encouraged.

Gaetan let out a huff and shook his head. “Not yet. I need to look around a bit more.”

Not thinking much of it, you entered your house, sighing deeply when you could finally sit down. Your daughter had started to fuss and you were glad that she did; when your walk home began together with the witcher, you had started to feel pressure on your breasts, nipples tingling in discomfort.

Easing your dress off one shoulder to reveal the heavy flesh of your breast, you wasted no time putting your child onto it. She greedily drank from it and the pressure somewhat lessened, causing you to sigh in relief.

Your eyes fixated on your baby, for a moment your problems washed away.

“What in the—” Your head shot up to look at the door, where the witcher had entered, shielding his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were…”

“It’s alright.” you said, “There is nothing to be seen anyway.”

Gaetan slowly took his hands away from his face when he noticed you weren’t abashed at all. Your daughter made a few content sounds, tiny hands grasping on your shirt.

“Well, are you just going to stand there? You can take a seat, master witcher. And uh… I’d offer you a drink, but I’m kind of busy. There is ale in the cupboard right over there, if you want.” You nodded towards said cabinet, but Gaetan sat down instead.

He tried keeping his gaze away from the exposed skin of your breast – it wouldn’t be appropriate. And you were right – there was nothing to be seen, because your nipple was concealed by the body of your daughter.

“Have you found anything on the monster?” you quizzed, rubbing some hairs from the baby’s face. Her fingers were still tight on the fabric of your dress, but you didn’t mind.

“I believe so. I feel like it’s as werewolf, and for some reason, it seems oddly fixated upon this place. Scratches, small holes around the house, as if it tried to enter in different ways.”

You nodded, eyes slightly widening. “A werewolf, you say? Could I be cursed?”

Gaetan shrugged, swallowing thickly when your areola became momentarily visible when you readjusted your child on your breast. A small amount of milk seeped down over your skin into your dress, causing the witcher to bite his lip.

“Who knows. I should stay at least until nightfall so I can slay the beast.”

“Okay,” you said, undoing your dress on the other side and haphazardly hoisting it back up on the breast your daughter already drank from, hoping to relieve some of the pressure inside that one as well, “You can have some food, if you’d like. I can cook something.”

He shrugged. “That won’t be necessary. What will be needed, though, is discussion of payment. What do you offer me?”

Your gaze fell to your lap, not even daring to look at your child in shame. “I… I don’t have any gold, master witcher. I have nothing I can give you…”

“What about that?” the witcher pointed at your exposed neck.

Your hand immediately shifted to the necklace you wore – your husbands wedding band on a string. “I… It’s my husband’s ring, I…” You gently took your child away from your breast, not minding covering it up when you laid her back into the basket still placed at your feet. Reaching out behind your neck to undo the knot, you felt your painful nipples leak at the sudden movement of your arms upwards.

Gaetan’s eyes rested upon them for a moment, he thickly swallowed and forced himself to look up at your face again. You were a beautiful woman, that was certain. He had heard stories of sorceresses going as far as killing innocents in order to conceive a child, since they had lost their fertility.

Could you be a sorceress, or a witch as the inhabitants of the village claimed? His medallion must've trembled if you were. He had found no evidence of any magical items around your home, and no lead as to why you were tortured by a werewolf alike.

As you held out your hand holding the ring to the witcher, gesturing for him to take it, you covered your exposed breasts with your free arm. “Here. I hope it will fetch you the price you ask.”

Gaetan looked at it. It wasn’t shimmering or too clean – a modest wedding ring that vaguely resembled gold, even though it was obviously crafted from a cheaper metal.

When he gazed back up at your teary gaze, he shook his head. “I can’t take it.”

“I have nothing else.” you whispered.

He wasn’t sure why he had said it, or why he felt remorse. To take such a precious item from you would be wrong. You had started to put your dress back on, though obviously in discomfort. Not only because you just gave away of your most precious items in the world, but also because your own body was hurting you.

As soon as you had your dress back on again, dark circles appeared at where your nipples were. “I’m so sorry…” you said, ashamed. “I need to redress. This happens all the time and it’s just…”

You felt a tear roll over your cheek, and as soon as you realized you were crying, there was no holding back anymore. Burying your face in your hands, you sniffled. Luckily, your daughter was starting to fall asleep, giving you some time to gather yourself.

“Are you alright?” Gaetan asked, surprised by his own gentleness. This was unlike him… Why did he care? Why did he feel attracted? Was it because you were beautiful, or distressed, or truly a witch?

You shook your head, sighing deeply, calming yourself down. “It hurts, you know. Having no one to hold you, help you soothe your pain. I’m sorry for acting so emotional, but I feel like even my own body is turning against me.”

The witcher scooted closer, placing a hand on your leg, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “I don’t have anything against you.”

You looked up at him with a tearful gaze, brokenness visible in your eyes.

The witcher swallowed, overthinking what he could possibly do for you. A thought briefly crossed his mind whilst he drew comforting circles on your knee, shaking it off immediately. You would never agree and it would be inappropriate, even though Gaetan didn’t remember any time he asked someone for permission to do something.

“What is it?” you said, seeing the puzzlement on his face? “Oh, nothing. I thought of payment, but it’s not appropriate.”

You frowned, rubbing at your eyes, taking a deep breath. “No, no, go ahead. I’d do anything to get rid of that monster terrorizing me.”

Gaetan grimaced, shaking his head. “You’d never agree, so it would be best if I didn’t share it.”

When you laid your hand upon his, he dared to look up at you. “It’s fine. Tell it.”

The witcher shifted, leaning a bit closer to your face. You felt your cheeks heat up, realizing how handsome the man truly was. His eyes were captivating, taking your breath away.

“I could… Help you out… With the pressure on your…” he gestured at your chest, where the circles had only grown.

You slightly tilted your head in confusion. “I’m not following… I’d appreciate any help, but how would you do that?”

“I mean, as a payment, would you… Would you let me suckle them?”

First, you thought your ears were deceiving you, but after a second, you realized he had really requested that. Your face paled, and then flamed. The idea was odd, and immediately your mind was on your husband… Who had been dead for almost a year now.

What other way was there? If you declined, the witcher would walk right out, because you didn’t have anything else. And if you agreed, you’d get something out of it too – finally some relief from the overproduction of breast milk.

Gazing upon your daughter, you saw that she was fast asleep, thumb stuffed into her mouth. Silently, you stood up, undoing the laces on the front of your dress again, pulling it down. The underside of your breasts were damp and glistening with milk, nipples puffy and pink.

“Okay, Gaetan.” you said, referring to him by his first name now, “But nothing more than that.”

The witcher couldn’t help but smirk at your approval. “Agreed.” he said, standing up as well. You walked towards the bed with him in tow. You sat down on the creaky cot, waiting for him to join you. He took off his boots, awkwardly sitting down next to you.

You turned towards him as he sat down, now facing each other.

“So uh…” he mumbled, “Do you want to kiss first?”

You shook your head, uncertain of what you wanted. “No, you can just… Start, I suppose.”

He leaned down, giving an experimental lick against one of your nipples. Something lustful within you kindled, his feline eyes sending shivers down your spine.

You sighed at the feeling as he circled your areolae with his thumbs, his hand coming to rest on your other mound of flesh starting to massage it. He smirked when your face flushed, enjoying the way your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Throwing your head back, you tried your best not to moan, not wanting to both awake your baby and give him the intention that you wanted more.

Because you didn’t want more… Right?

Slowly, his lips closed around your nipple, scruff of his beard roughing against your skin. One of his arms snaked around your waist, and within a second you were upon his lap, blushing and suppressing sounds of pleasure.

It was different than anything you had ever felt when Gaetan started to suck, slowly at first but not wasting time to intensify his actions. He groaned against your breast, enjoying the taste of the rich creamy milk flowing from you. Like a hungry animal, he switched sides to feast upon your other tit, making them even more sore than they already were.

You cradled your hand around his neck, not unlike the loving way you usually held your child, as if Gaetan, too, had to be supported. He took the breast he was sucking in his hand, his other arm holding you tightly against him.

Of course, you couldn’t help but moan when his large fingers squeezed your breast, more milk dripping out. He flicked his tongue against your perky bud, revealing the slight white hue that was visible upon it. A small amount trickled from the corner of his mouth, pupils wide blown with lust.

Pressing a hand over your mouth, you tried to fight the moan that threatened to spill from you. Oh, you were enjoying this way more than you should. Casting your eyes over to your daughter, she was still sound asleep, unbeknownst to the scene unfolding.

Upon feeling a hard lump underneath you, you knew exactly what was going on. The witcher was liking this more than he’d ever admit, too.

In a wave of lust and confusion, you cupped his face in your hands, tearing his mouth from your nipple and pressing yours against it instead. The sudden desire to kiss him, to be with him, it was too overwhelming.

Gaetan melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up. He gently laid you down onto the bed, not breaking the kiss. His lips soon moved to your neck, sucking upon all sweet spots he could find.

