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a-libra-writes · 3 years

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hello, i am here! Stannis with the prompt: a diary where you can communicate with your soulmate, please. it can be hc's or scenario; however you choose to quench my thirst for him, I will be grateful.

hi molly, thank u for giving me such a treat!!! bc this was my first prompt and it... uh ....................

really got away from me

(LOTS OF ANGST BUT ITLL BE OK I PROMISE MAYBE)

The first thing he felt about it was annoyance. The six year old second son of Lord Baratheon looked down and saw that someone had doodled all over his book. He figured it was Robert, though he'd never seen a quill in his brother's hand unless it was being forced by the maester. He set the leather bound book in front of his mother expectantly, silently waiting for an explanation. When she looked at it and gave him a curious glance, he finally spoke.

"Robert's been drawing in it," Stannis said. He placed it right on top of her embroidery so she'd see. Lady Cassana wasn't bothered, rather, she was curious. She picked up the book and flipped through the pages.

"Did you see him do it, sweetling?"

"No." The lack of evidence didn't deter him - no, this was evidence enough. He didn't understand what his mother was so amused about.

Lady Cassana stopped on one of the pages. She smiled at the messy drawing of what was probably a cat catching a mouse. Under that was a tidy little castle with a series of smiling figures. "I don't think it's your brother, Stannis."

Stannis frowned, ready to argue that fact, but she asked, "Do you know what a soulmate is, sweetling?"

“No.”

“It’s a special person that only you can speak with this way,” She touched the book. “It's a special thing, I did it when I was your age. It’s the will of the gods, my love. You should write something back."

He hesitated. “Do I… have to?”

“Not if you don’t want to. But perhaps say hello, give it a try.” Lady Cassana said. She was smiling broadly now. “Enjoy it while you can.”

"What if they're not literate?"

Maester Cressen looked up from his papers, surprised the usually quiet boy was speaking during lessons. Stannis repeated, “What if my… soul mate doesn’t know their letters? You said the smallfolk don't."

The Maester stood and walked over to the leather book. Two years later, and it still looked in good condition. Stannis took care of this things, especially this. As usual the page was covered in whimsical drawings.

“Have you tried to write to them, my lord?”

“Not yet.” Stannis was furrowing his brow already, wanting his questions answered. “What happens if one soul mate can’t write, but the other can? What if both can't?"

“My lord, there's no need to worry about things that are irrelevant to you.”

“What do the smallfolk do?” Stannis pressed on. “Draw pictures like this? How do they find each other? How do they know what the other person looks like?"

Maester Cressen was already turning back to his papers. “Soulmates don’t always find each other, my lord, nor should they expect to.”

“Why not?”

“Distance, lack of communication, familial duties.” The maester said dismissively. “If you’ll return to your lessons—”

“I finished. What’s the point of soulmates if they can never meet?"

Maester Cressen sighed. There was no escaping this anytime soon, he feared. “It’s the will of the gods, my lord, and a great mystery we maesters have studied for centuries. It’s best not to think much of it, however. Draw or write back in the book, if you wish, but do not spend too much time with it. It’s best not to get expectations of someone you will likely never meet.”

Stannis looked down at the book, startled by a new drawing already appearing. He couldn’t see them being made, only when they were finished. It was a school of fish, or maybe a flock of birds. Wouldn’t it be simple to ask where this person lived, and go see them? What was the point of all this if he was just meant to ignore it? He wanted to ignore it, but this mysterious person kept drawing all over his notes and it was distracting.

“Mother said it’s 'the will of the gods', too. Does that mean it’s bad to ignore it?”

The maester stood up and closed the leather book. He replaced it with a chart of various colorful coat of arms and a map. “I daresay it’s time to move on to the next lesson."

It took him a few days, but the lordling decided to write in the book. Stannis wasn't much of an artist, so Hello seemed like a good start. He was relieved when there was a simple ‘hello!’ written back within a few minutes, and later, a scribbly flower with a long stalk underneath. Seeing the words form on their own so quickly, and in response to him, unnerved Stannis. He closed the book and tried not to think about it the rest of the day.

He checked a week later, where more drawings were present, with more words: whats your nam?

He wrote back, Name has an 'e'.

And before his eyes, a minute later, there was a name… and a house, and a title. Caspian.

She was a highborn lady? Stannis looked at the page, not sure what to think about it. It’d be alright to write to a lady, wouldn’t it? Maester Cressen was the one worried about this soulmate business. Perhaps it was because a lord and peasant couldn’t be together? Stannis knew that rule already. He knew the decorum and niceties his parents rehearsed him through, even at his young age. He walked to the library to find a map, and in the time he finally located it and rolled it out, there was more on the page.

A drawing of something weird and arrow-shaped. this is our sigil. its a manta ray.

Stannis had never seen one, but he had a sense that wasn’t what they looked like. He tried looking through the map, but words kept appearing.

whats your nam where are you from? ?? are you a boy or girl do you like horses ? I like swiming and horses! im good at it

He considered closing the book again, rolling up the map, going back to whatever he was doing before. If there was no point, then why bother with this? ... Then again, he’d have to go back to the training yard, and Robert was there swinging around a huge wooden sword.

Stannis frowned, deciding this was the less annoying (and painful) activity for now. He found an ink pot and quill, held it tightly and wrote in a fine penmanship—

My name is Stannis Baratheon.

The last part smudged, and it didn’t look exactly how his father signed it, but it was his best. The response wasn’t immediate, and he quickly saw why. A drawing of a stag appeared on the paper before the words did.

Its good to meat you! lets be friends

Friends? Friends. He thought about it. Stannis didn’t have friends, just brothers. He didn’t think he needed any. This didn’t have to be so bad, though, he could try. If it was too tiresome, or too... strange, he could stop. Maester Cressen wanted him to stop, anyhow, and his mother said he didn't have to.

It’s spelled ‘meet’. We can be friends.

Lady Cassana patted his mess of black hair, and Stannis didn’t flinch away this time. Instead, he asked, “Were you and father soulmates?”

“No,” She answered honestly. She was always honest, and he liked that. His father joked too much. “Do you remember what I told you about duty? Sometimes we have to set aside our hearts to best serve our realm. Sometimes we have to set aside this.”

She gave the leather book back to him. Maester Cressen had taken it, and he was determined to accept the punishment, but it bothered him more than he wanted to say. He was grateful his mother returned it, though he was struggling to meet her eyes. His ears were still red from embarrassment, but she wasn’t upset, or teasing, or scolding.

“It hurt me to set my own down, but I knew it wasn’t meant to be. Your father had one that he never wrote to. The idea of having it and setting it aside was too much for him. And yet, we love each other very much, and we love our sons.” Lady Cassana stopped touching his hair when he finally squirmed away. Stannis ran his fingers along the leather spine and the uneven parchment bound inside the book.

When he took a long time to answer, she spoke softly. “It’s your decision, Stannis.”

That night, he wrote in the book, asking what she’d do when they grew up. When she'd stop writing. The response was instant. There was a drawing of a sad girl next to her words.

your my friend! i like writing to you. do you want to stop?

I don’t. Stannis decided, and that was it.

The talks still came, though. It happened before, several times, and here it was again. It didn’t matter that he stopped bringing the book to his lessons, or that he only wrote in the privacy of his room. Maester Cressen always seemed to know.

“It’s for your own good that you begin to set it aside, Stannis,” The old man said. He always seemed old, but when he was scolding it was especially so.

Stannis wasn’t one to talk back, but he still struggled to hide his scowl. This wasn’t the first time the maester made him set his jaw and tense it up. It wasn’t his business. She never discouraged it, so he didn’t understand why Maester Cressen had to.

“It’s not inappropriate,” He said. “She’s a lady. I never write improperly, it's like sending letters."

“Sending a strange lady letters is inappropriate,” The Maester sighed. “Especially without the knowledge of her family. What would they say?"

“She could tell them at anytime."

“Do you tell your lord father and lady mother all that you write, then?”

Stannis gritted his teeth and turned away. At ten and three, Stannis could already see over the old man’s head, and he didn't feel like a child, so he didn't appreciate being talked to like one. “You don’t speak to Robert about these matters.”

“Robert is at the Eyrie, no doubt being told the same by Lord Arryn. Stannis, do you understand why I say these things? Do you understand the trouble it could cause you, and worse, her?”

Maester Cressen often referred to ‘her’, or the girl, even if she was just as grown as Stannis. He didn't ask her identity, and Stannis didn't give it. He hated having to hear this conversation again. Of all the trouble Robert was already causing in the Eyrie — he saw those letters, it was his duty to attend to them while his parents were at sea — Stannis felt like his own actions were hardly important. There would be weeks where he couldn’t write to her at all, or she was busy as well. If anyone tried to read what they wrote, gods forbid, it was mostly idle talk and drawings.

Lots and lots of drawings, she still had that habit. She was getting very good at them. Stannis brought his mind back to the present. “I understand.” He said, in a tone that made it clear he didn’t actually intend to stop.

Case in point, he pulled out the worn leather book that evening. It was the second, or maybe the third one. If she didn’t draw so much they’d have more room, but sometimes Stannis wrote a lot, too. She made it easy to do that. It was alright if she didn’t answer right away, or if at all. It was good to just write it.

He frowned as he moved to the most recent page. It was a short, curt sentences, which wasn’t like her. There were no pictures.

My cousin died this morning. We were riding together, and she fell from her horse. I couldn’t help her. No one blames me, but I feel terrible. I’ve been crying all day. I’m going to the Godswood tonight to pray for forgiveness. I might be quiet. I'm sorry.

‘I might be quiet’. ‘I might not write tonight.’ ‘I’ll write to you tomorrow’. ‘I’ll tell you about it when I can’. Those were phrases the two of them were used to. It was expectant. They may not write every day, or every week, but eventually they will.

Take the time you need. I’ll be here for you.

It made his chest hurt to write that, but he knew it was the right thing. It’s what she would always say to him, and without fail, he’d eventually come around and tell her. She was the only one he really told… anything. He wondered if the same was true for her. She mentioned visiting ladies now and again, a knight’s daughter she played with, and… this cousin.

He kept the book beside him the rest of the evening, knowing she likely wouldn’t respond. By the time she did, the earlier conversation with the maester had left his mind.

The longest they’d gone without writing was during the following year. It took months before he could pick the book up again, even look at it. It was months using all the willpower he had to get out of bed and carry on. There was Renly to look after, and Storm’s End to attend to, and the duties that Robert neglected when he returned to the Eyrie. He should have stayed, but he didn’t. So Stannis took care of it. He did what was right.

When he was finally able to pick up the book, when the choking pain keeping him up at night had dulled to just a constant ache that allowed sleep now and again, he hesitated.

The latest page was inquiries of how he was, where he was. There was a variety of pictures, black and some colors she’d managed to get ahold of. Her manta rays looked like proper rays, and so did the stags she had become so fond of. She drew some ships she’d seen in the harbor, a cat that liked to hide away in her bedroom. Then the pictures stopped.

My father told me what happened. Stannis, I’m here. You can write to me, whenever you can. I’ll always be here.

It hurt again. He closed the book, listened to the fire flickering loudly in the hearth in his room. It was becoming stuffy, but he didn’t want to open a window. He could hear the waves and the crashes against the rock from his window, and that would lead to the sounds of broken wood and screams in his sleep.

He moved closer to the fire, away from those sounds. Flipping through the old book’s pages, looking at the art and some of the sillier things she wrote. Apparently when he’d make her laugh, she’d screw up some letters. She told him as much. When he corrected any spelling, she liked to make the same mistake and circle it. She liked to draw little figures that were supposed to be them, but it was awful on purpose, and they were usually doing something ridiculous like riding a dragon.

Looking back on those gave him the strength to flip to the newest page. He stared at it, wondering if he should stop. He was acting Lord of Storm’s End. Wasn’t his duty even more important than this, and wasn’t her reputation in danger? ‘Willed by the gods’, they said, but he no longer believed in those. What gods would smash his parents and their great ship against the rocks of their own castle? The same stupid gods that would create this... this connection in a world where it would inevitably be severed.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the pain shoot up across his jaw and straight to his head, where a headache would start. The fire was right there. It would be easy to …

His hands moved on their own. The words were sloppy and left heavy ink blotches on the paper. I’m here.

I am too. I missed you.

The response was near instantaneous. Perhaps if she waited, he could’ve done it. He could’ve burned it, if she hadn’t wrote that. Maybe it didn’t matter what she’d say. The sudden longing and loneliness hit him all at once, but it was easy to respond.

I won’t do it again. Being gone for this long.

A pause, a heartbeat, and a tensing of his jaw that made his head ache again. He added in an anxious scrawl, I missed you too.

It was another sleepless night, but for once, it wasn’t because of the nightmares and the crashing waves. The sun came up as he wrote in the margins of the last page, promising to find a new book.

There was modest wooden box he kept them in, hidden under his bed. He was good at hiding it now. No one had bothered mentioning Stannis’ old habit anymore, assuming he’d grown out of it. He’d dated all of them to the best of his knowledge, though he rarely went back to read them. He used to, but that simple act flustered him horribly. They were still in good condition, except for one that had been partially chewed by a hunting hound. The one time he was careless.

The hound was no longer around, and he regretted that. He liked dogs. He liked that one, upset as he was when she chewed the diary years ago. She was still a good, loyal dog. He had to butcher her with the rest.

Stannis tried to remember when they ate the dogs. Thinking was a slow, laborious process now. He had to sit down to do it, and getting up was even worse. He stayed standing as long as possible, afraid of what would happen if he stopped. He couldn’t stop, not while his men needed him, and Renly, and Robert.

He moved slowly. It was hard to tell if it was to conserve energy or if he simply had no energy left. Stannis carefully unwrapped the small leather strap that kept the diary bound and closed. His shaking hands struggled to grasp the paper and turn the pages, but he managed. It was the writing that was the hardest. At least there was plenty of paper and ink, only because no one could eat it.

When he looked at the page again, the lighting was different. The candle was lower than before. He’d dropped his quill on the floor — no, he was on the floor, leaning against the cool stone. Stannis didn’t remember falling. He wasn’t sure if he passed out, or fell asleep. Again he turned to the proper page and picked up the quill. He tried to write before he remembered he needed ink. The ink dragged across the page as he wrote languidly, Are you there

The question mark was more of an ugly splotch that spread across the paper.

Yes, always.

Her family supported the rebellion, being sworn to Eddard Stark, and outraged at what the Mad King had done to his father and brother. Stannis told himself it made writing easier, not that he’d ever give her any information that could endanger her. Early on, they didn’t speak of it. Especially now, he couldn’t. He couldn’t…

He couldn’t… think. Stannis struggled for words. He mentioned what day it was, how many men he had left. A log that helped keep him grounded, something he hated to subject her to, but he needed the clarity. Sometimes she corrected him on the day, and that startled him. As he finished his short report, his hand trembled, and he dropped the quill again. Stannis exhaled, forcing the air through his lungs, then struggled to breath in again.

