#between women artist and the woman gaze

[vexx-the-egg]

.

[skyrigel]

Can you write an image in which Benedict is obsessed with Y/N and is always looking for reasons to touch her. However, Y/N knows that when it comes to women, Benedict quickly gets what he wants... sex. She keeps him waiting and doesn’t sleep with him until the wedding day.

Obsessed with you | I

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x afab!reader

Synopsis: Ton's most eligible bachelor is obsessed with the mystery lady in silver, and would do anything to have her

Warning: Reader's mother has issues, scandalous family, last name Rose for convience, Benedict being a smug bastard, some regency class differences, cute Polin, cute kathony, minor non-con touching, smoking cigar, lots of teasing and ofcourse obsessive and possession behaviour. Might be toxic! Benedict but please he's a cutie.

Dearest gentle readers,

While for sure we have seen former Rake now Kate's beloved whipped husband, and Colin bridgerton who is so smitten with his dearest wife that it will not come forward a surprise if he hasn't set foot out in all these days, but Benedict bridgerton is neither whipped nor smitten, he is, as the poets would whisper, obsessed. It will be amusing to know who this mystery lady is, with her dazzling silver gown and piercing eyes, sharp enough as she carved the gentleman's heart out.

Benedict was a man for art and muse so forgive him if he got so obsessed with you, the real question was, how could he not ? You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, clad in your most dazzling blue dress that he wanted nothing but to take off.

" She exaggerates." Anthony pouted, he shouldn't know that he had but he's been pouting a lot lately, it's called 'kateffect'

" No, you've been domesticated brother, just admit it, Kate has tamed you." Colin peppered, sprawling down next to Anthony who greeted him with the most glaring glare.

" Like you're any better." Anthony smirked, setting his gaze on Benedict who read the index again.

" Penelope doesn't know her name ? " Benedict worried his jaw, looking between his brothers.

" I take that back, Penelope didn't exaggerate, you're really very much obsessed." Anthony remarked, Colin nodded.

" Oi, she would've known your mystery lady's full name and history but—"

" Don't complete that, I'll duel you."

" In the middle of a ball ? " Benedict laughed, eyes amused, Colin turned a crimson red.

" Rather tempting—"

" Oi! " Anthony raised his brow, his mouth curving in disdain, as Colin staggered away, leaving Anthony praying to lord behind like he was any better.

" Oh dear." Benedict smiled when once alone, thumb caressing the index, as if it was the mystery lady in silver blue gown, accused of taking away the gentleman's heart.

" Who are you ? " He whispered.

_

" Ma'am, would you like something else ? " Mrs. Turner asked once you were seated on your dressing, playing with several glassy bottles with colourful scenty substances.

" In yesterday's masquerade ball, I was dancing with a Bridgerton—" Mrs. Turner tutted softly," He's Benedict bridgerton, i assume."

" Yes, indeed, the only bachelor bridgerton boy of age." Mrs. Turner pulled the corset strings and you gasped, feeling your internals squeeze in the process.

You smiled, thinking about the way Benedict looked at you, all stars in his eyes.

" I..it is not my place miss but as your well wisher, i would say.." she worried her jaw.

" It's okay Mrs. Turner, you should speak your mind." You assured her, feeling her fingers stop at your back as she looked at your reflection in the mirror.

" Benedict bridgerton's a rake, unlike any other gentleman... he's known to engage women with class and wits...artists, musicians, and other dimplomacy that are odd amongst our sex."

" Oh." You nodded, feeling stupid enough to think those were meant for you, like they were of real affection.

" I wouldn't want you any harm, after your father's death and your inheritance affairs, you couldn't afford another scandal, for a good match—"

" My virtue should stay intact ? " You raised your chin, examining the stain of rose on your lips.

" Your sister was a good girl madam, so are you." Mrs. Turner smiled, her eyes crinkling with deepest concerns.

-

Benedict's eyes were searching for you everywhere, he has been waiting for you since so long. Despite anxious mamas forcing introductions and dances, he was looking only for you.

" Miss Rose." Benedict turned to see his sister in law, smiling a smirk, followed by her husband in tow.

" You wound me Pen, it's Benedict bridgerton! " He laughed, much to Colin's dismay.

" Oh well your mystery lady is Miss Rose, daughter of late Duke of Blair field and lady bloom." Colin was one step away from clapping.

" Wow." Benedict's mouth curved in a delightful 'o'.

" Oh well they are rather scandalous, her sister was rumoured to be not a virgin which deceased all of her prospects of marriages, her mother is rather protective of her."

" Pen, did I tell you how you're my favourite sister ? " Benedict perked his gaze towards the entrance, hoping for you to bless him.

" Don't let Eloise hear that." Colin said, outstretching his arm that Penelope held as they swirled between the crowd, laughing.

_

" You shall not be unchaperoned." Your mother had a faraway look in her eyes, her hand was trembling and you surged the desire to just hold it.

" I understand, mama." You bowed your head once, trying to forget the trembling of her hands.

" Don't engage in gossips dearest, better keep to yourself and..." She forgot what she was saying, her lips trembling along, you looked at Mrs. Turner with a pleading gaze.

" Ma'am, we must make haste." She simply said, your mother spared a glance to you, her mouth tightening around the corners.

" You look beautiful child." She looked away, you pretended not to see the tear that glistented down her cheek.

After securing yourself in the carriage, with your dress squeezing the life out you, you finally breathed.

" I envy Gissele." You said softly, caressing the uneven glittering fake diamonds.

" She would say the same." Mary mumbled, she was Mrs. Turner's daughter who rather got scolded every often for being too blunt. You liked her alot.

" Oh wouldn't it be so wonderful to just lay in bed, reading a book and wearing simple soft dresses." You perked up at the idea of a life like that, a simple homely cottage, filled with warmth and sweetness and books.

" But the society has it's own fun, look at you, pretty dresses, pretty shoes, and all those prince charming lords." Mary took your fan and mimicked the motion, you smiled.

" Well you could always borrow a dress, have some fun." Your eyes glinted, Mary shaked her head.

" C'mon." You grabbed her wrist, shaking them, up and down profusely.

" No, mama will kill me ! "

" But the fun ?! No one would know, they haven't seen me, they don't know me."

" Well i can't pretend to be you, what would happen if somebody caught us."

" Don't then, be yourself ! Mary Turner."

" Sounds like a bad idea." Mary said, her smile deceived her.

" Lord Turner of Riverdales, be their relative, no one hardly pays attention."

" Whistledown does." Mary narrowed her eyes, you looked out to make sure you haven't yet reached.

" Well she called me a mystery woman who apparantly took a gentleman's heart."

" Oh Mr. Bridgerton's a known gentleman." You scoffed at that, Mary's brow knitted together as she studied you.

" What ? He's a rake." You brushed the tingling away, feeling the way Benedict's gaze lingered on you, the way he twirled you around like you were the only real thing, the way he flushed and stumbled through his words, attempting to know absolutely anything about you.

" I highly doubt that, never heard anything about him."

" Presumably he has a longing for accomplised women." You finger quoted it with a scowl that was too unladylike, Mary bursted into fits of giggles.

" What ? " You poked her, she shaked with her guffaw, chortling in her way.

" You fancy him." She said, chuckling the ' him' away, you frowned deeply, heart leaping at the ton that was gathered outside lady Danbury's exquisite ball.

" Utter rubbish. Do you still want to have fun ? " You asked, Mary smiled.

_

Benedict gaze perked up when you and Mary stumbled through the ball, Mary was almost shaking and you were sure her clothes didn't fit much to you, you felt your back prickling with burning gaze and you turned.

" Told you he's a rake. Don't be friendly to him." You whispered to Mary who was about to run when Benedict dropped his conversation with lord White, swaggering towards you.

" What if he recognises you ? " She mumbled and your lower lip trembled, but that's not possible, your mask obscured your whole face except your lips and eyes and certainly he hadn't painted you in his mind, afterall he shouldn't be that obsessed.

" My lady." He bowed, his gaze locking in yours as he kissed the hand Mary very reluctantly gave him, he was amused when Mary mumbled a hasty greeting, her manners mimicked.

" You look exquisite, more than the ball itself." He was clearly flattered when Mary blinked hard, looking at you for help.

You rolled your eyes when Benedict too, looked at you with a similar pleading as Mary.

" Forgive me my lord, my lady is tired—"

" We haven't been introduced i remember, Benedict bridgerton." He grinned, he actually freaking grinned as Mary glanced at you with the corner of her eye.

" Lady Mariam Turner." She blurted it quickly, looking at you for approval, " A pleasure." Mary smiled, you nodded.

" Forgive me Mr. Bridgerton." You cleared your throat, Benedict's gaze penetrated through you, he was setting you on fire and you couldn't do anything but to burn.

" My lady is tired, you must excuse us." You felt your throat dry, your whole body withering when Benedict narrowed his eyes, lingering specifically on your lips and treading down slowly.

" Indeed, I must not keep you." He cocked his head to Mary, humming along as you strode past him. You were sure he only whispered the ' not ' out of curtsy.

_

" That was bloody brilliant ! " You giggled while Mary shaked her head, clutching her bossom. Your footsteps echoing in the abandoned corridor, stiffling back your giggles.

" That was bloody scary and I can't breathe." Mary heaved, her breath easing when you patted her back.

" Lady Mariam Turner." You teased, bumping your hip as Mary looked at you, gasping scandalously.

" Shut up. I almost died." Mary pulled her dress that sticked to her skin, trying to fan in some air.

" Do you think he recognised me ? " Your cheeks blazed at the heat of the memory of him, his teasing glances and amused smiles.

" I...I think it was rather amusing that we were messing up, did you see how I trembled? " Mary shaked her hand, as you laughed at the display.

" No, my lady." You said, once your giggles subsided, " You were exquisite."

Mary wacked your arm, her smile unable to hide through the twitch of her lips.

" So, shall we go home ? "

" Would you mind waiting in the carriage ? "

" Don't tell me—" Mary glared, you pouted with puppy eyes.

" Please, you know it's my only way."

" Smoking is bad." Mary declared, " and for men." She added grimly, you nodded along, grabbing her wrist.

" Please, please, please."

" Only if you give back my clothes, i miss them." She touched the soft cotton of her clothes that you were wearing, you perked up eagerly.

_

You took joy at the puffs of smoke that ridiculed the air, the night chill freezing it into clouds of silvery mist.

Mary was dozing off in the carriage until it was time to go home, so early arrival doesn't raise any questions and your mother fast asleep, her trembling lipped questions saved for the next day.

" I thought your lady was tired." You almost dropped your cigar, jumping up the swing as it creaked at sudden outburst.

" Don't drop it, i don't have any with me." His smile was too big and smug for his face, his nonchalance dripped as he took the swing opposite of you. You stared, for some reason cigar still burning in intricate yellow blazing circles, dropping to ashes.

" Forgive me my lord—" you just remembered you were no longer in Mary's clothes.

" That's the only line you grasped so far ? " Benedict leaned on his swing, catching your wrist as he dragged you to sit.

You sat down with a thud, swing jiggling with your weight as you processed his smile.

" I..." You stammered, flushing in heat as he inhaled you in, you were back in your clothes, the one you were supposed to wear. And Mary was right, you couldn't breathe.

" I would say you look beautiful, in everything, in anything..or—" in nothing.

" I should leave." You throat itched.

" Stay." He was soft, almost a whine, a plead.

" Please don't tell anyone." You tried your best persuading smile, it worked on Gissele all the time, your lips pouting and eyes shining with stars.

Benedict's mouth curved in a smile, he clicked his tongue as he attempted to speak but he found he couldn't. A pause, then—

" You love tormenting me, don't you ? " Benedict took the burning cigar from you, locking your eyes with his own as he brought it to his mouth, a sound escaped him as his lips curved around the warmness that belonged to you, he inhaled deeply.

" I don't know what you're talking about." You tore away you eyes from the erotic display of smoking, he hummed in a dry scoff.

" Ofcourse, you wouldn't." He offered the Cigar back, every word coated with sarcasm.

The breeze was so cold that you shivered, moon hanging low in the night sky and every star stared back, Sirius, Rigel, and all of them.

" I never meant to offend you." You took the cigar back, his fingers brushed, a electrifying wave rippling inside you, like the way he held your hand and danced with you in the masquerade ball.

You noticed his flexing but said nothing, heart beating too fast to be sane and alive.

" Miss Rose—" you gasped, how could he know your name, "—have you ever been kissed ? "

" I...Benedict..lord." you clamped your mouth shut, lips suddenly struck by a bolt as they buzzed.

He leaned as you felt your back touching the rope of swing, his face too close... would he kiss you ? Would it be as electrifying as the rest of his touches ? Would you survive it or simply burn like a pheonix ?

" It's okay, we would alot when we get married. " He took away the cigar and dropped it as it was so close to burn your skin, smiling all the while. Was that a proposal ?

" Go home, it's getting cold, Mrs-yet-to-be bridgerton." And he pressed his lips against your forehead, his smile caressing your heart.

Rigel's note 🪩: while I loved this idea especially the hilarious ' Benedict gets what he wants....sex ' but I needed to base it, so it doesn't come as pervy and non con as it might, to make it comfortable enough to write on my part, I have tried to break it into parts, this part is generally meet up and getting obsession with y/n ( no use in fic ) and other will be courting and marriage bliss. Gif not mine.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU (ch.4)

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| you're here! AO3 Word count: 3469 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig Warnings for this chapter: Dub-con oral sex(f!receiving), outdated views regarding sex

— Now, dear princess, your husband will expect certain…qualities of his wife. Please, you must listen to this as closely as possible if we want to avoid…traumas. 

You pout, eating the apple that was provided to you by a group of servants who looked way too scared to be appointed to a princess. If Her Highness saw this, she would order them whipped – a servant shall never look unhappy in front of their patron, as not to invoke nasty feelings of sadness, misery, and empathy in the royal rulers. Princess made you smile and laugh through hours of her extensive, albeit a bit improvised and amateur, singing. You were to hold her hair while she was doing it, listening to the melodies of desire to escape the castle. 

The servants in front of you were sent by the Emperor – König, to…teach you something. You were not too interested in his, way too invested in weird fruits from foreign countries that they provided – still, you are too well-mannered to ignore them. 

— Traumas? Is his Emperor’s Illustrosicy going to torture me? 

Servants look over at each other, nervous. You tilt your head to the side, trying to see if you can decipher their gazes – but you see nothing but sympathy. Sad, miserable kind. Your blood runs cold as you get another bite of that apple. 

— You’re as innocent as Emperor said, your Majesty. 

You weren’t, in reality – you’re a liar, a traitor to your nation, the only one of the servants who was too scared to die alongside the royal family and performed that foolish gamble in order for a chance to save your hide. Such silly things like an untouchable hymen between your legs or lack of knowledge of intimacy, saved for a few books, are nothing compared to the life you are saving in your mind, There is nothing innocent about you or your actions. 

— W…well, you see…you are of child-bearing age. 

That was up for discussion. You might be an adult by all standards, a bit too ripe even, too sheltered for the age in which young men are already taking their family’s businesses and women are giving birth to their second and third children, but it doesn’t mean you want to bear someone’s kid. Definitely not conceive from a man who destroyed your future. 

— I won’t do it. 

You act like a princess would – bratty and pouty, all the new dresses and the room they place you in acting like a perpetuar of your ego. 

— My Lady, this isn’t up for discussion. Please, we need to…we need to teach you how to do it, in order to prevent…accidents. 

— What accidents? 

The other servant, an older lady with tired eyes and snappy gestures, took out a pile of drawings from the bag she was holding. Quite a lot of drawings. Quite detailed drawings. Quite nasty drawings. 

Quite…bloody drawings. 

Gods, is this what a woman must endure during lovemaking? Is this even lovemaking, or is this a dissection straight from the medical book? The drawings are lewd and horrifying – whoever was the artist, they didn’t spare the details of the act. Pain, blood, torn flesh…god, if they wanted you to learn how to take your husband properly, they did a horrible job – now you don’t ever want to see him again. Not without armor plates protecting…that thing. 

— I w…won’t do it. Behead me this instant.

Your voice is weak, horrified. Servants look equally scared. 

— Your Majesty, you must know that it’s just…the worst outcome. If you listen to your lessons and relax, you will escape such a fate. 

— How could a living being relax while they are being impaled on a spear?!

— With certain balms and extracts, such fate can be escaped. 

— How can a balm prevent this?! Too angry to ever listen to the servants, you drip the drawings from your hands, along with a half-eaten apple. Un-ladylike, but you need to preserve your life – and your dignity – before they would show you even more horrifying things that would never let you sleep again. Tugging on the heaviness of your skirt, you ran to the nearest hallway as soon as possible. 

The emperor’s palace is disgustingly big and dark – you’d say it was magnificent in that scary, gothic style, but you don’t have the time to think about all the artistic choices that the architects made by installing so many dark hallways in a place that suppose to protect Emperor from possible assassins. Still, you drop to the nearest dark corner, hoping that no one will follow you. 

With a calm sigh, you brush the dust from your skirts. God, you had to bring that apple with you – it was delicious. 

— I never heard anyone calling my cock  a spear before, Liebling. You’re full of surprises. 

Big, gloved hands are enveloping your waist, putting you in the hug you didn’t want. This embrace is all too familiar and too terrifying – you forget that this castle serves the only true owner, and your desire to escape will never be considered an option. Like a rabbit in the wolf’s mouth, you freeze. The worst company you could expect after such a horrifying lesson – your only hope is that, like men from the novels you and Princess were reading sometimes, The Emperor was into his comrades more than he would be into you. 

His warm hands, pulling you into a tight hug against his body, however, make you think otherwise. 

— Let go of me! Pl…please. 

You plead because the drawings installed a new fear into your body. You're not afraid of death – if anything, you wish for it. However, the fait of constant pain and suffering which each nightly visit makes you more terrified than any death sentence would. 

König only laughs, holding you as close to him as possible. A warm hand grazes over your stomach, making you shiver from anticipation. You don’t know what he is thinking about – you also don’t want to. 

— Why would I let go of my precious wife? 

— I’m not your wife yet. 

— And won’t be for quite a while, considering the lessons my servants taught you? 

Blood drains from your face. Even the slightest reminder makes you whimper – like a puppy without its mother, you let go of a pathetic little sound, and your face finds comfort in the armor plates that Knog wears even in many of his castles. Cold metal makes you slightly calmer, and you can force the dreams of touching his chest instead of deep in your mind. Bane to all the lewdness, as you saw the amount of blood it would drain from your body. 

— I will never succumb to such fate. 

— I promise it won’t be that bad. I can whip my servants for installing fear in you if you want to, little princess. 

No matter how scared they made you feel, you will never bestow such fate on any of the servants – you, perhaps, the only one who knows how hard and horrible work as a lady in waiting might be. You might not be the perfect princess, but you certainly aren’t a cruel one. 

— No. They…they shall not be harmed, Your Majesty. 

He chuckles, pushing a hand on your face. A few tears fall down your cheeks – he drains them with his gloved finger, making you whimper only more. God, you look divine like this – eyes are glistening with tears, the face is hot from fear and embarrassment, the mouth is open with a sweet little pout…it takes every last inch of his self-control not to simply pick you up and bring you to his bedroom before you could say anything. 

— You’re kind for a princess. 

There is suspicion in his voice – but you quickly try to brush it away by forcing yourself out of his embrace. Unfortunately, he only holds you tighter, making you bury your face in his armor again. To be honest, it’s not the worst place to be. 

— Shouldn’t you be in the courtroom? 

— I ran. Never liked to greet new people. 

You almost choke on your breath. Is he serious?! His face betrays his emotions – despite how confident his mask is, you can see that his eyes are colder than usual. More nervous than usual. His hands are shaking, if only for a little bit, holding you tight, as you can simply escape through his fingers like sand. You’d love to have such powers. 

— I thought the Emperor had responded. 

— I do. And an army of men to do these responsibilities for me. 

— You’re hiding from my country’s Ambassadors? 

— Collaborators and traitors of your people, yes. The only ambassador I care about is in my hands. 

With this, he quickly pushes you up in his hands, forcing you to sit on the cold stone ledge. The new dress design makes it possible to manipulate and move the skirt as he pleases – you hate this new fashion because it makes it ridiculously easy for König to simply push your skirt upwards, revealing your legs and your dignity, concealed by only a pair of short, frilly white underpants with so many bows and ribbons, it feels obscene. 