As lustful as you were, you knew that you couldn’t let him take you right then and there. It would be too soon, and it wouldn’t be fair to your husband—you shook your head, trying to get rid of the thought about him.

The witcher pulled back, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. “Are you okay (Y/n)?” You wryly smiled, rubbing some hair from your face. “Yes, it’s just… I don’t want things to go too fast.”

Gaetan nodded, “Of course,” and kissed you again on the collarbone, moving down to kiss your breasts again. You smiled, relieved that the pressure had lessened and the man helping you out enjoyed it so much. “I would never get enough of those.” he confessed.

Reaching for his belt, you unbuckled it without looking. Pulling back from your nipple with a pop, the witcher above you watched you confused.

“If you like them so much, master witcher…” you muttered, smiling. “Why don’t you cum on them?”

A groan left him at the idea and he momentarily left your body to take off his trousers and underwear. You laughed lightly and swallowed thickly at the sight of his glistening cock, which was standing at full-mast already.

He straddled you once again, weight of his length resting in his hand, the other coming on the duvet to support him. He wasted no time in starting to jerk himself off, his foreskin rolling over the tip and revealing the precum building at the slit.

You licked your lips, starting to massage your breasts, kneading them together. You tried mimicking their bounce as if he was fucking you, though differently.

“Come on, master witcher… Put your cock in between, they’re getting cold!”

Where your sudden lewd behaviour had come from, it was a mystery to you. But the sight of his massive member slipping in between the warm expanse of your breasts caused you to softly moan.

Slowly, he started to fuck your breasts, and you knew that with the swell of his penis and the slight throbbing of the veins running towards the head, his orgasm couldn’t be far off. Lifting one of your breasts a bit higher, you managed to ease your own nipple into your mouth, causing the witcher to grunt in delight.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” You blushed despite already exposing yourself to him so much; he meant his words. “(Y/n), you have no idea how you look right now…”

How then, you wanted to ask, but a groan overshadowed every thought in your head. Hot stripes of semen landed on the skin of your breasts, mixing with the saliva already covering it. Gaetan rubbed himself through his high, gritting his teeth before gasping for air. Lifting your breasts up to your face, you tried licking off most of his seed, enjoying the slightly bitter taste which you had honestly missed. After all, it had been so long since you had been with someone.

“That’s payment if I’ve ever heard of it…” You smiled, beckoning him for a kiss. He gave it to you, playfully nipping your bottom lip.

“It’s the first retainer, if the master witcher wishes more…”

He looked at you with a smirk. “After you slay the beast, of course.” you added, “Then we can… Negotiate further.”

He stepped off of you, reaching for his underwear. “That’s fine with me,” he said, “Absolutely perfect, honestly.”

You arose from your bed, taking a cloth off the nightstand to wipe yourself clean with.

In the basket, your daughter started to stir, fussing a little when she noticed her mother not at her side. With a soft sigh, you lifted her up, knowing that she would be hungry again.

You watched as Gaetan started making some potions, meanwhile feeding your baby against the sore flesh of your nipple. “I hope you don’t mind that the kind master witcher had a little taste on his own, but it wasn’t like you would’ve been able to finish it on your own, after all.” you told her, already looking forward to your next encounter with the witcher.

For the first time, you were actually looking forward to the beast showing up, just so you could give yourself to Gaetan.

[a-lil-perspective]

Hunter x Reader

A/N: What nobody asked for. I didn’t think a title would be appropriate for this particular piece of work. It really doesn’t coincide with any Star Wars themes, save for everybody’s favorite Sergeant making his debut within. It’s more of a Lil perspective. (Lol I’m sorry my last two brain cells have no sense of humor) For context: I have been absolutely suffocating lately, in every sense of the word. It’s almost indescribably oppressive, so I wrote this in desperately seeking comfort and therapy. Just a fragmented depiction, addresses underlying mental health issues and sensory disorders—in carrying my own subtle semblance of it, I love exploring those complexities with Hunter. It turns out soft. I think. Also, if you squint hard enough, you will see some song lyrics scattered throughout the fic in the form of thoughts. I wrote this in the format of Reader, though it’s practically a self-insert, I’m just not brave enough for those particular pronouns. :) Sorry in advance if this doesn’t apply to you...

▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️

Isn’t anyone trying to find me... Won’t somebody come take me home...

The silence was prodding. Hunter’s gaze darted to your tense form numerous times over the span of several painfully long, anticipating minutes. Each time, your lips remained pulled into a tight line while your extremities fidgeted in repetition. Agitation hung thick in the air. A terse statement of Y/N’s mystics echoed off the walls, to no-one in particular.

“I think... I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes incredulously searched you. “What do you mean?”

You see me standing, but I’m dying on the floor...

Your fists reflexively clench in grabbing at any semblance of weight to prevent your form from being dragged down into the mental abyss. You could feel it’s foreboding pull. It’s impending chaos.

It’s coming.

“Talk to me, Y/N...”

Your grip slackens, and you slip right over the edge. Hunter is too late to grab you.

I only want to die alive...

Your broken, unbridled guttural cries in response to the months of overwhelming emotional suppression caused Hunter to wince, and his own sensory receptors gain enough momentum to inwardly complain. He instinctively stuffs it down before kicking into action.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m here—”

Electric. The touch. His touch. It pricked, and the very fine hairs adorning the skin along your arms instantly retaliated to the calloused padding of Hunter’s fingertips caressing. It exacerbated your state of distress and just like that, your neurons overloaded. Sharp, stale air seeped in between your grit teeth and inhalation of insecurity.

Your sudden intake of breath and harsh flinch caused Hunter to cease in brushing up and down the outer region of your upper arms. His eyes narrowed slightly and quickly picked apart your stance. It greeted him like an old adversary with the remnants of a longstanding history, and a discomfiture swirled around Hunter at it’s painful familiarity.

“I can’t do this...” You breathe out despair.

The existing in general? The physical connection itself?

The latter wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it. It certainly wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, somehow, the glint in Hunter’s shifting irises reassured you that he was privy to your suffering, to some degree; he knew. He understood.

Of course he did.

For who to better understand heightened tactile sensitivity than Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99? He was neither confounded nor dissuaded by your particularity in the slightest.

It had always been an inherence of yours; a rather obnoxious caricature within the conundrum, some obscure accessory buried in your already heavily packed bags. An extra ingredient that completely screwed up the recipe. Constituted as awkward, plain and simple; the dramatized detail never became easier to address with age, and the thick lump of disdain in your throat only grew.

You set your jaw in frustration. How to even begin picking up and putting together the pieces of a person who’s constantly missing one, or several. You were never satiated, equanimity never extended it’s stay for long; simply just renting. There was always something, someone, leaving a smoking hole in your chest, forcing every euphoric guest out.

I seek to cure what’s deep inside... frightened of this thing that I’ve become...

Your features twisted in agony and discomfort that accompanied the stoked episodes. It made you bitter. It threw you to the streets and dubbed you a martyr before satirically exposing, taunting at the misfortune of your dealt deck of cards. It was downright embarrassing, obtruding. Trepidations instantaneously trampled your meager, sensory overloaded form each and every time. Your bitter, corrosive laugh was all the evidence in that moment; a feeble reminder of your hypocrisy.

Because how, pray tell, does one’s physicality simultaneously experience both a revulsion for tactility and desperate craving for touch itself? You never understood exactly the way the two collided and contradicted themselves. Your teeth clamped your tongue in quelling the deprivation and plea for more rising in your throat, while your neurons worked to whisk your form as far away from the man as possible—away to the repetition of obsolete emptiness and desolation awaiting to greet you. As always.

“Let me help, cyare.” Begging... the man was hurting for you.

Don’t want to say yes, don’t want to say no...

Your mind ached. You can’t stop the pendulum in your head. Forced to look through a kaleidoscope of melancholy. Pleas echoed in a cavernous empty shell, but fell on deaf ears. Tears cancelled their appointment, and the well currently ran dry. There was... nothingness. And you fought the growing complaisance with the notion. Numbness was terrifying, and being terrified was numbing. You didn’t do well with attitudinal changes, seeking restitution more than ever while you wholly acknowledged the aspect of a ginger touch; the literal power within one’s fingertips to effectively mitigate your suffering. An opportune moment standing before you, his brows furrowed in sympathy and the corner of his lips angled in assuring you of his patience.

But the sharp pang and quick successions of staccato rhythm reverberated deep in your chest and only exaggerated your pain. Curse your heavy heart. A huff of breath incited subtle movement in the loose strands hanging over your profile, to which Hunter borrowed a moment in reaching out to sweep the curtain back.

Your head was under water, yet... you were breathing just fine. You just had yet to find the damned drain to expel the pernicious and suffocating sea of psychological terror into.

I just need to clear my head... don’t let it go to your head...

You quiver under Hunter’s intense appraisal, and shame swirls thickly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Please.” He immediately interjects, his palm turns upright and opens invitingly. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

Just tell him what you need.