Not for the first time, he wondered if this was dying.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he looked at the page again. She wrote a lot, and he couldn’t remember when it was there.

When you make it through this disgusting siege — and you will make it, Stannis — I’ll be there. I swear it, I’ll sail down to Storm’s End with my family’s ships. I don’t care anymore. I want to be there.

She’d said as much before, when this started. Stannis discouraged her. He didn’t have the strength for that anymore. Instead, he fought to keep his eyes open, fought to think about it, difficult as thinking was. Thinking of their meeting used to be a surefire way of a day full of anxious thoughts, but now it was… grounding. He couldn’t see the end of the rebellion, or the end of this siege. He just had to endure it. That’s what Robert said: Endure it, brother. Hold it for me.

But he could see her, in his thoughts. He could try. Some years ago, she asked what he looked like, and he responded as such: Blue eyes, black hair, like his father and brothers. Asking the same of her felt… strange. She didn’t answer right away, so he panicked. He said she didn’t have to do such a thing. It was inappropriate. She told him to wait, which he thought was odd.

Several hours later, she took up nearly a whole page with a ‘messy’ self-portrait: her words, not his. It was only a bust, but it still transfixed him. It was clear from the drawing she had looked in a mirror, and it was messy, and it was surrounded by words describing her hair color and her favorite dress and her eyes. Stannis couldn’t look at the page for days after that. He’d break out in a sweat just thinking about it.

It was comforting to think about the old picture now. Maybe 'comforting' wasn’t the right word, but she was the one who was good with words, and pictures, and little fantasies like this. She liked to write about what they could do if they met.

Maybe he took too long to respond again. She had written more. We’ll meet and you’ll show me the drum walls around Storm’s End. You promised. I’ll bring my best paintings, I made one for you. I don’t care if it’s allowed or not, it’s a gift. I want to see you so badly it hurts.

Stannis touched the letters. He was startled by how his pale hands seemed to blend into the parchment. He didn’t recognize the knuckles sticking out. He wondered what she sounded like, and how she laughed. He didn’t think he could manage it now. Stannis glanced around for the quill, dipped it into ink with a great deal of effort, and slowly slid it across the paper. He stopped abruptly, ruining the words.

You’re the strongest, most noble man I know. You will make it through this and the rebellion will end, and I’ll be with you. I swear it before the old gods and new.

The ink seeped into the paper, the quill trembled in his hand as he tried to hold it properly. He was dying, he decided. Only dying men ate disgusting leather they tried to boil into water and infected rats. Even the latter was becoming scarce. He scrawled a response, struggling to pull the words together.

I miss you.

I miss you too, Stannis.

#tihs is so self indulgent kfskfks #pls dont expect the other prompts to be this long haha i just went kinda nuts!!#stannis baratheon x reader #libra fics #libra minis

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winetae · 7 years

Text

⇾ love me, love me (m)

⇁ Jimin x Reader

⇁ smut, hybrid!au

⇁ accidental voyeurism, pillow riding, power play, d/s undertones, cum play, use of the word bitch, possessiveness, dirty talk, mentions of breeding, lowkey soft, not much plot even if u squint

⇁ 12.7k

Legally speaking, Jimin is yours—the shiny collar clasped around his neck and the adoption papers attest this. But behind closed doors, Jimin makes sure you understand that he isn’t anyone’s bitch.

(a/n) big ty to jules for her extensive dog knowledge that helped me with the visual aids for this fic!! ty to mj for reading it over and convincing me that it wasn’t half bad :’’) and ty to cat who always answers any questions i have about grammar! and to everyone who sent me jimin hoe gifs, ily!!

“You’re in over your head.”

“Hybrids need to be taken care of properly, they aren’t goldfish. Young women your age are not equipped to look after them.”

The adoption center had warned you hybrid breeds like Jimin would require constant attention, but, at the time, you had foolishly dismissed their concerns, already enraptured by the look on his face, hope glimmering in his brown eyes. Perhaps it would have been wise to heed their advice.

Two months have passed since the adoption but Jimin’s abundance of energy still takes you by surprise. His exuberance never runs low; no matter how much he plays and runs around all day, he never tires himself out.

Keeping him occupied is one thing. What you don’t expect is his penchant for physical affection.

By now, it’s no well kept secret that Jimin is an avid fan of skinship—he’s made it his habit to rub his face against yours, trailing his nose down your neck and your clothes until he’s sure that his scent will cling to you like a shadow. Days and nights alike, he seeks the attention of his owner and won’t hesitate to pout and whine if you don’t indulge him enough to his liking.

If the first few times catch you unawares, you’ve long grown accustomed to the way he pounces on you without warning while you’re lazily flicking through the TV channels. Tail wagging high in the air, he laves your cheeks with unbridled enthusiasm, the sound of your giggles the only encouragement he needs to pursue his ministrations.

You suppose some might find it tiring to keep up with a dog hybrid, especially one brimming with so much energy, but you prove to be the exception.

Jimin breathes life into your otherwise boring and tedious everyday occurrence. Sometimes, you find it hard to believe how effortlessly he’s able to bring color to your monochrome existence. But there is no room for disbelief when his presence is perceptible to the naked eye—your spacious apartment now feels like a proper home rather than an impersonal hotel suite, the living space no longer spotless and clinical; Jimin’s games litter the floor, crumbs of a tuna sandwich sticking to the counter top he forgot to wipe clean.

It’s almost frightening, how easy it is to let Jimin into your life. He seamlessly weaves himself into your daily routine and your heart, and gives you a reason to come home after a long day of work.

Before you have time to consciously realize it, you begin to anticipate his hugs and reciprocate his affection.

Whenever you’re in the kitchen preparing dinner and he suddenly wraps both arms around you from behind to whine about his empty stomach, you turn around to scratch the belly in question before he has time to finish his complaint. At night, he likes to curl up next to you under the comfort of a hand-sewn quilt, his ears pulled back slightly when you run a soothing hand over his mop of hair. Your heart softens whenever you see his crescent shaped eyes smile in your direction, his plump lips stretched into a wide and inviting grin.

That’s not to say that there aren’t downsides to this arrangement—if you can call them that.

It doesn’t take long to notice that taking care of your more personal matters proves to be nearly impossible. Jimin has dissolved the very notion of privacy, leaving you no spare moment to attend to your own needs without his detection.

How are you supposed to hide an orgasm from someone who can instantly tell when you use a different body wash? How do you find time to rub one off when Jimin is glued to your side as soon you get home from work?

Now that your bed is a shared space, it doesn’t feel right to tend to your base desires out in the open where Jimin’s nose can detect your arousal. You don’t want to make him uneasy so you try your best to deal with your problem as quietly as possible. With Jimin snuggling up next to you at night, the only time you’re guaranteed solitude is when you lock yourself in the privacy of the bathroom.

It takes some getting used to—the bathtub is not nearly as comfortable as your bed—but you manage to make it work. You light some scented candles and play some soothing background music, hoping that the floral fragrance and bluesy melodies will camouflage your actions from Jimin’s keen senses. And to your knowledge, Jimin is none the wiser to what happens once you immerse your body in the hot water. Which is how it should be.

Tonight is another one of those nights where you desperately need to unwind. Whenever your working hours weigh down on your shoulders, you crave that release more than usual, needing that post-orgasmic state of bliss to temporarily erase the worries from your mind. You don’t realize you’ve spent too much time relaxing in the tub until you notice the pruned skin of your fingertips.

Work must be giving you more stress than you first feared; for some reason your body is more sensitive to your ministrations and you manage to bring yourself to a peak twice in a row; an unprecedented occurrence. Body tingly and light, you emerge from the bathroom, skin damp and rosy.

It’s difficult to force your tired limbs into movement, but even if you want nothing more than to doze off on the couch and bask in your blissful glow, dinner needs to be taken care of. You distantly remember promising Jimin grilled meat earlier this morning and you’re not one to break promises. Speaking of—

“Jimin?” Your voice carries through the silent apartment, a trail of wet droplets staining the carpet as you search for him.

You expect to see the hybrid pacing back in forth in front of the fridge like he usually does when hunger gnaws at him, but the kitchen is surprisingly barren of his presence. How odd—he’s usually the first to complain about his rumbling stomach. You pause in perplexity when you also fail to find him in the living room. Unless he’s stepped out of the house without forewarning, only the laundry room and your bedroom are left to explore. Although you are curious as to why he isn’t demanding dinner like any other night, Jimin has never left the house without a word, so you aren’t too worried about his current whereabouts

The pitter-patter of your footsteps is muted by the beige carpet, but you know Jimin’s dog ears are fully capable of discerning the faint sound. As you draw nearer to the last door in the hallway, the voice in the back of your head finds it strange that Jimin hasn’t made an appearance yet.

The door to your room is left ajar and you move to poke your head in. With your hand on the brass knob, you give the door a small push before halting completely, your eyes blown wide in surprise as you soak in the sight in front of you.

A silent gasp is your only visible reaction. Surprise paralyzes you, rooting you to the spot. It’s as if your brain has been short-circuited, your mind drawing a blank as you try to process what you’re seeing.

The picture that greets you is obscene in all ways.

If Jimin’s nudity shocks you, it’s nothing compared to the slack-jawed response his sinful activity elicits from your body.

For there is nothing innocent about the way Jimin ruts against the pillow tucked between his strong thighs—with every thrust of his hips against the cushion, his muscles flex in a way that has your mouth go dry. Although his expressions are hidden from you, the firm globes of his ass tempt you in ways that they shouldn’t, his body shiny with sweat.

Even from this distance, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s up to. As if the sight itself isn’t sufficient proof, the high pitched whines of pleasure that bounce off the walls are enough evidence.

And yet—you continue to swim in denial, your brain refusing to trust your eyesight. Doubt clouds your thoughts. Could you, perhaps, be wrong? Maybe this is a simple misunderstanding and he’s merely— You struggle to find an excuse, grasping at straws, knowing in your heart that you’re not imagining this spectacle.

The deep, throaty moan that rips from his throat puts an end to your doubt. It’s guttural, animalistic. There’s no way that you can mistake it for anything else than what it is—the expression of lust in its rawest form.

Now that you’re fully cognizant of the situation, you realize that you should leave and grant him the privacy he deserves. It’s not as if he’s committing a crime of any sort—you of all people can sympathize. Leaving now is the best option so as to avoid any awkward explanations. You don’t want to invade his privacy or make him embarrassed for an act that is only natural.

With that thought in mind, you shut your eyes, trying to erase the memory before it ingrains itself into the crevices of your mind. You will your feet to shuffle back, but right as you are about to turn on your heels, Jimin shifts and you freeze on the spot, worried that he’s finally picked up on your presence. You brace yourself for the inevitable confrontation, hand tightening on the door knob to steady yourself—but no acknowledgment comes. Lifting your head, you expect your eyes to clash with his, but he shows no outward signs of being caught in the act.

Instead of berating you like you had expected, Jimin scoots himself back onto his haunches and grinds into the pillow with more fervor, his hips drawing little, half-circles that bring attention to the curve of his ass. Lost in his own world, he doesn’t take notice of your shameless gawking; too busy chasing after his pleasure.

You’re so enthralled by the salacious sight that you almost miss the way his right hand reaches up to paw at his face. From your peripheral vision, it looks like he’s wiping off the beads of sweat dripping down his hairline with the back of his hand. But your attention is quickly stolen by the bright-colored scrap of fabric that sticks out between his fingers—because, there, tightly clutched in his fist, is your favorite pair of underwear.

For a split second, you think your eyes deceive you but his wrist flicks, flashing you the familiar undergarment once more. It’s nothing as risqué as the collection buried at the bottom of your drawer, but that doesn’t stop embarrassment from dusting your cheeks and the tips of your ears pink.

The plain cotton pair is one you recognize at once—it’s the pair you had disposed of in the hamper right before you drew your bath.

You blink, mouth agape, the crux of your thighs throbbing as heat rushes south. Somehow, knowing that Jimin is holding such an intimate piece of clothing makes your pulse race. And the discomfort between your legs only grows as you continue to observe the events unfolding in front of you, feet stuck to the ground.

Jimin holds the rose colored material up to his nose, his tongue poking out from between his plump lips as he breathes in your feminine scent. Fleetingly, you register that it hasn’t been that long since the start of your bath—thirty minutes, give or take. Your scent must still be imbued on the fabric, traces of your discharge coloring the crotch of the panties white. Your unique fragrance seems to be too much for him to handle, and he growls into his hand, hips bucking with more urgency than before. It’s only then that it finally sinks in;

Jimin is sniffing your underwear.

He is smelling you. And getting off on it.

Dizziness overtakes you, rendering you speechless and making you go weak in the knees, your grip on the doorknob the only thing keeping you afloat. You don’t even try to make sense of what’s happening, too overcome with astonishment and something else—something a lot more dangerous and potent.

The lust you thought you had driven off earlier is now back tenfold. As much as you try to avert your gaze from the scene, arousal wraps itself around your spine, keeping you frozen in place, unable to peel your eyes away from the lewd vision. Spellbound, you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

The sole focus of his attention is clutched in his hand—Jimin buries his nose into his fist, pink fabric still clasped between his digits, and he moans again, low and throaty, his hips working the silk-covered pillow with renewed eagerness. You don’t think the sight can get anymore erotic than this but he soon proves you wrong.

Your heart nearly combusts at that very second, your head spinning with heady arousal. You can’t believe, yet again, what you’re seeing—because the sight of Jimin taking the cotton material between his teeth wipes out the notion of coherency from your vocabulary. You can only watch with bated breath, bewitched, as he suckles the crotch of your panties into his mouth, moaning what sounds suspiciously like your name around the fabric. The moment the taste of you hits his tongue, he shudders, trembling from head to toe in ecstasy, grinding his hips into the pillow as he rides out the high of his orgasm.

Seeing him spent and hunched over the now soiled pillow breaks you free from your trance. You scurry backwards, dazed, while trying to ignore the throbbing ache between your thighs.

Back in the kitchen, your mind is still reeling—it feels like you’ve awoken from a dream, stumbled back from a parallel universe. You grill the meat without much thought, your attention drifting from the task at hand. How can one expect you to focus on cooking dinner when the vision of Jimin masturbating is all you can see every time you blink?

A myriad of questions invade your thoughts. Isn’t normal for guys to use panties to jack off? You recall seeing it in porn, once. Jimin had probably only borrowed it to ease him through his orgasms—nothing more.

