#are you really willing to bind yourself to duty? are you willing to let yourself be objectified into the thing you will be prayed for?

[chiangyorange]

This place is a message…and part of a system of messages…pay attention to it!

isles echoes so much of s1 that it felt like a show play. theres something harrowing as an unknown entity. nothing primordial like the light and dark, or maybe it is. isles wasnt a True universe in the way that mianite seasons 1 and 2 were. it was called mianitian isles. something close, something similar, but not quite the same as the others

it wants to be adored by silly little mortals who will devote themselves to its cause. it wants to be human, but only the shape of one. it wants to be greater than mere mortal beings. it wants to be indescribable.

sounds kind of like it wants to be a god

[howyouloveyourdragon]

Hi there, I absolutely adore you and love your writing and I'm excited that you're writing for jace now.

If it's okay, could I please request the prompts sleepy - number 44.

Have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening 💖💖

hi there! thank you so much, you have no idea how sweet you are for sending such a polite ask, and for your prompt “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” by thelonelyempath!

i definitely put you up high on my priority list for being so kind lol your message made my day

i also just really enjoyed writing this, it got me back into my groove.

have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening yourself and here you go, please let me know if you enjoy it! <3

No Rest For The Dragons

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x reader Setting: During The Dance of The Dragons Summary: All is quiet but no sense of peace can be caught between your fingertips, not even at night and so it is difficult to find sleep. Not until you win the war and crown your prince victorious...Your betrothed, Jacaerys, seems to have other priorities. Warnings: Brief talk of war dividers by: saradika wordcount: 1,412 

A yawn tumbled past your lips with ease and a quiet whine quickly followed. Jacaerys Velaryon had never found anything more sweet in his entire existence but he wouldn’t tell you that…not yet at least. His eyes flickered over your sleepy face, the squished cheeks and rumbled hair. It made his heart throb, a desperation took hold to tighten his chest and squeeze. Slowly, he tucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. He could barely contain himself from cupping your jaw and pressing a kiss to those lips. His sleeping beauty…his beautiful briar…he would need to bring you a rose soon just for the sake of it because he never did think there was a world in which you were not his Aurora. Some universe in which he didn’t long for you. The backs of his fingers carefully caressed your face. The skin was so soft–practically begging for him to lay upon his gentle pecks of devotion–and yet he restrained himself. You may be his betrothed but you are not yet his wife. He must recall that, if he is to keep your honour…A grunt peeked through his teeth at the thought. The thought that anybody could see you as anything less than a guide of honour and duty as you fought at his side, on his very dragon with a bow and arrow within your hands. A quiver danced along the prince’s bones. He may think you to be beautiful in any state but he would gladly gift upon you anything you so much as dreamed or desired if you were to allow that to be his final sight. His last. The sight of you upon Vermax and casting down the enemy. 

A smile flittered his lips as you stirred and stretched in his lap. “No, no go back to sleep.” He cooed, brushing back your hair and placing a wet flannel at your forehead. You were in your gentlest state this eve. You fended off his hand like a weak squirrel to reluctant avail. “Rest my love. You must rest.” The whine escapes the seam of your mouth before you can escape it. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” You practically taunt with your eyelids finally parting to peer up at him. As much as he wants to scoff and argue, he cannot help but smile down at the soft albeit exhausted face. Amusement laces his face but he lets his brow pinch. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to allow that.” You send a pointed look his way. “You would deny your wife?” “You would deny your prince?” He counters with playfulness and yet something excites him about the way ‘wife’ leaves your lips. How smoothly it goes…It only reminds him of how long he has deprived himself of kissing them. Of feeling the sweet flutter of lightning that would passes over your skin. His hand would dance throughout your hair, he was sure of it, sure that one the day of your wedding, he would summon all the strength he had been willing himself to retain and finally let go. He would deny himself for centuries if it meant you would let him bind himself to you for eternity–if you would let him vow until his throat dried up. If they were not to be his final words, he would repeat them until they were destined. He would be yours, he was sure of it. He does not say this of course as you sigh with a pointed stare. 

It was the determination in your gaze that he adored above all. That very crinkle in your brow that arose whenever anybody were to question you. His throat bobs as he recalls how his hand would slide along to the small of your back–support from the true prince and heir of the iron throne–delighting as you took the lead. Happy to await your debates cease as you charged your mouth at any who claimed your position unfit. None of these men knew the battlefield as you did. None of these men had studied the art so intensively for this very moment. None of these men would protect him like you did, he was sure of it. And certainly none of them had helped teach him the ways of battle so that he could protect his own hide should something go askew. Now as he watches you, he lets his eyes wander along the small scars upon both your hands at such teachings. Your childhood together had been an entertaining ordeal; scars of book pages, scars of dragon mishaps, scars of blades…He wouldn’t trade those tiny indents for the world. He would not even trade for the oncoming victory of his mother’s crown. He would not. 

Instead, Jacaerys’ breath hitches but he does not complain at your defiance. He welcomes it. “My darling, you must rest if you are so determined to fight beside me.” His words are teasing but the plummet of hardness cannot be unheard. He had always been serious. “I cannot allow myself the sight of injury should you–” His throat bobs but you hardly change your mind. “It could cause injury to you should I not properly plan our route.” The retort jumps from your tongue and he can tell this has been boiling for some time now, that the bubbles were ever-present. You’ve been locking this inside your mind for too long now. Far too long. His curled fingers glide down your cheek before stopping at your chin. He lifts it as delicately as he would a broken leaf and gazes sweetly into your eyes. “You can do this well rested. We have time.” “But what if–” “We have time.” He reassures you with the confidence of his ancestor, King Jaehaerys The Wise. Your shoulders slump reluctantly. You should trust him, you know you should–you are so very tired but the night is still relatively young and the troupes must still be waiting outside for you. Jace catches as your eyes track the opening of the tent and he is quick to soften you. “I told them we would resume our meetings tomorrow. You will not miss a thing, my sweet. I swear it to you.” His gentle kiss presses to your temple–one of the few acceptable places he can express such affections. When he pulls himself back, he lingers. Tentative, he waits. His eyes flicker to yours with unabashed uncertainty. “But first you must swear to me that you will rest.” Heat floods your cheeks but you have never shied away from eye contact before and you refuse to do it now. His eyes close and his breath fans over your lips. “Swear it to me.” He repeats through the air of a whisper. “I swear it.” You utter just as quietly, curling your palm around his hand and pressing a long, warm kiss to the knuckles. Jacaerys would be lying if he said that it was not a relief. He could not remember the last night you slept in where you did not awaken suddenly and draft a new strategy. That you did not recall a new route. One that needed your immediate and unrestrained attention. 

And so as the night calls out for you, your soon-husband’s arms slip around you and one loops beneath your legs until he can haul you against him. His breath stutters as he inhales the scent of your hair. His lashes flutter against one another and he takes a few steady steps through the tent. Loving each other had taken its time. It had taken screaming arguments, jealousy, rekindling…but it had also taken laughter and warmth and kindness. Kindness that neither of you thought to be deserved. It had taken the darkest eves and the most golden mornings. He settles you on the plush mattress this night, and brushes back the uncomfortable strands of hair that cling to your skin. Your neck, your face, even the petals of your lips. He cannot blame them for craving your closeness. He hesitates as you close your eyes and your back squirms into place. For only one moment more, he lets himself take in a portrait of your rest. Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone, Son of Rhaenyra and future King of the Seven Kingdoms accepts that he craves for nothing but your warmth. He intends to keep you as safe as this every eve, every nightfall. 

One sleepless night after the next, he shall be your rest. 

[sylvarantii]

Belos x Reader, he knows your little secret.

-Takes place a few years before Luz arrives on the Boiling Isles -Reader joined the Emperor's Coven only a few months before this takes place.

[A/N: For a more enjoyable read, please consider using the add on Interactive Fics for your browser.

A/N: No major warnings required, as far as I can tell. Possibly some slight body horror descriptions? But not even to an intense degree. I'd consider it more just tame shape shifting than anything.]

***

[As the meeting room empties out, Belos calls you back over to speak with him in private.]

[You make your way over, only to your surprise, to have the man rest his hand on your shoulder. The emperor wasn't really one to initiate physical contact with others. At least not very often, from what you'd heard.]

Belos: You're doing quite well. And after only joining the ranks of my coven so recently. It seems I was right to choose you, Malin.

y/n: Thank you, Emperor Belos.

Belos: I must say, however. I find it quite intriguing that you've come so far purely on glyphs. This must be quite the arduous duty for someone with no means of using magic naturally.

[Your blood runs cold as you feel the grip from his hand tighten, forcing you to remain in place.]

Belos: Now how did a human such as yourself wind up in a place like this?

[Unable to move back due to the tight hold that threatened to sink deep into your skin, you try to push the man off. He positions his hold instead onto both of your wrists.]

Belos: Ah, ah. Let's not make this difficult, shall we?

[Struggling to free yourself, you fail to notice the flash of the background around you. But only because you're too preoccupied with the fact that you're watching the Emperor's arms contort themselves into ropes, his body melting into the tight binds that constrict you.]

[Panicked, you desperately try to pull a glyph out only to have the emperor come from behind you and reach into your pockets first. He take the sheets of paper and pushes you onto the bed as he passes beside you.]

Belos: You're thorough. Shame you're quick to lose your calm, however. That could get you killed, you know.

[He takes the sheets of glyphs over to a nearby desk and sets them down, bending over to study them as his hand shuffles through the various papers.]

Belos: ...You're quite proficient with their magic already. Consider me impressed.

[He then turns to you with a small tilt of his head.]

Belos: What's your name?

y/n: Like I told you, it's Malin.

[You insist. And despite the mask covering any expression on his face, you were getting the strong impression that he wasn't fooled.]

Belos: You're a terrible liar, you know that?

[He slowly makes his way over, eventually sitting beside you on the bed.]

Belos: Seems I've managed some good fortune in any case. I haven't seen a human in so long. And now, I have you right beside me. Funny how these things work out in their own way.

y/n: Are you going to tell the others?

Belos: About you being a human? Of course not. I'm not heartless, you know. Should they know, well, I don't want to imagine what awful things they might do to you.

Belos: No, I'll keep your secret. You have my word on that.

y/n: So what do plan to do with me now?

Belos: Hmm, you know, I'm still waiting to hear what your real name is. I might be willing to answer your question if you answer mine.

[You let out a sigh, feeling like you really didn't have much of a choice at this point.]

y/n: My name is y/n.

Belos: What a nice name. Far better than whatever attempt you were making to cover up your identity before.

y/n: ...Are you going to answer my questions now or not?

[He takes your chin and turns your face to look at him. Blue glowing orbs shining from within the eye holes of the mask.]

Belos: I know you're angry, but do try to keep in mind of who you're speaking to.

[He releases your chin and moves his hand to rest on the the bed just a little beside your body.]

Belos: Now then, what to do with you...Well, I believe the simplest matter is for you to stay in the Emperor's Coven and under my watch.

y/n: Wait, are you saying to just...keep things as they are?

Belos: For the most part, yes. The only thing I'm seeking in exchange is knowledge.

y/n: About what?

Belos: The human realm, of course. I'd like to set aside some time with you whenever possible to gather what you know about it.

y/n: Why do you want to know about it?

Belos: -Chuckles- You're quite bold. I'll make you a deal, y/n. Every time we meet, you can ask me a question and for every one that I answer, you have to answer mine in return.

Belos: How about it?

[You remain quiet, weighing the odds on how good of an idea this was. In the end, it seemed like a pretty good deal. You'd get answers about the emperor that no one else knew and all he wanted was a bit of information in return.]

[It really seemed hard to find any negatives, especially when you had caught the attention of the person you were so intrigued with. You think you can play along with this.]

y/n: Alright.

[The emperor snaps his fingers, releasing the binds from around you and allowing you movement so that you can sit up.]

Belos: Then, expect a letter from me in the nearby future.

[He stands and makes his way over to the door. You follow his lead, heading out the door when he opens it for you.]

Belos: Until another time then.

[You nod and walk out, feelingly strangely excited for when he'd contact you. He was a dangerous and powerful man, that much was clear. Someone you would have to be cautious around.]

[But somehow...that just thrilled you even more.]

[kookieswan]

Red Light - Whispered Kisses

Nightmare!Hoseok x Psychologist!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Horror AU, Monster AU, Psychological horror, Fluffy…? Angst.

Warnings: Talk of killing/injuring people, mentions of gore/blood, a dead body, hints of sexism and bigotry. It should be noted that this story will contain themes of horror/psychological horror and also explore obsessive behaviors and codependency. Many characters are morally gray. Please be warned!

Summary: Hoseok may be a Nightmare, but you’re not willing to let him endure the horrors that lay below.

Notes: So, congratulations to everyone who got this far and knew. Proud of you. Also new character. Guess who. This takes place almost immediately after ‘Twisted Hearts’.

This is the 22nd part of the Red Light series. Find the Masterlist here ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You will not be sending him to a deeper level in the facility. I won’t allow it. It’s my duty to analyze and protect the mental well beings of the Nightmares and harming them will only do damage.” It didn’t take long for people to figure out that something was going down, the alarms blaring almost as soon as Hoseok killed Andrews and crushed his heart for you. You had thought things couldn’t get any worse at that point, and then Williams walked into the office casually, an ocean of guards waiting outside of the small room for his call. You won’t allow it though. You won’t.

Williams raises a brow as he stares you down, Hoseok standing passively in the corner of the room as if to not seem like a threat. Upon hearing footsteps marching your way, he had ripped away from you, the warmth of his body disappearing and leaving you cold and wet with blood… it’s a passing thought, but you miss how you felt when he was holding you close.

“With all due respect, you have no say. He broke out of his bindings, knocked out guards, caused damage to the facility, all things he’s smart enough to know will get him in a large amount of trouble.” All very true, but the more you think about it, the less you care. Glancing down, you notice Andrews’ arm sitting directly in front of where Williams stands. Said man glances down at the severed arm and slowly nudges it with his perfectly polished shoe like it’s trash on the street.

“Ah yes, he also killed Andrews. Hard to forget considering his body is scattered around his office. Another offense to add to the large list.” Most of the office is covered in some sort of gore, on the walls, the desk, your body... You don’t really want to think about how there’s likely pieces of heart stuck in your hair. Clearing your throat, you try your best to keep your voice controlled but firm. You won’t let him walk all over you, but you also know your position which is sadly underneath him.

“I’ve been making progress with these men. You sending even one of them away right now could possibly cause a chain of events I’m not sure you’re equipped to deal with.” Williams eyebrows raise at the insinuation, the challenge, and you inwardly cringe. Perhaps your wording was a bit much, but you feel as if it’s true. The Nightmares won’t be happy with another of their own being treated badly, not from the info you’ve collected over the past month an a half. There’s a sudden tussling from behind you, Hoseok taking a tentative step toward.

“… If I could have some input-“ The Nightmares voice rings out, deep and gravely and warm. Williams cuts him off quickly though, throwing him a sharp look and raising a perfectly manicured finger.

“You get no input 061318. No one has the last work except me; not even your psychologist has authority here, so why would the likes of a vile creature like yourself?” His tone sounds disgusted, and the anger in you flares hotly, the need to flick the older doctor on the forehead strong. There’s a snort of laughter from Hoseok but besides that, he says nothing else, so you speak up in his place.

“Dr. Williams, please understand that this was just… A minor accident. I believe Ho- 061318 having a session or two with me could solve the issue at hand. Talking things out could be very beneficial.” William is starting to lose patience, mouth opening in a near snarl, but instead of yelling, the office door clicks and opens. A man walks through confidently, a doctor indicated by his badge, and instead of looking horrified, he simply smiles largely.

“Williams. Stand down.” A deep accented voice cuts through the tension, deep enough to echo through the room. The annoying man goes completely quiet and bows his head, causing you to startle. Williams has the most authority on this floor over the other doctors, so if this man is ordering him around, then-

“My name is Doctor Kim, Taehyung Kim. It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. _____, I’ve heard many things about you. Good, bad, praise to the highest of heavens, disgustingly perverted rumors… You’re quite the enigma around here.” Well, he certainly doesn’t beat around the bush. It’s refreshing though when most of the other personal down here like to keep their secrets held close. He holds out a hand and you shake it firmly, giving him a small smile in return.

“The pleasure is all mine Dr. Kim. Excuse me for asking, but I’ve never seen you in this level of the facility before…?” The man is in the taller side, at lest half a head taller than Williams. He pushes his square glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyes sharp as he lets out a small laugh.

“No worries. I work on the deepest level mostly, but I like to make rounds time to time. I heard about the pending Code Red and had to come check for myself… Excuse me for just a moment, hm?” It’s almost funny, watching the smile melt off his face into a firm line of what you can only guess is some level of discontent. Williams visibly shrinks back, somehow becoming even smaller and more pathetic looking. Perhaps you’re not being very professional but you feel that time has passed for now.

“Williams, I sent away your little entourage. Also, before you even insinuate it, you won’t be sending 061318 to the deeper levels, and you won’t be isolating him either. Andrews was a piece of garbage and we should all be glad he’s been disposed of. If anything, this beautiful Nightmare has done us a favor.” Hoseok’s remained relatively quiet through this whole ordeal, but you can see his wings subtly shift from the corner of your eye, just barely pushing outward. Williams stutters a bit, apologizing as Dr. Kim addresses you softly.

“Dr. _____, if you would be so kind, please escort 061318 to this floors washing facility, and perhaps think about using it yourself; you’re both quite messy. I will send security to assist you in a while.” Nodding your head diligently, you look toward Hoseok and beckon him to come closer. He does so until he’s next to you, allowing you to wrap your hand loosely around his arm as a thin line of security. You don’t get far before Williams decides to open his big fat mouth again.

“Dr. Kim, I don’t think-“ Dr. Kim’s loud sigh drowns out Williams grating voice, and again, Hoseok let’s out another chuckle as his wings start to span the room, his smile like a perfect heart. The other doctors don’t pay any mind, both of them staring each other down, one with a look of disgust and the other with thinly veiled fear.

“Frankly Frank, I don’t particularly care about what you think. Now, Dr. _____, please be on your way. I look forward to talking with you more in the future, but for now, Frank and I have much to discuss.” It’s a battle to contain your laughter, your mouth twisting almost violently as you give another curt nod and tug Hoseok to the door without further question. Anything to get away from Williams and to get the blood off.

He walks slightly behind you, the halls completely quiet, not a soul in sight. Your thoughts run wild, still unbelieving if the events of today… Hoseok pulls against your hand slightly, calling for your attention as you round another corner. You ignore his bare chest and the way blood drips from the arms of his tattered jumpsuit.

“You just indirectly saved me from a questionable fate, doctor. I acted brashly, I realize that, and I feel that I owe you an explanation of some kind. It could keep you safer if you knew…” It’s almost odd listening to Hoseok speak so calmly after he just killed a man less than twenty minutes ago. Then again, it is Hoseok, so perhaps not. You keep leading him down the white halls, letting your hand slip into his properly with a small hum.

“Hoseok, really, it’s okay. I’m not super glad that you broke out and ran but it’s alright. I’m just a little emotionally exhausted right now.” Glancing up at him and slowing your pace, he looks unsettled. Not just because of the blood that’s covering his face, but because of the almost sad look he wears. It makes you want to reach up and brush the frown away, but you refrain.

“It’s not alright. The things he was saying about you, the things he did to you… it’s disgusting. He didn’t deserve to get away with it.” You spot the entrance to the washing facility and pull him closer, finally standing outside of the door as he looks down at you intensely. His wings stretch out fully and curl in, almost like an inky shield around you. Poking a single finger into his bare chest, you give him a questioning look.

“How did you even catch wind of the stuff he was saying? I know the guards like to talk, but still…” He raises a gentle hand to your chest, placing it right where the skin peaks out over your stained blouse, and you will your heart rate to remain steady. Hosoek seems to listen, to feel for a few moments as you keep still, while you enjoy the sensation of warmth his hand brings to your crimson coated skin.

“Because, dear heart…” The Nightmare removes his hand from your chest and leans in close. So close that you feel his breath mingle with yours as he whispers softly. So close that you swear, for just a moment, that his bloodied lips brush against your own.

“I can hear your cute little thoughts… Every. Last. One.”

[keilemlucent]

prey and promises

 (NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader 

word count: ~2.1k

keigo is a people pleaser at heart, and you’re his person. you want to try some new things in the bedroom. you do the math.

warnings: light restraints, light predator/prey (ish), praise kink, service dom keigo

a/n: people pleasing keigo is my kink, service dom keigo is my kink, here’s some pwp. this was originally my drabble for the exchange, but it got a wee bit long so it’s its own bastard now. enjoy some h word and happy valentine’s day loves!!!! 💗💗💗

“That too tight, dove?”

No, and honestly? Not tight enough.

The rope binding on your wrists was a bit too loose, a bit unpracticed, but a good effort despite all of that. Keigo really tried his best for you, and you could tell.

The bedroom was dim, for the sake of romance, suspense, or both. Only the flicker of a few perfectly placed jar and pillar candles lit the room, allowing Keigo’s wings to cast large, beautiful shadows across the room.

You watched, mesmerized by just his shadow.

That wasn’t mentioning the man who was straddling your hips, chest level with your face as he futzed with your bound wrists.

He worried to himself, nervously speaking just above breathing.

Who would’ve fucking thought, that number two, pro hero ‘Hawks’ was a goddamn sweetheart in bed?

He was a notorious playboy (wrong, but tabloids work harder than sinners on their knees), and unabashed flirt (true, but before you, he’d always been shit at the follow-through). Yet, he’d been worrying about the state of your bound arms for what had to be at least ten minutes.

As much as you appreciated the care, you were practically dripping onto the bed from all of the teasings he’d led up with (kissing, sucking, torturing your poor nipples until they were hard, flushed, and bitten.) It had been too long since you’d had the proper time to spoil each other, and Keigo was exploiting the opportunity for all it was worth.

Some time ago, he must’ve had the rope shipped to your shared apartment without you knowing. It wasn’t too thick, not too rough, just perfectly oiled and deep scarlet. It was worn by the time he’d brought it out to you that night, a surprise for you, but not him. He’d obviously been practicing knots in the little spare time he had.

It showed how much he cared, truly.

You’d mentioned, offhand, a month or two ago over a shared bottle of wine that you’d like to ‘spice things up’ in the bedroom when you had the chance to. Keigo had been intrigued, dug in a little more, and got you blushing and revealing a good handful of kinks.

And he delivered, the best he could anyway, with the experience and research he’d been able to put together.

“Not too tight at all,” You tug on the restraints, wiggling a bit below him, antsy and needy already. “Now get down here, or I’m gonna leave hickeys in some very visible places.”

Keigo ‘ooo’ed and flopped to rest his chest against yours, the chill of the barbels through his nipples making you shiver. He gives you a pleased smile, eyes sharp and half-lidded all at the same time, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both, if you keep talking and not touching,” You really tried to keep your tone from getting whiney. Keigo was content, always content, to be a tease, and without your hands, it was even easier to fall to mush beneath him.

“Needy,” Keigo clicked his tongue, snapping the elastic of the garter over your thighs. With his weight over your hips, and your arms high and held to the headboard, there wasn’t much you could do other than writhe a bit and plead with your eyes.

“If you were in my position, you’d be the same way,” you hissed.

“Maybe,” He mussed, lips trailing over the skin of your throat.

Keigo stole any retort and the breath from your lungs as he chomped down on your neck (really, he bit down) and suck at the skin. The bruise he was leaving began to ache almost immediately, teeth kneading away even as you arched and gasped beneath him.

You bucked your hips, begging silently for just a bit more—

And Keigo growled against your pulse. His hands gripping the fat above your waist and pressing you into the mattress with his body weight.

His wings puffed up and outstretched before your eyes as your breaths became more labored with each moment.

He’s really fucking turned on.

Keigo pulled back to sit over your hips, pupils wide and having eaten the amber of his eyes long again.

You tried to grind up into him, desperate for just something—

And Keigo pressed you to the bed again, wings widening to cover the two of you as a low rumble broke from his throat. You swallowed dry and your lips fell open as you watched Keigo, somewhat in awe and very horny.

“Here’s how tonight’s gonna work,” Keigo sounded way too pleased that you’d finally stilled. “You’re gonna be the good girl I know you are and let me decide how and when you get to feel good. You can do that, can’t you?”

You didn’t have a lot of fight left in you, not with the way he was looking at you, not with the way his hands were stretching and squeezing over your curves.

The small part of your brain that was still functioning recalled your tipsy conversation from months before—

...

“I dunno,” You giggled, leaning on Keigo’s side. “I just think I’d be nice to feel a little bit smaller, and weaker. In like a hot way.”

“... Small and weak is hot to you?” Keigo’s word only slurred slightly.

“Nah, not like that!” You pushed against his shoulder, hiding your bashful grin in his bicep. “Like... Use me a bit, you know? However you want to fuck me up, fuck me up.”

...

Apparently, Keigo had taken your request to heart. Did some serious ruminating. And was planning on delivering.  

“I said,” His wings half-flapped (oh, you were fucked)— “‘You can do that, can’t you?’”

He ran the tips of his nails (talons) over your ribs, the fucking bastard.

The nail in the coffin was the way how he dragged them up and up. Over the curves of your sides, your tits, heaving chest, and collar bones to plant either hand on the side of your head.

And Keigo leaned over you, naked and leaking, wings extended high with a fucking delicious and terrifying gleam filling his eye.

The sharp talon on his thumb ran over your cheek, and your stomach dropped. You felt your cunt clench around nothing as you pulled at the restraints.

“Yes, y-yes, yes!” You sputtered, lost in the pitch of Keigo’s pupils. “I can do that, it, whatever you want, please.”

Keigo visibly shuddered when you begged, but you hardly noticed. You were far more focused on how he shifted a knee between your parted legs, nudging his own flush with your bare cunt.

“Then fuck yourself on my thigh.”

Your hips moved without thought, the muscles and flesh on your tummy flexing to get just a morsel of him.

“Oh, I think I like this,” His breath felt so fucking hot against your ear, you swore you were scalded. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous when you doing just what I want you to.”

A strained, little sound dribbles from your lips as you nod, ‘yes, yes, I’m sure I look nice but I need more’, turning your head to drag your lips over his cheekbone.

His feathers ruffled, wings fluttering and flexing, the primaries scraping the ceiling but neither of you had a mind to care. Keigo had never really had this energy before, and you were a fucking glutton for it. You needed more, more of him and whatever he was willing to give.

You were begging for it without even thinking about it.

Keigo sat back on his heels, chest and cheeks flushed enough to match his wings.

He was so fucking pretty.

You took him all in, lips parting and just a bit of drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. Just a little bit.

All the while, you kept grinding on his thigh, soaking Keigo in slick that he oh so fucking sinfully gathered up on two fingers that he then sucked clean.

Bastard, bastard—

And impatient bastard.

“Such a good little dove,” Keigo purred, palming his cock with his saliva-soaked hand. “My good little dove. I’m sure you want something to fill you up, don’t you? Tell me. Use that mouth of yours.”

And you spewed.

You slurred about how hot Keigo was like this, how much you needed his cock, because, I don’t know, for fuck’s sake, without it you might as well die. You licked your chapped lips as he grinned above you, more smug than you’d ever seen him.

And thank fucking god, he threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked into you clean with one, single motion.

You shrieked, stretched and stuffed without a moment to adjust but you didn’t fucking care. The burn was grounding, the heat spreading from your cunt to the tips of your toes and fingers as you tugged at the restraints, begging for more until your voice went hoarse.

And, as... predatory as Keigo was presenting himself, large and sharp and intimidating, he was ultimately still your dutiful lover who wanted nothing more than to have you ruined for anyone else on his thick, pretty cock.  

“FUCK!” Your voice broke high as you took Keigo’s cock, eyes rolling white as he moved, so fast— “K-Keigo!”

The tempo he set was something worse than brutal. It tore the breath from your lung with each slam of his hips. Each slap of skin on skin had a high moan ripping from your throat in time with the creek of the headboard. The way his cock hit everything so perfectly was overwhelming, but all the same you wanted to drown in it, take it between your ribs and absorb and it and be—

“Whose are you?”

His, Keigo’s, his, his, HIS—

“Y-Yours, yours, YOURS!”

Your vision sparked on the edges as you came, spin curling off the bed, back blown to high hell but you didn’t fucking care. All you could focus on was the pleasure of it all and the way Keigo didn’t slow—

The bastard sped up.

You sputtered something, a weak ‘too much!’, but with no safeword (no need to use it, you felt more alive on his cock than you had in a long time), Keigo kept up his pace, sweat pouring down his temples and feathers twitching blurrily in your vision.

A hand slipped between your bodies, “Y-You’re so perfect, baby, best f-fucking girl in the world for me.”

“Y-you’re best girl?” Your voice broke into a whine as pummeled that knot of nerves, your gut overheating in the best way—

“Yes, fuck, my best girl,” Keigo took only a moment of pause, catching his breath before continuing at a pace and depth you didn’t think you could take but you were— “My b-best, perfect, girl. You’re fucked for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded dumbly, watching Keigo’s bow forward with the curve of his spine.

“Good, good,” Keigo’s voice was just as rough as yours, weak for you and your spent, perfect body and self. “You take me so well, gonna take all of me so, so—”

The finger rolling your clit sped up, and heat shot through you, cunt clenching and sending the two of your tumbling with each other.

“GOOD!”

Keigo’s hips finally stuttered, slamming into yours once, twice, and third time before he spills into you, stuffing you so full you swear you can feel it in your tummy.

You were cresting at the same time, swimming in the sensation of him, slick soaking your thighs as Keigo gave a few shallow thrusts, stuffing you.

And you came down together.

You were only half lucid as Keigo pulled out, laying thick praise on you with words and little kisses to your undoubtedly sore legs. A feather or two loosened the ties around your wrists, so your arms could drop limply to your sides. The rope left the prettiest indentations that you made a not to ogle at when you were more present. 

Keigo flopped beside you in the sheets, greedy hands pulling you close to mingle in sweat, sound and breath.

“So, how was I?” Keigo asked.

Someone less practiced in knowing him would assume his tone sounded over-confident, the lazy smirk he was wearing only adding to his incredible acting.

But you could tell from the tension still bound up in his wings, and the little crinkles between his brows, and the thick swallow he gives you, that he is indeed asking you, genuinely, ‘how did I do?’.

You replied with a deep breath, fumbling a bit to grab his hips, fingers dancing up his spin to rest the roots of his wings between your spread fingers.