“I... I don’t know.” Your admission speaks in a whisper of loss and uncertainty. You roll the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, the lump returns to your throat, and it’s crawling. Your gaze flickers.

“Just focus on me, cyare.”

Another catch: you can’t maintain eye contact to save your life. Kriff your soul. “That won’t work.” Your eyes anchor to the cold floor as sheer panic and the sturdy walls themself began to rise around your trembling self.

I can’t come alive... I want the room to take me under... Feel myself fading away...

“Okay—it’s okay,” he soothes. Hunter fervently wracks his brain—the way he decompresses and approaches his own form of stimming is slightly different; it’s different for everybody with a hyperactive response to stimuli. It took the Sergeant years to cultivate those particular penchants and even longer to tailor and perfect them to his predilection. If anything, he felt slightly apprehensive in the success of his methods.

Your hands that now wrap tightly around your rigid form are currently the only familiar pair of hands granted permission to access the area. You give a brief squeeze and teeter on the balls of your feet.

Hunter didn’t require a sniper’s nonpareil eyesight to see right through your peculiarity, even if he was briefly taken aback at it’s sudden effervescing. Truthfully, he should’ve picked up on it days ago: at your fierce denial and subtle panic over Hunter’s harmless offer of a massage after you had worked out a particularly stubborn knot kinking his lower back—a simple requite of mutuality, or so he thought. At the time, the Sergeant found himself shrouded in enigma over your reaction; seriously, who—other than him who barely tolerates it—doesn’t enjoy massages? It now made perfect sense. He fought the urge to self-deprecate over his ignorance.

“I’m suffocating, Hunter.” You choke, and the cadence of your voice is like a knife twisting into his heart; he gleans vicarious pain from your own.

Clarity suddenly lights up the Sergeant’s features, and you’re briefly hyper-fixated with the way the inky but slightly faded outline of his shadowy tattoo fluctuates in natural contortion with his many facial expressions. Just behind his eyes he beholds his brothers—

‘I’m suffocating, ori’vod’...

Hunter remembers...

Of the exact way he presses against Tech in order to smother his vod’ika’s fleeting bouts of anxiousness—the pressure nearly breaking the kid’s goggles on more than one occasion, and the way he compresses Crosshair’s shoulders in squeezing out the pent up anger to placate amidst the sniper’s wavering, and the position of which Hunter managed to encompass his brawny brother in a comforting embrace whenever the big guy experienced despondency—that is until Wrecker quickly outgrew his ori’vod and began flaunting his own prowess of overpowering hugs.

The difference between the scenarios was minimal. Hunter knew exactly what to do. Like second-nature to him, his nurturing instincts fully kicked in and determination spread through every fiber of his being, quashing the previous buzz of his own nerves.

Hunter didn’t know how well he could alleviate your emotional pain, but there was something he could do for the neurological aspect, and hopefully, one could ease the other...

Hunter ambles up to you and in one swift motion, secures the length of his arms around your upper back, noting the delineate contour of toned muscles and shoulder blades poking into his forearms that now drape across before his hands encircle and come to firmly rest on each shoulder. Firmness. Pressure—for your state, this depiction is key. He determinedly pulls you to him, unrelenting in a tight grip. The position of the crown of your head settled neatly under his chin, and stray hair peppered his textured features with tickling kisses as Hunter dips his head to softly press his lips to your roots.

I wish that I could bring you back to me...

With your face suddenly buried in the man’s chest, you come to distinctly acknowledge two immediate sensations. One; the man is warm. Not the muggy, stuffy warmth of Tatooine that is unpleasantly abrasive and dry; but a soft warmth that permeates, stoking memories of baked goods within the cushion of a heated oven warmly enveloping you each time it’s doors open, and seeking to melt the hardened encasing that is your tense muscles. It eases you towards a serenity. You have a ways to go before you can make out the sign in the distance, but Hunter himself is one step forward along the path.

Two; he smells amazing. A faint smoky sultry, an obscurely mesquite scent, slightly tangy and reminiscent of raw timber that is both luxurious and intoxicating; a sweet smell you’d classify as anything but cloying. Like he bathes with suds of fresh mountain air and luscious forests. It’s soothing, and your mind immediately associates the tangibility with a daydream and mercifully blesses you with the glimpse; of your husband having just entered your cozy homestead from a day of hard but fruitful labor in his intricate works of carpentry within the serene seclusion of temperate countryside enveloping your favorite planet—

Handle with care... say you’ll be there...

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cyare—is this okay?” Hunter momentarily shifts and the rich baritone of the Sergeant’s voice resounding through his broad chest reels you back while he briefly tenses at your pending answer.

It was okay—your head was still swimming in an infinitely deep ocean of thoughts, but the way his hand slips from it’s position on your shoulder to cradle the back of your head before curling around the soft locks equates to the physical manifestation of a life preserver cast to your drowning form.

Your muffled confirmation and sheepish thanks warmly enveloped Hunter, as did your hands shifting to wrap around his broad frame in reciprocation. His grip tightened, and he patiently waits for you.

Hold.... Hold on... Hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady...

Hunter refrains from trailing to stroke further along your back; the sneaking suspicion that the sensation might further tip off your nerves. So he remained stationary, and deciphered the way you seemingly favored a firm, weighted grasp and a grounding touch over ghosting fingertips and light, feathery textures. He could relate to that.

But Hunter couldn’t stop the hum of contentment that escaped his lips at your fingers having absentmindedly wandered up to twirl at his ebony tresses. He, personally, loved your soft, well-placed strokes full of deliberation and meaning, and only you were allowed to grace him with them.

Hunter could feel your heart hammering against the veil of his blacks, and his ears hearkened to the rhythm of your burdened breaths. He shifted his weight and began to gently sway with you, unsure of the words to say.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” your conscience suddenly prods.

A snort fills the air. “Oh, I would’ve figured it out soon enough. I’m kinda smart like that,” Hunter cringes at his corny sense of humor, but he swore the faintest of chortles rumbled beneath him.

He grants a final squeeze to your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive areas along your arms, before pulling back to address your face. Trouble and distress still graced you, and Hunter laced his fingers with your own. He thumbed at the worn flesh encasing your defined knuckles, a relic indicative of steadfast manual labor. You slowly exhaled at the touch; pressure along the palms and backside of your hands was soothing to you. You often wrung them to keep preoccupied when there was no warmth to solidify the muscle, fingertips drummed erratic tempos along your thighs whenever the mood struck, and loud cracking of the stiff joints in transient tics was a regularly becoming thing.

Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new...

Hunter tugged lightly in ushering you to the cot, firmly planting himself on the worn, creaking edge before his gaze met yours in awaiting approval. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible nod of your head in confirmation. Hunter leaned back on his full weight in gesturing you with him, and your form followed suit as you found yourself abruptly layered directly atop the rugged plains of his chest. The quirk of his lips told you he didn’t mind being used as a body pillow. Hunter’s arms suddenly turned up empty to rest above his head.

“I want you to be comfortable. No brushing. Just tell me where to put my hands.” He clarified, and appreciation bubbled in your chest. You contemplated for a moment.

“Just... hold me close.” You began to guide his hands to the exact position. “Please.”

His limbs obeyed by wrapping snugly as a hand found rest at the small of your back, and the other nestled itself slightly higher up the expanse, fingers splayed. Hunter solidified the closed space, and not even a muted ray of light could pass between the two forms.

You found solace within the cage of well-endowed muscle, slowly suppressing your nerves on each side and physically shielding you from the works of mental oppression. But his touch left you hyperaware; from an overtly suffocating insecurity towards every part of your body now lingering against his own, to the precise and tranquil thrum of his heartbeat in contrast with your racing one. Your stimuli sparks again in response to the stress.

“Y/N.” Hunter cuts through your tension, his voice laced with concern—you cannot calm yourself down, and you’re certain your mind absolutely loathes you. “Everything will be alright, I promise—don’t tense up, baby. Relax against me.” You angle your head so that one side of your face plants to his chest; you wish to better hear his sturdy heartbeat. You suddenly remember your own. It’s still beating. Resounding; indicative of purpose. Your breaths; symbolizing life.

Just keep breathing... my air...

“That’s it. Just breathe.” Hunter encourages. He reaches up to press against your temple in stroking at the hairline. Unbound locks cascaded around each other, a mixture of two colors softly tangled on either sides of the furniture. You lost count of your numbered breaths in the midst of solitude when a question unveils from your thoughts.

“How do you do it?” Your words trump the stagnant silence, a desperate inquiry that peaks through the fibers. You tilt your chin to better regard the man.

Confusion tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “Do, what?”

“Anything...” you unload, and there’s a crackle to your voice. “The stress, the sensory... how do you manage? What’s your anchor in this wretched, kriffing life?”

A smile creeps up Hunter’s features, and his deep, reflective pools burn through you. “I’m looking at my anchor. And she helps me manage just fine.”

Your eyes blow protuberant and you manage to stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Honey, you are it.” His satisfied smirk grows wider, digging into his cheeks.

