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riphobisbraces · 9 months

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The Lucky Seven | BTS ot7 x reader

Hybrid/Royal AU

~ chapter 3 + lore ~

[word count: 3650+]

❀ genre: dark royal core, hybrid au, royalty au, hybrids/knights!ot7 x human/ princess!reader, afab (she/her) reader, polyamory (mostly ot7 × reader), strangers to lovers, daddy dom, smut and sexual sometimes. tiny bits of horror

❀ warnings: smut, swearing, murder, death (not the reader or ot7 though, l'm not evil), mentions of inbreeding (not between reader or ot7) some unsettling horror depictions, it won't be every chapter though or the whole story, just little bits here and there. (I'm willing to re write chapters for you to read if you can't do horror but still wanna follow along, just ask! 🖤 )

——— summary ———

In a world of hybrids and humans, following each other closely to extinction, you are one of the last full humans, Princess y/l/n of the emerald nation. humans are essential for the survival of hybrids so why are assailants hunting you and your family down? because of this, the court has decided it’d be best for you to be guarded at all times by the nations strongest knights, you’ve only ever heard of them but have never seen their faces. What will happen once you come face to face with the infamous “lucky seven”?

[ chapter 3 + lore ]

You swallowed loudly, Namjoon’s words ringing through your head. Stood before you were seven knights, as attractive as they were intimidating. They were clad in dark iron armour, long swords strapped to their sides.

“Princess, I introduce to you, the lucky seven.” Your father promptly stated, therefore queuing the men to kneel before you. “Your highness” they all spoke in unison whilst looking down in respect. This made your heart slightly jump at the sudden submission from the domineering looking men.

Standing up, the men turned their sight to your father as he continued “the lucky seven are our nation's most powerful and capable knights. They are of full hybrid, all seven being a pack.” Taking in your father's words, their pack name finally rang a bell. You’ve heard of them before. You’ve heard from whispers of servants that the pack is strong enough to take out dozens of assailants at once.

You had no idea that the two men that had saved you the night before were part of the infamous pack. With Namjoon’s kind and gentle smile you could have never imagined that he was apart of such a daunting pack. “Now. These men are to guard you in and out the palace at all times. You are required to have at least three knights by your side in the palace, all seven if you wish you leave the palace.” Your father ordered.

“Sir Kim Seokjin” he called. The man from the far left stepping forward, “My lord” he replied. “This here, is Sir Kim Seokjin, the pack’s oldest. He is a hamster hybrid.” your father declared gesturing to the man.

A hamster? He was tall and had broad shoulders, contrasting a small waist. You would’ve never guess that the tall and muscular looking man was a hamster hybrid. He was staring forward, head held up high.

Examining his face, you took note of his lips immediately. They were strikingly plump and glossy. Making your way up his face, his eyes were the colour of chocolate, the same as his hair. You found yourself in awe of the man’s attractiveness, you’ve never seen anyone so radiant, other than the two hybrids you had just met last night of course.

Without warning, the man’s glance turned from your father to you. Startled, you glanced away, embarrassed. Looking down, you closed your hands together and started to fidget with your thumbs. The man smiled at this. ‘how cute’ he thought to himself before turning his glance to your father once again.

“Sir Min Yoongi” your father called, saving you from your embarrassment. “My lord” answered the man, stepping forward. You looked back up to see the knight.

This man was shorter than the others, almost petite, with long black hair swept over the top of his head. He was just as ravishing as the hybrid before him, feline-like eyes and a downturned mouth. His jawline was less sharp than the others, giving him a soft look.

“Sir Min Yoongi here, is the second oldest of the pack. He is a cat-hybrid” your father spoke. ‘Of course’ you thought to yourself, even in his human forum he resembles a feline. You nodded to your father to continue.

“and I’m sure you’ve already been acquainted with Sir Kim Namjoon and Sir Jung Hoseok.” the two stepped forward, “my lord” they replied in unison before both turned their sights to you, making you unconsciously clear your throat. “Sir Kim Namjoon is the third oldest of the seven, a wolf hybrid as you may already be aware of. He is the pack’s leader.” stated your father, looking to Namjoon causing the knight to smile proudly, dimples displayed while straightening his posture somehow even more so.

Your fathers eyes then moved to whom you knew as Hobi. “And Sir Jung Hoseok is the pack’s fourth oldest. A dog-hybrid, specifically of the golden retriever species” your father gestured to the man. So he’s a golden retriever? You can’t help but smile at the thought, it suits him. His smile was wide and bright, truly like a golden retriever.

“And now I want to introduce the pack’s three youngest” decreed your father, resulting in the last of the three to step forward “my lord” they replied in unison, just like Hobi and Namjoon did. “Starting from the left, this is Sir Park Jimin, the third youngest. His hybrid animal is also a feline like Sir Min Yoongi” you turned your sight to aforementioned the man.

‘Woah’ you thought to yourself. He was a pretty man, face adorned with plump and pillowy lips like the hamster hybrid before him. His eyes were feline-like, almost seductive. The man was smaller than the others, a slim waist also like the hamster hybrid’s but you could tell that he had a strong figure.

“The middle knight is Sir Kim Taehyung, second youngest and a lion hybrid” your father motioned to the knight. This knight was equally as attractive as the rest of his pack, having an alluring look. The man having thick brows, making him look serious.

Upon further examination, you took note of his facial moles, one being above his lip and another on top of his nose. He also had both a monolid and a double lid. The knight had a structured face paired with a sculpted body, much like his other pack mates, only difference being his hands, as they were a bit larger than the others.

“And last but certainly not least, the pack’s youngest, Sir Jeon Jungkook, a bunny hybrid.” spoke your father. The last and youngest knight was ironically the second tallest of his pack. You could see that he was also most likely the most buff, coming to a close tie with Namjoon.

Contrasting his bulky frame, was an innocent appearing face. His eyes were wide, doe like, accompanied by lips with a sharp cupids bow. The combination was very charming. Enticed by the man before you, you also took notice of a little scar across his left cheek.

Your father cleared his throat, taking you out of your mesmerization “you are dismissed until dinner” he declared. You curtsied your father before turning to walk out the room. Followed behind you were multiple steps pattered against the floor, causing you to turn around, the steps to coming to a halt.

Behind you, stood the seven knights ready to escort you. “Oh, you meant starting now?” your voice rang through the courtroom.

The sounds of numerous footsteps clacked against the marble floor behind you as you made your way through the corridor back to your chamber. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy with the amount of eyes you felt on your back. The men were in a line, taking up the whole hallway while following closely behind you.

Each step you took, felt calculated, as if you would trip from the burning stares. You decide to stop, the footsteps behind you also stopping, mirroring yours. Acknowledging this, you started walking once again, footsteps following suit.

You stopped one more time, the steps halting once more. This is when you turned to face the men “can you guys at least walk beside or in front of me, you’re all making me very nervous.” you stated whilst rubbing your wrist. You were used of a servant or two following you around from time to time but certainly not 7 very attractive men.

“Why are you nervous? We’re your guards, we are supposed to protect you after all.” The knight named Jin spoke with a sly manner while moving to stand in front of you. The man bent down to match his height with yours, cocking his head with a smile. This made your stomach do all sorts of flips.

Startled, you took a step back and swallowed dryly. You weren’t used to such close eye contact, especially with a man who wasn’t your servant. You could feel the sweat beads quickly forming behind your neck when Namjoon stepped forward, wrapping his hand around Jin’s shoulder.

“Alright hyung, be mindful of the princess. Remember, she’s never been around anyone other than her parents and servants until the night before..” the wolf hybrid reminded the hamster hybrid. Jin clicked his tongue against his teeth “I guess you’re right…” he reluctantly admitted. “so? can you guys please walk in front of me….” you spoke quietly, causing the men to turn their attention back to you.

They could all feel their hearts warm at your timidness. Hoseok abruptly spoke up, stepping forward “Namjoon and I will walk beside you, the rest will walk behind you” he happily volunteered, much to the other hybrids chagrin. They wanted you walk beside you.

“okay.. thank you..” you breathed out. Namjoon and Hoseok walked up to your sides, the wolf-hybrid taking your left and the golden retriever-hybrid your right. The rest of the knights lined up behind you.

“better?” Asked Namjoon looking down at you. You looked up the at the wolf-hybrid, feeling a bit more comfortable than you did before. “Yes.” You replied and with that, you continued making your way to your room, the hybrid knights by your side and behind, following closely along.

As you finally made it to the oh so familiar tall white doors of your chamber, you couldn’t help but notice the gasps and whispers that came from your servants and maids as you were walking through the palace. Usually you’re kindly greeted and approached in the palace by your servants but with the intimidating looking pack that followed you, they all seemed to scatter away. It was as if they were avoiding you or more accurately, the pack.

This saddened you a bit as you already don’t have any friends. As pathetic as it may sound, your servants were the closest things you had to friends. Sighing, you were about to open your doors when you were cut off by a pair large arms.

“Please, allow us. Wait here.” Contended Hoseok. He turned the knobs, opening the doors as he and Namjoon stepped inside while the others waited outside with you. After the two deemed the room safe, they called out to their fellow pack members.

“it’s clear” signalling for you and the rest to walk in. ‘Is it going to be like this every single time I walk into a room?’ you questioned to yourself.

The sound of your clock filled the silent room, with the occasional turn of a book page from Namjoon who was reading by the seat near your windowsill. You were sitting in front of your vanity, braiding your hair while the men were scattered across your room. When your father said they were to be by your side at all times, you didn’t think he meant it literally.

Swinging your head back and groaning in frustration, you started to mentally berate yourself. If you hadn’t snuck out, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. 'You should’ve just stayed home' you thought to yourself.

Suddenly a light bulb went off in your head. Would the attack even still have happened if you weren’t there? How did the assailants even know that you were the princess? Was it the same way Hoseok did? Did they know you would be there that night? And if so, how?

Millions of questions ran rapid through your head. Your head started to feel heavy and sore. With sudden pangs of pain shooting through your mind, you decide to put your head down on your vanity, arms wrapped around underneath for cushion.

You shut your eyes and tried to do the same with your mind. You inhaled through your nose deeply before exhaling slowly through your mouth, as though if you controlled your breathing, your mind would soon follow suit. Much to your surprise, it did. Your mind slowly started to go blank, instead, focusing on the ticking of your room’s clock.

tick..tock..tick..tock..tick..tock.. you find yourself start to yawn as your body began to sunk even more into your vanity, relaxation running through your body. With the recent events that had transpired, you would think you wouldn’t be able to get a blink of sleep out of fear or paranoia.