You try to kick him in the face, but he catches your ankle before you can do anything. He was a horrible, terrible man – totally unfit for the ruler of half of the world, you have no idea how a man this villainous could still be held in high regard for his people. This place is just as barbaric as their ruler, you presume – no dignity or sense of taste as König holds your skirt up, tearing apart the delicate fabric. God, it probably cost a fortune! 

Emerald green fabric lays like green ocean waves under your legs. You must admit, even the cold of the inner parts of the palace does not make you feel uncomfortable – if anything, this moment of exposure of your legs makes you feel a bit more comfortable and fresh. The light breeze caresses your legs, and you almost want to close your eyes and just enjoy wearing clothes without the stuffiness of the full gown. 

With your corset, torn skirt, and underpants, you almost feel like you’re wearing pants – an obscene picture, you assume, a lady should never show her ankles to anyone but her husband…and you would do everything to stop him from being marked as one. Still, König places his large imposing body between your legs, and you panic immediately – is this monster terrible enough to show you what those illustrations meant, not even in the comfort of a marriage bed, but in the coldness of the stone hallway? You close your eyes, kicking him to your heart’s content – and he is laughing every time you’re trying to resist, only catching both of your ankles in his grip and forcing them open. God, this is the end. Torture that you never wanted to experience will be bestowed upon you right about…

His tongue goes to rub you through the rough fabric of your underpants. Dispute all the layers of expensive material, your maidenhood feels like it had been set on fire. 

You are suddenly aware of the silly things you have between your legs. You can feel them too well right now – every second of movement of his tongue against sensitive flesh makes your legs kick him less and less. Your nails are trying to dig into the stone of a small ledge you were sitting on – but you can’t do anything to stop this sweet torture he is perpetuating. You want for everything to stop this instant, and you want for him to finally take off your undergarments. 

— Wh…wha…what are you doing?! You don’t scream as loud as you can, only because you know that the maids are nearby and you don’t want to be making a scene. Putting the emperor back in his place and revealing him as a pervert would be nice, of course – but it wasn’t as nice as having your dignity saved. You bite your lips, feeble attempts to save at least parts of yourself – still, you feel like you’re being boiled alive by his masterful tongue, without even the need to bring your pants down and feel him on your flesh directly. 

— I want to show you how nice this could be. 

— How nice what could be?! You are still kicking your legs, and he is slowly taking down the fabric of your underpants. You wish he had exposed hair so you could tug on it – you wish he wasn’t afraid of showing you his face, just so you could break it properly. A lady should always protect her virginity from a man with evil intentions, and König was certainly the most evil person of them all. 

Still, his tongue felt so good, circling around the parts you were only finding accidentally, blindly searching for pleasure like a dumb kitten, trying every little button in your body to see what would make you squirm. He is masterful at this, every action is deliberate and strong – every little thing in his movements makes you wonder just how many women he bedded. 

You can still feel the little tremble in his hands, his fingers that supported you and kept your legs apart are trembling, if only just a bit – you wonder if he truly is nervous about everything he is doing or if he just wants to make everything perfect. His touch leaves a trail of bruises on your inner thighs and you never thought that you’d yearn for a man whose touch is literally hurting you. 

— I know how to make… consumation go painless, little princess. Certainly have the experience for this. 

— Is fondling my undergarments a part of this experience, Your Highness? 

— If you wish for me to lost my control, little princess.

Before you could say anything else about not wanting for him to simply take off your underpants and throw them on the cold floor of the castle, he had already lowered them to hang around your ankles – revealing your sensitive folds, already glossy and wet from all the fondling he performed to make you nice and ready for him. 

König knew he shouldn’t be doing this – losing control would be too easy in this case. Little princess, out of her own depth, can barely stop him when he wants to take something precious from her – still, he wanted to at least try to be slower, softer, to make everything perfect and make her his precious trophy. Her dread over bedding him would prove horrible for their marriage – if she didn’t wish for the workers to be saved, he would already sent those dumb maids away. 

Princess is adult enough to learn the pleasures of being a woman – still, he understood why a king would want to hide a precious flower like this. You don’t behave like a spoiled brat would, no matter how much you want to make him think you were nothing but a pouty face and frowned brows, and he wants to see your true self – your inner nature, revealing itself in front of him. And he knows just a way to do this…

Your cunt is perfect – he is a soldier, a man of war and little romance, he can’t sing you a song of how beautiful and perfect your maidenhood is, but he can lick it and tease it and make you come on his tongue more than you ever could with that dainty fingers of yours. 

He isn’t ashamed of touching your sweetness when he is burning his face between your legs. Not even caring that his hood, which he had to draw back as fast as possible, is going to get messy with all o your juices, he licks and tugs on your clit, your folds, on every sensitive bit of skin of your body. 

And, by god, are you sensitive? 

Soon, your little cries of pleasure are turning into moans that you are pathetically trying to hide. Soon you are marking his rough, rugged face wet with your juices – his nose is pressed on your clit constantly, and that well-mannered, perfectly bred royal woman in your body is moaning like a common whore. 

König isn’t trying to be too gentle – his mind is filled with that boyish nerves and anxiety, the fear of getting spotted not because anyone would have anything to say to the literally fucking emperor, but because he doesn’t want anyone else to see how easily he can drown little princess in pleasure. She is a perfect girl, so pretty for him, so nice and wet when he pushes his tongue in and out. 

He forgot the last time he experienced such pleasure – his dick only grows with each gentle stroke of tongue in your folds, and he doesn’t even need to touch himself. You’re perfect for him, writhing under his touch, he had to force himself to stop putting too much pressure on your poor swollen clit. König almost forgot just how sensitive you are – he had to introduce you slowly to the world of pleasure, not pushing you into the depths before you could even get married, but…well, he was never one to follow the rules – and you, as his precious bride, deserved something nice outside of the wedlock. 

— St…stop, it’s t’ much…

You are mumbling, holding his hood in your hands, and he is almost afraid you are going to pull it to reveal his face even more – but even your ruined skirt is enough of a cover to make his identity concealed, and he isn’t afraid of pushing your gummy walls with his tongue, gently caressing your insides. 

You are clenching around his tongue, the intrusion is unfamiliar to you – he makes sure he kisses your clit from time to time, holding the sensitive bud between his teeth so as to threaten you gently. He usually involves a lot more biting and would love to put some permanent marks on your thighs and soft lower tummy, but if you were scared of the drawings those dumb maids put on to you, he doesn’t want to fuel your fear any further. He could try later, making your perfect body into a canvas for his desire. 

— Patience is a grace for a princess, ja? Be patient, Meine Liebe. 

— Pl…please, stop, I don’t…

— What is it? 

— It’s too much, you shouldn’t…

— I’m not claiming you yet. God won’t be against a bit of fun, Schatzi. 

— I’m against it…

— Your moans tell another story, little princess.

He knows you don’t want to be patient – he tugs at every nerve inside your body, his tongue swings in and out, and his lips caress your soft folds, collecting any juice that might be escaping. He will have to gift you another dress after this – but he is so used to seeing you in torn clothes it becomes a thing that stirs his manhood again and again. You look perfect when you’re not perfect – by god, he is unable to control himself. 

You whine lightly as he presses a final kiss to your clit, catching your orgasm and drinking your pleasure. He is a messy eater through and through – his stubble makes you whimper from sensitivity, you sob lightly as he pushes back, a hood returning to conceal his face before your dazed eyes would be able to catch him. 

Hell, you look precious. 

Panting, with sweat beads glossy on your skin, with your lips open and moans escaping it – with your face completely turned into an expression of enormous pleasure, he doesn’t know what to do with himself as he watches you breathe heavily, chest going up and down. If he could, he would chain you to a bed in his bedroom, not ever allowing your precious figure to escape. 

He might just do this when you’re married.

You whimper under him, your eyes are still glazed with that pleasurable expression, making him smile under his hood. You may hate him all you want, but he sees the truth – knows just how perfect you are in your stubborn desire to defy him. 

— Wh…what was it? 

You are still shocked but regain some of your senses – you take on your underpants quickly, stubbornness spreading across your warm, embarrassed face. How he loves that expression. 

— I wanted to show you that our wedding night wouldn’t be as bad. 

— I would rather live without a wedding night, Your Majesty. 

— Now, was it that bad? 

You tilt your head to the side. 

— I am not here to feed your ego. 

— You’re sure it is feeding my other senses. 

He brushes his hand over your face. You allow him to – not because you wanted his touch, but because you needed some time to think, and his touch was gentle enough to ignore. Yes. That is the truth.

[nmjoo-n]

SUGAR MOON 🥐 kim taehyung.

pair. art student! taehyung x fem! reader | genre. paris in the 50’s, arranged marriage, angst, romance, smut | warnings. profanity, smoking, possessiveness, pet names, jealousy, unprotected intercourse, oral sex, masturbation, fingering, age gap, breeding kink, virgin mc | word count. 7.1k

synopsis. “tell me, sweetheart, what will your boyfriend say about me being here in the middle of the night?” or kim taehyung won’t let anyone else have you. you’ve been promised to him, after all.

A small life, a small happiness.

These were the things that had been promised to you by your parents, Taehyung didn’t doubt it one fucking bit. Nothing had been shown to you, nothing he could use, nothing to stimulate that pretty little mind of yours. You were a blank canvas.

Someone he could taint. His womanizer ways had done their rounds across Paris, but no one ever actually thought there would come a time where Kim Taehyung, successor of the Kim’s and their jewelry empire, a business booming since the early 20’s, would settle down. They were wrong, of course.

Taehyung wasn’t planning on getting married and staying married, especially to such an inexperienced girl such as yourself, fresh out of her private academy, and working under her daddy as a typist, a receptionist. At least not at first. Not until he met with you in person.

Then, he couldn’t wait. After that first meeting, witnessing your shaking hands and soft voice as you greeted him—you had his cock leaking in seconds. No other woman had elicited such a reaction out of him, none that mattered. None he could remember the name of. So, naturally, he was attracted. Challenged. Interested.

It was a brief brunch, and an extremely pretentious one. Taehyung’s fingers had been itching for a cigarette the entire time, as your mother went on and on about your excellent grades and general impression. His father, an always serious man, all about his money and good name, had managed to snick cognac in his coffee without anyone noticing—anyone except you.

Taehyung’s eyes had caught your amused ones, as you rose a satin gloved hand to your red lips, pressing two digits against that beautiful mouth to keep you from laughing. He fell back on his chair then, manspreading even further, playing with the serviette in his hand, watching you closely.

You hadn’t touched your food. Out of nervousness, perhaps. He liked his women to eat, to indulge themselves in whatever pleases them most. You’d learn that. What else, then… your pinned hair, perfectly styled to fit the shape of your face, your cute nose, and rosy cheeks. The modest neckline of your dress. Hiding just enough, leaving the rest up to the imagination. Carefully chosen he concludes. By the mother. For this engagement.

What a fucking joke. He hated pretending the most. He was an artist; a free mind, someone that couldn’t be caged, someone that did not do well in circumstances as preposterous as these, so staged, so rehearsed, so—fake. If he had it his way, and his father knows this the best, he’d take you away from this table, away from all this boring talk between parents, a bidding war he’s afraid, for what price you’d be sold to him for. Well, that can’t have you feeling comfortable, and no one would want his fiancée to be dreading her own wedding day, would they?

He’s doing it for your future, he reasons.

“Excuse us, esteemed relatives,” he cuts his mother off, and stands up, mischievous gaze piercing through you. “We have greater matters to attend, don’t we sweetheart?”

You blushed immediately under the attention, clearly never having gone against anything in your life. A rule player, staying inside the box. Taehyung wanted to cut that box open, tear through it like a Christmas present, and pick you up, play with you for hours, steal that virginity, that innocence away.

It was at that first meeting, that he took you to his favorite bakery, bought you pain au chocolat, and watched you eat as he smoked, hot chocolate staining your top lip a delicious dark color. Taehyung chuckled at your child like reaction upon noticing your new bittersweet mustache, and decided he’d kiss you that day. Not then, you’d probably run off on him if he’d done it then.

“Have you no decency to tell me of my state?” You smack him playfully on the arm, and his smirk only deepens.

“And miss that adorable look on your face? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Later. At his house, maybe, after he’s certain of your hold on him, and wants to explore it more. Explore you more. The fabric of your dress was hugging your waist exquisitely, dangerously, those heels doing nothing for you next to him. Eight years of a difference, yet he’s known of you for so long. Has seen you from afar, a mere girl with pigtails, no one he’d pay any mind to, just a shadowy figure in the background of his life, but always the promise hung; the promise between your families, the inevitable elopement.

But you were a tough woman, weren’t you? You made him fight for you. There had been a shy goodbye and then your back, walking away from him in a hurry, afraid to stick around for any more that you’d already have. That had been for the better, Taehyung mused to himself over another of many, many a cigarette. Tobacco had been a friend of his since the young age of seventeen, a way to fit in with the other teenagers and their self destructing tendencies. He had those too, he convinced himself. He had those too, but he also had his pencils and papers.

Taehyung had his art, and his music, and he was never alone. He’d witnessed no death, no poverty, no war, and so for that reason he was an insufferable dreamer, a delicate person. But he tried to see those things, tried to be a part of it all, to help, or to imitate—naturally, those people had taken and taken and taken from him, had used him for his warmth, his money, and reassured future, as they had to, at some point, unfortunately return back to their tiny, freezing apartments to starve and work minimum wage industrial jobs as he remained free to parade around Paris, wearing his expensive tailored suits and leather boots, studying art, not a care in the fucking world.

He was aware of this, too. It made no difference. He came from a family of immigrants, people who put in a great deal of effort to their endeavors. His father alongside his uncle had opened their first jewelry shop in 1922, amidst terrible, dark times, catering exclusively to the rich folk of Paris, investing every last penny they had to them, until the favor was returned. Now, boutiques across France, across Europe. Thirty-four years later.

All the whorehouses in Paris could not have prepared him for what he was about find out. For he’s never been truly jealous of anyone, has had no insecurities, no doubt of who he was. Taehyung was wanted by both men and women, divulged in sexual acts with all who interested him, never particularly caring for gender or class. People were all the same to him—everyone had a price, a reason. But not you, not to him. The more he was away from you, the stronger his feelings grew.

You had a little boyfriend; he learns from the driver he had ordered to follow you around. Someone insignificant, an electrician—so it was honest work you were looking for. A small life, a small happiness. Oh, to see your parents’ faces when they found out about this; how their words had backfired. Kim Taehyung came second to no one, and especially not a country boy trying to make it in the big, scary world. He had his ways of getting exactly what he wanted. That is to say, he hired a friend of his fathers to scare him off, to warn him against you. And if that didn’t work, if there was love involved—well, he couldn’t have that, could he?

You were promised to him first. He wouldn’t let anyone else have you. Especially that tight cunt, those cherry red lips. It went without fucking saying—he had to see you again. Unsupervised. Preferably, naked, underneath him.

So, he goes to your house. Picks up a few pebbles and tries for several windows, cigarette in mouth, dark brown curls falling over his eyes. You’re bound to answer to one. He persists, until he sees light coming from the last window at the corner of the stone building, a familiar shadow through the curtains.

Taehyung waits. It’s well past midnight, and you look terrified, but so, so beautiful. Fuckable, in your pink robe and loose hair. He wants to climb up the wall and fuck you right there, against that very window. He wonders if you’d let him, if you’d let go for him.

“My goodness, what are you doing here, Taehyung?” A protective hand over your chest, you look down at him perplexed, but—excited.

He takes the cig out his mouth, flicks the ashes off. “I can’t stop thinking about you, darling.”

He sees your eyes widen, those kissable lips part in an inaudible gasp. He smiles fondly, the thought of you half asleep, still warm from dreams, stirring because of him and his uncontrollable desires—oh, he’d marry you right then if he could. Such were his feelings for you.

“But you can’t be here! My parents—wait, are you drunk?”

Oops. He stumbled forward, discarding his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his forearms, stick between his lopsided lips.

“Guilty as charged, sweetheart,” he mumbles into the night. “I’m coming up.”

“Good lord, you’re not.”

“I am.”

A pause, as he begins his ascend up the front wall of your house. “You are a lunatic, Kim Taehyung. Absolutely.”

For you, perhaps. He’s climbed before, countless times actually, all involving rebellion and illegal activities, but no matter. This time he’s climbing for love, for a chance to get to know the real you, not the timid girl you are during the day, but the hidden side, the moon of you. He’d get it out of you, he’s good at that. And when he does, Taehyung will have his way with you. His cock stirs in the mere thought of it.

You make way for him to jump inside your bedroom, still shaken from the fact he can even do something like that. To see you. You must be dreaming. But no, that can’t be, because there he stands, in all his handsomeness, smelling of cigarettes and expensive cologne, curls bouncing with his every move. And he’s moving towards you.

“How is my favorite girl doing?”

Taehyung sees the flush on your bare neck, rising higher. He sees your hands coming together in front of you, as you instinctively step back from him, a prey in front of a hunter.

“This is inappropriate,” you mutter to yourself, blinking fast.

His lips curve slightly. “Yet, you let me in.”

Your eyes snap back at his. “I had no choice!”

He ignores this, instead familiarizes himself with your bedroom, the pastel colors, the minimal furniture, the piles of books. Your hairbrush, your mirror. Things you’ve used, things that smell like you. You were killing him, playing with the heartstrings of his goddamn heart. How can a girl so perfect as you, his promised fiancée, have someone else? Be touched by another man, loved by another man?

Jealousy has never felt uglier inside him.

“Tell me, sweetheart, what will your boyfriend say about me being here in the middle of the night?”

Your hip hits the corner of your desk, and you hiss quietly. You’re shocked by his words, and he doesn’t fault you. How could he know, after all. Right?

“Who told you this?” You question, and he grabs the end of your robe’s belt, feeling the lace of it.

“Confidential,” he replies simply. “You should know now, darling, I don’t share well. The woman that I’ll love will be my woman only.”

“Is that right?” You test him, he can see. A look of defiance so different from the submissive girl he met at that restaurant all those weeks ago.

He hums, enjoying your little power play. “That is exactly right, pretty thing. Care to elaborate on this secret of yours?” He kisses two fingers, places them on top of the place where his heart rests. “I promise it will stay with me.”

You don’t look convinced. You squirm and touch your hair. Another habit. You’re transparent to him, so easy to read, to decipher. Honest. Your ways do not betray you. To have someone to trust… it was incredibly valuable to Taehyung. Unheard of in the circles he ran, the family he was raised in. A salvation, then. You came to him as a small bird—what if he taught you how to fly?

“You don’t want to see me angry, sweetheart. Use your words,” he threatened, leaning against your closet, all the way on the other side of your bed, unmade and slept in.

In the dim light of your nightstand lamp, you looked dreamt up. Like a wet dream designed by his subconscious to haunt him, a personal Hell. To look but not to touch. Forbidden fruit, and everyone knows the story…

“I met him a year ago. He came for a routine check up on the power lines,” you started to explain, not moving an inch, afraid that if you did Taehyung would move as well. “I… He was kind to me. I’ve been seeing him secretly ever since.”

“Has he touched you?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question, darling, isn’t it? Has.he.touched.you?”

You huffed an incredulous laugh, as if offended. You answer anyway. “We’ve only kissed, not that it’s any of your business.”

Taehyung nods his head slowly, pointing at the pack he took out of his trousers’ pocket. “May I?” But he doesn’t wait. Lighter on the edge of the cigarette, he inhales the smoke deeply, blowing it towards the ceiling, pondering over the information in his head.

“Kindness,” he says. “Is a tricky thing, isn’t it? Makes you feel guilty if you don’t give it back, if you don’t return it.”

Closing the distance between your bodies, he sees you cowering in the corner, but those eyes are anything but scared. You have a bite, it’s in there. Taehyung wonders how he can bring it out, test it.

“He loves me,” you retort, and you’re trying to sound convincing.

The question is to whom?

“Sweetheart, I do not doubt for one fucking minute that a man could have a pretty little thing like you and not be completely enamored. Only a fool would waste the opportunity.” You stay quiet, watching him stop by the foot of your bed, nothing but a mere two steps separating you now.

“Maybe he does, chances are he doesn’t. It matters little to me,” he pins you down with a strict look. “You’re to stop seeing him. I’m not a charitable person—you belong to me now. Am I making myself clear?”

The mask crumbles, the wounded girl appears. Tears glisten in the faint warm glow of the room, and Taehyung finds himself wanting to wipe them away, make them disappear. He didn’t mean to hurt you, to make you cry. He’s drunk, and he’s jealous, and he’s falling in love.