Something twitches at the corners of your lip and pulls into an upward curve; the feeling is tight, foreign. Your cheek muscles are unsure of how to compensate for the expression. You can’t remember the last time a smile has naturally graced your features. Now, it’s genuine. It’s... nice, and the hot rivulets currently streaming down your face are in a unanimous agreement.

Hunter moves to cup your face and thumb below your eyes, and his lips kiss the salt away. You grab hold of his forearms and shut your eyes.

“You want to know how I manage?” He croons in determination, “When my visual is overstimulated, I close my eyes and focus on the features of your face ingrained in my memory. When certain auditory has me weak at the knees, I remember the lull of your voice, comforting. When my nerves are on fire and I want nothing more than to be physically desensitized, it’s your soft touch that acts as a blanket, covering, making it easier for me. You make it better. Me better. Life better.” Hunter finishes his declaration in lovingly swiping at your face once more, expunging your pain. Words make a prompt exit along with it.

Your lips find purchase at the stubble along his jaw, in response. You love being able to fully make out the intricacy of his irises, now that you’re lovingly gazing into them. When you exit your captivated trance—his eyes are beautiful—you vaguely note with a twinge of pride that the encounter was indefinitely your longest standing record for maintaining eye contact. Another gentle smile fills your features. You remove your weight from him.

“Take this off?” You shyly tug at the collar of his blacks, seeking his consent, respectful of his own sensory receptors and their boundaries.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hunter sits to quickly shed the upper article of clothing. He pulls you on top once again, and you are relishing in his bare skin. Your fingers map out a path of their own volition along the various textures and scars dotting the pectoral flesh.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier,” Hunter nonchalantly called you out. Your brows furrow in confusion. “There was something different on your face when I first held you. Just a flicker. But you looked... happy. Content, even.” Hunter smirked. “Hope you’re not planning to keep all that happiness to yourself.”

You certainly weren’t planning to. You recalled the picturesque and beckoned it forth... there was your sign of serenity. Just the shape of it, but solid, and clear. Hopeful, and promising, just on the horizon. It made your chest flutter, and ebbed away at the heartache. You realized Hunter’s brow arched in anticipation.

“How would you feel about working in carpentry?” A chuckle. Hunter was thoroughly humored, and surprisal was briefly evident on his features.

“So I can build you and I a house? To fill a bunch of babies with? Gladly.” He chased the daydream alongside you, and it was your turn to borrow the surprise; your mouth hung agape as heat crept through the apples of your cheeks. Hunter’s laugh boomed as a hand fit under your chin to close your parted lips. He wished to use his own to do the trick, but, another time.

“I’m with you.”

[sundimus]

Request for Awp! “Can I ask you something?” + A hug after not seeing someone for a long time / Grollow (Note: Ghoul = Broken Vessel) Under a readmore because this “drabble” got out of control omg. Apologies for most of it being about Hollow and Ghoul too. :( /// Despite no longer needing to complete the Ritual, the Grimm Troupe still travels back to their home from time to time. “We just have to check in with the rest of my troupe,” Grimm had told them with a comforting kiss to their horn. “Just to make sure they’re alright, and that everything is fine. It’ll only be for a month, and then I’ll return.” Hollow had let out a soft whine, nuzzling his head in a pout. They felt an obvious sense of worry forming in their gut at the thought of him leaving; it’d be the first time since they got together that they’d be spending so much time apart. “Will you come back?” they asked him, aware that he had already confirmed his return but they couldn’t stop their hesitance. They just needed to be sure. “Of course I will. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he teasingly reassured them, cupping their cheek gently with his hand. They lean into it, feeling his warmth ease away their nervousness. “Do you promise?” Reaching up, they grasp the hand on their cheek, holding it as though the simple action would convince him not to leave. It didn’t work, but Grimm had smiled at them with a tenderness that made them feel as though they had won something anyway. “I promise,” he said genuinely, seriously, and Hollow felt a bit silly for being nervous in the first place. “I will always come back to you, no matter what. There’s no doubt about that.” He kisses them, and then he was gone.

-x- It’s been only half a month since Grimm left, and Hollow still misses him terribly. They’re slowly growing accustomed to his absence, but they wish he would come back sooner. They want to hold his hand again, and they want to hear his stories again. They simply want to be with him again. Usually they’re very patient, a personality trait instilled in them from their time as Pure Vessel, although recently that trait hasn’t been as immutable as it once was. Lately they’ve been feeling impatient about certain things, which had worried them because they’re not used to feeling that way. But their sister had informed them that having some impatience was healthy, and that everyone experiences it in some way, and it made them feel better about feeling it themself. But along with their impatience, they’ve been finding themself sulking more often than not at Grimm’s absence, and they want him to come back more than anything. They’re laying in their nest, not getting up despite having woken up some time ago. They think they’re having what their family calls a “low-day”, and they’re still not quite sure what to do about those days either. They think that they should seek out the company of one of their siblings, and they will, but they want to stay in the warmth of their blankets and pillows for just a little while longer. They jolt a bit when they hear a soft tapping on their door, followed by a quiet, whispery voice echoing behind it. “Hollow? Can I come in?” It’s Ghoul, and Hollow’s head perks up. They give them confirmation to enter their room. They come in immediately, closing the door behind them lightly before bounding over to sit politely next to them in the nest. Ghoul looks down at them, purring lowly as their way of smiling, and moves over to pat one of Hollow’s horns. “Still feeling a bit blue, are we?” they ask. Hollow stares at them, their void quietly rumbling in a way that sounds akin to that of a grumble. “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” they muse. Their demeanor changes to something softer, and they move their hand to hold Hollow’s instead. A way of comfort. “You know he’s coming back, right?” Hollow almost instinctively nods, their urge to go along with anything anyone says being a direct result of their past need to follow orders, but they don’t. They hesitate, and it’s noticeable enough for Ghoul to squeeze their hand in concern. Hollow lets go of their hand in order to reply to them, their fingers moving slow as their voice fails to admit the fear that they had tried hard not to think about. “What if he doesn’t?” Ghoul stares at them for a moment, their void completely still and rendering it useless for Hollow to try and guess what they were thinking. Eventually, after the silence had started to make Hollow fidget, Ghoul leans over and presses their mask against theirs as a comforting gesture, the beads on their horns jingling against each other. “Is this what you’re worried about? What’s making you so sad?” they ask when they pull away, their feather-like voice somehow even softer than it already was. “Oh, sibling, don’t think like that. He won’t leave you. I’m sure of it - he cares about you so much.” Hollow leans back to look at them, a low whistle escaping their throat. Their hand shakes a little as they respond, almost faltering in their next sentence. “I waited for father to come back. He never did.” Ghoul stares at them again, but not as long as before as they crawl over to lay down next to them. They wrap their arms around Hollow’s torso, their grip tightening as Hollow starts shaking. “Grimm isn’t father,” they tell them, their tone the most stern that Hollow has ever heard from them. “He’s better than him, and you know this, don’t you?” Hollow returns the hug, their anxiety slowly starting to fade away. “Thank you,” they whisper quietly. “You’re welcome,” their sibling replies, snuggling closer to them. “I get why you’re afraid, but he’d never leave you, Hollow. None of us will. I hope you understand that.” “I do. I’m trying to. I just miss him.” “You miss who? Grimm or father?” “Grimm. Or both, I suppose.” “That’s fair.” “I wish father was here too.” “I know.” “Do you think he misses me too? Wherever he is?” “I’m sure he does. I’m sure he loved you too much not to.” “How do you feel about him? I can never guess your feelings. You’re not as open with them as Hornet and Ghost are.” Ghoul’s void shakes slightly in laughter. “I could say the same to you, you know. But that’s not completely fair, is it? Asking me a question that I don’t know the answer to.” Hollow would’ve felt shame for asking in the first place if it wasn’t for Ghoul’s tone of voice purposefully being light and casual. They purr to make them feel better, and Ghoul responds with their own pleased rumbles. “I don’t know how I feel about him,” they admit. “I want to hate him for what he did, but... I don’t want to hate anyone if I’m being honest. It’s tiring, and it makes me feel sad, and hearing you talk about him makes me wish I knew him, at least a little.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize. Just you laying here with me makes everything that had happened in the past feel worth it.” Hollow hugs squeezes them gently, not knowing how to respond, and the two siblings drift off to an easy sleep. -x- The Grimm Troupe came back. Hollow’s heart almost explodes with joy when they look out of their window to see the troupe’s tent set up in the distance. “He’s back!” they tell their family excitedly, moving quickly towards the door of their house. “Go on then,” Ghoul urges. “Go meet your loverboy again.” “Have fun, Hollow,” Hornet’s voice calls out from the kitchen where she was currently trying to wrestle a pineapple from Ghost’s iron grip. “Bye, sibling!” Ghost shouts. Hollow waves them goodbye and steps out of the house, hurrying down the street. When they almost reach the tent they see the entrance of it open with Grimm himself stepping out of it. His eyes light up when he spots them, immediately starting to walk over to them with his arms spread wide. Hollow doesn’t hesitate to meet him halfway. “Love!” he greets them, wrapping his arms around them tightly. “I was just coming out to see you.” Hollow returns the hug with great enthusiasm, leaning down to nuzzle his neck and taking in his scent that they missed so much. They hold each other for a while, not wanting to let each other go just yet, and Hollow grips the back of his cloak firmly just to try and press themself closer to him. He pulls back a bit and sets a hand on their cheek, stroking a thumb just under their eye. A question suddenly floods their mind then, and they raise their hand to ask it before he gets the chance to speak. “Can I ask you something?” He tilts his head slightly. “What’s on your mind, dearest?” “Did you miss me?” He looks a bit taken aback at their words, but then recovers and smiles at them, moving his arms to rest around their neck. “Of course I missed you. I thought about you every day and every night and all the times in between. I think it’d be more accurate to say that there wasn’t a single moment where I didn’t miss you.” Hollow sighs, their relief almost overwhelming. They press their hand to his cheek, and they kiss him deeply - conveying to him just how much they missed him. He returns the kiss with as much hunger, not breaking away for quite a long time. Each kiss is breathless, and happy, and secure, and Hollow knows now that they had nothing to worry about.