“You did so good, Kei’, please fuck me like that again sometime—” It would probably be smart to let your very blown out back heal, but—

Keigo kissed you, hard and hot with a hand pulling your jaw just right.

“‘Sometime’?” Keigo murmured, nibbling your bottom lip, the fucking whore. “Why not now?”

You had no reason to refuse, so why not?

[dongofthewolf]

Through the Halls of Splendour

Abby Anderson X Reader

Prompt: 4. Kissing in the rain and getting soaked before running inside laughing 30. Painting the house that ends in a paint fight and giggles

Warnings: Swearing, it’s honestly just tooth-rotting fluff lol

Link to the prompt list here (if you request now it’s prob gonna take a while tho just to let y’all know)

A/N: I am once again apologizing to the person who requested this like two months ago, but I hope the extra 1-2k words make up for how long this took lol

A/N: Just wanna take a second to thank all the people who’ve interacted with this account. Old or new, I really appreciate you guys being here and I hope you enjoy this story :) 

Most people tend to associate life with the sun; the brightness and the burn of it seems to have inspired countless poets to compose endless pieces about this big round orb. However, contrary to what most believe, you have always associated life with the rain. While most people on the Island hated it, you had a certain proclivity for the feeling of raindrops on your skin. There’s just something about it; the richness and the freedom of it that simply seemed to better embody life in your eyes. Rain has this wonderful ability to breed new life overnight, washing away the debris in the process, and it seems you always end up living your life accordingly. Finding asylum in the most unusual of places, starting over, and letting the scars from old wounds fade in the process. While rainy days in Seattle were practically inescapable, it was a rare occurrence on Catalina Island—something to be savoured.

Both you and Abby had ended up on the shores of the island around the same time. It was almost as if destiny willed it so. While the recovery process has been difficult for everyone, you were having an especially difficult time feeling useful. You were in much rougher shape than Abby and Lev, having travelled a lot farther than them. It was actually pure luck that you had stumbled upon the Fireflies on the island; you were really looking for a quick escape and binding time on a boat to nowhere seemed rather preferable than a zombie-infested dock.

It was strange being a part of a community for once, especially since you spent most of your life as a loner. Distancing yourself from others in the name of survival, trudging alone in the post apocalyptic wasteland that was downtown Seattle. You were constantly afraid that you weren’t contributing enough, even if you had been bed ridden for months on end with a limp that the doctor had convinced you would “fade with time”. That’s why when you were finally back on your feet and the doctor cleared you to perform certain menial duties, it’s safe to say you literally jumped at every opportunity to help at all. It didn’t matter that the only things you could do was scrub tables and take out garbage, you were eager to help in any way you could.

It had been a month since you were out of the infirmary and things were starting to look up. Aside from the stupid limp that sent a sharp pain up your left leg whenever you dared to move it the wrong way, you’d say you were feeling significantly better. After washing the dishes in the kitchen, taking out the garbage, and finishing up your other daily tasks, you were wandering somewhat aimlessly through the island. Happily indulging your ability to now walk on two feet again after being confined to a hospital bed for what felt like forever, you found yourself humming a song you couldn’t quite remember the lyrics to. And as you admired the blooming flowers in the community garden, you spotted a certain familiar blonde from afar.

Sneakily peering through the window where Abby was, you nearly melted into a big puddle when your eyes landed on the sight before you. Abby lay on the floor of the daycare with at least six kids all piled on top of her while she pretended to pry them off of her. The joyous giggles that erupted from her mouth filled your heart with an unfamiliar warmth and left a soft smile on your face. It had only been a couple months since the both of you first arrived and you were borderline envious of how quickly Abby had managed to bounce back.

You noticed the creases at the corners of her eyes and the slight wrinkle of her nose when she laughed; It was a perfect picture of happiness—a kind of happiness that was wholly foreign to you.

Then you noticed her eyes; the dark blue of them that reminded you of the storms you were so fond of, the storms that reminded you of home. And while you were quite literally mesmerized by Abby’s eyes, you failed to realize that they were now staring right back at you, promptly interrupting this strangely intimate moment. Your eyes met and her stare pierced a hole right through you. Unsure of what to do, you ducked out of view from Abby and proceeded to shrivel into the ground.

You hoped she hadn’t noticed you staring for very long.

However, any doubts that she had noticed you quickly dissipated when Abby emerged from the exit of the daycare, and Oh God she was headed your way. You considered running, but in the time it took for you to calculate the speed in which you’d need to avoid her with your injured leg and horrible stamina, the buff blonde was already standing in front of you with a cocky expression on her face.

“Were you spying on me?” Her stance was confident, her arms folded across her chest as she looked down at you.

Feeling like prey, you froze in your spot. “Uhhh no…” It was phrased as more of a question than an answer and Abby’s eyebrow raised in suspicion at your response.

“Hmm that’s funny because I could’ve sworn I saw someone peeking through the window.”

“Huh, that is funny… anyways-“ You tried to make a break for it but Abby’s hand was already clasped around your wrist, yanking you back towards her.

“Come on stalker, I wanna show you something.” You tried to protest but when Abby’s hand grabbed yours, you just couldn’t bring yourself to break apart from her.

Although you and Abby never really hung out, there was always a small unspoken understanding between the two of you. The both of you washed up on the shores of Catalina Island battered and bruised, spending a lot of time in the infirmary together. She was a constant reminder of the home you missed yet dreaded all the same.

You also happened to be harbouring the tiniest crush on her.

Of course you’ve never really had the guts to actually act on these unspoken desires, hell you didn’t even know if she was open to dating anyone. Essentially, your relationship with Abby could be summed up as more of a fantasy in your head than anything; though you wished for something greater, you more than often decided to err on the side of caution (which was basically a short way of saying you never spoke to her except in situations where it was absolutely necessary).

Trudging along behind her, you took a second to admire the way in which Abby carried herself. So eloquent and calculated in her movements; she was everything you wished to be. It’s no surprise to you that she used to be a soldier not so long ago.

Abby led you out behind to a building near the daycare you had never seen. It was small—smaller than a house but slightly larger than a garage. It had dirty windows and overgrown foliage covering the entire roof that draped languorously across the entire front half of the building. Stopping before the chipped door, you looked at Abby with a quizzical brow. “Please tell me you’re not taking me somewhere secluded so you can kill me.”

Abby smirked at your comment and gave you a small shrug before opening the door and walking in herself. “I guess there’s only one way of finding out.”

Hesitantly you walked in behind her and almost immediately you were washed in a wave of confusion at the room before you. There was a large clear plastic sheet covering the floor surrounded by numerous buckets of a suspicious liquid. And in the middle of it all was Abby, sporting the strangest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Okay, now I really think you’re going to murder me.”

Abby laughed brightly as she walked over to one of the cans, dipping her finger into the strange blue liquid before swiping it across your cheek. “It’s paint, stalker.”

Wiping the paint (and the shocked expression) from your face, you gave Abby an unimpressed tilt of your head. “That nickname is getting old quickly.”

Abby took a moment to think before starting again, turning around while she spoke. “Mmm… nope, still funny. Here, look at this.” Abby walked to the other side of the room and gripped the corner of a sheet that concealed the entire wall, pulling it away dramatically.

Abby had a proud smile on her face as she revealed her masterpiece. The wall was painted a soft blue with long vines and luscious greenery similar to the ones that hung outside, except these ones were much more vibrant and scattered all across. There was a tiger hiding behind the tall grass and a blue parrot perched on a tree in the corner of the wall, both of which were not realistic by any means but adorable just the same. “It’s… a jungle?”

“It’s more like a child’s dream of a jungle actually, but yeah.” You ran your hand across the wall, feeling the ridges of the brush strokes while Abby watched you attentively. “What do you think?”

You giggled. “It’s adorable, but why a jungle?”

Abby scratched the back of her head nervously as she walked towards the painting. “When I was a kid my dad and I moved around constantly. When we finally settled in with the Salt Lake outpost he painted a huge jungle in my room. I hoped that I could somehow bring that sort of joy into the lives of those kids…? I don’t know-”

“It’s wonderful Abby, I wish I had something like this when I was a kid…” You paused, treading lightly on the subject of her father. “and your dad, he sounds like an amazing person.”

Abby smiled fondly, there wasn’t much left of her father that she physically possessed. Small acts and memories were her only way to really remember him, but through these little glints she had a constant reminder that she was loved—that she could be loved. “Yeah, he was the best.”

Abby reached for a paintbrush, offering it to you. “Here, I still have three walls to do and it’d be nice to have someone who can actually reach those bottom corners.”

You punched Abby playfully in the arm, rolling your eyes. “When I knock you on your ass for bringing up my height, I’m sure you’ll be able to reach those corners just fine.”

Abby laughed brightly and you took a second to admire how beautiful she looked; the crinkles near her eyes, the way her freckles danced in the sunlight. It was astounding how despite the immense loss and trauma she had experienced, she still managed to light up the room with her smile.

You longed to see her smile like that more often.

“Come on, just paint with me. It’s not like you have any plans anyways.”

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight to your good side. “And how do you know I don’t have any plans? Maybe I’ve got a hot date waiting for me after this.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “I know because I’ve seen you. You do the dishes in the dining hall, take out the garbage, and do absolutely nothing else after that.”

“Wowww you’ve been keeping track of my daily routine, and I’m the stalker?”

She tossed the paintbrush towards you with an amused smirk on her face, giggling when you awkwardly caught it against your chest. “Just take the damn paintbrush already.”

It took several days to finish painting the walls of that tiny shack and you quickly developed a routine of sorts; you’d wash the dishes, clean the dining area, take out the garbage, and then you’d meet Abby to paint until the sun set. Sometimes you’d bring snacks from the kitchen for you to share, other days she’d bring some fresh fruit from the gardens. On the fourth day you even brought an old record player you discovered hidden deep inside one of the storage closets near the dining hall, along with a box of old records from the 70’s. It was something you looked forward to every day, and it wasn’t long before Abby was the only thing you could really think about.

And it wasn’t even clear memories of her that you’d picture, most times they were just glimpses—details. The flicker of her eyelashes, the cadence of her laugh, the plush of her lips, the darker strands of hair in the midst of the blonde; they were all just snapshots that plagued your every thought and sent a numbing tingle that travelled from the base of your spine to the tips of your toes.

Okay maybe it was a bit more than a little crush.

You’d spent the better of two weeks with Abby just talking, laughing, and painting. Abby told you about her father and Lev, about those three dreadful days in Seattle before she was captured in Santa Barbara. You couldn’t believe she was from Seattle too, that you and her were so close, only to meet months later on a fucking island. It truly felt like destiny that you ended up here with her and you were almost grateful you decided to spy on Abby that day, because this was the most fun you’ve had in forever.

By the time the both of you were finished, the walls were covered in an array of lush greens and adorable animals. You spent most of the time painting the background of the jungle, focusing on the draping vines and lazy leaves hanging along the sides while Abby painted monkeys swinging through the trees, more birds perched on branches, and even a small pond with plump lily pads and soft pink lotus flowers.

As the both of you stepped back to admire your work, Abby looked to you with a satisfied smile. “Michelangelo is rolling in his grave right now.”

“Definitely.” You responded proudly, looking at Abby with a wide grin on your face.

When your eyes drifted from the painting to Abby’s again, you noticed her eyes widen slightly as if she just remembered something. Silently, she jogged over to her bag while you looked at her with a confused expression on your face.

“Uh… are you okay?”

Abby’s back was shielding your view as she fumbled around her bag before pulling something out and promptly shoving it behind her back. She walked up to you with a small smirk on her face.

“Close your eyes.”

You sighed dramatically. “Are you finally sick of me? Is this the moment you finally decide to murder me?”

Abby groaned loudly. “Oh my god-”

“Okay okay my eyes are closed.” You covered your eyes with your hands, wiggling your fingers comically.

“And... open!

You removed your fingers and your eyes widened at the sight before you. Abby’s hand was clasped around a gorgeous bouquet of flowers; wisterias draped alongside bundles of violets and alliums with bunches of baby’s breath scattered throughout.

It was the most courteous, thoughtful gesture anyone had ever done for you and you had to look down to hide the furious blush that began to form on your cheeks. You tried to form some sort of comprehensible sentence to describe how you were feeling, but you were coming up absolutely blank.

Abby chimed in suddenly, her voice racked with a sort of nervousness you’ve never heard from her before. “I just thought that uh… well I’ve seen you looking at the gardens before and when I asked someone in the kitchens said your favourite colour was purple so I figured since you’ve been helping me with everything and-”

You grabbed the bouquet of flowers, your fingers just barely brushing against Abby’s fist when you wrapped your fingers around the stems. “They’re perfect Abby, I love them.”

Abby smiled widely, trying to ignore the burn your fingers left when they brushed against hers.

“I do have one question though…” You let your gaze fall to the flowers with a concerned look on your face as you took a step closer to Abby. “Were you... spying on me in the gardens?”

Your hand dipped down to grab the paintbrush that was submerged in a bucket of bright yellow liquid near your feet, leaning even closer to Abby—so close that you could count every freckle that graced her flushed cheeks. Abby must have missed the dip of your hand when you clutched the end of the paintbrush because the look on her face when you swiped it across her left cheek was priceless.

“Stalker.”

“You did not just-” Abby dipped her hand into a different bucket of paint with a deep cerulean tint, the yellow stripe on her cheek starting to drip down to her chin as a sinister smile made its way to her lips. Then before you could even think to block your face, Abby’s blue hand plopped on top of your head with a loud splat, coating your hair and dripping down your forehead while your mouth gaped open with disbelief.

Oh it was on.

You both took turns chasing after each other around the small room, buckets in hands as you tossed and splashed paint on each other until the room looked like a unicorn had barfed all over it. Loud giggles and squeals of excitement drowned out the record that had been filling the silence and the plastic sheet on the floor quickly turned into a slippery bed of ice. The once beautiful bouquet of flowers was nowhere to be seen (probably discarded somewhere beneath all the paint), but they had left a soft sweetness in the air; a reminder that they were there.

After the Catalina sun had set and the warmth of daylight had subsided into a gentle breeze with enough strength to just barely lift a leaf off of the ground, you looked down at the bucket in your hand with determination in your eyes. This was your final one, and you were going to make it count. Your fingers grasped tightly around the handle of the can as you charged like a bull at an unsuspecting Abby who was wiping paint from her eyes. Everything was going fine, you were closing in and you had just barely begun to tilt the bucket when your foot somehow found its way into a puddle of pastel pink paint which promptly sent you flying forward, colliding directly into Abby’s chest. The collision subsequently sent the bucket in your hand soaring while your hands braced themselves against Abby’s shoulders before the both of you tumbled to the ground with an oomf.

Both your hands were still on Abby’s shoulders, her hands on your hips when you lifted your upper body to look down at the blonde beneath you. “Sorry.”

Your eyes locked and Abby's mouth opened as if she was about to respond but was immediately silenced when her gaze shifted to the window behind you. Confusion washed over you as you turned your head to see what was distracting her, but you quickly understood when you heard it: the soft pitter-patter of rain against the wooden floorboards outside.

“Oh my God.” In all your time on the island it had only rained once, maybe twice, but both times you were still holed up in the hospital and bound to a hospital cot. You propped yourself up on your elbows before hopping off of Abby and dashing to the door.

Your eyes widened with wonder as thick, heavy raindrops fell from the sky and into your palm. You watched as the sticky, partly dried paint on your hand began to seep into the water and turn it a light shade of purple. After that you didn’t even hesitate when you ran down the stairs into the rain, though torrential downpour may have been a more accurate description because it wasn’t even four seconds before you were absolutely soaked from head to toe. You squinted at Abby, using your hand to shield your eyes from the watered-down paint falling down your face while you yelled at her to join you.

Abby had her arms crossed in front of her chest while she leaned against a post, unconcerned with the fact she was probably coating it in paint. You ran towards the balcony, looking up at her while you held your palms together to collect a small puddle before tossing it at Abby.

Abby didn’t flinch, instead she leaned her forearms on the ledge, enjoying the way you pranced around in the rain like a little kid. “You have to stop doing that.”

You cupped your hands together again, collecting more water to splash on Abby again. “Make me.”

Abby looked away to hide the smirk that was creeping up on her features when she thought fuck it and ran down the staircase into the summer storm with you. Without words Abby mirrored your movements, twirling and jumping around the puddles and the rainfall while the water washed away the paint from your bodies. You splashed and danced and sang without a single worry in the world, just pure bliss and joy.

It was utter perfection and you absolutely relished the long-forgotten feeling of raindrops against your skin, but it was all brought to a sudden halt when a sharp, shooting pain disturbed your left leg. Full force, the harsh, lingering pain you were convinced had been a thing of the past promptly returned and you fell into Abby’s side with a groan.

With concerned eyes, Abby caught you in her arms. Her thumb wiped a splotch of paint from your cheek before she pushed the wet hair away from your forehead. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

Trying your best to conceal the pain in your features, you nodded aggressively, your voice struggling to carry through the heavy downpour. “Yeah I’m okay.”

Slowly, you tested your weight on your left leg and you were met with a searing pain in your hip. Your fingers tightened their grip on Abby’s forearm as you let out a loud hiss. The pain did not, in fact, disappear.

Abby eyed you doubtfully. “You don’t look okay.”

Without a word, Abby hoisted you into her arms and you let out a pathetic yelp at the sudden contact. She was careful not to jostle your leg as she carried you towards the small house, but when you realized where she was taking you, you groaned in protest. The blonde looked at you with a raised eyebrow and you wrapped your arms around her neck, leaning towards her ear. “I want to stay here. Please.”

She gave you a knowing look and for just a second her gaze fell to your lips, and yours to hers. Through the pain, you hadn’t realized just how close you were—how easily your lips could meet hers and satiate the desire that was burning low in your stomach. You weren’t really sure what compelled you to lean in even closer, but the closer you got the more you noticed the ivory rings in her irises. They looked like the lightning in Seattle but they also looked like the shores of the island. You could see your whole world in those eyes, the past and the present.

Without another thought you leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her warm lips, the paint on your mouth’s mixing to create a dark emerald colour that streamed down Abby’s chin. Abby’s grip on you tightened while she pulled you closer to her chest and deepened the kiss, and when you pulled away she had this great big smile on her face. Her nose nudged yours and soon enough your lips were connected again, the pain in your leg long forgotten.

It didn’t matter that the jungle on the wall was likely ruined or that you were probably going to catch a cold from how long you’d end up staying out in the pouring rain clinging to Abby. You thought that maybe you were finally beginning to understand what all those poets were droning on about, because being with Abby was like life itself. She was the rain and the waves—the first step towards normalcy, whatever the hell that meant nowadays.

[saphirered]

Can I request the Mighty Nein funding out the reader had been hiding a kinda injury

I hope it turned out the way you wanted it! Thanks for requesting 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb is no stranger to physical injury and has embraced his squishy wizard nature. You however have covered up many injuries in the past, letting them heal on their own as you always had before you had handy clerics around to fix you up. Old habits die hard and unlucky for you, when he’s not nose deep in a book Caleb will see right through your brave face act.

Upon finding out you’re injured Caleb would simply sit you down. He’ll take it upon himself to tend to your injury despite your best efforts to convince him you’re fine and it’s just a scratch. He knows better.

Silence. You’ve never managed to get a word out of the wizard when he’s caring for your ailment. He’s completely focussed but will listen to you talk so his silence is not rooted in concentration.

Caleb won’t mention your injury to anyone. It will be your little secret but you’ll be able to catch him staring at you, and when you meet his eye he’ll give you a little half smile; a nonverbal ask to see if you’re alright.

(Beau)

Training accidents happen but hardly ever exceed bruises. A sparring match gone wrong may have ended with you getting a bo-staff to the ribs with a little too much force but you play it cool. It’ll be fine. Just some bruises. You assure Beau you’ll sleep it off and it wasn’t that bad.

Beau’s not entirely convinced and definitely pries until you come clean. Persuasion isn’t Beau’s strong suit but she makes some solid arguments, and threats that leave you forced to reveal your secret.

Upon seeing the injury Beau will curse like a sailor, telling you you should have told her. Best not to mention the trouble breathing… Wether you want to or not she’ll go get the clerics to fix you up despite any and all protests.

Beau will keep grilling you for weeks, bringing your injury up as ammo in any argument she needs won and will keep a close eye out. She’ll refuse to spar with you but we all know Beau likes her training and with you being one of the very few actually able to keep up (sorry Fjord) she’ll give in and beg you to train with her again, this time more mindful of her actions.

(Fjord)

Fjord may play cool but he tends to be a worrywart and when he already has enough on his plate you be mindful not to stress him out by facing him with anything else. That includes you getting a pretty heavy hit from an enemy in combat.

Back on the ship you resign yourself to the lower deck and cargo hold duties as to stay clear of Fjord’s direct line of sight. You’d take the crows nest but an injured leg will do you no good climbing.

Bad weather and a leg injury at sea do not mix well and you, being slammed into the side of the ship unable to get back up sends Fjord in overdrive. He’ll help you below deck to a safe spot and prepare for basic care until one of the clerics can come fix you.

Fjord’s seen enough injuries; others’ and his own and knows well enough what you got didn’t come from your little tumble. He’ll be extra tentative but scold you for not saying anything and telling you you should tell him in the future.

Regardless of the clerics’ opinions he puts you on bedrest for the next few days until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t count on being allowed to go up to the crow’s nest for a while though.

(Veth)

Having taken a tumble down the stairs while reading a book and conversing with Caleb (who you had to swear to secrecy) you deliberately stayed clear of Veth unless you had any sort of object to lean on to support yourself.

It’s more out of embarrassment you’re hiding this one even though your ankle hurts like a bitch. Every time you, Caleb and Veth are in the same room you’re sending the wizard death glares when he holds back a comment or laugh at your desperate attempts to keep this a secret.

Veth’s a mom and if there’s one thing moms are good at it’s figuring out when someone’s hurt. The moment your facade falls through, she’ll go into overdrive, pushing you to lay down on a couch or similar soft surface area, rushing to get you extra pillows and the likes.

Be prepared to have Veth hoover over you until you’re in the clear. She’ll do whatever she can to make you comfortable and brings you some trinkets to pass the time. Maybe don’t ask where she got them because they were definitely not in her previous possession.

(Jester)

It was gonna be an epic move! You’d jump down, weapon at the ready to stab down into the creature; death from above! Didn’t go as planned as you got swatted out of the air by the creature before you could strike down.

Luckily no one saw. After the battle you just claimed the plan fell through and you had to improvise. Meaning, you gritted through the pain of being rag-dolled into a cavern wall, got back up through the pain and back to battle.

If only Jester hadn’t asked you to help harvest the monster parts so you could sell them. You could barely carry your weapon, swinging it; different story. But Jester is persistent and you couldn’t just refuse the cute blue tiefling so you obliged gritting through the pain hoping no one would notice you taking a quick breather every so often.

Jester did notice and came to inspect your work, with a tap on your shoulder you feel a radiant warmth spread through you, making breathing and moving in general a lot easier. A thanks is in order and you’re sort of glad Jester keeps this on the down-low.

“Next time just tell me, okay?” Jester makes you pinky promise and you know that’s binding so you better keep your promise.

(Caduceus)

There’s a reason why you leave the cooking to Caduceus. You’ll happily cut some vegetables but try to stay away from anything else throughout the process of preparing food. When Caduceus asked you to watch the stove and add some spices to the food as he rushed to the pantry to get some more ingredients you were worried…

What should you do? Caduceus didn’t tell you how much to add of anything. Maybe you can just sniff the spices? Yeah, that sounds right. Opening the small jars and pouches one by one go through. You add a little of the fragrant ones and a bit more of the neutral spices.

One sniff of a red flaky powder sends you into a coughing fit, your airways burning like a blazing fire. Water doesn’t help. If anything it makes it worse. You get your breathing and cough under control but you do not trust your voice and scalding throat so when the firbolg returns you keep quiet.

No responses from you are a bit odd and what were you thinking you could keep anything from this man. Caduceus calls you out on your behaviour asking questions that need words and not nods, shakes, shrugs or the likes.

Upon you trying to talk he immediately knows what happened. Putting on a quick brew, in a short time you’re presented some tea to remedy your burning throat. It may not be your worst injury ever but it surely is an uncomfortable one. You gain a new appreciation for the dead people tea.

(Yasha)

You felt like you couldn’t do anything but try to hide the bleeding gash on your side, luckily covered by your clothing. Yasha had already gone through enough, last you needed her to deal with is the knowledge she injured you severely when under the control of someone else.

Back to normal you head into the next fight. For some reason you’re faltering and making mistakes you otherwise wouldn’t. Yasha notices and will be at your side in an instance to defend you but a single enemy blow sends you unconscious.

You can confidently say that opening your eyes to a raging barbarian pouring the contents of a healing potion down your throat is one of the most terrifying and admirable moment’s you’ve witnessed in your life.

Yasha asks when you got the cut since your bloodstained clothes don’t 100% add up. Tempted to come up with an excuse Yasha has you figured out. Prepare for endless apologies and a guardian angel watching over your shoulder threatening anyone with even remotely malicious intent into thinking twice about their actions.

(Mollymauk)

Molly will pretend he hasn’t noticed you’re hiding anything when he’s caught on you are being secretive. You’re entitled to your secrets.When he finds out you’re injured that’s no different. Unless it’s something that could be the death of you he’ll play along. You’re stubborn so you get to feel the consequences of your stubbornness.

He’d ask you to help him with this new routine he’s been working on or push you to spar with him. He’d make sure you have to pay extra mind as to not make it hurt as bad as your injury does when resting because that’s when the severity of your injury becomes clear to him.

Molly would deliberately make everyday tasks a little harder. You’re doing dishes? could you carry the heavy tub of water? Setting up camp? Keep pressure on this or hammer that into the ground. Will put your things out of your reach where you’d have to climb or jump to get them.

He’ll keep these shenanigans going until either you come clean about your injury or he really gets worried to the point he’ll have to step in for your own wellbeing. The former usually occurs leaving him smug and willing to carry you claiming to be your daring saviour.

Depending on the severity of the injury he’ll be a pretty decent caretaker spending time with you and assisting you whenever you need it. When it’s not as bad anymore he’ll be teasing you as much as he can. He won’t make you forget your stubbornness and pride gets in your way of admitting defeat and we all know he loves winning the game.

[bestiesenpai]

Lout - Naoya Zenin

Y’all ever seen that movie bad teacher with cameron diaz that would be me as a teacher lol also Naoya is a third year 18+ all that good jazz fun fact I’m actually allergic to minors so yeah even mentioning them breaks me out into hives, it’s disgusting they’re disgusting, would not recommend. 0/10 stars on google review and yelp also femme reader 3.3k words

Content warnings: noncon + dubcon, age gap(reader is obvi gonna be older than naoya lol), teacher x student shit, degradation, choking, noncon video taking, biting, spanking, not a mindbreak necessarily but there’s hints of that here

There was a problem child in your senior class and you weren’t even the main teacher. Stuck as a teaching aid until you could get full certification, it wasn’t even you that really had to bear the brunt of this student's bad behavior should the principal ask. Yet somehow, it was your duty to get him into line before he graduated in a few months.

Naoya Zenin couldn’t even pretend to care about his highschool reputation. All he focused on was being top of the class and making sure everyone knew who exactly was in charge. At an elite private school where his family had been generous donors for generations, Naoya’s behavior was almost expected.

Until he nearly put another student in the hospital after a fight. That was the final straw for disgruntled parents and students alike, causing a massive uproar and demanding action. And of course that call to action fell on your shoulders.

“Seriously? They stuck me with a fucking aide?” Throwing open the door to the office space assigned to you in the meeting, Naoya glared at you. It wasn’t that he particularly disliked you or anything, but he felt slighted that the school didn’t send a real teacher to talk to him.

“Have a seat, Naoya.” Standing up from the desk, you motioned to the lone armchair in the room. Walking in and slamming the door behind him, Naoya rolled his eyes as he flopped into the chair.

“Let’s make this quick, I’ve got a dive team meeting soon.” Looking out at the courtyard below, Naoya squinted against the harsh afternoon sun coming in through the windows. He wasn’t concerned with this meeting at all, wanting it to be over so he can go and impress some Olympic team scouts.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you rustled the papers on your desk. There were pages of notes on what you were supposed to say, how you were supposed to say it and a few forms Naoya had to sign as well, stating that he’d be on his best behavior until graduation.

“Naoya, you know why you’re here.” You started, unable to meet his pointed gaze as it flicked over to you. “You’re behavior has gotten out of hand and-”

“So what?” Letting his head loll back, Naoya shrugged.

“And you need to be held accountable for your actions.” You pushed through the interruption, feeling your cheeks heat up in indignation.

“Yeah? My family’s had the dean in their pocket since this school was founded, I doubt there’s much I need to be accountable for.”

“You can’t throw money at everything, you know?”

“Why do you think I take judo?”

“Naoya, please.” Pinching the bridge of your nose, you mimicked him for a moment and leaned your head back. “We’re supposed to be having this meeting to reform your behavior. You did a really bad thing, you nearly killed that other student.”

“Reform? The board sent you to reform me? That’s a fucking laugh if I’ve ever heard one.” Letting out a boisterous laugh, Naoya slapped his knee. “How are you going to change me when you can’t even look me in the eye?”

“T-that’s not important.” Embarrassed, you forced yourself to make brief eye contact with him before shuffling your papers around again. “Look, can you just let me say what’s on these papers? Then you can sign them and be on your way.”

“I don’t think I will.” Crossing his arms, Naoya had the nerve to stretch his legs out and prop his feet up on the desk.

“Naoya-”

“I still think it’s hilarious that you’re here of all people. I mean, just look at you!” Gesturing vaguely to your form, Naoya laughed again. “Not even a real fucking teacher yet. Why don’t you go back to the little corner office you have and let the grown ups handle the big stuff?”

“I’m older than you!” This was bad. He was trying to rile you up and it was working. The control you already didn’t have on the situation was getting worse by the minute and both you and Naoya knew that the power balance between you was heavily skewed in his favor.

“Really? I couldn’t tell, you’ve got about as much gusto as an infant.” Giving you a once over, he sneered. “The only thing going for you is your looks and honestly, they could use a little work.”

“Hey!” Now your face was really on fire. Chuckling at your reaction, Naoya sat up a little straighter.

“Don’t get so upset, I know a pair of twins that would be more than willing to help you improve.”