He’s the bird in the cage, flapping its wings, terrified, starved of genuine affection. His deflecting can only camouflage this truth for so long. It will shoot out like a slap in the face to render him speechless, and it will be soon. But for right now, as he stands in front of you, all he wants is to taste those lips, to try molding them into his own.

“You are cruel, Kim Taehyung. Marrying you would be a tragedy and a punishment,” you mutter, fighting back sobs, chin quivering.

He smiles, but it’s all teeth, he’s a wolf, and it’s fake, it’s forced, and his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, fingers clenching into fists, cigarette butt bitten into to keep from lashing out. Not going after the engagement earlier had been a tragedy, having to deal with the aftermath of not trying to get to know his own fiancée the punishment. But you had been young, and he had been too preoccupied with easy pussy and pretentious art to care. Now you hate him, and it feels unfair.

“What if I told you this person was only after your money, darling? Would that make you see?”

“Lies.”

Taehyung exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring. “I don’t lie, sweetheart, if there’s one thing to know about me it’s this. I have proof. He’s been stealing from this family and has been feeding you fairytales.”

You attack then, heading straight for his face. He grabs both your wrists, and immobilizes you instantly, spitting the cigarette out in fear of burning you. You stare at each other for what feels like ages, both panting, neither backing down.

“You’re trying to poison me,” you spit at him, pure hatred spread across your beautiful face. “Lock me up.”

He softens immediately, blinking down at you, snapping out of it. “I fed you hot chocolate, ordered flowers to your house every single day since I met you,” he whispers, trying to make you see reason. “I’ve known you since you were playing hide and seek with my younger sister, a girl no older than nine years of age—I’ve never had a reason to lie to you, to trick you. All I’m doing is trying to protect you. Neither of us had any control over our relationship, (Y/N), and I am truly sorry for that. Be it as it may, I now have a responsibility to you, to keep you out of harm’s way, to be truthful.”

Tears roll down your cheeks, and you look so confused, so fucking split into what you want to believe and what is real, that Taehyung can only pull you into his arms, let you come to terms with the fact. You don’t fight, you don’t even say anything, you just sob into his shirt quietly, overtaken by heartbreak. He sits you both down on the bed, and you fall into his lap—so easily, like you’ve done this a thousand times. His thoughts drift further, and he chastises himself; you’re in a vulnerable position, it’s late. He should leave you alone.

For the life of him, he can’t find the will to do it.

“What I said still stands,” he mumbles into your hair. “I will not apologize for the way I am. For as long as you’re mine, no one else will have you. I will kill anyone who dares to attempt messing with you.”

You sniffle and sigh, tear-stained bloodshot eyes looking back at him. “I had no idea you were like this.”

One side of his mouth curves slightly, hands coming to push hair back from your face. “You’ll get used to me. Give it some time.”

Your gaze moves across his features, studying him. A breath away. If he leaned in just a bit, he could take your mouth in his, devour you whole. He almost does. The hope that you might want anything to do with him is holding him back from doing so.

“Okay,” you say, and he exhales.

“What?”

“Okay,” you repeat, fingers coming to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks. “I’ll give you a chance. Please don’t make me regret it.”

His body physically aches from the effort he puts not to pounce on your right then and there, so instead he settles for a kiss on the forehead, short and painful. Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut, begs for you to stop wiggling on him.

“I fucking swear, darling. I’ll be good to you.”

He’s never promised anything to any woman before. He finds himself wanting to keep good on his words this time.

It’s exactly two weeks after his little break and entering fiasco that the preparations for the engagement party begin.

Your mother seemed to know Taehyung had spent majority of that night with you, if he were to judge by her inquisitive looks and overall effort to never leave her daughter unattended around him. That was well enough—he was a creative and innovative man, he always seemed to find a way around rules and indiscreet eyes.

He takes you to a movie screening one afternoon, and stares at your animated expressions the entire time. He smokes twice as much to resist the urge of putting his hands on you. He desperately wants to; he craves having you in his arms again, yearns for that sweet scent, those soft thighs rubbing against his erection, your breasts against his firm chest. Taehyung dreams of you often, dreams of those untouched folds he’s never seen, never tasted—he’s a savage diving headfirst into them, licking every last drop of your wetness, inhaling the smell of your virgin cunt, and imagines your desire to be touched by a man, him, your soon to be husband.

He comes into his hand every morning, wishing his palm was you around his raw cock, allowing him to invade you, to ravage you. He weaves his time, reassuring himself—all in good time. He’ll have you for eternity soon, and no forever will be enough for all he’s planned on doing with you.

“Tell me, sweetheart, do you drink?”

You look at him, eyelashes flattering innocently. “No, not really,” you confess, and you appear so cute to him, then, that he must make a move, it cannot be helped.

Taehyung kisses your temple affectionately, stopping you both in your tracks in the bustling streets of the 7th Arrondissement. You lean in for just a moment, overtaken, and he considers it a triumph, a step towards the right direction. He’ll spend the rest of his life proving himself to you, if that’s what it takes, just so he can kiss you like this.

“We can’t have that, can we?” He rhetorically asks, and takes your hand in his, draping it over his forearm. “You’re with me, now, you must divulge in the few pleasures that life has to offer, my darling.”

“No one has offered to show me,” you confess shyly.

Show you he does. He takes you to the restaurant he frequents at and orders the bottle of wine he loves the most, along with dinner. Taehyung fills your glass and cuts your steak in bite sized pieces when it arrives. He advices you to sniff at the red colored alcohol first, before closing your eyes and having a taste.

You’re the most special kind of angel doing exactly as you’re told, taking a small sip of the aged wine. He watches, breath bated. When you open your eyes, the fascination on your face makes him smile brightly, proudly.

“Oh, it’s wonderful!”

“That’s my girl.”

Your fiancée leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette as you contently chew your food, drink your wine. He stares in awe, mesmerized by your genuine nature. You blush under his intense gaze.

“Won’t you eat?” You ask, biting your pink lips.

Taehyung can’t help but smirk at that. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll eat later, trust me.”

“You say it with such innuendo, I don’t understand—”

“Have you ever touched yourself, (Y/N)? Be honest with me.”

You choke on your food, eyes widening, coughing into your hand. Taehyung chuckles, offering you some water. You take it gratefully, chugging half the glass. He waits, amused, curious. A few people turn to look. He ignores them.

“That is not a proper question to ask a lady, Taehyung,” you scold him after you recover, fingers playing with your pearl necklace.

“You are to be my wife. I believe I can ask whatever I want,” he responds calmly.

You take a while to answer, instead turning to the wine for bravery.

“Why the interest?”

“Purely out of curiosity. I want to know what makes you feel good, sweetheart, for when I go down on that sweet cunt of yours.”

Your knife falls out of your hand and hits the floor at once. More people begin to tune into your conversation, intrigued. You look around, embarrassed and crouch to pick up your utensil. Taehyung turns his head to the side to blow smoke on the nosy woman on the table next to yours. She heaves, waving her hand and quickly minds her business.

“Did I say something to upset you?” He presses.

“You’re ridiculous and vulgar!” You half whisper, urging him to stop his teasing. “No one has ever spoken to me in this way.”

“Your boyfriend must’ve been a bore then, darling. I’m only stating my intentions. I would never dare to offend you.”

“It’s just as so.”

“Don’t be shy with me.”

“Yes!” You exclaim, and down the entire glass of wine. “Of course I have, who hasn’t? Now no more of this or I’m leaving.”

Taehyung shuts the fuck up at once.

He wishes he can say he was nothing but a total gentleman the entire evening, but that would a blatant fucking lie, wouldn’t it, because as soon as you get off the car to go into your house, he grabs you by the arm and kisses you deeply, hands ruining your hair. You moan and refute against his lips, but he holds you tighter, attempts to bruise your mouth so that you’d feel him there for a good fucking while.

He wishes he can say that had been all, but it wasn’t, because he takes you on the side of the building, covering you in shadows, and slips his hand under your dress, feeling your garters, touching the lace of your underwear. He rises your skirts, and fingers you right there, your parents just through the wall, wondering where their sweet little girl is.

You gasp and cling to him, bodies pressed together as he leaves you no room to think, to second guess, to breathe, even. He’s ruthless in his taking, selfish in his ambition to make you come for him, and so his digits curl in your slick, finding out the pleasure spots of you, desperate to have you screaming his name. You’re moving your hips towards his hand in no time, overwhelmed by how good it feels to have something inside you, fucking into you. Taehyung flattens his palm, and rubs your clit with the heel of it, long fingers edging you.

“Please, Taehyung… that feels too good, what are you doing to me?”

Your head falls on his shoulder, just as he hikes one of your thighs up his torso. He has half a mind to slam you down on his cock, fuck you in public, unashamed, outside your own fucking house, but he doesn’t, he won’t, because you’re important; because you matter, because he only wants to give you a little taste of what he can do for you.

“I’m stretching that little hole of yours, sweetheart. You’re so fucking wet for me, baby, so eager for my hand.”

Cupping you jaw, his tongue pushes past your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, eliciting more sounds from you, growing hotter, whinier, broken. Your pussy is making sounds too, all wet and filthy, and you seem to hear them as well, trying to pull away from his kiss, hide your face in his chest. He doesn’t let you, opens his eyes to see the pleasure written clearly on your features.

“You’ll come for me, won’t you, darling? All over my fingers? Let me see you, sweet thing, and then let me have a taste of those sweet juices. I bet you taste like pure fucking honey, I wanna bury myself in that cunt, drown in that cream. Won’t you give it to me, baby? C’mon, let go for me, let me see.”

When you come, you don’t seem to understand what you just did, what happened, and Taehyung is truly and completely awestruck by your innocence. He rubs circles on your clit until your body stops convulsing, and when he’s sure you’re okay to stand on your own, he kneels down in front of you on the dewy grass, gripping your hips, and diving in your folds, tongue lapping your slickness, so velvety, so goddamn tasty, before going for your clit, flicking the small bundle of nerves. You jerk away from him, the sensation unfamiliar. He brings you back, growls, grips tighter and does it again. And again. And again.

“Oh my God, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna—”

He moans against your cunt, uses his hand again to provide more friction for you to rub against. You do immediately, your pussy on fire, aching like never before, your stomach in knots. Then he starts mumbling like a mad man—I can feel it, sweetheart, let me have it, come in my mouth, give it to me my filthy fucking girl, my little slut, Heaven on earth on my tongue, I swear, one more, one more baby, come on.

You come again, and this time you see stars; your vision blurs, and you almost collapse on top of him, but Taehyung holds you up whilst not missing a single drop of your release, licking all over, chin coated in your juices, running down his neck. He fucking loves it all, loves you, loves your cunt. Then, he hears it.

Your dad calling out for you. While he’s still buried between your thighs, erection pressing against his trousers, his daughter fucked out and half naked for everyone to see. You panic immediately, pushing your skirt down, looking at the direction of the voice worried, dizzy still from your orgasms.

Taehyung pulls your panties over your core, and gets up quickly, giving you one last kiss before slapping your ass. You hit his chest alarmed, anxiety ridden.

“Go first, darling. I’ll see you later.”

“But—”

He fixes you with a stern look. “Be a good girl.”

You hesitantly go, your hand dropping from his. He hates having to let go of you like this but doesn’t want to get you in trouble with your father, either. He waits a bit for both voices to disappear behind doors, before going back to his car, parked a couple houses back. Taehyung can barely think straight with all the blood rushing to his cock.

He rubs himself like that, with the thought of you coming undone over him, your taste still in his mouth. When he spits into his palm, he imagines your perfect lips wrapping around his shaft, taking his entire length into your small hole, gagging over his girth. He barely cares for anyone passing, or his indecency.

He wants to fuck you raw, fuck you dumb. Put a ring on your finger, and knock some babies in you, then die a happy man.

All in good time.

With guests arriving and gifts piling up, Taehyung hadn’t got a single chance to talk to you. Just a quick hello and peck on the cheek, before your mothers dragged you away to fix your dress and powder your face up to her standards.

You’d grimaced at him as you were taken to the guest room of his house, and he gave you a small smile in return. This day was most important to them, a celebration of two of the most powerful and influential families in all of France, so in that way, you had to look your best, and even then, your best didn’t guarantee perfection.

Taehyung thought you looked fucking stunning in your champagne-colored gown, crystals cascading down your hair. A wish, or a dream, or both. He can only imagine what you’d look like in your wedding dress, walking towards him down the aisle, given to no one but him, his to love, to cherish, to protect, and to fuck. He gets excited with the mere thought, the prospect of having you all to himself, to do whatever he pleases.

His father slaps him on the shoulder once, already more than three glasses of bourbon in; he had a buzz about him, a friendly aura, when he was drunk. It was easier to talk to him, then, in his relaxed state. But Taehyung had nothing to say—not to him, at least. He’d been a pain in the fucking ass all these years, and now when it’s time to do his duty and marry into a good family, all of a sudden, he’s the picture-perfect authority.

Bullshit. He loosens his tie a little, the noose suddenly entirely too tight around his neck, and puts the cigarette back in between his fingers, running a hand through his tidy hair, with the brushed back curls.

At first, greeting people had been easy enough. All he had to do was stand right next to you and shake hands. He doesn’t know when the air got so unbearably stifling, or when the faces all started blurring into each other, smiles melting off as if acid had been thrown onto them. Taehyung squeezes that hand he has around your waist, and you look up in concern. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright, and who the fuck keeps banging on his head?

“Tae?” You ask, delicate hands taking his pale face in them. “You’re overwhelmed,” you conclude, staring into his eyes. Then to your mother, “We’re gonna go get some fresh air.”

“Right now?” She chastises but doesn’t object. Perhaps Taehyung looks worse than he feels. “Be back soon, honey. You need to give your toasts, so we can bring out the cake.”

“Yes, mother.”

Like magic, his migraine disappears the moment you leave the living room. Your soft hand in his, leading him to privacy—all he needed, all he wanted. Your plan is to take him to the garden, have the crispy autumn air hit him, bring him back from his anxiety. But it wasn’t stress that made him unwell; it was those people, the fact that he knew none of them, and yet they got to congratulate him, to stare at his bride as if she’s nothing more than a piece of meat, something with an expiration date.

They think that Kim Taehyung won’t be faithful. That he’ll grow bored, and once he gives you a couple children, will try everything in his power to stay as far away as possible from you. The assumptions of a life he left far behind the moment he bought you that chocolate croissant were haunting him, karma coming to bite him. He was no longer that person they’ve heard so many rumors about it, nor does he wish to ever be, ever again.

You were his future now. His life. He was completely devoted to you. You had to know this.

Before you can reach for the balcony door, he pulls you into the library, locking the door behind him. You let out a gasp as he pushes you against the cold glass of the window that run across the wall, overlooking the majestic garden his mother and housekeepers had built. Taehyung smiles and puts both his arms on either side of you, his thumbs caressing your temples tenderly.

“I thought you weren’t well,” you mutter, blinking up at his handsome face.

“You always make me feel better.” He inches closer.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” And then he kisses you.

Gently, softly. Small feathery pecks, admiring the way you bloomed for him, under his touch. The party was gearing up, he could hear the melody change to something more upbeat, so he figured he could steal a few more moments with you, alone. His mind ran a thousand miles per hour.

“I want you to know, sweetheart, I want you to hear it from me directly, and believe me always when I say—I’ll be a good husband to you. I will always put you first, above my own self, whatever you need. Count on me, let me be a man that’s deserving of an angel like you,” he whispers against your lips, watches as your eyes glisten with tears of joy.

He kisses them away, then kisses your brow. You giggle, a sound holier than church bells. He would give you anything, then. His baby, his darling. Anything.

“I’m going to take advantage of you now— I can’t fucking wait any longer, you have me by the fucking balls, sweetheart.”

Your hands instinctively go for his shoulders, as he roughly pulls your dress up your legs, over your hips, those long fingers dipping underneath your silk panties, feeling that smooth pussy with his open palm. Taehyung groans into your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. He wanted to mark you, show everyone you’re his, but not now. You’d be too embarrassed to go back out, face all those guests.

Your cunt wasn’t shy, though. It coated his fingers with your slick wetness, opened up for him to have his way. So obedient, so fucking sexy—oh, he’d fuck you. Right against this window, for anyone that was outside to see. He didn’t give a fuck. You drove him crazy with how ready you always seemed to be, your body betraying any sort of rebuttal from you.

“Tell me baby, have you touched yourself since I was in between these legs?” As his middle finger slips inside your tight entrance. “Have you thought of me while rubbing this pretty pussy? Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” a breathy moan against his collarbone, as your hand wraps around the nap of his neck. “Yes.”

He’s a gone man, then. A girl as perfect as you, his promised girl, admitting to pleasuring herself with the thought of him? Taehyung almost wants to apologize for who he was about to become.

“Turn around for me, darling.”

You’re scared, overthinking the position, but with one last flick on your clit, you’re drenching his entire hand, rubbing on his forearm like a starved slut.

“I’ll take care of you, baby, I got you, I promise.”

“Will it hurt?” You ask quietly, and he shushes you, kisses away your worry.

“It might, angel. But you’re my strong girl, aren’t you? Bite on my hand if the pain is too much.”

He holds your hips aligned with his erection and unzips his trousers, pumping himself a few times, using your slick to coat his length. Taehyung then puts a hand over your mouth, and you hold onto it with both of your own, inching your ass closer to his cock absentmindedly, your body obviously wanting this as much as he does.

“Fuck me, you’re a fucking dream like this, darling, let me see you. Do that again.”

You do, the white garters and stockings you have on the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. He’s seen a lot of pussy, but nothing compares, could ever compare to yours. Sliding his rock-hard length against your folds, he circles an arm around your waist, your knees already giving out. Taehyung chuckles, kisses your shoulder blade softly. What an adorable girl, so innocent in the ways of pleasure, all the different ways your senses can come alive.

“Take a deep breath for me, sweetheart.”

He enters you at once, what little resistance there was giving way. You scream into his hand, and he presses his chest on your back, fingers pressing against your mouth to keep you quiet. Stilling for a second, brows furrowing, aching to pound into you, to fuck you senseless, he then pulls all the way out, and thrusts back in, the tightness feeling incredible against his girth.

“Christ baby, where have you been my entire fucking life?”

You whimper, and push back, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “Faster, Taehyung, please.”

He needn’t be told twice. He stays inside you, picking up his pace, fucking into the deepest part of you, both arms wrapping around your waist, breathing labored, watching as you place two manicured hands on the glass, trying to keep yourself upright. He praises you, tells you how good you’re doing, how fucking perfect you are for him, taking cock so well, a natural, a good little slut, his baby, so proud of you, so fucking proud.

“Look at you, shameless, getting fucked for the whole world to see. You’re a filthy fucking girl, angel, aren’t you? All you want is to come on my cock, don’t you?”

“Please…”

Taehyung wants to grab you by the hair, drill himself into your hole, shape it to fit his dick exactly, to mark his place there so that you could never leave him, never let any other man in that sweet fucking place. Instead, he watched the crystals bounce, your tits smashed against the glass, corset keeping them in place.

“Please? Use your words, darling. What do you want?” He demands, bending you at the waist more, feeling his release getting closer.

“You, please, more, more!”

When his digits drop down to your clit again, you’re a crying mess, begging to be filled with cum, filled by him, to the brim, until you can’t take no more, and he gives it all to you, he’s generous, he slams one, two, three—your head falls in ecstasy, as he shoots his load inside of your insatiable hole, balls emptying all he’s been holding back for you.

He rests his head on your lower back, sweat dripping into his eyes, stinging. He kisses you over the flashy fabric of your dress, hands resting above your womb, thinking about seeing your swollen belly, carrying his child, a beautiful mommy.

Taehyung helped you get decent, tucking himself back in his pants, straightening his suit vest, passing a hand over his combed hair, and turned you around in his arms for a last kiss. Only this one was more intense; unlike any other kiss he’s ever experienced. It was emotional, carrying the trust and love you’ve grown to have for him, the most precious thing he could ever ask for.

“I’ve loved you since I met you, sweetheart,” he whispers sweetly in your ear, pulling back to see your reaction.

You flushed, hiding on his shoulder. He smiles fondly at your action and keeps you there for a while. Some time has passed since you two supposedly went to the gardens, and he didn’t want your mother to start an entire search party for the both of you, so he halfheartedly suggested to return to the living room.

Admittedly, there was no possible way to hide you two had sex. His mother shook her head as he brought you to stand in front of the two-tiered vanilla frosted cake, attached to your hip.

“I’ll love you til the day I die,” he promises later, in front of everyone, slipping a diamond ring on your finger. “Mine to hold, mine to keep.”