[ikesenrambles]

Are you’re asks still open? If they are can I ask for kenshin, shingen, sasuke, yukimura and kennyo hc for what type of dirty talk would turn them on? I love your writing thank you so much!!

Hello~! Thank you so much for sending this request - I’m sorry it took me so long writing it. I hope you find it to your liking. ♡

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, ikesenrambles. I don’t have much spending money for Ikesen since I’m saving my paychecks to cover college. Supporting me on Ko-Fi would mean that I have pocket money for the little things that bring me joy, like Ikesen. I would be able to buy premium routes, which in turn means that I can learn more about the warlords & write even better stories for you to enjoy. ♡

The following is NSFW:

Kenshin

There’s no need to think so much about what to say to him in bed. Just let the words spill out naturally. Lust warms his blood with every whisper, each breath. He wants to feel you, to hear you, to taste the buildup of your pleasure each time you moan against his mouth.

He cares not much about what you’re saying as long as it’s only ever his name unraveling on your tongue when your bodies are intertwined, your limbs a tangled mess on the futon. Sex with Kenshin is always intimate, a culmination of white hot passion and dizzying desire, an expression of his reckless impulse and raw emotion when it comes to you.

So don’t stop making those sounds… The way you say his name when he’s inside of you is intoxicating, tasting sweeter on his tongue, going smoother down his throat. Like a finely made sake, he can never quite get enough of it.

Moan his name over and over like it’s the only name you’ve ever known, until the night is filled with nothing more than the sound of the creaking floorboard and your trembling breaths. It’s the only way he’ll know for certain that you belong to him and only him.

If you really want to satisfy him, tell him not to hold himself back either. Tell him that you’re not as fragile as you look, that he can dig his fingers deeper into your flesh, that he can kiss you harder, that he can push you further.

He’ll take you over and over again until your voice catches in your throat, until your words become incoherent whimpers urging him to keep going, until you’re out of breath. And even then, he’ll coax more moans out of you, his touch relentless and the thrust of his hips merciless, until the both of you come crashing down.

Shingen

What might Shingen want his goddess to say between the sheets? While he is one of the most romantic warlords when it comes to pampering his lover with compliments, what is important to him is candor, not necessarily extravagance. (This is canon from the recent event, Romance Under One Roof.)

In other words, he will find you absolutely sexy as long as you are being genuine with him. Just tell him what you’re feeling - it’s okay if it you stutter, if you stumble for the right words to say, if you struggle to form your thoughts into sentences.

Your honesty is worth more than any clever pick-up line and means more than any verse of poetry because it’s all you: unfiltered, unadulterated; pure, precious… It’s your heart. And you’re giving it to him. There’s more romance in that simple action than one might think.

Tell him what to do. Shingen is an experienced lover and an attentive boyfriend; he can easily find where you’re most sensitive, that tender spot that makes your skin flush, that makes you ache between the thighs… Still, even though he knows your sexual preferences, he finds it so hot when you take control and instruct him on where - and how - you’d like for him to touch you.

Similarly, if he does something that you like, compliment him! He takes pleasure in pleasuring you. Knowing that he’s satisfying you not only builds more confidence but it serves as a reminder for him to touch you like that again. 

There’s also something incredibly intimate about sharing your sexual fantasies together. He’d like for you to indulge him in your desires, no matter how dark or how deep. There’s nothing that he’s not willing to try at least once for his goddess. The fact that you’re willing to explore your sexuality with him, that you’re willing to confide in him something so personal, demonstrates that you trust him enough to be vulnerable with him. For Shingen, that’s the greatest gift he could ever ask for.

Sasuke

When you’re getting hot and heavy, tell him how badly you want him - how much you need him, now. His desire for you transcends rational thought. Hearing from you that you crave him as desperately as he craves you only serves to further fuel the hot passion he feels toward you.

Sasuke’s a dedicated learner even in the sheets. He’ll study the sounds of your pleasure until he has it down to a science. The way your breath hitches in your throat when he dips his tongue inside of you for the first time… to the way your moans become soft sobs as he holds your thighs to keep your body steady, his licks incessant against your most sensitive spot.

Each and every sound you make is important to him; he could listen to you endlessly and even after, the memory of your moans will guide him the next time he lies with you and haunt his sleep until the next night with you. The sweet, shaky, “Sa-su-ke…!” you cry out as you before you come undone against his mouth makes him smirk quietly to himself before he delves back in and finish you off.

If he’s doing something right… tell him! Compliment his technique. Tell him that how it feels like he knows your body like the back of his hand… Tell him how wet and warm his tongue feels inside of you, how good it feels when he’s on his knees for you, his head between your thighs. He wants to know that only he can make you feel this way.

As with Shingen, open communication is key. If there’s ever a kink you’ve been meaning to explore, a fantasy that you’d like to play out together… let him know. He’d never judge you or shame you for your sexuality. Telling him what you want him to do in bed and how to do it not only teaches him how to pleasure you but contributes to his own sense of pride in knowing that you share these desires only with him. Besides, he’ll be sure to deliver.

Kennyo

Kennyo often worries that he doesn’t deserve you. To him, your pure and untainted heart is more precious than anything of a man like him, who’s become so hellbent on revenge, could offer you. And yet, laying beside him at night, you are so brilliant that just the warmth of your body can fill him with such happiness.

He caresses you once… twice… Each touch is hesitant, tender, but fire burns between you both as your bodies start to move as one. The shudder of your shoulders, the soft gasp of breath you make when his fingers seek you… is he hurting you? You clutch tightly to his arm, begging him to continue, and yet when he climbs on top of you… staring into your innocent, vulnerable eyes, he feels so unworthy of what’s to come.

He craves your love, your affection, your acceptance, but he’d never ask for any of it because it just feels too selfish to possess your heart and your body too. So reassure him. When he’s holding you in his arms, whisper his name as you trace your fingers along his chest, you taste his unending love in every delicate kiss and moan. Tell him how much you love him. Tell him how much you love to be loved by him.

He needs to know that you really see him. See him as the man he longs to become: a man who’s as deserving of love as anyone else, a man who can love and be loved, a man who’s worthy of your love… not the vengeful demon he’s come to embody. While you’re staring past those sad, charcoal eyes, gazing at the gentle soul that bursts with endless affection for you, tell him how precious he is to you and how happy you are to be his…

…And bring your lips to his in a passionate kiss that expresses all the words in between. The rest will follow. Everything he has to offer is yours.

Yukimura

The first time that the two of you were intimate, you had to be quiet as to not get caught. Now, when the two of you are spending the night together, you needn’t worry about holding yourself back anymore. Yukimura wants to hear you. He won’t admit it at first, but the sound of your voice turns him on so much when he’s touching you. Knowing that you can get so hot and bothered because of him… makes him feel so embarrassingly flustered in return. 

Hearing the way that his own moans sound is always an awkward experience for him… he can’t help but get red in the face and cringe when he hears himself moan. And yet yours are irresistible. He’ll get flustered so fast every time your lips part as you call out his name, your fingernails digging desperately into his back and your legs writhing around his waist as he holds you in his arms.

As he gains more confidence in his capabilities to make you moan, Yuki will start teasing you and coaxing you for more of those lovely sounds. He loves the way you lose yourself in him, the way your voice gets higher and higher before you come undone with him inside of you.

Say his name over and over as you’re clutching onto his shoulders, biting into his neck as the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable. It’s such an ego boost, knowing that he can pleasure you like that, that he can make you feel so good that you can’t keep quiet anymore. Lord Shingen is sure to tease him about it in the morning, but that’s the farthest thing from his mind as Yukimura lets the sounds of your pleasure guide his hips, his mouth, and his fingers against your body.