Some people watch porn, some use less conventional methods... And that’s perfectly fine, you reason. But why couldn’t it have been a clean pair of underwear? Why did he have to go through the hamper? It doesn’t disgust you in the slightest, but you can’t completely shake off the embarrassment his actions provoked.

You pat your cheeks with the backs of your hands, feeling heat emanate from your skin. The image of him holding up the cotton to his nose is still embedded in the forefront of your mind. You find it...strangely fascinating that Jimin would take so much pleasure in something so crude, so personal. It’s obvious how much he enjoyed it and you can’t help but ask yourself if he thought of you in his fantasies and not some nameless, faceless female hybrid.

Get your head out of your ass. It’s nothing personal, you try to convince yourself as you flip the meat on the grill. Perhaps dog hybrids rely on scents to get themselves off. You can’t fault him for the way his body is biologically wired. You can’t let yourself get carried away by your own burgeoning desires.

Speak of the devil...

The mouth-watering aroma of the sizzling meat must have wafted all the way to the bedroom because it doesn’t take long for Jimin to show up, guided by his nose. Your heart lurches against your ribs when he approaches you, eyes alight as they land on this favorite meal, golden tail wagging back and forth. Immediately, you notice the way his skin glows, dewy and pink, and your vision inadvertently flashes with images of him rutting against the pillow. Gulping, you quickly avert your gaze, afraid that he’ll see right through you.

You hold in your breath, all too aware of his sudden proximity. Swallowing becomes difficult as he rests his hands on your shoulders, fingers pressing into muscle. Not trusting your voice, you stay uncharacteristically quiet and flip the pork chops more times than necessary.

“Was work tiring today, noona?” His warm breath tickles the nape of your neck and you have to fight down a shiver. Relaxing in his hold is damn near impossible when your heart feels like it’s about to burst in your chest.

“Hm? What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been taking longer baths lately but they don’t seem to help you unwind at all. See?” He massages your shoulders insistently to prove his point. Thumbs digging into the muscle, he hits a sore spot, eliciting a cry of surprise. Torn between the instinctive need to flee from the bite of pain and the secret desire to prolong physical contact, your shoulders tense up. “You’re all stiff."

“M’okay,” you mumble, feeling your skin flame up. Thankful that he can’t see your traitorous expression, you try to reassure him, “It’s holiday hell season, so I’ve just been a bit more busy, s’all.”

“Okay, if you say so.” His hands fall to his side and you don’t expect to miss his touch as much as you do. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me, you know. I can comfort you, too.”

He sounds so sure of himself, so resolute, so painfully sincere that you’re not sure what to make of it. “Jimin,” you swallow, at a loss for words.

“Let me help you set the table, noona,” he offers graciously, already reaching for the plates in the cupboard. If he notices the blush dusting your cheeks, he doesn’t comment on it.

You’re not sure what to make of Jimin’s behavior. Any other day before today and you would have dismissed it as normal, but what happened earlier has undoubtedly shifted your perception.

Behind you, you hear Jimin rummage through one of the kitchen drawers as he looks for eating utensils. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth, you observe him out the corner of your eye, trying to place what has changed. Even after you’ve served dinner, you continue to watch him, attempting to spot any unusual behavior on his part, but your suspicions are laid to rest when he doesn’t act any differently than usual. Jimin devours the juicy meat, tongue licking his fork after every bite to savor the flavor. Unwittingly, your eyes track the movement, entranced by the way the pink muscle laps the silver utensil, imagining the curve of his tongue elsewhere.

You take a gulp of cold water, an ice cube clinking against your teeth. To your relief, the icy water douses your thirst for the time being and you’re able to pull yourself together.

Realization strikes you right then—maybe...it’s you, not Jimin, who has changed.

This explanation makes perfect sense. Jimin has always been overly affectionate, easily expressing his feelings through words and actions. In retrospect, there is nothing strange or out of place with the way he has been interacting with you. The more you mull things over, the more it becomes apparent that it’s all you—you’re the one making things awkward; you’re the one suddenly filled with inappropriate thoughts.

Your skin prickles with guilt. Shoulders heavy, as if bearing the weight of your shame, you nibble your food in silence, lost in thought.

“Eat more,” Jimin suggests, transferring his last piece of his meat onto your plate. You look up at him, eyebrows raised. It’s not like him to give up his meat... Before you have time to voice your question, he remarks, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Brow creased in concern, he reaches across the table, extending a hand and placing it on your forehead to feel your temperature. The corners of his lips twitch into a frown. “I think you’ve been overworking yourself. You’re burning up.”

You do feel hot. His touch is soft, tender; his eyes crinkled in genuine concern. Being the center of his attention makes blood rush to your cheeks, and the rosy red color that splotches your face only worries him more.

He lets his hand linger, the pads of his fingertips brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “You sure you still wanna watch a movie? It might be better for you to rest up...”

“I’m fine.” It’s a relief to hear that your voice doesn’t waver. Your lips quirk into a smile, trying to appear reassuring. “You can go pick one out while I put these on to wash.”

Jimin’s eyes linger on you for a few seconds, and you can tell that he’s debating internally whether to push the issue or not. After a moment of deliberation, he acquiesces, mouth splitting into his familiar grin.

He helps you pile the dirty plates and pan into the dishwasher. His closeness leaves you flustered, unable to hold his gaze when he hands you the used glasses and stained dishes.

Only when Jimin is out of sight can you breathe a little easier. Distance makes everything less overwhelming and you’re finally able to sort out your thoughts.

If Jimin isn’t acting any different than usual, then there isn’t any valid reason for me to behave differently, either, you think to yourself.

However, this is easier said than done—you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your forehead, the phantom feeling of his body near yours. Shaking your head as if trying to physically remove these indecent thoughts, you attempt to strengthen your resolve.

Only once you’ve collected your wits do you make your way to the living room. The opening credits are already rolling on screen, but Jimin’s attention is diverted by your entrance.

As soon as you plop down on the couch, he wastes no times rearranging himself into his preferred position, head on your legs. On any other day, the weight on your lap would be welcome and cozy, but the night’s earlier events make you want to shy away from contact. If he senses your unease, he doesn’t let it deter him from enjoying the movie playing on screen.

It’s not uncommon to see Jimin's figure splayed across the living room couch, his head using your lap as a makeshift pillow. Settled in the crook of your legs, his peaceful expression is framed by a halo of flowing gold. You thread your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching him near the ears, treasuring these rare moments of tranquility.

Even as your left leg starts to cramp, you don’t have the heart to push him off, not when this is supposedly the most comfortable way for him to watch the movie playing on the flat screen television. It’s what he claims, anyway, although you secretly suspect that it’s just another flimsy pretext for physical contact. So you let it slide, not minding the display of affection in the slightest. The way he drapes over you like the coziest of blankets is enough to turn your muscles into mush. You might as well be a sloth—too lazy to move and readjust your position. Your mind is blissfully blank, a warm haze entrapping you in its hold. Lethargy, for once, is welcome.

Besides—you can’t help but appreciate the break this fleeting moment offers you.

A sleek, electric blue race car zooms across the screen just then, catching your attention. You look up at the television screen just in time to see a car fly through the air, followed by three other, equally impressive sports cars.

The loud roar of engines revving up boom through the sound system and Jimin’s tail thumps against the couch as the expensive models whiz past each other in their race to the finish line.

Although you’re neutral to this genre, action movies are Jimin’s favorite—they’re the only films capable of keeping him still for longer than thirty minutes at a time. Unlike you, he has no patience for romantic comedies or period dramas. And while you don’t mind watching blockbusters, the events of earlier this evening keep you distracted. You watch the fast-paced scenes blankly, the plot inconsequential and quickly forgotten.

Instead, your mind readily supplies a movie of its own and you let yourself sink into the earlier memory of Jimin masturbating to your scent. You can recall the scene in graphic detail, from the way his muscles rippled with every thrust of his hips to the way his labored pants filled up the bedroom as he worked himself to climax. The filthy images replay on constant loop, and you find yourself wriggling under Jimin’s weight, earning a whine of protest.

He’s quick to adjust himself over your legs, twisting his head around until he finds the most comfortable position. You don’t think much of it until you cast a glance at his lounging figure. “J-Jimin wha—” Your hand hovers uncertainly over his mop of hair. “What are you doing?”

Jimin refuses to budge, his head still buried between the apex of your thighs. Hot puffs of air kiss your skin through the spandex material of your yoga pants, and you do your best not to squirm under his weight. With the way his breath tickles the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, you can’t ignore how dangerously close his plush lips are to your crotch. A quick mental appraisal and you deduce that it would only take three kisses upwards for him to nose your—

“Jimin!” You give his locks a short tug to emphasize your point.

Any closer and his developed olfactory senses would be able to detect the burgeoning arousal hidden between your legs. Unless... Could he possibly smell you already? You panic internally, your fingers yanking his soft tuft of hair in urgency.

A high-pitched whine pierces the air and, immediately, you still, your entire body freezing up as you feel the vibrations of his howl go straight to your clit. Jimin seizes the opportunity to delve deeper into your lap, his arms latching on either side of your waist to keep him locked in place. At a loss, the hand still gripping his hair relaxes its hold, the silky strands slipping through your curled digits. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly, keenly aware of how his mouth is right above your throbbing mound.

Having him pressed up against such intimate places knocks the wind out of you. Your heart gallops in your chest, the sound loud enough for his pert ears to pick up.

You clench your thighs close together in an attempt to mask the musky smell of your excitement hoping, perhaps futilely, that he won’t be able to discern the evidence of your arousal. Straightening your slackened posture, you try to create distance between you and Jimin but your fidgeting only pushes your crotch against his parted mouth, much to his delight.

“Noona smells so good,” he grunts, words muffled, not bothering to lift his head from its snug spot. You squirm, feeling his lips form the words against your skin, the touch only inflaming you further. Jimin can probably tell, too, judging by the way his golden tail starts to wag in the air.

From your vantage point, you’re unable to see his face properly, his shaggy hair covering his eyes, but you can picture his expression vividly—lids closed in bliss, the corners of his pout upturned into a look of pure satisfaction. Your mind easily supplies you with the image—after all, it’s one you can’t bring yourself to forget. When the memory starts to replay once more, you try again weakly. “J-Jimin, wha—”

“Open your legs for me, noona.” There’s an unmistakable purr lodged in his throat, far too similar to the felines he despises. “Let me smell you properly.”

Properly?!

As your mind tries to wrap itself around the meaning of his words, Jimin finally lifts his head up to meet yours, his gaze wide and imploring. You’ve always been weak to this look, and he uses this knowledge to his advantage. Any subsequent response dies in your throat as soon as your gaze connects with his blown out pupils, the look on his face effective enough to snuff out your inner ramblings.

Gulping audibly, you try not to give in to your wicked desires. “Jimin, you can’t. It isn’t proper, you—This isn’t right.”

The expression on his face suggests he wants to argue, his dark gaze smothering. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of bitterness falls upon his face, and you can pinpoint the exact moment he resigns himself to your will, his stare now void of emotion. Lust no longer sparks in his eyes; the hunger replaced with vacancy.

If it wasn’t for the movie still playing in the background, the awkward silence that had settled between the two of you would be stifling.

“I think you were r-right,” you croak out, voice an octave higher than it usually is. “I don’t think I’m feeling well... I think that it’s best if I head on to bed early.”

He lets you scuffle to your feet without objection.

“I want to finish the movie,” is his reaction. He keeps his eyes trained ahead, pretending to be engrossed by the complicated car tricks on the screen.

A strange feeling presses down on your chest, constricting your breathing until you feel a headache pierce through. You can’t place what it is exactly—but you feel cold, your bare skin missing the furnace-like heat of Jimin’s body.

The part of you that had wanted to give in is screaming at you. However, the rational side of your brain, no matter how small, wins out.

It begs you to retreat to your room, which you do, but not without glancing back at Jimin once or twice, longing etched on your face.

The next day, you’re awoken to the sound of birds chirping. Sunlight filters through the curtains and you bask in the early morning light.

Shifting around, you throw a glance at the digital clock on your nightstand. For a split second, panic overtakes you and you fear the worst—you’ve overslept and are running terribly late for work. But you soon relax once you realize that it’s Sunday; the only day that you allow yourself to sleep in.

Relieved, you settle back into your original position, your body molding itself against Jimin’s sleeping figure. The movement makes you rub against Jimin’s form—and it’s then that you finally notice how hot it is, your thin nightshirt sticking to your sweat soaked skin. Sometime during the night, someone must have kicked off the duvet, and yet even the lack of blankets isn’t enough to cool you down.

Just as you’re about to get up, Jimin snuggles closer to you, your back pressed to his front. He winds an arm around your middle, keeping you firmly in place.

“Jimin?” you call softly, craning your neck back to look at him.

His expression is peaceful, undisturbed by the troubles of reality. The sight softens your heart, an endeared smile playing at your lips as you take in his angelic features. It isn’t the first time you are struck by the thought that you don’t deserve someone as selfless and giving as Jimin. He would probably be better off with someone who doesn’t lust after him... After all, you’re his owner—you’re supposed to be the responsible one, not governed by your own greed and desires.

As you struggle with these inner thoughts, Jimin draws you closer to him in his slumber and curls around you, mistaking you for a life-sized plushie or pillow. One of his legs slides in between your own, forcing you to bite down a gasp when you feel something hard poking your hip.

The situation is only made worse when you try to wiggle out of his grasp. His arm refuses to budge and all you manage to do is rub yourself against his morning wood. At first you think you imagine it, but once you stop fidgeting, you’re sure that you can feel his hips grind lazily into yours from behind, his body seeking out friction even in his sleep.

Heart beating fast in your chest, you jump out of his arms as if burnt by boiling water. Through the haze of slumber, he whines, bemoaning the loss of contact.

“Noona?” he calls out, confused, voice low and hoarse.

You don’t trust yourself to speak yet, heartbeat refusing to slow down. Turning your face away so that he can’t see how brightly colored your cheeks are, you let out a noncommittal noise in response.

Jimin stretches his limbs out, rolling around on the bed whilst yawning. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he pats his grumbling stomach, a sheepish look on his face. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

You snort, “It’s never too early for breakfast. Get up and I’ll start cooking the sausages.”

He needs no further prompting, bounding up and heading straight to the kitchen as if pulled by an invisible leash. You smile fondly as you trail after him, glad that there isn’t any lingering awkwardness in the air from yesterday night.

A new day signifies the turning of a new page; the events of last are but a distant memory. In fact, if you hadn’t known any better, you wouldn’t have been able to spot anything out of the ordinary. It’s only in retrospect that you realize you might have spoken too soon.

“Hey,” Namjoon opens the door wider, making room for you and Jimin to enter. “Oh wow, that smells really good.”