[roeroe-world]

her.

starring: ryan destiny as juno, method man as himself

set in the memorable summer of ‘95 in Atlanta.

warning: detailed smut warning , use of profanity and drugs, very long scene ahead

Sweat beads drips amongst his caramel coated skin as he tosses a close by dry towel on top of his slightly nappy braids. Exhaustion yet adrenaline pouring over his 6 foot 3 frame, returning backstage. Mef had just finished a show and more than ready to return to his hotel room, hearing the bed calling—screaming his name. Although the crowd still going wild knocked the calling out of the park by a long shot.

“Yo! We killed that shit!” His friend and fellow artist, Redman, shouts while breathing intensely before the two would dap one another up.

Not only did Mef perform but a few artists performed beside him as well. Wu-Tang Clan members joined to perform a couple tracks together. Redman wasn’t exactly scheduled to perform though Mef decided to bring him out anyway. As a result, the fans loved it.

Mef was sweating bullets, breathing as heavy as ever, and physically tired. He desired to give his fans a great show— no fuck ‘great’ — he wanted his set to be amazing. Mef crowd surfed, brought out his group members and Redman whom was making a ton of noise on the streets, gave the audience his 110 percent of energy… now he needed to chill.

“Tryna hit up a club?” Redman’s inquiry earns a chuckle from the rapper as he takes a hit of the blunt he’s passed. “Nigga, I ain’t tryna hit nothin’.” Seriousness within his raspy, deep tone while observing his crowded surroundings with a head shake. Backstage was heavily crowded tonight.

“Shit…” The fellow rapper kisses his teeth, the two walking alongside each other. “I don’t know ‘bout you but I’m definitely tryna hit something before I leave tomorrow morning. I saw some fly ass bitches in the crowd.” He caught himself staring at a plethora of women passing by. Atlanta was filled with beautiful women. Not only were they gorgeous but their bodies were out of this world.

Maybe it was the Southern meals. However, whatever, they were stacked. Ranging from big to small, nonetheless, the women were captivating.

The women flocked at Mef’s every direction. It was no secret that he’s a chick magnet. Women loved him and he loved them too. Though he’s surrounded by a fish of captivating beauties with perfect bodies. The only chick on his mind is his current on and off girlfriend, Tamika. No matter how many women threw themselves at him, she’s all he ever thinks about often.

His love life was no-one’s business so therefore he hardly ever spoke about her publicly. She isn’t involved in his lifestyle, doesn’t want a damn thing to do with it. Currently, they’re having issues and not exactly on speaking terms at the moment. But as far as he’s concerned that’s still his.

Self-medicating himself with drugs and alcohol kept him afloat as he did his shows, although it didn’t help much. He didn’t really want to express his girl problems to his homies because their issues were absolutely none of their business. But he knows bottling his emotions weren’t healthy.

Between the pressure of maintaining his booming rap career and remaining in a committed relationship, it was growing a bit overwhelming. He has a lot of pent up frustration built that he possesses no clue of what to do with it so until then… he would continue to self-medicate.

After turning down yet another girl, an unopened bottle of Cristal found its way into his masculine large right hand— the moment it’s open he engulfs the alcoholic beverage as he welcomed himself near a table which was seated backstage.

“Damn, you good?” A sultry feminine southern accent meets his eardrums though he continues to drink not ready to meet eyes with the random voice just yet. “The only time a person drinks like that is when they going through somethin’.”

Suddenly, he drops the bottle from his lips and averts his low gaze into the woman’s direction before being immediately taken off guard by her beauty; Her skin coated a beautiful clear shade of brown. Dark irises shaped like an almond, similar to a siren. Her round face fit her perfectly as well as the short pixie cut she’s sporting.

The woman’s lips began moving though he wasn’t exactly paying attention to what was exiting them. He just knew the pair appeared very plump and juicy, adorned by red lipstick with a little gloss coat. It wasn’t long before he snaps out of his daze, catching, “The name’s Juno. I noticed you over here by yourself and decided to bless you with my company.” Redman had left awhile ago to tend to his needs for the night.

She wasn’t nervous, afraid, nor inappropriate. Her almond shaped eyes peered into his as she spoke clear enough for him to hear.

Confidence. He loved that shit.

A friendly grin forms across his lips, sneaking a quick glance of her outfit. Which happened to be a lace choker surrounding her neck, a crop top showcasing her belly button ring, a pair of short denim shorts as well as a pair of Air Max ‘95’s. She had a few tattoos too.

“I’m straight. ‘Preciate you for your concern.” Not to be cocky but he didn’t really feel the need to introduce himself if she came out to his show.

“If you don’t mind me asking… how you get back here?”

Chuckling to herself, “Backstage pass.” She motions to the pass in her hand and he nods, lifting the bottle near his lips. This time his eyes closely but slowly eyeing her frame. He definitely liked what he saw. “I don’t mean to talk your ear off but I really enjoyed your show tonight. You did your thing especially with your album.”

“Preciate it, shorty. What’s your favorite joint on the album?” More than likely, he was expecting it be the All I Need Remix with Mary J. Blige. The track was a huge success.

“Tical. That’s my shit.” Genuine smiles etched across both of their lips, finding themselves staring at each other.

“You smoke?” His inquiry earns a playful scoff, giving him a look, “Nigga, I’m the blazing queen. I bet my rolling skills better than yours.”

“Yo, what? Hell nah…” Mef laughs aloud, “You know what? We just might have to see ‘cause that ain’t possible. What you finna get into?”

————

A limousine ride and several drinks later, the two arrived to the Four Seasons. Mef would be residing there for the night. Underneath his long eyelashes, his squinted dark irises analyzes the rolled blunt closely. As much as he wanted to find a flaw… he couldn’t. Damn. He thought to himself, slightly impressed.

“Shit, you cool with me.” He places the perfectly rolled blunt between his lips, throwing his hands up in defense. “Told you.” The woman sticks out her tongue teasingly, grabbing her lighter out of her purse and sparking up the blunt for him.

Juno watches as the smoke blows smoothly between his lips, his gaze low and slightly dead. The side of his canvas showcasing red lipstick stains due to her kissing him on the cheek multiple times during the limo ride. She couldn’t help but to run her hair over his nappy cornrows, a slight grin etched upon her mouth as the smell of marijuana engulfed the spacious hotel room.

Her exposed left leg rests on top of his thigh while he caresses her soft skin gently. The pair sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the peacefulness of the atmosphere and one another’s company.

“You should let me rebraid your hair.”

“Unh, unh, I’m tender headed, shorty.” He passes the blunt to the young woman, eyeing her once more. “You can massage my head though.” Neither of the two broke eye contact as she took a hit, exhaling slowly, blowing out o’s.

“Which head?” She quizzes boldly and Mef immediately catches on to her sexual innuendo.

“Which ever you feel comfortable with.” Mef’s low intense gaze immediately makes her nervous so she glances away, very intoxicated though shocked herself that she’s in Method Man’s hotel room with Method Man.

Juno loved the fact that he didn’t push himself on her or made any sexual advances. She’d heard a lot of rumors about rappers but Mef doesn’t appear to be that way. He was chill, nonchalant, hilarious and quite charismatic. And to mention… very fine. She always believed he was handsome from the moment she laid eyes on him upon seeing a photograph of him in the Source Magazine.

His roughneck look fit him perfectly. Now that she’s up close and personal, she could definitely see why the women went crazy. He was a pretty boy with a raspy, deep New York accent that could make you melt.

The moment Juno breaks their eye contact to avert her gaze downward, he finds himself looking away as well. Silence falling between the pair. Tamika’s face racing through his brain yet again. It was an ongoing thing the entire night though he’s in the company of a striking beauty.

“You hungry?” Her inquiry began to remind him, he’s starving. Not only that but he had the munchies. Of course, he’s hungry. He hadn’t ate much after the show and that was hours ago. Now it’s peeking on two in the morning. “Yeah, room service doesn’t sound too bad, huh?”

“Yeah, no…” She stops him from reaching for the phone with a laugh. “I know a place way better.” His eyeballs fell upon her plump backside as she crawls across the bed, sitting on her knees while the satisfying sound of her mid-length French tip acrylics meets the dialing pad. Her vanilla scent danced in and out of his nostrils the entire night, though, he couldn’t lie; a woman with good hygiene turns him on.

Mef finds himself traveling from the edge of the bed to plop his head on a nearby pillow, continuing to smoke the blunt Juno rolled moments before. Feeling a dip on the bed as she places their order, she turns to see him lying on his back comfortably. More importantly, in the bed wearing shoes.

Raising a brow at the sight, the call ended and the young woman sends a light smack to his bottom leg. “Boy, if you don’t take them damn shoes off.” Laying closely beside his being, snatching the blunt from between his lips and planting between hers instead.

He kisses his teeth playfully, “This my fuckin’ bed but since you told me to take my shoes off, I will.” The rapper sits up to do as told. “Happy?”

“You had a show tonight too so don’t take this wrong… you should freshen up— I’m not saying that you stink ‘cause you don’t. I’m just saying.” She shrugs, blowing the smoke through her nostrils.

The slight annoyance of her demands quickly subsided due to her looks.

“Coming in my hotel room and telling me what to do… you lucky you fine.” He speaks truthfully with a head shake, heading for the bathroom for a much needed shower.

————

“Taste this.” She scoops a good amount of sweet potato pie onto the plastic spoon, bringing it to Mef’s lips. He hums as the sweetness enters his taste buds. “Good ain’t it?” A wide grin falls upon her captivating face as he sends her a nod as a response.

Awhile after Mef’s shower, their food arrived. It was a nearby Soul Food restaurant. The food was delicious and he couldn’t deny it. The next time he would come to the A, he would definitely be eating there again.

“I got a question.”

Putting their plastic containers to the side, she retorts, “Ask away.”

“You ain’t got a man?” A chuckle passes her lips at the question. “As good as you look I know some nigga wanna lock you down or got you locked down.”

His statement made her mentally scoff. “If a nigga had me locked down, I wouldn’t be in this hotel room with you.” Her love life isn’t a topic she’s too enthralled in discussing. She didn’t completely answer the question because she doesn’t feel obligated to.

“Word.” He nods.

“You got a girl?” Almost in an instant, he stops nodding but tries to play it off. Juno is really good at reading body language so she knew instantly. “You love her?” Mef doesn’t bother to meet eye contact, telling the young woman everything she needs to know.

Silence falls amongst the pair until the rapper breaks it, “…just some issues going on right now.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. Juno could hear it in his tone.

“We don’t gotta talk about it. I ain’t tryna pressure you.”

There was sudden mood shift. Both of them could feel it. Juno instantly regretted asking the question because it seemed as if he was still in his feelings over the woman.

“If that’s a dealbreaker for you then… you can leave if you want. I’ll be aight. I enjoyed your company.” With a sigh, he stands to his feet and prepares to walk off to another direction of the hotel room.

Silently, the young woman mentally contemplated whether to leave or not. He had a whole woman at home which whom he’s in love with. Sure, they were having their problems, but what relationship didn’t? She just knew that if she was in the other woman’s shoes, she would be crushed to find out her man is in a hotel room with an another woman being fed.

Though, if she would leave then Mef would still be upset, drinking away his sorrows like how she saw him prior. Deep inside, something made her want to help him feel better. She wasn’t sure how it felt to date him and doesn’t want to know. She couldn’t make him forget about her.

But just for the night, she wanted to make him feel something. She wanted to make him feel good.

She doesn’t owe his girlfriend or whatever she is to him any absolute loyalty. Juno had one of her man crushes in the same room as her so she’s going to take her chance.

Standing to her feet, Juno struts behind his chair, her hips swaying side to side seductively. Mef feels a presence behind him but stays put, thinking nothing of it. Her dainty hands meets the top of both of his shoulders, caressing the pair softly before sliding them along his clothed chest and between his legs.

His attire consisted of a plain baggy white beater and a pair of basketball shorts. Juno didn’t understand why he didn’t settle with the hotel bathrobe because it would’ve been easier access.

Removing her touch, her smooth glowing legs leads her in front of his frame. Mef’s legs were stretched wide, his arms resting on the arms of the chair while his low seductive gaze peered upward in her direction before traveling downward with her sudden movements. Juno was on her knees, pulling his shorts to his ankles to reveal what she’d been aching to lay eyes on for so long.

Mef remained silent, observing her actions closely. It was crystal clear what she wanted and he was going to give it to her.

It was exactly what she imagined. Long, thick, veiny, very well-endowed. He was ecstatic to see her just as much as she was. Without a hesitation, Juno devours him into her mouth and the minute she does, his head tosses backward with a low groan.

His groans would transition into small moans and the moans eventually grew louder. Juno was ravishing him like he was her last meal. Sucking, licking, finding herself kissing it as if it was a trophy. Her right hand wrapped around his phallus, stroking him to perfection. The other down her shorts, playing with herself.

The strapless crop top slid below her perky breasts, revealing the pair due to her hard work. Mef averts his attention onto the beauty giving him the best head he’s ever received. Though, he couldn’t help to notice a name tatted on her left breast that read ‘Dante’ in cursive. He ignores the observation and focuses on her Oscar-winning mouth instead. His hand found itself onto her head, not giving a single fuck about her hair or the fact that she has another man’s name tatted on her.

Her head bobbed up and down, creating beautiful music to their ears. Juno’s mouth reminded him of a vacuum, a beautiful and very skilled vacuum as she sucked like no tomorrow. This wasn’t her first time. She was much too skilled and he had no absolute complaints. He was in bliss. So deep in bliss that he grew close, an orgasm he isn’t ready for just yet. Too quick.

He found himself slightly trying to push her head back, lifting his waist off the chair a bit. She notices before saying, “Don’t run, papa.” Upon quickly going back to work, his toes began curling at the intense pleasure. A plethora of curse words exiting his mouth, “Fuck…”

Moments later after attempting to hold back, he finally let go while she sucked him dry, swallowing every drop. His body shook slightly, a low groan passing his throat. Pools of brown peering into one another’s as Juno took her time to undress, peeling off every piece of clothing one by one teasingly. Initially she was planning to leave after giving him the best head of his life but he was still up at attention, intensely staring in her direction hungrily. Apparently, there was still a job needed to be completed. Who was she to back out of a challenge?

Mef was growing impatient.

No longer seated in the chair, he towers the young woman before lifting her small frame into his arms by her legs while forcing himself inside. His lips crashing into hers. “Oh, fuck…” Her jaw drops at the sudden sensation of him inside her love. Not giving her much time to adjust. Her back was pressed against the wall as he sent the woman powerhouse strokes, arms pinned above her head. His hips circling round and round much to her pleasure.

Her constant wetness and tightness around his phallus kept his top row of pearly whites embedded into his bottom lip. Juno’s eyebrows furrowing together from the pleasure and the pain. The more he had his way with her, the louder she would become. The pair found themselves all over the room, making their mark as well as pushing a few things out of their path, items in which broke. They couldn’t care less about the complaints.

Bent over on the edge of the bed, Juno glances backward at the rapper behind her frame underneath her low gaze. Loud moans exiting her throat. “F-Fuck me like that..” Mef’s head was thrown back, gripping her waist while he gave her his all. He was fucking her so good that she was speechless and she’s usually vocal during sex.

“Mef, oh Mef, oh papa…” Her juices coating his phallus was a hell of a sight. He loved the fact that she was making such a mess because of him. He had her screaming, scratching his back, cursing him out, squirting everywhere, fucking up the sheets, legs wide open as if it wasn’t almost four o’clock. Mef had a flight in three hours yet that hadn’t seem to cross his mind.

Nothing seemed to cross his mind when he had a beautiful woman screaming his name and squeezing around him.

“What, baby?” He quizzes, dragging his tongue across his lips for the millionth time. “Fuck…” Mef couldn’t get over how incredibly wet she was. The sounds were driving him insane. “This pussy so fuckin’ wet for me, mama.” Sending a smack to her backside, she began to throw it back.

His mouth falls agape slightly as he watches her, “Juno, shit.” He couldn’t let her get the best of him again so he flips her over onto her back, pressing her wide legs upon her shoulders, pounding into the woman mercilessly. At this point, she was screaming to the top of her lungs. “Just like that, papa!” Her dainty manicured hands resting on the bottom of her thighs, no matter the pain, she loved it. Not once did she tap out nor push him back. She loved that rough shit.

Juno liked to be fucked like a slut and she was sure that Mef had a lot of pent up anger which she desired for him to take out on her.

Dark brown irises peering down in her direction and suddenly he decided to deepen his strokes before leaning in closer to her face. Both of them admiring one another’s canvas. Her top row of pearly whites embedded into her bottom lip, their eyes meeting instantly. They made a lot of eye contact during their activities but not like this… not in this position.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” He compliments the young woman below his being before bringing their lips into a passionate union. “You so perfect.” His dick continuously jabbing at her spot and it wasn’t as rough anymore, it was long and passionate strokes.

Juno wanted to fuck. Not make love nor fall in love.

The dick already had her willing to die for it. The consistent compliments, the dirty talk, the choking, his skillful strokes. Mef knew exactly what he was doing in bed. They were going at it for sometime now and his energy amazed her.

The way he stared at her as if he wanted to do any and everything for her as if he actually loved her. But she knows he doesn’t. He’d only met her a few hours prior. She could never be the woman he was drowning himself in sorrows about. She could never be her. This feeling of his love is temporary. She knew she would never see him again after tonight.

The thought hurt.

Mef’s love brought her to tears, caressing his shoulders and beautiful face to pretend as if she was his girl. As if he was hers. He belonged to someone else. But for right now, Mef belonged to her and she was going to fuck him like no tomorrow.

Regaining her strength, Juno flips the two over to gain control. Bouncing on top of the rapper energetically earning a plethora of groans as he sends several smacks to her backside. Suddenly, his firm right hand grips her neck, thumb sliding between her lips and she sucks on it. “Tell me you love this dick.” He demands, scanning her bare frame and the sight of their bodies colliding together for the millionth time.

“I love this dick.” She does as demanded and though it was a demand, it was the absolute truth. His dick fit her perfectly. “Papa… are you gonna cum for me?” Sucking his thumb seductively, her hips moved in a circular motion, desiring to feel him breed her again. No, she isn’t having his baby. She didn’t want to have his baby. There was no absolute use of protection but she does happen to be on the pill.

Without another word, he nods, completely speechless. She was really putting it on him from her mouth to her everything. For her final move, she leans forward to plant a few sensual kisses along his neck before whispering, “Come inside your pussy,” into his ear. It drove him wild when she called her pussy his. Over the years, she learned that men loved that.

Mef began to fuck her back from underneath the woman, palming her plump backside as his orgasm approaches. His mouth slightly agape in amazement, watching her breasts bounce in his face.

The moment the tip of his dick started to jab at her spot, her orgasm was quickly approaching as well. “Fuck, papa, I’m gonna cum!” His thrusts grew rougher and moreover, the pair found themselves releasing in unison. Their eyes meeting while riding their high, mouths wide open.

For some reason, Mef made sure she felt every drop of his semen. She guessed that it was because he knows it intensifies her orgasms.

“Damn.” Breathing heavily, Mef eyes the woman hopping off of his frame as slow as she could due to her body being sore and slightly limping to the bathroom. A light proud smirk creeps amongst his lips, eyelids shutting to get some sleep.

Light footsteps meets his eardrums yet again so his low tired gaze falls upon a naked Juno whom is getting dressed to his dismay. He wasn’t ready for her to go.

“Leaving me already?”

A giggle passing her throat, she slides on her underwear then came her denim shorts. “You and I both know what this was, Mef.” Her statement results in the rapper’s head to tilt backward in offense, immediately getting out of bed to throw on a pair of the basketball shorts that was laying sloppily on the floor to make his way towards the woman.

“Yeah…” He began. “It was two people who got together and enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Don’t you got a flight to catch in like what two hours?” She found his reaction to her getting ready to leave quite comical. They didn’t really know one another from a can of paint.

“So. That don’t mean you gotta leave yet, shorty.”

Sighing heavily, a captivating smile gracing her lips, “It doesn’t. But after you leave… you have someone to go home to. Never take that for granted.” Sliding her crop top through her head and adjusting it onto her chest. “Not many people have that.” Soon came her socks and shoes.

Juno was unlike any other woman he’d been with sexually. Maybe he was blinded by lust or her looks or the fact that she’s the epitome of cool. He wanted to keep in contact with her, at least. He definitely wanted to link up again.

“Can I at least get your number?”

“Go home to your girlfriend, nigga.” She replies humorously, grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “I enjoyed you, Method Man.” Planting emphasis on his stage name, she pauses through the open door before waltzing in front of his tall frame. Her tattooed arms wrapping around his neck and he leans downward mindlessly, connecting their lips passionately.