[ash-clarington]

WHO: Ash & Dani ( @daniharperdominant ) WHEN: after that one fight // end of December after the crash WHAT: separate paras in the vein of comfort.  WARNINGS: ??? why do I refuse to post things ffs

​OCTOBER; 

Ash hesitated before kneeling at Dani's door. It wasn't that, not tonight, but Ash was conflicted within herself as it was and she felt too out of control already to do anything but play it safe. She wasn't sure what Dani would have wanted and the last time she had gotten it wrong. The submissive knocked and crossed her arms, holding herself in. It'd been an eventful day.

Dani was still processing everything she'd heard about the fight, and wondering what on Earth might have possessed Ash to go after someone that way.  All she knew was that it wouldn't have happened without some serious provocation, and if Ash wanted to share more than that she could.  Hearing the knock, she opened the suite door to find Ash kneeling there. "Good girl.  Stand up and come in, please.  There is a fluffy pair of pajamas and a robe on my couch, if you'd like to go change before we get settled."

The pajamas were a nice offer but, Ash wouldn't be caught dead in them. She did however accept the robe with a nod and took herself into the bathroom to change and wash her face. She hadn't stopped back at her room, unsure if there was a possibility of running into Odette. Ash stripped down to her underclothes and ran cool water for a moment over bruised knuckles before washing up and pulling on the robe, cinching it at the waist. "Thank you for letting me come by, Miss." She said once she'd returned. "You weren't doing anything festive tonight?"

Dani watched as Ash took the robe and left the pajamas, and she folded them with a quiet smile to be put back in her closet later.  Anything that she offered was only to be accepted if Ash wanted it, and it didn't hurt her feelings either way.  As she busied herself in the washroom Dani grabbed a couple of waters and a small snack in case Ash hadn't eaten all day. "You're welcome, Ash - it's honestly my pleasure.  And no, no parties tonight - I always find it gets a little crazier than I'd like."

Ash sat and exhaled, forcing herself to relax. She liked spending time with Dani, or at least, it wasn't any work and the Dominant never really demanded much from her. "Do you want me to tell you what happened?" She asked, already knowing what Dani would say. Some part of her felt like she owed an explanation, to shake off the way it sounded. The question became rhetoric when Ash rolled her eyes at herself and began telling Dani anyway. "I have this box of things from what feels like... a past life and I was, I'd been wanting to..." Her brow furrowed and she started again. "Odette took a ring from me, I don't know why. I didn't... I didn't even ask." She said, the thought only just occurring to her. " Ever since she got here it's really always been something and today I just, lost it." Ash took a breath and wiped her cheeks, annoyed with another wave of tears after already washing her face.

Dani had found, since getting her mark, that being a good Dominant sometimes required the ability to simply be quiet.  Any idiot - as Lottie had proved - could bark out orders and pretend to be a Dominant.  It took the ability to actually listen to really be one.  So when Ash asked her question, Dani simply waited for her to choose - and choose she did, finally opening up. When the tears splashed her cheeks, Dani resisted the urge to reach for her.  Comfort, like anything else, was something Ash needed to decide if she wanted.  "I'm going to make a couple of assumptions," she said softly, "and you can tell me if I'm wrong.  I assume that this ring has sentimental value, as part of that past life.  I'm also going to assume that she never asked for your permission to touch her things."  Dani paused for a moment.  "I obviously shouldn't condone assault.  But I've had people try to take my things, and I won't lie and say I never fought them.  So I can't condemn what you did, Ash." Dani worried at her lip.  "If you're here for condemnation from me, you won't get it.  Because I won't."

Ash tipped her head, a crooked smile aimed in Dani's direction. "I'm not." She promised. She took a deep breath, drying once more at her cheeks, this time with the sleeve of the soft robe. "The Dean will be issuing a punishment and... I'm upset enough with myself, I don't need to convince anyone else to be." The exhaustion of the day and flip flop between emotions had Ash drained. On top of that she had grown comfortable with Dani. From the time they'd spent together in the Dominant's room to all the time they'd been sharing on the roof while Ash was escaping and avoiding her own room. It accumulated to the submissive's walls being down, and honesty came easy. Ash almost laughed. "After all that, i'm still just avoiding the box from the closet." She distracted herself playing with the end of the robe's tie. "I didn't want to go back to the room and I wasn't sure... where she'd be exactly. I never asked."

Dani nodded.  "That makes sense.  And I'm sure you've got this taken care of, but I'll say it anyway - if you need somewhere to go after your punishment, you know that my door's always open for you."  Aftercare, she hoped, would be provided by whoever was responsible for the punishment, but she still needed to be sure that Ash had a safe place to go - especially given what she said next about her room.  "That makes perfect sense - both parts.  You're welcome to stay here with me for as long as you need, and if you need someone to walk you back to your room to collect your things I'm here for that too."

Dani being openly warm with her was not helping her emotional state. It seemed every time she began pulling herself back together the Dominant tugged at a particular string just a bit and it made her eyes water again. Defiantly, Ash looked up at the ceiling and bit her lip, forbidding a single tear more to fall. "I appreciate that, Miss." She sighed and shifted, moving to lay her head in Dani's lap, dark curls spilling in all directions. "Are you like this with everyone?" Ash found herself asking out loud, a thought she had only just pondered as she'd gotten comfortable that made it past her lips unchecked.

There was no missing the way Ash's eyes watered, but Dani wasn't going to point it out or draw attention to it in any way.  "Of course, Ash.  It's my pleasure, and I want to know that you have somewhere safe to go.  Once the submissive's head was in her lap Dani's fingers began to work gently through her hair.  "I would like to think so," she replied softly.  "I try to treat everyone the way they deserve to be treated.  But I won't lie, I do enjoy spending time with you."

The words sent a shiver up Ash's spine in a chilling way, something she felt she should shake off but the submissive let them settle instead. She closed her eyes against the feeling of fingers through her hair and the weight of her exhaustion seemed to double the more she relaxed. "I'll need to be back to my room in the early morning to pack. Before curfew lifts." Ash said, allowing herself to be lulled. "New room assignment." She left out the part about how she should be there now, how she was meant to be ready to move first thing. "If you don't mind ordering me back tonight so, I don't have to wake you?"

"I'm very glad that they gave you a new room assignment.  You don't need to be in there with someone you can't trust to stay out of your personal effects."  The weight of Ash's head felt right in her lap, and she was content to stay there just as long as the submissive was comfortable with her.  "Of course I don't mind.  I'd be happy to give you orders as long as you're good to receive them from me."  She didn't toss around random orders, and had virtually never given anyone orders they weren't already expecting.

REASSURANCE; 

It took a while for Ash to find a position that was the least uncomfortable but she was glad to be out from under her sisters watch. More specifically she was glad to be in the Dominant’s space. Dani had a calm about her and the two of them had built up a quiet trust between them that Ash allowed herself to indulge in every now and then. The submissive shifted carefully again to bring herself a little closer to Dani, seeking more contact between them. Absently Ash toyed her fingers at the Domme’s wrist and up her arm. They’d been laying that way for about an hour and Ash was on the cusp of falling asleep but she was fighting it. Frustrated with sleeping the days away and stubbornly determined to keep her time with Dani. “No more beer on the roof.” She said, the thought coming to her mind slowly. Ash lifted her eyes to Dani’s then buried herself in deeper, ignoring the deep ache her movements caused. “What a shame.”

If she were pressed on the subject, Dani would have confessed to pride that Ash trusted her.  It wasn't a commodity that anyone gave out easily, and that seemed doubly true with Ash - which made Dani doubly proud to receive it.  Once they'd climbed into bed she stayed back just a little, letting the submissive try to find a position that wouldn't cause her any pain before gently sidling closer and laying an arm across her.  Once they'd settled they stayed close, just taking the quiet time to relax and giving Ash, hopefully, a place to recuperate a little where she wasn't being watched over by her sister.  The little touches brought a smile to Dani's face, and when Ash spoke up she nodded.  "It really is.  I enjoyed those nights a lot: I'm still okay doing them without beer, but it's up to you if it still feels worth it."

“I’ll still be frequenting for cigarettes.” She replied, agreeing without directly doing so. Even there tucked away against Dani, in her bed, Ash wouldn’t admit completely how much she enjoyed their time together. On the roof of course was different than the quiet close comfort the Domme was so good at providing and Ash had been craving it enough to not be concerned with how she was being perceived. The truth was the longer they lay together the farther Ash felt herself sink into her thoughts, calm and safe enough to think the week over a few times and it was making her chest tight and tongue taste metallic. The submissive took hold of the end of Dani’s shirt, looking for a way to ground herself. “It’d be worth it.”

"That works out well, then.  I'll be up there just enjoying the view and the company."  Dani kept her words casual, but they were still carefully chosen.  She wasn't pushing Ash into anything, and their rendezvous wouldn't be scheduled or the like; just something that happened when it happened.  When she felt the grip on her shirt, though, she moved one hand to rub slowly up and down Dani's side.  They didn't have to talk about it, but she was there to provide any comfort they could.  "I agree," she nodded.  "Definitely worth it."