“Save your compliments, you haven’t tasted it yet.”

“As long as it’s not burnt, I don’t see how you can fuck up banana bread.” He glances at the ceramic dish you balance in your hands and does this strange, awkward shuffle as if trying to decide whether or not to take the plate from you or not. Not trusting himself to carry the dish without somehow tripping over his own feet and breaking it, he herds you towards to the kitchen.

Jimin follows after you, a lot more at ease than the first time the pair of you had been invited over. There is still a certain carefulness that lingers in the way he walks and appraises his surroundings, even if his expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts.

“Should I just set it down here? It still need time to cool down.”

Namjoon nods, waving his hand behind him. “Sure, just leave them on the kitchen counter for later.” Turning back to Jimin, he pats his shoulder amicably, trying to put the hybrid at ease. “And how have you been, Jiminie? Is ______ treating you right?”

“The best,” Jimin offers a grin, his gaze darting to yours. Your stomach somersaults at the praise, your chest warming at the way his eyes seem to soften when he looks at you. “We eat red meat often.”

Namjoon chuckles, “Isn’t too early to be bribing him into doing your bidding?”

You’re about to retort, reply on the tip of your tongue, when an excited shout of your name sounds through the apartment. You jump, startled, and only quick reflexes prevent the plate in your hands from shattering to bits on the floor.

“Whoa there,” Namjoon reaches for Hoseok a few seconds too late, unable to stop the latter from bounding up to you in excitement.

Hoseok embraces you in a tight hug, his lips pecking your cheek repeatedly in lieu of a greeting. While you’re not a stranger to physical touch, the sudden welcome takes you by surprise.

“I missed you!” Hoseok beams, dimples on show, and you melt a little. It’s like staring at happiness in the face. Hoseok continues without pause, not leaving you time to answer. “You haven’t come around in forever. Is it because of Namjoon? Did you two fight? Next time, just ignore him and come visit me!”

His fingers tickle your sides and a titter escapes you, the tinkling sound encouraging him to continue. “Hoseokie,” you wriggle around, trying to pull yourself free from his attack, but he’s relentless. Giving up, you throw your head back, laughter tumbling from your open mouth, unaware that Hoseok’s interest had turned to your bared neck.

He doesn’t waste a second, head diving to take a whiff of your scent, a pleased sound leaving his mouth as his nose connects with the exposed skin.

You barely have time to react to Hoseok’s proximity before Jimin’s growl of warning cuts off your giggles. The sound seems to rumble in his chest, deep and threatening, like thunder announcing the coming of a storm. You whip your head around in surprise, only to find Jimin baring his teeth at Hoseok, all predator-like and menacing.

“Back off,” the corner of his lips curl into a snarl. “She’s my bitch.”

Shocked by the possessiveness that drips from his tone, you gulp audibly, throat dry. Because it’s Jimin, you don’t take offense to him calling you a bitch. The term doesn’t hold the same negative connotations for hybrids. But it does make you pause, your eyes widening to an almost comical size.

Never before had he addressed you as such, the word usually reserved for the female hybrids that he would copulate with when their heats hit. However you don’t have time to ruminate because Jimin growls in warning once more.

He puffs up his chest, canines on display. Anger rolls off his body in waves, the dark of his eyes fixed on Hoseok’s form as he waits for the elder to make one wrong move.

For the first time since you’ve known him, his smaller frame looks intimidating. You have a hard time assimilating this version of Jimin to the one you’re so familiar with—they might as well be completely different people. Gone is the cute boy you know, his soft features now twisted with hostility.

It feels as if someone has pressed pause on the scene. The two hybrids lock eyes, at a standstill. The tension between the two is palpable, thick enough to choke on. Stuck between the two, you gnaw your bottom lip, your mind racing as it tries to think up solutions to avoid a fight.

Jimin’s scowl deepens, agitated by Hoseok’s lack of response. Your heart clenches with worry; Hoseok is physically bigger than Jimin and older, too. Moreover, you find yourself on his territory, and you highly doubt Hoseok would choose to submit and let himself be dislodged by the younger pup. You can only see this ending badly... For Jimin’s sake, you want to end this quickly before the situation escalates.

Their silent battle makes you antsy and you try to free yourself from Hoseok’s hold as surreptitiously as possible, not wanting to bring any more attention to yourself or to trigger a fight.

However, this seems to be the wrong move. It sets Jimin off—he snaps his jaw at the older man, demanding for him to let you go.

Namjoon’s figure is taut with tension, ready to jump in at any moment to separate the two hybrids. “Uhm,” he tries, uneasy. “Hoseok, why don’t you step away from _____, okay?” Hoseok eventually lets you go, albeit reluctantly, and retreats to Namjoon’s side.

Turning to Jimin, you demand, “Jimin, apologize to Hoseok.”

“No way,” he huffs at once, his gaze still glued to the older hybrid, refusing to break eye contact because it would be seen as a sign of submission.

“Hoseok didn’t do anything wrong. We’re guests here and you were out of line.” Frustration bleeds through your tone, edging on something sterner.

His ears twitch as they register the simmering anger in your voice, and he finally turns to you, looking like you had just kicked a puppy. The expression makes your heart uneasy, and you’re reminded of an incident that had taken place a month ago.

Jimin is the first and only hybrid you’ve adopted so you don’t have anything to compare the experience to. But you’re suddenly reminded of one unfortunate incident involving ‘territory marking’ and the subsequent visit from the world’s grouchiest neighbor. “Put a tighter leash on him, _____. Why did you become an owner of a hybrid if you can’t even keep him in check?”

And although the scolding upsets you at the time, all it takes is Jimin whining low in his throat, head bowed in an act of submission, for all negative feelings to disperse. He looks so genuinely apologetic over his mistake that you can’t bring yourself to harshly reprimand him like your neighbors would have you do. You don’t like disciplining Jimin; you hate how mean it makes you sound, the edge in your voice making Jimin evade your gaze. The last thing you want is for him to fear you or hate you. And in all accounts, Jimin is the perfect hybrid; he gives you no reason to berate him.

Your expression softens, placated by the expression that paints his face. You expect him to give in and apologize like all the times before, but to your surprise, his face hardens to stone when he hears Hoseok move.

“I think it’s best if we leave.” You force out an apologetic smile. “We’ll come around another time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Namjoon says in understanding, keeping his eye on Hoseok in case he had to hold him back.

You're quick to usher Jimin out the front door, sparing them a hurried wave in lieu of a goodbye.

Even though you don’t encounter anyone else on the way back to your flat, Jimin makes sure to stay glued by your side. You expect him to relax when it’s just the two of you in the elevator but even then he doesn’t drop his protective stance. It would be better if he said something, anything, but he remains quiet, his thoughts hidden from you.

Your body flinches as the door slams behind you with a resounding thud. Jimin evidently still looks worked up by the encounter if the way his nose twitches is any indication.

Arms crossed, you demand, “Jimin, what the heck was that?”

Jimin looks at you, incredulous, as if in disbelief that you could ask something so blatantly obvious. “He was all up on you!”

“So? It was harmless! You��re overreacting, it wasn’t as if he would bite me or whatever.” A muscle in his jaw ticks at the mention of a bite. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“He knows better than to be that close to you,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. “It’s obvious that he was provoking me!”

“What are you on about? And what’s with your behavior? You—You’ve never been this aggressive before...”

Jimin stays silent, lips drawn into a thin line. You await an explanation with raised eyebrows but when none comes straight away, your patience runs out.

“Is this... Is this about last night? Are you still upset because of...what happened? Look, I don’t know wh—”

“Hoseok is a hybrid,” Jimin cuts in. “His nose works just as well as mine. And to know that he was deliberately touching you, sniffing you, trying to stake his claim over you... It pisses me off.”

“But hybrids are naturally affectionate! It’s never been an issue before... You’ve never been so opposed to me being close to men. Why are you suddenly acting like a—I mean, why are you acting so...territorial...”

“I can’t help but feel protective,” he defends himself. “Anyone with a working nose can tell how fertile you are right now, noona. Anyone within a five mile radius that happens to catch a whiff of your delicious scent knows that you’re perfectly ripe for the picking.”

“Jimin!” Too surprised by his bluntness, you can’t bring yourself to be scandalized. You realize that he’s right—the start of your ovulation cycle coincides with all of the recent out-of-character episodes; your missing panties, the couch incident, and now, this.

“Should I call Taehyung? I didn’t know—I didn’t think you would go into heat so soon, but I think he would understand.”

“No!” The vehemence of his reaction startles you. He narrows his eyes at you, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks over his next words. “I don’t want Yebin.”

“Jimin,” you say gently, placing what you hope to be a soothing hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to act tough around me, it’s okay. If you’re in heat then it’s perfectly normal to—”

“I’m not in heat. Male hybrids don’t go through heats, you know this,” he grits out between his teeth as he wrenches free from your touch. You try to recall the briefing giving to you by the adoption center. The memory is distant and fuzzy but you can remember bits and pieces of information. He’s right, you realize with a gulp. Only do female hybrids experience heats. Then why...?

Seeing your look of confusion frustrates Jimin further, “God, you’re so—Sometimes you’re really frustrating, _____. I don’t know if this is your way of refusing me, but I would rather you just flat out tell me you don’t want me instead of pretending you don’t know anything.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t know, okay? You’ve never...I don’t—” Your mind races as it tries to supply a plausible explanation for his unusual behavior.

“Do you really not know? Do I really have to spell it out for you? You can’t have been this oblivious all this time, I refuse to believe it. Do I... Is it because I repulse you?” By the end of his tirade, he deflates, shoulders tensing up as he braces himself for the worst. “Am I just another dog—an animal—in your eyes?”

The bitterness that coats his words makes your heart twist. You want to reach out and smooth out the crinkle between his eyebrows as if that can physically erase the disgust and self-hate he has for himself.

“You don’t repulse me,” is your automatic response. How can he even believe such a thing? A frown etches itself on your features, the deep lines conveying your disbelief. “And you know that you’re not a pet to me.” You’re much more than that, you want to add. However, something holds you back from doing so. “Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

Hurt flashes across his face before he manages to control his expression. “Then why did you pretend like nothing happened the other night? I know you saw me.”

“I d-don’t... You knew?” you squawk, unable to provide an eloquent response.

“Of course I knew.”

You’re instantly flooded with guilt, mad at yourself for not respecting his private moment the very second you had realized what was going on. God, what does Jimin think of you now? How can he even stand to look at you when you had so grossly invaded his privacy like that without a proper apology? You hurry to apologize, head hanging low in shame.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have watched. I really don’t have any excuses... I get why you’re mad and I... I don’t expect you to forgive me, not now or ever, but if there’s anything I can do to make things right again, please tell me,” you plead, eyes round with earnestness.

Jimin considers you for a moment, head tilted to the side, bottom lip caught between the white of his teeth.

“What if I wanted you to see me?” he sounds out, the oppressing silence now broken. His question catches you off-guard and you gawk, jaw dropping open as you process the meaning behind his words.

“What? Jimin... You don’t mean—”

“I wanted you to see me, I wanted you to know. I knew you would find me.” Every admission comes out in quick succession, each one as shocking as the last, leaving you no time to make sense of his confession.

Jimin wanted you to find him... But why? What did he hope to achieve? What did he want you to know? The questions his words provoke whirl around in your head, making your head spin. You feel like you’re missing an essential puzzle piece that will clarify your muddled thoughts.

The only explanation you can come up with is that...Jimin likes you.

You don’t want to jump to conclusions but you really can’t find another logical explanation for his behavior.

“But why?” is all you can muster, feeling small. Out of the blue, you suddenly remember Taehyung’s female dog hybrid, the one Jimin had gone on play dates with. “What about Yebin?”

“What about her?” he growls, frustrated that you’re evading the crux of the subject. He rounds on you, “I don’t want her. I’ve never cared about her like I care about you. There’s no one else who cares about me as much as you do, either. And it’s not—It’s not just because you adopted me, so please don’t talk to me about displaced love or whatever. I don’t want to be with Yebin, or whoever else, when all I can think about is you.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” He heaves a sigh, and just when you think he’s going to pull back, he does the opposite. His form crowds yours against the wall, not willing to give up so quickly. “Pushing me away all the time, shying away from the truth when it’s so obvious.”

It’s hard to breathe, let alone think, when he’s this close to you.

“Try telling me you’ve never thought about me mounting you from behind.”

The effect of his words is instantaneous. You stammer out his name, heat rushing to your face, trying desperately to blink away the picture his words paint.

“I think about it all the time,” Jimin confesses quietly, almost sweetly. His rosy lips are so close to yours that you can feel the ghost of his breath; the promise of a kiss. “Sometimes when you bend over, I can’t help it. I think about you laid out like that, all pretty, presenting yourself like a good little bitch, and it gets me so hard. You don’t even want to know how many times I’ve had to hide my erections from you, it’s embarrassing.”

He gives a short laugh as he reminisces, head ducked sheepishly. “Noona, I know you want me, too. There’s no use denying it, I could smell how soaked you were while you watched me cum all over your pillow. I can always tell, but that night—” He inhales sharply, the memory on the tip of his tongue. “You smelled so good, I wanted nothing more than to lap it all up. These days it’s all I think about—how delicious you would taste.”

You wobble with uncertainty, rendered weak by his words, but by miracle you somehow manage to remain standing.

“J-Jimin.” Your stammer gives away how flustered his words have made you.

It feels like you’ve been fighting a losing battle with yourself since the start. Nevertheless, your stubborn personality refuses to give in right away. Your refusal gives you a semblance of control over the situation—without it you would become a mindless slave to your desire. Giving up the reins, letting yourself want someone without restriction... Even if your yearning keeps spiraling out of control the more Jimin speaks, you’re not sure that you’re ready to take that final step just yet.

Seeing your resolve weaken, he continues, “I could smell your arousal drip down the more you watched. God, I keep thinking about, about you. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind. Don’t you have any idea how tempting you are?” His words caress your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They affect you more than you’re willing to admit, and your nonverbal cues make your pretense at indifference all the more unconvincing. It’s only when Jimin’s gaze stops to observe your legs that you notice your thighs had been rubbing together in an attempt to alleviate the pulsing ache.

Caught red-handed, embarrassment colors your cheeks in shades of pink and crimson. Still, you attempt to save face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze and hiding behind a mask of bravado.

His nostrils flare, fists curled by his side. Upon closer observation, you realize it’s foolish of you to mistake this posture for anger—his pupils are wide enough to eclipse the warm brown irises, his eyes now a bottomless pit of lust. You can feel the sheer need radiating off of his body in waves that threatens to take you down with him.