One last taste.

Their tongues fight for dominance. Enjoying the taste of one another. Eventually, Mef wins. His hands falling just above her covered backside. Nibbling softly on her bottom lip as she pulls away, sliding her hand down his chest. His intense low gaze peering down at the young woman whom was admiring his half-naked silhouette.

His girl would be dumb to let him slip out of her hands.

Finally, she walks away and he watches her until she’s no longer in his peripheral. The moment she steps outside of the hotel room, her back presses against the wall before tossing her head backward in disbelief.

“Did I just do that?” She mouths to herself.

Moments after squealing softly to herself, Juno saunters for the elevator, feeling like a whole other woman.

[ecrin-de-litterature]

Tucked away tight in the cramp space of the Court of Fontaine sits a quaint bookshop, hidden down an alleyway between much larger, bustling stores filled to the brink with odd trinkets and gadgets. As you enter, you push the door open slowly, a little hesitant at what may wait for you inside; after all, Fontaine had been nothing but a box of surprises since you'd arrived.

Yet you are greeted with the mildly sweet aroma of herbal teas and the nostalgic scent of yellowed pages belonging to books older than you could ever imagine. A small, round glass table sits in the middle of the bookshop underneath a skylight window. Sunlight reflects onto the patterned glass table in ripples, creating an effect on the marble floor that reminds you of the waves. As you ponder it, it's an oddly fitting aesthetic for the Nation of Hydro.

Two young women sit at the table, their legs crossed neatly as quietly converse amongst themselves over slices of numerous cakes and sweet treats, sat on small porcelain plates and the culprit of that alluring smell of hot tea - two light blue stained teacups of tea in their gloved hands. The small bell that hangs above the entry door finally chimes as you push the door completely open, alerting the women of the new arrival.

"Oh, you're finally here," one of them muses, lifting her teacup and saucer in her gloved hands as she moves to take a sip of the hot drink, quenching her presumed thirst, "bienvenue, we've been expecting you."

A brief moment of confusion crosses your face and it doesn't go unnoticed by the other female, whose eyes sit two different shades of blue as they look over you. They'd been expecting you? You guess word travels fast regarding your whereabouts.

"Lynette, you can't just leave them hanging like that," she chirps, her tone slightly scolding before she gives you a faint smile, unique eyelashes fluttering over those eyes of hers, "you're already well acquainted with Miss Lynette's twin, he informed us of your curiosity about our little bookshop."

Lynette makes a subtle noise, her nose scrunching up as she takes a sip of her tea once again. Furina also sips her tea, the two women sitting in an awkward silence before Furina clears her throat, demanding the room's attention be on her.

"We should... explain this place a little further - this is Écrin de Littérature. We're a safe for work network for Hoyoverse creators, focusing on writing and artistic flare," the actress seems quite pleased with herself, plump lips turned upwards into another smile, "we accept those aged thirteen or over."

"Lady Furina-" Lynette begins, her tail curling neatly over her thighs as the young girl sighs but Furina cuts her off, a nervous laugh escaping her under her breath.

"Just Furina is fine, Lynette, please..." Her voice trails off, meek and there is the undeniable hue of light pink on her pale cheeks. The air filters into silence again, much more awkward than the first time as Furina fidgets in embarrassment.

"Furina," Lynette corrects herself, "we should tell them what is in it for them..."

Furina nods in agreement, her hand raised to her chin as she ponders her next move. Lynette is indeed correct and you find your attention drawn to the empty chair seated at the table between them. A teacup sits empty in the fine china saucer adjacent to it. Suddenly, Furina snaps her fingers as if she'd cracked a detective case.

The short woman raises to her feet, heeled boots clicking on the spotted marble floor as she approaches you. You tense, it's an honour to be this close to the leading director of 'The Little Oceanid,' after all. She stops promptly in front of you, a gloved hand extending out to offer you a collection of papers, "here, a collection of our finest reviews."

You take the papers, lowering your gaze as you begin to read over each individual review with care.

10/10 — tearrific ! - joining this server was a wonderful decision. full of friendly, welcoming people, it’s a lovely environment to grow both your tumblr and as a person. - i recommend anyone to join, be it to make friends or to share your works and ideas with people in the same fandoms. — join écrin today !

we're cool AND funny !! we will spam reblog ur fics and be ur #1 supporters. no matter if ur blog is big or small u r welcome here no matter what (as long as ur a nice person). join ecrin today to become a fellow litteraturer

join us. embrace the chaos and let go of your last braincell. we have nice people here. very talented too. join our little silly network and meet our very cool networkers <3 you will not regret it!! #trust

EDL is like a place where you can interact freely (believe me i was scared to even text or react to a message), i joined during 2nd applications and honestly didn't regret it ppl here are nice and i met alot of cool mutuals n ppl who i didn't expect to actually follow me back . THATS WHY I VOTE EDL AS THE BEST HOYO NETWORK EVER AND PRESIDENT, WITH PEOPLE FROM ALL ACROSS THE WORD UR SURE TO FIND SOMEONE LIKE U. JOIN NOW

We are a little silly, in a silly goofy mood crazy? i was crazy once- 9.9/10

Anygays 10/10 cuz goofy and i love goofy and funny

ECRIN!!! i joined after seeing the blog and i am so glad i did, the people here are not only welcoming and v skilled BUT ALSO RLY SWEET AND HILARIOUS!! from chaotic moments and funny jokes to fun conversations about all sorts of things!! it can be really funny and chaotic at times but still is able to retain the vibes of a very homey cozy server!! 10/10 server would reccomend to people who want to promote their works or people who want to make new friends!!

Upon finishing the wide range of questionable reviews, you give the two women a determined nod. The gesture makes their stoic faces light up, twinkles in their eyes that reflect in the sun that begins to set over the Court of Fontaine in a breath taking scene of oranges, reds and pinks. Lynette takes this moment to raise a clipboard as she stands - wait, where did she get that from? These magicians... - and wanders to you, "welcome to Écrin de Littérature."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Another dawn rises for the Écrin de Littérature team and we're excited to share this upcoming adventure with you! We're here once more with welcoming open arms to see what stories unfold in our partnership together!

For more on how to join our network, please see here.

Bonus: Are you suffering with an extreme gambling or genshin or hsr addiction? Not to worry! This network helps you with that ! You can also seek comfort here as we are all gamblers, too! Take me for example, putting my hours into strongboxes and emblem but does that mean the fellow members criticize me? No! Remember, 99% of gamblers stop before they hit big and this server can help you become that 1% that doesn’t stop!! Join Ecrin today to become a better gambler and receive higher rewards!!

(The reviews channel burnt to the ground during the making of this post.)

[cowboylikemeaaron]

There is a war between fucking hetlors and gaylors rn on stan twitter regarding Halie Torris' vigilante shit oil painting (which is literally perfect btw) and hetlors are mad as fuck that the painting is sexualizing taylor (?) I'm not gonna get into why this makes no sense at all because my fellow gaylors are doing this but let me just talk about the core problem here:

Swifties whether they're straight or queer most of them has this idea of Taylor being a "good girl" and I can't blame them because she tried to paint this picture of herself when she was young, and the way she used to dress and her songs not being explicit or talking about sex (I'm not saying it's wrong but most female artists rely on sexuality for a big part of their art (which is also not wrong at all)) so in their head taylor don't want to be 1% preceived as a sexual being, and while Taylor has changed that idea to the core so_it_goes.mp3 , i believe swifties still think that she's disgusted by being sexualized, it has nothing to do with homophobia in their mind but they have their idea of baby taylor and refuse to believe she's now a grown woman that has sung about sex, is starting to be comfortable in her own body and wants to feel and look sexy, and who's most of her fans are women so she knows she's not being sexualized to the core by them. Just because she's not stripping or singing explicitly about sex doesn't make her the virgin saint of the Vatican that you're not supposed to acknowledge her sexuality?

I'm also not going to talk about how female gaze is 180° different than male gaze but i might add that also part of the early queer experience is you also feel guilty when you sexualize another woman you feel like you're no different than a man when it isn't true but it's just another thing we get to feel guilty about because it's tied to society norms and that we need to learn that it isn't true by time and reading.

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ

❝ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇꜱ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4.7k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, questionable yoga poses, sexual fantasying, intimacy

↣ notes :: :) surprise :) the amount of sexual tension in this chapter makes me wanna smush their faces together and yell KISS ALREADY also JIN IS BACK JIN IS HOME WORLD WIDE HANDSOME HAS RETURNED 🥳 I was so happy to see our king of chaos return and spend some time with the rest of the boys!

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"you're watching, I feel it. I know I shouldn't stare. I picture your hands on me. I think I wanna let it happen."

-liar, camilla cabello-

Amber eyes met with chocolate irises. After staring at each other with a widened gaze of disbelief, both pairs respectfully narrowed at each other.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

Kiara dropped whatever stretch she was about to do, turning to face the blonde man who seemed equally, if not more, annoyed than the girl.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She whispered harshly so she wouldn't cause a scene.

Jimin couldn't help but tilt his head to the side curiously, switching arms to stretch the other one out. "I thought it was pretty obvious."

Her eyes burned a hole into him. "No shit! I meant here, at this studio, when there are hundreds, if not thousands, of other ones!"

The man shrugged, "This one was in the area. Technically, I should be asking you what you're doing here. Aren't you supposed to be in Long Island?"

Kiara opened her mouth and prepared for a slick response, but the words died on her tongue. He had a point, but she wouldn't let him know. All she wanted was to relax; with everything else going on in her life, this was the one place guaranteed to provide some tranquillity. But now that was tainted by the blonde's mere existence.

It was like the universe was playing some sick joke on the woman, interweaving her life with someone as insufferable as him. Her existence became a reality TV show for the gods above and below, making Kiara and Jimin the main characters. 

"What happened to your hair?" Jimin asked suddenly, filling the air of silence that grew between them. He had only checked out the woman because her hair caught his attention. So curly, wild, and free—he liked it, but it was Kiara's, so he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to pull on her curls strand by strand to watch them recoil back to the loose spring. Plus, Kiara had straight hair—she always had straight hair—she couldn't just suddenly change it on him.

"Fuck off," she quipped while she placed her hands on her hips for a moment. Kiara didn't wear her hair curly for this exact reason; someone always had something to say about it. Whether it was white women and children reaching out to touch it without her permission, black men insisting she was anything other than black when trying to talk to her, and random Hispanic people speaking straight Spanish to her as if she understood. Kiara didn't like the attention it brought her. That's why she kept it straight. The only thing people would do was compliment her hair. The less attention, the better.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to find the calmness she once had before Park Jimin had entered. If she couldn't, she would hightail it out of here and back to Little Latte to give Jeongguk an earful. She knew she should've stayed at his place and made his bed into a lovely, comfy depression nest. An overwhelming feeling sat in her gut as soon as Jeongguk mentioned the outside world. 

"Was it on purpose? Like you meant to walk outside like that?" Jimin started to lean side to side casually, hiding the smirk that desperately wanted to form on his lips. 

Kiara glared at the blonde, her fiery gaze meeting his playful one. So he thinks this is a joke? "Fuck you and ya motha."

"Oooh," Jimin chuckled, hiding his attraction to her accent. It was the first time he heard it so prominently. Did she know she had a voice that deserved to be in porn? He could listen to just her speaking with no direction at all and get off. "Insulting people's mother's now? Someone's a little feisty."

"You're right," she stepped off her mat and bent over, beginning to roll it up. Jimin's eyes lingered over the woman for more than what was appropriate. "Your mother is probably a wonderful lady. I bet she tried everything for you not to grow up a pretentious asshole, but unfortunately," she grabbed her mat and water bottle, "some thing's can't be helped."

Jimin's upper lip twitched, threatening to curl from the bold assumption that his mother was anything excellent. He should’ve told her off—let her know just how painfully wrong she was—but that little smirk playing on her lips stole the words from his tongue. All he could do was sigh deeply, exhaling all the words he wanted to say as he stared into those eyes of gold that threatened him as much as his own. Just as she stepped away from him, assuming the woman was going to leave so they both could have peace, a door opened. The duo turned their head towards the noise that interrupted their tension.

"Good morning, my blessed rays of sunshine and daring rainbows!" A short girl with wavy dark brown hair walked in, followed by a tall man with deep skin. With the amount of pep in her step, one would think she was skipping. She made her way to the front of the room, standing before the mirror on top of a mat. The woman was very petite, standing at 4'10 at most. In contrast, the man beside her had to be at least 6 feet tall. It was an odd couple, but Kiara didn't care as much as she wondered why there were two instructors instead of one.

The woman smiled brightly at the room as the chatting people from earlier slowly started to join the center. "It's an honor to have you join us for this couples class."

The duo's eyes widened with disbelief before releasing an aspirated sigh. "Ah, shit," they mumbled as they looked around the room. Everyone had a partner beside them, leaving them as the only pair. 

"Today's class is designed for you and your partner to sync until you are one."

Kiara quickly raised her hand, promptly grabbing the instructors' attention. They nodded towards her, prompting her to speak. "What if you don't have a partner?"

The room erupted in tiny giggles like she said a joke, but Kiara's face remained unchanged. She stared at the two instructors, jaw clenched with an unamused expression spread amongst her features. She folded her arms over her chest, waiting for whatever response the two would conjure up.

"Oh, you were serious?" The man asked before Kiara nodded. He pursed his lips briefly before his eyes landed on the man beside her. Jimin looked at Kiara, wondering where she expected this route to lead her. It was only until the overwhelming feeling of someone staring at you that he pulled his gaze away from the girl and looked at the male instructor. "Do you have a partner?"

The blonde's eyes went wide before he cleared his throat. "Well, no, but—"

"Ah! So problem solved!" The male grinned before looking off at the rest of the class.

"No!" Kiara's voice pipped up before the female instructor could speak. "Problem not solved! Problem far from solved!"

"You're welcome to walk out," the short woman stated. She stared at the other woman, her warm blue eyes freezing over suddenly. That didn't stop Kiara from bending over again, preparing to gather her things until the woman's voice cut through the air. "But we don't offer refunds here."

Kiara stopped and froze, debating for a moment before slowly standing up. She had to dip into her savings fund to pay for this class, and she didn't want to waste money she shouldn't have been spending in the first place. Her shoulders dropped in defeat as she realized she was not only going to be stuck in the same room with Park Jimin, sober, for a whole hour, but now she was also to be his partner.

"Problem solved?" The female instructor asked with a tone of impatience lingering behind her words. Kiara nodded silently. The woman's eyes then traveled to Jimin, who met her gaze with a glare. She raised a questioning brow, tempting him to take a chance and try her also. And Jimin would've. He didn't need the money, nor cared so much for the class. He could've left, found another class at a neighboring yoga studio, and pretended he never ran into Ms. Kiara. But that was the issue. All it took was one glance at the woman who seemed to shrink into herself from embarrassment.

Jimin tilted his head back as he shut his eyes, letting out a small sigh of defeat. He placed his hands on his hips, gathering all the positive energy lingering in his system. He looked at the instructor once more, offering her his charming smile. "Problem solved."

The instructors seemed pleased, going on to resume their introduction to the class. Kiara found herself slowly shuffling towards Jimin. She leaned in subtly towards him. "Just so you know," she whispered, "I'm going to hate every second of this."

Jimin stifled back a dry scoff. "Likewise."

After the introduction, the instructors started the class with a simple breathing exercise. They demonstrated the position, causing Kiara's eyes to widen before she glanced at the blonde man beside her, who did not react. Soon, everyone, including Jimin and Kiara, got onto their mats and copied their position.

Kiara stared at Jimin while he avoided her gaze completely before cautiously sliding into his lap. The instructor pulled the shades on the window down, blocking out the natural sunlight before dimming the fluorescent lights. Speakers quietly played calm notes of guitar strings plucking and wind instruments. Despite the elements around them, the duo was anything but relaxed. Kiara tensed at the feeling of Jimin's hands on her back while hers wrapped around his neck loosely. Jimin tried to steady his breathing, praying that she couldn't feel how fast his heart was beating. They don't like each other; they haven't liked each other for months, so why did he need to feel close to her?

Kiara inhaled deeply, letting her eyes shut as her breathing began to sync with Jimin's. It was fast at first and slightly concerning until her fingers absentmindedly found the little hairs on his nape. He seemed to relax at the feeling of her fingertips stroking his hair. For the first time today, Kiara felt some sort of peace.

She wanted to pretend it was Taehyung's arms wrapped around her. She wanted to pretend it was his hands gently rubbing against her cool skin, warming her. She wanted to pretend it was his incredibly addictive scent she was breathing in. The sweet smell of citrus and pineapple colliding with a slight spice of black pepper and juniper berries with a heavy hint of vanilla lingering in the background was comforting. Disrespectfully intoxicating. Soothing. She wanted to pretend, but she couldn't.

All of his qualities were opposite of Jimin's.

Taehyung was naturally rougher and more dominating. Slow moments like this didn't come often, and if they did, it would always end with a hand on her ass or boob, groping her and telling her how horny he is. Sometimes, she just wanted to be held, to feel skin against hers in the most innocent ways. She didn't want her body to only be touched for someone else's pleasure. 

Her boyfriend also smelled like a teenager who put on too much axe body spray. Kiara preferred something sweeter, more inviting, and easier on the nose, while Taehyung wanted people to smell him before he entered the room. His colognes contained more notes of cedar woods, bergamot, and various citruses—powerful and entirely too much for Kiara. Maybe that's why she found herself snuggling closer to Jimin, her nose pressing against the crook of his neck, causing the area to tense from her simple touch.

"Someone's close," Jimin whispered lowly, causing a pleasant chill to run down her spine. She didn't know his voice could get deeper, and it was a dangerous ability for him to have. His silk voice was already soothing on the ears, but this made it far more enjoyable.

"That's the whole point of the exercise," she mumbled, subconsciously pushing her body against his.

Jimin inhaled sharply, her curls tickling the tip of his nose. He couldn't slow his heart. He couldn't stop his mind, not while she was this close to him. All he could think about was how divine she smelled—a delicate mix of berries with hints of whipped vanilla. Sweetness seemed to be her signature, which he didn't mind. He just ran his fingers up and down her spine, instinctively pulling her closer by her hips. The woman couldn't help the gasp that escaped from her lips as her fingertips gripped his black shirt.

Kiara shouldn't be enjoying this. It was wrong on so many levels. Still, she couldn't help but let her eyes flutter close as she melted into his embrace. She imagined a world where the events leading to their distaste for each other didn't occur. A world where Jimin met her before Taehyung. A world where his gentle touch was normalized, yet still made goosebumps arise on her skin as if it was foreign.

The instructor's voice cut through their moment of peace, placing them back in the reality where they disliked each other. Their separation was slow, almost as if their bodies were rejecting the idea of it. Kiara's eyes met Jimin's briefly before she slid onto the floor and to the space beside him. 

The class continued with some regular solo poses before another couple exercise. Kiara sighed deeply, dreading the moment she had to feel Jimin's hands against her skin. This is what she should be feeling, right? Then why did it feel forced?

The class watched as the male instructor demonstrated the pose. It was relatively easy, like the first one, yet Kiara's face flushed with heat. This class was truly meant for couples. She wondered if Taehyung would be interested in attending one with her, but she already knew his answer would be no. The activity was too boring, and with the closeness he would convince them to ditch and never return.

"You nervous or something?" Jimin whispered, sounding almost genuine as he pulled her from her thoughts.

"No!" She snapped at him quietly.

His brows furrowed as he gestured towards the space in front of him. "Then get in position." His tone matched hers without a second thought. 

The woman glared at him despite being the one to start the trouble. Regardless, she did as she was told and stood before him. Sweat began to form in the palms of her hands as she felt his hand rest on her hip. She took a deep breath, slowly bending forward as the hand resting in the middle of her back guided her. She grasped her toes between her fingers while keeping her knees straight, causing the back of her legs to stretch. Typically, this was a very relaxing pose, and she usually would've gone a step further and wrapped her arms around her calves, almost pulling her head between her legs. Jimin's presence was a distraction—too significant not to notice—stopping her from stretching further. He wasn't doing much, but his hands gently persuaded her to continue the stretch by applying light pressure on her back while her other hand firmly kept her in place to ensure she didn't lose balance. It caused her face to flush, the feeling of his hands so gentle yet so commanding.