"You're not upset?" Ash found herself asking, her eyes trained on Dani's collar bones peeking out from beneath her shirt collar long enough to give in to reaching up to touch them. Fingertips barely grazing over warm soft skin. "About the new rules." She clarified, not wanting Dani to get confused and think Ash had meant upset with her specifically. She wasn't prepared for more people to be disappointed in her, least of all Dani. She'd gotten enough from her siblings for getting herself into the situation, neglecting being responsible, whatever it was. Typically she didn't care for their opinion but something about it was bothering her. Not to mention the fact that she was very specifically told by her father not to come home for any holidays. As if she'd been planning to anyway. Ash took her hand away to tuck under her own face and she chanced a glance at the Domme's expression, searching for anything Dani might not say out loud.

Dani was silent for a moment, knowing her answer walked a thin like between honesty and risking upsetting Ash any further.  Her hand never slowed or stopped, though, still rubbing her side gently.  "Not upset, exactly.  I think it's unfortunate, and I also think it's a rule that's going to get a lot of people in trouble, because we're all adults and some people are going to want their alcohol that much.  But I understand what they're thinking, at least, even if I don't agree with basing a decision this big on a single incident."

Ash gave a slight wince when Dani touched on a particularly tender spot but she hid it by readjusting and allowing her hair to curtain over part of her face, not wanting her to stop. "Maybe it is only temporary." She tried, a thought she'd used for her own self soothing over the past few days. "I shouldn't have..." Ash paused, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat to ensure she could trust her voice from betraying the exterior she'd been attempting to maintain. "I shouldn't have gotten in the car. I really thought she'd--she usually has things under control." Ash turned away, carefully settling most of her weight into her hip so she could curl herself into the little spoon without hurting her healing ribs. "I wasn't thinking."

Dani adjusted herself just a little as Ash spooned into her, which gave her a chance to think over what she wanted to say.  "That's possible.  And I think it would be smarter for them to make it only temporary, but I don't know what they're thinking or what they've got in mind for the future.  We'll just have to see."  She immediately shook her head at what Ash had to say about the crash, however.  "It's not your fault.  None of this is.  You were out having a good time, and the minute she sat behind the wheel of the car she took responsibility for getting you home safely.  It infuriates me that she let you down, and that the only thing keeping," Dani swallowed some of her anger, keeping her voice in check.  "That the only thing keeping you from being gone today was you being smart enough to put your seatbelt on.  This was not your fault.  None of it."

Ash closed her eyes against Dani's words, trying to hear them. It didn't count because Ash expected it from Dani, she'd said the same thing when she'd had her outburst on campus. She may have gone there anticipating hearing it, or hoping. She exhaled slowly and relaxed into Dani further. Her exhaustion just from making the journey to the Dominant's room and the short walk she'd managed to sneak earlier in the day was catching up to her. More than she could keep successfully suppressing. Ash didn't bother to open her eyes again and though she nodded it was more in acknowledgment that she'd heard Dani, not that she entirely agreed. This time Ash knew the Domme was alone in that thought. Max may have been driving but it had been made very clear to her by the school and the people closest to her that she certainly played her part. "Thanks for letting me over, Miss."

There wasn't any mistaking the exhaustion in Ash's posture, or the way that she seemed to be sinking toward unconsciousness.  And that was just fine with Dani; if she could help the submissive get some proper rest, the kind that healed and felt safe and warm, then she wanted that.  "You're welcome, Ash.  You're welcome anytime."  Reaching out with the hand that wasn't under Ash, Dani turned off her bedside lamp.  The room wasn't completely dark, but it was dark enough for rest, and she laid her arm back over Ash's middle very gently.  Resting wasn't going to be made an order, but Dani did hope it would come.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

MORE ANGRY BUCKY! Maybe one where your asshole ex says something mean towards you? (ends in fluff ttho)

I THRIVE OFF OF ANGRY BUCKY

You absolutely hated crying in front of Bucky: you knew it upset him seeing you like this, though more so, you didn’t want him to think you were weak, nor that you were dependent on his protectiveness. 

You always made sure, he knew just how capable you were... But this, this was different. You felt you could no longer suppress the mixture of rage, sadness and helplessness. The words wickedly stung and they’d clung to you since you’d. unfortunately bumped into your ex-boyfriend, whom of which you’d previously dated for 2 years, only to have broken up just a few months back. 

So undoubtedly, there were still some ties with him that hadn’t yet passed. 

“Whore.” 

He’d called you a whore, and in the face of the public. 

It was humiliating to say the least, but you’d know this man. At a time, you swore he’d never say such a thing, and here he was... Proving you utterly wrong. 

Everyone knew of your new-founding relationship with Bucky, he didn’t waste a split second to tell you how he felt. He’d given you the necessary time and space to recover, gather your thoughts and prioritise yourself. He was patient, as he had been for the years you’d known him... If only he’d been confident enough to have confessed to you before: you would have never had the whole “story of an ex.” 

After you’d felt that you were ready, once you’d realised you shared the same mutual feeling Bucky had so sadly suppressed all these years, you two hit it off. And not a single day went by that you’d thought you’d rushed into anything... Bucky was in fact, the absolute man of your dreams. You were more so angry with yourself, for having taken so long to realise. 

But this, right now. You were a complete and utter mess. 

You couldn’t stop the tears, you couldn't stop the cries. As soon as you’d reached for the elevator, closing the doors behind before anyone else could barge in on you, you’d wanted nothing more than seek solace in the warmth embrace of Bucky. You always felt guarded wrapped around his long, muscular arms. 

“B-Bucky-” You breathlessly cried out, immediately as the elevator doors glided open, it was like right when you needed him, he was always there. 

Sitting beside his fellow Avengers, in the common room, as soon as he’d heard your agonising plea, and seen your tear-stained face, he bolted towards you, with the rest following closely behind. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Come here-” 

There it was, that much needed embrace. 

“Babe, what's got you so upset? Tell me.” 

You felt Natasha’s gentle hand rubbing your pack, as means of reassuring you. Steve stood on one side of Bucky, with Sam on the other. Some sense of relief hit you, feeling grateful for their concern. But this, was a matter between Bucky and you. 

Trying best to catch your breath as it hitched here and there with a sob in between, you’d managed to somewhat compose yourself, looking up into Bucky’s reassuring eyes, that pained to see you this way. 

“I-I ran into him... My ex. H-He knows about us, he was mad. Mad enough to call me a whore, a-and there were people everywhere!” 

The intense look on Bucky’s face, right before you buried your face back into chest, changed a shade to complete rage. You felt you couldn't bear the shame now. You didn't want Bucky to think of you way that all, you didn’t want him to agree, thinking you’d moved on so quickly, the chance of that happening again with him, were possible... You didn’t want him to think that way at all. 

“Where’d you last see him, Y/N?” 

“Now, Bucky, hang on-” Steve insisted, having a good guess at what was to come next. 

“Just forget about it, Bucky... There’s no need, I’m just being a sook-” 

“Any fucking guy that thinks it’s okay to say that, especially to my girl, has another thing coming. So where did you last see him, Y/N?”

“Buck, you need to calm down-” 

“Steve’s right... Please Bucky, just promise me, you’ll forget about this whole ordeal, and that you won’t do anything haste, for me at least. I’m begging you.” 

He couldn’t resist, he’d feel immensely guilty for doing anything you’d regret of him. 

“Fine... But if I ever see that prick again, he’s going to wish he’d never met you in the first place.” 

[risingfire17-the-weeb-trash]

The Ones Who Walk Away- Chapter 5- Memory Meets Reality

Yoosung has a lot of questions about Luciel and how he’s related to the strange boy from his past, but neither Luciel nor Rika will give him any answers! Will he find some if he goes back to the cathedral where it all started?

               He told me his name and then left.

                 But he told me his name.

                 Rika and Jihyun came home shortly after Luciel left, which didn’t give me much time to process everything that had just happened. Not sure what to make of the whole situation, I decided not to bring it up. I couldn’t figure out why, but I didn’t yet feel comfortable telling Rika anything that had happened with Luciel. Not until I’d had a chance to sort things out.

                 And of course, on the way home, she asked me, “Did everything go all right with the computer repair guy?”

                 “Yeah, I gave him the envelope like you said.”

                 “How did he seem to you?” I had really hoped she would leave it at making sure he got his payment. Besides, why did she care about anything else? Well, she did know him. He had said that. But how did she know such a strange boy?

                 “Lu-“ I stopped short of saying his name. Why was I struck with a sudden dread of saying his name?

                 The way he whispered it to me like he didn’t dare let anyone else hear.

                 “I’m sorry I can’t tell you my name. It really is a secret.” The words he had so desperately spoken four years ago.

                 And could I not even trust Rika?

                 “That boy does not exist.” She had said that back then.

                 “L-look, I was kind of busy with my homework. I’m sorry I didn’t pay closer attention.”