Instead you felt safe. Knowing deep down, it is because of the hybrids that currently reside in your room. The ticking of your clock is getting quieter and quieter, before you succumb to your inevitable slumber.

It doesn’t take very long before the youngest hybrid notices that you had fallen asleep. Cautiously, he began walking towards your sleeping figure on the chair. You were facing down on your vanity table, head wrapped around with your arms.

Unexpectedly, you moved your arm to scratch your head, placing it back down away from your face. Jungkook slowly bent down and moved toward you to examine your face. Upon closer inspection, the hybrid noticed a little bit of drool on the corner of your mouth. This made him chuckle in endearment.

Slowly backing up, he cleared his throat “Guys? I think the princess has fallen asleep” he whispered with a smile. Quickly, the men turned from whatever they were doing and fixed their sights upon you. Their faces softening as they took in the sight before them.

Your hair was half braided, baby hairs sticking to your forehead from sweat. Mouth slightly parted as you breathed in and out. “She looks so… peaceful.” Jimin spoke. “You’re right” Taehyung agreed.

They all continued to stare at you in silence whilst you slept, only the clock ticking and your soft breaths filling the silent room. What after seemed like an eternity, Namjoon finally spoke up. “We should get the princess into her bed.” The men uttered courses of agreement before Jungkook quickly offered “I’ll do it!” while standing up.

Everyone nodded and made their ways back to their spots, secretly a bit jealous that they didn’t think of Jungkook’s offer first. Quietly, the youngest made his way to your sleeping body, carefully picking you up out of your seat as to not wake you. Lifting you up, he laid your head on his shoulder, causing you to unconsciously wrap your arms around his neck, the action warming his heart.

He then wrapped your legs around his waist one by one. Cautiously, he started walking, making his way to your bed careful not to drop you. Slowly, he began to put you down on your bed but much to his surprise, you wouldn’t let go, your legs and arms still wrapped around his body.

“Um, Hyungs….” Jungkook quietly spoke. The rest of the pack turned their attention to their youngest, eyes widening at the sight. Jungkook wasn’t even holding onto you, yet, you were wrapped around him like a spider monkey.

“She won’t let me go…” Jungkook continued. The sight made them envy the youngest. Jin stood up “are you sure? try leaning down on the bed” ordered the hamster hybrid. Jungkook nodded and did what he was told.

You were still holding on tight but now you were whining. Your whines tugged at the men’s heart strings. “shit…” Namjoon said, holding his chin while thinking. “Well… just let her sleep on you.”

Jungkook’s heart raced. He swallowed dryly “ar-are you sure?” asked the youngest. “yes, I’m sure” affirmed the leader. Namjoon couldn’t lie, he was envious of the youngest but your safety and well being came first, that included your sleep. So alas, he would just have to deal with his jealousy.

Slightly shaking, Jungkook softly sat down on the bed before putting his legs up and laying down on his back with you still wrapped on him. ‘The princess of the emerald nation is wrapped around me’ he thought. Looking straight up to the ceiling, he was nervous.

He didn’t want to make any wrong move so he just laid there, stiff, not even breathing. Suddenly you yawned and your grip on him became even tighter. This turned his gaze to you. You looked so comfortable. This subconsciously made him follow suit, his body relaxing at the sight and finally breathing.

Once he inhaled, he caught your scent. You smelt of vanilla and shea butter, causing him to decompress even more. He looked over your face and noticed your baby hairs, still stuck to your forehead. Slowly, he raised his hand toward your head, lightly moving them to the side. This made you sigh in content, the sound making the hybrid’s cheeks heat up.

'You were really cute' he thought to himself. The hybrid laid his head back down, closing his eyes. Your scent, the sound of your breaths and the weight of your body, all combining together to create a deadly melatonin for the bunny-hybrid. He soon followed suit you, falling into a slumber.

Night time quickly fell. The hybrids stared at Jungkook and you, begrudgingly. You were for sure going to be scented by the bunny hybrid by the time you woke up, and they all each wanted to be the first one to do so. You looked like a little pup compared to Jungkook’s large frame.

Although envious, they enjoyed the sight in front of them, their pack mate and their princess looking so comfy sleeping together. A knock brought them to their senses followed by a door creak. “Your highness?” spoke a servant.

They all immediately shushed the servant, startling him and almost causing him to jump. Looking around, he noticed that they were all sat around your bed, you still being wrapped around Jungkook. The servant nervously cleared his throat “apologies but uhhh, is princess y/l/n going to make it to dinner?” He questioned in a hushed voice.

“I don’t think so” answered Jin while turning to look at your sleeping figure on Jungkook, in a complete dead sleep. “okay well just so you’re aware, only three of you need to be here over-night so if the four of you wanna go back to your den then you ca-“ “no.” Namjoon abruptly cut the servant off. “we’re okay here.” The wolf hybrid affirmed, looking back to you.

“thank you, that will be all” finished the leader, turning back to give the servant a courteous, but fake, smile. “oh okay. I’ll be off then.” replied the servant before he made his exit, the sound of the doors shutting gently behind him. “So how are we gonna do this?” Asked Hobi.

“I guess the two of us can try and fit on the bed with Jungkook and y/n while the others can sleep on the floor” answered Namjoon. Jimin immediately stood up “I am not sleeping on the floor” making his way to the bed, laying down beside jungkook and you.

Jimin stretched his arms and yawned. “So who’s sleeping with us? There’s one more spot” questioned the feline. Suddenly a body jumped onto the edge of the bed, causing it to slightly shake. The pack members angrily shushed in unison. “sorry, I couldn’t help it” Hobi smiled, making himself comfortable on the bed. Namjoon sighed “I guess it’s you guys and I on the floor tonight, huh?” he concluded to Jin, Yoongi and Taehyung, nudging the youngest one.

“aishhhh.” Yoongi exclaimed while throwing his head back. “alright whatever” the lion-hybrid defeatedly said throwing his hands up before he started to make his way to what he assumed was your closet, looking for any sort of extra blankets. Taehyung wanted to sleep with you but he guesses that his three pack members will do for tonight.

[ LORE ]

Hybrids:

Hybrids are a humanoid species who can shape shift. They require the blood of humans in order to survive. Without it, they can lose the ability to shape shift back into humans. If hybrids stay in their animal form for too long, they can lose their humanity and minds before ultimately, dying as a rabid animals. Not all animals in this world are rabid, just hybrids who lose their humanity. This becomes a problem as humans become more scarce and classism rises in the nations. Needing twice as much as blood from a half human then you would a full human. Poor or small hybrid villages are often overlooked, deemed unfit for survival.

Humans:

Humans. What can we say about humans.. except everything. They are seen as gods, saviours, supreme beings and everything in between. Their yearly blood sacrifices that nourished their hybrid minds and bodies were seen as the most noble act. For this, they were and are forever in their debts. Human blood wasn’t seen as something to have to regulate or worry about since there were so many humans. Before the disaster that is. There was a huge unknown catastrophe hundreds of years ago that wiped out only and nearly all humans. Since then, humans and their blood have been regulated, only the richest villages in the nations being sub-stained while others, perished, turning into rabid animals forever before finally succumbing and dying. The fall of a hybrid village is something no one should ever witness. The scent of a human can also help a hybrid thrive and become stronger, kind of like a boost.

Emerald nation:

This nation was formed hundreds of years ago along with dozens of other nations following the catastrophic disaster that took almost all humans. The fateful surviving human families of that day were sent over all the nations, one family for each one. Over the years the nations capital villages that the human families resided in soon turned into kingdoms, the families also turning into what we know as royal. The humans served and provided for their respective kingdoms alongside hybrids alike. The humans also courted fellow humans from other nations royal families to keep the human blood line going but as time went on, there were no more other humans to court. This caused a proposal, a proposal for selected hybrids to court and mate with royal family members. This went on for years, resulting in half hybrids and quarter hybrids before only one full blooded human family remained. Your family.

a/n; hello again everyone! it’s currently almost 7am where I live. I stayed up to finish and proof read the chapter and I’m soooo tired but I really wanted to finish and share with you guys :)) anyways I’m gonna try and sleep for a bit. I’ll start a bit of chapter four tomorrow but I’ll be sure to have it finished and posted by Wednesday night or Thursday morning (my time zone is EDT) thank you for reading! 🥰

[tag list🖤🖤🖤: @strxwbloody @exfolitae @thebisexualonesworld @skyys-universe ]

*tag list is open, just ask 🖤*

previous chapter:

#Spotify #bangtan boys #bts #bts hybrid fic #bts hybrid x reader #bts royal au #bts x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #hybrid #hybrid au #bts ot7 x reader #bts omegaverse #poly ot7 #royal au

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authormars · 2 months

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Idk if you’ve already posted about this, but I’m gonna ask anyways.

what’s each of the brother’s (Diavolo and Barb included) biggest insecurity? :p

Ah, a post I can make into a long actual thing. I'm counting both physical and emotional

Lucifer

Lucifer's biggest insecurity would be his scars.

Lucifer regularly tells himself how perfect he is, but every time he looks in a mirror and finds his body littered in scars from battles long lost and won, from playful (and not so playful) fights with his brothers, from simply accidentally hurting himself, anything, it reminds him he isn't. Lucifer always covers even the smallest of scars, hating not being that perfect being. Perfection is his biggest flaw.

Mammon

Mammon's biggest insecurity would be his greed.

The knowledge that he would sell anything and everything for money. He knows it's not good. He doesn't want it to be this way. He hates being called a scumbag and an idiot and every insult his brothers hurl at him. He just can't control it. His greed controls him.

Leviathan

Levi doesn't really have a biggest insecurity. The answer would probably be everything.

He isn't as naturally knowledgeable as Lucifer. He isn't as charming as Mammon. He isn't as quick of a learner as Satan. He doesn't have Asmo's perfect body. He isn't strong like Beel. He couldn't choose not to care like Belphie. He is envious of everyone, insecure about anything.

Satan

Satan's biggest insecurity is feeling like a copy.

He can't stand that he was originally Lucifer. Everything he is came from his brothers. Not just Lucifer. Beel taught him how to work-out. Asmo taught him how to do his make-up. Levi taught him how to play games. Mammon taught him how to get under people's skin. Everything he is, everything he has, is because of his brothers. He's not a real demon, he's a creature of wrath molded by his brothers.

Asmodeus

Asmo's biggest insecurity is his ability to love.