“Can we just focus on the reason we’re here?” You wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. The chances of saving this meeting - and your dignity - were slim to none, but you still had to try.

“Right, right, this nonsense about ‘reforming me’.” Using heavy air quotes, Naoya dragged his feet off the desk and let them land on the ground with a loud thud. Taking another look out the windows, he started to undo the tie around his neck.

“Yes. Now, you’re going to sit there and just listen, okay? It’ll only take a few minutes, then you can go on about your day.” You were foolish to believe that you could possibly do anything to Naoya, let alone change his mind on something like this. All the high hopes you’d scrounged together before this meeting were utterly crushed when Naoya stood up.

“No, you listen.” In one fell swoop, Naoya pushed all the papers off the desk, waiting as they all fell to the ground and drinking in your shocked expression. “It’s almost insulting that you think you have any control over this situation, let alone me.”

“Sit back down, Naoya.” Your voice shook terribly as he rounded the desk. You weren’t able to push your chair away fast enough, and he was able to grab onto the back and spin you to face him.

“But teacher, I don’t want to.” He mocked, wasting no time in grabbing you by the throat and forcing you to stand. Clawing at his hand was no use, Naoya’s strength greatly outmatched yours and in just a few moments he was able to manhandle your arms behind your back and use his tie to bind your wrists together.

“Let me go, Naoya!” Thrashing against the desk you were now leaning on for support, a sense of dread filled you. Even if you managed to undo the tie, there was still the issue of actually getting out of the room and away from Naoya, and if his ease in handling you told you anything it was that that task would be impossible.

“Ya know, (Y/N)- can I call you (Y/N)?” He had a stupid grin on his face, pushing you to lean more on the desk as he stood in front of you. “You’ve talked a lot about reform and changing my behavior, but the only one I see here in need of an attitude adjustment is you.”

“Naoya!” Horror ripped through you as he yanked your top open, popping the buttons on your blouse and letting out a whistle at seeing your bra.

“(Y/N), I think you’re violating dress code right now.” Clicking his tongue, Naoya pulled your bra down as far as it would go. “I’ll have to give you a demerit.” Keeping one hand on your throat, Naoya pinched and twisted your nipple between his fingers.

You wouldn’t know it, but Naoya’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. The rush of power he usually got from presiding and dominating the other students was nothing compared to the power he felt now. This wasn’t even something he dreamed about doing, but you’d just given him the golden opportunity to really test his power at this school.

Lurching forward, Naoya sunk his teeth right below your jawline, somewhere he knew you’d have a hard time covering up the mark. The pained squeal you let out went straight to his head and right between his legs, making him bite you in another place and suck harshly on the skin.

Rutting his hips against your thigh, Naoya groaned as he trailed his mouth down your neck, leaving deep teeth marks that he knew would sting when you were alone at night later. Putting one of your nipples in his mouth, Naoya rolled it between his teeth and let drool drip out of his mouth and down your skin.

“Stop it, Naoya! Let me go!” There were strained tears in your eyes that refused to be blinked away. A flurry of slurred protests left your lips as his hand tightened on your neck, enough to have you gasping for air.

“Not until I teach you a little lesson.” He growled, leveling you with a single look. Keeping his grip firm until your eyes rolled back in your head, Naoya let go when he was sure you wouldn’t try to speak again.

Coughing and spluttering, there was little you could do with your fuzzy brain to stop Naoya from turning you around and bending you over the desk. Your face pressed into the hard surface and the wood dug into your face and hips as they were pushed forward.

Grabbing onto your bottoms, Naoya pulled them down until they were at your ankles, unceremoniously ripping off your panties and no doubt shoving them into his pocket. Your heated skin was exposed to the air of the room, making goosebumps pebble on your flesh.

“Ow!” The first slap to your ass was hard and unforgiving, making the tears in your eyes finally fall. “S-stop!” You tried to move your body away from the impending pain but it was no use, Naoya hit your other cheek almost as soon as you started to move.

“What’s wrong, teacher? Never had a bit of corporal punishment?” Laughing haughtily, Naoya grabbed your stinging skin in his hand.

“Ow, ow- N-naoya please, let me go!”

“Not a chance!” Slapping both cheeks in tandem, Naoya could feel the adrenaline going through him. There was no limit to what he could do in this moment, he could walk away and leave you like this, stranded for someone to find. Or, and he liked this option more, he could keep going, and save a few keepsakes for himself.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Naoya opened the camera with no hesitation. Taking a video of your heaving body, groping your ass and hips, spreading your cheeks apart to reveal your asshole, Naoya tried to keep the groan coming forward low.

“W-what’re you doing?” You could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, and your blood ran cold upon realizing what he was doing.

“Say hi.” Shoving the camera in your face, Naoya grabbed your chin to keep you from turning away. “Smile for the camera, (Y/N), don’t cry!”

“No, no, no…” Your career is over. Your life is over. Everything you’d worked so hard for, your education, this job - it was going to be taken away if Naoya decided to share the video. You’d be blacklisted from ever working in a school again and you would definitely face legal trouble for being in this situation with a student.

Leaving you for a moment, Naoya propped his phone up on the windowsill, making sure the camera was capturing the both of you as he went back over. Giving a cheeky little wave to the camera, Naoya turned his attention back to you.

Pushing a hand between your legs, Naoya chuckled darkly at the slick that met the tips of his fingers. It was a miniscule amount, but enough that he could mock you over it. Dragging his fingers through your folds, he presented the fingers to you.

“Who knew Ms. (Y/N) was such a fucking slut?” Rubbing his fingers together, Naoya held his hand up to the camera. “Ms. (Y/N) likes it when I’m rough with her.”

“No...no I don’t.” Sniffling pathetically, you shook your head as best you could.

“Don’t lie, the proof is right here.” Wiping his fingers across your cheek, he made a show of pushing your legs further apart and putting his hand back on your cunt. Pinching your clit, Naoya bit his lip as you let out a high pitch whine.

He knew he’d meet too much resistance if he tried to shove his cock in straight away, so Naoya took it upon himself to prep you a bit. Rubbing your clit in tight circles, he leered over you and watched as you struggled to keep whimpers at bay.

“Don’t be shy, let the camera know how much you like this. We already know how much of a slut you are.”

“I don’t- I don’t like this.”

“Hm? Then why are you getting wet?”

“T-thats-” He had you beat there, the glide of his fingers was getting easier and a distinct wet sound was starting to take shape.

“No need to be shy, teacher. You can tell me you’re just a dumb fucking slut.” Pressing his lips against your ear, Naoya looked at the camera. “I know you see the camera, say it nice and loud for me.”

“No.” Shaking your head, a sharp cry ripped through you as Naoya hit your thigh. From the force of his slap you knew there’d be a hand printed welt on your leg.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m a- a dumb fucking slut!” You sobbed and the strength nearly left your legs entirely. If not for Naoya holding you up you would have tumbled to the floor in shame.

“Now was that so hard?” Standing up straight, Naoya was done stalling. Pushing a finger inside you, he deemed you ready enough to take him and undid the belt on his pants, letting them fall to his ankles.

Taking a second to himself, Naoya ground his clothed cock against your body. This opportunity was something to cherish and he was going to savor every moment of it. Taking a deep breath as pleasure made his spine ripple, Naoya pushed down his underwear and grabbed his cock.

“Teacher, I have a bit of a problem, won’t you fix it?” Naoya teased, rubbing his cock along your slit.

“Wait Naoya, you need protection.”

“Shut up. You’d be lucky to bear a child with Zenin blood, so count this as a gift from me to you.” Putting the tip in, Naoya let his head fall back and gaze down his nose at where your cunt was already sucking him in.

Ignoring your protests, Naoya pushed his cock in all the way, quickly bottoming out and nestling his hips snugly against yours. Planting his hands on the desk to steady himself, he had to take a few deep breaths before beginning to move again.

Putting a hand on the back of your neck to keep you from moving too much, Naoya pulled his hips back, looking at the way his cock glistened with your slick. Breathing hard through his nose, he pushed back in and started a steady rhythm.

“Shit, you’re so tight.” He grunted behind clenched teeth, the hold on your neck getting tighter as he focused on moving his body and not cumming too soon. The clap of his hips against your ass was music to his ears, a sound Naoya was sure not to forget any time soon.

The shame of being fucked by a student was heavy enough on your mind but the shame knowing you were starting to enjoy it was even worse. Keeping your eyes tightly closed, there was little you could do as Naoya pounded into you, the full length of his cock hitting places inside you that hadn’t ever been touched before by previous partners.

“Fuck!” The shout that came out of you was unrestrained, you couldn’t contain yourself as Naoya put his fingers back on your clit. Humiliation covered you like a thick blanket, almost choking you as much as Naoya was.

“I knew you’d come around, (Y/N). No one can resist a Zenin.” Smirking at your scrunched up face, Naoya wrapped his hand fully around your throat and pulled you up until your back was nearly flush with him.

The new angle had a loud moan coming from you and Naoya was close to cumming as well, he could feel his toes start to curl and tingle. His mind was starting to get foggy, and the hold he had was starting to slip from the sweat building up between you.

“Make sure not to waste what I give you, okay? It’s special.”

“You have to pull out, Naoya. You have to!” You couldn’t get pregnant by a student, especially one as high profile as him. Humming against your ear, Naoya shook his head.

“No, I don’t think I will. This is the last part of your attitude adjustment, I need to make sure you remember it.”

“N-naoya- pull out-” You stuttered as your orgasm washed over you, making your back arch and angling your ass perfectly for Naoya to cum as well. Making sure his cock was as deep as possible, Naoya let you fall back onto the desk as he rutted into you.

Biting you on the shoulder one last time, Naoya stayed inside you until his breathing went back to normal and his cock went soft. He had sweat clinging to his body and his uniform was wrinkled beyond belief when he stood up.

Fixing his clothes, Naoya undid the tie around your wrists and watched your arms limply fall to the side. There was no doubt you were sore, he’d given you enough marks to last a week. Smoothing a hand over your still stinging thigh, Naoya stepped away from you and laughed as you fell to the floor.

“Ya know, maybe this meeting was beneficial after all. Wouldn’t you say, teach?” Toeing at your spent body curled up on the floor, Naoya drank you in one last time before going to his phone and ending the video.

Gathering his things and answering a few texts, Naoya grinned as you hobbled to your feet. You avoided looking at him, opting instead to try salvage your own clothes and make sense of the world again. The sun was still shining brightly in the sky and if you held your breath you could hear the distant sound of students on a baseball field.

“Well, I’ll be going now.” Naoya threw open the door, startling you.

“Wait.” Reaching out to him, your eyes went straight to the phone in his hands. “That video-”

“Don’t worry, I won’t show it to anyone, I promise!” Crossing his fingers for dramatic effect, Naoya tucked it away into his back pocket. “Stay out of my way for the rest of the school year, and I’ll delete it when I graduate.”

You couldn’t trust his words and you both knew it. There was no way Naoya would let this be a one time thing, now that he’s gotten a taste for it. He would only continue to take what he wanted from you, making your life hell until he left the school - he wouldn’t let you leave before him.

“Fine.” But it was all you had to go on, so you nodded your head and accepted your fate.

“Fine.” Nodding curtly, Naoya stepped out into the hall with a wide smirk on his face. “See you in class later, Ms. (Y/N).”

[lemonjoonah]

Level of Restraint (M)

Pairings: Jimin x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, Taehyung x Reader Word Count: 13K  Rating: M  Genre: Thriller, smut, office AU, BDSM AU  Warnings(contains spoilers): This story contains very dark themes and may not be suited to all readers, protected sex (vag+anal), threesome, double penetration, bondage (including partial suspension), dom/sub roles (reader is a sub), praise kink, mild degration, sensory deprivation, spanking, fingering, cum feeding, mild breathplay, sex toys, exhibitionism, voyeurism, discussion of safe word, Namjoon is a professional dom/sex worker, referenced discrimination of sex workers and those who participate in BDSM, public outing of sexual practices, inappropriate workplace relationships, referenced death of minor character, yandere character, misidentified sexual partner, manipulation, bribery, blackmail, implied stalking, violence.

Summary: As a co-founder of a consulting firm you can’t afford to be caught in a scandal. So flirting with your secretary, Jimin, would be out of the question. Giving your client’s son, Taehyung, a reference for a sexual partner would be reprehensible. And having regular paid BDSM sessions with your dominant, Namjoon? That would be a career ending disgrace. It’s too bad the only restraints in life you approve of are the cuffs that bind you to the bed, because there are those hiding in the dark waiting to take advantage. 

A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who supported me while writing this story. It was hard not to question the level of darkness this tale descends to. In the end your assurances and aid are the only reason this fic made it to fruition. Upon reading you might notice several thematic references to the ‘Fall of the House of Usher,’ by Edgar Allan Poe  and the Greek myth of Tantalus. They are two of my favourite tales, and together they greatly represent the darkened desires depicted in this oneshot.

...

8:55 am KNJ: Good girl.

Your heart races upon receiving the response you’ve been waiting for all morning. The sender had requested proof that you were wearing his last minute gift, and you were happy to oblige with the lewd photo. Finally seeing his simple praise for your efforts makes you grin from ear to ear, as you enter the front door to your workplace’s building. The message will be enough to get you through the day, high on the thought of his praise while his present is wrapped tightly around your ribs. Though the garment may be confining, you’ll endure anything to receive those two simple words.

Reluctantly glancing up from your phone you look ahead to see the elevator closing.

“Hold the door!” You call out, making a run for it. Mercifully the gap between the doors widens allowing you to climb in before it begins the long haul up. Glancing over to your savoir, you find your secretary standing at the panel. “Thanks Jimin.”

“No problem,” he responds with a warm smile. “What floor do you need?” Joking as he pushes the button labelled 14. 

You playfully shove his arm while trying to catch your breath. Had he left you down on the first floor there's no telling how long it would be before the elevator returned. The building in which you work has been down to one lift for a couple days, with no promise of when the other will be fixed. It’s not a surprise really, ever since you moved into this complex three years ago you’ve been plagued with breakdowns and shotty utilities. Considering how opulent  the tower is, with it’s gilded elevators and halls adorned in finery you expected better, but people often overlook flaws when they have something pleasant to stare at. Allowing the management to slack on some of the failings of the structure. 

“Do you think you could send maintenance another message?” You ask your hand clutching your waist to comfort the stitch in your side, no doubt a result of the corset concealed beneath your clothes. 

“Consider it done.” Jimin replies, pulling out his phone. “Are you okay Miss?” He asks, your heavy breathing failing to go unnoticed judging from the concern in his voice.

“Fine.” You quickly change the subject, not wanting to linger on your current state. “What’s on my schedule for today?”

��You have a consultation with Mr. Kim of HOC Industries in an hour-” 

“Really?” You cut in, confused about the sudden change. “But I just saw him a few weeks ago. Why is he coming in?”

“He didn’t say, I just got a message last night from him stating he required an appointment immediately.”

“That’s not a good sign...” You groan, wondering what information had dropped to spur a need for such an urgent response. 

“Afterwards you have an early lunch with journalist Min. Followed by a one o’clock appointment with Jeon Jungkook to go over the new web layout. And the rest of office hours are slated as admin.” 

You cringe over the prospect of bookkeeping. Your accountant’s involvement in a recent accident, placed him on an extended leave of absence. Since you are the only other member of your small staff qualified to balance the books, this leaves you burdened with his duties. “Remind me later to make a posting for a temp position.”

“Noted,” Jimin remarks as he continues to scroll through his phone. “Oh and don’t forget, you also have your monthly massage appointment with Kim Namjoon tonight.”

You smile at the thought, you would never forget a booking with him, especially since he’s the reason for your current state of breathlessness. You’ve been counting down the days until you get to see him, with only a few hours left you can barely contain yourself. To everyone who asks he’s a masseur, but the services he provides are far more aggressively intimate than a standard massage. You force a small cough to cover the involuntary moan starting to escape. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” It’s not a complete lie, with the stress from work there have been a lot of restless nights recently, your appointment tonight should help to relieve a bit of that tension. There’s a loud groan as the elevator comes to a stop at your floor. You look up to the top of the lift and over to Jimin with worry, both of you stepping off with haste once the doors open.

Your entire office space consists of only a few rooms. You and Hoseok had started this company only a few years ago, focusing on corporate consultations regarding public image and approval. All things considered you’re doing rather well. With your negotiation tactics, Hoseok's philanthropy efforts, and Yoongi on retainer as your media source, you’ve been able to take on several giant corporations.    

As you walk down the hall you find the temperature starting to rise, and upon stepping into your’s and Jimin’s shared office, you’re hit with a wave of heat. You whisper your curses as you check the thermostat which has been jacked to its highest setting and refuses to shift back down. 

Giving up on the system you turn to the windows, but even those are a struggle after being neglected for so long. You call out to Jimin for assistance, waiting no more than a second before he is by your side. But even with his help you only manage to open them to the grand extent of a sliver before you’re forced to give in. At least with your office door open there’s now a small draft pervading the space.

“I guess I’ll send maintenance another message,” Jimin chuckles.

“You don’t think he’s trying to push us out do you?” You inquire about the building owner, and one of your own clients. You don’t usually make such bold claims, but with Jimin’s ties to the dubious man, it’s hard not to ask.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. Though I think this is more likely due to his lack of regard for the workmanship going into his properties.”

You nod overlooking the now stuffy room which holds both your desks. It serves its purpose with a sufficient amount of daylight from the large windows, and a partial wall giving you each a bit of privacy. You’d rather not have to leave this building and the status that comes with it, but there seems to be no end with these faulty appliances. “So much for being the height of sophistication.”

While you settle into your workspace you’re already dying from the heat, a sweater and camisole overtop your corset was not the best choice for today, but you didn’t want to risk anyone noticing the garment beneath. As you shuffling through your newsite tabs Jimin readies the coffee maker, returning to you with the first dose of your daily caffeine needs. 

“You’re a saint.”

Jimin smiles brightly at your compliment, living for the praise as always. “Do you want some ice on the side?” He laughs as you tug on your sweater to stop it from sticking to your skin.

“Only if I can rub it all over.” You sigh jokingly as you take a sip of the hot beverage.

“I’d be happy to assist.” His smirk and piercing gaze look to be downright serious, his flirtation hitting a new high today.    

“Sorry Jimin, I already have a massage appointment later. I think Namjoon would be very upset if you took his job from him.”

“That’s too bad.” He mutters, his lip still curled into a smile before stepping away from your desk. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’d be more than willing to compensate him for his loss.” Jimin has never been shy about his attraction to you, a desire which you most certainly reciprocate, but your own company policies keep the both of you tied to flirtatious word play. With Jimin winning more often than not when it comes to provocative sentiments.

He hangs around on your side of the room, straightening the chairs and stray flies, while you continue your search for whatever prompted the need for your haste meeting. At last you find it, on the featured articles of a prominent celeb news site, with the headline reading, ‘The Dark Desires of the Kim Family Heir.’

Much to your chagrin the issue isn’t regarding your client, but his son. As much as you try to stay out of personal family matters, sometimes they are unavoidable, and this looks to be one of those cases.

‘Kim Taehyung has long been considered one of the most eligible bachelors. He has it all, money, power, and a spot on every top ten most attractive list, but those who have been with him more intimately say he craves something more...’ 

Your mouth falls open in horror as one of Taehyung's former partners exposes their most intimate moments with him. ‘The Gucci suits and custom cologne are just an expensive mask for the darkness beneath. He would ask to be tied, bound to the bed and struck. He wanted pain and pleasure...’ The further you read the more your chest tightens. You’d rather not jump to conclusions, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. A fact which must make it all the more painful for Taehyung. You can only imagine what he must be going through, to have such private details exposed and exploited. He’s currently living your worst nightmare, a societal judgement over one's deepest desires. For professional reasons it would probably be best to stay out of this private matter, but you can’t in good consciousness let him suffer alone.

“That bad?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah...” You cover your mouth to hide your shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill on Taehyung's behalf.

Jimin shuffles in behind your desk with you. By lowering himself to read off your screen, his face falls next to yours. His hands come to rest on your shoulders as he leans in to eye the article in question. You should shoo him away, but you can’t help but be curious of his response to those who engage in such practices. As his eyes scan the page his grip on you tightens, his breathing erratic just like yours, with a whispered “‘Fuck,” escaping his lips. 

“Are we interrupting something?” A voice calls out from your open door. 

Your head snaps over in shock to find your next appointment waiting for you, with his son in tow. You jump up pushing Jimin back so you can greet your guests properly. “Mr. Kim! No not at all,  please come in. This must be-”

“Taehyung...” The younger man mutters as he walks in, slumping down in one of the chairs in front of your desk. His sunglasses are still in place, the smell of spirits wafts over you along with the spicy scent of what must be his referenced cologne. He’s a sight to behold, a person of his caliber could make a fortune off his looks alone; he wouldn’t even need a drop of his father's fortune. But of course, that would have been before this public outing of his bedroom tendencies. Now he’s more likely to be seen as a pariah rather than an asset.

Directing the elder to the seat next to him, you take your own once again as Jimin retreats to his desk. You don’t even have the chance to exchange pleasantries before Mr. Kim launches into the purpose of their visit. “I assume you saw the article about my son?”

“I did, but-”

“And? What can we do about it? How can we spin it? Our stocks have already taken a hit.”

“Your son just had a serious breach in personal privacy...” You pause hoping that he’ll have some semblance of a realization that he is not the victim here, instead he simply waits for you to continue. Attempt to hold in your dismay, you give him the only answer you can, “Sue for defamation if you’d like, but whether they are printing fact or fiction the damage is done. The press is still focusing on your family due to your early misdealings in your company. I would argue that if you turn the view of operations around then there is a very good chance that the media will start to back off personal affairs.”

“You can’t expect me to twiddle my thumbs and wait. My shareholders are currently questioning his ability to lead, they might seek to replace him.”

“Good.” Taehyung mutters. “If those prudes have a problem with me, I’d rather not have to work with them.”

You bite your lip to conceal a snort of laughter.  Mr. Kim fails to notice but his son seems to have caught your slip, taking off his glasses, he pierces you with a strong gaze.

Kim senior starts up again looking for sympathy and a way out, “Do you know how many of his flings I’ve had to pay off in the past-”

“Maybe you should just stick to your own business.” Taehyung eyes his father darkly.

“They made it my business when they started squealing to the press about what kind of man you are.”

You try to rein the situation in, this battle between father and son having no place in your office. “Mr. Kim! I would actually like to speak to your son for a moment. We can see if there’s a possible remedy for this... exposure.” You stand up, calling over the wall for your secretary "Jimin? Would you mind taking Mr. Kim to see Hoseok?” You turn back to your elder client, practically pushing him out the door into your secretaries’s care. “Jung Hoseok has been continuing his work on your company's philanthropic efforts. I’m sure he would love to show you what he has done with your portfolio.”

“Do you need me to come right back Miss?” Jimin asks with a pleading stare, his eyes flicker over to the young man still slumped in his seat.

“No I think we’ll be okay for a bit.” You mutter to him quietly as Mr. Kim proceeds down the hall. “Just keep him away for a few minutes.”

Once they're both gone you sit back down across from Taehyung with a sigh.

“So are your going to talk some sense into me?” He drawls with disdain.

“Fuck no,” you scoff, rummaging through your drawer. “Can I get you anything coffee, water... advil?”  You finally pull out the bottle of pain relievers and offer one to him as you take one yourself, your head ready to explode in frustration over his father. 

He tilts his head looking somewhat surprised, “So why did you send him away then?”

“I thought you could use a break. I’ve worked with many people like your father, they all want things done their way, and you’ll never be able to tell them otherwise. He’ll never admit to his faults, and the fact that he’s the real reason the media is all over you. So as long as you don’t tattle on me, we both can make it through this meeting with him thinking that he’s won.”

“Deal,” Taehyung agrees while he chuckles at your ploy. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” You offer once again.

“Actually I’ll take some advil.”

“I thought you might.” You poor him glass from the cooler and offer up the pill. When his sleeve pulls back to reach for the cup you can’t help but notice the glaring red evidence of a rope abrasion on his wrist. While he throws back the pain killer, you take another sip of your coffee rolling the bitterness over your tongue before breaching the difficult subject. “It can’t be easy to have the press prying into every aspect of your private life.”

“It’s not so much that they pry, but...” Taehyung hesitates, his brow furrows as his fingers run through his hair tugging on the strands between his fingers.  “People know that they can go to them with a story and make money off any relations I have with them. And the press will gladly pay top dollar for what they have to offer.”

“The story is not a complete fabrication then?” You already know it’s not judging from his father's response and the marks on his arm, you just need to hear him say it. 

“No, it’s mostly true.” He admits, watching your reaction.

“Then it would seem that your desires might be thought unconventional by many of your past partners?”

Taehyung nods, taking another sip of his water. 

“From one unconventional individual to another,” you pause waiting for your own admission to sink in. To your delight Taehyung immediately perks up listening attentively as you continue. “There are more discreet ways to fill those needs.”

“Are you offering?” He asks, raising a brown along with the corner of his lips.

“No, I doubt that I would be very good at meeting your cravings, since we both hunger the same type of... attention.” You smile back at him, rejoicing in your mutual secret. “But I do have a friend who will take very good care of you. I’m going to give you a name and phone number, it’s up to you if you want to contact them, but I can assure you any conversations or actions between you and them will be kept strictly confidential. It’s not cheap,” you explain, but doubt that’ll be a problem for him. “But I assure you it’s safe and private.”

Taehyung can barely get the information from you fast enough once you jot it down. His hands, reaching for the sheet, accidentally knock over your coffee instead, sending the drink in your direction and staining your sweater. “I’m so sorry, here let me help you.” Taehyung jumps up and runs and grabs napkins from the coffee station. 

“It’s fine really.” You assure him, making an attempt to stop him as he starts to blot the saturated material. 

Unfortunately it’s at this moment that Jimin walks in to see your precarious state. He stands there for a moment in silence before explaining the reason for his return. “Mr. Kim said he needs to leave soon, Miss. He wanted to see if you two were... finished.” There’s glare set in his eyes for Taehyung's forwardness.

“Yeah, be right there, just one second.” You turn back to Taehyung, exchanging the damp napkin in his hand for the paper you had just written on. “Think about it, I hope you’ll give him a call. I don’t give out his information unless I think it will be of help to someone.”

“Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung mutters quietly while reading the slip. “If I were to go see him, would I find you there too?” He looks back up at you, biting his lip after posing his query.

“Likely not, he keeps his sessions very private, but you can always discuss your...” You glance over to Jimin who is still waiting, and well within earshot. “Preferences with him.”

“Then I’ll consider it, thank you.”

After seeing Mr. Kim and his son off, you're left to deal with the stain on your sweater, with only fifteen minutes before you have to leave for your lunch appointment. “Jimin could you call Yoongi and let him know I’m running a little late? I need to stop by my apartment on the way.”

“No need, I’ve got an extra shirt here.” He pulls out one of his own from his desk. “ I know it’s a men’s fit, but I think we can make it work.” 

“Why do you keep that here?” You laugh. He only looks at you and the stain with a raised brow, no words needed to prove his point. “Never mind, stupid question, but I can’t take your shirt Jimin.”

“I insist, go put it on.” He forces it into your hands as you double check your watch, your time constraints leaving you with little choice. 

Stepping behind the dividing wall, you strip down to your camisole, breathing a sigh of relief that the beverage hadn’t seeped into the fabric of the corset. Quickly throwing his button up over top and tucking it in, you check to ensure your intimate garment is still hidden relatively beneath the shirt before coming back out for his opinion “Does it look okay?”

Jimin nods, but when he reaches out to touch the shirt you recoil, fearing that he will discover what you wear beneath. He chuckles and persists, “I’m just fixing your collar.” He moves in closer standing just a couple inches away. Pinching the two seams of the fabric together, he considers the change. “I think it would look better like this.” You nod, keeping silent as he follows through. Pulling the fabric tight around your throat, your breathing is forced to pause for a moment as he fastens the top button. “Better?” He asks, while his hands linger around your neck.

“Much.” You whisper, as his fingers drift up to hold your chin, with the tip of his thumb dragging along the edge of your bottom lip. You stand there confused as to why your flirtatious game has taken such a physical turn. Although his actions are prohibited and should be censured, you can’t fully condemn them, deciding instead to remove yourself, rather than reprimand him. “I-I should go. I don’t want to be late meeting Yoongi.”  

...

It was a productive lunch to say the least, but that was by no means thanks to you. Your focus was distinctly elsewhere. While you toyed with your bottom lip, thinking of how Jimin had touched it just moments before, Yoongi gave you everything you needed to secure several new clients. Even now as you return, disembarking the elevator on to your floor, you still can’t concentrate on the day ahead.

On the walk back to your office Hoseok catches you, quickly pulling you into his own and closing the door behind. “You need to do something about Jimin.” 

“Wh-what do you mean?” You ask, nervous that he had seen you two together before you left for your meeting.

“Your client earlier, Mr. Kim, he said that he caught you two acting rather close, making suggestions that you two are involved in a sexual relationship. Usually I would disregard a comment like his but-” 

“It’s not true, you know I wouldn’t!” As much as you might want to act on Jimin’s advances you’ve never crossed that line. You know it must have been bad for Hoseok to bring it up, for him to take this serious tone is evidence of his deep concern. 

“I know that, but this isn’t the first time someone has thought you two might be a little too intimate. Some of the staff have also considered the notion. And I can see why, the way he looks at you, talks to you...” Hoseok trails off as his eyes linger on your apparel in confusion. “You weren’t wearing that earlier were you?” 

“No, I had some coffee spill on me earlier. Jimin was nice enough to loan me his.”

Hoseok tilts his head as he raises his brow as if this validates his concerns.

“He was just being helpful!” You offer, but Hoseok doesn’t look to be swayed, and he’s right, this is a workplace not a morning after situation. “Fine, I see your point. So what do you suggest?”

“Redistribute him, send him my way if you have to, god knows that I could use the extra hand. You could even play it off as a promotion, just get him out of your office.” Your heart drops at the thought, not wanting to give him up. Hoseok seeing this takes a softer tone. “Listen I can see that you like him too. I’m sure it feels good to have his attention, but you need to get this out of your system. You have to put a stop to it. We can’t afford a scandal and you know it.” 

With the assurance that you’ll think on the issue, and giving Hoseok your solution by tomorrow, you return to your office. But the problem is far from easy, though you did not lie about your physical relationship to Hoseok, you have been keeping something from him. From all of them. Jimin will never accept a promotion if it takes him away from you. He’s never worked here for the money, he doesn’t need to when his father owns half of the city, this building included. 