Curiosity flooded Kiara's mind briefly, leading her to glance at the mirror before them. And god, she wished she hadn't. It was enough that she found Jimin attractive—you'd have to be blind to say he wasn't—but with his dark eyes peering over her frame as he stood directly behind her and his brows somewhat furrowed with his head tilted to the side a bit, Kiara was surprised she didn't turn bright red at the sight. Her mind strolled to a dark area, wondering if this were the picture an onlooker would see if he was fucking her from behind. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she quickly looked away. She cursed at herself softly, knowing that specific scene would plague her thoughts for the next few nights.

Jimin inhaled deeply, trying to convince himself to remain calm. She was such a sight to see already, but bent over? It took every ounce of concentration he had not to allow blood to run opposite from his head. Despite wanting to fill the gap between them and press his hips against the woman, he stayed frozen in place. You know better, rang through his head like a mantra. Curse this class for being so sexually charged, as if couples couldn't also mean a pair of friends who like yoga as well. It felt as if the instructors were punishing the duo for speaking up against them. Although, he was pleasantly surprised with how flexible the woman was. He prayed for the moment when the instructors called for a new position, not wanting to deal with this level of torture any longer. And when they finally did, he only removed his hand from her back, allowing her to return to an upright position slowly. He watched Kiara through lowered lids. Why did it seem as if everything she did was purposely seductive? It was like the girl had lust running through her system, expressed through the way she moved and spoke. Jimin didn't back off until he got a face full of her sweet fragrance.

Kiara swiftly returned to her mat. She unzipped her hoodie, feeling as if the area just went up 20 degrees. The woman rid herself of the black fabric, leaving her in a cropped white camisole. She used her hand to fan herself, hoping that the lack of clothing and the cool air would allow her face to return to its usual shade. Jimin glanced at the girl, subtly doing a double take as her chest barely moved up and down to accommodate her breathing. He stared ahead, cursing himself mentally, as he felt he was just about to lose the fight between his head and dick. He made it through having the woman sit in his lap and bent over directly in front of him, but her standing in a camisole was what would do him in?

Fuck, he thought to himself as the instructors started to talk. Hopefully, the shrill voice of the fake-peppy woman could stop him at a chub so he could avoid the embarrassment. The sweatpants he decided to put on weren't necessarily boner-proof. Her curves were so noticeable, so divine, blessed by Aphrodite herself. He totally understood why Taehyung was drawn to her, but how he put up with her slick tongue every day during their relationship was beyond him.

The class resumed its regular poses once again, giving Jimin a break as he focused on his posture. Kiara couldn't help but glance at him now and again. The regular poses had them remain close, causing their limbs to brush each other occasionally. The slight touch was more than enough to cause goosebumps to rise on either party's skin. Almost touching each other should've burned. It should've made them recoil strongly like the heat of a nearing fire. Stolen glances between the two should've created flames fueled by disdain for the other.

But it didn't. For the first time since that fateful night when everything went to shit, they were coexisting. Neither decided to question it; instead, they just lived in the moment, considering it would be the last.

The instructors demonstrated another pose, prompting the duo and the rest of the class to follow. This one didn't seem as sexually charged. Jimin sat on the mat with his legs wide open, allowing Kiara to place herself between them. She leaned back into him, resting her head on the upper portion of his chest. The curly-haired woman tried her hardest to relax against him, knowing that this particular stretch could end with her pulling a very uncomfortable area if Kiara wasn't careful. She let her eyes flutter shut as she tilted her chin toward the ceiling. Her hands rested comfortably on Jimin as if this was just an everyday thing with him—like being comfortable with him was normal.

Jimin was utterly focused. Having Kiara this close to him again could cause some trouble for him. He had already proved to himself that his mind could go to that place easily regarding the woman. The blonde wished he could blame it on the lack of pleasurable activities, but that would be a lie. As Kiara sunk into him, her curls tickling the side of his neck, he reached forward to grab her ankles. He lifted her legs into the air, slowly but surely pulling her limbs to either side of her. Jimin's brows furrowed as he continued to pull farther than he expected her to handle. She let out a soft hum, sounding pleasant to the ears.

Jimin inhaled deeply. He had the girl spread eagle in his lap, pulling her legs back until the side of her head. He averted his eyes, looking anywhere besides the place where any other guy would gaze. He even caught the male instructor staring in her direction for too a little long. The blonde instantly narrowed his eyes at the other, jaw set and tongue ready to slit his throat if the gaze proceeded. Luckily, the man was smart. He was instantly unsettled by his gaze, looking elsewhere while pretending to help another couple. Jimin couldn't help but roll his eyes, lip curling at the thought of him possibly checking out another woman while seemingly in a relationship. Though it was an assumption, Jimin could usually tell taken men from single. The former seemed to move more cautiously or didn't care for anything else around them. The latter always had a wandering eye, interacting with the world's opportunities of the beauties bestowed on him.

Kiara opened her eyes, meeting with the ceiling before looking ahead. The way Jimin had pulled her legs, stretching her abductors pleasantly, felt amazing. She looked at their reflection, gazing at his surprisingly strong arms. Her mind traveled to a darker place where they sat in a similar position, in front of a mirror in the privacy of her home, with a lot less clothing. Kiara was so caught up in her imagination—something she definitely shouldn't be indulging in considering the state of her relationship status—that she didn't notice Jimin's gaze slowly fall upon her, their eyes meeting in the mirror once again. She seemed in a daze to him; eyes glazed over with developing lust. He only wished to get a peek inside of that mind of hers.

When she finally came to, noticing how her eyes locked with his, she glared at him and quickly averted his gaze. Her face flushed with heat, a tedious habit when it came to this man. Kiara hoped he wouldn't see the embarrassment hiding in her rose-stained cheeks, but Jimin only chuckled at the sight, and she was unsure if that infuriated her or granted her relief. She wasn't allowed to ponder her feelings as the instructors commenced wind down, consisting of the duo separating and laying next to each other on their mats. They were only a few inches apart. Jimin's finger twitched, craving an action he knew he very well shouldn't. An hour of grasping her soft skin in his hands should've sufficed him. Yet he was greedy, wanting more of her than they both knew she could give.

Kiara stared up at the dimmed, round light fixtures that hung from the ceiling until little flashes of color invaded her line of vision. She let out a deep sigh, letting her eyes shut. Her mind was a tsunami of thoughts when it was supposed to be a calm lake. Three men crashed like tidal waves on her beach of sanity, when she hoped this class would get rid of them only for a second. She didn't want to think about her annoying boyfriend, her best friend whose eyes seemed to cover hidden feelings or the blonde whose looks should match his ugly personality to make things easier on her. She attempted to drown them with silence—push them so below the surface that it would take days for them to reach the top of the wave again. 

The room became brighter as the fluorescent lights turned on, and the instructors raised the shades to let in natural lightning. Kiara heard the other occupants get up and retrieve their stuff, but she remained glued to the floor beneath her. It wasn't enough time. This class achieved the opposite of why she attended. She still felt tense, and on edge, waiting for someone to push her over.

"Well, that wasn't a total nightmare," said a voice above her. The smug tone wrapped around his words dropped like acid onto the girl's face. Opening one eye, she was graced by the image of Jimin slightly bent over, hands in his pockets, with golden hair loosely spreading out and around him like rays of the sun.

"Says who?" Kiara scoffed as she sat up, a cloud blocking his rays. Most of the class had packed their stuff, leaving a few chatty stragglers beside the duo. She gathered her things before standing up and looking at the blonde. Looking up at him, she never noticed how much she needed to tilt her head back. Why did he look like he was glowing under the fluorescent lighting? His honey-glazed skin was smooth and supple, with the faintest freckles on his cheeks. 

"Considering the fact that we've survived an hour of pretending we could tolerate being close to each other, let alone touching each other, I'll take that as a win," Jimin smirked while folding his arms over his chest.

"Fucking perv," Kiara grumbled. "You liked putting your grimy little fingers on me, didn't you?"

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it. I saw your face."

Kiara's eyes went wide for a moment before she unknowingly mirrored Jimin's stance by folding her arms over her chest as she shifted her weight to one foot. "I have not the slightest idea of what you're talking about."

The blonde couldn't help but smile as he watched her lips form into a subtle pout, her chin tilting upwards as she tried her hardest to appear snobby. Too bad she couldn't sell it. All she managed to do was look cute. "Yeah, OK, Kiara. Whatever will help you sleep better at night."

"Of course, you would think about how I sleep." Kiara quipped. She didn't know why she always dragged out conversations with Jimin. All she had to do was ignore him and walk away, but something about his little jabs made her want to fight.

Jimin let out a loud scoff. "Don't flatter yourself. You live far from my thoughts at night."

Kiara's brows furrowed, not understanding why that comment would leave her with an uncomfortable pit in her stomach instead of swelling with relief. "Yeah OK." She bent over to pack up her equipment, knowing Jimin's eyes were gazing upon her. She slowly stood up again, regaining control of the situation. She could see how Jimin's eyelids had lowered, plump lips ever so slightly agape as if he was trying to breathe out the lingering desire in his system. "So we're just gonna pretend like you weren't just staring at me, right?"

Jimin's face suddenly twitched, like he was snapping himself back to reality. Heat followed afterward, flushing his skin with a pretty pink. Kiara giggled softly, causing his lips to tug into a small smile despite the embarrassment swimming through him. How the woman managed to shut him up, not once, but twice now, was beyond him. Jimin was the king of clapbacks. There wasn't a soul that could escape his wicked tongue until he met the beautiful girl with wild hair and a smile that could light up even the darkest of nights. He could only sigh, feigning annoyance though he was rather impressed. 

"You really think I was staring at you?"

"I know it."

Jimin didn't bother testing his luck again. Something about her threw him off his game, which was not his proudest moment. The blonde couldn't do much but watched as she swayed her hips, strolling towards the door until she stopped suddenly.

"Guess you'll have something to think about at night now," Kiara said just as she walked out of the room. Jimin's jaw fell slightly before he collected himself, scoffing quietly. A part of him was tempted to follow after, to continue the banter they had fallen into.

But he knew better than that.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[sleepynegress]

On Challengers...

Okay.

So, here's the thing. It's decent.

It's sassy, catfighty, but with dudes using rackets and tongue-wrestling, and the tennis scenes are tense, but... it wasn't at all confidently scandalous like I would've expected.

....Like I feel like they didn't push it far enough, somehow? And not even in the way you might think, with dicks a-swingin and thrusts abundant. Remember, the movie Closer? -I think that came out in 2007ish and was rated PG-13??? Or could have been if not for the language.

Natalie Portman has a similar nudity clause to her contract and *STILL* had the absolute sexiest scene with Clive Owen.... .....Which I'll put in this post to demonstrate what I mean. This felt like it held back at moments... When it came to pushing desire, between the men and/or with Zendaya, with one or the other. It just felt so tame to me given the hype. I was hoping for a return to artistic sensuality in film again, instead of this weird sort of by-rote-feeling purity culture we're having rn. (I'm watching Love Lies Bleeding tonight and I BET that delivers. Lesbians, salude!) I was hoping for Cruel Intentions' lush cut with The Dreamers' sensuality..if that makes sense?? AND some good-good tennis. THAT did deliver. WOW, some of the shots for that were eye-popping. A critic I follow noted that her issue (she always has the best takes I don't agree with all of them but they are always well-articulated) was that Zendaya was not fleshed out as a central figure, especially as a BLACK WOMAN. It was yet again another case of a Black woman dropped down from the moon coming from no people of her own, but just somehow existing in a sea of white people with not a hint of Black friends or loved ones.

Hell, they could've even laid out *her people* like the brilliantly underrated Beyond The Lights with Minnie Driver playing the stage manager mom to Gugu Mbatha Raw's biracial pop star. But that comes down to the white male gaze fucking it up, yet again. I looked up the screenwriter and just kind of nodded knowingly with an 'oh, yeah that's what I expected, that explains it...' He simply didn't have the range beyond a sort of vague tennis fetish for brown girls in short skirts grunting and swinging and wanting to do something with that. He admitted that Naomi and another Black woman player's interaction on the court *inspired* this...

Perception of Black women doing ANYTHING can be so heavy with a weirdly asexual gaze from white women and hyper-sexualized by white men. And if desire/centering tips in the "wrong" direction deemed by prejudice and our assumed place....*yeesh* we catch hell. You're either bafflingly too ugly to be treated with desire (whew the incel bigots are big mad that it's Zendaya and not a Sweeney-type) or only deemed good enough for it, because of that white gaze. And resented regardless.

*sigh* Can't win for losing. But I digress. Zendaya's co-stars are the oddest looking mystical-dwarf-head ass forest creature white boys with big ears, but they GAVE in the acting department. Mike Faist is a STAR. He has a sort of laidback sweetly confident rizz. But he definitely is the lovechild of a young Scott Glenn and DJ Qualls. I want to put him in a western immediately because he has Civil War photo face.

Mike O'Connor has that desperate dirty hairy scruffy thing like dude from The Bear. Like you KNOW he has a scratch tat somewhere and would do the dirty with his partner in the toilet stalls or anywhere else. Hollyweird is strange about beauty standards man. Back in the day, they used to pretend old white men, who looked like they smelled like Barbasol mixed w/ urine would somehow be sexy to a twentysomething. Now, we have this dichotomy of thankfully a little more of a diverse gaze for the centered "bombshell" other than blonde with large breasts number 32637263872.... but we also have some actresses cutting fat out their cheeks and being Ozempic thin. *sigh* ...While the "basic" hot boys are punching the air rn because they are also passé. Got to have something interesting going on in the face for everyone now, I think. Can't just be AI "pretty" anymore. Thankfully.

....Anyway. It is good, but with those caveats I laid out.

P.S. ICONIC for me is seeing Zendaya's Black-ass nose bridge drawn large on that poster. P.P.S Thank LUCA for doing the queer elements well... I personally don't think it went far enough, tho...

Mike bottoming for all, including getting pegged by Zendaya would've happened in my version of this... at least implied, come on (ficwriters?) Oh! and here are the clips from Closer, but then it was a successful play first, so the script is more substantial in that.

This is how filthy I expected Challengers to be, and it's just. not. Nothing in The Challengers touches the heavy heady nastiness in this scene IMO, but something in that movie should have, dammit! Note they never even touch each other.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Of Bodice Rippers and Delightful Discoveries

(Ikkaku visits an old, used bookstore while in port, hoping to hunt down some classic bodice rippers to entertain herself with on the next voyage. What she finds is a new subgenre, complete with some unexpected - and likely unsuspecting - stars.)

The scent of the used bookstore was so different from the Polar Tang. Instead of steel and salt, Ikkaku breathed in the earthy, musty smell of paper and ink. She may have been an engineer, thriving among gears and pistons, but she had found a love of more organic materials like books.

In particular, hunting down unique bodice rippers.

“Looking for something in particular, dearie?” the proprietress asked, giving her a curious smile. She didn’t seem to mind that her new customer wore a pirate’s jolly roger on her boiler suit – business was business, and all who loved books were welcome.

“Got any classic bodice rippers?” Ikkaku asked, looking around. “I’m due for a long voyage.”

“Ahhh need something to entertain on lonely nights?” she replied knowingly. “Those happen to be my favorite. The back shelves are dedicated to those. Got a lot of newer publications, but there’s just nothing like the classics.”

Ikkaku nodded enthusiastically in agreement before heading off to peruse the back shelves. She’d read everything in her expansive collection at least twice, and she was in need of something new. Something to titillate her, but also torment her nakama when they dared to tease her. Books starring Fishmen and Zoan lovers had done the job for a while, but the boys were starting to become immune. That was a sure sign it was time to switch it up.

Pulling out books at random, she shook her head in disappointment. Many of the newer books just didn’t have the lovingly painted, elaborate covers that older, classic bodice rippers had. For all people said not to judge a book by its cover, in her mind, that was half the appeal. Getting to read a book with a hunky man in an open shirt embracing a beautiful woman often got her hilariously mortified or judgmental books. Occasionally she found books that starred two women, but those beautiful covers tended to be more understated and romantic, which sadly didn’t get quite the same reaction from her friends.

She had nearly given up, ready to throw in the towel and accept she’d just have to go through her library for a third time, when she struck gold. An old paperback novel peeked out from the stacks, and she could tell right away that the cover was that classic style she so loved. Tugging it out almost reverently, her gaze greedily ate up the image.

The woman was a beautiful, buxom nun, dressed in the classic black gown and habit, clutching a cross as she attempted to resist the charms of the man embracing her. Though, by the look on her face, she was failing spectacularly, eyes shut and head thrown back in pleasure. The man on the cover was what really drew the eye, however. The artist clearly put a little extra effort into him, like he was the main draw of the book. He towered over the woman in his arms, biceps bulging as they wrapped around her petite waist, his purple shirt open to show off a tantalizing glimpse of his hard pecs. His jaw and chin were chiseled and his cheekbones could have cut glass. Long hair as black as engine oil and smoke were pulled back in a sleek ponytail that dangled over his shoulder. His lips were curved in a devilish smirk, a long cigarette dangling tantalizingly between them.

The First Mate's Dangerous Temptation the elegant cursive of the title read. The tagline was just as cheesy; She devoted herself to God, but then a devilish pirate sailed into her life.

“Ok, you’re showing some promise,” Ikkaku chuckled, cracking open the book and flipping through the pages in hopes of finding a decent sex scene. Hopefully it lived up to the cover’s hype. Quickly, she found some smut, and eagerly she began to read.

“God really blessed you in the chest department, doll,” the pirate purred, his pectorals glistening with sweat as he pulled his pretty captive against him. The smell of the sea and tobacco paired beautifully with his masculine musk, and Chastity tried not to be taken in by way his deep voice rumbled like an earthquake, shaking her resolve. He was sin incarnate, and she mustn’t give in to the Devil’s servant.

“I’m blessed by His love every day. Perhaps you’d be similarly blessed if you ceased your sinful ways,” Chastity replied primly.

“I wouldn’t be much of a pirate if I were virtuous. Anyway, sin’s more fun. More pleasurable.” Benn gave a low chuckle before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling, releasing it like a dragon. It suited him, considering the virgin damsel he held in his clutches. “And I haven’t had any complaints about my chest. I’ve seen you stare plenty.”

She gasped, outraged, though liquid hellfire shot down to the secret place between her thighs. A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and Chastity’s scolding reply died on her lips as the burly first mate released her, only to drop to his knees before her. The cigarette smoldered on the ground beside them, the thin trail of smoke even headier than the church’s incense. She attempted to step back, but a big hand wrapped around her hip, keeping her in place as he hoisted up her skirts, exposing her knickers and pale thighs. “What are you doing? This is improper!”

He chuckled again before he began peppering kisses along the smooth, untouched skin. Tongue and teeth joined his sensual lips, licking, sucking, and biting the tender flesh without a shred of shame or remorse. “Showing you what a man should really be doing on his knees,” he growled, a panther that had concerned his delicious prey and was planning to take its time devouring it. “God can’t make you scream like I can.”

Gasping again, the nun buried her fingers in his jet-black hair as his mouth delved into the apex of her thighs. Her knickers had already been growing wet just from being in his presence, but now they were soaked in anticipation and the saliva from his tongue. It stoked tantalizingly against her pearl, and Chastity felt her knees wobble almost as unsteadily as her resolve to remain pure.

“Ah! Beckman!”

“Wait,” Ikkaku gasped, staring at the name, then flipping back to the front cover. The man on the front was at least a decade younger than the wanted poster she’d seen, but if she replaced the black ponytail with a silver one, added a few years and scars to that chiseled face, and a purple cape…

“Holy shit. What’s Benn Beckman doing on a romance novel cover?!”

This was utterly insane. Of course the first mate of the Red Hair Pirates was hot, both in his youth and now. He was known as a playboy, too, with admirers and lovers across the Grand Line. But the star of a bodice ripper? It wasn’t even trying to hide his identity!

Flipping the paperback over, Ikkaku scanned the back cover, looking for clues. The publication date was fifteen years ago, and it was apparently part of a series. An extensive one, from the look of things.

Pirate romance novels. Ikkaku shouldn’t have been surprised they existed. Outlaws like them weren’t exactly protected by copyright laws or could make cases against libel. And people did so love their forbidden fruit, but not everyone had the guts to actually proposition a pirate. So no wonder someone decided to make a buck off of the fantasy. The real question was, did Benn Beckman know?