“When we were on the couch yesterday, it took everything in me to hold back. Why? Why did you pull away from me?” He demands hotly.

“We shouldn’t,” is your weak response. Even to your human ears, it sounds void of conviction. You’re not sure why you’re stubbornly clinging on to these outdated moral principles when it’s clear that you want the opposite of what you say.

Jimin isn’t fooled by your claims, either, “How can you say that when your pussy calls out to me? Just look at you. Noona, you’re fucking drenched.”

He’s right. You can already feel your panties stick to your folds, damp with your arousal. The color on the apples of your cheeks deepens and you narrow your stance, hoping that by crossing your legs you will somehow erase proof of your desire.

A sharp inhale indicates that he is aware of the hold he has on you and his lips curl into a satisfied smirk once his theories are confirmed. You can’t hide anything from him, you realize, feeling oddly vulnerable.

“Aren’t you?” he presses, intent on getting a confirmation of your arousal.

“I, um, I don’t—”

“You don’t know?” The scoff that leaves his mouth tells you that he isn’t convinced. He takes advantage of your flustered state and wedges one of his strong thighs between your own, the material of his loose-fitted jeans pressing into the juncture of your legs.

He looks down at where your bodies are connected, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I think you do.” Hands sliding down your side to settle at your hips, he uses his grip as leverage to grind you against the firm muscles of his thigh. “I think you know exactly how wet you are right now, don’t you?”

You bite your lips so hard that you think you might draw blood.

“Are you embarrassed right now, noona?” When you move to shake your head, he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to keep your gaze leveled with his. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting me, you know. And I think at this point it’s useless to deny that much. You’re so wet right now, I can feel you through my jeans.”

The clutch on your chin prevents you from turning your head away in humiliation. Jimin’s confrontation makes you realize that there’s no use of keeping up the masquerade. Since the very start, no one was fooled by your act of indifference—in hindsight you’re not sure why you insisted so strongly on pushing Jimin away. Pride, perhaps. Or maybe the fear of admitting the extent of your desire.

You want him so much that it scares you. It scares you, not because the object of your affection is Jimin, a hybrid, but because you don’t know where your desire will lead you or what it will make you do. You’re worried that the women at the adoption center had been right all along—that you’re in way over your head, that you will never be adequate enough to take care of Jimin. How are you supposed to take care of him properly if you can’t even control yourself around him?

As if he can read your thoughts, Jimin reaches up to cup your face in his hands. The heat of his palms against your skin is comforting and you let yourself lean into his touh. “What are you so afraid of?” He whispers, thumb tracing the curvature of your lips.

“Myself,” you admit quietly, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be.” And maybe that’s all you’ve been waiting to hear all this time because you feel yourself give in to his words and your desire. Jimin’s senses must be more attuned than you thought—or perhaps he’s just incredibly perceptive—but he seems to notice your change in demeanor right away, his hands angling your head up as he leans in closer to your face.

“I’m going to kiss you right now,” he says, pausing as he waits for an objection or a sound of protest. When none comes, he swoops right in, lips landing on yours awkwardly. It’s then that you notice how nervous he is; he swallows thickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“I really want to kiss you some more but...” He inhales sharply and lets his head rest on your shoulder as he collects himself. “You smell so fucking good, fuck. I need to taste you right now or I’ll go mad.”

“Go ahead.” His head snaps up at your words in surprise. “I want you to.”

Jimin’s entire body vibrates with excitement at the prospect of finally having a taste of you from the source. He’s quick to tug your pants and underwear down. In his haste, he leaves them bunched around your legs, too focused on diving his head between your thighs.

He doesn’t waste any time, spreading your legs wide open so that he can have an unobstructed view of his meal. The sight of him on his knees in front of you, looking up at you like a three course meal worthy of five star restaurants is enough to make you shudder in pleasure.

You’re helpless to the onslaught of pleasure he brings you.

It’s no wonder—Jimin laps at your center like a man starved. With skillful swipes of his tongue, he licks up every leak of your arousal around your entrance, making sure to collect each drop on his muscle. You can tell from the way he sucks and licks at your folds, eyes closed in silent rapture, that he genuinely enjoys the act and that it isn’t just a chore to get through before penetration. His undisguised eagerness excites you. Now you understand what people mean when they say that enthusiasm makes up for experience.

Knees buckling, your hands slide against the wall as your hips cant towards Jimin’s greedy mouth in search of your pleasure. With nowhere else to grab onto, your fingers wind through his mop of hair for stability.

Sweat beads at his hairline, and you wipe away the sheen of perspiration, pushing his hair away from his face with unexpected tenderness.

He breaks away from his meal, a string of saliva and your fluids connecting his mouth to your center. Your body shudders at the obscene sight and a whimper falls from your lips before you have time to stop it.

“Yeah? You like that?” His hands slide up your thighs to hold them open so that he can get a clear view of your soaking pussy. “Am I eating you out just how you like?”

He nips your inner thigh, prompting a verbal response. “Ah! Yes, yes, I love it! You’re doing so good, Jimin, please don’t stop.” Pleased with your answer, he laves the sting of the bite with his tongue, close but not close enough to where you want him the most.

You tug at his hair, urging him to dive back between your legs. “Please, I need—I need you t-to lick me clean.” You barely have time to finish stringing your sentence together and Jimin is already executing your command.

Wet and slick sounds resound throughout the apartment, intermingled with low rumbles of pleasure and breathy sighs. As his tongue works against your folds with sloppy strokes, your grip on his locks tightens as you use him to anchor yourself. Fleetingly, you’re worried that you’re being too rough but the purrs of satisfaction assure you that he doesn’t seem to mind the harsh treatment of his scalp.

You don’t wait for his approval or instructions. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own; they grind your soaking center into his awaiting mouth, pushing down on the flat of his tongue for friction. Every time Jimin’s nose bumps into your engorged clit, zaps of pleasure shoot up your spine, leaving a tingling sensation that can be felt all the way down to your toes. Every time he growls in response to a particularly wanton moan, you can feel the vibrations shoot straight to your sensitive nub.

As much as you want him to focus on your aching clit, you know that nothing will stop him from licking away at your entrance, the taste of you too good to pass up. Not that this method isn’t satisfying—you can feel the coil in your lower belly being pulled tight with every swipe of his tongue against your folds.

Just when you think that the pressure building in your stomach is about to snap in half, he wrenches away from your grasp. The sight of him is sufficient to quell your protests; you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as sexy as his disheveled state—eyes glassy with desire, chin shiny and wet, lips plump and red, hair sticking up in every which direction.

He looks so far gone that you expect him to pin you against the wall right then and there, but he holds his composure, leaning down to kiss you instead.

His plush lips are as soft as you imagined they would be and he kisses you like he has something to prove. It’s sticky and messy, with no finesse or rhythm whatsoever. And although you can taste yourself on his tongue, it doesn’t turn you off like it usually does. He licks into your mouth hungrily, sucking your tongue and biting your lip until you cry out.

“Are you going to take me now?” you find the courage to ask.

Jimin shakes his head, licking at your bottom lip to alleviate the sting. “Not here. On the bed. When I start I won’t be able to stop, so I need you to be comfortable.” He searches your eyes. “Are you... Are you sure you still want this? With me?”

“Jimin I...” You take your bottom lip between your teeth while you choose your next words carefully. “I want to be yours.”

You seal your confession with a press of your lips against his. It’s sweet, the way he smiles into the kiss, sighing contently when you pull away. The tender moment is brief. Lust quickly roars back to life, your core throbbing, aching to be filled up.

You both stumble into the bedroom in a mess of tangled limbs. Jimin nudges you onto the bed, his hands busy with the task of slipping off your clothes. Warm palms familiarize themselves with the slopes and curves of your body. You shudder, wanting Jimin to drape himself over you and envelop you in his warmth.

“I want you on all fours.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he lifts you up, rearranging you so that you’re bent over for him, ass high in the air for his viewing pleasure. There’s no doubt that the position leaves you vulnerable to his scrutiny and for that reason alone you’re glad he can’t see your cheeks flame with shame and arousal.

The position should be degrading. You're certain that you paint quite the picture—back arched with your head bowed in submission, your ass and pussy on shameless display. It’s the standard position female hybrids adopt during sex; you know this much. And the knowledge that you’re so willing to bend yourself over for Jimin just like one of his bitches ready to be bred, arouses you more than you expect.

“So pretty like this, noona.” The pads of his fingertips trace non-identifiable patterns on the surface of your skin and goosebumps break out wherever he touches. You can feel the heat of his gaze peruse your body. “God, I’ve thought about this every day.”

You can’t hold back your gasp of surprise when he inserts two fingers into you without warning. As your body eagerly welcomes the intrusion, small moans begin to freely fall from your open mouth. Jimin’s fingers pump in and out of you at a glacial pace and no matter how much you whine for more, his tempo remains the same.

Only when he deems you ready for his cock does he pull his digits out, his hand glistening, coated in your slick. You moan at the loss, feeling your walls clench down around nothing.

“Pretty girl wants my cock,” he coos after ridding himself of his clothing. “I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.”

He slides his thick erection back and forth against your lips until it glistens with your arousal. The feel of his hard shaft rubbing into your clit makes your hips buck impatiently, earning a tut of disapproval from Jimin. When you finally feel him lining himself up at your entrance, you tense up in anticipation for what’s to come.

“Do you feel that?” His cock slides in deep, your cunt hot and welcoming. You can only moan in response, already too far gone to provide a coherent answer.

Jimin stays buried in your slick heat, enjoying the way your core clenches around him when you squirm around, desperate for movement. You feel pleasantly full, his cock nestled snugly in your heat. One of his hands presses down on your lower back, keeping you pinned in place, and he takes the moment to admire the way you’ve stretched to accommodate his girth. You can’t imagine how good it feels for him because the fit is so snug.

“J-Jimin...” The moan of his name comes out hoarse, broken. If you were a little more lucid, you would be embarrassed by how wrecked you sound. “Feels so g-good. Aa—uunh, can feel you so deep.”

“You’re taking me so well, noona,” he hisses, jaw tense as he struggles to hold himself back. “Your pussy is recognizing its owner.”

You can hear the pleased smirk spread across his face even if you can’t see it. His words spark something within you—embarrassment mingled with white hot pleasure. A small part of you can’t believe you’re letting a hybrid dominate you when society dictates that it should be the other way around. But that voice in your head is promptly snuffed out, arousal putting an end to any bigoted thoughts.

The first real thrust of his hips makes shivers run down your spine. A loud moan gets stuck in your throat. You’re unable to do anything but lay there and take it, too overcome with numbing pleasure. He rolls his hips into yours again, tentative, and you can imagine how enticing he looks, firm muscles flexing and straining as he works himself into you. Each measured stroke leaves you panting, unsure if you want more or if you’ve reached your limits.

Suddenly he goes still, much to your frustration, causing you to shift your hips back in a silent cry for more. When that fails to do the trick, you squeeze your walls around him, hoping this time to elicit a reaction from him. A growl reverberates in his chest, dick twitching inside of you, his nails digging into your sides in warning. Subdued, you sink further into the mattress; pliant and waiting.

Taking his time, he pulls out, until only the head of his cock is left in. A beat passes by, much too slowly to your liking, before he pushes back in, unwilling to stay away from your warmth for long.

The gradual stretch feels just as good the second time around, if not better. There’s so much natural lubrication that your slick canal easily accommodates the girth of his cock. Seeing that there is no discomfort on your part, Jimin naturally falls into a fast rhythm, his thrusts quick and precise. The force of his movements has his hips slamming against your ass, balls slapping your clit.

Lust envelops you in its grasp, clouding your senses, until all you know is the mind-numbing pleasure between your legs. You swear that you can’t feel your legs anymore and if it wasn’t for Jimin’s firm grip around your middle, you probably would already have toppled over in a heap on the bed.

“My cum was made for you,” his hot breath fans the crook of your ear as he coaxes moan after moan from your parted lips. “Are you going to be a good bitch and take it?”

You mewl in assent, hungry. “Please!”

“Gonna fill you up so well.” He licks your ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth until you cry out for more. “Fuck you full of my seed. Oh? You’d like that?”

“Fucking—oh my god,” you babble, reduced to incoherence. “I want it.”

“You’re such a good girl.” Each hard thrust coaxes a string of incomprehensible profanities and moans from your parted mouth. “You take a fucking so well, I’m impressed.”

He sounds so proud that you can’t help but preen at the praise.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he rasps, kneading the supple flesh of your ass. “Hm? How good am I making my master feel?”

“Oh god,” your hands grapple for purchase as he quickens his pace, his fingers digging into your skin with enough strength to leave splotches of color. You’re so far gone that you don’t even register the question being asked until he has to repeat it for you.

“How does my cock make you feel, huh?” Draping his body over yours, he squats down and readjusts his position so that he can enter you from a different angle. Like this he’s able to fuck you with abandon, his hips rutting into yours like you were made for it.

“Good, so, mmngnh, you’re going so hard, I, fuuuck.” You feel yourself sliding down against the cotton sheets, but Jimin is quick to pull your hips back into position. “You fill me up, so deep, I’m so f-full.”

Jimin growls into your ear, breath hot, nipping and licking any surface of skin he can get his mouth on. The column of your neck and your shoulders sting from the attention he gives you, the skin littered with bites in hues of rose and lavender.

Snapping his hips with renewed urgency, you tremble as he keeps you pinned in place with his body. Sweat lines your brow, trickles down your back. Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, your lips red and swollen, drool trickling down the sides of your mouth. Every movement jostles you slightly forward, breasts swinging, but his hips chase after you, not pausing even for a second. You can’t keep up with the rapid pace—your body is completely boneless; his to command and do as he pleases.

“I’m going to plug you full of my cum,” he snarls, one of his hands snaking up to grope at your breast. “I’ll have you sit around full of it so that any other man knows that this pussy is mine. They’ll take one whiff of you and know that you took it like a bitch in heat, begging and eager to take my seed.”

Your core clenches up, shaken by his lewd words. Sensing that your end is in sight, he continues, his cock plowing into you in tandem with his spew of filth. “Y-yeah, you love the idea of walking around, my cum dripping down your thighs, don’t you, huh? Next time we go see Hoseok, I’ll have you wear a short skirt with no p-panties so there’s no doubt that you’re my bitch.”

A loud moan rips itself from his throat, the image getting to him. Jimin works his hips into yours with urgency, his fingers digging into yours painfully as his pace falters. His dick twitches inside of you once, twice, before spurting ropes of cum against your walls. The feeling of him painting you white is enough to push you over the edge, no clitoral stimulation needed.

Jimin keeps himself lodged inside of you until he’s sure that you’ve taken everything that he’s able to give. You’re not sure how long he stays like that but you don’t comment on it, mouth too parched to talk.