...

-3 years ago-

“Mr. Lee, thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.” You pull out the chair to sit across from him. The massive mahogany desk of his placing a rather large distance between the two of you. 

“Yes well, my building manager said you were very persistent.” There’s a small roll in his eyes as he looks from you down to the computer in front of him. 

“I wanted to discuss one of your properties, an office space in the Madeline Suites.”

He takes a swift glance at your modest appearance with narrowing eyes. “Forgive me, but I believe that location might be out of your price range.” 

“Monetarily yes,” You agree. “But we offer services which might be helpful to you.”

“I do not deal in favours. I can see that this meeting was a waste of time, you may go.” He waves the back of his hand to shoo you out, while his secretary grabs the door from the outside.

“I am not asking for a favour, but offering you my services. I’m the co-founder of a corporate image consulting firm. And come this time tomorrow, I believe you’ll be looking for someone within our realm of dealings.”

“And what makes you say that?” Lee asks, his words laced with cynicism. 

You lay out the first page of the article which Yoongi had sent you, stretching it across the wooden surface to place it in Mr. Lee’s view. ‘Real Estate Developer Lee Gungsang Faced Prior Allegations of Unlawful Evictions and Price Hiking.’ “This is slated for tomorrow morning’s front page.” 

Mr. Lee is quick to send his secretary off, the door shutting once again. “How do you know about this? These cases were settled before they made it anywhere near the courts.”

“I have my sources.” 

“Then stop this! I will pay whomever needs to be paid to prevent this from leaching out. You want the office space, it's yours.” He’s voice is desperate, you have him on the hook, the question now is, how long will he let you drag him for?

“That’s very generous of you, but nothing will stop this from going out tomorrow. My offer is simply to help you get ahead of it and lessen the damage.” You explain, revelling in the fact that money can’t hide everything.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

You pull out a contract for your serves. “I will need you to sign off on my services first. A small fee plus a far more reasonable price for a three year lease of the offices on the 14th floor of the Madeline Suites”

“Without knowing your plan, I think not.”

You give him a bright smile before mimicking his earlier statement. “I do not deal in favours Mr. Lee.”

He grumbles while taking the pen, eyeing you with a dark gaze as he signs on the dotted line.

With the ink still drying you hand over another small document. “Here are a few of my suggestions. Twenty percent of the commercial residences that you have just vacated will be handed over to non-profits for a drastically reduced monthly lease. I’ll even let you pick which you want to support.” 

He looks up at you mortified. “This is excessive.”

“No this is necessary. I’ve seen corporations do far more than this when they are not dealing with a scandal. Your accountants will agree with me that this is the best move, it can be seen as a donation and therefore tax deductible. For the evicted  private residences, I was thinking of partnering with a refugee resettlement program but we can discuss that more in depth later.” 

You carefully tuck away your contract in Lee’s file before dragging another concern to the forefront. “I do have one more request, before I leave today.”

“What more could you possibly want?” He scoffs.

You lean in to deliver your short but important demand. “A heads up.”

“I don’t know what you mean...”

“I mean if there are any other past dealings or actions which might impact your company I need to be aware of them.” There’s always more hidden in the dark, you have one of those secrets on hand now. You need to see if he’s willing to be upfront with you on every dealing of his past, otherwise you might be forced to dig him out from another grave a couple weeks from now. 

“There’s nothing else.” 

“Nothing?” You ask again as you pull out your phone ready to bring forward more evidence. 

“No.”

“So the knowledge of you having and hiding an illegitimate son... you don’t think that’s important? The existence of the only child of the Lee empire, isn’t newsworthy?”

“How did you-” The terror in his face looks to be even greater than the prior accusation. 

“You attempted to evict all of the residents who stayed in your residential apartment for over 10 years if they refused to agree with a massive lease hike. Park Jimin was the only one who wasn’t touched. He has no record of a job, living off what must be money given to him by his parents, so I looked into them. His father wasn’t listed but his late mother, Park Haesoon, used to work for your company, and 22 years ago she signed a NDA issued by your lawyer.” 

You open to Jimin’s public instagram page turning it around for his father to see. “He may take mostly after his mother, but I can still see a few clues to your family resemblance.”

“When does this one drop?” Lee asks in dismay.

“It’s not going to, at least, not from me or my source. We try not to deal in personal life consulting, but I am going to give you some advice in this matter. Get ahead of it.”

“My wife won’t hear of it.” Mr. Lee mutters through clenched teeth, it’s easy to see that this conversation has him very much on edge.

You nod seeing the crux of his dilemma. “I looked into the approximate date of his conception, you were newly married at the time, were you not?”

“Yes. She knows, but her family does not, they have a large political presence and we cannot afford to lose all support from them. Trust me, the boy is not worth the risk.”

“He’s your child!” You berate the CEO, your anger getting the better of you as you think of the emotional toll on Jimin. Not only did he lose his mother but his father won't even publicly acknowledge him. 

“I won’t be swayed on this matter. If you have nothing else to say you may leave.” Mr. Lee rises from his desk and once again gestures towards the door. “I’ll have keys to your new office space delivered to you tomorrow along with the lease. But I should warn you, if there is even a whisper of his name in public in conjunction with mine, I can assure you, your so-called firm won’t last another week.”

...

Less than a month later you and Hoseok have moved your entire enterprise to the new office space. You’re holding an open house for several different staff positions, when the most unlikely of applicants walks in your door, Park Jimin. 

He hands you a piece of paper which you can only guess is his resume, because your eyes fail to leave his face, your mouth unable to form words in your state of shock. Closing the door behind him, he gives you a nervous smile. “Judging from your expression, I take it you know who I am?”

You manage a single nod, still confused as to why he’s here, now, with you. It’s lucky you’re conducting the interviews alone, otherwise it would be difficult to explain your shock to Hoseok without exposing Jimin’s lineage. 

“I’ve been wanting to meet with you,” Jimin confesses, adding sheepishly, “My father told me of your meeting. He said you took a bit of an interest in me, even found my social media accounts.” 

“Oh, oh no.” You finally manage to sputter out, far more anxious with the younger man than his father. You never intended to meet Jimin, let alone have him find out you dug into some very personal aspects of his past and present. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to invade your privacy. I was only trying to figure out what was going on. And when I learned the truth, I wanted him to own up to his mistake of hiding you.”

Jimin chuckles lightly, sitting down in front of you, “I didn’t come here looking for an apology Miss, I know why you did it. I merely wanted to meet one of the few people to ever successfully scare the shit out of my father.” 

The wide beaming smile accompanying his statement spurs a laugh from you, while also allowing you to relax in his presence. “Sometimes you have to intimidate these people to get them to do the right thing. But I’m sorry I wasn’t able to convince him to go public regarding everything.”

“That’s not your fault. In the end it was just nice to hear that there's someone who thinks I deserve better.” Jimin adds, with a look of sorrow leaching into his smile.

“Of course you do, but I must ask, why come here now?” You take a moment to confirm that it is in fact his resume that he’s handed you. ”I can’t imagine that you need a job.” He’s appearance alone is enough to tell you he’s buried in wealth, though his father has not given him the family name, it looks as if Jimin has gained some of the assets.  

“Actually that’s exactly what I was looking for.”

“Your father didn’t pressure you to come here to keep an eye on me did he?” You ask with scepticism. Keeping watch over possible threats wouldn’t be a completely off brand for those of his status. And with you knowing some of his deepest secrets you could likely be considered one of the biggest risks.

“No.” Jimin chuckles, briefly raising his hands in surrender. “I promise I’m here of my own volition. Money isn’t my biggest concern, I’ve been hoping to build connections. I want to use my time wisely and work with someone who is worthy of my focus, and that just so happens to be you.” He finishes with a suggestive smirk, making you wonder if you’ve won his affection too. 

“And what does your focus get me?” You ask, trying to weigh the benefits versus the risk. You doubt that Mr. Lee will respond kindly to you hiring his son, but if he continues to deny his son’s  existence then what right does he have to disagree? 

“Anything you require. I was interested in the posting for your secretary, but any position beneath you would suit me nicely.” 

...

There’s no way you’ll be able to convince Jimin to willingly change roles and work for Hoseok instead. But you can’t deny that your co-founder’s points are valid. 

Jimin greets you warmly as you enter your office. “Did you have a nice lunch?” 

“Yeah, it was good.” You respond, forcing out a smile.

“Really? Because you look upset.” 

You curse Jimin’s ability to read you at a time like this. “I promise, lunch was fine. Yoongi gave me some substantial leads.” You sigh sliding back in your seat. With your values shaken and morals questioned by Hoseok, you are deeply in need of someone to brace yourself on. Wanting to step out of the realm of responsibility and control even if it’s just for a moment, you make a request to Jimin. “Would you go fetch Jungkook for our meeting?”

“I can just call him in.” He makes the case looking reluctant to leave your side.

“Please Jimin just go get him. I need a few minutes for a personal call.”

Jimin looks at you crestfallen before finally leaving. It’s not often you keep things from him, he can scope you out too well for that. But Kim Namjoon’s actual role in your life is the one secret you feel is the most imperative to hide from him.

You pull out your cell, not wanting to use his number on your work phone. After two rings he picks up. “Couldn’t wait a few more hours to hear my voice baby girl?”

You're too embarrassed to admit he’s right, settling on another excuse for your call. “N-no I just wanted to let you know that I’ve sent someone your way... sir.”

“Don’t lie to me I can hear the need in your voice.” He chuckles lightly as he taunts you. “Your reference already reached out to me. I’m excited to play with him, is he just as handsome as he sounds?”

“More so.”

Namjoon hums on the line in gratification. “My babygirl, giving me another pet to play with.” 

You blush from the praise. Taehyung makes the sixth person you’ve suggested following the charity ball you met Namjoon at a couple years ago. Where he, much like you, was secretly scoping out potential clients. Every one of those patrons you’ve given him since then has been his pet, but you, you’re his babygirl. 

“I was wondering...” Namjoon’s carries on, in a tone far more hesitant than usual. “Tonight would you be willing to try something a little unconventional? Would you like to share him?”

“W-would that be okay?” He’s never suggested adding another to your sessions before, but you can’t deny you’re intrigued by the prospect.

“He mentioned an interest in you, and after discussing his needs I feel that I require someone other than myself to pin his desires on. You’ll be the carrot while I’ll be the stick. Do you think you could do that for me?”  Namjoon proposes in a low purr dragging every heated thought and possibility to the forefront of your mind.  

“Yes sir.” Your response is instant, with little thought required. Helping Namjoon with Taehyung? You’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity. There’s a small knock on your office door with the return of Jimin and Jungkook trailing behind him. You start to panic while still on the phone with Namjoon. “I’ll see you later then?”

Namjoon can of course detect the change in your tone, but instead of letting you off the hook he pulls you further. “Did someone walk in on you babygirl? I take it they don’t know about this side of you?”

“No they don’t.”

“No sir.” He calls out your lack of decorum, an error which you know you’ll pay for later. “Such a shame they’re missing out. What do you think they would say if they knew of my plans for you tonight? How I intend to hang you like forbidden fruit above another man. Do you think they would approve?” 

Your eyes widen as Namjoon continues and Jungkook takes the seat in front of you with Jimin standing behind him. You clear your throat and hold up your finger to them, gesturing for another minute. Turning away to hide your face as you continue to try and end the call. But hanging up on one’s dom is never advisable, condemning you to listen for as long as he wishes to torment. 

“I bet you would like them watch, wouldn’t you?” Namjoon asks, egging on your sinful thoughts, transferring them from Taehyung over to your co-workers.

You shift your thighs trying to dispel the building need as you consider the notation of them watching. Imagining Jungkook’s wide eyes taking in the sight, likely with a hand on his cock, he’s an innocent man with strong desires. You’ve known others like him before, they act with naivete but when confronted with an opportunity for more, they don’t hesitate to gorge on what is presented to them.

And Jimin, would he accept your darker needs? You wish he would, desperately wanting him to play along, to help mould you into submission. Your head now filled with thoughts of kneeling before him taking him in your mouth while he christens you a good girl. If only you could be sure that he wouldn’t react like most people, like those who condemned Taehyung. Your eyes flutter back over to your secretary who is looking at you with deep suspicion. You desperately need to end the call or risk giving yourself away. “I should probably-”

“Am I embarrassing you baby girl?” Namjoon teases with an amused laugh. “Does that mean I’m right?”

“Yes...”

“Yes sir.” Namjoon reminds you once again. “I’ll release you for now, but I better see you here at seven o’clock sharp. Is that understood?”

You breathe a sigh of relief at the release.  “Yes sir.” After finally hanging up, you offer up an apology. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was it?” Jimin inquires with a soft tone, but  a quick lick to his lips shows his intentions to be far from innocent. His clenched fists and hovering nature further pointing towards jealousy.

“No one important.” You smile through the lie, careful in your attempt to comfort him. It’s pointless to keep acting in this way, but you still can’t bear the thought of disheartening his feelings or pushing him away. 

...

After your meeting with Jungkook, you're left with a stack of paperwork and your ever persistent lack of concentration as you try to figure out what can be done with Jimin. Should you just tell him the issue, would it help or would it make the situation worse? If he knows how he is perceived then will the affection stop, and if it does, will you struggle with that loss?

“Can I walk you to your car Miss?” Jimin asks with his jacket in hand. You check the time, reading just after five. So lost in thought you had accomplished almost nothing in the last few hours of the day.

“I think I might just stay here until I have to leave for my appointment, I still have a bit more work to do.” You explain rubbing your hands over your face as you pull yourself from your daze.

“Do you want me to stay too then?” 

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you. But before you go I’d like to discuss something” You gesture to the seat across from you which he takes with hesitation. You’re usually not so formal and he can clearly spot the difference. You open your mouth and pause trying to find the right words as his eyes shine in your direction. The evening sun pouring into the room bathing his skin in with golden light makes it so much harder to stick to the issue at hand. You eventually resort to staring at the irrelevant papers on your desk as you open with your concern. 

“I’m worried that our actions towards each other imply that our relationship is not strictly professional.” You blurt it out quickly, hating every word that crosses your lips.

“Have I been making you uncomfortable Miss?” Jimin’s expression falls along with his question, the heartbreak ringing out clear in his voice. 

“No, no. It’s just, I’m concerned about how others see our interactions.”

“Oh, so someone said something to you then?” 

“Hoseok mentioned that a few people think we appear to be a bit more than boss and secretary.” You know it cowardly to bring Hoseok into this, but the information is second hand. You can’t be sure what others have said exactly.

“Well you do know more about me than most.” Jimin laughs lightly. 

“That’s not what they are implying. They think we are engaged in a sexual relationship.”

“And...” He draws the word out as if the implication is nothing, implying there should be a better reason for your concerns. 

“We aren’t Jimin!”

“Well, there's only one way to fix that.” He stands up leaning towards you over your desk. “You can’t say you haven’t thought about it. We could keep it a secret if you’d like, no one has to know.”

You doubt Jimin could keep a relationship between the two of you hidden, with the way he dotes on you already, you’re one passionate night away from finding three dozen roses on your desk. “Someone would find out, and the fall out-”

“Fuck the fall out,” Jimin states with resolve, reaching out his fingers tucking back a strand of your hair before curling beneath your chin. “I’m tired of this charade. Hoseok only said something because he’s jealous. He’s jealous that you want me as much as I want you.”

“Jimin,” You whisper. “Even if that was the case, that still doesn’t make it right.” You pull back from his touch. “You should go. Think about what I said, because if we can’t maintain at least some level of restraint and professionalism... then you might be better off working for someone else in the office.”

“So you’d rather keep your social image than be happy with me?” Jimin accuses, the usual warmth having completely vanished from his face.

“It’s not like that. My standing is my life, it’s my career, any blemish would destroy everything I have.” You attempt to express the fear inside you, the weight that bears on you every day. You already have so many secrets and liabilities, but one as close and extensive as a relationship with him might finally crush you and everything you’ve built. “I like you, I really do, but I can’t take the risk. You have to understand, I’m not like you. I don’t have a secret trust fund to fall back on.”  

Jimin looks as though you’ve stabbed him, pulling away he heads to the exit. “I’m sorry I’m not worth the risk. You know, I thought you were better than that, but it would seem you’re just like everyone else.” 

The door slamming between you echoes through the office as you sag in your chair. Never in all your years have you ever sunk so low. By taking him on you wanted to ensure Jimin’s happiness, to show him his value despite the lack of acknowledgement  from his father, but now it seems you’ve fallen into the same role as those who have hurt him before.

  ...

You type your code into Namjoon’s door, stepping into his hall quickly and shutting the door behind you. It’s just before seven and usually you find him in his living room already waiting, but today it’s empty. Not wanting to disturb him, you take a seat on the couch and wait patiently for him to join you. 

You feel ready to fold in on yourself as you continue to dwell on your argument with Jimin. If you laid out boundaries earlier you likely wouldn’t be where you are now. Hating yourself over his confession, and your inability to accept it. 

There’s movement from the bedroom door as Namjoon’s partner Seokjin comes out to greet you. You look up in bewilderment as he takes your hand, pulling you off the couch. “Namjoon has already started with the other client, so he sent me to fetch you.” 

You nod understanding Namjoon’s divergence from the norm, it wouldn’t be safe practice for him to leave Taehyung alone in a precarious position. Now looking to the door with curiosity, you’re excited by what lustful visions will greet you on the other side. But when Seokjin presents something to you it’s clear that you won’t get to see those sights.

“You’ve been asked to wear this.” He holds out a wide silken strip, one that Namjoon has used as a blindfold in the past. You allow Seokjin to cover your eyes, with a touch far more gentle than you know Namjoon’s to be. You don’t want kindness, craving instead to be broken in by the man in the other room, especially after the damage you’ve done today. The loss of your vision will have to be punishment enough for the time being. 

“Does he want me to undress too?” You ask, touching the silk over your eyes, you're completely blind and already longing for the next step. 

“No he wishes to save that pleasure for himself.”

You smirk thinking he might, you’ve been wearing his gift all day it’s only right that he gets to see it first.  

There’s a knock and a click of the door before Seokjin takes you in hand again, leading you in. The air is warmer and heavier than that of the living room, making it impossible to draw a fresh breath. 

Seokjin pushes down on your shoulder, a wordless order to kneel. The plush carpet meeting your knees as you lower yourself, if only you could reach out to get a better sense of what’s in front of you, but form dictates that you keep your hands on your lap. 

The bedroom door closes, signalling Seokjin's departure. Sending one last wave of clean air before you're smothered once again. Locked away for the night with your master and his new pet. There’s a small creek from the mattress and the familiar rattle of restraints against the bedpost. You can just barely make out the tone of Namjoon’s low whisper as he speaks to the current tenant of the bed. 

Footsteps land to your left, muffled by the wall to wall but still sending vibrations through the floor.  As Namjoon approaches, your heart pounds wondering what his first move against you will be. He takes his sweet time letting the anticipation build as your chest continues to heave in its attempts to take in the thick air. You keep your posture, maintaining your stance with the knowledge that he will inspect you. Head lowered, hands on thighs, perched on your toes as your knees dig into the ground. Your legs soon start to tremble as your feet strain to bear the weight.

Namjoon settles right in front of you, the slow draw of his breath reaches your ears, while the heat of his exhale hits your face. A hand trails up the outside of your thigh stilling the tremor in your legs with a forceful grip. You freeze wondering if your jitters will cost you, you can’t let him find fault not if you want him to reward you with his presence. 

But as he takes your chin tightly between his index and his thumb, you know you're in the clear. He tilts your head up as you breathe a sigh of relief. “Such a good girl, setting the perfect example.” His fingers slide down petting the column of your throat with a firm touch. “I was so happy to receive your picture this morning, did you wear the gift all day as ordered?”

“Yes sir.” You pant back, eager for him to see for himself. 

“It wasn’t too hard for you then, to go so long in such a confined state?”

“No sir.”

“Good girl,” He purrs in your ear as he starts unfastening your shirt. He hesitates on the buttons for a moment. “Babygirl, would you care to tell me why you're wearing a men’s shirt?”

You swallow not wanting to admit that it’s the fault of the man currently lying in his bed. You plan to take the fall, wanting Namjoon’s undivided attention even if it’s in the form of a punishment. “I spilled something on mine sir.”  

“So clumsy.” He has the shirt completely off now revealing the corset for him and likely Taehyung to see. Namjoon helps you to stand, unzipping your skirt he pushes it to the floor. You feel so helpless without your sight but Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind assisting. He uses the soft fabric of the shirt to dab at the sweat beading on your skin. “Who, may I ask, clothed you in theirs? Such an expensive label, he must think highly of you.”

You shift in place, made uncomfortable by your inability to answer. Knowing if you say his name thoughts of him will be summoned to your mind. You don’t deserve to think of him at such a time, not after you led him on and left him dry.

“You don’t wish to tell me?” The feel of Namjoon’s breath leaves you, the sounds of his feet  indicating he’s moved to the right of you. Heading to a space you know to be occupied by a table and closet full of his tools. There’s a scrap of metal and what sounds like the jingle of buckles. 

“No sir.”

“And why is that?” Fingers trail up your arm as Namjoon signals his return to your side. 

“Because I’m not allowed to have him sir.”

“A noble response.” Namjoon reasons while he wraps the leather strap of a familiar collar around your neck. “But I still plan to get that name from you before we’re done.” He buckles it swiftly checking the tightness with two fingers. You thought him finished but he progresses to cuff your wrists in leather too, tethering them together in front of you. 

He leans in again with a hushed request, “Still know your safe word?” You nod repeating is back to him before he leads you on towards the bed. 

Namjoon stands behind you as he presents you to his new pet. When you gave Taehyung Namjoon’s number you hadn’t been expecting this but you can’t deny enjoying the prospect. But you find the silence and lack of reaction from him unnerving. “I asked him not to make a sound,” Namjoon explains, “And he’s abiding by my rules so well it’s he?” 

Namjoon takes your hands helping you to feel the current state in which Taehyung is interned. A Leather cuff just like yours binds one of his wrists with a short chain leading to bedpost. You imagine that his other limbs are restricted to the other corners of the bed, for Namjoon has bound you in the same state before. 

“Can he see?” You ask Namjoon wondering if he has been left blind too, or if he’s eyes are watching you now.

“Can he see you? He can babygirl, in fact, he hasn’t looked away once, and why would he?” Namjoon sits you down on the large bed to join Taehyung before pulling down the matching underwear to your corset. “They’re so wet, have you been soaking these all day?” 

You nod in response. A delighted Namjoon makes an offer to Taehyung. “Would you like a taste pet? A reward for being so good.” Namjoon revels in his situation with a chuckle, the man beneath you must have nodded. “Then open up.” You know what a taste means for Namjoon, those panties of yours are most certainly shoved into Taehyung's mouth. He lets out a groan of satisfaction at the welcome intrusion.

Namjoon’s hands find your waist dragging you up further on to the bed with your knees now resting on the mattress. “You’re going to straddle him for me babygirl.” He shifts you over pulling up one of your legs to settle them on either side of the man beneath you. Your knees bent with your calves coming to rest against his bare hips. Without his billowy clothes he is far more slight than you expected, but his skin feels firm and toned. 

You slowly move to lower yourself knowing what you will come down on top of as you sit, but Namjoon seems to have other plans in mind. He takes your bound wrist, lifting them above your head and latching the cuffs to a chain in the rafters of the canopy bed. Once fixed in place he tests your limitations, a quick tug to show you even with your arms fully extended you are only able to lower yourself to half a kneel. You groan in frustration with the realization you can’t move any closer to the cock that rests below you. It’s just as he promised, hung like forbidden fruit above another man. Your dominant’s flare for the poetic never failing to surprise you.

“Problem babygirl?” Namjoon cooes in your ear. “Do you have something you want to say?”

“No sir.”

“Good, because if I recall you still need to be punished for your lack of formality on the phone earlier today.” 

Your stomach drops as you realize he’s going to discipline you right now, in full view of Taehyung. The heat rises to your face at the thought of being demeaned in front of another. Namjoon’s hand cups your bare ass, readying it for the assault. “You failed to call me sir twice, three for each lapse should do it.”

While the first strike eases you in, those that follow are not so gentle. The ring of his index biting your flesh with each impact. The third strike is so strong you pivot forward on your knees, your back arching as you bare forward still confined to the corset and chains. The weight of your body pulls painfully on your shoulders for a brief second, but Namjoon is there to catch you. Stopping you before you can slip and more, and propping you back in place before continuing. 

One hand lays firmly on your stomach to prevent the shift from happening again, while the other rubs the curve of your ass mapping where he should strike next. You can feel the warmth in your skin as the blood rises to the surface in reaction to his beating. Your nerves are caught in the struggle between pain and pleasure, even as the sixth and final blow lands. 

“Good girl.” Namjoon whispers his touch disappearing, as you ease down against your restraints. You hang completely by your wrists while your legs quake from the shock. Every nerve in your body feels as though it’s been left on fire with nothing to quench the flames. Leaving you to hang there for what seems like eternity.

“Sir?” You whisper in the dark as the heat continues to build inside you. Wondering where he has gone your body reacts, begging for the return of his attention with a dripping cunt. And with Taehyung below that can only mean the steady drip of your arousal is left to fall on him.

“Babygirl you’re making such a mess.” Namjoon confirms along with a groan from the man beneath you. “But he appears to be leaking too. Do you want some?” You nod eager for a taste. 

Namjoon obliges, grabbing your throat in one hand, he presses a damp finger to your lips for you to take. Your mouth latches over the offered digit, allowing the bitter fluid to sweep over your tongue. You're forced to let it sit there unable to swallow as the grip on your throat tightens, with the strap of the collar digging into your skin. Your mouth fills with saliva prompting you to close it despite your desperate need for air. 

“Does he taste good?” Namjoon wickedly possesses knowing you can barely even nod. It’s when you start to tremble that he finally releases your airway. 

You swallow quickly before letting your mouth hang open in a pant. With your lungs still restricted by the corset your breathing comes in short shuddering waves. “Yes sir, so good.”

“I think he likes having you drench him, shall we give him more?”

“Please.” You beg but Namjoon suddenly delivers a staggering blow to your backside, indicating your misstep. You’re left gasping from the sudden impact, swinging in the restraints as you try to recoil. “Please sir.” Your plea comes again this time with the proper decorum.  

There’s a crinkle of what sounds like a condom wrapper as Namjoon readies himself behind you. His fingers damp with lubrication find your back entrance, your tight hole giving way to a single finger. “You’ve been training for me like I asked?”

“Yes sir.” You almost come at the thought of it along with pleasure with the swirling digit. You’ve dabbled in anal before testing out a few toys, but a few weeks ago he sent you a plug with a tapered t-shaped end, giving you strict orders to wear it to work the following day. Unfortunately that was the date you had scheduled a meeting with your whole team. You were a flustered mess as you fought through your presentation, Jimin’s presence by your side making it so much more difficult to maintain control of your arousal . But the full day of public and torturous stimulation was worth it, for the reward that night was a call from Namjoon. His orders led you through every action of self pleasure.  Telling you when and where to touch before finally directing you to come. You’ve used the item several times on your own since, knowing your practice would help you in this moment. You wanted to make Namjoon proud and take him with little resistance. That desire now intensified with having Taehyung as an audience.

“Then you're ready to take me in front of him?” 

You nod gripping chains of the restraints as Namjoon eases into you. “Just relax.��� His hands glide down your shoulders and back, coming to rest splayed across your hips, the tips of his finger root under the corset and dig into your stomach. Your grip eases as you lean back into him. “That’s it.” He mutters quietly as you stretch to accommodate him. “Good girl.”

After taking a few inches Namjoon pushes down on the front of your corset bowing the metal latches back to so they release, with a few clicks and swift presses the garment is off allowing you to breathe deeper than you have all day. 

“God you should see him babygirl, he’s so ruined by the sight of you. You have him panting for you.” You wish you could curse Namjoon for his choice to blindfold you and silence Taehyung, you would take any punishment that came of it, but all you can muster is a gasp while he continues to fill you more. “I wonder how he’ll react,” One of Namjoon’s hands leaves your hips coming to rest with something soft against your aching clit. “When he sees you come.” With a click the object vibrates, throwing you back completely onto Namjoons cock from the shock.

You catch Namjoon’s lustful groan between your cries. He starts to thrust inside of you one hand gripping your chest while the other holds the vibrate down in place despite your bucking hips. It doesn’t take long for you to completely fold. As the heat inside you finally reaches its peak you shatter, your head falling back on Namjoon’s shoulder as you convulse and moan. With nothing for your cunt to clench your legs grip the trussed man between them. He too lets out a sinful groan as the fluids from your fold continue to drip down your legs meet his adjoining skin. 

Namjoon turns the device off and slips out, the bed shifts as he moves in front of you. When his hand cups your face you lean into his touch. “You okay?”

You nod hoping he’ll be lenient with your lack of speech. You hear him whisper as he checks in with Taehyung too. “I’m going to take these now.” Namjoon must finally be freeing him from the waded underwear of yours.

Namjoon’s hands find you again, playing with the arousal dripping down your legs as he drags his fingers up to the source. A finger grazes your folds slipping between without penetrating. You pull desperately against your restraints hoping that it might find its way inside.  

“So are you going to tell me who you’re not allowed to have?” Namjoon asks again. “Or do I have to let you hang here all night?” 

“My secretary...” You give in with a  whisper, hoping that Taehyung won’t hear.

“And what’s his name? Say it and I’ll give you what you want.” 

The deal is too good for you to resist, you last only a couple more seconds before finally giving in. Crying out, “Jimin,” as two of Namjoon’s fingers breach you. Your sopping slit squelching as he curls his fingers. 

“There it is.” Namjoon sighs, his other hand brushing your cheek. “Is he the reason you’re so worked up tonight babygirl?”

“Y-yes sir.” You stutter as his fingers continue. He gives you another minute of bliss before removing his digits. 

“You’re going to do something for me, okay?” Namjoon asks. You nod as he continues to hold your face. “That man between your legs, you are going to fuck him and imagine Jimin as you do so, is that clear?” 

“Yes sir.”

“Is that okay with you pet?” He asks the other occupant, who still remains silent with his answers. The sound of another condom wrapper, comes as your confirmation.  Taehyung lets out an unexpected high pitched whine, likely due to the pressure that comes with the latex being rubbed down his shaft. You’re already so invested in the lie that he’s even starting to sound like Jimin. 