Ever since the fall, all he's felt, all he's known is lust. It hinders him. Nudges it's way into his every thought. Is he even capable of love anymore? Can he hold the hand of another and feel anything except the need to bed them? It's almost as if Asmodeus doesn't exist anymore. As if all he is is lust. He fears that more than anything.

Beelzebub

Beel's biggest insecurity is his strength.

He was made to be strong. To be a protector. He works hard to keep that up. He wants to be a protector for his brothers. Someone safe for them to be around. But he fears sometimes his strength goes to far. He holds his hands close to himself so that he won't hurt anyone with just a simple hug. What's the point of having strength if all you can do is harm?

Belphegor

Belphie's biggest insecurity is that he believes Lilith should've been chosen, not him.

Ever since they fell, he's been nothing but problematic. At first, when he transitioned with his sin. Then, attempting to kill humans and fight against the exchange program. Then killing the exchange student his brothers cared for so much. Then making Lucifer's every day a living hell. What good did he have to be alive if all he did was cause trouble?

Diavolo

Diavolo's biggest insecurity is that everyone around him is only there because they have to be.

Mephisto was made to be his friend. Made to entertain him when he was isolated at the castle. He forced Barbatos to stay at the castle with him. He made Lucifer swear his loyalty to him. Swear he would stay by his side. What good is a friend if they're forced to be it?

Barbatos

Barb's biggest insecurity is that he didn't do his best with raising Diavolo.

He's proud of what the young lord has become. He's proud of the dream he's realized. But what if it isn't enough? Barbatos has seen demon kings rise and fall. The good and evil. He's seen what his young lord can become. What if, even after all the work to make him the kind-hearted soul he is, it isn't enough?

Thank you for reading so far into this (I know it's long)

My askbox is always open and if you have fic suggestions, I'm always up to write!

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos

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lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months

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Ignorant Cruelty

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Mean!Chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader

WORDS: 1,895.

SUMMARY [Requested by Anon]: “Omg can you do and mean chubby eagon plsss🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽❤️”

WARNINGS: cruel!Aegon ii, mentions of objectifying women, mentions of p in v sex, degradation kink, size kink, food play, breeding kink, lactation kink, humiliation kink, stomach/thigh riding, jealous/possessive!Aegon ii, swearing.

A/N - my mind is a little all over the place, so sorry if I'm taking forever to do your requests, just too many horny thots in such little time. so I've got a few WIPs and trying to smash out all the "simpler" ones xxxxx I WILL eventually get to the requests sent, promise x

Despite his social stance and political advantage in the realm, Aegon had a notorious reputation of being cruel and imposing.

As a young boy, he was quite the handsome kind, as his endearing Valyrian features accentuated a rare beauty unforeseen in the realm.

However, his unkept and gluttonous habits led the boy to grow in size: larger than his brothers combined respectively, many had grown a distaste for his appearance [although dared not to utter a word directly to his face, in fear of the Prince's wrath].

Aegon was either ignorant to his weight gain or simply was not phased by it, nor its implications. He found enjoyment in his food, and paid no mind to the judgement of others, as he gorged himself during feasts.

Nonetheless, Aegon sought to the comfort of whores and ladies of the night, in which his wealth could grant him the company of multiple women at once.

He developed the wicked habit as many inconsiderate men of the realm did, not viewing women as human counterparts, although rather objectifying them and their "assets": many argued the Prince did so, as means to raise his own ego and esteem.

Regardless, whoever his betrothed was to be, was often deemed as doomed: for many noble, highborn maidens of the realm, from powerful families, were reluctant to present themselves as candidates.

From gossip and whisper, it was told that Aegon himself, was hesitant to allow his family the authority to choose and rather, he himself, settle the decision.

That's when you came into his life. You were a meek, shy girl [only because the rumours of your husband to be, made you fearful of the man's capability].

Seeing Aegon in the flesh, did not help either... He was above average height [taller than yourself], wide and formidable, his waist line was extended and round, arms bulky and fleshy, his thighs were stocky and seemed sturdy.

You could not deny, a deeply rooted part of you inside was aroused by the sight of him.

Why he chose you, no one could explain. Whether it was based on pure attraction, you could not decipher either, for Aegon was demeaning, often belittling you and your family.

At first you assumed, it was his attempt at "small talk", misplacing his manners, and yet he remained consistent in his taunting jabs.

As taught by the Septas you'd grown with, you remained silent and obedient to his every word, through till the marriage, and the night of consummation.

Aegon pestered you with gruelling comments on how inexperienced and useless you would be in bed, unable to "satisfy him" like the whores he often pursued.

You'd reached breaking point and retaliated furiously, leaving Aegon stunned as you spat your venom.

"Mayhaps I am no whore that can sate your spoiled, fat cock, but I am a women of virtue. Do well to remember that, husband. Need I remind you, you chose me. You have no one else to blame for your inept decision making in a wife, than yourself."

His stoic, unmoving gaze remained fixated on you, and the fear began to stir inside, despite having initially felt relief with your abrupt confrontation.

Aegon slowly approached you, his stern gaze firmly fixated on you, like a predator hunting prey, until you were cornered between him and the bed frame.

Using his stronger, dominant mass, he'd shove you down onto the bed, as he pins your arms down, his heavy weight you could not find the almighty strength to break free from.

"Has my fat cock been on your mind? A woman of virtue ends tonight, once I fuck you senseless, you'll be begging for more, as the whores do... My very own obedient, little whore."

“You spoke beyond your limit, little one. I’m going to punish you for that.”

Aegon goes feral on you that night and for all the intimate nights to come: rarely speaking to you, other than to give commands and instructions when you fuck, he initially remains oblivious to your emotional needs. Until, he overhears a conversation between you and a fellow maid/sibling, regarding how lonesome you feel.

He understands that feeling all to well, and the guilt begins to stir, as much as he insists on denying it.

Thus, the poor attempts at small talk begins, and you find that he not only attempts to sate himself, however, you also in the process.

The size difference between you two, is incomparable. During the first few times, a maester was sent to tend to your aches and pains: Aegon being the one to send them up, which you liked to presume was his way of caring.

Yet, as discrete as he may be, he relishes in the idea that he has tainted you so, and often comments on how pathetic and weak you are against him. Immensely fuelling his ego.

Food play to the max: he relishes in his two favourite things: you and desserts. Often arranging for the kitchen to bring up his favourite dishes and wine. Eating cake off your tits, dribbling honey on your ass cheeks and cunt as he licks it clean off you.

He tends to dismiss the power of his own strength, how strapping his grip can be on you, although he does not mean to intentionally inflict it: a whimper or hurt look on your face, he immediately refrains from hurting you further.

Nonetheless, he loves manhandling you: how effortlessly he can pick you up, carry you, swivel you around, until your in just the right position for him.

His cock, [as correct as you were that it was fat] was impressive: seeing it the first time and onwards, you could never acclimate, physically nor mentally. It's girthy circumference, the thick veins that travelled down its mass, gave it this hungry, eager look. Its tip blush red, often glistening with a white, clear film that would ooze fervently at the sight of you.

Undoubtedly, it hurt unlike anything else: yet it was a pleasurable, almost addictive sort of torment.

Aegon had long forgotten the sensation of a maiden's tight, contracting cunt, how your walls clenched for his cock, often commenting how "needy" you were for him.

"Who could sate you like I do? A lean knight, perhaps a slim nobleman, with a needle for a cock... Look at how desperate I've made you for me."

He also gets you to ride his thighs and stomach, always fantasising about it, he forces you to do so, which much to his pleasure, you get off of easily.

Aegon had grown quite possessive of you, despite struggling to show his affections for you. You'd come to understand that it was his approach to appreciating you.

If he felt that a lord was greedily occupying your time in conversation, he'd lazily send for a servant to fetch you and have you hand-feed him treats and bites of his meal, even a pint of his wine.

He’d publicly scold and torture the culprit later, and punish you in the confinement of your private chambers.

“Think you can get away with seducing other men like that in front of me, woman. I saw the way you’d laugh at their shit jokes, and what was it having to cop a feel of Lord Stark’s arm. Need I remind you, who the fuck I am. The Prince, the King to be. In fact, I ought to punish you till I’m certain you’ve learnt your fucking lesson, insolent girl...”

The only time he'd grant you the opportunity of any public displays of affection, came with an intent of showing you off as his, having you comfortably seated on his meaty, broad thighs [which you could not deny, was actually quite snug].

Once Aegon was crowned King, it became a habit to have you seated on his lap as he sat atop the Iron Throne. Publicly demeaning you in front of his liege and serving subjects, commenting on how clingy and deprived you were, unable to be without him.

Especially once King, he rather enjoys fucking you in public, risqué areas where a passerby may hear or witness the deed being done. Seeing the fear of humiliation stirring across your face [even though he knows no one will dare to argue against him, as King], he praises your innocence.

“Terrified? Don’t want your fellow subjects to think the worst of their Queen, how aroused I make you, how easily you submit yourself to me? Look at you, a whimpering, wet mess. Shameful...What would they think of you now?”

You did not mind [despite encouraging Aegon to tone it down initially], for his promiscuous habits of seeking out to sneaky rendezvous with the eager prostitutes that filled the Street of Silk, had come to a long-awaited end.

You had not openly discussed it with him, however he began to notice the sadness in your eyes, at the sheer thought that whenever he left you in the night [even if it was to attend some late council meeting, or to fetch a midnight treat] that your mind pondered over awful, scandalous thoughts.

He would open the conversation one late night, before you'd drift off to sleep, after an exhausting, strenuous round of fucking: he made the promise to you, that his loyalty remained with you.

"I may not be able to erase the disgrace that haunts your mind from my actions, although I vow that you are the only one, Y/N... Since I made the decision, it was only ever you."

As Aegon's waist line had grown noticeably, his infatuation with you had grown exponentially too.

The primal urge to to drench you in his cum, drowning in his hot, potent seed was a must whenever granted the chance.

"To see you swell as I have, with my babe in your belly. Tits full of sweet milk... Gods be good, we will populate the Red Keep if we must."

Once you do fall pregnant, best believe Aegon would be an absolute pest when it comes to your lactation: eager to taste you, he'd become addicted and persistent in asking to drink from your tit, seeing how sensitive and tense they get from the fullness, you have no choice although to trust in him relieving you.

Actually causes him to gain even more weight from the quality nutrition: milk dribbling from his plump lips, drooling down his soft, blurred jawline, as he becomes ‘milk drunk’ from you.