Taking great care to pull out slowly, he keeps your hips angled high in the air and takes two of his fingers and plunges them inside of you to prevent his seed from leaking out. Still keeping his fingers inside of you, he turns you around on your back to arrange you in a more comfortable position.

After taking a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing heart, you finally find your voice. It’s scratchy and fucked-out, but at least you’re comprehensible.

“Are you going to stay like that all night?” you quirk an eyebrow, casting a glance between your legs.

“No, I’m just waiting on you. Need you to be ready to go again,” he stretches his fingers into a v-shape inside of you, reveling in the way your features twist in surprise and a whimper escapes your lips.

“Okay but how long are—wait, what the—Jimin!” you scramble up to stare at his cock in wonder. It’s pink and completely covered with traces of your shared orgasms, but what shocks you is how hard it still is.

“I think,” he pushes you onto your back and climbs up over you, “that I can go for another two rounds.”

“Two?!”

“Well, I’m not in a rut right now so I’m not really sure...” Jimin tilts his head in contemplation, his shaggy hair falling over his brown eyes. “Your ovulation must have triggered some of my instincts to mate, but it’s... different than usual.”

With his one available hand he tugs at his cock, spreading the fluids all over his shaft. You can only watch, transfixed. His small hand makes his cock look twice as big and tempting.

“Different?” you mutter, your attention diverted.

He smirks, amused, and starts to finger you once he notices how heated up you’re getting. Matching the pace of the hand around his cock, he gets you ready for the second round.

“Well, firstly, I didn’t knot you.” You’re only half-aware of his explanation, thoroughly distracted by the way his fingers slide against your walls. “I’m not sure if that can happen since you’re human but I guess we’ll figure it out as we go along... And secondly... Things aren’t as intense as when female hybrids go into heat... Not in a bad way! I think I have more control this way... I don’t feel like...like I’m on drugs, I guess? I feel more aware of what’s going on.”

“So it’s a good thing?” you ask, unsure.

“It’s good.” He leans down to brush his nose against yours. “I think my body is adjusting to yours. I don’t think you would be able to handle me during my ruts, it might be dangerous...”

“Why?”

“Well, for one,” he squeezes in a third finger next to the other two already inside of you. “My ruts last for days.”

“Days?!” you squeak, eyes wide as you register his words.

“You can barely handle me like this... A good girl like you would pass out after the second round, no question.”

You narrow his eyes at him, sensing a challenge. “Yeah? I can take it better than any bitch.”

Jimin’s chuckle is abruptly cut out as you force him onto his back. Triumph is etched onto your features as you take his leaking length in your fist and line it up at your entrance.

“Let me prove it to you.” You can see Jimin’s conflicting desires rage war on his face. Torn between the instinctual need to dominate you and the desire to please you, he stays where you want him, his hands on your hips ready to flip you over at any moment’s notice.

“Why don’t you be a good boy and take it, hm?”

#do u wanna know how many angry cocker spaniel videos i watched #but at least now i know their ears don't point up #or wtvr the dog terminology is #jimin smut #bts smut #bts scenarios #jimin scenario #jimin #kpop smut #nldkfdjdlk this took me forever!!! im glad it's over n done with phew

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amillionmillionvoices · 6 years

Text

hicsqueak. t. written for the #ww2018winterfluffevent (day eleven: snowed in...loosely)

if i were that kind of grateful (what would i try to say?) (11/31)

She wakes to something soft against her cheek, a gentle pressure on her shoulder. She still startles, unused to a presence when she opens her eyes, but relaxes when she sees a flash of bright pink.

Pippa.

The day comes back to her quickly, and her cheeks flush when she realizes she must have dozed off after slipping away. She doesn’t know how long she’s been, but it does seem darker outside, and she reaches for an explanation before she’s fully sat up.

“Don’t you dare,” Pippa interrupts, shifting to allow her space. “You went through quite the ordeal yesterday, and no one here cares that you took a cat nap.”

“It’s terribly rude—" she tries, but Pippa shakes her head.

“You fought a snow storm, Hecate, and almost lost,” Pippa reminds her. “And you used magic when you should be conserving it,” she says pointedly. “It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she says automatically, and it’s partly true—she feels better than she had this morning, though not quite herself. Her magic is still weak, and it makes her nervous, feel useless and uncomfortable that she can’t even do simple things like transfer downstairs. She knows it’s temporary, but after what happened at Cackle’s a few years prior, it makes her anxious.

Whether Pippa’s picked up on it, she doesn’t know. They read each other better now than they have in decades, but there are still pieces missing—stories and explanations and behaviors picked up over the years.

Strangely, she hasn’t minded learning them. Even the things she doesn’t like, they make Pippa who she is now, bolder and braver and still unfailingly optimistic. And Hecate loves her. Always has, thinks, perhaps, she always will. Regardless of how Pippa feels.

She doubts, and yet, there’s a hand on her arm, and Pippa touches her often, smiles at her often, and the way she looked at her that morning, so soft…

Hecate clears her throat and tries to banish the image, doubts now is the time or the place, as Pippa saying, “Speaking of which, I...rather hope you don’t have any plans for the next few days.”

Hecate frowns. “What do you mean?”

Pippa looks apologetic. “According to the weather report, that storm isn’t going anywhere for a good while. We could be...we may have to stay here longer than we thought.”

“Oh.”

Pippa bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Hecate—I know you wanted some quiet time before the New Year, I—"

“You can hardly control the weather, Pippa, no matter how hard you try.”

She thinks of Pippa’s weather spell a few years back, the rain she drove away that came back brutal when she was gone.

“Still,” Pippa says. “It was my idea for you to come here.”

Hecate glances up at the slight tremor in Pippa’s voice, the uncertainty, surprised when she finds worry and guilt in her eyes, as if she’s forced Hecate to do something so terribly unforgivable as spend a few days longer with her than planned. It’s on the tip of her tongue to be sarcastic, to try to push away Pippa’s anxieties with her dry humor; but then she thinks about that morning again, and Pippa’s arm around her waist, holding her so closely, so tightly. Trying to keep her.

No one’s ever wanted to hold onto Hecate quite the same way, so she takes a small breath, says as honestly as she can,

“I’m glad to be here.”

It isn’t much, and she wishes she could say more, but Pippa’s eyes go wide and wet and she seems to understand, by her relieved grin.

“Well. Good,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, face slightly flushed, and Hecate marvels at that—that she can make Pippa fed such a way.

“I just came up to tell you supper’s ready if you want it. If you’d rather sleep, no one will mind.”

“Supper?”

Hecate glances out the window again, but the clouds make it difficult to tell the time.

Pippa smiles gently. “You were asleep for a few good hours.”

Hecate’s cheeks go red at the informality of it all, the presumptiveness, but Pippa waves her off again. “Mum made pudding, if that’ll entice you,” she says, “Just stay away from Danny’s soup,” she advises with a grin. “It may look the part but it’s guaranteed to taste like cardboard.”

Hecate rolls her eyes, following Pippa as she stands before realizing she’s still holding the sweater Marie made for her. A wave of emotions hit her again, too many to name, and she carefully folds it, sets it on the pillow, fingers lingering over the soft fabric.

Pippa says nothing, but takes her hand when she turns, and Hecate startles, looks down at their interlaced fingers. Pippa waits—for her to pull away, stammer, let go—but she doesn’t. Instead, Hecate curls her fingers back, and allows Pippa to lead her down the hall and stairs, only dropping away when they reach the kitchen.

“Miss Hardbroom! Miss Hardbroom!”

Hecate startles at Annabelle’s shout, the way she skids around the table and pulls up just short of crashing into her, shoving a sloppily made snowman biscuit in her face.

“I made this for you!”

Pippa stifles a snort and Hecate has to quell every instinct she has to tell the child to step away. Taking the treat gingerly, she nods. “I’ll save it for later,” she says, which seems to be enough for Annabelle, who skitters back to her father’s side nearly vibrating with energy.

Hecate raises an eyebrow at Pippa in question, and she laughs. “It’s an aunt’s given right to ply her nieces and nephews with sugar at Yule,” she says, and across the room, Daniel rolls his eyes.

“Is it going to be her given right to tire them out too?”

Pippa grins. “Not a chance.”

Her brother huffs, but continues stirring something on the stove as Annabelle dances around his feet.

Andrew, on the other hand, sits quietly on his grandfather's lap, thumb in his mouth, monkey under one arm.

Hecate stands awkwardly off to the side, unsure what to do, or how to integrate herself into the easy way the Pentangles move around each other. She’s unused to all the laughter, the kind teasing, the gentle and frequent touches.

It’s Marie who eventually saves her, motions her over and hands her a stack of plates and shows her where the silverware is, and even though she can’t—or shouldn’t—use magic, Hecate’s still relieved to have something productive to do. Something that makes her feel included, not like a strange, uncomfortable interloper the way she usually feels.

She’s careful with the plates, the fine China, relieved she’s gained more grace as she’s gotten older. Her sixteen year old self would certainly have dropped something, out of sheer nerves.

Still, Pippa makes it difficult to concentrate, brushing against her arm every so often, smiling at her from the other side of the table, touching her briefly. Everyone else gives her a small berth, and she’s grateful for it; but Pippa stays close, as she always does, and when she settles into the chair next to Hecate, their knees brush, and Hecate nearly bumps the table in her surprise.

Beside her, Pippa smirks, like she knows, and Hecate glares mildly.

Dinner passes in a whirl. Hecate still feels a bit off, a bit out, but the Pentangles seem to be trying their best to rope her into conversations. She tries to remain aloof, wary of showing any distaste for Daniel’s horrible taste in music or Pippa’s father’s modern ideas about medical magic. She holds her tongue, all too aware that people often find her insensitive, callous when she’s arguing a point, too passionate or too curt and disagreeable to other people’s opinions.

Normally she doesn’t quite care, but impressing Pippa’s family—or at the very least not offending them—feels more important than ever.

She’s concentrating so much on not outright scoffing at Daniel’s obsession with American warships that she startles when there’s a hand on her thigh under the table.

Hecate doesn’t want to think about what expressions she’s been making, certain she’s about to be reprimanded, but when she glances over Pippa is merely smirking.

“He gets like this every time,” Pippa says, leaning into her space. “I swear he can turn any conversation into one about the military. It’s almost a talent.”

“Men have no talents,” Hecate says before she can stop herself; but Pippa rolls her eyes, pointing a fork at her.

“I’ll remind you I have wonderful, extremely clever boys in my school.”

“For now,” Hecate allows. “I have to assume their intellectual promise wanes sometime after they graduate.”

“What makes you say that?”

Hecate gives her a pointed look, then glances over at her brother, who is currently trying to explain the difference between a frigate and a destroyer by constructing them out of mashed potatoes and bits of pork.

Pippa laughs. Bright and gleeful, she quickly covers her mouth with her hand, but Hecate bites down on her own smile, her pleasure at having elicited the sound.

“What’s so funny, you two?” Marie asks, and Pippa waves her off, shaking her head, even as she brushes her thumb over Hecate’s thigh, reminding her that she still hasn’t removed it.

Hecate flushes and stares at her plate, but no one says anything, and eventually she relaxes. Pippa’s touch stays until they all stand to clean up, though Pippa’s mother takes one look at the mess and says, “Sod this,” before magically clearing the table, putting the food in Tupperware, and washing the dishes in one wave of her hand.

The evening turns to board games, though Hecate abstains, content to sit near the fire and watch. Annabelle cheats constantly, which annoys her, but Daniel says nothing and the family go along with it. Pippa sits on the floor near Hecate’s feet, her back against her legs at times.

Her father, while still playing, drags Hecate into a mostly civil disagreement over the place of magic in genetic testing, and Marie seems occupied keeping Annabelle from throwing a fit when she loses.

It’s calm, and warm, and Hecate can’t remember feeling quite so at ease around people, even when Andrew who, up until now has all but ignored her, climbs up on the sofa and sits as close to her as he can, monkey in his lap. He doesn’t say anything—hasn’t said much at all all day, beyond a few questions and requests to be picked up or put down. But he seems content to sit next to Hecate and watch the game, or the fire, or simply stare at Hecate.

It unnerves her, at first, but she grows accustomed to it, enough so that, when he finally falls asleep, tilted sideways into her arm, she doesn’t mind.

Daniel puts him to bed shortly after, and it takes almost two hours to wrangle Annabelle into the bath and upstairs to her room. She’s grumpy from the game, and losing her sugar high, but Daniel seems nonplussed, and Hecate has to admire how even-tempered he is, when she knows her own nerves would be frayed.

It’s one of the reasons she’s never thought much about having kids of her own. She’s always felt her pupils were enough, the only connection she wanted. She isn’t sure that’s changed, but when she sees Pippa with her niece and nephew, sees Pippa with any kids at all, it tugs lose something buried, and she thinks, maybe someday .

Shoving the thought aside, she bids goodnight to Marie and Bernard before they disappear upstairs, leaving her and Pippa in the quiet living room.

Pippa resettles on the sofa next to her, summoning a blanket to throw over their legs.

“How long do you think the storm will last?” Pippa asks, and Hecate glances out the window.

It’s too black to see anything, however, but she can hear the soft whistle of wind against the glass, thinks of how bad it was just the day before.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Perhaps the weekend?”

Pippa nods. “Do you mind?”

Hecate glances at her, resists the urge to tuck her hair back from her cheek.

“No. Your family is…” She trails off, looking for the word, and Pippa forces a laugh.

“They’re a lot, I know. If you need a break—"

“I was going to say kind,” Hecate interrupts. “They’re very kind.”

Pippa’s expression brightens. “They adore you, you know.”

Hecate nods, but thinks that they don’t really know her, not yet. She’s tried to be good, to hold her tongue, to not make waves. She doesn’t know what happens when they find out other things about her—that she’s rude and abrasive and standoffish. That her patience runs thin. Doesn’t know what will happen when she finally snaps at Annabelle, or tells Daniel off for rambling too much. Doesn’t know what happens when they see all sides of her.

What usually happens, she assumes—they’ll change their minds, and Pippa will be forced to either defend their friendship or abandon it.

Hecate can’t say she would blame her, but it settles heavy in her chest, the knowledge that she won’t be good enough, not for Pippa.

That she never has been.

“Stop it,” Pippa murmurs, coveting Hecate’s hand with her own.

“Stop what?”

“I can practically hear your self-loathing,” Pippa says, pauses, then reaches out and cups Hecate’s cheek in her palm, makes her look up. “No one’s perfect, Hiccup,” she says softly. “And they know that. I know that.”

Hecate sighs, eyes slipping shut briefly. “There’s a difference between imperfection and…”

“And what?”

Hecate shrugs. “Me.”