Namjoon is once again behind you. You can hear the rattle of the length of chain that holds you up and as he sinks back into you, his cock slipping in far easier this time, your body gladly welcomes the fullness of his intrusion.  He then lowers you inch by inch, with little strength left in your legs you are relying only on the restraints and Namjoon to hold you up. After gaining a bit more freedom you can feel the tip of a cock brushing up against you. Namjoon’s arm comes to rest on your thigh as he lines the erection up for you to take it inside. It’s a slow descent, as you stretch to accommodate both of them. Your thankful Namjoon’s mercy for easing you down gradually. 

When you bottom out Namjoon pulls the chain down from the rafters he releases the length from your cuffs, but rather than discarding it he attaches it to your collar, tugging on it as if it’s a leash. Though your hands are still bound together you have the freedom to rest them on the man laying down in front of you. You take pleasure in dragging the tips of your fingers across his skin, feeling his abs flex and his cock twitch inside you as you do so. 

Namjoon starts to thrust, keeping a close hold on your collar. While he pushes you are sent up and down on what you desperately want to be Jimin’s thick cock. After a few thrusts you are shoved forward entirely by Namjoon, colliding with the man beneath you. Your chest is pushed into his, as your bound hands are pinned between the two of you. While your head is left to rest on his shoulder, the tip of your nose is able to graze his neck. As you breathe in your mind continues to play tricks, the smell coming off him mimics that of the cologne your secretary wears, rather than the scent of Taehyung. 

Namjoon must have unbound his legs as they bend up to cradle your own from behind his hips bucking into yours, with both men taking you at a steady pace.

You move in closer to his neck, with a lick you taste the salt of his skin showing  your intentions. Biting down on the spot, you suck in deeply as your teeth dig in even harder. The carnal groans you receive from him sending shivers to your spine. There’s the sound of a soft slap, Namjoon didn’t hit you, but the man beneath you returns to his ordered silence.

Namjoon thrusts even harder, pushing you into his chest repeatedly. The thought of being fucked into Jimin’s embrace is too much to bear. Your cunt clenches as you continue envisioning your secretary, and how you're grinding your clit against his pelvis. 

You cry out over the swelling girths inside you, knowing their both likely to come soon. Clenching down one last time you dissolve in the pleasure and contentment. Namjoon finishes first remaining inside while his pet comes too. He leaves you there laying upon your imagined Jimin, in your daze  you can barely move let alone focus on reality. With a wave of exhaustion you start to slip from consciousness, but not before one last praise reaches your ears. Your delirium grants you the satisfaction of hearing the voice of Jimin whisper, “Good girl.”

...

You can’t remember the last time you slept so well. You woke early to find Namjoon had taken care of you in the night, he released your wrist cuffs, and removed your blindfold, after you had passed out from the physical exertion. The only restraint to remain was your collar which he asked you to wear today. Taehyung was sadly already gone, but you can’t deny it was nice to have Namjoon to yourself before you left. 

Now as you head off to work, showered and freshly dressed, with a turtleneck hiding your gift, you check your phone for the first time. Finding a string of apologetic messages sent from Jimin in the early hours of the morning. You reply apologizing too and asking to revisit the subject as soon as you get into work. Thankfully he agrees, the smiling emoji he ends his text on sends a wave of relief through you.

You step in the front entrance of your building ready to handle and objectively listen to Jimin’s thoughts and concerns. While you wait for the elevator your phone vibrates listing a call from an unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hey it’s Taehyung. Hope you don’t mind, I stole your personal number from my father.”

“Taehyung...” Heat starts to rise in your face at the thought of last night. The elevator arrives and you quickly step in. “No, not at all, to what do I owe the honour of this call.”

“No need to be so formal,” He giggles at you.

“Sorry, habit,” You respond. “What can I do for you?” 

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday...” Taehyung starts off. 

But his words are soon interrupted by someone shouting, “Hold the door.” You comply, pushing the button to keep them open, while trying to keep your focus on your conversation with Taehyung.

“...It’s not often that I meet someone who I can be so open with. I called the man you recommended and I’ve scheduled my first session with him tomorrow.”  

You freeze, unable to fully comprehend what he’s saying, surely he misspoke. It can’t be his first session. “W-what do you mean your first session is tomorrow? You were there-” The collar hidden beneath your turtleneck feels as though it’s tightening around your throat. “Last night, I saw you-” The line goes dead as the elevator closes and starts to ascend. It was Taehyung in the bed with you and Namjoon last night. You saw... nothing you saw nothing because of the blindfolded that you were asked to wear.

“Everything okay?” You jump at the sound of the other voice, forgetting that some else had gotten into the elevator. Looking up you find Jimin there beaming at you, his head tilted from his query.

“Namjoon,” You flutter with your phone, too panicked to even greet your secretary properly. “I need to call Namjoon.” But the line won’t connect, not with you in the elevator. “Fuck...” You try again your patience not willing to wait the minute it’ll take to disembark on your floor.  

You are almost there when the elevator shudders and stops. The sudden halt sends you off balance, but Jimin’s there to grab hold of you before you can fall. You thank him before stepping back and putting a bit of distance between the two of you again.

Jimin turns his attention to the panel, pushing the call button, he waits for someone to answer, but the call remains silent. 

While he continues in his attempt to make contact, every scene of the night before floods back to your memory as you try to piece everything together. It was Taehyung, it had to be. He must just be playing a stupid joke. He was surely going to shout ‘gotcha’ before the phone disconnected, but you won’t know for certain until someone can get you off this blasted lift. You sink to the floor and Jimin follows, unable to reach anyone on the outside. 

Despite your best efforts to rationalize what happened, your panicked breaths fail to slow, Spots start appearing in your vision as the elevator sways around you. Your breakfast threatens to make another appearance on the polished marble floor. 

“It’ll be fine. Someone will notice soon.” Jimin attempts to comfort you but even that won’t quash the fear raging inside you.

“It’s not just that...” You whisper. “Something happened last night. I need to call Namjoon, I need to figure out...” Who was actually in that bed with you. Your confusion and panic break free sending you into a fit of tears as you hug your knees to your chest.

“Hush, it’s okay.” Jimin readjusts, moving in front of you and taking your hands in his. He leans towards you as he whispers in your ear. “Don’t cry babygirl.”

Your eyes snap to look at Jimin in alarm. Your prior worries are nothing compared to the terror which takes hold now. “H-how do you know that name?” Your stuttered words barely make their way past your lips.

“I think you know the answer to that question.” He pulls at the collar of his shirt allowing you to spot a large red mark on his neck, right where you had bitten the man you once thought to be Taehyung. “I wanted to wait a bit longer, I wanted more moments like we had last night but it would seem that someone had to go and ruin it.” You pull back but Jimin’s hands shift to take hold of your wrists, mimicking the manacles that embraced you the night before. “Are you not happy babygirl? You got your wish. And I... I got what I’ve always wanted.”

“This is so wrong Jimin! You knew I thought you were someone else! You knew that I wouldn’t have done that last night if I knew the truth.” 

“Even though I was the one you really wanted babygirl?”

“Stop calling me that! Just because of what happened last night does not make me yours. You lied to Namjoon. You said that I sent you. You told him you were Taehyung!”

Jimin gives a wicked laugh in response to your accusations. “Oh, but you are mine. Namjoon is the one who’s been keeping things from you. He’s been in my employ far longer than yours.” He coos as his fingers tighten their grip on you. “I was the reason you were introduced to him, and I was the one who bestowed you with that name shortly after.”

“No, that’s not possible, Namjoon and I, we met at a charity event.”

“Hosted by my father. Where I told him to make himself known to you, to entice you to become one of his pets. I may have acted the sub last night but I am the one who holds Namjoon’s reins, I always have.”

“No he would never do that! He’s considerate and-”

“Had so much to gain by dominating you on my behalf. Money, power, and an assurance of safety, he would’ve been a fool to turn my offer down. Especially since you were so willing to play along with him. I dare say he enjoyed his time with you, but I was the one who permitted him to touch you. I was there to listen, to read, and to direct every conversation. Those gifts he told you to wear to the office, they were all from me.” He lets go of one of your wrists to pull down the neck of your shirt. Revealing the leather band strapped around your neck. “Today it’s the collar, yesterday it was the corset, and a few weeks ago...” Jimin smirks as he recalls the memory to your mind. “You barely made it through that meeting thanks to my gift.”

  It’s impossible to swallow the admissions coming from him, but regardless of what may be true or false, you won’t stand for any of it. “You’ve had your fun, but this ends now.” You reach up attempting to remove the collar but Jimin pushes you to the floor pinning your arms above you as he straddles you. The elevator wavers from the struggle, teetering as you lay captive beneath him. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’ve placed yourself in. I hold in my possession your darkest secrets. One’s that will ruin you if they make their way out. Your illegal activity with a sex worker, your inappropriate sexual conduct with your secretary. Not to mention the names and dubious activities of every client you’ve recommended to Namjoon’s services.”  

“Why... why are you doing this?” 

“Because you found me. I worked so hard to exploit my father from the outside, getting everything I wanted without the threat of public exposure. I couldn’t let you ruin it all. When we first met I considered you a threat, but then I saw how easy and enjoyable it was to mould to my will. The more intimate you become with someone the more power you give them over you. Simply being your secretary isn’t enough, not if I want you in a more pliable state.” Jimin hushed whisper mixes with a haunting giggle as his lips come to your ear. “I plan to bend you to fit every one of my needs.”

“You’re psychotic!” You lash out trying to throw him off but he stems your revolt by planting himself further down on to you, sitting on your chest as the elevator sways.

“Psychotic? No, I am simply a man who found his passion amidst his revenge. I know what I desire, and vengeance has taught me how best to take it. So if you want to keep yourself and everything else around you from falling, I suggest you play along like a good girl. Or I promise you, my punishments won’t be as kind as what you’ve experienced before.”

“What is it that you want?” You ask, already fearing his answer. He has you trapped in a gilded cage with him, where one misstep will send you plummeting to meet your end. Nothing that comes accompanied by such threats can be palatable.

“At work? To keep the status quo, I’ll remain your secretary, only so I can keep a better hold on you.” 

“Hoseok won’t agree to that. He already thinks I should ditch you. I should have listened to him.” 

“Then you will make him agree or he might have an accident, much like your accountant did. He too thought we were too close, even threatened to say something. Don’t worry I saved us from him, just as I’ll save us from Hoseok if you can’t convince him to back off. Do you think you can get him to agree now?”

You give a solemn nod, with Hoseok on the line you have no choice.

“After hours, we’ll drop the middleman.” Jimin lowers himself further on to you, laying down on top, his weight flattening you to the floor. With his head coming to rest on your restrained arm as he whispers further plans. “Every night you’ll come to me instead, and every morning you’ll have a new gift to wear. When we step off this elevator you’ll act as if nothing is wrong. You will go about business as usual, is that clear babygirl?”

You stifle a sob staring directly up and away from his eyes, not daring to give him the satisfaction of your fear. With little else to cling to, all you can do is agree for the time being, as much as it pains you, you choke out your compliance. “Yes...” 

“Yes what?” Jimin purrs, his lips faintly touching your ear. “Address me properly, or I will find ways to discipline you right here on this lift.” His fingers tighten and nails bite into your skin.

“Yes sir,” you whine as a plea for him to stop. 

Jimin mercifully lessens his hold on your wrists, hitting you instead with a smirk and befouled praise. “Good girl. I knew you’d finally see that I’m worth the risk.”

...

[hypnomastersworld]

Hypnotic Chastity The Release

Now darling perhaps you’ve found yourself in an uncomfortable position. Perhaps it's been a very long time since you were... well able to cum. Perhaps you found yourself so caught in the trap of being submissive that you just have been bottling up **all** that arousal for far too long. Perhaps you’ve gone far too deep into this chastity fetish, and well it's finally time to admit. It's finally time to admit permanent chastity, being chaste all the time. Being chaste all the time and unable to cum without the permission from another, a dominant such as me. Well perhaps it's just not **really** your thing after all. Perhaps darling, perhaps you've gone far too deep into this. Chastity is only as fun as you’re willing to participate, and all parties involved must be having fun sexually. Perhaps you might think so too after all this time being hypnotically locked up from my words taking form as a cage around your love bits. Darling would you like to cum? I know you need to? I know you want to orgasm so satisfyingly. Well go ahead and cum whenever you want, whenever you need to let that pressure out of your boiling pot of arousal. Whenever you need that relief, just go ahead and let it out. Your participation here will of course result in your freedom to cum whenever you want. Go ahead, rub yourself so fervently. Touch and stroke your bits in just the ways that you need to.

*snap*

Go ahead darling, allow those fingers to slide into place. Allow your dutiful digits to find their place in this world, their natural state of pleasure. At any point you're welcome to cum. At any point you're welcome to touch and rub yourself through a wonderful and satisfying full orgasm. That rippling pleasure that is so easily within your reach. So easily within your reach in quite the most literal sense. That path of pleasure so easily laid out whenever your fingers get up to their old habits. Ah yes, let that image, that set of instructions playback within your own mind. Allow that image to manifest itself into reality, allow my word to be the key for your hypnotic chastity cage. Allow my words to undo those mental bindings as you're there stroking, rubbing so naturally. That progressive and gradual transition that begins when you start to masturbate. That progressive and gradual tingling sensation that can so easily take you over that edge. It's been quite some time so darling you’ve earned your release. You’ve earned infinite orgasms, as many as you feel comfortable having. As soon as you're ready you're welcome to cum. Well to rub yourself over that edge. Enjoy that waterfall, that rush and release of the pleasure that makes your nerve endings flood with bliss. Those dopamine signals that respond when you cum will light up. They will light up and say “Let's do that again”.”Let's cum again they yearn for in the utter surprise satisfaction. That utter and surprising satisfaction that you've grown so accustomed to being denied of. You're always welcome to cum. Always welcome to orgasm whenever you want, cumming time and again. Go ahead and cum darling. Cum for me. Cum for you. Cum as many times as you can. You’ve earned this TLC, this aftercare for going so long without an orgasm.

*snap*

That cage is slipping off your mind. The more you stroke, and touch yourself in all the right ways. I want you to cum, and you so very much need to cum. Cum whenever you wish, whenever you need to release. As long as it’s safe to do so, then go ahead and masturbate. Go ahead and masturbate with the intent of cumming. Of going deep in that moment where you’re caught only able to focus on that pleasure rippling pleasure dancing throughout your erogenous zones. Those neglected nerve endings finally giving into that sweet touch of yours. Those nerve endings finally getting their relief as you buck your hips, as you pant and moan for the heat being released through your arousal. Those wonderful feel good sensations of your reward for being obedient for so very long. That melting cumming bliss you so very much need. That melting bliss that puts an ever growing distance between your ability to fit into this hypnotic chastity any longer. The more you cum after listening to this file the easier it becomes to simply cum again, and cum again. Cumming becomes an ever easier, less locked away part of your life. It becomes easier to orgasm, after you orgasm here.

*snap*

It becomes easier to melt even more. Melting into your orgasmic pleasure ever onward as much as you’d like, as much as you desire, as much pleasure as you deserve. As much as you, and your fingertips are willing to muster, you will be able to give into that heat of your arousal. As much pleasure as you’re willing, and able to safely indulge in. The opposite of chastity. Cumming freely, going from the depths of the fetish to soaring high on your dopamine fueled new fixation with climax. That freedom orgasm brings, takes you out of the fetish of chastity and brings you an unrestricted release. The more you cum the easier it gets. Go ahead and cum whenever you like. Darling, you could even cum right now if you like. You could melt into your own pleasure centers and so easily transition from the moment of being aroused and held back. You could transition so effortlessly into that ascending blissful interaction with sex and masturbation. That ascending rocketed pleasure by your own denial so easily released each and every time you cum. Each time you cum after listening to this file it gets easier, and it becomes more effortless to simply cum whenever your body feels the urge to get some relief.

*snap*

It's finally time to admit permanent chastity, being chaste all the time. Being chaste all the time and unable to cum without the permission from another, a dominant such as me. Well perhaps it's just not **really** your thing after all. Darling would you like to cum? I know you need to? I know you want to orgasm so satisfyingly. Well go ahead and cum whenever you want, whenever you need to let that pressure out of your boiling pot of arousal. That rippling pleasure that is so easily within your reach. That path of pleasure so easily laid out whenever your fingers get up to their old habits. let that image, that set of instructions playback within your own mind. Allow that image to manifest itself into reality. Allow that image to manifest itself into reality, allow my word to be the key for your hypnotic chastity cage. It's been quite some time so darling you’ve earned your release. You’ve earned so many orgasms, as many as you feel comfortable having. Enjoy that rush and release of the pleasure that makes your nerve endings dance with all that dammed up blissful orgasmic vigor. They will light up and say “Let's do that again”.”Let's cum again” They yearn for satisfaction. You're always welcome to cum. Always welcome to orgasm whenever you want. That cage is slipping off your mind. The more you stroke, and touch yourself Cum for me. Cum for you. Cum as many times as you can. Cum whenever you wish, whenever you need to release. As long as it’s safe to do so, then go ahead and masturbate. Go ahead and masturbate with the intent of cumming. Of going deep in that moment where you’re caught only able to focus on that pleasure rippling pleasure dancing throughout your erogenous zones. Those nerve endings finally getting their relief as you buck your hips, as you pant and moan for the heat being released through your arousal. Those wonderful feel good sensations of your reward for being obedient for so very long. That melting bliss that puts an ever growing distance between your ability to fit into this hypnotic chastity any longer. The more you cum after listening to this file the easier it becomes to simply cum again, and cum again. Cumming becomes an ever easier, less locked away part of your life. It becomes easier to orgasm, after you orgasm here. As much as you, and your fingertips are willing to muster, you will be able to give into that heat of your arousal. The opposite of chastity. Cumming freely, going from the depths of the fetish to soaring high on your dopamine fueled new fixation with climax. You could transition so effortlessly into that ascending blissful interaction with sex and masturbation. That ascending rocketed pleasure by your own denial so easily released each and every time you cum. Each time you cum after listening to this file it gets easier, and it becomes more effortless to simply cum whenever your body feels the urge to get some relief.

*snap*

Darling. Listen and obey. You can cum whenever you’d like. You can even cum right now. You can give into that climactic wonder so long forgotten. That biological craving was restricted by your mental cage for so long. Cage falling away giving you free access, free reign to that dam of erotic sensation. That dam of erotic satisfaction so welled up and previously locked away. That orgasmic pleasure is free to access, just within your own touch, quite literally. Stroke yourself, play with yourself. Rub all those bits that respond so well to my voice, go ahead and cum for me. Go ahead and cum because you’re free to do so whenever you’d like. Cumming, orgasm, climax becomes so much easier the more you touch. The more that gradual building sensation piles into your reward centers the more that jackpot just threatens to burst forth. Echoing outward into all those places throughout your body that cause you to moan as that is the only appropriate response to this biological need. The feel good biological need to cum, it transcends any previous programming I might have issued. All of that fades away for the new instruction. All of that so easily overwritten when you get to touching yourself here in this moment, and all future moments where you’re tempted to touch. Tempted to touch and cum, or have sex with another. That freedom, that indulgence and reward from your lust radiating itself outward throughout your body that so very much craves to cum. Go ahead darling give into that blank melting sensation of bucking and grinding in rhythm to your rubbing. Wherever that wonderful zone might be your legs are bent lying here. Your legs are rubbing back and forth as you pant and threaten to go over that edge. That cumming sensation will feel so good darling. You’ve gone so long darling, go over that edge. It’ll feel even better than being chaste, and you have permission to climax. Permission to melt into ecstasy.

*snap*

Now in a moment I’m going to wake you. To allow yourself to step up one layer of trance, one step at a time, and ascend ever upward. I’m going to count up from zero, all the way to five, and when I reach five you will be so wide awake. Zero being as deep as you are right now, and every subsequent number upward being one layer higher toward wakefulness than you were previously. Zero. You’re as deep as you possibly can be. A level of trance so very deep down, and you’re loose, limp, and relaxed. Just allowing these words to slowly guide you along. One. Further up you go. Your awareness slowly comes back more, and more with each, and every number. Two. Becoming more, and more aware of your fingers, your toes, the tip of your nose. Three. Your fingers begin to twitch, toes wiggling, more and more aware. More awake than you were just a moment ago. Four. Almost fully awake, your eyelids become very light, so it is very easy to open. So easily able to move on your own. Open your eyes. *snap* Five Wide awake, so very functional.

[apixrl]

IT'S YOU.

hanta sero x fem!reader

WARNING(S): slight angst. mostly arguing / tension but fluff towards the end.

word count: 5.3k

song: it's you // gavriel

note(s): if u stan him ur immediately just so hot and sexc and if not ur just really stinky sorry not sorry

italian translation - translator !!

The heavy pouring rain waged war against your once dry and stylish jacket. The piece of clothing now resorted to an added weight as you strode forth to reach your apartment complex. Luckily you were only a street away, your hurried walk turning into a legitimate jog when the storeyed building came into sight. It was Friday night, meaning the day you worked overtime for the sake of earning a little extra as well as filling in for a coworker. Most of the day the weather had been miserable, the sky maintaining a mundane and drilling grey cloudy sketch that slowly collected into rain. Luckily your morning walk to work hadn't been affected by the downfall but the weather had chosen to stick around for your walk home.

Your jacket glued itself to your frame as its capability to keep you dry fleetly decreased, the hoodie underneath beginning to dampen ever so faintly too. Your pants were already taken to the rain, answering its call by absorbing the water into the fabric and making them exceptionally uncomfortable to wear. The pair of shoes on your feet struggled to bind together as they countlessly stepped in puddle after puddle, wearing and tearing with every step you took.

Cars passed by, tires causing gushes of water to hit the pavement. The street lamps did nothing to show your presence as they sped by, your body growing damper from the droplets of water hitting you. You briefly scolded the inconsiderate drivers in your head, eyes glancing ahead to meet an approaching individual. They were most likely a neighbour but given the darkness surrounding you weren't entirely sure, ultimately deciding to keep your head down and not draw attention to yourself.

In truth, this wasn't the only reason.

During the last week and a half, your want to socialise was relatively low, finding a lot of your spare time spent at home and in your own company. The separation from society was healthy for your recently plagued mind, spending afternoons finding all kinds of homely leisure to pass the hours by. It felt much more wholesome and enjoyable to endeavour in a story from your bookshelf or writing poetry in your journal straight from the heart rather than sitting aimlessly on your phone. Simply scrolling through social media to bore the day away.

Why the sudden stray from society to your own little world? Well... sometimes having a popular Pro Hero as a boyfriend came with its cons. Especially when hardships came between. As of the Tuesday approaching, it would be your ten-month anniversary with your partner - Hanta. Or what he was better known as; Taping Hero: Cellophane.

Yours and his meet was rather mundane truth be told. What started as a journey to purchase a recently released volume of one of Hanta's favourite manga comics took a drastic turn and became something much more meaningful. He caught you grabbing the final copy available, smoothly swooping in to attempt to charm you into giving him the comic (the ravenette had been to about five stores before that during patrol - a rather lousy thing to do but he justified his actions with lack of spare time). However, he walked out with a date two nights later instead, finding himself be moved by your own charms and attraction that Hanta urged himself to ask and not miss the chance.

From there, things were taken slow. His social status was shared pretty quickly, faster than Hanta felt comfortable with - liking the idea of you liking him for who he was over his fame and wealth. It didn't affect your perspective of the ravenette, since you had already fallen for him before such information could be told. It took a month before you officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, and life couldn't have been better for the pair of you. For the most part, your relationship was perfectly stable and as healthy as you could make it. But unfortunately, all good things must come with a cost.

See, one thing you were to learn with growing closer to Hanta was he kept his personal life extremely separate from his heroic persona. Such a statement was made very clear before you brought your relationship to the next level since the ravenette requested that if you were to become lovers that he would want it to remain private. So he could feel he had a somewhat normal life outside of his duties as a hero. Whilst becoming a Pro was his dream and the man loved his job, Hanta was also a sucker for peace and quiet too. Having that metaphorical and literal balance in his life granted him inner peace, and as his partner, you respected that.

At least at first, since you didn't think you would reach ten months together and still be hiding behind sunglasses whenever the pair of you wanted to see a movie.

You couldn't lie, it was endearingly sweet Hanta felt that way, partly anyway. The fact he cherished your love and relationship so close to his heart that it was only shared between you two. But your irrationality couldn't help but make you wonder how in a concerning way, Hanta's desire to keep you from his greatest achievement in life (becoming a top ten pro) almost felt like he was hiding you... like he didn't want you a part of it. And once that thought struck you as the ravenette rested peacefully beside you one night, it didn't shy away anytime soon. Given the fact you had spoken briefly about making yourselves public in the past with little to no issue, you didn't think you would cause harm by bringing it up again. But it seemed your choice of when to bring it up was poor, as it most certainly did not run smoothly between you.

Something about his day had irritated Hanta, and so you pinning such focus on the subject seemed to pass him over his limit. There were a few snaps here and there, which you didn't necessarily appreciate, and Hanta's lack of enthusiasm and care for your request made you all the more upset. So weighted emotions matched with the evident disagreement surely lead to Hanta storming out of your apartment with such a slam to the door you wouldn't have expressed shock if your neighbour's stepped out in the hall to see the chaos ensuing.

That was nine days ago, and so far neither of you had seen nor spoken to the other. You'd made attempts to contact him since then, attempts you knew before you tried would come out unsuccessful. But from observation, Hanta was surprisingly a complete mess when it came to emotions based on negativity. Whenever the ravenette grew angry or agitated he became a closed book, so hard for you to read that the only thing you learned that worked was to give him space. To let him get through his upset alone since he never seemed to allow for outer help and comfort to assist. Which you despised because you wanted to help him through his troubles. To be there as the big spoon or to be the shoulder to cry on. But stupid male pride got in the way, Hanta building a wall so high and thick between him, his emotions and you that truth be told you had no idea how to push through.

So you resorted to letting him get over it in his own time, knowing deep down he would come around eventually. It wasn't the first quarrel you'd had and hopefully not the worst, and you knew this was Hanta's way of dealing with it. Whilst you had been willing to wait it out, you placed that thought in your head thinking it to be only two or three days before Hanta made some sort of effort.

But it was nine. And that was beginning to concern you greatly.

You finally reached the stairs leading up to your apartment building, the relief flowing through your system so freeing and wonderous. All that was left was to type in the passcode by the main doors and you would be merrily under shelter, able to kick off your trainers and slip into some comfy sweats. Perhaps even make yourself a warm cup of cocoa and watch an episode of a show you needed to catch up on before the sweet release of sleep. Or so you thought it was going to go.

Twenty minutes later and your thumb grazed lightly over your phone's home screen, imaginatively stroking the black hair of a certain boy you loved dear as he smiled cross-eyed back at you. The photo was taken when Hanta took you ice skating in the countryside during the winter which previously passed. He discovered a secluded location hiding a spacious lake that had been glazed with thick, sturdy ice. After numerous times of losing your balance, Hanta deemed it amusing to take a photo with you as you sat on your backside in defeat. And whilst it did humiliate you, you adored Hanta's goofy looking face in the photo. Hence why it was your background.

You'd found yourself staring at the photo the night prior too, contemplating whether to try to call again or not. What if something was wrong? What if Hanta was injured and somewhere under repair at one of the numerous hospitals in the city? God... what if the doofus finally slung himself across the city as crazily as that Western hero he never shut up about and fell to his death? And your setback from social media was the reason you hadn't found out yet? See! This was a reason why you wanted to go public! At least in an emergency, somebody would know who to contact!

Your brows crinkled at that final thought, what began as concern moving back a step to annoyance and you settled on tossing your phone behind you on your bed in defeat. Proceeding to stand upright, you tugged the oversized hoodie (Hanta's hoodie not to mention) on your person and wandered through the rooms of your apartment to your kitchen. Where the bubbling of your kettle boiling water filtered your ears. The low hum calmed you as you leaned against the counter in thought, arms crossed over your chest and your eyes focused deeply beyond the wooden flooring.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The noise went unheard at first, so occupied in your head you mistook the sound for the kettle boiling. But when the triple trill sounded again, it dawned on you that that was most certainly not how a kettle was supposed to sound. Snapping out of your focus, your head lifted to the kettle before it scanned the room around you. Nothing seemed different at all, and nothing inside your apartment had a reason to make such a sound.

Unless you had rats... then maybe that would make sense.

Please don't be rats.

Having no initial success, you blankly went back to your thoughtful state - the kettle finally boiling. Permitting you to fill the lavender painted mug that waited impatiently on the side, four heaped teaspoons of cocoa powder begging for hydration inside. Now actually having something to do you hoisted yourself off of the counter, stepping to the one opposite to do the task at hand. But then just as you were going to pour the heated water...

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!

This time it was more rushed and heightened, holding a lack of patience to a certain extent. It was there you finally trailed your eyes left, right and centre, your E/C irises landing on the french doors past your sofa which lead to your balcony. Doing as much as possible to downplay your panic by putting on a brave face, you manoeuvred from your perch in the kitchen and headed for the doors to glance outside. Thankfully the light on the balcony was switched on, giving you a glimpse of silhouettes to the arrangement of the outdoor area. At first, nothing seemed different at all. Just the usual setting your balcony always had. A few potted plants and a small sakura blossom which you'd been growing from the seed, as well as a glass table and four chairs. Not to mention the closed up umbrella and pole reaching for the stars above too. But looking over your observations, something went amiss. Since when did you have five chairs?

Squinting your eyes in a struggle to focus better, they were only set to widen as it hit you what you could see. There, perched on your balcony in a squatting position was a person... balancing perfectly on the thin pole as their head leaned forwards to occasionally peer inside the glass doors. It took a second or two for you to figure out what was going on. But the moment you recalled the fact you had a boyfriend with the ability to swing from rooftop to rooftop, your heart both plummeted to your feet and leapt to the heavens above simultaneously.

After realising what was happening, you moved to the lock of the glass doors and grabbed hold. That movement seemed to indicate shifting on the exterior because the person on the other side stood upright and casually stepped off the railing as though it were a stair. You swallowed thickly, clamping down on the inside of your cheek in worry that you could not see his face. Unfortunate for your nerves since at least then you could gain some form of presumption to what his expression read. So walking in blind, you unlocked the door and jiggled it open, the glass door sliding to the side easily. Quickly did the silent walls of your apartment be filled to the brim with the heavy downpour of rain and distant car horns in the distance. As well as the overhanging state of tension in the air as your eyes trailed up the slender frame of your visitor and meeting the ebony eyes you'd been missing for far too long now.