                 Rika paused, scanning me, and I hung my head in what I hoped she thought was shame at my carelessness. After a moment, she sighed with a smile.

                 “English?”

                 “Yeah.”

                 “That always was your worst subject. Did it go okay?”

                 “Yeah, I think I’m getting better!”

                 “That’s great, Yoosung!” We drove in silence for a while. When we pulled in front of my house, Rika stopped me from exiting the car. “Yoosung.” Her voice sounded hesitant.

                 “Yeah?”

                 “You’ll be seeing more of him from now on. Be careful around him.” Be careful? What did she mean? Was Luciel dangerous? If he was, then why would he be in Rika’s house?

                 “The computer guy? Why?”

                 She gave me a bright smile that had always reassured me, but somehow fell short of that now. “That boy’s lead a troubled life, but he has so much potential. So I’ve been helping him. He’s a little rough around the edges. Please don’t hold it against him; he’s trying so hard. But be careful, okay?”

                 “Oh, okay!” Was that all? She thought I would be afraid of him because he was a little awkward? Okay, maybe I was a bit, but I also wanted to give him a chance. Especially if he was someone Rika was trying to help! I left her car almost completely assured of the situation, until I remembered, once again, her words from four years ago:

                 “That boy does not exist.”

                 Well, she hadn’t known him back then. He said he hadn’t gone to her church until two years ago. But why had she been so insistent? The way she’d said those words, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me that he didn’t exist. Or like she was trying to hide his existence?

                 No. Rika wouldn’t lie to me. She was just afraid for my health, convinced I had imaginary friends at my age. That was the first time she’d doubted me, and it had hurt so much. Looking back, that’s also when I lost the one person I could tell everything to. And somewhere in the midst of my pain and effort to never be rejected by her again, I started to believe that red-haired boy really was some sort of dream. Everything about that encounter had certainly been fantastical enough.

                 But then that boy had reappeared in my life and made me question everything all over again. I was thoroughly convinced Luciel was the boy I had ditched Sunday school with all those years ago, though he insisted we’d never met before now. Or maybe he just didn’t want to tell me. He was just as secretive now as he was back then. And I was too afraid of Rika’s reaction to ask her of the connection between her computer guy and the boy she’d insisted was in my head.

                 Rika said he’d had a troubled life. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it did explain some things that didn’t add up about him back then. Like the tattered clothes. The unkempt hair. The way he roamed the city with no adult like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the way he seemed like he was hiding from someone. Maybe a lot of someones.

                 But who did he have to be hiding from to fear telling anyone his name? The police? Was he a criminal? No, Rika would never let a criminal in her house, no matter how much she wanted to help them. Besides, he was around my age. How could a 10-year-old be a criminal?

                 Besides, for all his confidence that had so enraptured me when I was 10, behind it he seemed…afraid. It had flashed across his face a few times back then, but I had not recognized it at the time. When I tried to stop him from leaving the church. When I tried to stop him from leaving me behind. When he had sent me inside that store. And four years later, he still had a spark of that fear. When I recognized him. And when I asked about his past. There was a moment, before he turned the entire thing into a joke, where he looked into my eyes, absolutely terrified. In that moment, I probably would have done anything to ease his fear.

                 I’d never been so overcome with a desire to pull someone close before. But at that time, that’s exactly what I had wanted: to keep him so close to me that whatever he was afraid of couldn’t possibly touch him. What would have happened next if I had? Would his chest against mine feel warm? Would he rest his head on my shoulder? Let me run my fingers through his soft curls? Would he look at me with trust in his bright eyes? Would he pull me even closer and…

                 No. I would not let that scene keep playing in my head past that point. He’s a guy; I should not be thinking like that! Even though something about it felt…familiar. Like my mind was trying to replay a forgotten memory just beyond my reach. Or more likely that my stressed and lonely mind was seeking escape in anything it could find, no matter how messed up!

                 I think it was safe to say I had developed an unhealthy fixation on Luciel. During the time I should have been thinking of nothing but my studies for the entrance exams, thoughts of him kept invading my mind. I kept asking myself the same questions about him again and again when I should be focusing on review questions.  And those weird daydreams didn’t stop. Great; if I failed my entrance exams, not only would I live in the shame of having fallen short of my family’s expectations, but it would all be because I was thinking like a hom- no; I couldn’t even think the word!

                But somehow, I did get into the high school I had aimed for. With exams finally over, I could let out the breath I had been holding and relax for the rest of middle school. At least, I could put my test stress to rest. That did nothing to solve my problem of obsessively thinking of a certain redhead. And I highly doubted the month-long break before high school would, either.

                 Especially when Rika asked me to volunteer at a church event. The event seemed simple enough. It was a door-to-door drive to sell tickets to a fundraising event. Annoying, lots of rejection in store, but simple. What wasn’t simple, however, was that I spent the entire week leading up to the event wondering if Luciel would be there. He had told me he went to her church, after all.

                  And what made it even less simple was that he was there. And he was nothing like what I expected. Given his secrecy and unconventional behavior, I figured he would be a something of a recluse. However, he was…dazzling. He spoke to everyone with a smile that lit up the whole cathedral. He joked, he shook hands, he clapped backs, he moved in a confident manner that charmed everyone around him. And there were a lot of people around him; he seemed quite popular around here. And those who weren’t talking to him were talking about him.

                 “Oh my, Luciel is looking so handsome today! Don’t you think, Hana?”

                 “Yeah! I wish I could be his partner for the donation drive!”

                “Now, now, you know it would be improper for a boy and girl to pair up! Indecent things could happen!”

                “Oh I would certainly hope so!”

               “Goodness, calm down! I’ll have to go to confession just for hearing this!”

                “As if you aren’t thinking the same thing, Yoonah!”

                 Pfft. I may not have been here in a long time, but I remembered Hana and Yoonah. They pretended to be so pious, but they were bullies and gossips of the worst caliber. I bet Luciel would see right through their pathetic show. Not that I cared.

                Because I was quite angry with Luciel. Because he was a liar. He had told me his name was a secret, but everyone here knew it. Of course they did. People didn’t make secrets of their names. It was just a stupid joke. But I fell for it. I let myself believe that I was special to him in some way. Just for knowing his name. Man, how stupid could I get? I had wasted months thinking about this guy who saw me as nothing more than the butt of a sick joke! All his jokes were sick! He was sick! I wanted nothing to do with him ever again!

                “Yoosung!” Crap. I tried to pretend I hadn’t heard him, but he ran to catch up to me, throwing a jovial arm around me and giving me that self-assured grin that had already taken up way too much of my headspace. I tried not to think about that, or about how radiant his eyes looked, or how you could really tell how in shape he was in his well-fitted white button-up shirt and black slacks.

                “Long time no see, Yoosung!”

               “Yeah, well, I had entrance exams to study for.”

               “Ah! I heard you got into the best school around! Rika’s been telling everyone for weeks!” At the mention of my cousin, I was even more pissed off. Was this guy playing Rika the way he had played me?

               “Funny she’d tell you. She never tells me anything about you.” I didn’t even bother keeping the vitriol out of my voice.

               “Um, is everything okay?” His convincing look of concern made me even angrier.

               “Why don’t you tell me? I spent all this time worried if you were okay, thinking you were in some kind of trouble so bad you couldn’t even tell people your name! But clearly that’s not true!” I waved my hands at him and then at the rest of the church in an attempt to convey my incoherent anger.

                He seemed to get it though. And for once his calm demeanor dropped; his brow furrowed, and his gaze fell to the floor. “You…were worried for me?”

                I laughed harshly. He wasn’t going to get me back under his thumb with just a wrinkled face. “Stupid, right? Stupid Yoosung fell for your stupid joke and almost actually cared for you. What a waste, right?” I started to walk off. I needed some time to cool down before the tears came. It was a most annoying habit of mine; I cried when I was angry. I couldn’t stand it because it was so unmanly, but once the tears came on, there was no stopping them. I certainly wasn’t about to let Luciel see me cry.

                 Except he did. Because he didn’t let me escape. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me back around. My face flew up to look up at his in shock. And he looked into my eyes, right as my tears started to fall. Now my anger was overshadowed by a feeling of being exposed. Was I ashamed? Was I afraid? I didn’t know how to feel, and I found myself searching his face for answers.

                His mouth opened. It quivered some, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out what. He stared at me with wide eyes that looked…sad? Remorseful? Yes, that was it. But under that, there was fear in those eyes. It was that fearful look of his that haunted me, that look that made me want to uncover every last secret of his so I could protect him from them.

                He finally spoke, his soft whisper unlike anything I had seen from him today. Or, well, ever. “Yoosung. Be my partner today.”

               Was this another joke? It had to be. Everything that came out of this guy’s mouth was just some sick joke. Right? Or was there something underneath all the jokes? Gah, why was I still thinking like this?! He would just make a fool of me again! I would regret getting more involved with him; I knew I would!

                 “Okay.”