He loves the feeling of your swollen stomach against his soft, plush one: having you ride him one top, as he kneads at your breast, some milk oozing from your sensitive nipple, he'd lick it off his pudgy fingers.

Aegon however remains vexed with utilising words to express his affections for you: often sought to spoiling you with opulent gifts from across the realm, rare gems and luscious silk gowns and intimacy between a man and his wife.

He whispers an “I love you” thinking you are dead asleep in the night, embraced in his warm, bulky arms, causing you to smile, hidden beneath the dark.

Regardless, you are more in tune with your thoughts and words: often expressing your admiration for Aegon, which he savours, always eager for your attention.

Nonetheless, you are content with your lives together, ignorant to the judgement of others, you remain committed to each other.

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @rafesbarbiegirl @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #TGC #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii x fem!reader x twin brother #aegon ii x y/n #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction

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el-tur-el · 2 months

Text

like a heathen clung to the homily.

Pairing: Harper Geraldus x F!Tav

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content. 18+, Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1,102. Read it on AO3.

Little bit of a schedule swap - Rolan piece should be up on Sunday. Have this in the meantime, the brain bees said 'must write sad wet cat man'. (This is not the fic I have planned that involves edging, that will be coming later.)

Warmth. Patchouli and some kind of flower that she doesn’t know the name of, essential oils pooling in little slicks on the surface of the water. She sees herself in them, iridescent and raw, constantly changing shape. Home can be whatever you make it; she learned that during her time fighting the Illithid threat, when it came in the form of purple robes, of quietly murmured prayers. Of the flash of a silver sword, the peek of fangs from between pouty lips. The most elegant horns she had ever seen. The smell of peat moss and petrichor. Brimstone and something sweet.

It looks a little different now. A solid torso, a wiry frame; his back pressed against her stomach, his head tilted against her shoulder. His eyes are closed, and she can’t help but think that it was all worth it. For this. Just this. To be able to hold him, to be able to contort herself into the shape of his home.

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

She presses her lips to the crown of his head, and he smiles, slow and lazy. Sweet in that sort of way that makes her heart seize up behind her sternum. He deserves the world - she only wishes a human being could be capable of offering up something of that magnitude. She would move mountains. She would write sonnets. She’d kiss every freckle, trace the constellations mapped out on his skin, document them all to memory.

What a beautiful, fragile thing a heart is. What a privilege to be able to cradle one in your hands.

“I love you.” She murmurs against the soft black of his hair, slick with sweat and water and oils that were far, far too expensive. Indulgence breeds complacency, but he’s worth it. “Can I take care of you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” He rasps, all wet-eyed wonder, thick and tempting, pools of honey.

Her palm splays out flat between his pectorals, soapy and damp, and she drags it down the dip and curve of his stomach, his flanks. Past his navel and southward, to somewhere warmer. Yielding. Her fingers loosely wrap around his cock, and she swears she will take him apart piece by piece with the reverence he deserves.

He lets out a shuddering breath, tilting his head to press his lips against the soft column of her throat. Such a pretty thing, soft and pliable against her. Malleable like clay, something to shape with her hands, make and unmake. She moves, slow, and he whines against her skin. She could bottle that sound. Drink it down every night. Headier than wine. Sweeter than mead.

“So good for me.” She breathes out, praise and prayer all in one. “Just like that, sweetheart. Look at you.”

His hips shift against her grip, the water in the tub sloshing with the movement. She’ll have to wipe up the floors later, but she cares little; another act of tenderness, another reminder of a love that she never once thought she’d be blessed with.

“Tav.”

“I’ve got you, lovely.” She moves at an achingly slow pace. There’s no rush anymore. Not now, not here, in this space she’s made for him. In the yawning canyon of tenderness that she’s so carefully crafted. A house of worship. A church, an altar, a prayer. Communion.

He’s always been a restless thing, and this time is no different; squirming against her, pushing up into her hand. Needy. Wanton. Debauched. She studies his face, the furrow of his brow, the bow of his lips. Memorizes it, pockets it for later. Savors every little detail, every whine, every moan.

“Does that feel good, Geraldus?” Something about this man, this bright and beautiful and brilliant man, has put her in a state of perpetual motion. The movement of her lips wrapping around every syllable, the innate need to be touching him at all times. Frenetic and frenzied in her need to prove devotion.

“Y-Yes, Tav, Gods.” His voice cracks, trembles. A low heat pools in her stomach. “I want - I -”

“Anything.” She whispers, and she means it.

“I want you, please.”

And really, truly, who is she to say no to that.

She’s silently grateful that she splurged on the ornate tub for their home, nearly the size of a pool; one of the few things she’d allowed herself to be selfish about. He gently disentangles himself from her grasp, turning over so he’s facing her, his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. He presses his lips to hers like it’s the first time. Does this every time. Still so soft and unsure of himself, even now.

Her hands come to his shoulder blades, and she sighs into the tentative press of his mouth as he pushes into her. She feels weightless, here, underneath him, the heat of the water around them. He traces a fingertip between the valley of her breasts, down to her hip bone. Exploratory. Cartography. Venturing landscapes made of flesh and breath. Two fingers slowly press against her clit as he ruts into her - shallow, languid.

It is not heat and fire and fury. It is home.

“I love you.” He sighs, his forehead pressing against hers.

Even now, with him settled against her, she is sick with yearning. It’s cloying and syrupy and saccharine, the way she loves him. Her friends regularly rib her about it. But she doesn’t care.

Happy. For the first time in a very, very long time.

His breathing grows ragged, his noises a little breathier, a little higher. Her muscles tense, anticipation thrumming under the surface of paper-thin skin, bursting at the seams. To watch him unspool like embroidery thread, to hold the weight of him against her as he falls apart.

“I’ve got you.” She breathes out again. “Let go for me, sweet thing.”

He shakes against her, a thin, high whimper spilling past his lips. His fingers press against her clit a little more firmly, still so eager to please even as he dissolves into little more than broken sounds before her. She keens, heat rushing through her veins, spilling forth. Her head tilts back and her eyes flutter shut, caught between the here and not, weightless.

They settle against one another, arms wrapping around skin spattered with rivulets of water, his face tucked into the crook of her neck.

Would that she were a church, so that she may bless and keep him always.

The silk swallows her up that evening. The thought haunts her, rattles about her mind.

Milk and honey. A crown of thistle and thorn. Royalty. Deity. Lover.

#geraldus x tav #bg3 geraldus #geraldus bg3 #harper geraldus #harper geraldus x tav #bg3 smut #bg3 x reader #bg3 fanfiction #bg3

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fishsticksloser · 11 months

Note

Hiya!! 🌙⭐ Space anon here! I got inspired by lil 🐺 anon and I wanted to request theirs but the opposite! Basically someone who looks like a cinnamon roll but will destroy you and your ego in 5 minutes or less if you do anything to tick them off !

Ofc you don't have to, have a wonderful day you awesome human being!!!

(If you did this already oh em gee I am so sorry)

Looks Like a Cinnamon Roll...

RotTMNT & Casey x gn!reader

Warnings: aged up, slight mention violence (like the busting of kneecaps)

A/N: This was requested by 4 people at very different times... The other requests will be at the end. :) My first hc with Casey... Woo!

Donnie

Loves your sweet exterior

But he loves your violent, daring personality

You 2 protect each other

He knows very well that you pack quite the punch

As he's accidently scared you a few times (man can literally teleport I swear)

Never again

He is a little scared of you

The first time you showed him how violent you could be

♡_♡

Both of you were pretty similar in that sense

Absolutely will help you beat the crap out of someone

We all know he's not against hurting someone to get what he wants

Leo

You're so cute and sweet to him

Then he saw how quickly you'd fight to protect your loved ones

or when someone insulted you

That was not the plot twist he imagined

Still absolutely enamored by you

Training buddies

Honestly he's never been more terrified than the first time you showed that side of you

But let's be real

He can get like that sometimes too

Mikey

Every underestimates the 2 of you

Both of you so sweet and kind...

Remember S1 Ep 11B? "Pizza Pit"?

Mikey definitely has a violent side

So he doesn't mind that you can be violent

Of course, Mikey prefers a more relaxed style

And always sees the good in people, but when he's really upset

You 2 are a force to be reconned with

Raph

Everyone is always scared of him

He's huge and an alligator snapping turtle

Which means his jaw strength is even stronger than a normal turtle... Which is terrifying

But who they should really worry about is you

Sure you look sweet and cute on the outside

But Raph has seen what you're capable of and knows to stay clear

He will try to get people to take back what they said/did so they didn't have to face you

It rarely works

Casey Jr.

Literal definition of this boy

He may look sweet, but he will absolutely bust kneecaps

He grew up during the apocalypse, fighting is what he's done his whole life

But he's really sweet any time there's no danger

So when you're the same way?

He doesn't even seem to notice

If you ever ask for help beating someone up, he's there

He'll help train you too

He wants to make sure you'll be safe no matter what.

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hwaightme · 1 year

Text

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down, speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.

#k-labels #ateezlovenet #seonghwa x y/n #wooyoung x y/n #seonghwa x reader #wooyoung x reader #park seonghwa #jung wooyoung #seonghwa smut #wooyoung smut #park seonghwa smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez smut

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mrs-snape5984 · 2 months

Text

“I have nothing left. And all I feel is this cruel wanting…”

“And as much as I'd like to feel like I belong here, I'm just as scared as you.” (“Lost in paradise” by Evanescence)

I have to put a trigger warning (suicidal thoughts and swear words) on this post and I’m doing this before I’ve even written my text. I’m sorry. I only need to scream my pain out.

1, 5 years. 535 days. 12840 hours. 770400 minutes. 46 224 000 seconds. Approximately.

1,5 years ago, my life became my personal hell. I feel captured in my own useless body…captured in my goddamn dark room, captured in my fucking overstimulated mind. And who’s my sadistic prison guard? It’s this cruel bitch of a disease ME/CFS!

Wasn’t it enough yet?! Am I such a horrible human being, that I really deserved even more shit in my life?! There have been so many ordeals in my life…so many rough times, disabilities and diseases…so much anxiety and stress to deal with!!! What have I done wrong to deserve all of these dreadful things?! Seriously, what have I done?!?