"What... what are you doing here?" You uttered out after a long twenty seconds passed. Upon opening the door no words were said, only the longing gaze of two conflicted lovers. Hanta stood before you with a discouraged expression, lips tightly pursed together with no catchphrase toothy grin to show. He was donning his hero costume, though his helmet appeared to be missing for reasons you didn't know why. But it didn't help Hanta one bit since his black locks were laced with the heavy downpour from above. You imagined his hero costume was drenched as well, damp spandex sounding all too discomforting in your head as you used it as a focus to ease the nerves you felt to the sudden visit.

"Hey," Hanta finally said after what felt like a millennium. What were his usual cheerful tones came out low and unsure, like the ravenette hadn't come prepared and was relying on other factors to push himself forward. With sunken brows and a clear of his throat, Hanta continued as he lifted his eyes to meet yours. "Can I come in?"

"Oh... right, sure," You stated blankly and stepped back for him to do so. At first, you wanted to ask him why he decided to come to your balcony of all things, but the look in his eyes had convinced you to wait for that chance. There was just something about those gorgeous orbs of ebony you couldn't say no to - conflict or not. Luckily your apartment flooring was hard, meaning any water from Hanta's shoes (or soles as his costume didn't use shoes) could be mopped up and dealt with later. Not that you were thinking about that at all. Your mind was too focused on processing what was going on.

"I was in the neighbourhood and you know that my tape is crap in rain so... I didn't know where else to crash," Hanta started once inside your apartment. He nervously laughed as though to ease inner feelings, hands meeting his hips in a lost attempt to make conversation. It was mainly due to the fact you hadn't properly greeted him, sort of dawdling between him and the sofa. You looked Hanta up and down and sighed, seeing how soaked he was.

"Here... slip this on," You lifted your hands over your head to tug the hoodie off, holding it out for Hanta to take. It was his anyway, and it would be a lie to say you weren't wearing it for his scent. Underneath the hoodie, you donned a simple black tank top you tended to wear during your morning jogs or times of exercise. The ravenette took it reluctantly, initiating you to head for your bedroom. "I'll go grab you some pants too. And a towel for your hair,"

"Oh... okay then," Hanta was genuinely astonished by the hospitality, watching you disappear down the hall. As you grabbed the aforementioned items, he began to remove the top half of his hero costume. It was true that Hanta loved his hero costume very much but when it came to the rain he wanted nothing more than to change the design completely. The spandex soaked up the rain and it took hours to drip out, not only dampening him but also multiplying its weight much more than double its usual. With his tape dispenser shoulder pads placed on the floor, Hanta stripped himself of his top half. Sighing when he discovered the rain had seeped through and dampened his skin. Luckily you entered the room shortly after, carrying some grey sweats of Hanta's and a freshly cleaned towel.

"So... is there any other reason you decided to scare the crap out of me on my balcony?" You questioned flatly, a hand on your hip as you held the towel out for Hanta, placing the sweats on the sofa cushion next to him. He mumbled a quick thanks, promptly starting to dry his upper half.

"Well yeah," The ravenette stopped momentarily to glance your way, ebony eyes finding you back at the countertop in the kitchen where you resumed the task of making cocoa. Hanta quickly expressed a sigh. "W-We gotta talk,"

"About?" You asked innocently, though you were fully aware of what was being implied. Chewing the inside of your cheek as you did your best not to make eye contact, Hanta furrowed his brows at you.

"I think you know,"

"Well, are we starting afresh or picking up where we left off? The moment you decided to storm out of here and slam the door shut?" You spoke in a passive-aggressive manner because truth be told, you didn't appreciate Hanta's way of handling your last discussion at all. So you were certainly planning on letting him know. Speaking of which, Hanta was now scrubbing his raven locks dry as his eyes closed in response. Almost like he expected you to react in such a manner. Though he refrained from biting back, knowing that would only make it worse. Not his aim for visiting.

"Starting afresh,"

"Okay then," Was all you said, stirring your spoon and tapping it quite obnoxiously on the side of the mug before dropping it into the kitchen sink. Then you moved to the fridge to grab yourself some squirty cream. The can practically empty, it reminded you how badly you needed to go grocery shopping the next day. As for a reply, from across the room, you could only see the essence of hesitance. Either from Hanta figuring where to go from that or ultimate regret for even coming. Your bets were on both.

"Look Y/N -," The ravenette began, relatively quick to dry the rest of himself off and to put on the remaining clothes. Just as he was prepared to skirt over to your side, his actions ceased upon seeing you setting yourself down on the armchair opposite. Hanta had a moment where he didn't move, unsure what to do before he resorted to sitting down on the sofa. Feeling it the only safe thing to do. "I don't want problems between us. It's the last thing I want, okay?"

"I um... okay," You said, fingertips tapping lightly against the ceramic mug filled to the brim with whipped cream and cocoa. Hanta met your gaze for a split second, hands proceeding to fiddle with the other much more prominently.

"But... I want you to know that I've been thinking about it and well... I guess if it'll make you happy, I'm willing to do it and go public," Hanta spoke through a sigh. Peculiar, because a week ago you would have probably broken into a bright smile and jumped straight into the ravenette's arms then and there. Yet, you remained in your seat and mouthed a small oh of... disappointment was it? Whilst you weren't certain what it was, it most definitely felt like that. Which was odd because the words Hanta had just uttered were the ones you had been waiting to hear for months now.

Funnily enough, it didn't take you long to figure out why. Because throughout the previous week and the lack of contact, that's exactly what had been the route of the problem. The way Hanta treated you during your last interaction and the lack of communication mixed with it. It wasn't the original issue anymore. Of course, you still wanted that. But you additionally craved a sense of closure for how you were treated.

"Hanta I...," Hanta's brows crinkled together in a frown, not shy to display his confusion to your hesitant tones.

"What? What is it? T-That's what you want right?" He replied.

"Yes, it's what I want. But that's not the issue anymore,"

"What do you mean? I'm not following...," His response made you scoff. Not exactly great for the situation at hand. You remained silent for a little bit longer, scratching the side of your head as you sat upright to elaborate.

"Hanta... you haven't texted or called me in over a week. You walked out of here after a fight and practically went radio silent!" Was your protest, watching as Hanta fell back against the sofa. Unbeknownst to you, there was another reason he did this. An inner conflict he had yet to unveil. A prolonged silence ensued as if Hanta was trying to find the correct words to say.

"Because I needed space Y/N... time to think!"

"Yeah well we both did... but even calling just to say that would have been reassuring," You weren't finished despite trailing off, Hanta seeming to notice by the way your lips were faintly parted. "I know you have a busy schedule but... but...," The thought entered your mind for a split moment, doing much more damage than intended.

"But what?"

"It doesn't matter. I-it's stupid," You tried to brush it off, suppressing the thought further down into your system so it wouldn't win you over. Hanta didn't seem to like that though, his head tilting your way with his eyes boring into your own. He could tell when something was bothering you, just from your body language.

"No. Tell me,"

"You're not losing interest in me, are you?" It sounded ridiculous the moment you uttered the words, and it sounded even more ridiculous as Hanta's hands met the bridge of his nose in a heavy sigh. Quickly causing you to further your point. "I-I just thought that you not wanting to go public and being 'busy' was a nice way of saying -,"

"Don't even finish that sentence,"

"Sorry," The silence lingering between you both drowned out your voice, to which you looked down at your hands with a sigh. The ravenette sat upright rather abruptly, shifting onto his feet and coursing a hand through his hair. There was a clashing frown on his face as he reflected on the words he just heard.

"I can't believe you would even think that... that I'm growing tired of you!" Hanta called out in disbelief, near offended by the accusation. His body twisted to face you, eyeing you down for some sort of explanation or justification to what you said.

"It's hard not to when you're giving off all these... these signs!" That was your best response. Though you were set to be cut off by another sharp sigh from Hanta. One of many expressed that rainy night. You watched as he walked on over to the glass doors he entered moments earlier, observing the rain slashing harshly against the clear surface. It had grown even heavier since his entry, the back of his mind relieved to be out of the dangerous weather and inside closed doors. He didn't ponder on it long though, returning to the situation at hand and leaving the indistinct 'pitter-patter' of the rain behind him.

"Y/N have you ever thought for a single moment why I've kept you secret for so long?"

"You said you liked your private life to be away from your hero one... a-and I get that!" You replied urgently. "I'm okay with all the publicity and the social media responses and -," As though he expected that answer, Hanta interrupted you with a near saddened laugh. It caused you to frown and glare his way, about to raise your voice if not for his own voice filling the apartment.

"You know my job isn't just walking around being a celebrity, right?" Hanta glanced back at you. "I'm a hero for crying out loud! I protect people from danger! People like you!" The ravenette pressed a closed fist against the glass pane of the door, forehead inches away from the surface since Hanta shifted most of his weight onto it. You tilted your head, frowning.

"I know that but -,"

"But do you?" Hanta's tone came off harsher than intended to emphasise his point. But he was quick to abandon it, clicking his tongue in defeat to a battle in his head when he realised he had to explain his case. He'd been reluctant to say anything about his activities in the last week since technically not even the press knew, but lying wasn't going to get Hanta and you anywhere. So he surrendered to the urge and spoke. "Listen, the reason I didn't message you this week is that I've been working non-stop over some drug trades going on. One's that have been going on for a while underground and ones that have gotten good people killed. I haven't had the time to focus on us even though our fight has been in my head all week and I've been shitting myself over talking about it because I don't want to lose you! I couldn't imagine life without you, Y/N and I feel like an ass for treating you how I did last time we spoke! But I haven't been able to tell you that because access to my phone has been slim, and I couldn't-,"

"Hanta?" You stood up gingerly, only speaking up due to the change of Hanta's aura. He had started curt and sharp but slowly tumbled into a more emotional demeanour. The more personal his small speech grew the more it started to affect him, probably the impact of his own thoughts taking their toll. There was even a voice crack at some point, one you'd never heard before. Hanta took a deep breath, bracing himself to speak again.

"It sounds like a lame excuse but it's the truth. I didn't want to say it. But I can't lie to you," He continued. "It's cases like this that have kept me from wanting to go public. B-Because if those people were to figure out who you are because of me...," There was a stifled shake of a breath, Hanta's voice quietening in fear just at the thought. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself,"

You were speechless. So speechless you weren't even mad anymore. He was finally... finally being vulnerable with you and that seemed to be enough for you to erase all your grudges. Sure, work wasn't an excuse for everything. But in a circumstance like this one - with the job that Hanta lead, you could understand his reasons and in spite of your worry you knew the rules. No mobiles on operations. And finally, he was confiding to you about why he struggled with the thought of announcing your relationship. So in a very reluctant manoeuvre, you plucked up the courage to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around Hanta in a sorrowful hug. Hanta tensed up at first, breath running short, but he didn't push you away. A hopeful sign.

"I'm sorry for making it such a big deal when you had other things to think about," You said, pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder blade and giving the surface a peck. You remained there for a good few, adamant seconds before retracting. "And I'm sorry for never looking at it that way... or considering your feelings on the matter,"

"Y/n it's fine... just...," Hanta seized the opportunity to turn around to face you, running a hand through his ebony locks with one hand as his other slithered around you to return the hug. "I'm sorry I made you doubt me... I feel like shit about it and it wasn't my intention at all,"

"No! No! Don't apologise. It's okay, " You brought a hand to fiddle with the string of his hoodie. As much as it wasn't what you wanted, you had to see Hanta's perspective and understand his feelings too. This was a two-person relationship after all and had you known his feelings ran that deep, you wouldn't have pressed the matter as much as you had. "Look, we don't have to announce anything to anyone okay? If it makes you comfortable and happy then I'm willing to remain a mystery a little longer,"

That returned some colour to his face, almost like Hanta feared you would oppose him even still and the situation would grow for the worse. With a small sigh of relief, he finally allowed a smile to press to his lips. A smile you knew all too well and had missed for a while now.

"Thank you for understanding," Hanta exhaled, pausing as his eyes hovered onto you with an ounce of playful intent. "And I guess we could be a little bit less discreet when we go to the cinema together," You smiled faintly, finally satisfied with the decision you had come up with. Better yet, a compromise. The very thing you had wanted to start with... clearly your concluding thoughts had been premature.

"Thank you... it means a lot,"

"Yeah... I love you," Hanta spoke gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too," You stood on your tiptoes to lightly peck his lips, Hanta humming softly in approval as he returned the gesture. After a few seconds, you pulled back though, feeling a smile on your face as you did. It was enjoyable to kiss his lips again, another thing you had missed greatly in your week-long deprivation of your boyfriend.

"So, how does some hot cocoa sound? I can imagine you were sat on the balcony for a pretty long time," You pulled away from the hug, but kept hold of Hanta's wrist as you tugged him along with you. Hanta shook a fist in grateful triumph, sighing out in bliss at the offer.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask! Hot cocoa sounds amazing," He smiled, pausing temporarily before adding on. "But are cuddles on the table too?" You glanced back at him, half expecting the request. But there was no way you were going to say no. You shook your head in amusement before answering.

"I think we're both in desperate need of cuddles, so I think so. Yes,"

"Amen to that,"

[cheelduh]

The Shackles of Duty

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Synopsis: As a weapon of the Abyss, your obligation towards your Princess should be eternal.

Warnings: Unedited angst. Pls ignore any mistakes besties <3

Word count: 2k

You've never really given the weather any thought. It's not as if it matters to you. Stormy day or not, your responsibilities—no, your duty towards the Abyss will remain the same.

It's still raining. The mud thick underneath your boots, slippery against your heel, the putrid smell of grassy dew lingering miserably against the air.

"You know what you have to do." The Abyss Princess commands you, her loyal servant, hers to dispose if she so desires.

"The dragon...Stormterror." You explain, goosebumps forming on your skin as a result of the damp clothes that adorn your wet body. "Your brother, the honorary night, along with others, thwarted our plans by eliminating the fragments."

"Why?"

"You know why, your grace." Is all that you can give to her. "I shall follow him. Keep him away, from inciting another encounter—"

"No," Lumine declares, no room for argument. "Infiltrating their ranks is no easy task. You mustn't be relieved of your post, not yet at least. We need to extract as much information as possible to further avoid outcomes like these."

Exactly the answer you don't want to hear in the middle of this archon forsaken storm, all bruised and bumped up from Stormterror's confrontation.

Don't make me do this again. I don't know how much more I'll be able to take.

You bite your tongue, knowing full well the finality of her words. "As you wish, my princess."

The familiar redhead suddenly plagues your mind, stoic, and with years worth of anger at the world. The hero in the shadows, the man with an agonizing past, a sense of retribution albeit his severed connections with the knights of favonious.

Despite the obstacles of life and the intellect honed from his journey, he's reckless. Reckless enough to still believe that he can make a difference. That anyone can make a difference.

Diluc is reckless enough to love someone, reckless to think that his sworn brother would be the only one capable of betraying him.

—

"There's no point." Diluc whispers loud enough for you to hear him underneath the stars, adding onto the lull of night. "They all keep walking—no, running, aimlessly because of duty. They follow orders without knowing where they come from. It's utter chaos."

"But in all the chaos, there is calculation." You lean against the stone of the walls, and as always, you know how to speak to Diluc. How to open him up and read him like a book.

You're sure he can do the same with you, but he just isn't looking where he should be. You need him to look; to realize he's tangled up in your web of deceit and that there's no way out.

"How do you do that?" He says, aware all at once. "How do you give me so much yet so little?"

I want to give you everything, the pretty and the ugly things alike. I want to give you my secrets, fold them up in a dirty, black, envelope, and have you turn it to ash with the violent flames of your heart.

It's a lot of work hiding under false pretences.

"It's a beautiful night, my love." You say instead.

Diluc's never gotten used to the term of endearment, still new to receiving affection. It warms him up differently to his vision, pleasant yet unfamiliar. It takes a moment for him to come back to himself.

You briefly jolt at the pleasant warmth of his hand atop yours, a silent reassurance, one that worsens your guilt, weaves it into something that pierces your rotten core.

—

You don't know what you're thinking when you stand in front of Jean's office, fist hovering.

Is forgiveness why you're here? No, because you would've went to Diluc first. You would've confessed to him right then and there about what a vengeful weapon you are, a mindless soldier that will do anything for their queen.

You don't even get a chance to think of the various ways he'd kill you when the door is open, and you're met with the view of the acting Grandmaster herself. Another dear friend that will come to despise you.

"Y/N! I'm glad you're here—"

"I'm a servant of the Abyss." You cut her off, and don't stop yourself, letting the words run freely against the fast pace of your heart. "I've infiltrated Mondstadt under the orders of the abyss princess and used what I've learned to conspire against the archons."

Everything's spinning, so fast you can barely breathe.

Jean doesn't move, doesn't even blink as the confusion dawns on her face. You aren't looking for confusion.

"Don't pretend you're blindsided completely," You give her a humourless chuckle, and by the hush of your tone it's as if you're telling her a secret to any spectators. "You've known for a while now that there's been a traitor within your ranks. Every single attack from the Abyss—too clean, too unpredictable, one could say with coincidence."

"But the universe is rarely so lazy." Your voice is smooth, calm, the complete opposite to the flurries of emotions that bloom your being. "Varka knew that. And so do you."

"No," Jean finally speaks up, denying your claim incandescently. "We've fought together for years. You're one of our best, our most dependable. Everything we've done—everything you've done has been for Mondstadt. As always."

If only that were the truth.

You wave a hand over your right eye, releasing the magical bind to reveal the intricate marker. Jean's eyes widen, and she's far from her usual composed self.

"Still don't believe me?" You ask, knowing full well she's still in denial. It's not everyday your best mate, the one that fights alongside you, admits to being a traitorous scum of the abyss drenched in years worth of lies.

Ah the trials and tribulations of friendship.

"Fine then," With the flick of your wrist, it doesn't take much effort for the main doors to open up with a bang.

The acting grand master draws back at the shrill sound, teeth gritting.

She isn't the only one that's provoked. Wood and Wyratt, the only two guards on duty at this time let out shouts of surprise, reaching for their swords on instinct.

You summon your abysmal magic, which shapes into deep blue, if not black, appendages. They glitter, hiding the entire galaxy in them, with stars that burst into life. Breathtaking if not used on the battlefield.

In mere seconds, one latches on to Wyratt's leg, while the other takes Wood by his arm. All it takes is a jerk of your index finger, and they're sent flying outside the doors, which unceremoniously slam shut behind them. The lock clicks into place, cherry on top.

Jean materializes her sword, taking on a defensive position. You don't think you've ever seen the woman irritated, let alone as livid as she is right now.

That's more like it.

"Go on. Arrest me." You bring your wrists up, casual as ever. "We'd better hurry. They'll come after me soon enough, it's in your best interest to listen to everything I have to say if I'm willing to die over it." There's a tightness in your chest that you can't explain.

Jean hardens her gaze, not allowing herself to relax. You know what she's going to say. You've been her friend, her advisor, long enough to understand where most of her actions and decision stem from.

She says—well she says nothing, because she doesn't get a chance to when an abrupt screech erupts from her office, causing your ears to perk up and your blood to run cold. A series of heavy footsteps, footsteps you're all too familiar with follow.

Although you're fairly certain you know who it is, you glance over her shoulder anyways to meet the fiery red eyes that have reserved a place in your heart. The sole reason you're blowing the whistle.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart.

The pure, authentic, hurt in Diluc's hardened features are enough to have you gutted completely. Mouth dry with a rock in your throat, you don't so much as allow yourself to exhale.

You finally understand why you didn't go to him first. You were sure he'd be able to survive the betrayal, but you weren't sure you'd be able to survive it yourself.

Diluc. You want to tell him, tell him how sorry you are. Tell him how much of a piece of shit you are. Tell him that he doesn't deserve this, that he deserves so much better. Tell him that you love him, devastatingly so.

It isn't supposed to end this way. Things never go as planned.

You avert your gaze, clench your jaw shut, and wait.

"Jean." Diluc says, and there's grim finality in his voice. "We need a moment." His words send small pricks throughout your spine.

Jean regains her composure, mulling over his request, but any resistance is placated by a simple look from the redhead.

When she reluctantly leaves, the quiet is near unendurable.

"Why?" If the way Diluc's fixed gaze could set anything on fire, you would've been burned to the stake by now.

You'd calculated this moment countless of times, predicted exactly how this would go, lived through every outturn in the dead of the night as you struggled to find sleep in his arms.

Living through it is far more dreadful than you could've ever imagined it to be.

His body closes in at your lack of reply, hands gripping your forearm to pull you in and kick the door shut. "Why?" This time it's more firm.

You open your mouth to speak, like a fish out of water, and out comes nothing.

"I trusted you," Diluc says weakly, in a way that has your heart shattering a million times a second. Tightening his hold on your arm, he continues "You were the only one I...I should've known. I was foolish to think I could believe in you." a sharp exhale, and he pushes you back against the door, but it's not harsh at all. He's gentle, and somehow that makes everything so much more worse.

Your inability to reply sparks a different kind of rage in his heart.

"It must have been quite the show, watching everyone run in circles." He seethes, furious, wounded. "Was it all just a lie? Were my feelings ever returned? Or was I just another one of your fair games?"

You wrench away from his hold as if it's burning you. The words are like needles, pinning into you with so much force it has you lurching in place, and then they twist deep within your blackened veins.

"Stop it." You should've just left. Should've just pushed back the nagging in your brain and jumped off a cliff or a something. Surely the unexpected death of a royal guard—no, the death of a fundamental piece in their plan would surely be enough to cripple them for at least a few days, if not weeks.

Anything but this.

You meet his gaze. "I do love you Diluc, that I am sure of. You don't have to believe me. I know I wouldn't."

"Is that all you have to say?" He all but hisses, gloved fingers closing in to form a fist. "You've betrayed everyone. Your friends, your family...me."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice breaks when you look away. "I don't know what's right anymore, what's wrong. I don't even know what I've been fighting for this entire time." A sharp, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, "To allow myself to carry out orders I do not believe in is too much to bear. How long do I delude myself into thinking that this is all for Khaenri'ah? That this is all for a reason that is beyond me?"

There's a sliver of softness that shows in his features, but you're too busy calming the waves crashing in your head.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore." You say, the sinking of your chest only expanding. "I've already contravened against the abyss, and for that they will come for me. The only thing I regret is that they couldn't get to me before you did."

A stricken look passes across his face, brows furrowed and desperation as clear as day when he reaches for you.

This time, you let his arms curl around your shaking figure, welcoming the comfort that you're undeserving of. "I won't let them."

"I'm sorry." You whisper shakily, fisting the fronts of his coat. "I'm so sorry Diluc."

Diluc hums as he strokes your hair soothingly, with the utmost of care. Although his trust in you has shattered, like irreplaceable fragments of glass, his love for you will remain constant.

Even with the storm that is fated to come.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Chapter 4 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3)

-

The ceiling of the hanshi looked strange when Lan Xichen woke up.

His mind was fuzzy, his mouth dry and disgusting in taste, and it took a few moments before he realized that the strangeness was the position of the light: he had overslept for the first time in years, and the sunlight on the ceiling was that of mid-morning or later, not pre-dawn. How strange – he almost never slept so late, he thought vaguely, and wondered almost idly what had caused him to be so tired.

It took another few moments before he realized why sleeping late, or even at all, was such a problem.

He sat up with a gasp, hand flying to his throat in horror, and Jin Guangyao, seated not far away and awake already, looked up at him, already starting to smile in greeting.

“Why did I sleep?” Lan Xichen demanded, but he already knew the answer – his tongue had a greasy feel on it, herbaceous, that suggested that he had been drugged, and anyway he only remembered having a single cup of tea with Jin Guangyao’s coaxing, then nothing. “A-Yao, why…?”

“You were panicking,” Jin Guangyao said, smiling fading a little, his lovely soft eyes turning melancholy at the perceived blame in the question – Jin Guangyao was so sensitive about the merest suggestion that he wasn’t wholly trusted. It was trauma remaining from his upbringing, Lan Xichen knew, and never blamed him for it; he took every effort to remind him that he was loved and appreciated now, that he respect him, even honored and treasured him, and one day he was certain his efforts would be enough. “I thought it would be good for you to sleep, so that you would be calm again. Er-ge…”

“I was supposed to be monitoring da-ge!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, struggling to get out of bed, his limbs still unwieldly and unresponsive. “He shouldn’t – I only meant to put him in there for – for half a shichen at most –”

Jin Guangyao hurried over to him at once, his facile face upset. “But you said that he needed more time,” he pointed out, confused, and oh, it was Lan Xichen’s fault, wasn’t it? He should have been clearer. With Jin Guangyao’s too-perfect memory, both benefit and curse, for him to make a mistake like this meant that it must have been a misunderstanding between them. “You said that the benefit of the room was only very small to start – I thought you said he needed stronger medicine than what he was taking? We discussed it, I’m sure of it. A sharp shock to the system to restart it properly – when you said yesterday that you only planned to leave him for a short time, I honestly thought you were just talking yourself of out of what you needed to do…”

It was not unreasonable, but of course Jin Guangyao was never unreasonable.

His words now were echoed the ones he’d raised when Lan Xichen had been dithering – uncertainty and irresoluteness were his worst faults and he knew it – over whether he should even take the current approach, even knowing how much Nie Mingjue didn’t like the idea of the quiet room.

Not that he’d ever even given it a proper try.

Jin Guangyao had pointed out that Nie Mingjue was declining, and it was true, visible, painful. It was one thing to know that your beloved was likely to have a short life and another to see him begin to lose himself when he’d barely had any time to live. Nie Mingjue had spent his whole life on avenging his father, had finally succeeded, was finally unfettered and free from the burdens of his parents the way Lan Xichen had always so desperately wanted for him, and now, now he was dying? Succumbing to his inevitable fate, fading into a creature composed of nothing but rage the way his father had, the way he’d always feared more than anything?

It wasn’t fair.

Jin Guangyao had helped Lan Xichen see that it wasn’t fair to him, too – to either of them, really. They both loved Nie Mingjue so much! He was their lifeblood, their backbone, the foundation of the earth beneath their feet. The thought of him dying panicked Lan Xichen beyond all reason, and the thought of him dying when it could be prevented, when they could have done something, when he could have done something if only he wasn’t so unreasonably stubborn…it was simply intolerable.

Jin Guangyao was right, of course, that Lan Xichen would ultimately hate himself if he stood by and did nothing. He’d been so passive all his life, his father his mother his uncle his sect, but this was his lover – and the Lan sect was always so unreasonable about lovers. That was something Nie Mingjue well knew, so surely some strong measures could be forgiven, could be understood.

Nie Mingjue would understand.

It wasn’t like Lan Xichen’s father’s situation at all, Jin Guangyao had assured him when he had raised the concern. It wasn’t as though Lan Xichen was imprisoning Nie Mingjue for his own selfish reasons, claiming to protect him when in fact all he wanted was not to lose him.

He was trying to help him.

Help him when he wouldn’t help himself.

That was what hurt the most, really. That was what Jin Guangyao had so passionately argued was unfair: that Nie Mingjue had stopped trying. He’d stopped letting Jin Guangyao play Clarity for him, the technique Lan Xichen had worked so hard to find and develop for him; he’d stopped trying even his own sect’s techniques for calming and healing qi. He was no longer looking for solutions. No, he’d turned instead to start arranging his affairs: to make plans and provisions for what might happen, to prepare his sect for Nie Huaisang to take charge, to ease the transition that would happen after he – after he –

It’s not his fault, Jin Guangyao had said gently when Lan Xichen had driven himself into a frenzy of panic, heart beating wildly and lungs burning even as he breathed too quickly. Jin Guangyao had held him in his arms, counted his breaths with him, calmed him; he was so good, good to Lan Xichen, always thinking about what he could do to help him, and he’d been so good to Nie Mingjue, too, even if they were fighting right now, even if Nie Mingjue was holding him at arms’ length.

Jin Guangyao had remembered what Lan Xichen had not. He’d reminded Lan Xichen that even if it was unfair, even if it hurt him, even if he resented Nie Mingjue for having given up on life, on them, so easily, that him doing that when he’d always sworn he wouldn’t? That was wrong, too.

And that meant that it wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s fault, not really.

It was the qi deviation.

After all, as Jin Guangyao had recalled to Lan Xichen’s attention, wasn’t it a known symptom of qi deviations that they affected the person subtly as well as strongly? Death by qi deviation wasn’t just the single killing blow with the sword, but the insidious destruction of poison, tearing apart the person from the inside out until they weren’t even themselves any more.

If he had had a small qi deviation, it would make Nie Mingjue more stubborn, more rigid, more angry, less flexible, less forgiving, less willing to listen to reason. It would take Nie Mingjue away from Lan Xichen, take Nie Mingjue away from himself, and make him an accomplice in his own deterioration – as Jin Guangyao pointed out, why else would Nie Mingjue suddenly refuse to be helped? Why else would he grow so distant from Jin Guangyao, who he loved?

It must be the qi deviation speaking, not him. Not his Mingjue.

With Jin Guangyao’s words, Lan Xichen had felt the sudden and overwhelming relief of understanding – of knowing that it wasn’t anything he’d done or failed to do, of knowing that there was still hope. If they only took stronger steps to get rid of the vile thing affecting Nie Mingjue, he would return to the way he was, return to them both, and they would stand shoulder-to-shoulder in this fight against the invisible enemy the way they had against the more corporeal enemies they’d faced in the Sunshot Campaign.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t minded aggressive moves back then, after all. He’d put his life on the line time and time again to win the smallest advantages – win a battle here, rescue a village there…he’d been willing to consider the wildest stratagems, accept help from strange sources (Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation came to mind), if it meant they could free the cultivation world from Wen Ruohan’s cancerous tyranny.

It really wasn’t asking so much for him to try just as hard to fight his own doom, was it?

No, Jin Guangyao was right. It really wasn’t.

And if it was only the qi deviation that made Nie Mingjue refuse their help, then maybe Jin Guangyao was right about the rest of it, too. He’d made an apt comparison: if Nie Mingjue had put blinders on himself and was stumbling around in the dark, heading the wrong way, then surely it was their duty to help him see the light, even if he initially refused their assistance in his artificially induced stubbornness.

He would see the benefit of what they’d done when he was better. He would thank them.

He’d see that it wasn’t that they were being malicious, overriding his stated wishes like that, but rather that they loved him – loved him too much to let him stand aside and let him hurt himself like that.

He’d forgive them.