Curiosity piqued, Ikkaku glanced along the shelves and quickly found another book by the same author. Once again the cover was lovingly and beautifully painted. The woman was once again beautiful, though this time her generous cleavage was on full display thanks to a low-cut blouse and cinched corset. She was being embraced by yet another muscular man. He was shirtless and his trousers hung loose, threatening to slip down his hips to expose himself. The cocky smirk and come hither expression made it clear he had nothing but impure intentions with the woman he was holding. One arm was beneath her thighs and backside, hoisting her up into the air, while the other held the ropes dangling from the sails of his ship. For a moment, the two arms threw her off, but it was soon clear by the blood red hair and three familiar scars over his left eye that this was, indeed, Red Haired Shanks.

The title was once again in fancy cursive but this time didn’t bother to hide the star’s identity. Ravished by the Red Haired Captain – She yearned for adventure on the high seas. What she got was unfathomable pleasure in the captain’s quarters.

“Damn,” Ikkaku muttered, once again seeking out a sex scene. She absolutely needed to know what the deal was with these books. “This must’ve been early in his career, but he was already building a fanbase. And probably didn’t get a single berri in royalties. Poor bastard.”

Cassandra gasped as she was bent over the bar counter, heaving chest pressed across the cool, polished wood decadently. Shanks’ left had splayed across her back, keeping her in place as he pressed his throbbing member against her pert bottom.

“That’s a good lass,” he murmured, rolling his hips so she could get the full understanding of just what her lovely curves did to him. He may have been a mighty pirate captain, but he was only a man, after all. And there was only so much a man like him could take. “You’ve been temptin’ me all day, serving drinks while shaking that ass and fluttering your lashes at all the customers. But now you’re gonna get a reminder that you’re my pretty wench.”

“I wasn’t—Ah!—tying to tempt you,” she insisted, though the mewl of pleasure at the feeling of his thick mast prodding at her most secret cavern through her skirts made that difficult to believe. The truth was, she hadn’t consciously been trying to tease him, but it was hard not to sway her hips a little more when she felt his eyes on them. Nor could she avoid lowering her neckline a bit more to relieve herself of some of the heat his presence sparked inside her.

Another gasp escaped Cassandra’s plump lips as she felt Shanks pull up her skirts to expose her wet and waiting netherlips, the cool air kissing them gently. “No knickers? Now you can’t tell me you didn’t plan this.”

“I just forgot to put them on this morning—”

Her excuse was interrupted by a firm smack to her buttock, the sting a delicious pain even as the tavern maid yelped in surprise and outrage.

“You’re lying to me. If you really want to come aboard my ship and sail with me, you’re going to have to learn to be honest with your captain,” Shanks growled sensually, trailing his fingers across the bright red welt his big, rough hand left behind. “Now let’s try again. Why aren’t you wearing knickers, Miss Cassandra?”

He squeezed the soft meat of her shapely rear end, fingers dancing dangerously close to her oh-so-wet entrance, and Cassandra knew she was done for. How could she resist the sexual magnetism of such a charming pirate?

“Because I wanted you to be able to fuck me whenever you pleased, Captain Shanks!” she cried, and was swiftly rewarded by the feeling of his thick rod plunging into her without hesitation.

“Wooooow,” Ikkaku mumbled to herself, snickering slightly at the writing, though she could admit that the scene was still fairly hot due to Red-Haired Shanks being the star. “Gods, I wonder if he knows this exists. What would he think of this? Would he and Beckman compare books?”

Another thought came to her, and once more she began looking through the books. Who else has been featured in these?

She got her answer, a surprised and delighted laugh bubbling up in her throat upon finding the next book in the series. This time, the heroine was clearly a Marine, her white uniform tastefully disheveled from a struggle as she was pinned against the wall by her opponent’s hips, though the way her long leg was wrapped around the man’s waist, it was clear this was a fight that was meant to shift into something more pleasurable. Of course, the man in question was unmistakable, even without his trademark long coat. After all, his pointed sideburns and goatee, along with those golden, piercing eyes, were nearly as iconic as the wide brimmed feathered hat on his head. Yoru was strapped to his shirtless back with a leather harness that was probably rather impractical, even if it did accent his back muscles nicely. But what was most striking was the sensual grin on his lips, curled in both arousal and amusement.

Prey of the Hawk-Eyed Hunter – Her mission was to apprehend him, but he takes her heart prisoner instead.

“He’s smiling? Well now I know this is a fantasy,” Ikkaku quipped, recalling the few times she’d seen him at the Warlord meetings. The man was grim and antisocial at best, and the few times she’d heard him speak, his comments had been bored and biting. Honestly, Ikkaku felt those made the otherwise irritating and dull meetings more entertaining.

For the third time Ikkaku cracked open a bodice ripper, eyes glittering with mischievous delight as she greedily took in the pages.

“You keep trying to fly away from me, little dove,” a deep, accented voice purred from the doorway. Calliope froze, the incriminatingly wide-open window to her bedroom making it undeniable that she had once again attempted to escape his fortress hideaway. “And dressed so indecently, too. Didn’t your superiors teach you about proper dress protocol?”

The Marine captain spun around, defiant even as she trembled a bit under his stare. Heavens above, those yellow eyes were always so intense. It didn’t matter if he was talking to her, fighting her, or staring at her in silence, they made him appear like he wished to devour her.

Calliope’s tongue darted out to wet her lips nervously, and that gaze flicked down to watch the movement. Heat shot between her legs while her nipples hardened against the thin blouse that was her only barrier between her skin and the cold air.

Golden eyes swept down her shapely figure, down to her chest, her slim torso, her bare thighs, her long legs, and then traveled back up again to meet her gaze, lingering on the comely flush that colored her cheeks. A devious smirk curled his lips as he stalked towards her. “Perhaps I should chain you to the bed, as your cage is proving insufficient.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Calliope insisted, attempting to strike him, to make an attack against the infamous Marine Hunter she had been tasked with arresting, but he deftly caught her wrist with speed only an expert swordsman could manage. He snatched her other wrist before it could even think to lash out before flinging them both onto the bed, pinning the smaller woman’s hips beneath his muscular thighs. He adjusted his grip to lock both of her narrow wrists in one palm, freeing up his right hand while keeping her trapped beneath him, helpless.

“You are my prisoner. My prize. I’ll do as I please with you.” As if to prove his point, he trailed his long, calloused fingers down the soft, delicate skin of her throat, down her collarbone, over her thundering heart, before cupping a full breast. Calliope released a shuddering breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at his bold touch. Why did this murderer’s touch inspire such feelings of desire in her?

She attempted to buck him off of her, but he wouldn’t budge. In fact, he let out a husky moan in response. Surprised, she looked down between their bodies to find the telltale bulge of his manhood straining against his leather trousers. “Is…is that a sword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she quipped, attempting to hide her mortification and, worse, arousal.

Alas, Mihawk could detect her desire like a shark smells blood in the water and was not fooled. Instead, he laughed before capturing her lips in a fierce, dominating kiss. Calliope attempted to struggle, to resist, but his sensual tongue and teasing teeth coaxed her lips to part for him. His tongue delved between them, conquering her hot, moist cavern, giving no quarter and showing no mercy, leaving her gasping and flushed when he finally pulled away so she could breathe.

“Oh, I’ll be very happy to see you writhing and moaning beneath me as I make you a sheath for my most powerful sword,” he purred, nipping at her throat as he rolled his hips against her, swollen member growing harder at the friction the motion caused.

“Tonight, I’m claiming you completely, my dove. No more escape attempts – I doubt you’ll be able to walk after I’m through with you. And even then, I might just keep you impaled on my cock for good measure.”

“Ha! I don’t remember Mihawk being even half that talkative at Warlord meetings,” Ikkaku snickered, though there was a faint dusting of a blush on her cheeks.

Damn it. These books were over-the-top and flowery, but they were raunchy enough that she could completely understand the appeal and wanted to read more. Besides, weren’t over-the-top, ridiculous bodice rippers what she came in here for in the first place? Her fellow Hearts would be utterly mortified if she started reading aloud sex scenes starring a Yonko, his first mate, or the World’s Greatest Swordsman.

Plus, she needed to prove these existed. There was no way any of the guys would believe her on just her word. It was too crazy! So it was important that she buy all three books so she could prove they existed. And what if she ever ran into the stars themselves? Didn’t they deserve to know they had starred in fictional sexual encounters and weren’t paid a dime for it? Informing them was the moral thing to do in that case. She may have been a pirate, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do a good deed.

Yes. That was totally why she was buying them and not because, despite herself, they were rather titillating. She would simply be reading them for blackmail and tormenting purposes. Not because any of the three men were quite the hotties in their prime.

Or in present day, but she certainly wouldn’t admit that aloud.

“Find what you were looking for, young lady?” the shopkeeper asked as she rang up Ikkaku’s purchase. She smiled down at the books, clearly pleased with her choice. “Like I said, nothing beats the classics.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ikkaku chuckled, giving her a curious smile. “These, ah, seem to be part of a series. You don’t happen to know if there are any starring women? Like, a female protagonist and a sexy lady pirate as the lovers?” She tried not to get her hopes up, but today had been full of surprises. Perhaps her bisexual prayers would be answered.

The shopkeeper gave a knowing smile. “Come back tomorrow. I know for a fact that I have a copy of  Seduced by the Ice Witch somewhere around here. Whitey Bay does quite a good job making the heroine swoon and tremble. Not that I can blame her in the least.”

The engineer’s smile could have illuminated the darkest ocean as she nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll take it, along with any others you might dig up!” she exclaimed as she handed over her berri, already eager to start her newest book series and method of messing with her dear nakama.

Though, she had already decided that Seduced by the Ice Witch would be kept to herself.

[waitmyturtles]

Only Friends and More: Watching Asian Queer Shows About Asian Queer Male Sex As a Cishet Woman

Hello! It's Turtles here, your resident cisgender female, heterosexual, South-and-Southeast-Asian-American mama.

I'm joining in partnership with my fellow cishet female elder and very dear friend, @lurkingshan, in taking a minute today to talk to our fellow cishet girlies about the world we are being exposed to via a show that we're holding near and dear to our hearts: Only Friends.

As my friend Shan has written today, Only Friends is presenting a number of paradigms regarding queer sex -- specifically what I will call from here on out, Asian queer male sex -- and how us as cishet women understand, digest, and possibly even judge this sex.

Shan referred to a phenomenon this week that some of us drama clowns saw percolating across our dashes: that Boston's encounter with Top in episode 2 of Only Friends was being described in some circles as an assault.

Shan does a great job to explain a very important point: the interpretation of that scene is dependent on the lens from which that scene is viewed. For instance, a non-Asian cishet female gaze on that scene might very well interpret that scene as a potential assault. A non-Asian cishet female might be using her social understanding of the rules and boundaries of sexual engagement that she embodies and has been raised with throughout her life to come to that interpretation.

What Shan delves into is the importance of identifying what your specific lens is before passing judgment on that scene and other scenes of Asian queer male sex in Only Friends. And, Shan suggests -- hey, try stepping out of that lens for a hot second, and give another interpretation a shot.

In other words: if you are a white, American, cisgender heterosexual female -- and you are watching a show about an Asian queer male community -- by checking your lens in watching this show, you can begin to understand that you may not have the familiarity, the comfort level, and the coded language (verbal and non-verbal) fluency to fully interpret what is being communicated and depicted in totality in this show.

Asian queer male sex looks and behaves vastly differently than sex for cishet females. The language used to engage in Asian queer male sex, the assumptions made about how sex comes about between two or more people, the way sex is approached, the way sex is talked about among friends -- is wildly, vastly different from the way cishet women engage in and about sex.

You know who knows a lot about this? The 100% Asian queer male writing and directing team behind Only Friends. Jojo Tichakorn, Ninew Pinya, Den Panuwat, and Best Kittisak are all Asian queer males. They are the team -- the artists, the darlings, the ASIAN QUEER MEN -- who are giving us this show.

If you a regular reader around here, you'll know that I gave y'all a little homework before Only Friends premiered.

I asked y'all to watch Gay OK Bangkok.

Jojo Tichakorn and Backaof Noppharnach's Gay OK Bangkok, to be exact.

Just like Only Friends: Gay OK Bangkok was about Asian queer men. It was about Asian queer men having sex. Asian queer men having relationships. Having throuples. Dealing with relationship problems. Dealing with HIV. Dealing with dating. Getting tested. Dealing with their jobs and salaries. Dealing with heartache. Experiencing joys of first love. Being there for their heartbroken friends.

Gay OK Bangkok showed us life's joys and life's ugliness -- through the eyes and experiences of out, gay, Asian queer males.

Gay OK Bangkok was VERY GAY AND VERY ASIAN.

We are so lucky to have Gay OK Bangkok as a reference for understanding how sex comes about in Only Friends. Gay OK Bangkok gave us insight into the language that Asian queer males use -- again, verbal and non-verbal -- to engage in sex. It showed friends taking men away from each other for the purposes of romance and sex. It showed hook-ups, drinking, partying, dating. It showed Asian queer males waking up in bed with multiple men. It showed Asian queer males waking up with a man next to them, and maybe not knowing that guy's name. It depicted only Asian queer males doing this.

What Shan asks us to do, when we're watching Only Friends -- or other shows about Asian queer males having love and sex, which are all of our BLs from Asia -- is to understand that if we are cishet women watching these shows, that we are NOT Asian queer males, and we have to check ourselves to not bring our own judgments of how we ourselves engage with sex and love, because we do that differently than Asian queer males.

We can learn about how Asian queer males have sex through our shows. Through Gay OK Bangkok, through Jojo's magnificent The Warp Effect, and through another show that I highly recommend -- that many people thought was problematic, and which I thought was one of the best BLs I have ever seen: Make It Right and Make It Right 2.

Let me tell you about my experience watching Make It Right. Again: cishet Asian female mama here. I knew, going into 2016's Make It Right, that it was known infamously for starting with what a majority of the BL audience called a "problematic" start. The two main protagonist couples, Tee/Fuse, and Frame/Book, start out their sexual experiences in a way that cishet females may call "dubious." Tee first sleeps with Fuse when Fuse is drunk. Frame sleeps with Book after Book messages Frame on a chat app -- Frame goes into Book's room and jumps on Book's body.

Make It Right was written and directed by two Asian queer males: New Siwaj (Until We Meet Again, A Boss and a Babe, etc.) and Cheewin Thanamin (Bed Friend, Why R U, Secret Crush On You, etc.)

When I was watching Make It Right, I messaged my dear friend @bengiyo in a kind of wonderment. I wrote to him, literally, "Sooooo -- I am REALLY LIKING Make It Right so far." Almost as if I wasn't supposed to like it, for all the times I had read about its infamous reputation.

Ben wrote back to me, and he wrote such a compelling, gorgeous message, that I had to center my review of Make It Right around that message. He wrote:

"[New and Cheewin] understand that many early sexual experiences [for boys] are with other boys. And Make It Right asks what life could be if they just didn't turn against each other for it."

Let me tell you something. I would not have ever gotten that on my own as a cishet female. I needed to talk to a queer elder to understand the entire depth of what I was watching in MIR and MIR2.

I wrote in my review of Make It Right that the "problematic" nature of how TeeFuse and FrameBook needed to be contextualized from the perspective of Asian queer males. The word "problematic" here is a judgment. In fact -- for MANY Asian queer males -- drunken hook-ups might be a common way in which one is first exposed to sex. And through Make It Right, New and Cheewin showed us how young Asian queer males -- who are coming to terms with themselves, their minds, their bodies, and their attraction to others -- manage these exposures for the first time.

It was gorgeous to watch. And to learn. And to be exposed to a new-to-me culture of sex and love that I was wholly unfamiliar with as an Asian-American cishet woman.

I want my fellow cishet women who are watching Only Friends to understand that you are in the very BEST hands in Jojo Tichakorn and Ninew Pinya to watch some parts of a culture of Asian queer male sex unfold before your eyes. Like I said before, Jojo has a track record of creating shows about sex that we can trust, in Gay OK Bangkok, in The Warp Effect, and more. Only Friends is going to get into tough, very tough territory -- territory that will include Asian queer men having sex with other Asian queer men, often in scenarios that one might want to jump to judge negatively. I trust Jojo implicitly and explicitly in his storytelling -- in this instance, in stories rooted in toxic behavior -- because he's earned my trust in his past shows.

Before you pass judgment about the sex that you will see in Only Friends, no matter the context: understand that what you're watching comes first and foremost from the perspective of Asian queer males, as written and presented for a majority Asian audience. There are going to be nuances you will miss. (I'll miss them, too.) There will be verbal and body language you will not understand. That is okay. But before you pass any negative judgment: check yourself, check your lenses, check your privileges, and hold yourself accountable before you pass judgment on anything you see.

This got long, but let me suggest -- no, let me exhort you -- to please do your homework while Only Friends is still airing.

1 ) Read @bengiyo's incredible post about Loving Queer Men. Listen and THINK when Ben asks you: do you love queer men when queer men are ugly, or catty, or -- in Boston's case -- horny, or maybe even "cheating"? And ask yourself: from what place/lens/perspective would you call Boston's actions "assault" and/or "cheating"?

2) Read @williamrikers's incredible post about consent among queer men in shows about Asian queer men having sex. This is SUCH an important read, from a queer male perspective, on the sheer joy and delight of watching queer men on screen have sex and depicting queer joy in having queer sex. Root yourself in this lovingness!

3) Watch Gay OK Bangkok.

4) Watch Make It Right and Make It Right 2.

5) Ask yourself what "sex-positive," "accepting," and "accountable" mean to you as a cishet female, especially if you watch shows about Asian queer males, and Asian queer males having sex (and especially Asian queer males having sex outside of relationship settings, and when Asian queer males are having sex with multiple partners, as we are seeing in Only Friends).

6) And finally: if you are a cishet female fan of the shipped pairings of Only Friends, ask yourself if you are truly comfortable watching your favorite Asian actors have fictional sex with other men who are not in their pairings. Ask yourself: "what makes me uncomfortable about this?"

The growth that I have gained from watching Asian BLs -- shows about Asian queer men in love and sex -- has had such a positive impact on my life, that I cannot wait to share this joy and acceptance with my children as they grow up. I will show my children Bad Buddy and The Eclipse. I will show my kids Gay OK Bangkok, so that they may know that there are thriving communities of queer people around the world that we can be allies with. I'm going to teach my kids about acceptance, perspective, and relativity. And to my fellow cishet girlies, I say: it's never too late. I came to BLs when I was already a mom. It's never too late to grow up and into loving and standing up for our queer brothers, sisters, and non-binary siblings -- and to afford all communities that are not our own the joy of living their lives freely, without the auspices of judgment and discrimination.

(Special thank yous and shout-outs are in order for @bengiyo, @neuroticbookworm, and @wen-kexing-apologist for reading this through and offering insight. Thank you, dear friends.)

[clytemnaestraes]

Alicent + the woman in the window: Analysing the trope

“You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison”

— Rhaenys to Alicent, Hotd 1x09

There's a lot going on between Alicent and windows in House of the Dragon:

Alicent is a hightower, a woman trapped in a tower looking out the window. Her daughter and granddaughter die by jumping out the window.

For the purpose of this post, I'm limiting myself to analysing the "woman in the window" trope as seen in art.

The woman in the window has has been featured in Mediterranean pottery from the fourth century BCE through Botticelli, Raphael and Rembrandt, Sickert and Picasso.

A window is a border between the inside and the outside, the private and the public, the light and the dark. It provides commentary on cages, frames, prisons, and the limit of the subject's freedoms and horizons.

When a woman is framed in light streaming through a window, we are are seeing her as she was seen by the artist.

Tracy Chevalier noted the presence of a "relentless male gaze" when she visited Reframed: The Woman in the Window, an exhibition at Dulwich Picture gallery.

Between those two poles there are various depictions and judgments of women. Sometimes they’re prostitutes; other times they are the Virgin Mary.

In fact, among the earliest depictions of "a woman in the window" is a Mediterranean vessel depicting a courtesan.

1. Courtesan in a window, 18th century

2. The caption of "Woman at the Window" by Degas reveals that the featured woman is a courtesan he paid to model for him.

3. The Virgin and the Child, seen by a window

Are women in windows protected by being inside and shutting out the world, or are they being confined against their will?

In one of Picasso's portraits, his partner Francoise Gilot looks out the window, her hands pressed against the glass. Tracy notes that

knowing what we know about Picasso and his partners, it is clear Gilot is trapped inside the male gaze (though she does eventually escape the relationship), her hands semaphoring anxiety.

Windows and Waiting

Windows are also linked to waiting, and this is especially true of women in medieval times, waiting at the window for men to return from war, waiting at the window to learn their own fate.

[ramayantika]

as a dancer yourself, how do you think the stigma against male dancers which makes them labelled "gay" and female dancers which makes them labelled "prostitutes", can be dispersed?