I must be some kind of a magnet for disasters…I can’t explain it in any other way to myself. Maybe, I’ve just yelled “here!” for all these experiences…maybe I’ve volunteered accidentally?!? Watching your parents fighting night after night until you have to intervene again and again? Here! Being sexually abused at the age of 12 years? Here! Being raped at the age of 15 years? Here! Multiple surgeries and endless pain? Here! Domestic violence? Here! Multiple Miscarriages? Here! Months of pregnancy staying in bed at the hospital? Here! Fighting for the lives of your extremely premature born children without a partner on your side, even though they were the result of ICSI treatment? Here! Colitis Ulcerosa? Here! OCD? Here! Disability? Here! Several other severe illnesses? Here! Getting ME/CFS and being doomed to a life in darkness and silence? Here! Here, here, here!!!!!!!!! Fuck me sideways!

Is it me? Am I the problem?! What have I done wrong! Tell me, God, what shall I do to end this madness…to finish this suffering?! I’m already broken!

And yes, I know, I have three wonderful children….and I’m forbidding myself to leave them behind…to leave them alone. They need their mother. I know that all. But seeing the sadness in their little faces every day…noticing the disappointment in their voices every fucking day…it’s breaking me.

I’ve tried to have dinner together with my children tonight. Therefore, I wore my noise canceling headphones, my sunglasses and I told them to be as quiet as possible. And still….still….fuck! Their movements, their voices, when they spoke all at once…the light in our dining room…everything was too much for me!! I got disoriented…overwhelmed by this overstimulation. All I could do, was to close my eyes and to wait until dinner was over. I couldn’t eat or drink, I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t interact with my children the way, they deserved to be treated by their mother! So…what kind of mother am I now? I’m just a shadow of the mother…of the person, I’ve been, before ME/CFS started to destroy me. I’m only a pathetic failure. My children deserve more than that!

I’m hopeless…and all I want is to let myself fall…just like Julia lets herself fall into the tempting abyss in this heart wrenching drawing, which I’ve commissioned from my dear friend @madfantasy. I’ve told Mani to make Severus come and save her. He’s there…holding her back…grabbing her in the very last moment, screaming “Stay with me, Jules!”. Severus is her last anchor. Severus is my anchor. I won’t let myself fall with him by my side.

Mani, my precious friend, I can’t tell you how grateful I am, that you were brave enough to give my cruel fantasy a face. I know, that my dark thoughts can be overwhelming, especially for someone, who’s also struggling with their own mental health. I’m apologizing for the way, I’m pouring out my grief and despair over your marvelous artwork. But you’re the only artist, who’s capable of getting a grasp on my emotions and transforming them into something so powerful, so delightful like your art. Thank you for everything, my dear. 🫂🫂 (Fly fly)

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

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wttcsms · 2 years

Text

there’s a sort of intimacy in hating someone.

you’re certain that you know more about neito monoma (the blond haired, devil’s advocate, perpetual smirk on an otherwise angelic face, overly pompous bastard) than you do any of your exes. but the worst part of this, though, is that you know that neito monoma (sweet, surprisingly a good friend, and devastatingly pretty — when he’s actually being himself) knows you just as well as you know him.

to be seen underneath the surface is heartwarming when you want it and feels like you’re being flayed alive when you’re least expecting it.

you know him; he knows this. and yet, you don’t expect him (the genuine monoma) to make an appearance right now.

“his loss, anyway.” monoma’s got his hands in his pockets, with his just-the-right-amount-of-blue-to-be-pretty eyes focused on the wall behind you.

your boyfriend — ex, actually — cheated on you. and monoma is just one of many of the partygoers who just so happened to witness this whole messy ordeal. because of course he’s here. he’s entirely unavoidable. he’s been a constant in your life ever since you punched him in the nose on the playground back in elementary school, and he’s been unavoidable ever since.

“i don’t really think he feels that way, but—” you swallow. shrug. “it’s whatever.” it is in fact, not ‘whatever’.

“y’know, i didn’t even like him.”

monoma never likes your boyfriends. every single boy you’ve ever dated, monoma’s had some snide comment to make about them. sometimes, it feels like he isn’t even capable of liking anyone, but you know him well enough to know it’s just a front he puts on. he likes to push people as far as possible, just to see if they’ll stay.

you want to tell him that it doesn’t really matter whether he liked him or not because it’s not like the two of you are friends, but it feels like too much of a lie.

“you never like any of my boyfriends.” you point out, instead.

“yeah. you should consider adjusting your standards. it’s getting kind of sad.”

what monoma fails to mention is that what’s really sad is him. what’s sad is that he tries (to no avail) to convince himself that he doesn’t like you. he pretends that you’re not the first person he wants to call when something happens (he claims it’s because he wants to boast asap) or that he can spot you in a crowd no matter what (he swears it’s because he wants a front row seat to see how you’ll embarrass yourself in public). he acts like he can’t recognize you by laugh alone (he’ll claim he’s never heard a sound so ugly). what’s sad is monoma’s been waiting for you even before you punched him in the nose.

you know he’s not being serious, and you roll your eyes before making the mistake of looking at him.

you already know how heartbreakingly handsome he is, but there’s something about how he looks with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, probably due to the drinks he had tonight, that brings out a sort of endearing, boyish charm. it’s annoying, just like every other aspect of him.

“well, i’ve decided i’m swearing off boys from now on.” if you know what’s good for you (which you really don’t, considering your string of toxic exes), you’ll swear off blond boys with false bravado.

“me included?” he’s not sure what answer he’s looking for.

“i don’t consider you a human, so no. you don’t count.” you don’t mention that you’re sure you could never fully be rid of him; he’s a part of you for good now, which could sound romantic. you’ll liken him to a terminal disease, though. makes it easier to keep up the facade that you dislike him.

“consider me to be your god then? that’s a bit sacrilegious.” you hate how he makes you laugh, and you mistakenly think his smug, self-satisfied grin is because of the remark he made.

when your laughter subsides, he’s serious again when as tells you, “let me walk you back to your dorm.”

and he’s looking at you. you hate when he looks at you like that — like he knows that the two of you are just playing pretend, merely acting out the roles of rivals. he looks at you like how all boyfriends are supposed to look at their girlfriends. he’s the only boy who’s ever stared at you like that.

(you think he’s the only boy you want staring at you like that.)

you know it’s unlikely monoma will ever make a move. you’re too nervous and maybe a touch too prideful to fully put yourself out there, and monoma only acts like he thinks the world revolves around him.

but this offer... it’s the closest thing to vulnerability monoma will extend. he doesn’t tell you this — he thinks you’re starting to figure him out anyway — but he only acts like an asshole because it’s easier to deal with people hating a caricature of his worst personality traits than to be rejected for who he actually is.

you know (and you hope he does, too) that you’re putting yourself out there when you tell him “i'd really like that.”

#neito monoma x reader #monoma x reader #imagine #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fluff #one shot #drabble #scenario

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helloescapist · 9 months

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Hello. I read your Shinobu in a relationship post and honestly I'm speechless at how in depth it is. Wow! Can I ask for more? I need more. Like perhaps more info about them quarreling? The gifts. Or or they are newlyweds and reader got badly hurt and forgets about her. Will her live be stronger and how will she deal with it? Thank you so much!

SO, because of how much I love the “reader got badly hurt and forgets her”. It just pierces me through the heart, and it, it just deserves its own individual attention. I love it. I really do. So, this will be a two-part answer. With the second part to follow later (I'll come back and link it when it's up as well as put it on the masterlist as well!).

Quarrelling and Gifting Headcanons | Shinobu Kocho

Word Count: 2270

Setting: Shinobu Kocho x gn!reader

Content Warnings: SFW, we beat around the bush.

[image is not mine]

It’s so important to note that, Shinobu really will avoid unnecessary conflict in her relationships. It’s not that she’s afraid of a fight, or even the risk of “losing”. Because to be honest, she doesn’t think she will lose the argument. Rather, she really just feels that they can be completely avoided. Which is… ironic as conflict tends to find her.

Let’s be honest, as adorable and sassy as her remarks often are, they have the tendency to rub others the wrong way.

When it comes to disputes of any kind, Kocho has a strong preference for facts, rather than allow her emotions to run the discussion. She knows nothing good will come of doing that. In an attempt to keep the smile on her face, and further suppress her frustration (This woman has stomach ulcers I swear), she will focus her attention on the overall picture. How this argument will play into the enormity of your relationship. Is it something small such as mistakenly utilized a decorative towel?

The practically of her brain screams in agony. It. Is. A. Towel. Therefore, her usage is appropriate, but for all that her logic wails at her, you really do adore those cutesy towels. She’s sorry. She’ll take better care next time to leave your prized serviette be. A dispute over who’s turn it is to tend to the dishes? No, she distinctly remembers that she did in fact scrub them the night before, but, she’ll note the small bags under your eye. The languid movement, and stifled yawn. You had made her dinner despite your fatigue from work, and she knows you hate the task.

She’ll do it.

Now, let’s be clear. Shinobu is not a pushover, nor is she a placemat. You will not often find her compliant, but you will discover that she does try to understand your perspective. To notice when you’re sore from having carried too heavy of a burden, exhausted from running errands, or whether the heat has gotten to you. She will take this with a grain of salt, and accept that you are human.

However, she will go to great lengths to ensure that the same dispute, does not happen twice. You may see a chore chart in your near future, or she may simply request enacting a rule that states, whoever doesn’t cook will do the washing, and your decorative towels will be accompanied by more practical towels. She will keep implementing solution after solution until one is successful.

That being said, in every relationship. There comes a point when you will be tested. Blows will be traded, petty remarks, and snippy behavior, and a fight is just unavoidable. (Shinobu knows, as she tried her damnest to dodge it).

To be in a bond with the Insect Hashira is to know that these blows are not common place. They’re rare, and far and few between. In fact, your love has likely avoided such a dispute for a noteworthy passage of time. You had even begun to wonder if she was capable of expressing anger. When it happens, you were likely knocked entirely off kilter. D-Did Shinobu raise her voice?

Understand that it will never be anything small that has drawn the preserved woman’s ire. As I have mentioned, she is a woman of solution, and prefers to mull things with rationale. With great consideration. But just because she is not as trigger happy as other partners, does not mean her patient is limitless. There are a few things that could make your relationship tense.

You may find yourself humiliated by Kocho’s inability to keep her tongue and cheek in check. To an extent, she understands that you have to play into your boss’s ego. She will tell herself time and time again that it is all a part of the corporate ladder (both in the modern world and the taisho era), but there will come a point when an ignorant employer will push her too far.