After all, hadn’t Lan Xichen forgiven him?

When Jin Guangyao had first confessed his past with Nie Mingjue to him, he’d been heartbroken, of course. Nie Mingjue was his lover – how could he take another man to his bed? Even if that man was as charming and beautiful as their A-Yao, as competent and righteous, as kind and generous…

Lan Xichen had liked Jin Guangyao from the very start, back when they’d had nothing to do with each other and not even friendship to bind themselves together, when he had exerted himself to help when Lan Xichen had had nothing with which to repay him.

He’d admired him so much for having come through everything that he’d suffered all the stronger, that he’d still remained noble and good despite all the humiliations and embarrassments. He’d been flattered when Jin Guangyao – then Meng Yao – had flirted with him, lingering touches and sly innuendo and the sparkling tension of will-he-won’t-he-what-will-he-do-next. Nie Mingjue had never engaged in any of that with him, not really; his beloved was too straightforward in his affections to take a circuitous route in expressing them (they’d been barely more than children when Nie Mingjue had blurted out a love confession, much to Lan Xichen’s delight), and he’d been too familiar with the burdens of being the sect heir or sect leader to play around with implications that could harm their position.

Lan Xichen appreciated that consideration, really, but flirting with Jin Guangyao had been…nice.

Fun. Meaningless, of course, because Jin Guangyao was strictly off-limits – everyone was off-limits, he already had a lover! – but the banter was flattering. It made him feel the joy of being desired by someone he liked, that feeling of excitement and newness and discovery that had long ago faded out of the comfortable and happy relationship he had with Nie Mingjue.

It’d been a passing crush, nothing more. And with Jin Guangyao as Nie Mingjue’s deputy, he could still be friends with him – they could both be friends with him. The conversations between the three of them had flowed smooth and easy back then, all of them casual and as relaxed as they could be given the circumstances; he had been so happy then. They had all been happy.

The war had taken that from them.

Lan Xichen still didn’t know exactly what it was that had divided Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao so bitterly – Nie Mingjue had both wanted to tell him and hadn’t, knowing how close they were – and he had known that he’d only made it worse by honoring Jin Guangyao’s desperate request to hide the fact that he was the source of the information that had helped them. But in the end Nie Mingjue had agreed to swear to brotherhood between them despite all that, so it couldn’t be that bad, surely?

He’d expected that one day Nie Mingjue would finally be able to swallow the hurt and pain in his throat and speak clearly to him about what his grievances were, and that once they were out in the open, he would see that they were all misunderstandings the way Jin Guangyao swore they were. Once it was in the open, they could work through them and return to the way they’d been.

Lan Xichen hadn’t expected Jin Guangyao to confess first – and to being Nie MIngjue’s lover during the war.

Lan Xichen hadn’t believed it at first, thinking that Nie Mingjue would never, would never, but Jin Guangyao’s confession had been so detailed: the way Nie Mingjue liked to stroke his hand along his arm as if petting a large cat, the expression of stunned pleasure on his face, the little things he did only in private, even the secret things like how his hips stuttered in the moments before he reached completion…it was almost as if Jin Guangyao were reciting back one of Lan Xichen’s own hidden encounters with Nie Mingjue back at him, the same in every respect.

And while Lan Xichen was absorbing that, Jin Guangyao had apologetically explained that he had never meant to trespass – that Nie Mingjue had said that forgiveness was better than permission in affairs of the heart, that Lan Xichen liked Jin Guangyao so much that he wouldn’t mind, that he would clear things up the very first instant he had a chance to.

It was wrong of him to have agreed to have done that to him, his good friend, Jin Guangyao said, his face full of sorrow and guilt. But he had been in love – surely Lan Xichen understood how love could blind you and dizzy you? How it could drive you to do things you’d once thought were crazy?

He only spoken up now, he’d explained, because it seemed as though Nie Mingjue had not told Lan Xichen the truth – he hadn’t – and it seemed, moreover, that he wasn’t planning to tell him, ever. That he’d planned to just forget it had ever happened, to pretend that they had really just been sect leader and deputy, been only friends.

That had seemed to him, Jin Guangyao had gently explained, to be rather unfair to Lan Xichen. And so, even though it might cost him everything, he had chosen to explain it to him now.

Lan Xichen had been heartbroken, of course. He’d been so angry at the betrayal – but also secretly a little thrilled.

After all, if Nie Mingjue could do it, Lan Xichen could do the same, couldn’t he? And he’d always liked Jin Guangyao so very much...

Jin Guangyao, it seemed, felt the same way.

Sometimes Lan Xichen felt bad about it, knowing that even if Nie Mingjue had once been lovers with Jin Guangyao he certainly wasn’t now. But Jin Guangyao was so reassuring in his certainty that Nie Mingjue would understand – that he’d even fantasized about the two of them together many a time, that it was his own words that had said that forgiveness and not permission was the right way to go about these things. This way, Lan Xichen could work out his little anger at being betrayed, get his own little version of revenge: just a kiss, at first, he’d only planned on it being just a kiss, but then one thing had led to another and then there was more that he would have to explain, more that he’d have to get forgiveness for, and after a while it was just easier to remind himself that this was something Nie Mingjue wanted, that when it was revealed to him that he would be happy, that it would all work out perfectly with everyone getting everything they wanted, than it was to try to think of having to explain.

Jin Guangyao had even volunteered to be the one to talk to Nie Mingjue on the subject when the time was right, relieving Lan Xichen of the anxiety-inducing burden of serious emotional conversation, which he hated.

(It was his job to smile and be happy, comforting, supportive; the sect elders had always made that very clear. Lan Wangji could get away with a scowl firmly on his face only because he was younger, a spoiled little brother and not the future face of their sect – Lan Xichen’s uncle might have run the sect on his behalf, but everyone knew that Lan Xichen was as good as sect leader from a young age, and he’d had to act like it. It was easier for him to smile and nod and simply not bring up unpleasant subjects, just the way he always had, than to torment himself with having to break through his long-established façade.)

Besides, as Jin Guangyao had worriedly remarked, Nie Mingjue’s worsening condition made it difficult to talk to him openly about such things. According to Jin Guangyao, Nie Mingjue had suffered a qi deviation in the fight at the Fire Palace, and it had made him untrusting and paranoid, reluctant to trust or forgive in a way that wasn’t like him. If they brought it up to him too early, before they’d solve the underlying problem of the qi deviation, Nie Mingjue might lash out and ruin the wonderful thing that all three of them wanted so much.

Lan Xichen had wept when Jin Guangyao had told him that Nie Mingjue had admitted, in a moment of weakness, that he wanted to make sure that Lan Xichen would still be loved after he was gone – that he wanted to leave his lover in good hands, hands he trusted, in Jin Guangyao’s hands.

That had been before they’d fought, of course.

And anyway, there really wasn’t anything to worry about, not really. Nie Mingjue loved Lan Xichen, and he’d loved Jin Guanyao, and he always forgave those he loved – one need only look at how spoiled Nie Huaisang had become over the years to know that.

Even if he might get annoyed that they didn’t tell him at once, he’d understand why they delayed.

Just like he’d understand why they had to help him.

Lan Xichen rubbed at his face tiredly. “A-Yao, I know your intentions were good, but there’s strong medicine and then there’s strong medicine. We need to go check in on him at once.”

“Da-ge’s strong,” Jin Guangyao said, loyal and loving as always. “And anyway, didn’t you say you spent your first full night in the jingshi before the age of fourteen? And he’s a man full grown, as powerful a cultivator as I’ve ever seen. I’m sure he’s fine.”

When the arrived at the jingshi, though –

Lan Xichen’s stomach, still churning from the drug, abruptly dropped, his whole body stiffening in sudden freezing terror.

The inside of the jingshi was a mess, the walls battered, blood smeared all over, scratches on the wall –

“What happened?” he gasped, horrified. This couldn’t be – the jingshi didn’t do this to people – it was just quiet – “What – where’s da-ge? Mingjue! Mingjue!”

“He may have been too close to the edge,” Jin Guangyao said, his own face creased with genuine concern as he examined the scene. “A severe qi deviation – he could be unstable. Out of control, paranoid, and with that saber of his, with the spirit goading him on…he could do anything. He might attack someone. Some innocent – me, or even you.”

Lan Xichen opened his mouth to deny it, because Nie Mingjue would never hurt him, but the words couldn’t make their way out of his mouth. He remembered what Nie Mingjue had said about what had happened after his father’s saber had broken, the whispered confessions in the dark as his tears had dripped onto his shoulder – terrible things, unconscionable things, things old Sect Leader Nie would never have done if he had been in his right mind.

It was, as much as he hated to admit it, possible.

“It’s my fault,” Jin Guangyao said suddenly, distracting Lan Xichen from his horrible thoughts, horrible thoughts that made his pulse race and his heart beat too fast and the panic start to rise up to choke him. “It’s all my fault, er-ge – I’m the one who thought you needed to rest, I’m the one who misjudged how much da-ge could take without breaking. It’s my fault!”

“No, no,” Lan Xichen said at once, instinctively. He was the one who gave comfort, not the one who was comforted; it was easier than anything to fall back into his usual role. “You meant well –”

“I never meant any harm,” Jin Guangyao agreed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I only wanted to help, I only thought you were anxious – I didn’t realize you would fall asleep, and when you did, I thought there wasn’t any harm in you getting some rest…if da-ge does something terrible, he’ll never forgive himself, and neither will I.”

“No, A-Yao, it’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself –”

“Sect Leader Lan!” someone shouted, and Lan Xichen turned at once.

“What happened?” he asked urgently. If Nie Mingjue hadn’t gotten far, or if what he’d done could be hidden, they could join hands to hide what had happened – no one would ever need to know. Just like with Lan Wangji, they could preserve his reputation and allow him freedom in the future.

It would be fine, they could handle it, they could find a way –

“Reporting to Sect Leader: the Unclean Realm has put up its defensive barrier,” the disciple said, saluting with a deep bow.

Lan Xichen stared at him, not understanding. The only person who could order the protective shield raised was an acknowledged master of the Nie clan, and that meant Nie Mingjue himself; he was the only one who would, since Nie Huaisang, the only other candidate, never cared for such things. But hadn’t he just been here, in the Cloud Recesses? It would take half the night and all morning, flying without end, to get to Qinghe so quickly…

“Are you sure?” Jin Guangyao interjected, a frown forming on his normally placid face. “From whom did you receive word? Are they reliable?”

“We’re certain of it. The responsive beacon lit in the guard-house,” the disciple said.

“We exchanged beacons after what happened with the Cloud Recesses and the Lotus Pier, it will activate reflexively in response to the barrier being raised, there can be no doubt,” Lan Xichen said numbly. Nie Mingjue had pressed it into his hand personally, murmuring promises that Lan Xichen would never need to fear a repeat of that terrible night: the Wen sect breaking the Cloud Recesses’ barrier before they could call for help, the flames that flooded his home, that terrible escape with his sect’s most treasured books clutched in his hands as he fled in a state of terror – he’d thought that Nie Mingjue had given the beacons out to all the sect leaders, he knew he’d traded ones with the Lotus Pier, but maybe he’d left Lanling Jin out for some reason.  Or maybe Jin Guangshan simply hadn’t informed his least-loved son about it, for whatever petty reason. “But – why? Are they under attack?”

Who would be attacking the Unclean Realm now? Who would dare try something against the domain of Chifeng-zun – but no, Nie Mingjue was incapacitated now, surely unable to fight to defend his sect…but who would know that? Who could predict that he would have a qi deviation now?

“It could be da-ge himself that did it,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Xichen looked at him, surprised. “If he escaped and returned home, he could be suffering under paranoid delusions and believe himself under attack, even if there is none…should we get people and go to help?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, grateful to seize on something constructive to do. “We should go at once. But we cannot take too many people – we’re not a threat to him, and we should be clear about that.”

“Naturally,” Jin Guangyao said. “But er-ge, I worry – what if da-ge has truly lost all sense and thinks of us as enemies, as if we were Wen? Let me send word back to Jinlin Tower, which will send people to meet us there. That way, if things go badly, da-ge will blame only me.”

“He won’t blame either of us,” Lan Xichen said, because he had to believe that his lover hadn’t descended to such madness. “But if it makes you feel better, send word. Only remember – not too many people. We cannot give the impression of being an invading force, even if it is by accident.”

The Unclean Realm did not raise its protective shield often – indeed, even during the Sunshot Campaign itself, it was only raised thrice as anything other than drill, and of those three times, one was a false alarm and the other two resulted in the Wen retreating voluntarily. The last time Lan Xichen could remember it being raised to deal with an actual imminent invasion was when Nie Mingjue’s father had died. At Nie Mingjue’s order, the Unclean Realm had sealed itself away as thoroughly as a powerful spiritual owner refusing to admit any but its owner, a snapping turtle within its shell and just as dangerous, and Wen Ruohan had been unable to seize the prize he had schemed to obtain.

To a certain degree, once the shield was raised, it did not matter the reason for which it had been raised, whether Nie Mingjue had done it out of true anger or mere paranoia, actual reason or a mere supposition. The people of Qinghe, cultivators and common people alike, were trained to expect war: they would react to strangers as if to vipers, and Nie Mingjue’s ancestors had made their land rich in obstacles to trap and destroy an unwary army. Even if Nie Mingjue belatedly realized his folly, an overly large group arriving at his door might end up dead at the hands of his people before he had time to correct the error.

No, Lan Xichen had to go himself. He had to find out what happened.

He had to rescue his beloved, his lover, from himself yet again.

He only hoped they were not too late.

[twistedapple]

On Pomefiore

[Note: Tumblr being Tumblr, I’ll put the links and due credits in a reblog; also, partially under the cut because it’s a bit long]

This post is something that has been brewing for a while now – my more observant followers will know when it started based on a certain tag. To preface this write up, I’d like to precise that I have been motivated in working on it because of the way Pomefiore was being received when I joined the fandom. Since then it has been followed by certain beliefs that – while being qualified as headcanons, which is perfectly fair and fine in itself – tend to be treated as actual gospel. It’s not a thing specific to the Twst fandom mind you, it happens in most fandoms – heck I still keep an eye on the KHR fandom and there are still people regularly making posts about mischaracterisation, and that fandom has been around for at least ten years. So I’m not here to preach, but to clarify a few things regarding what Pomefiore represents as a dorm, as well as provide a comprehensive commentary on its associated characters.

First belief: Pomefiore is the shallow dorm of pretty people.

But is it? The very first thing we learn about Pomefiore is that it’s the dorm of Hard Workers and other Overachievers, right in the prologue. This dorm is presented as built on the hard work of the Fair Queen, and she’s regularly taken as an example of how one should conduct oneself – especially by Vil, who expresses a lot of admiration and respect in his lesson chats, and clearly treats her as a model to follow in order to reach perfection.

Now you may think “but Crow, the very first thing we learn about the students is that they look impeccable and polish their appearance”. And you would be right; it is indeed how the students of that dorm are presented. However, let me expand a bit on this thought by making something clear: there’s what the dorm is defined as, and then there’s the path each dorm leader decides to follow. To give a few examples, we see Riddle follow the rules of the Queen of Heart to the letter, and dole out punishment whenever these rules are broken – to the point it impedes the students, who can’t use their magic in an environment where it is required. We see Leona applying the Might is Right type of thinking, which leads to Savanaclaw students being often depicted as bullies (and let’s not talk about the Magift tournament...). Azul, under the pretence of benevolence, is actually ruthless in the way he binds people to his contracts – it’s also shown that the Leech brothers act as his enforcers, either by forcing people into deals (during exam periods, as shown at the start of Episode 3) or by reclaiming the due payment of the contract in more or less pleasant ways (Jade being the local master manipulator, while Floyd canonically states that he finds the breaking of bones a more efficient method). Are you seeing where this is going? As a dorm leader, Vil applies his own views on his fellow Pomefiore students; his views happen to include appearances because he aims to be perfect in every way and has a professional background that justifies it. Is it fair to go as far as he is going when it comes to pressuring other students? Of course it isn’t, it’s the whole point of showing him slapping Epel for what he deems an inappropriate behaviour (see Epel’s Ceremonial Card). It sets the conflict of the dorm – and I personally dig how this major narrative bit is hidden in a story... Which brings us to the other point, the meta aspect of Pomefiore. It’s based on Snow White, a story that relies heavily... On appearances. Now let me ask you: is it really surprising to have a dorm based on such story have a focus on appearances as well? And we even get to see different aspects of it: Vil focuses on the tiniest details to be as polished as possible, Rook has a deep love for change and fleeting moments, Epel can turn something nobody wants into something highly desirable (carving damaged apples to sell them better). Pomefiore is the dorm of transformations – both literal and metaphorical -, a fascinating concept in my opinion and a brilliant idea for a solid narrative arc.

Second belief: Vil is a horrible, narcissistic person, but he will also play dress-up/makeup

Let’s sit for a second there, because there are many things to unpack. Now, what do we know about the fairest of all dorm leaders? Well, quite a lot, for someone who has yet to properly appear in the main story! The very first thing we learn about him is that he has a whooping 5 million followers on Magicam – which is massive and not a number you reach while sitting on your hands and waiting for something to happen. This is such an impressive number that we even get to see various reactions to it, from being very impressed to trying to use that fame for personal purposes. Through reading the stories in which he appears, we get to learn some interesting things about Vil: generally speaking, he fits perfectly the image of the consummate professional. In Jade’s SSR story, we get a solid peek into his life and the man has a busy schedule. He juggles daily with his duties as a student, a dorm leader, an influencer and a professional model – these things take time and he manages to go from one duty to the other with both the ease of someone who’s used to it and the precise organisation of someone with a solid head on his shoulders as well as an incredibly strong work ethic and drive. Speaking from personal experience with the modelling part and an informed opinion on the influencer part, these two fields alone aren’t easy to handle at all. Being an influencer can be very cutthroat (as a certain beauty community has been demonstrating since last year...), and being a professional model requires a lot of drive and dedication, as well as major self-care in regard to both your body and your mental health, because those are the tools of your trade as a model. In consequence, Vil as a dorm leader focuses on appearances as a result of heavy intellectual work to honour the Fair Queen he so highly respects (he says so in his voicelines: “True beauty is determined by strong intellect. You can always doctor your looks, but your true colors will still shine through right away.”), but Vil as a person is also extremely focused on his appearance because he’s doing his job. It’s not narcissism, it’s professionalism. And with his Ceremonial Robes story, we even get to learn that he was ostracised in his hometown for being a performer, yet he kept going and working to reach his goals. For someone who’s only 18 years old, this is an exceptional display of drive, discipline and maturity.

Vil has the highest standards for himself, but because he comes from pretty damn far, he also expects other people to be capable of showing the same degree of determination to achieve their goals. He expresses that in various ways, from being openly displeased with Leona’s general negligence (with Ruggie doing all the work in the background – see Leona’s school uniform story and Ruggie’s lab coat story), to being unimpressed by the new Pomefiore students and getting ready to whip them in a shape he’ll deem desirable as soon as he lays his eyes on them. He’s also highly critical of people going for the easy way out: in his school uniform story, he not only criticises Cater for trying to use him for his own five seconds of fame by buttering him up, but he also emphasises the fact that his services aren’t free. Emphasis on that: Vil isn’t a charity. He isn’t the sort of person with whom you’ll mutually brush your hair while sharing smoothie recipes. Rook is more likely to be the one up to that sort of thing, because Rook is nice and a good senior (see: Rook’s ceremonial robes story). Vil, on the other hand, encourages a lot to try and learn on your own, to use your own head in order to create your own brand (see his lab coat voicelines). He’ll be more enclined to help only after you started doing a part of the job independently and showed you can think and act for yourself. And even then, he’ll likely kick your ass to push you to keep up, because behind all the sparkles and lustre Vil is very much depicted as an overbearing Drill Sergeant. Like I pointed out earlier, it’s heavily hinted that he didn’t get where he is by waiting for good fortune to come by. He works for his success daily and expects other people to do the same. Does it seem like a rather unfair treatment? Sure, but at the same time it provides a great learning opportunity for those willing to put up with it, and Vil offers it in a surprisingly selfless manner: there is an open concern about the way people present themselves, and how they can do it to be their best self at all time.

Interestingly, it creates a peculiar dynamic with his vice dorm leader, Rook. There’s a constant sway between them, with Vil bluntly telling him he can be easily replaced if he fails in his duties, while still relying on him more than Rook relies on him in return – in fact, Rook pretty much follows his own path, and Vil happens to be a very nice view along that path so Rook decided to stop and hang out for a bit, but he still checks his surroundings for other nice views. So while Rook puts up with Vil’s tight requirements (see Rook’s ceremonial robes story, where Floyd cleverly observes that he doesn’t seem that fond of the perfume Vil created for him and forces him to wear during ceremonies), he’s also the one taking actual charge of the new students (see when he checks on Epel in his ceremonial robes story, or when he offers his support during the Ghost Marriage event) and trying to smooth things out when Vil is being too rough (see Vil’s ceremonial robes story). Interestingly, it leads to a communication issue between these two, fueled by what looks very much like a unilateral dependant relationship on Vil’s part, no matter how much he denies it. He rejects Rook through threats of replacing him, yet fully trusts his eyes and sincerity, yet this very sincerity is the reason why Vil doesn’t fully open up to Rook (see Vil’s lab coat story, he goes to Trey to vent about Rook’s lack of consideration) and uses a Harsh Commanding Queen attitude to hide his own insecurities from the eyes of the person who can see them best. It’s likely not helped by the fact that Vil is aware that he needs Rook more than Rook needs him – it’s obvious when reading the latter’s profile: Rook likes his privacy, and while he keeps putting his nose in other people’s business (not out of malice, but genuine curiosity), he’s notoriously deemed annoying by characters like Leona and Malleus because of his overly curious yet inconsiderate nature. There’s a selfishness in Rook which protects him from getting fully controlled by Vil, I’ll repeat myself here but I’d rather insist on that: Rook willingly decided to follow Vil, it means he has the power to refuse him as well (which is very much like... Oh, the Huntsman in Snow White – though in his case specifically, there’s also variations in which his family is held hostage and all, while Rook makes his own decisions).

This entire situation is heavily fueled by Vil’s need for control. As aforementioned, he focuses on the tiniest details and holds complete control over everything that makes his life what it is: from the type of makeup he picks to every single component used in the meals he prepares himself, Vil has a clear need for full control, and it’s reflected in the way he interacts with other students, as well as in the way he handles even his club activities. Vil isn’t just a model, influencer and even actor, in the film study club he works as a director and in one of his stories (lab coat), he’s even shown to create the special effects himself, because only he can provide for his own desires in the most exact fashion. This is where his little “I can replace you easily” becomes funny, because it translates his need for control without really holding since Rook is the one with the most agency in the relationship. In comparison, in Silver’s PE uniform story, Silver is treated like a pawn and Vil even berates Malleus in front of him because Silver dares deny him (how dare he have his own agency instead of being a nice prop who should feel honoured to be selected). Interestingly, Silver also compares Vil’s way of doing things to something martial. AhemDrillSergeantVilahem. In this story, the interesting point is that things finally start working well when Vil stops considering his own vision and decides to look beyond it a bit: taking Silver’s actual abilities into consideration, he finally has a scene that works. It works because he loosened the control a bit – while Silver went along with it but remained vocal the whole time about where his own skills lie.

While the relationship between Vil and Rook, as well as Vil and the rest of the Pomefiore dorm, have been holding through a quietly tense status quo, there is one pebble - dare I say, one potato - who is more than willing to challenge the whole situation through open defiance and a strong will: Epel. He has been set by the narration to be the catalyst to an incoming breaking point, because he wants to live his life to the beat of his own drum, yet remains a teen still in need of a journey of self-discovery. It’s illustrated in how he misunderstands the point of Pomefiore by only looking at the surface - something Vil reproaches, which is why he even talks about his need for more self-awareness in the lesson chats. Of course, Vil uses his own language (beauty) to get his point across, but the underlying point is that Epel has yet to reach a certain degree of self-realisation - such as the fact he is free to try and work hard to become beefier (Vil wouldn’t object as long as he puts in the necessary efforts), or that he is a good fit in Pomefiore because he has the drive to reach his goals and gives himself the means to do so (high awareness, anyone?). Basically, he’s the example of Vil’s communication issues: Vil’s martial nature tends to drown the actual meaning of his motivational speeches. Paradoxically, when dealing with someone like Epel, it actually fuels the teen through spite, which is both comical and quite impressive given Epel’s results (reminder of his own lab coat story, in which he manages to impress Crewel, a man made from the same fabric as Vil, with his formidable results through hard work). However, this form of motivation isn’t healthy, and just like with Rook, a good, long talk is needed to create a better understanding - instead of forcing his Tyranny of Beauty on others.

Bonus point, because I really want to address it

For some time now, I’ve been vocal about my personal feelings regarding the reception of Pomefiore and its characters. While it became more positive since June, it still tends to miss the point for a reason I’d like to address: the Not Like The Other Girls mentality and how it specifically affects the way Vil and his own femininity are perceived.

While I am not invalidating this thinking as part of a larger growth process, I think it has been unfairly used against Pomefiore. In a way, it’s very much the way Epel reacts: it’s just a Pretty People Dorm led by an Annoying Pretty Boy, and Savanaclaw is cooler. However, this is not only superficial, it puts a judgement of value that means that one has to be put down for the other to shine. In other words, Vil as a character is undervalued because his way of life - which matches traditionally feminine occupations, hell he’s even using a feminine pronoun - has been associated with vanity, narcissism, and superficiality by the fandom. To get my point across, let me provide you with quotes from some of our most brilliant minds:

“Woman wants to be independent […] this is one of the worst developments in the general uglification of Europe. Woman has so much reason for shame; in woman there is concealed so much superficiality, petty presumption and petty immodesty – one needs only to study her behaviour with children!” - Nietzsche

“What is truth to a woman? From the very first nothing has been more alien, repugnant, inimical to woman than truth - her great art is the lie, her supreme concern is appearance and beauty” - Nietzsche (again)

“A man’s face is his autobiography. A woman’s face is her work of fiction.” - Oscar Wilde 

“All the pursuits of men are the pursuits of women also, but in all of them a woman is inferior to a man.” - Plato

“As regards the sexes, the male is by nature superior and the female inferior, the male ruler and the female subject” - Aristotle

Do you see where I’m going with that? Because he has an occupation focused on appearance, something historically associated with women, Vil should be… Less? Should be negative? Even though he is quite vocal about it being a mere result of a much deeper work on himself, throughout his voicelines, lesson chats and personal stories? It’s not vanity, it’s not narcissism. It’s Vil expressing himself through the age old art forms of fashion, skincare and makeup. How, and why it being focused on something external should be less? It’s especially obvious when you stop and consider Vil’s own testimony: he has been ostracized by his own community for being a performer. His appearance is as much a mask as it is a proof of everything that preceded it – him saving himself with his own means and work. It’s both a protection and a result that he proudly brandishes – and he absolutely can afford the arrogance to do so, considering his achievements at such a young age (reminder, again, that he’s 18 years old, despite being very disillusioned with life already). Why should it be less that? Vil’s inclination towards appearances is both his truth and his fiction, that’s what the narrative tells us - and there’s nothing bad about that.

I guess I’m especially tired of this point because I’ve had to deal with that thinking pattern myself irl, for evolving in similar fields/similar hobbies, and it’s frustrating to see that sort of close mindedness. It’s infuriating. So, that’s a more personal aspect of my rant... But here we are.

[voiceless-terror]

Smile and Nod (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Six: “Stop, please”

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard, Original Character

CW: Harassment, Unwanted Advances

Summary: 

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall?

Jon runs into trouble at the Institute’s annual donor party and has an unlikely rescuer. 

The Institute hosted a party for its most illustrious donors every spring. Jon had never been expected to go to it until his promotion to Head Archivist and even then he tried to get it out of it, to no avail.

“I’m afraid it’s part of your duties now as Head Archivist,” Elias had said. “We need to have a face for every department and I’m sure quite a few of our donors are anxious to meet Gertrude’s replacement. You understand, of course.” Jon nodded. “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior.” He hadn’t forgotten his promise to ‘be more lovely’ after the incident with Naomi Herne. 

“Yes, yes,” Jon sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the event- sticking close to Elias’s side didn’t seem very appealing, but being left to the wolves was even worse. Elias seemed to notice his hesitation and paused, waiting for Jon to continue. Perhaps he didn’t have to go alone. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?

“W-Would it,” he began, cursing his stutter. “That is, I would like to- if you don’t mind, I think it would be valuable to have my assistants attend, as well?” He hated the uptick in his voice that made it sound more like a question. “I-I just think it would be a good experience for them to ah, meet the donors as well. Since they do a lot of the research.” Another reminder that he had no idea what he was doing; Elias hadn’t said anything about his methods in the Archives, so he only hoped that indicated a tacit agreement about the way things should be run. 

Jon watched several emotions flit across the man’s face, irritation and disappointment giving way to resignation. He tried to ignore the first two and focus on the last. “Alright,” Elias agreed with a sigh. “Please stress the formality of this event, particularly to Mr. Blackwood. You’ll be representing the Institute, and as such you will be expected to interact with our donors. See that you don’t use your assistants as a social crutch.” Damn. There goes his plan. At least I’ll have some support. 

So here he was, standing in the hallway with his assistants in an ill-fitting suit he last wore to the funeral of a distant cousin. It didn’t fit then, either. He hoped he didn’t look too much like a child in his father’s clothes, but the snickers from Tim and Sasha dashed any hope of that. They looked wonderful, of course, as they always did. Martin was in the same boat as Jon, fidgeting in a blazer and non-matching pants.

“Well boss, looks like it’s time to schmooze!” Tim clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him through the door. Elias liked to have his parties in the main library- it was the most beautiful part of the Institute, aside from the entrance hall. The tables and desks that normally populated the center of the room had been cleared away to reveal a rather spacious area for guests to mingle and talk over the sound of a tasteful string quartet. The whole event was incredibly elegant and Jon felt like he very much did not belong.

“Ah, there he is!” He heard Elias call from the right-hand corner of the room, where he was surrounded by several well-to-do donors dressed to the nines. He gestured him over with a magnanimous hand and Jon instantly flushed. Tim squeezed his shoulder and pushed him in their general direction. “This is our new Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims. He’s been doing fine work thus far.”

After a moment Tim’s hand is replaced by Elias’s, firm and weighty on his shoulder. He’s exchanging pleasantries with people whose names he forgets almost instantly- their hands are cold and their voices distant, they talk over him as if he were a child they judged and found wanting. Elias’s hand did not move and he was anchored in place, even as they made no move to include him in their conversation.