Pippa shakes her head, thumb brushing over Hecate’s cheek. “My parents have always been very good at caring about the things I do,” she says softly. “They care about my school. They cared about horseback riding. They even cared about my brief and embarrassing stint into modern dance. They may not like everything about these things, but—" She clears her throat. “They care because I care.”

“It’s not the same, Pippa,” she says, almost a whisper. “I highly doubt horseback riding broke your—" She stops, unable to voice the thought, unsure whether it’s quite true, but she suspects.

Pippa smiles softly, indulgently. “No, you’re right. It didn’t. But...we’re not seventeen anymore, Hiccup. And hearts mend. And I…” She swallows, seems to steel herself before admitting, “I would risk a million broken hearts to have you in my life. In whatever way you want. I l—"

Hecate doesn’t let her finish. Can’t, not with her words ringing between her ears and her hand warm on her cheek and everything so soft and sweet and Pippa. She can’t bear to hear the words, so heavy in her voice, so she kisses her, leans forward and slides her hand around the back of her neck and kisses her.

It only takes a moment before she realizes what she’s done, before she tries to pull back and apologize but Pippa won’t let her, pulls her closer and opens her mouth and kisses her longer, harder, almost desperate.

Hecate sinks into her, closes her eyes and tries to believe that this is real.

She isn’t sure how long they stay so tightly pressed together, lips moving over lips, Pippa’s hands wandering up and down her spine. When they pull away, they’re both breathless, cheeks flushed and lips swollen and Pippa is beaming, eyes bright and a bit wet and she looks as though she might cry. Happy tears, but still, Hecate doesn’t want that; so she brushes her fingers over Pippa’s cheek, asks, with as much seriousness as she can muster in her breathlessness,

“Modern dance?”

Pippa laughs, shakes her head and cups Hecate’s cheeks in her palms.

“Shut up,” she whispers, and kisses her again.

#hicsqueak #hecate hardbroom #pippa pentangle #ww2018winterfluffevent #tww17

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coolcephalopod · 7 years

Text

say my name (never let me go)

Summary: Rey needs to sort out her relationship with her fuck-buddy Ben.

Note: i’m back????? kind of???? tbh i had the first part of this written a looong time ago but i never got around to finishing it until now??? but idk i hope things haven’t changed too much and enjoy!!!

AO3 is krakeneggs!

The party is already in full swing by the time Rey gets there. But it’s technically not her fault. It’s Finn’s.

He was supposed to meet her at the library so they could finish their project, but instead he got distracted by videos of cats playing with lasers. He ended up being an hour late, which is why they’re now late for Poe’s party.

Her first thought is to find Ben, but just as quickly dismisses that idea from her mind. Because technically, everyone thinks they hate each other.

It started that way, but the arguing and fighting eventually transformed into fucking and fighting, leading to their current relationship. Which she thinks doesn’t necessarily need to be labeled. That’s one part of the reason why they haven’t officially announced it to their friends. The other reason is that she just doesn’t want to hear Finn and Poe’s I told you so. She’s not willing to give them the satisfaction, for them to know that they were right when they said she and Ben were just secretly attracted to each other and should just have sex to get it over with.

Her hand absentmindedly goes to her collarbone, fingers lightly stroking the skin. Hidden underneath her shirt is a carefully placed hickey from Ben. She takes comfort in the fact that only they know it’s there, and that he sports a matching one underneath his shirt. She knows that there are also several more scattered across his pale chest, like stars in a galaxy. And she’s the one who put them there. The thought gives her a warm sense of pride and satisfaction.

“Rey?” Finn’s hand appears waving in front of her face, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“What?” Her hand drops back down to her side.

“I asked, did you want to go find Poe?” He’s staring at her, a quizzical look in his eyes.

“Uh, you go ahead, I’m going to get a drink first.” She offers a calming smile.

“Be safe.” He bumps his fist against hers, and disappears into the crowd. As soon as he’s gone, she takes out her phone and sends a text to Ben.

Rey: u here?

She stares at the glowing screen, willing it to pop up with a notification, but no such luck. (Whatever. It’s not like she’s disappointed or anything.)

She tucks her phone into her pocket and goes into the kitchen. There are several plates with half eaten food and red cups scattered around the place and she already feels bad for Poe when he’ll have to clean everything up. She grabs a soda can from the fridge, opening it to take a sip before casually leaning against the counter. She checks her phone again. Still no response. She pushes down the disappointment rising in her chest with another forceful swallow of her soda.

Rey wanders into the living room, eyes scanning the partygoers for that familiar messy head of hair that she’s had between her legs several times. He’s six foot three, how hard can it be to find him?

Her eyes narrow when she notices Ben, leaning against the fireplace and sipping from a red cup, looking infuriatingly attractive in a black t-shirt and fitted jeans. He’s smiling as he talks to a girl with wavy hair that cascades down her back like a waterfall. She’s got a curl wrapped around her finger as she giggles at something he says. There’s an uncomfortable twist in Rey’s chest but she ignores it, tearing her eyes away.

“Hey, there you are!” Finn’s smiling face greets her. “I found Poe.”

The older man has an arm slung over Finn’s shoulders and is grinning at her.

“Took you kids long enough.” He takes a sip from his cup. His grin slowly fades at Rey’s scowling expression. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Her eyes briefly flicker to Ben and the girl, Dorothy or Debbie or whatever her name is. Rey doesn’t really care. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Unfortunately, he turns around to see what Rey was looking at. “What, Ben? Oh my god, are you going to fight him? Please don’t.”

“He’s probably too busy flirting with Daisy.” Finn adds. Sometime about that statement makes Rey want to slam her fist into a wall.

“I’m not- I don’t- Nothing.” Rey tries to come up with a suitable explanation but only stumbles through her words. She lets her eyes skim over Ben once more before turning back to Finn and Poe.

The whole time they talk, she can’t help but watch Ben. On the outside, she’s perfectly neutral, but inside, she’s seething with anger. There’s a burning sensation that threatens to crawl its way up her throat every time she catches sight of Ben talking to Daisy. She’s still not sure if he’s noticed her.

The first time he stretches, arm over his head and biceps looking impossibly large, she doesn’t think anything of it. (Other than the fact that she wants those arms to hold her down while he has mind-blowing sex with her.) But after he does it a second, then a third time, she knows he’s just showing off. Either to her, or to Daisy, who’s batting her eyelashes at him. Jealousy burns in the pit of her stomach, and her hand curls into a tight fist. She’s gripping her soda can so hard that it ends up crushed in her grasp. There’s a small voice in the back of her head screaming mine mine minemineminemineminemine.

Growing up as an orphan has taught her that if she finds something she likes, she has to fight for it no matter what. And Rey’s never liked to share.

She sets the dented can down, and excuses herself from Finn and Poe, who are too absorbed in their own conversation to notice her leave. With a determined look in her eyes, she confidently walks over to Ben, whose face briefly betrays surprise, although he quickly schools his features back into an uninterested state.

“Solo. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy, Kenobi.”

“I don’t care.” She grabs his arm and starts to drag him away, ignoring the protests of Daisy behind them. He sighs heavily, pretending to be annoyed as she pulls him into the cramped hall closet.

He lets out a small grunt as she slams him up against the wall, lips colliding with his. Her hands curl into the collar of his shirt. She kisses him like she’s drowning and he’s the only source of air she has.

Eventually, she pulls away from his lips, only to move onto his neck, harshly sucking a bruise on the underside of his jaw. His head tilts back with a moan, which only encourages her.

“Rey.” His voice is a breathy whisper.

“You’re mine.” She emphasizes with a small nibble to his ear. “Only mine.”

“Wait.” Realization dawns upon him and he tears her away from his neck, arms on her shoulders. Her hands drift down to her sides. “Are you jealous?”

“What are you talking about?” She rolls her eyes. (Even though she is, she’s not gonna give him the satisfaction.)

“Come on, you’re never this affectionate. Not in public and especially not on places people can see.” He smirks, waving a hand towards his neck, where a sizeable hickey has formed. Pride swells in her chest at the sight, but she’s at a loss for words to explain her feelings.

“I-I-I was just...” Rey stammers.

“Rey.”

“Maybe I was...a little bit jealous.” She trails off.

“I’m sorry, what?” He leans in, eyes bright with amusement.

Her face starts to heat up, and she looks away from him. His hand lightly grips her chin, making her look right at him. His eyes burn into hers, causing her to shift uncomfortably.

“I was jealous.” She mumbles.

“Of what?”

“You flirting with Daisy.”

Seconds pass, and he doesn’t say anything, only stares at her. She shifts uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

“You were the one who didn’t want to label this.” He says, letting go of her chin to cross his arms over his chest.

“And I thought I would’ve been okay with that. But seeing you flirting with her...” She trails off, avoiding his gaze and instead examining the confined closet they’re in. There’s a particularly interesting broomstick in the corner that she focuses on.

“Fuck, Rey.” He lets out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. She resists the urge to reach out and run her fingers through his soft hair. “That’s not- that’s not fair. You can’t just say you don’t want us to be exclusive, and then get jealous when I talk to other girls.”

“I know.” She says quietly.

“You said you didn’t do boyfriends.” Betrayal and hurt is clear across his features.

“Because I’ve fucked up every relationship I’ve ever been in, okay! I was scared!” She can feel tears springing to the corners of her eyes that she desperately wills not to fall.

“And you think I’m not? Jesus, Rey, you have no idea how I feel about you!” His hand curls into a tight fist.

“Yeah, I don’t! Because this wasn’t supposed to be about feelings or anything, we were just supposed to be friends who have sex with each other!” Even as she says it, she knows that she doesn’t really mean it.

“Then what do you want?” He asks. His voice is cold and it leaves a bitter feeling in her stomach.

“I...” She hesitates, three simple words flashing through her mind. It’s on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t force it out. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she’s sure he can hear it in the confined closet they’re in. “I don’t know.”

“Fine.” He says quietly. “Then why don’t you find me when you finally figure out what you really want.”

He storms out of the closet, leaving Rey alone with only regret clouding her mind.

It seems like ages before Rey finally leaves the closet. She was most definitely not crying, and it was most definitely not because of Ben Solo. (At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself.)

The party is still going on, drunk and sweaty bodies bumping into her as she forcefully pushes her way into the kitchen. It’s still the same mess from before, but she doesn’t have the capacity to care. The only thing running through her mind is that she fucked up. And she just needs some alcohol to get rid of that sickly feeling clouding her mind.

Rey takes the nearest empty shot glass, and does three shots of vodka in succession. She relishes the burning sensation that slides down her throat and turns into a warmness in her belly. (In hindsight, doing shots wasn’t the best idea but how else is she going to ignore her problems?)

She takes a can of beer from the fridge, drinking nearly the entire can and goes off to find Finn. She finds him sitting on the stairs with Poe and Jessika, laughing about something.

“Hey guys.” She’s feeling a bit tipsy already, and sits on the step next to Jess.

“Whoa, Rey, are you okay?” Finn asks, a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“Fine, fine.” She slurs. She finishes the rest of her beer.

“You don’t smell fine. How much did you drink?” Jess leans in and smells Rey.

“Just had some vodka.”

“Rey. Does this have anything to do with you dragging Ben off somewhere earlier?” Poe gives her a knowing look, and she suddenly feels suffocated under his gaze. The mention of his name brings a weird feeling to her chest, and she knows what she has to do.

“No.” She gets up, holding onto the banister for support. “I’ll be back, I just...have to do something.”

Her friends watch her with concerned looks as she walks off with a stumble in her step.

Rey goes back into the living room, eyes once again looking for Ben. This time, he’s sitting on the couch, face illuminated by the screen of his phone that he’s staring so intently at. She determinedly marches over, stopping in front of him. He pauses, looking up at her.

“Yes?” He asks in a tired tone, and it most definitely makes her feel hurt. It makes her think that he’s already done with her, and she’s not entirely ready to let go.

She takes a deep breath, knowing that this can only go two ways; it works out or it doesn’t. There’s also the added bonus of the alcohol fueling her courage, enabling her to say the words she couldn’t earlier.

“I’m sorry for what I said before. I know what I said about the whole relationship thing, and the truth is...I’m terrified of getting hurt and I didn’t want to do that to myself again. I couldn’t. I know this was just supposed to be a ‘friends with benefits’ type of relationship. I know this wasn’t supposed to mean anything.” The words are just coming out, slipping off of her tongue. “Fuck, I think I...I think I like you as more than a friend.”

He just stares at her, wide eyed and mouth slightly open with shock.

“I think I know what I want now, it’s you.” She looks him in the eyes as she says this, so he’ll know she’s serious. Part of her can’t believe she’s just confessed to him, but the other part of her is glad that she was able to express her feelings in some form other than sex.

Ben stands up, and she almost steps back, but instead stands her ground, not willing to back down or be intimidated by his size.

He tangles his fingers in her hair and tugs her up to meet his lips in a passionate kiss. She’s briefly surprised, but quickly recovers and slips her arms around his neck, pushing up on her toes.

It feels different this time, less frantic and desperate kissing, instead more slow and emotional kissing.

Rey decides that’s the kind of way she wants to kiss him from now on.

#reylo #my fic #rey x kylo ren #star wars

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empresspilaf-blog · 8 years

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these are actually hella fucking cute y’all

I’m answering all of these because as previously stated I have a real thing for filling stuff out. I like being asked questions it’s fun, keeps my brain workin’ :D

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? More milk. And I never drink it at the end. I can’t, I’ll get sick. I can’t drink milk, and if I have cereal too often I’ll get sick. But it’s just not right if there isn’t lots of milk D’: 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? NOOOOOOOOOOO DDDDD: 3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Anything? I think there’s a Mythology book around here somewhere with a peanut M&M’s wrapper in it.

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? I don’t put anything in tea, and I’ll drink black coffee, but sometimes I put creamer in it. If it’s available. I like peppermint mocha best yum :D

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Nope! I think it’s pretty nice, actually. It’s one ofthe few things I actually like about myself lol. I hate my body and my acne but I think my nose, eyes, and smile are decent. I had braces so my teeth are straight. I didn’t wear my top retainer though so there’s a small gap, but it doesn’t bother me. Except when I eat apples. The skin always gets stuck >:( My teeth could be whiter, and they’re small and square looking, but I think my smile is alright.

6: do you keep plants? No, but I want to. I just can’t keep up with that stuff. And my room faces a very shaded yard so sunlight really doesn’t come in.