It may be that they pushed off their duties on you for yet another time without the slightest clue as to how to perform the task, and yet to continue to berate you for the smallest of infringements. It may be that once again, they have pronounced your name wrong at a social gathering, or they have allocated the blame to you of an incorrect order even though it is clearly their own hand writing. Regardless as to how you arrived here, her tongue has betrayed her. It has written a carnet you cannot afford.

“[YN]. It’s pronounced, {YN},” while she glowers at the man. The cut of his eyes, shocked that she would dare to do correct a man of his station. A social gathering to promote a new item at your place of work, a tea shop having already driven you ragged for the month. The buffoon of a man so incompetent that he could not work off the necessary mathematical equations to determine the quantities to order, so he had pushed all of his duties on you. Late nights dragging you through the mud. Questioning your competence, degrading you so openly. Unashamed of his own ignorance, far too content to place the burdens on you. To play you the very fool he was, and while she had tried to convince herself that it was necessary, you loved your job. You were not in over your head; you understood the importance of boundaries in your work life. Oh, she had tried, she really had, but to have heard the botched symbols roll of his tongue, butchering your name to the owner of the tea shop. "Excuse me," his voice appalled, a note of warning flicked across his tongue. Completely ignored despite the obvious widening of your eyes, and the touch of your hand against her arm. Lightly tugging. Far too late for that, the rage immolating from every pore of her being. Her teeth gritted, her pragmatic existence whispering for her to cool her temper. To remember her place, to remember your job, and the attention from others she has garnished. Alas, it’s too late. Amongst tea shop attendants, business owners, and members of the community, she had drawn the line in the sand. Stood her ground, as she hissed. “[YN]. You should be well aware of how to pronounce it. You have only had them working like a dog the past few days.” The insistent tugs and coos that you attempted to reassure her were wasted. She was too far gone. Somewhere between insisting he prove his competence, revealing his competence, and fallen curses that near shattered her teeth in her attempt to restrain, Shinobu had realized. She had gone too far.

Shinobu will recognize that her temper had gotten the better of her. That she not only (successfully) told off your boss, but in a public setting amongst your peers, community members, and even strangers. She’s (sort of) embarrassed. While the Insect Hashira still feels that she was correct—the man obviously deserved a tongue lashing, she can acknowledge that it was neither the time, nor the place.

She won’t apologize for how she felt, but she will apologize for how she had conducted herself.

Another situation that you may find yourself in a dispute will come of Shinobu’s own social battery. Bare in mind that while she is willing to engage in the occasional social event, especially if you are a social butterfly, she is still an introvert by nature. She needs time between each outing to recharge her own social batter, and if it’s not given, you will find Kocho snippy. Even a little petty.

When the poison wielder is up for the social interaction, she works over time to ensure she sticks to social expectations. They don’t come naturally to her, and if you recall, she often spills her own thoughts without even realizing that she had insulted someone. This will only be amplified if her social batter is overtly drained.

Except, she’s no longer trying to behave.

She will look your friend dead in the eye and ask why they insist on clinging to you. Do they not realize that as lovers, you would like time alone together from time to time. Third wheel.

Yet again, she needs a moment to realize why you’re upset—she’s dating you not your friend. Ugh, but your friends matter to you. [insert the annoyed groan]. Okay, she was wrong. She handled this poorly. She’s sorry, Shinobu will try another approach next time.

She’s aware that her turn of phrase is not always… the nicest.

And lastly, Kocho is not attached to drama. Overtly emotional situations, and individuals can often times be draining for her. It requires a bit more of herself to follow your train of thought in these situations. She’s tired, but for the most part, she will accept your emotional needs—that’s what a partner does.

However, intentionally setting herself into drama induced scenarios such as power struggles, fighting for your attention, attempts to elicit jealousy as her lover, etc. These will never end well. You will find her tongue sharp, poised, lethal, and ready. Emotional Manipulation of even the smallest level is difficult for her to sort through, but to discover you had outright forced the situation on her will have her seething.

Such situations such as intentionally allowing her to believe that you have slept with another person, will elicit unburden rage. She will rely on the facts, you. Manipulated. Her. She will withdraw, cold calculated. Lethal. You’re sorry? Yes, yes you will be. Atonement is the only solution.

It’s war.

She is emotional, irate, and irrational.

Even if it means taking herself out, she will drag you with her.

In a fight or flight response, she loses all sense of herself. Backed into a corner, Shinobu’s insticts to survive is what captivates her. Drags her to make impulsive moves, to decimate all in her path to safety. She… hates this about herself. Her carelessness for self-preservation.

In more explosive situations (like genuine abusive, yandere behavior), the Insect Hashira runs the risk of simply cutting bonds. Severing ties, burning bridges in her rage. Pack her things in the middle of the night, disappear into the moonlight.

You will never see her again.

She saw the problem and provided a solution.

Ultimately, that’s Shinobu’s goal. A dispute is really just a problem masquerading in emotions. She feels that as your lover, it is her duty to help find solutions. To ensure the success of your relationship. Her affections will drive her to deeper lows and higher highs than she could have ever imagined, than her spirit will even confess.

That being said, even in times of heated disputes, if you are able to maintain your wits. TO remain logical and reliant, calm despite her storm, you will find that Shinobu is almost always, willing to compromise.

Gifts from Shinobu I believe would very. They may feel extremely diverse, and often times, completely unrelated. H-How could the same person who had affectionately gifted you a small stuffy of a Japanese macaque monkey also gift you… a fish head? Or perhaps the better question is, why did she give you a fish head?

You will find that no matter how far apart you are from one another, Shinobu’s thoughts are always with you. You are always on her mind, the small ways you fiddle with your hair. The touch of light across your cheeks, the small way you bite your thumb when you’re thinking--- you are always present in her thoughts regardless of her task. Because of this, she will bring you some of the most… obscure tokens of affections from her travels.

She had gifted you a delicately weaved snow monkey stuff because while she had been passing through, she happened to come face to face with one in the bath. The relaxed way the little one’s features grazed in the onsen. It’s small puff of hair, and the way the anima’s eyes closed in deep satisfaction to meet the warm water---- ah how cute, you often made such a face in the bath. When she would wash your back.

When Shinobu passed by a food stall in a port region on her way home, she could not help but notice the lavish cloth. The blonde who’s speech was unfamiliar, and overtly friendly seller at that, drew her attention. You had recently taken an intrust in foreign books. Spoke of how lovely the details had appeared. She brought one of his confections, a cake? He had delicately wrapped the sparkling treat in cloth, a translator ensuring that the symbol a roze—no, rose had significant meaning in his culture of romance.

Picked up a new pair of sandals for you, delicate little weaves of flowers carefully placed into the making. You express that it really wasn’t necessary, a simple replacement shoe would have been more than enough, but she’ll disagree. The color is the exact shade of pink that blossoms on your cheeks when she praises you.

The Lavender hair pin that she has placed into the intricate wave of strands of hair. The embellishment admittedly flashy enough to draw Tengen’s attention, blow glass and meticulously crafted. A special order that she had placed upon your anniversary, the small touch of her smile as she places it into your hair. “Do you know what lavender symbolizes?”

The Fish head in all of its peculiarities. While it’s true that that it’s usage avoids unnecessary waste, her medical book had expressed that it would increase your serotonin levels, and assist in sleep. She had noticed the way you tossed and turn at night, drifted from bed to warm your self water in the hopes that sleep would follow. Shinobu will prepare a fish head for you, and wish you sweet dreams.

Her gifts while… unique all serves a purpose. Her devotion to you.

Secured in every package.

Part two of Request: Wisteria Bound Promises

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kocho #thehashirasinarelationship #🍡tsuyospeaks

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p0ssywhippedcream · 1 year

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Ello! Could you do one of the following? ok so either: an nsfw with like a sub!L with like kind of like- overstim themes or maybe bondage

or: maybe a more wholesome one, where L is like maybe feeling insecure about something or like a case or just mentally exhausted and reader decides to hype him up verbally and physically

btw sorry if this feels too formal- I’m trying to write this super quick!

~🐹

Hi friend! I think I'm going to go with the second option because I'm feeling particularly emotional tonight lol. Thanks so much for the submission!<33

While you're very aware your boyfriend is a dramatic creature, his incessant sighing this evening is too much even for him.

"L," You start as he sighs again with hands hovering over his keyboard, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright..." He said, distractedly and you watch as he deletes and entire paragraph.

Reaching over from where you're sitting next to him, you peel his hands off his computer and direct his attention towards you. "No, you're not. You've been sighing all evening and nearly biting a hole through your thumb."

He looks down at the teeth indents in his nail and bites his lips. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

His voice cracks through muffled groan and he drops his head. "Not particularly."

"Well, you're going to tell me anyways before I go all Watari on your ass and remove all your sweets."

He looks up at that and meets your eyes. For a second you think he's not going to tell you and then he sighs again and starts. "I don't know if I'm as intelligent or capable as I perviously thought."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that... maybe I can't solve every case. Maybe I'm not the greatest detective. Maybe I'm not even one of the greats."

At that you let out a small giggle. "You, L, my boyfriend, smartest man alive? Darling if you're not capable, there's no hope for the rest of us. You are the greatest of all of us. And even if you can't solve every case, you inspire the world to be better." You smile reassuringly and L's shoulder's ease a little.

"But what if I come across a case I can't solve? A man I can't put away?"

"Well then... something supernatural would have to be intervening." L chuckles and shakes his head lightly and you squeeze his hands to make him look at you, "But in all seriousness, my dear, if that were to happen, guess what else would? The world would keep spinning. Life would go on. Limits don't make you stoppable, they make you human."

L nodded and a little brightness returned to his being. "And I promise you, if you're stuck on a case and nothing seems to make sense, take a god damn nap. It will make thinking a lot easier."

L really laughed at that, one of those carefree, joyful laughs that made you laugh too. Then you leaned in, kissed him on the cheek and ruffled his hair.

"But seriously, you can solve any case if you put your mind to it. I swear to god it's true."

L gave you smile and then his face changed. His jaw slacked, eyes widened and his cheeks twitched. "God! It's god!" He cried and turned to his computer with renewed rigor.

"His motive... Religion... zealot.." L murmured to himself as he typed with excitement flowing through out his body. You chuckled and patted him on the back as you stood up.

It seemed crazy to you that L would ever think he couldn't solve a case, has he met himself? Too smart for anyone... except maybe god.