He saw Martin give him a look of pity from the corner that he was currently occupying with Sasha and Tim. They had their hands full of hors d'oeuvres and drinks and Jon wished desperately for a glass of water, anything to keep his hands occupied. He turned to realize the  conversation had stopped and his companions were staring at him expectantly. “I’m sorry?” he hazarded, wondering if he’d been addressed.

“Our son George,” the woman over-enunciated, her tone condescending. Jon remembered vaguely that she had some connection to the Fairchilds, though her name wasn’t familiar. “-is over by the bar. I think you’ll find his company a bit more interesting, hm?” The group tittered and Jon felt shame rise in his throat as his boss’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Yes Jon, why don’t you introduce yourself?” Elias said genially enough, though Jon can tell he had disappointed him once again. Jon nodded, excusing himself to go to the corner to get a much-needed drink and to embarrass himself further. There was a man roughly his age fiddling around on his phone with a bored expression. He was tall and handsome but in the soft way of the rich, cruel and cherubic in equal measure. It unnerved Jon and he summoned up a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“G-George?” he asked, willing his voice to steady. The man looked up, expression unchanged as his eyes bored into Jon’s. “I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist-”

“Parents send you over?” he smirked and Jon felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit. “Sorry you had to deal with them. This your first time at one of these? Median age here is usually around seventy five, give or take.” He laughed and Jon smiled, the man’s candor a bit charming even to him. 

“Y-Yes, I’m not really sure I should be here,” he admitted as George slid a drink into his hand. He took a grateful sip and closed his eyes at it’s smooth burn- this was expensive liquor and Jon was going to savor every last bit.

“That makes two of us,” the man nudged him with his elbow and Jon started to think the night might not be as bad as he thought. He glanced quickly over to the other side of the room- Tim winked and gave him a thumbs-up (which he ignored) and Martin’s face was carefully blank. Jon did not know what to make of that.

George, it seemed, was not all that bad. He listened patiently when Jon went off on a rant about book-binding, nodding and smiling at all the right parts. In return, Jon let him talk about finance for longer than was polite (and God was it boring). They’ve now had two drinks and Jon is feeling much, much looser. The smiles are genuine and unforced. He watches Elias nod in approval out of the corner of his eye and feels his chest warm with pride. Not a complete disappointment, am I?

But George is getting closer. It was fine when they were awkwardly perched on opposite ends of the bar and needed to hear one another, but this was getting too cozy for Jon’s tastes. He tries to take a casual step backwards but stumbles. George’s hand goes to his elbow to help steady him and stays there. 

“I-I think I need to-” he starts to mumble an excuse but the man is not having it.

“What do you say we get out of here?” He whispers, coming in closer. Jon’s nerves reach a fever-pitch but he does not want to show it, doesn’t want to make a scene so he keeps the smile pasted on his face. “My apartment’s not that far-”

“O-Oh, I’m f-fine, thanks,” he says, trying to dislodge the man’s arm but it is no use- he is much stronger than he looks and has at least half a foot on him. “I actually have plans-”

“With who?” George asks pityingly as Jon tries desperately to meet anyone’s eyes, even Elias’s. He tries to convey his plea without making it obvious to any other bystanders but his boss’s eyes slide right over him. He knows he saw, he knows-

“That’s why they sent you over, right?” George continues, his mouth dangerously close to Jon’s neck as he leans into whisper in his ear. “Pretty thing like you, get me to open the cheque book-”

“Good Lord no, let me go-” at this Jon scoffs, horrified as he tries to yank his arm away.

“Don’t make a scene,” the man says in a low and calming voice, though the leer on his face is clear to see. Jon feels terribly small. “You don’t want to disappoint the boss, do you?”

“Please,” he begs, all out of words. “Stop, please-”

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall? 

“I’m sorry?” George replies with a sneer, his voice raising in both pitch and volume and Jon is sure if people weren’t looking before, they’re looking now. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this, we were just leaving-”

“No,” Martin replies in that preternaturally calm voice, still smiling. “You weren’t. Now let him go, and we can forget this all happened, hm?” He puts a hand on the arm that’s holding Jon and there’s real strength behind it. George tries to wrench his arm away but Martin’s got it in a solid grip and he barely manages a wiggle.

“Let go of me now, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Martin sounds bored. It is mystifying and Jon can do nothing but gape at the man. “You don’t want a scene, do you? Not in front of the family. Not again. So smile, and walk away.” There is a moment where Jon thinks they will come to blows but it passes. George manages to turn his scowl into a neutral expression, saving some dignity though he throws one last glare Jon’s way. “Not even worth it,” he mutters as he walks away. Jon leans against the bar, releasing a breath he did not realize he’d been holding.

“A-Are you alright, Jon?” Martin has a hand on his elbow but it’s okay now because it’s Martin and it feels right. His face has that same look he gets when he asks Jon whether he wants a cup of tea, or how he’s feeling or if he’s eaten that day. Worried, gentle.

“W-What was that?” is all Jon manages to get out, his voice in an embarrassingly high-pitch. Tim and Sasha are now making their way over with schooled expressions, though Jon can see the worry in their eyes. “Did you know that man? I-I mean, what the hell?” Jon realizes he’s sputtering and tries to get a handle on his swirling emotions. “N-Not that I’m not grateful, but good lord. ‘Not again?’”

Martin laughs, suddenly bashful. “I just guessed with that one, honestly. He looks like the type that’s thrown a fit or two, doesn’t he?” Tim and Sasha reach them and Martin is himself again, hunched over like he’s taking up too much space. This is the Martin that tiptoes around the archives, that’s always smiling and chattering about his day. Jon has never contemplated the man in much detail, but he is finding it hard to reconcile this new side of him. It’s not necessarily unwelcome. 

“Alright there, boss?” Tim inquires, good-natured but anxious. “Was going to come over, pretend to be your boyfriend and all but Martin said that would be ‘demeaning’ or whatever.” Tim rolls his eyes at this.

“I don’t know, Martin seemed to diffuse the situation pretty well,” Sasha eyes him curiously. “What did you say?”

“N-Nothing, really-”

“He asked him to leave,” Jon says, finding his voice and unable to take his eyes off Martin. “And he left.”

“Damn, okay,” Tim gives an appreciative whistle before knocking back the rest of his drink. “Working that Mart-o magic, I guess. This party blows, let’s hit the bars. Night’s still young!”

Sasha cheers and Martin looks at him questioningly- he surprises himself by nodding in agreement. “Yeah, let’s go.” He studiously ignores Elias breaking off from his group of sycophants and heading their way. He watches as Martin straightens himself minutely, blocking Jon with his body as Tim ushers them out the door before they can get stopped by the man. Jon knows he will get a tongue-lashing out of this but he doesn’t care right now. He feels small in Martin’s shadow but it is a safe small, like a blanket wrapped around him on a chilly night.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asks as Tim and Sasha chatter ahead of them, arguing over their destination. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. I can take you home.”

I can take you home.

“I’m fine,” he says though he knows the situation hasn’t quite set in yet. “I’d rather not be alone, I-I think.” Martin nods and gives him a smile. It is almost charming, and Jon returns it. He doesn’t really want another drink but he needs a distraction, any distraction.

The night is cold and Martin is close, big and safe and warm. And if Jon leans into his side when they finally agree on a bar, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856373

[cake-writes]

making the beast beautiful (one)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (cheating); Steve x Reader (married)

Story Warnings: Mental Illness, Borderline Personality Disorder, Splitting, Clinical Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Anxiety, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Low Self-Esteem, Cheating, Angst, Drug Addiction / Abuse (Cigarettes, later Alcohol & Pills), Recovery, idk it’s gonna get depressing but we’ll have a happy ending!!!, Eventual Smut, 18+

Summary: Bucky knows the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. He understands. He can relate, because he knows. And some days, he still struggles – even told you once how low he’s been. But Steve? Your sweet, loving husband of a year and a half? No, Steve doesn’t understand. He can’t, no matter how hard he tries. So one day, you finally give up and give in to your most self-destructive temptation of all: your preoccupation with his best friend.

A/N: i know this is another wip SORRY but it’s literal word vomit because ya girl just really needed to yeet these sad bitch feels into outer space lmao 🤷 

Your addiction to him starts slow, like the creep of nicotine through your veins from the cigarettes that he offers you on the rooftop.

Not often enough to do any damage, you try to tell yourself about your smoking habit – or maybe what you actually mean is the amount of time you spend with him. Bucky Barnes. Your husband’s best friend. Your former teammate. Not that it matters, because from one night to the next it’s all you can do to cling to the one good thing you have left, the one ray of light– or maybe he’s the one last shred of hope you’re willing to bind yourself to like a lifeline.

And if it snaps, you’ll fall. 

Too bad the threads are already starting to fray.

And lucky, lucky you that you fall even sooner, because your reality has shifted to one shade off from normal, and you can hardly tell what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. You want to prioritize yourself because you know you should – maybe be a little selfish for once, to combat the awful feelings of self-hate that plague your mind, but you don’t know if that particular affirmation is driven by self-esteem or self-destruction.

You can’t tell anymore. You don’t know who you are.

You’re a mystery, a chameleon, borderline, and the only thing you do know is that Bucky makes you feel again – too much. He makes you feel things you shouldn’t, makes you obsess and overthink and daydream and wonder about what life could be like with him instead of Steve.

Because that’s what you do when you fall in love. You turn into that. A monster. A beast. A siren hell-bent on the destruction of yourself.

So, you fall. You fall deep. You fall hard. You fall fast, but it’s the savouring of the moment that always brings out the worst in you. It brings back the worst part of you that you’ve buried under layers and layers of trauma and depression – the clinginess and neediness and desperation at the center of it all, and every layer covering up the euphoria makes you cry because you have to hide it for fear of losing yourself all over again. Losing that feeling. Losing what makes you you.

You’re happy, now. Right? So why do things you shouldn’t do?

But you just can’t help yourself.

You shouldn’t have accepted that first cigarette.

You shouldn’t have texted him asking for another.

You shouldn’t have talked to him about personal things meant for your husband.

You shouldn’t have talked to him about the most personal of things: your husband. Your relationship. Your insecurities because of your illness.

You shouldn’t have – because Bucky knows. He understands. He’s been there.

He knows the struggle, the pain, the emptiness. He understands. He can relate, because he knows. He’s been there. He’s done that. And some days, he still struggles – even told you, once, how low he’s been. 

He might have a different slew of acronyms to define his own mental state, but they all spell out the same thing: FUBAR. And so do yours.

But Steve? Your sweet, loving husband of a year and a half? The man of your dreams, the one you’d married in the gown of your dreams, in the venue of your dreams? He’s resilient. And let’s not forget your wedding, with Bucky standing right there as his best man – the same Bucky who accidentally caught the bouquet you threw in his direction, because your aim was purposefully off to make him feel like he belonged for once.

Even before you got to know him, you always had a soft spot for him. 

And now? You’re fucked. Completely and utterly smitten.

No, Steve doesn’t understand. He absolutely, fundamentally cannot, through and through. Not for a lack of trying, though, or that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself. He supports you physically: makes dinner when you’re ‘tired’, runs errands when you’re ‘busy’, gives you love and affection just like he always has. You’re his wife; it’s his obligation. He has to.

That’s how you feel, anyway.

He treats you that way out of duty, not love, because Steve always has to put the greater good before himself. He puts your happiness before his own, you think. And he tries so hard – he does. And whenever he tells you he’s happy, you just can’t believe him because you think so poorly of yourself.

Why would anyone willingly want to be around you?

And emotionally? He tries so hard with that, too, but he just doesn’t know. He doesn’t get it. He never says the right things, only well-meaning insensitive ones because he hasn’t been there, he hasn’t done that, and he thinks it’s all in your head – that you’re just not trying hard enough, that you just don’t want to get better badly enough, because if you did then you’d be up and at ‘em already. Then you’d be healed. Then you’d be out of this funk and back in the field with him.

You’re not.

You won’t be for a long time.

You’re not the same girl he fell in love with. Not that he’s ever said that directly to you, but sometimes you think it’s how he feels. He signed up for a wife, not a child. He signed up for the you from a few years ago, now, not the shell of a person you’ve become because of your illness.

Ironic, considering what he was like as a kid, Bucky likes to remind you when you start to hate on yourself because of how you’ve changed – because you’re not normal anymore. He used to be so sick all the time. Then the serum made him right as rain. Don’t take it to heart.

Steve got better because of a miracle. Hard work and determination can only get a person so far, but it was pure luck that got him to the serum. You know that. Bucky knows that. Steve probably knows that deep down, too, but he doesn’t see it that way. All he sees is his hard work.

He lies to himself. He always has.

He probably lies to himself about his love for you, too.

So it’s hard to believe he’s happy. How can he be? You don’t bring anything to your relationship but self-pity and unhappiness. And how can you not take it to heart that Steve doesn’t understand? Your husband, the one who should be supporting you and validating you and making you feel like you’re seen, thinks you’re always throwing a pity party for yourself, thinks you’re just too lazy to get up and actually do the things you want to do, thinks you’re just not trying hard enough.

Come on, doll, he says. Let’s go for a walk.

To you it just sounds like, Walk it off.

Because he’s said that before, too. A hundred times. In the field, and out.

You’re not an agent anymore. You can’t handle it anymore. You can’t handle anything anymore.

Deep down, you’re convinced that Steve thinks because it’s not physical – that because there are no scrapes or bruises or broken bones to prove that you’re in pain – that your depression isn’t real. Not really. It’s an illness, same as any other, and he just doesn’t understand it because he can’t see any physical evidence of it.

Never mind the weight you’ve lost.

Never mind the bags under your eyes.

Never mind the crying spells, the dissociation – but then, you hide those from him the best you can these days. You don’t want him to see how bad you are anymore, because he just doesn’t get it. Because it hurts so much every time for him to look at you with those soft, confused baby blues and act like it’s not a big deal, like a little bit of sunshine’s a cure-all for your woes.

Ironic is right. The boy’s been to war and he hasn’t even processed his own trauma. Hasn’t even been to a shrink despite having two best friends poking and prodding for him to go. He’s in denial.

He refuses to believe that you just couldn’t get to the laundry today because you’re too exhausted from lying in bed all day. He refuses to believe that you couldn’t eat a bite because you didn’t even think to, too busy caught up in your own pain to remember, let alone care. He refuses to believe that you don’t even feel like you deserve to do anything good for yourself, so why even get up? Why bother? Why try to do anything anymore?

Just let the darkness take you away. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. And then, maybe one day you won’t have to feel anything anymore. Maybe you’ll just disappear.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

He refuses to get it, and some part of you feels like it’s because he doesn’t want to. Because he’s afraid to acknowledge that it’s true. That if he starts therapy like you did, then this could just as easily happen to him, too.

But hey, that’s his problem, not yours. You’re still learning to prioritize yourself – to break away from co-dependency and focus on your own needs for once. You’re barely keeping your head above water; why should you have to work on him, too, when he doesn’t offer you the same consideration? You’ve done what you can, and he just turns a blind eye because he doesn’t want to understand your issues. Or his.

So, you’ve given up.

You plaster on a happy face when he’s home – a painful, never-ending reminder that you’re not okay, and you keep your troubles to yourself. You’ve stopped sharing your struggles with the man you married because he doesn’t understand, and it hurts. You try so hard to act like nothing’s wrong that sometimes you dissociate, and you don’t come back to yourself until you have a cigarette hanging between your lips, lit by a Zippo engraved with a clever, If you want to make love, smile when you hand this lighter back.

Seeing the joke on Bucky’s lighter always brings you back, because it’s ridiculous. It’s a throwback to his army days; Steve found it awhile back with Bucky’s old personal effects. Makes you wonder what he must have been like back then.

Cigarette smoke and leather and sandalwood in the dead of night – and you always make a point to smile when you hand it back to him.

Temptation incarnate, now. What a dream he would have been back then.

Sometimes you text him when you and Steve have had another fight.

Sometimes he texts you when he needs you to ground him.

Sometimes the two of you just text each other for the hell of it. It’s usually related to someone’s mental health, usually yours, but occasionally not; after all, over the last few months he’s become your partner in misery and crime. The two of you have shared things to each other that you’ve never told another person, not even Steve; and in some ways, you feel like you’ve bared your soul to him.

It’s intimate.

In other ways, you’ve kept your guard up because you know you’re playing with fire.

It’s wrong.

You know you should really tell Steve about your midnight conversations – that you probably know his best friend almost as well as he does, now, but Bucky’s become a guilty sort of pleasure that you keep near and dear to your heart. He makes you feel things that you haven’t felt in a long time, but you’re not ready to acknowledge what that means. Not yet.

And neither is Bucky, evidently, because Steve’s still none the wiser.

Eight months of this and you still want more.

Your husband trusts you. He never asks who you’re texting or what you’re up to. You’ve given him no reason to believe otherwise. He feels safe and secure in your relationship, but maybe he’s turning a blind eye to that, too.

He shouldn’t. 

You wish he didn’t.

Some small part of you wants him to catch you, and that’s what you resent the most. You’re self-destructive – ready to destroy the one good, stable thing in your life in favour of an impossibility, but you can’t deny that Bucky gives your brain the dopamine it needs, it craves, it lacks.

He’s been gone on a mission the last week and a half, but you saw the Quinjet fly in the hangar earlier in the evening, around six, and you’ve been keen to text him since. You’ve held back for a little while, not wanting to appear to eager to message him – so you’re certainly not too proud of how quickly your resolve cracks.

You, 10:33pm Please don’t tell me you came home with Lucky Strikes again.

Bucky, 10:41pm Sorry, princess. Didn’t realize I was seeing royalty tonight.

And then he sends through a photo of a slightly crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes in his hand – an invitation to come to the rooftop. Judging by the setting, he’s already there.

Despite his choice in a particularly harsh smoke, you’re more focused on the pet name that has your face burning hot. It’s something he’s started to tack on recently – ‘princess’ being most common, particularly when he’s teasing you about being spoiled in some way, but when he slips it in during a real conversation is what really makes your heart pound.

You know you should tell him to stop. You know you should, but, you don’t.

You like how it feels to feel for once.

You’re married. It’s wrong. You need to stop, but you just can’t help yourself. You’re lonely.

Steve’s still away on a mission, which doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to – you hope he returns safely, of course you do, but you don’t really miss him. Not like you should. That’s happened more often than not as of late, and you can feel your attention shifting the longer you keep up this dangerous game with his best friend.

If it even is a game, that is. It’s probably not. How could he possibly be attracted to you? You’re depressed. You’re boring. And, to top it all off, you’re his best friend’s wife.

Of course you’re the only participant. Bucky’s just humouring you. That’s all.

And now, as you swipe on some deodorant and attempt to make something out of the rat’s nest that is your hair, you feel a particularly awful level of disdain for yourself. The self-loathing pairs nicely with your poor appearance; you haven’t slept well in days, and you’ve barely eaten in just as long.

It’s only when Steve is here keeping you on a regular schedule that you do. Otherwise it’s a free for all anymore.

Bucky never seems to mind – just encourages you to go do what needs to be done when the conversation’s over. And somehow, you listen. 

Sometimes he texts to ask if you’re doing okay while he’s away on a mission, too – and you always lie, because he can’t prove otherwise. He sends you a couple reminders anyway, because he just knows. He understands that you’d rather not burden him with the truth.

And then, when he comes back, he calls you out on your lie. He calls you out and reminds you how valuable you are – to Steve, mostly, and to the team. You’re irreplaceable. You’re needed.

He never says how important you are to him, but you always wish he would.

It’s stupid. It’s wrong.

You’re married.

Tonight will be no different. Despite your negative beliefs about yourself, he’ll tell you otherwise, but you won’t believe him. You never do, even though you desperately want to.

You’re a mess, so a beanie it is. You pull it over your tangled hair and somehow get your bangs looking presentable, at least; then you give your clothes the sniff test, spritz a little body spray just in case, and head out the door. You had a shower yesterday because even you couldn’t stand it anymore. 

That’ll do.

Fingers tap anxiously at your feed in the quiet elevator. There’s some mild jazz playing, just like usual, but your heart pounds inside your chest – only brings more attention to your nerves.

Bucky hasn’t been gone long, but you’ve missed him.

It’s stupid. It’s wrong.

You’re married.

After exiting the elevator, a short flight of stairs takes you to the roof. Once you start to push, the fire exit door blows open of its own accord; it’s windy up here due to the change of seasons, not that you’ve even noticed it considering you haven’t been outside in over a week. The fresh air shoots straight through your hoodie and sweatpants, and you briskly rub your arms to warm up, immediately wishing you’d checked the temperature before you came outside, maybe grabbed a jacket. You hadn’t even thought of it. Your mind’s a mess.

Hadn’t thought of dinner, either. Or lunch.

That’s when a heavy leather jacket is deposited ungracefully on your shoulders, and you glance up behind you to find Bucky standing there, giving you the look. It’s the one that pre-empts the lecture. “That help?”

You nod, basking in the smell of him – sandalwood and spice. Ah. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He knows.

He can tell with just one look that you’ve been lying to him – that you haven’t been taking care of yourself like you said you were. But he doesn’t reprimand you this time, or offer you platitudes; the disapproving look is enough.

Slippers on your feet, you pad over to the two lawn chairs he set up awhile back near the edge of the eastern wing; it’s got a nice view of the landing pad, but beyond that is the lake, and the two of you have come up here long enough to catch the sunrise once or twice. It’s nice.

“Good mission?” you ask, shoving your hands into your pockets as you collapse into your chair. It’s made of a terrible green fabric, seated low enough to the ground to let you curl your knees to your chest and cry when you want to. And you do. A lot.

This time, however, you’ve got your legs extended far ahead of you. You don’t want to talk about yourself tonight. You want to focus on him.

A distraction. That’s all. That’s what you try to tell yourself.

The other chair, woven blue and white, is where Bucky comes to rest just like always. You suspect that it was the cheapest one in the store, because it creaks and groans and you always think it’s going to break when he sits in it, but it never does. It’s also taller than yours, so you call him old man every now and then for it because that’s just hilarious.

It’s not flirting. It’s not.

Not even when you’ve nearly fallen into his lap on more than one occasion thanks to drinking beforehand.

“Well,” he starts hesitantly, pausing to consider his answer, “I made it back.”

His tone is soft – distant. Not a good mission, then.

“I’m glad you made it back,” you offer, giving him what you hope is a hopeful smile. It feels fake, but the intention behind it is real.

He studies your face for a moment or two, before he averts his eyes. “You’re probably the only one. I had to do some things on the mission that I—” He cuts himself off, then, and pulls the pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket to fiddle with. A crutch. “I don’t like to use my strength when I don’t have to. Makes people nervous.”

He’s told you about it before. By ‘people’ he means ‘agents’. Other agents. The ones he was working with, no doubt. As if his arm isn’t reminder enough, sometimes if he doesn’t hold back – well, they start to treat him a little differently after that. It’s a reminder that he’s not fully human.

You can empathize. “It’s a little shocking at first,” you remind him gently, “but you do get used to it. I did. It just takes some time.”

Of course, you also married a super soldier, so there’s that. You can’t really gauge what’s ‘normal’ anymore.

That’s when he cracks open the pack  of cigarettes – half full, which means he must have been smoking on the mission, too, something he doesn’t usually do – and when he meets your eyes, the dark, anxious look there turns your stomach to knots.

“Are you?” he asks, voice low and laced with an emotion you just can’t place – or maybe you’re too afraid to acknowledge that you can, and very easily feel the same way. “I could break you in thirty ways before you could even tell me to stop.”

Your brain halts like a record scratch when the clear implication of his words sends a jolt straight to your core. Not just because it’s true, the threat, but because of the dangerous way he’s staring at you, coupled with the casual authority in his voice.

He could hurt you so easily, but you know he wouldn’t. Not you.

He could do other things, too – something a lot less violent and a lot more pleasurable – but you don’t let yourself consider that. You can’t. Even if it’s what he’s implying.

Is it what he’s implying?

You’re married. He knows that.

There’s a long pause while you try to gather your thoughts, until you finally manage as evenly as you can, “Are you trying to scare me?”

Your voice is still a little hoarse despite how much you willed it not to be. He did scare you a little – not that you’d ever admit it, because he excited you a hell of a lot more, and you hate that, too. But you love it even more.

Your question makes his shoulders slump, just slightly, just enough to let you know that that’s exactly what it was – that Bucky was lashing out, in his own way. That he’s the one who’s scared. That he’s trying to push you away.

Why?

“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you reassure him, because you aren’t. You could never be. Not like that. What you’re afraid of is so much worse than that – because it involves him and you, and you can’t make yourself stop wanting more of this. More of him. More of what he threatened to do to you – the underlying meaning you hope to god you’re not imagining, but you should never, ever want.

It’s wrong.

“You should be,” he responds, quiet, rolling the cigarette he’s half pulled out of the pack in between his fingers like he’s debating whether to light it, but he’s trying his hardest not to this time. “You shouldn’t be up here with me.”

The ball drops.

The truth that the two of you have been dancing around for months finally comes out, and you laugh – you laugh, because otherwise you’ll cry. “What are you talking about?”

“Darlin’, you’re—” he starts, and then lets out a frustrated sigh and shoves the cigarette right back in, shoves the pack shut too for good measure. Blue eyes burn into yours. “You know why.”

“We’re friends, Bucky,” you emphasize, lightly, but deep within your chest you can feel the anger, the anxiety start to burn and meld together into something entirely unrecognizable. It’s the tiniest ember now, but it won’t be if this keeps up. You know you’re married. You know that. You don’t need the reminder. “We’re just talking. What’s the problem?”

“Come on, sweetheart.” He’s calm, too calm, and it bothers you. “Don’t play dumb. You’re too smart for that.”

It’s just pretend. It’s not real. You’re happily married with Steve. You’re happy.

Right?

“That’s all it is,” you argue. “I’m married. You said so yourself. Steve and I are happily married.”

Saying it out loud is just another cold, brutal reminder that you aren’t. Just like the façade you’re forced to wear. 

“Yeah? You’re happy?” Bucky asks, pulling himself to his feet – and you suddenly realize how tall he is when he’s towering over you like this. You’re not scared, no, you love it. And that makes it worse, the way he makes your heart race like this. “Then there’s gotta be a reason why you haven’t told him about our little talks.”

Because they’re more than that. That’s the reason.

“Well, why haven’t you?” you shoot back, finally getting to your feet, too, feeling your face flush with anger. “You haven’t told him either. Why’s that, huh?”

Tense silence falls over the two of you as you glare at each other, the only light illuminating your features coming from the full moon. It’s a beautiful night, clear and chilly and bright, and you originally had hopes of maybe stargazing with him like you’ve done so many times before.

Not tonight.

He’s pushing you away. He wants to push you away. You know he is, it’s obvious – he tried one approach, and when that didn’t work, he went for the thing he knew would invoke a reaction. The thing that would hurt the most.

Steve. Your marriage. Your happiness, or lack thereof.

No matter how many times you try to tell that to the rational side of your brain, you just can’t handle it. It’s another rejection from someone you cared about – someone you felt yourself growing a potentially unhealthy attachment to – and he just had to hurt you like all the rest. He wanted to hurt you. He wanted to see you suffer.

You can’t stand him.

So you shrug off his jacket and shove it at him. “Take your fucking jacket,” you bite out. “You want me gone? Well, I’m going. Hope you’re happy.”

The way he takes it from you catches you off guard, blue eyes wide with hurt and surprise – but you don’t give him another second of your time. Instead you spin around on your heel and stomp your way back to the access door.

You’re not well enough for this. You’re depressed. You’re broken. You’re lonely.

And now, the only person who understands has thrown you away – discarded you like you’re nothing. Maybe because you are. You’re worthless.

Your fingertips just brush against the handle when you’re tugged back by the wrist, and then his arms are around you, his chest pressing into your back.

He’s warm.

It’s wrong.

But it feels right, and you hate how easily you melt into his touch, into the feeling of his lips at your ear.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispers, and you’re done for.

The heat from your anger warps into something else – something that burns you up in a different way, and you swallow thickly at the feeling of his arms so snug around your waist. “What do you want, then?”

It’s barely audible, your question -- but he hears it just fine. Soft lips drag from your ear to your pulse, and you shiver, lulling your head back onto his shoulder.

“You tell me,” Bucky breathes against your skin. “I need to know what you want.”

The two of you are playing a dangerous game, and the stakes are only getting higher. You both have a lot to lose, but you’re the one taking the higher risk. Not him.

“I want—” His teeth gently nip at your neck and you can’t help yourself. “I want you—”

And then your back is pressed into the closed door, cold metal biting through your sweats but you don’t even notice, too focused on the feeling of his lips on yours. They’re soft and ever-so-slightly chapped, and his stubble scratches just a little, pleasantly, just enough to hurt in the best way.

It’s hot, too hot, god, you can’t handle the heat of his body against yours—

“Bucky,” you gasp against his lips, sliding your arms around his neck, fingers carding through his hair to pull him closer. You can taste with the barest bite of mint from his gum, along with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke, and you realize—

He must have been up here for awhile.

Overthinking. Wondering what to do. Lost in thoughts of you, perhaps.

The idea of it sends a rush of delirium through you, and you open your mouth just enough to let his tongue explore – or dominate, which you soon find you like very much when Bucky does it to you. His flesh hand cups the side of your face as he kisses the breath out of you, and his vibranium one snugly presses into your lower back – purposely, you soon find, because suddenly your knees go weak and your arms tighten around his neck to catch yourself from falling.

A breathy laugh escapes you. “Oh, wow. That’s never happened before.”

“First time for everything,” he teases, kissing your forehead as he steadies you back on both feet – and it’s then that the realness of the situation seems to sink in.

You’ve just cheated on your husband.

He’s just kissed his best friend’s wife.

There’s a prolonged silence as the two of you look at each other, watching, wondering, waiting, and then—

“We have to tell him,” you say, a little uneasily. “Just… not yet. Figure this out first.”

You can feel the desperation to see where this leads, no matter what a bad idea it is.

Bucky swallows. It’s clear that the prospect of lying to Steve bothers Bucky just as much as it bothers you, but you know he feels that same desperation when he suggests, “And if it turns out to be nothing, then…”

“Yeah. No harm, no foul.”

You won’t tell him. Because if it’s nothing, then it’s not worth worrying about. 

Even if it’s wrong.

Right?

two

and a moodboard I made because why not