7: do you name your plants? I totally would! 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? I prefer to draw with pencil/colored pencil, charcoal, and I’m trying to use inking pens. I suck at painting lol. I did just get a tablet, though, and Autodesk Sketchbook. So that’s been fun to play with. 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Oh yeah. I would love to be able to sing really well. So far I can do a decent Marilyn Monroe impression lol. My favorite thing to sing along to is No Doubt. I love Gwen’s voice. It’s a good exercise too, all the vibrato and crazy patterns she does. I also like to sing Heart, too. My boyfriend says I sound pretty good, but I still won’t let anyone else hear me lol. Even though he’s a musician and probably knows what he’s talking about, I still don’t think it’s that great haha 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Yes.

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends? Hmm I can’t think of any that don’t require a long explanation lol. Well okay, how about this. I didn’t ever really drink until I turned 21 (almost exactly a year ago, January 17!), and then when we’d hag out with friends and I’d get drunk, I’d start going up to people whispering “Hey. I’ve never been drunk before” in their ear lol. Like ever time it happened (which wasn’t all that much, I’m still not a huge drinker). It got to the point that now if I drink, everyone goes “Watch out for Robyn, she’s getting drunk for the first time!”

12: what’s your favorite planet? Uranus ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Hehe uhm Jupiter, because it’s full of gas, like me? I’ve honestly never really thought about this. I think Neptune is the prettiest, and I like the idea that humans may be able to live on Mars. ~Sailor Pluto is my favorite Sailor Scout. :D

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? A mess hahahahahahahahahaaha. She has three cats and I have a dog. We both have depression, anxiety, BPD, OCD, and ADHD. (fun fact, our diagnoses are identical. We both have PTSD as well). But we love doing crafts and not cleaning our rooms, so I imagine there would be glitter, scrap fabric, pencil shavings, and wadded up paper everywhere. Among the pet hair, of course! 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! 99% of the solar system’s mass is the sun! (shit!) 16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? S P A G H E T T I

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Uhm well I’ve literally had every color lol. But right now, I’m having a lot of trouble getting red to stick to the lengths, it keeps fading to brown immediately. My hair is very damaged so it’s not too cooperative at this point :/

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. Uhm ok so I have IBS pretty bad, right? My friends and I went to Denny’s one night. We came back to one friend’s house, and I needed to fart (Sorry, this is gonna be gross lol). So as my friend Nick was coming up the stairs, I stuck my butt out and farted on his chest area. Only I didn’t fart. I pooped on him. HAHA and now everyone laughs at me because I shit on the bass player! The best part was I ran to the bathroom and I had my boyfriend get my spare undies from the car (gotta have those when you got that Irritable Bowel), and when I went back downstairs, Nick had no idea what had happened lololololol 19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? Nopeee 20: what’s your favorite eye color? I mean as far as what I find attractive, brown. Big brown eyes. On guys and girls. But especially guys. Girls with light eyes can still be cute but I think dark eyed men are just the best <3 That’s not to say there aren’t also some attractive men with light eyes (points to Bradley Cooper, Chris Hemsworth, Conrad Veidt, J o n a t h a n J o e s t a r). 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. My smiley backpack! I just started really using it about a year ago, but I got it when I was like 3. so it’s around 19 years old. I actually just ripped one of the straps out partially last night, and I gotta sew it (thanks for the reminder!). It’s about a foot in diameter, and it’s just a giant yellow circle with a simple black smile and eyes and two straps. 22: are you a morning person? If by morning person you mean I stay up all night and am awake still when morning comes. Though I was up from Thursday evening to last night with no sleep, so I slept all last night and have been up since 6:30 this morning. 23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Well since I’m pathetic and I don’t have a job and the Kent State University won’t let me have Financial Aid (due to dropping my classes last semester because of HEALTH ISSUES, wtf), every day is like that. I hate it, actually. I do nothing but sleep. I stare at my computer for hours, scroll tumblr and Facebook, get out drawing supplies and then stare at the paper and cry, lay in bed and cry, cry and cry ;u; 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? My boyfriend, Mr. Alexander Tortorella. He’s been one of my best friends since 2010, and my boyfriend for a little over 2 years. Also my two closest friends, Taylor, who I’ve been best buds with for over ten years (we even got tattoos together) and my friend Ryanne who I mentioned before (the one with all the problems like me lol). 25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? No where, I’ve never broken into anyplace. Other than my car once because I locked the keys in it lol. 26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? I actually have these flat slip on clogs that have like a brown sweater fabric that I got in 2006. I wear them pretty much all fall/winter if I’m just running to the store or to someone’s house. If there’s no snow, of course lol. I also have Converse I got in 2007 that have the British flag on them, and The Who’s logo on the tongue. there’s smiley faces drawn on the rubber at the toe, and along the side banding one one of them are lyrics to “What a Catch Donnie” by Fall Out Boy.

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? I love regular bubblegum’s taste but it doesn’t last long enough to bother. 28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset 29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Uhh…? My friends aren’t really “cute” people hahahahaha. I mean Taylor has called me “Bobert” for years and that’s funny lol 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? Yeah this one time when I was little I floated too far on a raft in Lake Erie and thought I was gonna end up in dying lol. I mean compared to other things that have happened in my life that really isn’t anything too bad, but the fear I felt at the time was so immense. 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I love socks! Cool socks. I’ve got Marvel hero socks, whale socks, Star Wars socks, Sailor Moon socks, Winnie the Pooh sicks, sailboat socks, and funky pattern socks. I hate sleeping in socks though. I also have a collection of black dress socks from marching band haha 32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. I got naked and chased a friend down the street when I was 17. That was my one experience being drunk before I was 21 lol 33: what’s your fave pastry? Friggin Oreo Poptarts. They count. 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? Little Pooh! And Big Pooh! I have a like 2 and a half foot sitting Pooh Bear and a small one. I dragged them both everywhere when I was little. I still slept with the small one until I was like 16. But it’s so worn and falling apart, I needed to switch to a larger version to cuddle lol. Now I just kinda cuddle whatever teddy bear or stuffed animal I grab haha 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? Yes, but I don’t really have them. I do have some super cool Norman Rockwell notecards. And I have rainbow pens I use to color coordinate notes. I’’l freaking rip a page out and re-write everything if i mess up. 36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? Well I’m currently listening to “Fly” by Sugar Ray and I’d say that’s doin’ it pretty well :D 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? Yeah so have you seen a tornado’s aftermath? 38: tell us about your pet peeves! People who chew their nails (Glares at Alex, even though he’s not here). Girls who talk all hood, and act dumb for attention, then get offended when you don’t take them seriously. 39: what color do you wear the most? Black lol 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you? I wear a ring everyday, I only take it off to shower. Alex has one too. They’re silver bands, and they have the coordinates to our high school engraved in them (that’s where we met). One has the latitude, one the longitude. Inside mine it says “Alex”, his says “Robyn”. 41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? White Oleander by Janet Fitch. 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! I just like Starbucks. I’m a white girl. Sue me. 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Alex 44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? əʇndɯoɔ ʇou səop 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? Oh, no. I overthink everything 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. I can’t just do this on the spot!!! The other day a friend asked if I was going into the medical field, because I was really nursing my beer lol 47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? BEANS. All beans. Fuck beans. 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? Yep, spiders. 49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? The last CD I bought I think was Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance. I’ve had every word of it memorized for like 10 years, but I never actually owned a hard copy. The last record I bought was probably Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin. *note; as I was moving on to the next question, the song “Houses of the Holy” came on my iTunes o.O (though let it be noted as well that the song “Houses of the Holy” is actually on the album “Physical Graffiti). 50: what’s an odd thing you collect? Souls. And old empty bottles. Like empty pop bottles. Not so much anymore, but I have a ton of them in my room that I use as decoration 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? Pretty much anything from Def Leppard’s Pyromania or Van Halen’s 1984 reminds me of my dad because those are his favorite albums (and 2 of mine) 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? I mean the salt guy is funny? I’ve really been slacking in the dank meme area lately. I am truly ashamed. 53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I have only seen Beetlejuice of those (I knowwww), and I like it, but the heavy late 80′s asthetic creeps me out a bit. Not the stuff that’s supposed to be creepy, but all the black and white checkerboard and stripes, bright colors, and things like that lol 54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? My dog, because I wouldn’t let her have her bone back (it was bed time!) 55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? We don’t need to discuss that. Once again; I have BPD. That should tell you plenty. 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Not being an asshole. That’s about it. 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? I mean I do sometimes, other times I just listen and enjoy it. My friend Nick did a project for school (he’s a music production major) where he mixed the original tracks differently, and he made the bass and snare more prevalent and now the original sounds empty to me hahaha 58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? Lol what??? I mean I drink wine more than anything, but I probably drink more vodka than anyone else too lol. Most of them just smoke that reefer to be honest. Alex and I don’t, he doesn’t drink either. And I rarely drink vodka. But no one else ever does lol 59: what’s your favorite myth? The brown sound lol. The idea that there is a decibel so low that if you hear it, you’ll poop yourself! They proved it to be false on Mythbusters, though. 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I used to write poetry a lot. I actually was published in a national anthology of selected student poets in 9th grade. I have trouble being creative anymore, though. I like Thoreau and Walt Whitman. We studied them in 11th grade. 61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received? I’ve never really given a gag gift. Though one time I wrapped a robe I got my sister in a series of boxes and duct tape just to mess with her :D I wouldn’t say I’ve ever received anything “stupid”. 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? Nope. I like apple juice, though. Orange juice makes me sick. Acid reflux issues. 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? OOOOHHHHHH Gotta be in alphabetical order. Though currently my books are strewn across my floor, mixed in with clothes, my Sailor Moon VHS collection, shoes, makeup, blah blah blah 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Really light grey. Ohio is bland and gross. 65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? My friend Taylor. she doesn’t live very close so I don’t ever see her anymore :’( 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? I have a few I made over the summer. My favorite is just a bunch of daisies. I love daisies <3 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? Lol indifferent. That’s what today looks like, and pretty much everyday around here. 68: what’s winter like where you live? Well when I was younger, it was snowy and bright and fun. Now it barely snows, and it’s always gloomy and muddy and gross. My basement flooded a couple days ago because it rained so hard. 69: what are your favorite board games? MONOPOLYYYY. I got a Dogopoly for Christmas hehe. I like Sorry and Clue a lot too. 70: have you ever used a ouija board? Nope

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea? Green tea, and the youthberry/ wild orangeblosson tea from Teavanna 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? yeah pretty much. And I still always tell myself I won’t forget shit, and then I do. 73: what are some of your worst habits? Smoking cigarettes, sleeping too much, drinking pop instead of water, picking my nose lol. I’m twitchy and fidgety but that’s just the OCD and ADHD. 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Uhhhhhhhhh “Big fat faggot”. (that’s actually how he would describe himself, he likes going up to people and saying “I’m REALLY gay”) 75: tell us about your pets! I have my darling baby Mae Mae, she’s around 9(??) she’a a black mutt that looks like a bear/wolf lol. I got her from the Humane Society. Then there’s Bellatrix, who my mom got from the HS. She’s a brindle boxer, almost 4 years old. We have a 7 month old kitten named Hosta. My mom found her in the hosta bushes outside this summer, so we named her after the flowers lol. We also have a guinea pig, of my sister’s, named Alfie. He’s about 2? 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? I could use a shower. 77: pink or yellow lemonade? Pink <3

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? I thought they were cute in Despicable Me, but it’s gotten way out of hand. 79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? Alex once bought me ice cream and flowers and made a sign that said “sorry for being a douche”. I don’t even remember what he did wrong, it was cute :3 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? Well a few months before we moved in, I painted them purple. Then I decided that was boring like a couple weeks before we moved, and I got tihs cool 70s-looking (or even 30s really) floral wallpaper with like gold and pewter flowers and I put it on two walls. I painted the one wall orange, the tiny bit around the closet sage green, and the area around the door with chalkboard paint. Then I got mad one day about a year later and went and bought light green and covered the orange. I still don’t really know why lol. 81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. Dude what? I don’t stare at anyone’s eyes? 82: are/were you good in school? HAHAHAHHA. I got suspended for mooning someone. That’s all you need to know. 83: what’s some of your favorite album art? Queen’s News of the World has a sweet cover. Def Leppard’s High N’ Dry, Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Aphex Twin’s “Windowlicker” single, of course. Green Day’s Dookie, Dio’s Holy Diver. There are aa TON but you know. I’m getting sick of typing lol 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? I’m planning on getting a lot lol. Currently a Ginger Rogers close-up on my forearm. I have a Pooh sketch on my side, “You’re braver than you believe” (Pooh quote) written in my friend’s handwriting on my right shoulder, and “There’s still time to change the road you’re on” on my right foot (”Stairways to Heaven” lyrics). 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? Yes, Marvel, Infinity Gauntlet is my favorite. (not including manga because I’m ready to be done with this lol) 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? Yeah, they’re cool! Currently I’ve been listening to To Pimp a Butterfly a lot, actually. 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Star Wars (original 3), Back to the Future, A Clockwork Orange, Metropolis 88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? A R T D E C O, art nouveau 89: are you close to your parents? My mother. I don’t talk to my father much. He was abusive to me, he’s an alcoholic. 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. I don’t really have any? I don’t live cities very much. 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? I’m going to North Carolina for a wedding, that’s about all I can think of. Probably going camping. 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? CHEESE ME BABY 93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? Well I’m mostly just at home doing nothing so it’s just kinda down and pushed back out of my face. But when I go somewhere it’s usually something pinup-y or 2 buns on top of my head. 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? Taylor’s was December 29. But mine is Tuesday! :DDD 95: what are your plans for this weekend? Alex has a show tonight, so there’s that. 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? ”Remind me tomorrow” 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? Don’t know, I’ve never taken one of those tests. I’ve started to, but I can’t really answer the questions right. My answer can go either way, my mood is always changing. I don’t believe it’s easy to pin down a BPD patient’s type. I’m a Capricorn, and I’m not really into Harry Potter. My IQ is pretty high though, lol. I’m proud of that. It’s the one thing I have haha. 98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? I don’t remember, but I know I whined the entire time because I’m out of shape lol 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. Uhhhh. My brain isn’t functioning at a very deep emotional level right now lol I can’t think of any? I guess “Blown Away” by Carrie Underwood, it reminds me of my father. 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Neither. I don’t want to change the way things are now. Sure, I’d love to tell myself “Don’t gain twice your body weight” and “don’t drop our of high school or college” but like, Butterfly Effect. I know somehow that would make it so I never reconnect with Alex, or I end up dating someone I wasn’t happy with, or what if somehow I got in a car wreck and died as a result of something stupid? And I don’t want to see the future. What happens happens and I don’t want to live in anticipation.

Feel free to talk to me about any of this stuff! I welcome friends, I’m lonely haha

#i did it #it's been two hours #TWO #HOURS #long ass post #oops #me #personal #someone please read this #lol #I doubt anyone will #but the sound of my keys is nice #long #read me #my life is boring

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