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unnervinglyferal · 5 months

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I overheard a conversation today that made me think of you

These two dads were discussing challenges in parenting and the advice that the more experienced dad has was that kids need the space and safety to figure themselves out, and they will do so. You don’t need to worry about that. The most important thing is making sure they have a place (metaphorical and physical) that they feel safe and secure. If they have that place with you, then they’ll go out and explore and figure themselves out, knowing that they can always come back to you, to safety.

And I thought of you and how that sounds lime the kind of thing you’d say (but probably with more swearing lol)

I couldn't imagine having kids with some idea or expectation that you could make them be whatever you want them to be. My parents were disappointed to have my sister since she wasn't the son they wanted, and my sister resented that all her life despite of the fact that I wasn't the son they wanted either. They had an exact idea of what a family is supposed to look like, and we were doing it wrong at all times just by being alive incorrectly.

We didn't plan to have any specific kind of a family. We didn't really plan at all, just intense animal urges and a few pills that didn't kick in soon enough. Whatever the baby wants to do next is up to her. We're just here to make sure that she'll figure out how to do that without killing herself or anyone else in the process.

Every day I'm amazed to realize that she really wants things. That's a human person, she's got preferences to how she likes things to be. She fucking hates Frank Sinatra. She gets mad when things aren't the way she wants them. Once she learns to walk and talk she's going to have to figure out how to get the things she wants on her own, but right now it's enough that she wants things.

Sometimes I just sit and think, shit, she's got thoughts in there. An actual half-cooked human mind that's capable of wanting something, making desicions, and going through with them. Not good desicions necessarily, she'll smack herself in the face and get mad that she got smacked in the face, but she chose to move her arm to see what happens if she does that.

Half the time I have no idea what the fuck she's trying to do, but I couldn't imagine ever thinking that she's doing it wrong.

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themagnusbane · 7 months

Text

I swear, in all these Only Friends discourse that has been raging since the finale dropped on Saturday, I wonder if anyone actually took a second to be like: this story is being told through the eyes of 20-21 year old college students. They are the mouthpiece through which this story is being narrated. Is it possible therefore that their age, their lack of experience, their slightly sheltered lives, might play a role in how they navigate their friendships, the world at large and how they react?

Like @jojotichakorn has started several times, and I agree a 100%; this story isn’t a morality lesson. Nobody is saying casual sex bad. You are evil if you’re non-monogamous. Blah blah blah. As a graysexual polyam person who just uses the term queer cuz it’s easier than me having a 30 mins convo with a stranger about my orientation and how everything intersects for me, this show was everything. Cuz PEOPLE ARE MESSY! People are messy and judgemental and annoying. Just because they’re queer doesn’t mean they WON’T be messy. I was especially a fucking shithead at 21. Hell, I was a virgin until I turned 22 (not quite as sanctimonious as Mew, thank SPIRIT!!). Who I am now at 33 is vastly different from who I was over a decade ago. I moved out at 22. Been living on my own for that time. The person I am today is a product of all I have seen and experienced. I lost the black and white lens through which I viewed the world, in that period of time.

And you know what? I do feel that these kids (cuz they are kids to me. I haven’t sat in a university class in almost 13 years 🤷🏾‍♀️), will grow, and learn and evolve. Boston I think will do fantastically well in New York. He will continue to come into his own. Will figure out what kind of relationships work best for him (both in regards to his friendships and his sexual and romantic—if he wants any—relationships), and he will thrive.

Mew will eventually get that stick out of his arse and get off his high horse. He will realize that people are messy, imperfect, and make mistakes, and that he too is flawed. And that is okay. That he doesn’t need to be burdened to replicate the perfect home life he had with his mothers. That hell, just because he fancies himself better than others, doesn’t mean that he isn’t as capable of the depraved things the human mind can conjure up 🤷🏾‍♀️.

Ray will probably battle with his addiction all his life. Will realize that battling addiction is a life-long process. Will lean on the support he has. Will probably learn to forgive his mum, and come to terms with her frailty as a human being, and what that meant with regards her suicide. He will also probably let himself admit that as much as he loved her, and wanted her to hold him and love him, he is justifiably angry at her that she did neither of those things, and then left him. He will probably confront his dad about the role he played, and didn’t play in all of this. He might decide to break up with Sand later. And they will still be good friends. Or Sand might be that ex he hasn’t spoken to in years, yet he still thinks of and smiles when he hears I Wanna Be Yours.

Same goes for Sand, and Top and Nick as well.

And who knows, at some point Cheum might realize that she can be quite the shitty friend. That she’s been a shitty friend. She might reach out to her now former friends, and honestly sincerely apologize. Or not. That’s another thing. Some people take forever to grow. And some don’t learn a lick from their experiences. And when time has passed and they looked back at all their burned bridges and try to reconnect, they are left with hands fluttering in the wind, and everyone they love out of reach 🤷🏾‍♀️.

But yeah. I don’t know about y’all. Maybe you were well adjusted uni students who were always right and knew the right words to say, and didn’t fuck up every other Saturday, and whose lives were peachy. But I was a dumbass, making dumbass choices, being a sanctimonious dumbass, and being an absolute menace. And that was how I watched the show. Knowing that this is a story of these kids, told to us by THESE kids. P’Jojo was just the conduit for their story. But it is ultimately THEIRS. I just watched it for them. Not for any moral lessons (this isn’t a parable or a fable. And I say this as someone who has been fascinated by mythology since I was 7), but to be entertained by the lives of these messy kids, crash-figuring their way to adulthood, and thanking the universe that my early 20s are way behind me, cuz fucking hell. That era of my life was some shit-show!

#only friends the series #ofts #only friends meta #only friends spoilers #only friends finale #only friends boston #only friends mew #only friends ray #only friends cheum

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spandexinspace · 6 months

Text

Mother Says

Querl visits his mother. This benefits no one. ___________________________________________

“Hello, mother.” The woman on the other side of the blue-tinted force field looks up. She has not changed much since the last time Querl saw her, tall and wiry with long blonde hair cascading around a face he can’t help but pick out every similarity in. She’s holding a prison-issued holopad, the kind the warden swears can’t be connected to any off-world network or used for anything illegal or improper, yet in her thin, sallow hands it looks as much a weapon as any blade or blaster, capable of wrecking as much havoc as she ever could with her freedom intact. He makes a mental note to question the warden about it later, to ask why someone like her, like them, is allowed near a device like that.

“Querl,” she says, her mouth twisting into a toothy replica of a smile. Her eyes remain fixed on him, still and cold, enough to send a chill up his spine. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“What do you want?” Querl crosses his arms, shifting from one foot to the other. He’d felt utterly confident when he’d first received her correspondence and had to justify the visit to his deeply sceptical friends, but as he stands there in front of her — awash in the reality of her presence — he doesn’t feel so confident anymore. What had seemed like a reasonable request at the time now feels like just another stupid, emotional mistake. He’s made a lot of those recently.

One of his thought tracks recalls those dreams he used to have as a child, the ones where she didn’t leave. Or the ones where she’d show up out of the blue to save him. In those dreams she was kind and caring, she’d listen and encourage him and smile ever so sweetly even though he could never quite focus on her face. He’d hated waking up from those dreams then, because waking up meant facing the reality of her absence. This feels like waking up.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” she asks, snapping him back to reality. “Now, I was reading the news the other day and came across this fascinating article about you and one of your little hero friends,” she continues, still smiling, but it’s the smile of someone who only knows how to go through the motions. Speaking in a noticeably higher voice than during their last meeting she lets it rise and fall like every word and sentence has been rehearsed a thousand times over. It itches at the back of his mind like a scabbing wound. He wonders why she cares.

“I fail to see how that requires my presence here.” As much as it had surprised him to find out that she was allowed to send messages — that she’d finally decided to do so now, after so long — he had figured she must have something important to say if she went through the trouble of doing so.

“Should your own mommy have to deign herself to reading meritless magazines to know what you are, what do the Terrans you love so much call it… up to?” Despite her well-practised enunciation the words roll off her tongue awkwardly, like someone has made last minute edits to her carefully practised script. He wants to tell himself that that’s good, that maybe she’s trying to improve and change, but it makes his skin crawl.

“Again, what do you want? You said it was urgent, and your sudden interest in my life could hardly be classified as such.”

She continues as if he’d said nothing at all.

"This friend of yours is human, is he not? How long do they live — one, two hundred years?” she says. ”Don't you think you’re being awfully selfish, stealing his entire life away while you give him only a fragment of yours? Remaining young and reckless as he grows weak and frail by your side, unable to live a normal human life because of you?" She rearranges her face into a mockery of concern. "Is that what he deserves?"

Querl grits his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Anger flares in his chest, hot and acidic. What an idiot he has been. Again. Of course she doesn’t have an actual reason to see him. This is just another game to her, a new angle to sow her misery. All she’s ever wanted from him has been for her benefit, there’s no reason for that to have changed now. The only logical decision would be to walk away and leave her alone with her poisonous words, to cut her out of his life once and for all and never come running at her call again.

He steps forward.

"As if you care."

She stands. Even now she towers above him, forcing him to tilt his head back to meet her gaze, no less imposing behind a force field and clad in prison greys. Her eyes narrow until the concern has been replaced by a sneer, but even that seems like a strange emotion to her, like something she’s heard about and only vaguely knows how to articulate.

"You care. You're as addled by your emotions as all the other mindless beings out there," she says. “And you know that my assessment is correct. You will outlive your friends and then there’ll be no one left to care for you and your fragile mind. And they will all suffer for it, as you walk alongside them and show them what the universe has denied them.”

His jaw aches, his body so tense it feels like it could snap. He imagines throwing himself against the forcefield, futilely pounding his fists into it until she stops talking. Pushing down the bile and urge to yell he forces his voice to remain steady, speaking in short and clipped words.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" he says.

"Sweetheart, mommy only wanted to make sure you're not getting in over your head." Once again her voice is saccharine, the very model of a doting mother’s voice.

He slams his fist against the force field. It makes contact with a dull thud and a jolt of pain that shoots out of his hand and into his arm. She doesn’t even flinch.

"Grife! Cut it out! We both know this is just another one of your acts. You’ve never given a nass about me unless it was for your own benefit.”

"You wound me,” she says, while actually sprocking pouting down at him like an insolent toddler. “Is it so impossible that I've changed, been reformed by the exquisite medical staff on this planetoid? Do you truly believe me incapable of that?"

“Yes! You've had two decades to learn to care and you told me you did everything in your power to achieve that before trying to kill me, why the nass would this be it? What could a pack of prison psychiatrists possibly have to say that you haven’t heard before?”