This is something which even I think of and to be honest I do not have a good definite answer.

But, firstly, people need to be educated on the cultural history. History books mention about wars, dynasties and politics. There are very vague and meagre mentions of india's cultural history especially of the performing arts.

When I see the young masses talking about hindu culture and worship, the same barely know how many classical dance forms are there in India.

Exposure of the general audience to indian music and dance shows will actually help. I believe that the new gen dancers and some veteran dancers too have actually begun conversations about the history of dance, especially about female performers and their role in shaping the performing arts of india. Those need to be popularized especially through social media, because our generation uses a lot of it, so why not support viewership of the classical dance forms? That way even male classical dancers can be seen by non dancer males.

We have watched DID and other dance reality shows. Not everybody has enrolled in a dance class (neither western nor indian) but somehow we still accept western dance forms easily especially by males but sadly there isn't enough recognition for male classical artists. People talk about bharatiya sanskriti and sabhyata, will talk (and romanticize) wearing outfits from the vedic period, but will swiftly call the male dancer slurs even though he is portraying shiva and parvati.

When dance and music forms an integral part of indian culture, it is disappointing to see the general indian society be alienated from it. They are aware of it only through Bollywood which now does a shit job at portraying indian dance forms (folk dance is rarely seen. Folk is well another topic)

A good starting point would be to first read about it or watch classical dance shows and productions. Many of them are available on YouTube for free.

No one's asking to start learning dance and music, but if you can appreciate contestants on other dance reality shows with no knowledge of hip-hop, contemporary dance etc , then certainly you can also begin with indian dances.

I also need to add that good changes are happening. They are slow, but I am seeing appreciation for male dancers too. The stigma exists but the essential conversation about gender roles and art is taking place. It will take time, but it is happening.

As for female dancers well.... I do wonder when will the sexualization of the dancing body stop. Sensuality has been celebrated in India from a very long time, and there is a thin line between sensuality and vulgarity. Sadly, we as a society see sensuality as something impure.

A woman who is free and in control of her sexuality and sensuality must be tamed, turned demure and controlled. That is the general view. She is attractive, desirable but then when won/conquered/possessed must be tamed. The dancer too I think is seen as the same.

Stigma and stereotypes never completely break. But like I said previously, dialogue and debate is needed. Conversations need to happen. Female dancers too need to speak up and be vocal about it, about our history of women performers, because all of this exists due to them.

This was a long answer and I don't really have a definite solution(s) but I hope I could provide a few insights.

Also thanks for the question, I was writing in my journal about my dancing experience and the male gaze, I kinda vented it a little here too.

[cutiemochiii]

Present Moment

The final conversation Kanae and Sanemi ever had ;-; inspired by this gorgeous fanart

credit to the artist (wish I knew who it was) for the beautiful fanart

————————————————————————

Sanemi liked running water. In between his angry comments, fierce battles, and carrying the burden of being the wind pillar, Kanae had seen him glance longingly at the waterfalls and quiet rivers they passed on their missions together. Sometimes, the softness of his eyes as he gazed would make Kanae stop and ponder their next move, or wonder if they were going the right way. Anything she could do to stall, just for a few more seconds, for the man whose eyes held thoughts she knew he would never share.

So it did not surprise her to find him by the river just off of Oyakata-sama’s property. He had excused himself stiffly once the sickly man had given them instructions for their next mission: a case of women going missing from a village. It was obvious that something about the mission had ticked him off. When Sanemi was really on edge, simply sitting in Oyakata-sama’s presence was enough to annoy him. The two men had respect for each other, but if Sanemi could force the man to stand and place a nichirin sword in his hand, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Sanemi was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed as he let the sounds of the current wash him away to a place of calm. Kanae didn’t want to bother him, but since everyone else tried to avoid him as much as possible, she figured she was the only one who could make sure he was alright.

“He shouldn’t be sending you to that village.” Kanae froze as Sanemi’s gruff voice rang out over the sounds of the rushing water. She smiled.

“You knew I was here.” She responded softly. Sanemi scoffed, fidgeting in his position until he settled comfortably again.

“Of course I did. I’m not deaf.” Kanae sat down beside him, legs folded to one side as she leaned back on her arms.

“He should not send you to the village.” He mumbled again, watching the fish make their way through the river, as quick and determined as he was. Kanae smiled.

“Nobody’s forcing me, Shinazugawa-san. I volunteered to go.” Kanae had offered to complete the mission. She had thought it would be the smartest decision, as the demon would be more likely to hunt after her, since she was a woman. Mitsuri had just joined their ranks, but she was merely a girl, nervous and untested. She did not want to put her life at risk as her senior.

She caught Sanemi staring at her arm. “You’re injured.” He argued. Kanae rubbed her shoulder, laughing softly.

“It’s merely a cut, I’ll be alright. Besides, Shinobu patched me up real nice.” Sanemi looked away once more.

“She’s just a kid, there’s still a lot she isn’t capable of.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that, or else she won’t agree to help you with your injuries anymore.” Kanae teased. Sanemi smiled softly.

“Sanemi.” Kanae’s voice was solemn. Sanemi tensed at the sound of his name.

“When I was told about those village women and girls, I couldn’t help but think of our young Mitsuri. My apprentices at the Butterfly Mansion.” She looked down at her hands. “My sister.” Shinobu’s short hair and butterfly berets flashed in Kanae’s mind. Her throat seemed to close.

“When I think of them, I can’t help but wonder how I’d feel if anything happened to them. These girls, these women, they’re being taken from their homes. Away from their spouses, their siblings, their parents, their children.” Sanemi was gazing at her now, and a part of her was reminded of an owl: the thoughtful, quiet, yet deadly predator of the night. Kanae held his gaze.

“I cannot allow the luxury of my wounds to keep me from saving them, bringing them back to their loved ones.” Kanae’s eyes were blurring with tears, and she blinked them away. Sanemi let out a slow breath.

“But what about you? You’re a liability right now. You will be slower than you usually are. What if the dangers are too much for your current state?” His voice held no anger, not even frustration. Just worry.

Kanae smiled. “Shinazugawa. If I avoid danger because of my injuries, or my fears, would I even be a hashira? Besides,” Kanae had scoot behind him, gently wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his back. She could hear his breathing, feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, against her hands. “Danger is everywhere. It’s the beauty of life. I could just as easily choke on some food, or even fall into the water, as I could get hurt in battle. I could just as easily lose you, as you could me.” She smiled sadly. Sanemi was staring at the grass, hands grasping Kanae’s arms.

“So let’s not worry about those things, hmm? Let’s just live in our present moment, sitting next to this river and enjoying each other’s company.” Sanemi could feel Kanae’s gentle voice vibrate through him, resonate into his very soul. Imitating the frequency of his beating heart, as if they were calling out to one another, created one and the same. Only she could do this to him. Not the smoothness of his blade, the strength of his wind breathing, or the coolness of the flowing water before him.

When Sanemi was with her, the clutter of his mind was emptied, replaced only with a sense of serenity. Her voice was a tether, holding him down with thoughts of a small home in a valley, the scents of blooming flowers and the laughter of children playing on the hills. A world so very different from the one they lived in, but one he dared to dream of, only because she gave him a chance to dream.

Sanemi’s hands moved down her arms, until his fingers interlocked with hers. He couldn’t help the smile that dawned his face.

“Okay.”

————————————————————————

Author’s Note: AHHH, my babies ;-; I love this ship so much. Anyways, I am going to be making a sort of part 2 for this as soon as I can. I have the idea for it 😊 well, it’s short, but I hope you love it!

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Review - Sirius: Twin Stars

A Bright Star of Yuri with Meaningful Symbolism and Incredible, Dramatic Characters

Sirius: Twin Stars is the second manga from Spanish Yuri artist Ana C. Sánchez. As with Alter Ego, her previous work, Tokyopop publishes it in English under its LOVE x LOVE and International Women of Manga line. Similarly to Alter Ego, this oneshot tells a dramatic, if somewhat contrived, romance between two young women with surprising depth and artistic merit. And yet, as long as we are compare the two, I find I enjoy Sirius far more than its predecessor. The manga improves on Alter Ego in almost every way, from the characters and their connection to its pacing and artwork. And considering that Alter Ego is not by any means a low-quality manga, I awarded it a six out of ten, after all, the comparison further cements Sirius’ quality.

Sirius begins as Dani, a teenage or very young adult tennis prodigy and daughter of a former champion, is relocated to her family’s villa by the sea to recover after an as-of-yet unspecified tragedy. As they drive along the shore, Dani catches sight of a beautiful and bright woman carrying a telescope, Blanca.

These opening panels are some of the best in the manga, establishing Dani’s early determination and drive to become a tennis legend like her mother, the collapse of that “unattainable childhood ideal,” and the surly cynicism that has overtaken the once exuberant girl. Her gaze, narrowed and turned downward, is contrasted wonderfully by Blanca’s joyful and open observance of the beach and beautiful blue sky. Although they have yet to meet, the dynamic between the two main characters and the inevitable struggle between their optimistic and shattered worldview is immediately apparent, setting the stage for their relationship.

A few pages of this introduction depict a surreal and imaginative scene drenched in symbolism, its meaning becoming clearer throughout the story. As a figure of Dani walks a narrow, crocked yet direct path towards her goal, a distant conflux of light that dominates her focus, the road behind her starts to crumble, signifying both the degrading relationship she and her mother and coach had throughout her career and Dani’s loss of innocence and passion that occurred before events of the story. As the figure looks back and realizes the path behind her is crumbling, the way forward similarly decays, leaving her isolated, suspended over a pit of “monsters.” The figure stands there with no way forward toward her lost dream, no route of return to the idyllic days before she lost her luster and her relationship with her mother, and no escape from the lonely solitude, a lone trapped figure.

The full story of what happened with Dani is revealed slowly throughout the manga. Through visuals, dialogue, and narration Sánchez allude to the full story of Dani’s fall from grace in the tennis world and the falling out she had with her mother before the manga’s start. Early moments like Dani’s panic attack at seeing her old tennis racket plant pieces of the larger story, hinting at the truth.

These seeds help readers develop a picture and narrative of these events, which gradually expand thanks to later sequences like a nightmare from Dani and more grounded and reliable flashbacks. By the time Dani reveals her entire, unedited backstory, many aspects of which I have danced around, as readers really should experience it for themselves, it feels like a satisfying confirmation, verifying the chronology we have primarily constructed ourselves and slotting it into its greater context in the story and Dani’s psyche. It is a wonderfully paced and enthralling story that makes excellent use of the relatively oneshot’s limited page counts and actively involves readers in Dani’s journey and recovery. While the romance plot is as evident as any Yuri story, the personal, character-driven plot forges a strong connection with its subject, creating a hunger for answers and resolution that quickly engages readers.

The other subject of Sirius, Blanca, is a foil to Dani. Her natural charm and brightness make her the perfect subject to counteract Dani’s sullen and traumatized demeanor. She is an enthusiastic stargazer, and her unrelenting devotion to it mirrors Dani’s former tennis goals. As the story progresses and the two girls develop an unlikely relationship and romance,

Blanca’s fiery fascination with astronomy affects Dani deeply. The broken young woman becomes enchanted by her friend’s motivation. She slowly starts to open up to these feelings of excitement again and starts having romantic feelings for Blanca, the star who can save her and repair the broken pieces of her dream.

However, Blanca starts to experience doubt and guilt caused by her confused feelings for Dani. Upon discovering the truth of Dani’s past, Blanca believes herself culpable for the former’s pain, regretting sharing her aspiration so enthusiastically with the girl who had lost hers. It leads to her withdrawing from Dani and lashing out against her sister.

Although the latter developments feel somewhat less earned, as Blanca’s fight with her sister feels sudden, forced into the story only to poorly reflect Dani and her mother, her guilt is much more understandable. The rift it creates between her and Dani effectively moves the story along and is one of the first of many parts of Dani that begin to heal, as it leads to a confrontation between the two of them in which Blanca can refute Dani’s view of herself and promises to accompany her as she recovers the “light” she lost.

The relationship between Blanca and Dani is incredibly impactful. Sánchez does a stunning job displaying and justifying both girls’ personalities, and it sells their eventual romance and Dani’s journey of growth and healing. These two aspects of the manga are so intertwined that it feels impossible to separate them. Neither the Yuri nor character aspects work without the other.

Although Sirius is forthright with its characters and stories, it allows for plenty of analysis and contemplation thanks to its reliance on symbolism. Several motifs appear throughout, such as Dani’s phone, symbolizing the potential for mending her psychological wounds, and the sky, which stands for the characters’ passion.

Chief among these symbols is the titular Sirius, two stars linked together by gravity. The manga frequently and blatantly references the binary star in relation to the manga’s main characters. Sirius is easily the least subtle of the symbols, as the girls openly reference each other’s “light” and refer to each other as stars pulled together. However, the presence and prominence of the stars and other symbols help lend further gravity (pardon the pun) to the story's events. The allusion to fated lovers as shining light help legitimize the heightened emotions depicted that would otherwise come off as melodramatic and lend it a more complex, artistic status. It is this very factor that spurred my analysis in the form of this review.

Sirius’s artwork furthers the many excellent aspects of its story. As with the earlier described scene from the introduction, several moments of more stylized and imaginative imagery exist throughout the manga. While none rise to the level of those initial pages, they assist in communicating the character’s dramatic and overwhelming emotions in crucial segments.

Sánchez also employs incredible utilization of contrast in everything from the individual stages to the character designs. Dani has black hair that reflects her inner darkness and is often drawn in shadow, while Blanca is the opposite, incorporating brighter tones and often a sparkling, shining aurora of brightness around her, which helps to illuminate and spread to Dani as she is captivated by Blanca.

Some of the manga’s best scenes incorporate this use of brightness, such as a pivotal discussion between the girls during which they move from shadowed darkness into blinding light that washes out the girls and the scenery around them. It is also effectively employed in Sánchez’s illustrations of the sky, both in the day’s rippling circlets of sunshine and the night’s illustrious blanket of stars.

On the note of character designs, I criticized Alter Ego for making its characters, who are in their early-to-mid twenties, look like teenagers. However, Sánchez’s style is more suited to its teenage subjects in Sirius. And the illustrations depicting adults, including a time skip epilogue at the manga’s conclusion, are much more appropriately proportioned and constructed than in her previous work.

Lastly, I have to praise the manga’s colored illustrations. Sánchez got her start in the traditionally full-color webcomic space, and her proficiency shows. Although Sirius is, like most manga, illustrated mainly in black and white, and as previously mentioned, masterfully employs tone and contrasting shades, the colorful introduction and cover art are astounding. I wish this entire story was rendered similarly; it is just that good.

Despite my love for Sirius' story, characters, and presentation, a few faults stuck out to me. First, a few events feel forced or confounded, particularly in the early story. For example, when Dani first meets Blanca face-to-face, she appears drunk and aggressive. While their fight here, which ends with Dani collapsing and Blanca revealing her authentic tender and concerned nature, progresses naturally to later developments between the two, it feels unnecessary. It results in our first impression of Blanca being wholly negative.

I am inclined to believe the story acknowledges this fault, as it has to scramble to justify and undo this initial encounter, later revealing that Blanca’s “friends” spiked her drink. But, this does little to contribute to Blanca’s character and ensures that the short oneshot has to waste time undoing these actions.

Furthermore, although the romance and Dani’s growth evolve naturally and profoundly, there is little change in Blanca’s character. Although her battle with guilt over Dani is well written, it does not change her character in the long term, and the sudden argument with her sister feels like a last-ditch effort to add stakes to her character via strained logic and events.

If the author had leaned into some aspects of Blanca’s character a little more, her story would feel complete. She establishes that she and her sister are darting between different towns each week of their Summer. This fact provides excellent ground to have her express a reluctance to attachment, a preference for keeping her head among the stars rather than forging lasting bounds to others on Earth, until she meets Dani, of course. The scene with Blanca and her “friends” could even have been twisted to support this, as she barely knows them, and if one of them had injured Dani instead of her, the guilt and shock she feels could lend credence to her caution of others.

Furthermore, a side fling between Blanca’s sister and Dani’s cousin and guardian, Alex, adds exceptionally little to the story. Their presence is little more than an unnecessary distraction. Apart from one of the scattered interactions between Dani and Alex, in which he gives her some love advice, neither character contributes much to the manga.

Lastly, although the lettering is overall fantastic, especially for sound effects, there were several occasions where “multi-bubbles” employed for speech and narrations were separated and vertically misaligned in such a way that it interrupted the flow of reading. I often had to consider what I should read first, thrusting me out of the story.

irius is a beautiful and complex romance. Despite an often obvious storyline and a few too many coincidences, it shines as a bright and dramatic account of love and healing. The more I reread and contemplated the shining manga, the more there was to enjoy and analyze. While I could easily keep this review going for twice its already excessive length as I lovingly examine its many details and gush over its excellent artwork, I want to ensure that readers have something left to discover for themselves when they go read this book, which I highly encourage them to do. So please do yourself a favor and let gravity pull you towards this bright star of Yuri.

Ratings: Story – 9 Characters – 7 Art – 8 LGBTQ – 7 Sexual Content – 2 Final – 8

Check out Sirius: Twin Stars today in English paperback and digital editions: https://amzn.to/3GKEUS2

Reading official releases helps support creators and publishers. YuriMother makes a small affiliate commission from sales to help fund future coverage.

Special thanks to translator Nanette Cooper-McGuiness, editor Lene Atanassova, and the rest of the team at Tokyopop for their work on this manga.

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[gascon-en-exil]

Sorry if I sound rude Saying this but a woman wearing a short skirt and a cleavage isn't sexualized and acting as if thighs belly button and chest are sexual when they are just body part is the main problem of women not being able to dress how they want and to have t hide some body parts to not excite the male gaze. I agree that FEH is indeed using fanservice but saying that a woman wearing outfits exposing those body part is itself fanservice is wrong beyond limit, especially regarding the Edelgard design since it's very modest and anatomically wrong

Say it with me now:

Fictional characters are not people. They are tools.

What these units wear says nothing about what women should wear, but it does say quite a bit about FEH's artists and their target demographic. If you'd actually paid attention to that post, I was advocating for hornier male character art because that would allow FE's tastelessness to at least feel consistent.

Also, Zettai Ryouiki is the trope I was thinking of - sexualizing the gap of bare skin between a short skirt and stockings. I'm not going to pretend to understand why that's a thing - maybe it's sort of like the joke that Victorian Anglos got horny for exposed ankles? - but it apparently is, and winter Edelgard's got plenty of it.

I realize that part of Edelgard's sexual/romantic appeal is, ironically, that she's "modest" and unavailable to anyone but you the player(-as-Byleth), because straight men have that whole Madonna/whore complex thing going on where women or female characters who are perceived as too sexual or too experienced are somehow threatening or, worse, "used." There's also a TV Trope for that. Given my own experiences and the total absence of that sentiment in gay male culture, it's little wonder that some of my favorite modern FE female characters are Camilla and Manuela - because they've got obviously sexualized designs but are also written to be aware of their own appeal and how they make use of it.

However, you've really got to let go of that "My Girl Is Not a Slut" thing with Edelgard, because IS has no such reservations. Never mind the thigh gap winter alt, we've got

boob armor where previously there was none, for the alt players actually voted for,

a much softer and more human take on the Hegemon,

lying supine in a nightdress, and more exposed thigh courtesy of Cipher,

more exposed skin and basically a camel toe; I also know that Reddit threw a fit over this one in particular, because she's not muscular and/or scarred from the Agarthan experiments,

and an upskirt shot from Azure Gleam that lasts for two whole seconds, in the middle of a scenario where Edelgard is made to take orders from two older men and then reduced to a babbling child.

In the midst of any outrage over my pointing out more examples of IS treating Edelgard like a sex object, I'd like you to turn that feeling around and ask instead: Why does the camera never lovingly linger up a male character's clothes? Why are possessed male characters (ex. Conquest Takumi) never treated like helpless children? Why are there no Cipher cards of any male characters lounging around in nightwear giving the viewer bedroom eyes? When male characters become monsters (ex. Lyon with Fomortiis), why do their FEH versions look the same or even more monstrous?

Oh, wait. Is it because of this? I assume you also sent this.

Funny how when male characters are actually objectified in the same way, then and only then does it become stupid.

People get horny over Edelgard, and IS knows it. People also get horny over naked and mostly-naked men in ways that do not necessarily cater to straight male comfort, although fortunately for you I imagine IS doesn't seem to know or care about that. Take your wins where you can get them, and let the rest of us have our fun.