“Things and people change, Querl, you of all people should know that. You haven’t always been like this, have you?” For a second he hesitates, which is all his mind needs to catch up with him. The sudden burst of anger drains out of him like air through a compromised hull and he inches back from the force field, crossing his arms again once he comes to a stop. Had he not struggled for years himself, dealing with his feelings and trauma and the anomaly and implants and all that came with it? He’d become better with time, why couldn’t she?

“I know I have not been the best mommy to you, but I can assure you that being coupled with a human will only lead to suffering. I have had short-lived companions before, most of them did not see any longtime benefits from our relationship.” As she speaks her shoulders start to slump and she turns away from him, letting her hair obscure her face. Despite her stature she looks small. Small and lonely.

He hesitates before speaking. “I thought you said you couldn’t feel love.”

“I can’t, but they did. And it did them no favours.” She sighs heavily. “But I suppose all children need to make their own mistakes, even if they’re foolish ones.”

Querl inches backwards. This new side of her unnerves him, but as much as he rakes his mind for an explanation — desperately tries to look to her voice or demeanour for any sign of one — he comes up empty-handed. Where she’d been forward and mocking and saccharine before she’s now demure and small, a lonely woman in a restrictive prison cell. He doesn’t know if that’s the real her. If there’s any version of her that is truly real.

“I need to leave,” he mumbles.

“Thank you for visiting, sweetheart, I do get so lonely down here.” She blinks, her eyes still devoid of something. Querl retreats out the door, sighing in relief as the lock engages behind him.

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

Her words cling to him as he leaves, echoing through most of his thought tracks as he desperately tries to make sense of them. Any thought of speaking to the warden has been left behind for another day. He needs to leave. Needs to get home.

Even as he settles into a seat in the Takron Galtos shuttle, huddled in a too large coat with the hood pulled up to cover most of his face, lest he be recognised, he can’t get them out of his head. It’s not like he didn’t know. He’d always known, it just hadn’t mattered at first and then things had progressed so quickly and it had never come up. And it had been so easy not to think about it, to push any thought of age and life away, to just look at the next experiment or the next life or death situation or the next sweet moment of kisses stolen away between missions and work. Of Lyle’s warm hands against his face and of feeling like he finally belonged somewhere, too drunk on life to realise that it couldn’t last forever.

He used to think he’d die long before his ageing became an issue. His caretakers would tell him that people hated his family for what they’d done, that the galaxy was full of people who longed for the blood of a dead Brainiac on their hands, if only for a small piece of vengeance. He’d long ago accepted that as his end, that someone would eventually catch up to him. Even as he ventured out into the world and discovered its indifference he still held on to that belief. In recent years — after being lost and losing so much — he’d started to believe that he would in all likelihood die during a mission. The idea that he might die of old age had seemed preposterous.

Querl sighs and stares out the darkened window at the endless expanse of stars outside the shuttle. Perhaps she, despite her behaviour and everything she’s done, is right. Perhaps it is selfish to expect a human to live with someone so different, who can offer so little in return for a lifetime of commitment. His own experience with Coluan ageing is theoretical at best; he doesn’t know how his mental development will compare to a human, but he won’t grow old alongside them, that much is clear. Perhaps they will get another ten years together, maybe twenty. But eventually they’ll grow old, and he simply won’t. At least not for many centuries. Those who are simply his friends can presumably handle it well enough, distance themselves as needed and not be too affected by his perceived immaturity. But it would be irresponsible to put that burden on his partner. He knows it would. Querl knows he shouldn’t make his life difficult and what is making him live according to the standards of an entirely alien species, if not difficult?

The trip home feels endless, ships crawling across the stars as they slowly bring him closer to Earth. To home. He switches from the Takron Galtos shuttle to an uncomfortably crowded express ship to the inner Centaurus Arm, then to a local shuttle to Earth. It’s beyond late when he finally arrives on Legion World, and his body aches with exhaustion. But all through the journey his conversation with his mother reverberates through his mind, and he makes a decision.

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

Querl flings his coat onto the lone armchair in the living area of his quarters. It doesn’t add noticeably to the already messy state of the room, every flat surface littered with papers and holopads and mechanical parts and more or less abandoned projects he neither can nor wants to think about at that moment. He’ll deal with it later. Tomorrow. He has to do this while he’s still determined, before he can convince himself to keep living selfishly.

The door to the sleeping quarters slides open with a low hiss, revealing a considerably cleaner and sparsely lit room. Lyle is sitting cross-legged on his bed, dressed in a loose black bathroom Querl doesn’t remember owning with his still wet hair brushed back from his forehead. An abandoned holopad lies next to him on the bed, but he’s looking at Querl, smiling sweetly as his dark eyes glitter fondly. There’s a warm beauty to him that it took Querl far too long to notice, but it feels like it’s all he’s seen these last few months. The idea of losing it again makes him want to abandon every thought of doing what’s right, to instead lie down next to him on the bed and dive right back into being selfish and self-fulfilled. But Lyle deserves better.

“You’re back. How did it go?” Despite Lyle’s smile there’s a wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows and a tightness in his eyes. Querl swallows through a suddenly too dry throat, trying to keep his own face and voice from betraying him.

“She didn’t want anything of importance. I should have expected as much.” Lyle eyes him warily and Querl can only hope his suspicion stems from his, and Ayla and Gates’, general disapproval of the trip.

“Figures,” he eventually says, pushing his holopad fully out of the way and stretching out his arms over his head. “And could have told you as much. But I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious, at least.” Lyle pushes himself off the bed and closes the gap between them in one swift movement, standing so close that Querl imagines he can feel the heat radiating off of him. He cups Querl’s cheek with one hand, gently rubbing a calloused thumb over his cheekbone. It’s warm and intoxicating and Querl tilts his head, lets himself indulge in the touch just one last time before grabbing Lyle’s hand and pulling it away. He takes a step back, remembering the door only as his back hits it.

Lyle blinks.

“Querl?” he asks, the worry on his face deepening. Querl steels himself and tries to concentrate on the thoughts that have been swirling in his mind since his conversation with his mother. He pushes away any thought of Lyle’s warmth, and of the guilt his expression makes him feel.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to keep doing this,” he says, voice strained.

“I- what? What this?” Lyle says.

“This, well, us.” Querl points between them, his hand numb. “It might be better for both of us if we just… if we just don’t.”

“How is that better?” Lyle steps back, face hardening. A treacherous part of Querl whispers that there’s still time to take it back, that he can lie his way out of this. He knows he shouldn’t.

“I don’t think our species’ ageing processes are compatible. Your lifespan will only last about an eighth to a fourth of mine and-”

“So, you want to break up with me, right now, because I’ll die in a hundred years or so and that’ll make you sad?” Lyle sounds, for lack of a better description, unimpressed. There’s not much worry left in his expression now.

“It’s not that,” Querl says, defensively holding up his hands in front of himself. “Being with me won’t be like being with another human. I’m not going to age alongside you and go through regular human life events with you.”

“Merde. Yeah, thanks, I know.” Lyle sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “You can be so dense, do you know that?”

“I’m no-”

"Yes, yes you are. Do you think dating for half a year means we have to spend our entire lives together now?” Lyle doesn’t wait for him to answer. “And I sprocking know. It’s not some big dark secret you’ve been keeping from me, it’s literally Xenobiology 101.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed.” Lyle rolls his eyes. “Where did you get this nass from?”

What just minutes before had seemed like logical reasoning lies irreparably shattered in Querl’s mind, a mess of thoughts and ideas that for some reason seemed so orderly before. But right here, right now, in the soft light of his room and with an angry Lyle standing right in front of him, they only seem utterly thoughtless.

“Querl?” Lyle says, slightly louder and with a deep note of irritation.

“My mother…” Querl admits, glancing down and away from Lyle, unable to keep looking at him as the reality of the situation catches up to him. The tips of his ears burn and he swallows dryly as a tense silence stretches out between them.

“Cool,” Lyle eventually says, voice strung tight. “And why have you been taking relationship advice from your mother who, need I remind you, tried to murder you for fun?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It sure sounded like that!”

“Well, it wasn’t. Her actions don’t discredit everything she says, particularly not if she’s simply stating an objective fact.”

Lyle sighs.

“Look at me,” he says, voice sharp. Even though his stomach churns with anticipation of what he’ll face, Querl obliges. “Thanks,“ Lyle continues. ”You’ve got to stop acting like you know better than everyone else. People make their own decisions for their own reasons, you can’t make them for them and act like that’s for the greater good. And you especially can’t act like that because your unstable mum got into your head about something.”

“The thought had occurred to me before she mentioned it.”

“But you didn’t act on it before she said something. And, you know, you could just have brought it up like a normal person. It wouldn’t have been so hard to ask if I’d thought about it too, but instead you decided to be some kind of noble hero and try to break up with me for my own good.” If there’s one thing Querl doesn’t know it’s people. People are annoying and fraught with unstable emotions that threaten to spill over at any moment, there are few if any rules that govern their behaviour. Or at least so it seems, save for moments like this, when Lyle explains them with such ease that they might as well be second degree equations. It’s one of his many gifts, and perhaps the one that truly sets them apart. Querl resents it, at times. Times like these.

“Well?” Another flare of irritation.

“I suppose you’re correct…” Querl bites his lip. He didn’t do anything wrong. Except he did. But saying those two words still feels like admitting undeserved defeat. “I’m sorry.” He hates apologising. He’s not supposed to be wrong.

“Thanks, love the sincerity. Are you even taking this seriously?” He’s seen Lyle angry and irritated before, he’s even yelled at him at times. But this feels different, like there’s something unspoken hanging in the air between them, an electric current that makes his skin prickle.

“I am.”

“Uhu, and you still want to break up with me?” Lyle says, voice so calm and steady despite the edge in his words, sharp like a razor ready to cut.

“I didn’t want to break up with you in the first place.” Did he? No, he didn’t, he just had to, he only wanted what was best for them both. For Lyle.

“Could have fooled me. Actually, you know what, we’re done here. Be alone, if that’s what you want.” Just as quickly as he’d approached Querl he turns around, grabs his holopad and pushes back past him out of the room. For a moment their eyes meet and linger, Lyle’s still narrowed and glinting with suppressed anger. Querl isn’t sure what his own face says in return. Then the door slides shut behind him, and Querl is left alone.

#brainiac 5 #querl dox #losh #dc comics #lyle norg #invisible kid #querllyle #my writing #not 100% happy with it but I'm done #done enough #will edit more before ao3 tho

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